ihaveanopinionidliketoshare

thoughts on life, parenting, news, and crazy shit

Month: May, 2015

The Terrible Twos Got Nothing On The Fucking Fours

Whatever anyone tells you about the “terrible twos”  is nothing.  I don’t know how it got such a bad name.  Sure. This is the age where a kid learns to throw a temper tantrum, but they’re still kinda a baby, right?  It’s not really that big of a deal.  We just put Buddy in a 30 second time out and try not to laugh at his pouty little face.

So says the mom of an almost four year old.   Yes.  We are entering the affectionately named “Fucking Fours.”  And the “Terrible Twos” ain’t got nothing on those.

It’s like it happened overnight.  All of a sudden, the fits are monumental.  Instantaneous. Ridiculous. Loud.  Frequent.

There is door slamming and tears and screaming.  It’s like a tiny teenager is stuck in there but can’t get out.  And it is very very angry that It has to wait to go to the park until Its brother wakes up from his nap.

The the little brother wakes up and goes to the mini-Hulk-teenager thing and tries to comfort it and promptly gets hit in the head.  And then I get mad, because he didn’t fucking do anything, and now both of them are screaming.

So, although I am not opposed to spanking…..I use it occasionally and feel like a parent has to have this in their arsenal, I did spank her then.  The official rule is “we don’t hit each other in this house”  but in this case and eye for an eye felt appropriate.  I asked her how she felt about being spanked, and she said it hurt her.  So I asked her if she thought it hurt Buddy when she hit him?  I asked her if she thought that he was crying because she hurt him and he didn’t like it either.

I don’t know if it worked.  She seemed to get the point at the time, but seriously, yesterday was bullshit.

Everything is a struggle.  Eat your breakfast.  Take off your pajamas.  Put on your shoes.  Stop jumping on the bed.  Don’t strangle your brother.

In fact.  Strangle me.  I  will gladly volunteer as long as you finish the job.  Because if today is another day like yesterday, I’m looking at a slow, painful death or maybe a stroke.

Why are little people so psychotic sometimes.  OMG.  Is she psychotic?  Or just almost four?

Please pass the tequila.

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If You Ain’t Cheatin’ You Ain’t Tryin’.

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twitter.com

Fucking Tom Brady and the Goddamn Patriots.

I could almost leave it like that and let you all take turns either ranting about it or blindly defending the poster boy for the NFL.

By now, even if you aren’t a football fan, I’m sure you have heard at least bits and pieces of “Deflategate”.  The time when our all-American dickhead fucked around with the footballs in the NFL playoff game against the Indianapolis Colts.  Apparently, the balls were found to be under inflated, and this can potentially make them difficult to handle.

And if he wasn’t the one who actually did it, he supposedly knew about it.  I mean, football players in the NFL aren’t even capable of pouring water in their own mouths on the sidelines, so I doubt very much that it was Brady who lowered himself enough to fuck around with the equipment.  However, he HAD to have known about it, so that he could either practice with the balls that way or compensate for it on the field.

Regardless.  The Patriots are cheaters.  Remember “Spygate”?  When they hired people to try and get other teams playbooks?

Maybe the evidence is circumstantial.  I don’t give a shit.  We’re talking about a multi-million or billion dollar sports team who cheat.  How sad is that?

And here’s the thing that really burned my tits.  A local pub has been selling “Free Brady” beer, protesting his 4 game suspension for his role in the whole mess.  Way to have integrity folks and get behind a worthy cause.  There are a million things in this world you can get behind and support, and this is what you choose?  Fuck you.  I don’t care how loyal a sports fan you are.  This is bullshit.

And there is all speculation that the money raised from the beer may go to help the Patriots pay their million dollar fine?  Disgusting.

If this happens, and the Patriots have any good sense at all, they will donate it right back to a sports charity for kids or something.  Try to save a little face and redeem yourselves here.

I don’t know.  Sometimes, it’s better to just admit you fucked up, did an asshole thing, and are sorry.

And never do it again.  But I’m sure they will.

Cause if you ain’t cheatin’, you ain’t trying, right?

It’s All Fun And Games Until Someone Pukes In The Bed

theocddiaries.com

theocddiaries.com

The thing about having little kids is that you totally can’t plan for shit, Bitches.  I mean, you could, but it always gets fucked up.  Always.

So what I do is think about what I’d like to do, but prepare for all the ways it’s going to get ruined  and be ready to solve those scenarios.

For example, I never ever leave the house without a bag full of snacks, drinks, diapers, and at least one change of clothes for each child.  And by snacks I mean enough food to feed a small troupe of children because my kid is ridiculously friendly and offers to share a lot.  So, I better have the goods to back up her claim, right?  It’s like I have a baby bug out bag ready for the apocalypse at all times.

But on Sundays, my one day “off” I can’t seem to shake this unrealistic expectation that everyone will go to bed early so that I can have enough grownup time to eat some appetizers, drink some fancy wine ( not the boxed shit I use during the week) and watch Game of Thrones.  Or Walking Dead.  Or whatever else is on that I can’t get away with in front of the kids.

And so, by assuming that everything will be easy, I seem to jinx myself.  Every fucking week.  Sunday is the worst bedtime in the history of bedtimes.  I need to lower the bar.

Husband was working yesterday, but it was beautiful out and we kept busy putting the garden in and playing with the Destroyer’s new pony set.  Buddy was his usual happy self, following us along and copying everything his sister does.  We got muddy feet and dirty hands, a little sun kissed and had a great day.

I didn’t have to yell at anybody for the whole day.  Isn’t that amazing??

To my surprise, Destroyer wanted me to put her to bed instead of Husband, so he went off to put Buddy to bed.

It was all going perfectly.

And then Buddy puked all over the fucking bed.  My bed.  And all over the pillow.  And all over the floor.  And all over the dog bed.  How is there that much puke in one baby?  I’ll tell you how.  Let him eat a man size serving of manicotti as a bedtime snack and then gun a toddler bottle full of milk.  One big belch and its game over.

How do like Co-sleeping now, Dr. Sears?  Because I was really loving it until the puke.  Until I let my expectations of a smooth day ruin it for everybody.

Somehow despite the laundry and the cleanup and the frustration, we still had our plate of snacks and some bubbly wine.

But for fuck sake.  Just one day of not anything stupid?  Is that a thing?

No. You Can’t Have Sex With Your Brother.

Hands down the most horrifying part of parenting is when they start asking the sex questions.  Or the boob questions.  And the how did I get in your tummy questions.  For someone who is so keen on vagina talk first thing in the morning, this part of parenthood has got me all turned around.

So, naturally, I turned to Bestie for help.  I informed her that sex education was her job and that she better get started because the Destroyer was starting to ask questions.  NO problem, right?  Bases covered?

Kinda.  Bestie’s mom went out and bought this:

51CfqZn7tvL

Great. Now she’s got an age appropriate porno to look at.  And the questions keep coming,

“How did I get in your tummy?”

” Daddy put you in there.”

“Did he cut you?”

“No.”

“Then HOW?”

“Through my vagina ( God help me).”

“But HOW?”

” With his penis.”  And that, folks, is when I wished I was dead so hard that I actually looked up into the sky and waited for the lightning bolt to hit me.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, she was in the bedroom while I was getting dressed the other day.  We’re kinda whatever about nudity in this house, but my plan for that being the limit on sex education is down the toilet.

“When I grow boobs can I have one of those (a bra) to wear over them?”

“Sure.”

“How come I have those nipples?”

So you can feed a baby one day after your boobs grow.”

” Is Buddy going to feed his baby too?”

No.  Boys don’t use their nipples to feed babies. Their job is just to put the baby inside the mommy.”

WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THIS AGAIN?  I CAN’T DO THIS.  KILL ME.  PLEASE.

” So when we grow up Buddy will put the baby in me and then I’ll feed it?”

No.”  GOD NO.  YOU CAN’T HAVE SEX WITH YOUR BROTHER.

“Why not?”

You can’t make babies with your brother. He’s your brother.”

“Home come?”
BECAUSE THAT’S HOW LITTLE ASSHOLES LIKE JOFFREY BARATHEON GET MADE, CERSEI.  OH MY GOD WHERE IS THAT FUCKING LIGHTNING BOLT?

I seriously ran out of answers. I’m a music teacher. I don’t so sex ed.  It’s not in my contract.

Bestie, we’re gonna need some new books.   Ones that explain why you can’t have sex with your brother.

Happy Friday, Bitches.

Paying The Motherhood Fine

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Whoa.

It’s been a long time.  I feel like I’m dusting off my writing bicycle on the first day of spring.  And I might just get a little messy on my first ride.

And by messy, I mean that I might just piss a whole lot of people off on my very first ride in a million years.

I’ve been thinking of coming back to my dear blog for a while, but I don’t always get that precious time to myself in the mornings and I needed the right inspiration.  Well, I found it today in my very own local newspaper:

Read “The Motherhood Penalty” from the Winnipeg Free Press.

So, the article talks about the wage gap between men and women, despite some women being better educated and having higher employment rates, they make less money.  In particular, women with children.

Well, DUH.

Yes.  Women who are having children are more likely to work part time.  They are likely to step back from there careers a bit and may not pursue promotions.  Not every woman, but a lot of woman.

Because last time I checked, having a baby is a lot of fucking work.  Unpaid work.  It’s exhausting.  Physically, emotionally, financially, fucking exhausting.  I’m not sure where the discrimination is when a woman chooses to put her child and her family before her career for a little while.  It’s called choice.  And, like every choice, it has it’s pros and cons.

Look, I’m not saying that a woman should earn less for being a woman.  I believe we are entitled to take a maternity leave and be confident that our position will be there for us in return.  However, if you are gone for a year and a raise and/or promotion is missed out on, I believe that it is part of the sacrifice we make to have kids.

Yeah.  It sucks.  But raises are usually performance based.  Would you like to be evaluated on you diaper changing skills and ability to decipher baby grunts and cries?

I am one of those self employed mothers who didn’t have the privilege of taking a full maternity leave.  With each one of my kids, I returned to work after a short, self funded leave and then my husband was able to take paternity leave from his job.  And let me tell you how I would grade my performance while in the first 4 years of my children’s lives:

Not awesome.  Maybe “satisfactory”.  As in, I showed up, I did my best, but my best was certainly not as good as I used to be. I felt stretched so thin that I was sucking balls at everything I did.   Only now that I am done (mostly except for the insane part of my brain) having children do I feel like I am emerging from the haze of 4 years of sleep deprivation and near drowning.  I feel like I am back in it.

And if I were my employer, I certainly would not have wanted to take that mildly retarded, short tempered, barely in it employee and offer her a raise and a promotion and a handshake.  Was it my fault?  Not really, but sorta.

But you know what?  I’m the one who decided to have kids, and not one time will I ever regret things I passed up or missed out on for having kids.  It’s the price you have to pay.

In defense of the employer, they need to have the best person for the job and keep their interests in mind as well.

And as a mother, well, you just don’t get this time back.  A very wise and gracious colleague once said to me that “You will never regret passing up work to spend time with your kids”  Because work you can always get back. There’s always another opportunity.

So, yes.  I think there is a motherhood penalty.  But I don’t think it’s a penalty that employers are dong to punish you for having kids necessarily.  I think that every path we choose comes with sacrifice.  And when it comes to having kids, I will take those sacrifices easily.

Although I think we have the right to have it all, I’ve said a million times that it is just not realistic to give 100% to all things all the time. Making a temporary rebalance in your life is not discrimination.  It’s being a parent.  Even when you have full time childcare or nannies, parenting is all consuming.  And you know what?

It’s ok.  Really, really ok.

Anyone got some Hot Titties over this?  Would love to hear both sides of the coin.

AfterOtis

Written by Natalie Oldham

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