Tag Archives for humor

My Glamorous, Sexy Life

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more glamorous, SB’s delightful dinner behavior launched a discussion about why boogers aren’t food.  His reaction to my big speech?  “Well, why are they there then?”

Duh.

 

Bedtime – Screwed Again

BB (Big Boy)’s putting SB to bed upstairs and I’m screwed again.  The only way to get past his room undetected is to either burrow under the carpet like a gopher and try to sneak by, or to crawl on my belly, Navy Seal-like, past his door and hope he doesn’t see me.  If I am spotted, it adds at least 15 minutes to the bedtime extravaganza.  Pray for me.  I’m going in.

Did I Really Say This??

Two things I actually said today:

“Do NOT pick your nose with Sheriff Woody’s fingers!”

“Stay away from that chainsaw!” (in our defense, it wasn’t laying around in our living room, we were on a hike and they were clearing dead trees from the trail).

Perfectly Imperfect Parenting

Last night I had dinner with one of the funniest women I know – we were cracking up before we even started drinking our Margaritas.  It was one of those dinners where the belly laughs were so huge that I was sneaking glances around the restaurant to see if any paramedics happened to be eating there, in case we both needed the Heimlich maneuver.

When were done talking about our husbands, jobs and all those riveting subjects, oddly enough the talk turned to our kids.  We began laughing, ok – howling, about how hard we tried to do everything right when they were really little, and how far we’ve fallen from grace after a few years of reality.

I confessed in a previous post that I had sunk so low that I lied to our Pediatrician about how much TV SB (Small Boy) watched.  Dr. Perfect, AKA Dr. What World Do You Actually Live In? told me, with a straight face, that SB shouldn’t watch more than ½ hour of TV per day.  Hello?  Have you been to our house?  In the beginning I tried so hard to stick to that ½ hour goal, and then I realized that no one had eaten in a week, the house looked like the slums of Calcutta, the pets were starving, and we reeked because the laundry hadn’t been touched.

In order to not wind up behind bars for child abuse and animal cruelty, I relented to one hour a day.  The pets started to plump up and every now and then we’d actually be able to eat real food, rather than suck on frozen dinners for nourishment.   And now, one year later, SB can watch shows in the morning and evening.  Balance has been restored and we can actually go out in public without being shunned.

There are so many unrealistic expectations out there for parents – diet, how to discipline, teaching nice manners, etc.  I’ve slowly come to realize that we have to cut ourselves some slack.  This parenting stuff is hard – it’s not like our kids were squeezed out after 382 hours of labor clutching little owner’s manuals.  I’ve also discovered that trying to do everything right is boring.  I certainly don’t want to listen to a perfectly fit, self-righteous mom drone on about her kid’s balanced meals, good TV habits, and perfect manners while I’m surreptitiously wiping wine stains out of SB’s filthy  clothes and digging frantically for the remote…do you?

The Age of Contrasts. Big Ones.

First off, I have to say that having a full time job is really cutting into my writing time.  I’ve also discovered that the big problem with writing is you actually have to sit down and do it.  It’s really not one of those things you can fake, because I’d look pretty stupid posting blank pages on my blog site, and I’m guessing most people might catch on if I tried that.  With that being said, here are today’s musings, which is proof that I did manage to get my butt in the chair today… and for the four or five of you who actually read this, the long wait (or respite) is over…

So aside from the horror of having a three-year-old dictator-tot running the show most of the time, it’s also looking like this might just be a pretty sickeningly cute age.  There’s lots of hugging and snuggling, and lately he’s taken to singing, which just curls my toes and makes me want to die of a sugar/sweetness overdose.  It’s a time of great contrasts – our house is either like a Disney movie with birds landing on SB and everyone bursting into song, or it’s the set of The Shining with someone creeping around corners saying, “Redrum” with an evil laugh. 

I’m finding that bribery – oops, I mean rewards/incentives – work fairly well with SB now that’s he’s a big boy kid (his phrase, not mine).  I’m not saying that he’s a sucker, but I’m feeling fairly smug about how easily he falls for my schemes.  Usually.  Call it what you want, but if a $1.00 Hot Wheel does the trick of keeping him in bed, or peeing in the bathroom, whatever – I’m in. 

Lastly – the singing is off the charts.  For some strange reason, he really likes the Beatles’ “Octopus Garden”, and to hear him sing along and mangle the words makes me want to die of cute.  And not to be too obnoxious, but he’s clearly a musical prodigy.  It’s just a matter of time before he buys me a private island with his royalties.  As long as no one’s creeping around saying, “Redrum”, I’ll take it. 

So what do you all think?  Did the terrible-awful-embarrassing twos turn into the usually very cute – except when it’s not – threes?

 

 

The Tumultuous Threes? The Tempestuous Threes? The Traumatic Threes? Oh, hell.

After SB (small boy) turned three, I thought the worst was over.  Everyone talked about the Terrible Twos, and we survived – relatively intact except for a few nervous tics and a constant state of exhaustion.  All done, onward and upward, right? 

Except life, as we all know it, is cruel at times.  SB’s only been three for a couple of weeks, so it’s early days, but WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???

Where’d my sweet, affectionate boy go?  SB used to be a world champion snuggler.  Now?  “DON’T touch me”.  Huh?  Are girls already gross?  But I’m the mama!  He has years to go before he finds me loathsome…right?

And the temper management issues? (Formerly known as tantrums but I’m sick of that word)  It used to be, in the good old days of two weeks ago, that we pretty much knew what would set him off.  The dreaded hair washing nights, turning off the TV before Curious George was over, the horror of a lost toy, stuff like that.  Now it’s like living with a teenage girl – the drama, screaming, crying – and he’s only three.  And a boy. 

No one’s safe from the wrath of SB.  Our sweet dog, who’s loved him since I was pregnant, has now wisely found a good spot under the kitchen table where the drama king can’t reach him.  Our poor cats haven’t come out of hiding since 2011, and when I do see them they look at me with utter disdain, “Oh, you brought that loud thing home AGAIN?”

One of my friends on Facebook just posted that she enjoys her dog’s company more than her 15 year-old son sometimes.  When I was done laughing, I realized that I have 12 more years to go before SB becomes someone who I might prefer my dog over.  Then I realized that it’s already happening. 

So help me out here…does it get better?  Worse?  Am I going to have to join the Witness Protection Program when he turns four?  Fill me in please!!!

The Big Birthday Bash

Yesterday was SB’s birthday party – the big Three.  We went with the Toy Story theme this year – cake, decorations, balloons, and thank God they had a Buzz Lightyear tablecloth or I don’t know what I would have done.

I’m not sure what we were thinking, but the night before we went into a frenzy of cleaning and tidying.  So the house was spotless – and then the party began.  We would have been better off just running through the house randomly throwing toys and food for an hour, since that’s clearly the décor that three year olds prefer.

Needless to say, SB was out of his mind the day of the big soiree.  “Is it my party yet NOW? NOW?  NOW???”  After the millionth time he asked, we were finally finished with breakfast.  Poor guy – every time anyone walked by our house he yelled, “come in friend!!!” Never mind that it was the woman next door walking her dog, the gardener, etc.

The rest was standard kid birthday party stuff – some laughing and some crying, total mayhem, fighting over toys, pizza flung through the house with great enthusiasm (thanks, SB), the dog barking every ten seconds, singing, and then we devoured huge hunks of cake.

Then everyone left and we were left with the aftermath.  Once again I wished we had installed a cement floor with a drain instead of going with wood, since the only way we’re going to be able to get everything clean is to pressure wash the living room.

And can you believe this?  None of the kids complemented me on the stupid tablecloth.  Next year we’re having the party somewhere else.  Someplace with a floor drain.