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
Kiddie Ambien
Posted by admin | Filed under Motherhood, Preschoolers, parenting, sleep
I know what you’re thinking: WHAT? WHERE? Do I need a prescription??? If so, can I use my meth lab to make some?
Relax. It’s Children’s Benadryl. God, I love that shit.
Anyone who has a three-year-old will agree with me, I promise. Because bedtime has become a horrible, terrible, drawn-out nightmare that won’t end, even when I go to bed myself. I have never seen a human being fight sleep so vehemently, so desperately. It’s one of God’s little jokes: Just when you get to an age where sleep is this heavenly escape from the daily grind, you have a baby. And that baby sleeps poorly at first, then really well, then… becomes a three-year-old, this demonic, sleepless, talking thing that won’t shut up. Ever. I’ve had to shut the door while Nora was mid-sentence, talking about every single thing she has ever learned in her short life. It’s constant, nonsensical, and will drive you mad if you listen to it long enough.
During the day, I think Nora’s motor mouth is cute. It’s adorable. Most of the time. Her voice is high-pitched and chipmunk-like, as is her cherubic face. It only really gets to me when it cuts into my downtime. If she is still blabbing past eight at night, I stop thinking it’s cute. Because that is an almost-solid 13 hours of hearing about ballerinas, swimming pools, hearts, butterflies, princesses, unicorns and Wow Wow Wubbzy.
And THEN begins the struggle to keep Nora in bed long enough to fall asleep. Every five minutes, she’s calling. “Mommy, I need to go potty.” (She doesn’t). “Mommy, I need my bunny. The one with the pink nose.” (She knows damn well we haven’t seen that thing in months).
“Mommy, I need socks, my feet are cold.”
“Mommy, my fan isn’t on.”
“Mommy, I’m thirsty. And hungry.”
“Mommy, there’s a bat in my room with red eyes.” (This one is particularly hard to deal with, because I’ve watched too many horror flicks and am far too impressionable. What if there IS a bat with red eyes in there? Fuck, I’m sleeping with the lights on).
And God forbid TH and I go to bed before she’s asleep. She sees that living room light go off and goes nuts. And wakes up Ava. And then we’re all fucked.
So night after night, we increasingly become overtired, because no one is sleeping, not me, not Nora, not TH. (I should give TH major props here, because he is the one who deals with Nora in the middle of the night. TH, you are an amazing father. And there’s no punch line… You’re just an amazing father).
Enter Baby Ambien. I was at the end of my rope, and so I called Nora’s pediatrician, who is this hip, young mom herself, and begged her to help me. She told me to buy some Children’s Benadryl and give it to Nora for a few nights, until she got caught up on her sleep. I didn’t think it would work. The first night, I gave her the appropriate dose and tucked her in as she rambled on and on and on about her friends, her favorite TV shows, what she was going to say tomorrow… And then started to slur her words, her eyelids slowly dragging shut. I watched, a big smile on my face and waving bye-bye, as she tried to fight off the effects of the Benadryl… to no avail. She was in La-La Land in under ten minutes.
And slept through the whole night.
Oh, shit.
So now, my question is this: how many is “a few” nights? Are we talking like five days? Two weeks? Until she’s ten?
I have to talk myself out of giving her the Bendryl 90% of the time. Because it truly is amazing: No Benadryl, up until way past MY bedtime and every two hours until morning, or Yes Benadryl, down at eight and asleep until seven – at a minimum.
I am a terrible person that I even think about knocking my kid out with drugs every night, I know. But seriously. Spend a week with Nora and you’ll be ready to give her bourbon, if that’s what it takes.
Fine: Rum. Yes, I’m obsessed with pirates, and would give her rum. Now shut up.
Tags: Ambien, Benadryl, Nora, sleep, talking, Wow Wow Wubbzy
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
This Used To Be a Funhouse
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Womanhood, parenting, toddlers
Now it's full of evil clowns.
Actually, now it's full of toys, garbage, and children who are far too clever and devious for their mother's good. No clowns, thank God. That would really be the icing on the cake, if I had to deal with evil clowns on top of everything else. I'd really need some heavy meds — and serious weapons — then.
So clowns aside, this place really does teeter on being an insane asylum on most days. From the moment they wake up, my girls make it their mission to destroy any sense of order or sanity in our home. Nora even tells Ava, "Come on, Ava! We have work to do!" I think she picked that phrase up from Wonder Pets (if you don't know what I'm talking about, consider yourself a lucky, lucky bitch or bastard), but it is so appropriate in context, I have to smile. The "work" my little hellions have to do is destroy, demolish, and then cackle cruelly as Mama frantically tries to undo the mess.
They take things out of drawers, cabinets, any sort of container, and seem to take particular joy in creating disorder where there was once order. It's not like they are taking specific things out to play with, they are just flinging shit over their shoulders as fast as they can possibly manage. God forbid they manage to reach a box of cereal or rice or flour in the pantry — if I don't catch them in the nick of time, it will be everywhere. Toilet paper rolls — holy shit, if I am so stupid as to leave a bathroom door open, Nora will unroll at breakneck speed and Ava will be mummified, only to eat her way out of her binding. Yes, that's right, Ava eats toilet paper. And she revels in it, making sure I see her tear off a piece and deliberately put it in her mouth. As if to say, "Watch this, Mom. I'm eating paper. Whatcha going to do about it? HUH?"
Nora, at three years old, is a bit more controllable, since she understands right from wrong, and that there will be consequences for her actions. (Am I a spanker, you ask? Hell, yes. I haven't had to do it yet, but I wouldn't hesitate if I thought it necessary). Nora has also developed a devious way of getting around punishment: She becomes immediately remorseful, saying, "Mama, I am so sorry! I am so, so SORRY!" And then she flashes those big blue peepers and stretches her arms out to me… Yeah, try and spank that, you black-hearted wench.
Ava, on the other hand, doesn't give two shits and a piss, and will wreak havoc at every opportunity. If her sister is in it with her, all the better. But if not, she can manage fairly well by herself. When I scold her, she has one response: She screams at the top of her lungs. No, not cry, SCREAM. Like an angry, defiant battle cry. And then she flashes her even BIGGER blue peepers at me and a fucking dimple, for God's sake…
I was such a GOOD kid. Where did I go wrong?
I blame TH's rotten genes. Better that than my mothering, right?
And now, a vintage ad, because it made me vomit a bit in my mouth:
Tags: Ava, evil clowns, hellions, insane asylum, Nora, spanking, toilet paper
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
Hands-On Mom
Posted by admin | Filed under Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
Oh no, you're thinking. Is this another post in which Mimi / Admin / Whoever the Fuck I Am rips certain types of moms a new one? BINGO!
Just kidding. I think being a mom is hard, and no matter what you do, someone is going to rip you a new one. Really. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: So long as a child is loved, the rest is just details. They may not grow up to be completely balanced adults, but truth be told, I have yet to meet a completely balanced adult. Do they exist? I think it's an urban myth, this well-balanced adult bullshit. The more "well-balanced" an individual tries to look, the more fucked up they actually are, if you ask me.
Back to ripping moms a new one. Right. So I don't mean to talk shit about certain parenting styles, because in the end, we're all trying to do the best job we can and keep our kids out of therapy. I think we can all agree on that. BUT. There is this certain type of parent that is driving me batty, and I just want to grab her (or him), tie them down, and yell, "STOP! JUST STOP, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!"
The "hands-on" parent, or, the parent that won't let their kid do ANYTHING on their own.
You've seen them at Gymboree, at the park, on the playground, in the classroom: They hover over their kids, directing every move. "Don't touch that, don't do it that way, do it THIS way, you're doing it wrong, this is how you do it, be careful, watch what you're doing, no, nononononono! YES!"
When Nora was around two-ish, I took her to an art class. And there was this mom I was dying to taser. The kids were supposed to be making hand puppets out of paper bags, but considering they were TWO YEARS OLD and couldn't follow instructions to save their short lives, they were smearing glue everywhere, coloring out of lines, making a mess of the yarn and paint… This mom was apoplectic. She could not deal with the fact that her two-year-old didn't understand that she was making a puppet, and dear God, the yarn goes on the head, and no, don't put the glue THERE!
I have a bit more sympathy when it comes to safety, because I tend to go overboard with the "be careful's". But as TH points out, sometimes I need a fucking chill pill. He'll tell me, "It's OKAY if Ava falls trying to climb that little step, because she'll just fall a short distance and she won't hurt herself – badly." Of course, TH takes the concept to a whole new level, as he doesn't seem all that concerned if Ava crashes down two flights of stairs and gets a bloody nose.
But back to my point. I see these parents everywhere, doing these bizarre, over-bearing things that make me cringe. There's this mom whose twins are in Nora's class, and I swear to God: I get there in the morning, she's there instructing the teacher on what her kids can and can't do, eat, etc. I get there in the afternoon to pick her up, and she's there asking the teacher about her children's every move. I'm beginning to think she never really leaves, she just hovers at the window, watching.
There's this other mom, who drops her kids off at the gym childcare center often at the same time as me. She comes in with this long list of things her boys (who are both over the age of five) can and can't do. "Keep them away from this, make sure they don't do that, if they get thirsty please let them drink ONLY from the cups I brought, NOT from the water fountain…"
For real, lady? Is all of that necessary? I mean, you are going to work out for HOW LONG? And you're afraid that they'll climb the jungle gym and MAYBE enjoy themselves, or drink Houston tap water (a legit concern, I must admit), or… WHAT?
To these two women, I'd like to say: If you're really THAT worried about your kids, then don't send them to school or childcare at all. Just sit your over-protective asses at home and keep your eyes glued to your kids, to make sure they don't do anything you don't like. And then, when they turn thirteen and can't take your ass anymore, they'll rebel with a fury and leave you stunned, confused, and feeling betrayed by the children you so "lovingly" raised.
What do you gals think? Am I being a crazy bitch? Don't answer that – it's totally off topic…
She looks FUCKING TERRIFIED. I don’t blame her.
Tags: art class, Gymboree, hands-on parenting, moms, over-protective
I Am NOT A Princess
Posted by admin | Filed under Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
And I don't mean that I personally am not a princess, because HELLO, it's what's on the inside that counts *snort.*
I mean that Nora always wants to be a "princess," whatever the fuck that means, and throws a fit if, for some reason, she deems herself not worthy of the title.
For the record, I blame Disney. Seriously, folks, stop pushing the princess bullshit on little girls. Cinderella, Snow White, Ariel, Jasmine, Sleeping Beauty… And it's not like your daughter will ever go unscathed, regardless of how much you try and protect them from this crap. Even the modern, educational Nick Jr. has the princess undercurrent to its shows. Princesses are beautiful, wear fluffy gowns, are adored by everyone. And let's not forget: She gets Prince Charming. You know what I'd like to do to Prince Charming? Kick him in the balls. Oh wait, I can't do that, because HE DOESN'T EXIST. Not in the sense Disney would have you believe, anyways. (Yes, TH, you are my Prince Charming, calm the fuck down. You know what I'm trying to say here.)
I've always wanted to see what happened after the "happy ending." You know, once the honeymoon is over. Cinderella nags the shit out of PC, PC then has an affair with one the more slutty step-sisters. Cindy finds out, smashes the windshield of his carriage with a… er… golf club…
Back to what I was saying. Nora is convinced that if she isn't wearing a dress (preferably a pink one), then she is not a princess. Tantrum ensues. If her dress has long sleeves (because it's fucking freezing outside), she pushes them up over her elbows, because if they are not pushed up, she is not a princess. Tantrum ensues. If her hair is in a ponytail, she is not a princess. If I don't let her spritz my perfume on (continually until she's suffocating me), she's not a princess.
Tantrum. Fucking. Ensues.
So over Thanksgiving my mom (aka Nana) got Nora a cute little festive outfit of red turtleneck and striped pants. She was fine wearing the turtleneck (so long as the sleeves were pushed up) but refused to wear the pants. When I insisted she put them on, because the entire family was there and a three-year-old running around in panties is, in my opinion, inappropriate, she began bawling, "But I'm NOT A PRINCESS!"
To which I shouted, "You can be a princess EVEN IF YOU KEEP YOUR PANTS ON!"
Which reminded me of the time she wouldn't even keep her panties on, because they were blue, not pink, and I had to tell her, "Good girls keep their panties on."
*Snicker.*
Please. JUST STOP. Photo by Armadillo444 via Flickr.
Tags: Cinderella, Disney, dresses, panties, princesses
Mortifying Confession
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Preschoolers, parenting
I actually like a Fresh Beat Band song.
Please don’t hurt me. *Cringes, waiting for the blow*
Every time that “Freeze Dance” song comes on, I find myself grooving. Jesus, someone give me some Vicodin and a glass of vodka to wash it down immediately.
Tags: Fresh Beat Band, Vicodin, vodka
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 Don’t Like Children
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Womanhood, parenting
Oh, I am SO going to get lynched for admitting this.
I was never the type of woman who went gaga over kids. To be honest, I was never very good at being a kid myself, so I find it hard to understand why kids do the obnoxious things they do. Like I told you guys before, I was raised in a fairly strict household, and I obeyed my parents like a soldier. Normal? No. But even at the age of eight, I couldn't make sense of the kids screaming obscenities at their parents or doing off-the-wall things to get attention. It drove me nuts then, and sure as fuck drives me nuts now.
I feel more or less the same way about babies, although I am far more forgiving of a screaming baby than a screaming child. Babies have that innocent, sweet, I-just-want-you-to-love-me thing going that makes me melt. IF the baby is cute. Terrible isn't it? I openly admit that I am a bad person.
Now, all that being said, I adore my own children. As they grow from sweet, trusting infants to tantrum-ridden kids, however, I am finding that, while I still love my girls more than life itself, I STILL DON'T LIKE KIDS. A few weeks ago some six-year-old girls were being mean to Nora for no reason (I know, I was watching closely — she just wanted to play with them), and they started telling her to go away, get lost, that she smelled. Oh. My. God. It would have been one thing if Nora was annoying them, but she wasn't. She was smiling and following them around in a hero-worship sort of way.
It is not an exaggeration to say that I very nearly smacked each of those little sassy-ass bitches-to-be just to see them cry. And then hunted down their moms and smacked THEM for being sassy-ass bitches who are bad role models for their daughters. Arrest me. And let me tell you, if I ever caught Nora or Ava doing that sort of thing to a younger child, I would smack THEM just to see them cry. Then smack MYSELF for sucking as a woman and a mother. It would be one big smack fest.
Go ahead, hate on me. Then remember that, truth be told, I don't like very many adults either.
