Brutal Truth
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, Womanhood, parenting
One of the things I love about preschoolers is their inability to lie — well. They tell you what they think, and these thoughts are completely uncensored. It can be highly disconcerting (”Mommy, why is THAT LADY SO BIG?”) as well as highly entertaining (”This tastes like dirt.”)
Like the time Nora said to me, “Mommy, I love you, because, you know, you’re not so old.”
Kay. Thanks?
Or the time I was getting dressed and Nora was eying my naked chest with interest. (FYI, naked bodies invite a host of hilarious, offensive, and often entertaining comments from preschoolers. Just be prepared to have your ego beaten into a pulp. And remember that they are usually eye-level with your crotch, so keep that shit covered.) After watching me remove my bra, Nora asked, “Mommy, are those your little boobies?”
LITTLE? Well, fuck. At least they’re bigger than hers.
My friend “Claire” tells a similar story that had me rolling on the ground with laughter. Her daughter “Anna” was watching Claire get dressed one day and said with a smile, “Mommy, I hope I have a big belly like you someday.”
Apparently, preschoolers’ sense of beauty is inspired by the fertility goddesses of ancient times.
She is HOT. Except for the hairdo. And the fact that she has no face. Photo by mharrsch via Flickr.
If only ours was too, goddammit.
Today was classic. I was driving back from my parents house which is three and a half hours away (ROAD TRIP!) and we had to stop to tinkle. For those of you who don’t have kids, “tinkle” = “pee-pee.” So anyways, we stopped at a gas station and as I carried Ava into the bathroom stall, Nora said, “It smells like Nana in here!”
“Nana” is what the girls call my mother. I found this so utterly hilarious that I called my mom while standing in the stall.
ME: “Hey, mom? We’re here in Podunk, Texas, in a gas station bathroom, and Nora thinks it smells like you in here.”
My Mom: “Oh my God. Are you serious?”
ME: (snorting) “Yeah.”
My Mom: “What does it smell like in there?”
ME: “What does it smell like? It smells like ass, mom. Ass.”
Nora: “ASS! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Ava: (sticking her hand in the tampon mailbox) “E-I-E-I-O!” (Ava is currently into “Old MacDonald.” It’s all she ever says these days — along with “mine” and “no.”)
Then there are the times Nora gets in trouble for doing something she knew she shouldn’t have been doing — oh, say, wrapping Ava in an entire roll of toilet paper — and when confronted with my wrath, can think of nothing better than to tell the truth.
ME: “Nora, WHY did you do that???”
Nora: “Because it was fun.”
Well, there you go. And I ignore stop signs because it’s fun.
Like mother like daughter.
Tags: belly, boobies, fertility goddess, gas station toilet, honesty, Nana, Preschoolers, tampon mailbox
Used to be a Funhouse Part II
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, No One But Your Mom, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting, toddlers
Ava has decided that Mama has not lost enough marbles.
And don't doubt for a second that she doesn't take every marble I lose and put it her mouth. My marbles, as I lose them, become choking hazards, therefore causing me to lose more marbles. Are you seeing the problem here?
Ava is at a delightfully horrific age: 18 months. Only 18 short months of life, and already she's learned, all too well, how to get what she wants. The fact that she is a second child, and a second girl to boot, well… That just adds fuel to the fire. She's got to be sassier, louder, and more obnoxious than her sister to ensure she gets noticed.
She is succeeding. I have never, ever witnessed a child throw as many public tantrums, scream as loudly, or shove as brutally. Ava does not fuck around — get out of her way, dudes, or your ass is hers. The infuriating part is how goddamned CUTE she is. Yes, I know I'm her mother and I am biased, but seriously, she's adorable (looking). She smiles a lot, and has these dimples that will suck you in like black holes. She's got these enormous blue eyes with long eyelashes, a cute little button nose, and a head of light brown curls. Trust me, meet Ava and you will not emerge unscathed — she will whip you.
So. The other day was a particularly crazy one: Playdate, three-year-olds fighting over princess dresses, toys and food everywhere, and darling Ava, who just wanted someone to notice that she was there. When she realized that smacking the older kids with their princess wands wasn't working, she took an entirely different approach. She took this snow globe that plays music (with a single push of a button) and dropped it in the toilet. While it was playing. I found her peering into the john, going "UH. OH!"
Uh-oh is right, especially considering Nora had gone in the potty and chosen not to flush the toilet. The snow globe was, miraculously, still playing, and the music was muffled and… downright fucking creepy. So I fished the urine-soaked snow globe from the toilet and threw it in the sink, where it continued to play a now very sad, very off-key, very disturbing version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." And it wouldn't stop playing. Pushing the button did nothing. And when, after a particularly macabre version of "Jingle Bells," I tried to take the batteries out of the piece of shit, I found that they were screwed in, and I'd have to whip out the toolbox to get the fucking thing to shut up. Considering I was in the middle of "hosting" (ha!) a playdate, I just decided to let it run itself down.
Seriously, no one will ever want to come over again. This may actually be a good thing, since I have no furniture and generally suck at playing hostess.
Do you know, the snow globe played for SEVERAL MORE HOURS. If my home wasn't a madhouse before, it certainly became one with the sound of screaming children and super-eerie Christmas music in the background. Background? I mean foreground. Shit.
Why isn't anything else I own built like a fucking Home Depot snow globe? I accidentally drop my car keys in a puddle of water and the remote stops working instantly. What the hell?
Ava, back before she was mobile, had an attitude, and lady-with-twenty-cats crazy hair. I never thought I would miss those days…
Tags: Ava, funhouse, madhouse, marbles, playdate, snow globe
My Kids Crack My Ass Up
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
Sometimes. Mostly, they drive me batshit crazy, but sometimes, just sometimes, I laugh at something they say or do. And their little faces light up, they give me these big, goofy grins, and Nora asks, "Mama, are you happy?"
That, my friends, is a big question for a three-year-old. But since I know she means right this second, I answer, "Yes, baby, I am happy. You make me happy." And the goofy grins persist for a good several seconds… Until they do something to piss me off.
One of the cute things: No matter what they are eating — it could be pretzels, bread, a fucking rock, for God's sake — they manage to smear it around their mouths. I don't know about you, but I am amazed at this ability. I mean, how the fuck do you smear a PRETZEL around your mouth? There's nothing to smear. It's a pretzel. And yet, I promise you, there will be a brownish tinge around their mouths afterward. I really should watch more carefully to see how this evolves: How many times can you salivate on and rub a pretzel around your mouth before you actually get it IN your mouth? I should try this some day. Anyone want to join me in this experiment?
There are certain things, however, that are very Toddler Bizarre, and they make me want to impale myself on one of the gazillion princess wands we have lying around the living room. For instance, Nora will eat a cookie until there is only a tiny piece left, and then hand the crumb to me and say, "Mama, I'm finished." Um, no you're not. There's still this crumb left. For some Godforsaken reason, Nora will NOT eat that last crumb. Can anyone explain this to me? She does this with everything: sandwiches, bananas, cookies… WHY WON'T SHE EAT THE LAST TINY BIT?
Ava has entered the Terrible Two's (contrary to popular belief, this phase in Small Person development actually starts at around a year and lasts until the age of fifteen, thereabouts.) She throws tantrums — full body, fist-pounding, hair-pulling tantrums — but only if she is certain I can see her. If I leave the room, she stops trantruming, follows me, and then starts over. This would be cute if it wasn't, well, fucking irritating as shit. I swear, Ava has screamed more in the past couple months than she did the first year of her life put together.
I'm sure I'll come up with more stuff later. I'll keep you posted (HA! GET IT? POSTED? Yes? No? Maybe? Shut up?)
I need a No-Doz.
Photo by Brungrrl via Flickr.
Tags: eating habits, food, No-Doz, princess wand, tantrums, Terrible Two's
Pirates On the Brain
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Preschoolers, Womanhood
So as many of you know, I have been writing an ongoing serial over at The Noble Pirates. While it is fiction, I do a whole lot of research on the subject in an attempt to make it as historically accurate as possible. As such, I have become obsessed. My pirate obsession has led to me neglecting my baby Mommy Brained. I'm so sorry, MB. You are not the redheaded step-child, I swear. You are my first, and I will not neglect you any longer.
It is probably not necessary to tell you that I dream about pirates, see pirates wandering around the mall, see the word "pirate" on street signs and billboards, and hear it spoken by people ALL THE TIME. Usually, they're saying the word "prior" or "pyre" or something. Anything that begins with "p," if I'm being honest with myself.
Nora has gotten used to accompanying me to the bookstore or library and has begun to ask me, "Mama, are you looking at pirate books again?" Even the three-year-old understands that her mother is fucking nuts for pirates. My knee-high boots are now my "pirate boots," and Nora routinely grabs sticks off the ground, slashes them in the air (or at Ava) and says, "AAAAAARGH! I'm a PIRATE!" I can already see her in therapy years from now, talking about her mother's abnormal fascination with 18th century criminals, and how it impacted her desire to date bad boys. As obsessed as I am, if Nora or Ava showed up with a guy who looked even remotely like a pirate, I'd call the police immediately. And then they'd scream at me, telling me it was all my fault to begin with.
My pirates have even begun to take over my marriage. Poor, poor TH. I know he'd like to accuse me of some sort of infidelity, because I talk about my pirates the same way a tween talks about the Twilight dudes (you know, with stars in my eyes, eyelashes fluttering, heavy breathing, nipple-rubbing). Really quite sad. It's gotten to the point where I can't even compliment TH without some pirate implication hanging over my head: Today, TH was looking particularly scruffy and unshaven, and I said, "TH, you look ruggedly hot today." Immediately he said, "Why? Because I look like a fucking PIRATE?"
Sheesh. Calm down, people. I'm writing a novel about pirates, but I'm not PSYCHO. Well, not completely.
On an entertaining note, TH has begun to sneak onto my laptop to add his own creative thoughts to my manuscript. It's actually REALLY annoying, but also damned entertaining. This morning, while I was showering (cue porn music), TH hurriedly sat at my laptop, probably snickering like a naughty kid, and added a couple lines to one of my chapters, including: "Howel asked Sabrina to strap one on and lay seige to his poop deck."
Granted, I was laughing for far longer than warranted. But seriously. He needs to stop. Ok, not really. But he definitely needs to put his erotic lit in a different color font so I don't ACCIDENTALLY publish it online.
So TNP readers, you are forewarned: If you should suddenly come across some soft (or hard) core porn while reading about the various sailing rigs, know that it's *probably* TH hard at work.
If the lawyer thing doesn't work out, he's always got a future in erotic literature, I guess.
Tags: Ava, erotic lit, Nora, pirates, The Noble Pirates
I Wish I Made This Stuff Up
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting, sleep
Nora is not sleeping. Ipso facto, neither am I.
At the ripe old age of 3, Nora's developed a healthy fear of the dark, being alone, and her bedroom. Now, as you all know, I am an avid supporter of sleep training. Of babies. Who can't talk and make you feel bad for being a terrible, horrible mother and human being. And who may end up psychologically scarred but won't have a long enough memory to know why. (What?) Nora remembers everything, and Nora knows exactly what to say to make me cave in to her desires. For instance, "Mama, I need you! Mama, don't leave me! I'm so scared! I LOVE YOU!"
Damn it all to hell. Who can resist that?
It all started with a pathetic bout of swine flu, that landed her in Mama and Dada's room. Since then, she's been terrified of the rain, of the "creature" in her room, of pretty much everything and anything that keeps her out of our bedroom at bedtime.
So now. I'm sleep deprived, Mommy-time deprived, and have what I think is the beginning of the swine flu. Remind me again, why do people have kids?
Today I had an eye exam with the guy who did my LASIK, just a run-of-the-mill check-up to make sure my eyeballs are still functioning properly. So I packed the girls and my sleep-deprived, tentatively-swine-flu-ridden ass to the doc, wearing sweats, not a smudge of makeup, and no deodorant. (For the record, I usually wear deodorant. It's just that today I forgot. What? As if you never forget to put deodorant on. What. EVER.)
Murphy's Law. It's the single most important law to remember when you become a parent, because it is the one that will rule your life. So the girls are having meltdowns, I look like shit, and lo and behold, I'm given the "new doctor" at the clinic to see, who, I kid you not, looks like Tom Cruise. And not the psycho, Scientology, PPD-bashing Cruise, but the young, hot, before-fame-went-to-his-head Tom Cruise. As a matter of fact, this guy looked better than Tom Cruise, because he was tall and really well-built.
I have one thing to say: WTF???
I think that clinic has some sort of policy, that it won't hire a male doctor or nurse that doesn't score at least an "eight" on the sorority girl Hotness Scale. So I'm sitting there, no deodorant, Ethiopian-faced children in tow, trying my best to sound in control of… well, my life? And as Tom Cruise asks me about my now-bloodshot eyeballs, Nora wanders over to the lever that control the chair I'm sitting in and WAP! the back of my seat moves out from behind me and I'm suddenly lying completely flat on my back.
Oh, Tom Cruise laughed. Shit, I couldn't STOP laughing. It was all just too… convenient. Like something out of a Ben Stiller comedy, where you sit there thinking, "Come ON, can't that guy get a single break? If I had his sort of luck I'd just shoot myself."
The day has not gotten better – naturally. I just spilled a glass of water on my beloved Macbook, and I think it's official: Today is NOT a good day. Fuck you, today. You suck ass.
Tags: hot doctor, LASIK, Murphy's Law, Nora, sleep deprivation, Tom Cruise
I Love Bears
Posted by admin | Filed under FYI, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Uncategorized
I'm sure I'm not alone in this: As a mother, I tend to read things incorrectly, assuming that everything is sweet and innocent and child-friendly. Yes, even I, the June Cleaver anti-Christ, tend to think this way. While everything used to have a sexual connotation back when I was childless, having the potential to make me snicker like a twelve-year-old pimple-faced boy, my FIRST reaction to things nowadays is different.
That being said, my innocent first impression lasts about, oh, three seconds before the sick pervert in me emerges. It really depends on whether my kids are with me, whether TH is there to reinforce my dirty thinking, etc.
SO. One day TH, the girls and I were running our Saturday errands as a family in the "artsy" part of town when I noticed that that the little Honda in front of us had a rainbow-colored bumper sticker that read, "I love bears". My reaction? "Aaawwww, that's so sweet! I need to get one for my car, because goodness knows Nora and Ava LOVE bears. Especially teddy bears."
TH glanced at me to see if I was serious and, seeing that I was, felt the need to destroy what little innocence I had left. He informed me that "bear" is gay slang for a gay man who is hairy, manly, and looks like a lumberjack. HOW TH knows this, I don't know. I'm trying not to think about it.
For you other uninformed mothers, TH is not kidding about this.
In any case, I still want that bumper sticker. With the bumper sticker and the chrome truck balls, my kid's school may ban me from parking in front of their church.
Tags: bears, gay, gay slang, June Cleaver, truck balls
Blue’s Clues (Booze Cruise)
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Womanhood
So I'm currently watching Blue's Clues, like I have a choice in the matter – it's either Noggin (Oh, excuuuuuse me, I mean Nick Jr.) or football.
But anyways, Both Steve and Joe are on this episode. I've never seen them together before. Didn't Steve have a cocaine addiction or something? Not that I blame him. I mean, come on. Imagine having his job.
But the thought occurred to me (because I'm a sick, sick individual) that if I absolutely HAD to have sex with one of them, like my life depended on it, who would I choose? I mean, that's a no-brainer, right? Joe. Don't you agree? Or am I missing Steve's bad-boy edge?
Although in the land of preschool TV, Anthony Wiggle is by far the closest to being worthy of female attention. And then after him, Sportacus. Without the mustache. Am I missing a preschool TV hottie potential?
Do you think they grin like idiots the whole time? Bopping their heads to music and breaking out in song?
I'm gonna go vomit now.
Tags: Blue's Clues Steve, Joe, sex, Sportacus, vomit, Wiggles
Rain, Rain
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Uncategorized, parenting
I live in one soggy-ass city.
So singing about the rain has become commonplace when driving in the car with the kiddos. The problem is, I don't know the words to any nursery rhymes, not a single blessed one. So the other day I started singing:
It's raining, it's pouring! The old man is snoring. He went to bed, he bumped his head, and he didn't get up in the morning.
Wait. What? That can't be right. Now I know there are lots of nursery rhymes and fairy tales out there that are fucked up, because back in the day people sang about the Black Plague and death and getting eaten by wolves to their kids. But to sing about an old fart hitting his head and dying? Surly I got it wrong.
Wikipedia, here I come. Right. For the record, the old fart “couldn’t” get up in the morning. A little better, I suppose, but still fucked up.
Tags: Black Plague, children's songs, rain
I’m Sorry, WHAT?
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Womanhood
I have never considered myself “old.” As a matter of fact, I feel like I’m an eighteen-year-old dipshit trapped in the body of a thirty-something mom. I mean, really, when did all of this happen? I wonder if people always feel this way as they age, like what the fuck? There’s no way I’m forty, or fifty, or whatever. Because I still laugh at fart jokes and can’t cook a decent meal to save my life. What’s more, I’m messy, self-absorbed, and still pick my wedgies in public if I think no one is looking. Or even if I know people are looking. FINE: Especially if people are looking.
However.
A few days ago I got a flier in the mail from my OB/GYN that advertised “Vaginal Rejuvenation.” I wish to God I had kept it so I could post a picture of it here, but I think it got thrown away, probably by my trash-happy husband. (For the record, TH throws everything away. He’s the anti-pack rat. He has a particular fondness for tossing MY mail, MY pictures, MY doodles. Seriously, I’m surprised I haven’t ended up in the trash bin yet.)
But anyway, yeah – vaginal. Rejuvenation. Two questions: 1. What the fuck? and 2. Who the fuck? When I saw I’d received something from my OB/GYN I expected something like, “Hey, girlfriend, it’s time for your pap smear,” or “Heeeeeey, girl, want some birth control?” But instead I got, “Yo, old bitch, your vagina is saggy and your husband is probably sad about that. Get that shit fixed pronto.”
Now, I have no idea how much a vagina lift costs, but I can think of eight million things I’d rather spend my money on. Really. No one can see your flabby labia except you and your husband, and if said husband is so bothered by it that he insists you get your va-jay-jay lifted, REMIND him that you’ve birthed his fucking children, thank you very much, and that he can just eat shit.
Really. Some nerve.
That being said, if your bits hang down low, wobble to and fro, and YOU can’t stand it, then by all means, get it, er, rejuvenated. But don’t get bullied into it. All those labias in the magazines? Air-brushed. Really. And another thing: Why are you looking at these magazines? Replace it with a subscription to Good Housekeeping, please.
And now I must apologize to my male readers for the vagina talk. Unless you enjoyed it, in which case, you’re welcome.
Wow. Vagina talk really makes the F Bombs fly, huh? Good times.
Tags: Good Housekeeping, OB/GYN, old, old people, vagina, vaginal rejuvenation
You Had Me At “Scrotum”
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized, Womanhood
A long time ago, I decided that the man I married had to make me laugh so hard I'd lose control of my bladder.
All women have a list of criteria for the man they marry: Smart, successful, attractive, blah blah blah. Sure, all of that is important. But to me, having a ridiculous sense of humor is essential. Back in my dating days, I usually nixed guys based on that single attribute. If a couple dates went by and he didn't make me laugh – and I mean really laugh, not fake ha-ha – then I'd lose interest.
At first, I thought TH was a square. We met in law school, and while he was unbelievably smart and good-looking, I really thought he needed the stick up his ass surgically removed. It wasn't until I spent some time with him (grudgingly) that I realized the dude was Funny. His sense of humor was dry and he wasn't a chucklehead, but my God he was hysterical.
It was love at first trickle.
And even though he does a shitload of stuff that drives me nuts (see last post), he reminds me time and again why I married him.
Last week, when we were driving back from his parents' house (a long, miserable, endless 3-hour drive), we were talking about pointless things, mostly to pass the time. The conversation started off blandly, but ended with me begging him to pull over at the nearest gas station, I was laughing so hard.
We'd been talking about how there was a job for everything – a person who boxed chocolates for a living; a person who made metal doo-dads for this, plastic doo-dads for that; a person who spent the whole day putting frosting eyes on a bear cookie… You get the idea, right? So we're talking about this, just trying to keep ourselves from falling asleep, really, when a big truck (this is Texas, after all) zooms past us. As it growled past us, we noticed it had testicles. You know, those chrome balls for trucks. I can think of only one type of person who would go out and purchase a pair of nuts for his truck, and it's not the kind of person I'd want to hang out with. It's actually the kind of person I'd enjoy running over repeatedly with my car. It's the same kind of person who'd stick a Confederate flag to his back window.
Anyhoo, TH said, "There's even a person who manufactures and sells truck testicles for a living."
ME: "You think they say 'I make truck testicles' if you ask them what they do for a living? Or do they try and make it sound like they do something so technical we wouldn't understand?"
TH: "Yeah, they probably say they're in the 'vehicular scrotal industry.'"
VEHICULAR SCROTAL INDUSTRY.
Nora and Ava, who were sitting in the back, watching Elmo, almost started crying because Mama wouldn't stop laughing. Not just that, she was screaming at Dada to pull over.
Tell me that's not hysterical. Ok, fine, I'm easily amused. But it works out well for TH – except that I ruin carpets, leather seats, etc. Poor bastard can't take his family anywhere without a change of clothes for his daughters AND his wife.
Happy Monday, people.
Tags: balls, dating, humor, nuts, pee-pee, single, TH, truck testicles
