I Don’t Hit My Kids, Yet…

When I picked the 3 year old up from school yesterday his teacher had an interesting story for me. I guess my middle monkey was playing with a stuffed animal and he kept throwing it on the ground. When his teacher asked him why, he said it was time for the bear to “go to sleep”. So his teacher questioned further (while sorta giggling because she knows us very well) “Do Mommy and Daddy throw you in your bed when it’s time to go to sleep?” and my sweet little boy said, “Yes”.

I actually found this story a bit comical because
A. I don’t hit my kids and
B. He wasn’t really lying.

This past week the 3 year old was refusing to finish his dinner but still insisted on desert. That’s not how things work up in this bitch. You eat… you get a treat. Simple right? But Mr. 3 wants to do things his way, which (although very age appropriate) is a total fucking pain in the ass. So on Thursday and Friday nights he went to bed with no desert, and a temper tantrum, which was finally resolved without books or cuddles but getting a time out, in his crib. Now, I wouldn’t say we “threw” him in his bead… but when a strong 3 year old won’t listen and is trying to kick you, he isn’t laid down gently either.

The moral of this story is always give your kids whatever the fuck they want so you don’t have to explain yourself to DCF.

No, no, that can’t be right. The real moral of this story is that sometimes being a parent means you have to be a dick. They aren’t always going to like you, but they need to trust what you say to be true. If you say one thing and then do another all you get is a kid who’s going to know they’ve got your number. And in this case my little buddy seems to think that if he annoys the living shit out of us he’s going to get his way. I think he might, just might, be finally getting the message that we aren’t going to give in on certain core things. Like eating, we aren’t going to budge on this one. And hopefully we don’t have to repeat the soap opera from the other night. But if we do, so be it.
I might have to get the preschool some new stuffed animals.

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"You Look Way Too Happy to Have a New Baby"

I’m a nervous talker.

I used to think I just enjoyed hearing myself speak but as I get older I realize I just talk and talk to stay away from those moments of awkward silence.You know those moments… all of those “Sooooo……” and “Anyways………”.

Lots of time I say shit before I even get a second to think about what I’m about to say. The problem with having no-filter is that you often say things that aren’t PC… more like NC-17, so it might not be “the right thing” to say but it usually ends up being my honest opinion. That’s why I was so disturbed by the comment of a stranger in the grocery store today. Because, like me, she seemed to be a nervous talker. So the comment that she made was her honest opinion. But I think her way of looking at things really sucks. Because it means that Motherhood is a dead-end road, and I just can’t live my life feeling like that.

I guess I was smiling. I was walking down  the pasta aisle with a shit eating grin on my face. Right then, a stranger, an older woman, took one look at my infant son and I and said,
“You look way too happy to have a new baby!”
Really?
I do?
As a mother, am I doomed to be miserable for the rest of my life? Is that what Mothers are supposed to look like? A miserable, angry bitch with no love? Since when is a new baby no longer a source of joy and excitement but rather a burden?
Well, Fuck. That. 

I AM, having a particularly good day today. The 3-year-old had been sick this week and today he is much better and back at school. My 8-year-old is done with the FCAT and excited about his soccer tournament this weekend. The baby, after a couple tough weeks of being sick and getting used to just, being alive… seems really comfy and happy. Tonight my husband and I have plans to go to an adult only event and my parents are watching the kids! So yes, today I am smiling like a prom queen. I’m whistling Dixie out of my ass,  and yes, I have a new baby and I’m happy. And I’m really pissed off for women everywhere that this isn’t considered “the norm”.

Now, let’s just be clear… I’ve had many a moment since the birth of my first child (9 years ago) that make me question the whole point of parenthood. But I’ve had many other jobs that I was paid to do before becoming a Mom that I questioned the purpose of my place in the Universe too. And tomorrow might be a shitty day. I’ll find myself standing in the living room, holding a colicky baby, surrounded by dirty laundry, peanut butter and gum stuck in my hair, while listening to my older sons fight over who gets to lay on the bigger couch for 2 hours…

That very well could happen, and it won’t be the first time, or the last time. But the fact that other women, especially older women, think that child rearing should be a miserable experience has to end.

And it has to end now. RIGHT NOW!!!

I wanted to grab this woman by the shoulders, shake her and yell, “I’m sorry your life sucks.”

But I hid the nervous talker in me behind my smile. And in spite of  my disdain I said,

“I guess I am.”

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The Crying Game

10:35PM.
The 3 year old is screaming bloody f**king murder because we put him down for bed without books (he deserved it, WE DO NOT NEGOTIATE WITH TERRORISTS). The 1 month old is so gassy and upset unless he is being held upright, and we finally told the 8 year old to do whatever he has to do…

This is The Crying Game.

My house after 8 PM isn’t for everybody… shit, it’s barely for me. But, it works. Well, it usually works.

Now it’s Spring Break. Spring Break isn’t really Spring up in this bitch (we live in FL) and as far as I’m concerned my kids always seem to be on some kind of school break… So this is a farce. But our nights are always later then most… Dinner is at 7 and bedtime is at 9… I know, it sounds absurd, and it is pretty much absurd but it works, well it used to work, before we had the baby.

People always told me the “middle child” stories and I really thought they were full of shit.. I mean, we all choose our own destiny, right? But I’m slowly watching my middle child become a straight up nightmare. And as I said before, “we don’t negotiate with terrorists”. (I can say it in a small voice now because he’s finally asleep). I am open to advice because I obviously need some. And although I think I know everything the 3 year old has a fantastic concept to the fact that I suck… I am fully f**king clueless to his needs.Please share your secrets. I’m ready for anything credible….

Pregnancy Bliss

The birth of a new baby is a joyous event. It’s life changing and awe inspiring and you feel blessed to be a part of it. And when it’s you, it’s you, who holds the main role of the vessel for the new life, it’s all those things and more.

The honor that I felt as an expectant Mom is so hard to explain. Knowing that I would have 9 months to be the closest to someone, the closest you can ever be…. blew my mind. And pregnancy hormones have always been great to me. Being pregnant for me was a time of complete bliss and reward. I felt like I had a better sense of myself. A better sense of my place with others. Every pregnancy I had was the fastest 9 months I’ve ever experienced and I was totally at peace with myself while pregnant (which NEVER happens to me in my real life). If I could figure out a way to bottle up my pregnancy hormones and use them forever, I would, believe me.

And now he’s here. And he is spectacular! Just like I knew he would be from the moment I found out I was pregnant. Just like his 2 brothers were before him. I’m blessed and excited and freaked out and trying to balance all the good with the crazy, because being a Mother to 3 sons is where we separate the men from the boys. But it’s also where the husband and I said…. “This is it. This is our family.” And we decided to have no more children (and that is a good thing) but with that comes no more pregnancies. No more of that ethereal gift that made me feel so wonderful.

To counter that, I’m having another baby…..

Metaphorically,

I’m giving birth to a blog.

Just call me, The Outnumbered Mother.