Damn You

Potty This!

I can't take it. I must be the world's biggest Dummy.

She's just not ready yet. According to the book above anyway.

She'll be three in less than a month, but she's just not ready. I am reading now that her physical development is just not mature enough. She can't won't get on and off the pot, she can't won't undress/dress herself...she holds it in for hours in her panties...but will NOT sit on the pot when she hasta go... Which means her emotional development is also not ready. I am getting frustrated.

Yesterday morning, deep into late afternoon, she held it all in the entire time she was in her panties. I put her in her pull ups for a nap at around 1:30 PM and not a second later...the dang pull up needed to be changed. What the? She's too smart for our own good, I think.

She knows when she hasta go. She wore panties all weekend...Until we had to go out or nap. She held off until the pull ups came out. It was a waiting game. I waited for her to have an accident or actually go in the pot when I put her there...and she waited (patiently) for the pull up to surface.

Ugh. Double Ugh...Triple ugh.

Adios Kittenstein...Is the dog next?

This is an e-mail I sent to a friend telling her about the sicko cat we had for almost a year...I don't understand my luck with animals. I can't seem to bond with the four legged fur-balls. I dunno, maybe it's me?

This happened about a year ago...
But the memory still haunts.

"The cat...Oh the cat....the cat has left the building! Yup, we got rid of her. OK...here's the situation...don't laugh too hard especially if you are at work....:

Fa and I were playing with her instruments that she got for her birthday. She had the drum and I had the kazoo. Well, we're playing and laughing and carrying on when all of a sudden out of nowhere....The cat comes running in, BARKING and howling and hissing at me. She was hissing and yowlling, her fur was on end, her ears were back and her tail was thick. I panicked. I grabbed SF and locked ourselves in the bedroom.

She's screaming, I'm screaming the cat's screaming. It was like Cujo for cats. The cat wouldn't let us out of the room. She guarded it and growled when I tried to escape! Then, she calmed down a little so we left our confines but then, she blocked the stairway. The bitch wouldn't let us go up the stairs. Fa's room is upstairs. We're all still screaming and then....Fa throws up all over the couch. I got her so upset that she puked. Now I had to clean the smelly, regurgitated big bird cracker-stained couch with an evil cat on my tail. I was so scared....The scene was so evil, I was walking around with a broom for safety...Every move I made the cat would lose it and try to pounce. I never heard sounds like that before...Like a lawnmower with a frog caught in it. I called the animal shelter and they didn't want her either.

Six hours later...BD came home. The cat almost jumped him too. He got her to calm down and we locked her in the laundry room. She stayed there all night. She was afraid of me. I guess she associated me with the kazoo....Every time she saw me she snapped again.

Needless to say...Adios kittenstein....

I always hated this cat...

OK now you can laugh"

The dog just might be next...One more accident and Adios Pupster...

So I get this e-mail this week

I am a member of Parent Center online. It is a very helpful resource for first time and experienced parents. I love getting updates on Fa's milestones and goals for her age group. This e-mail gave me douche-chills though...

No sillies, not the nap part...I can deal with 'quiet time' in her room, just as long as I get a break too...

Did you catch paragraph three??? Here, I'll paste it here for you so you can really get a good look:
"Being interested in the differences between girls and boys is a normal part of growing up. Try not to react with shock or horror if you find your child in the midst of an anatomy check with another child. Just let both children know that penises and vaginas are kept private and steer them toward another activity. They'll probably be relieved, since they may already have some sense that the game they were playing is taboo."

What the? It starts this early?! For Christ's sake. I can't deal with that. Now, I know if you've read this post...you know I am all for being honest and real when it comes to 'life lessons'. But three? Holy Canoli people. I don't think I'm quite ready for honesty that early...I need a drink.
__________________________________________
Also, she still refuses to pee or poop on the potty. I am trying all sorts of negotiation tools. Cookies, m&m's, Littlest Pet Shop Pets, Rubber Gloves...(Yes, rubber gloves the kid likes to pretend to be a doctor, ugh...see above) Nothing. Jeez this kid has a stiff constitution. She will be the girl who walks down the aisle in a Depends.

Turkeys, Ornaments and Memories...Oh, my!

This is a long one...Come back when you have time unless you are in the mood for a good vent.


Jesus. The holidays are upon me. Here we go again. It seems I can't get away from dealing with this shit. There is a point throughout every year when it all just has to get dealt with. From the 'Hat Trick' to the Holidays. I'm never away from it.

Thanksgiving is my Dad's favorite holiday. He loves turkey and he lurrves that crazy cranberry-can shape-globule. You know the one, he practically begs for it every year. I love spending time with him and Thanksgiving is no different. It's just that with Fa, now everyone wants to get a hold of her for the holidays and there is just not enough time in the day. I miss him during the holidays when I am not with him. And I am not the 'social butterfly' that you may all think I seem to be...hee hee. I like it quiet. At all times. Even the holidays. I have reasons.

I am a hermit and the holidays just make me shake. With all the people and touching and hugging and kissing. Ugh. And they don't even do it to me. They do it to poor Fa. Who also hates being mauled. I hate seeing her so uncomfortable in the crowded atmosphere of the holiday table. I get that 'Mamma Lion ready to pounce on anyone who makes her cry' feeling in the pit of my stomach. (And anyone getting in her grill makes her cry too). It makes me so nervous.

I have read in all the parenting mags that forcing your child into a crowded situation does not make her more comfortable. People must keep their distance and let her warm up. But no one wants to hear it. I want to cry. I know I make it worse because she feeds off of me and she knows when I tense up in these surroundings. Then, she gets just as tense. I try to breathe deeply and reassure her that its okay, but inside I am a tangled mess of sickly intestines and she knows it. Damn intuition.

Then, after turkey day. "The box" comes out. My therapist knew this box well. It took a long time to acknowledge "The Box". I didn't have a Christmas tree for years and when BD and I were living together and he finally wanted one, we only had lights and bows. I didn't want to deal with "The Box".

You see, it is filled with all of the ornaments that I had as a kid. The same ornaments that my Mother held so dear to her heart. Every year, she'd pull out "The Box" and reminisce about her past and show me her favorites and listen to Johnny Mathis on the record player while she happily put up the tree. I loved that day. I loved seeing her happy! Tree trimming day. We would watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and all those other Christmasy shows with "Rudolf" and "Charlie in the box" at the Land of Misfit Toys. Then, we'd slap Johnny Mathis on the record player and get to work. Every year, I wished that day would never end.

Well, boys and girls. That day does indeed end. And then, it leaves you with hurt and sadness and grief and you never want to see that "Box" or that day again.

Until Fa came along. I had to get "The Box" out. I dreaded it. But it was inevitable. I had to spice things up during the holidays for her. Her birthday is 5 days before Christmas so I had to get in the spirit. It sucked. I hated it. Especially the first Christmas when she was five days old. I was a mess of ppd. Damn, you couldn't even look at me or I'd cry. But then, the next year it got a little better and so on and so on. This year, I want to start new memories, but I don't have anyone to ask how to do that. All of my holiday memories are stunted. And memories of my Mother are vivid but few. How do I create a happy place for the holidays when I am not feeling so happy about the place I'm in?

These days, I can take out "The Box" without hysterics. However, that feeling in the pit of my stomach always returns. I am torn. I want Fa to enjoy the memories that we make together but why does it have to hurt me so much? Will it ever get better? Or should I say, will the pain ever get duller?

I pray Fa understands that she is my air and she is what makes me tolerate another holiday season. I do it all for her. Holidays are brighter because of her and I cherish her for that. Now, how do I create some really special memories for me and her to share? How do I create memories that will dull the sadness in my heart and bring a smile to our faces throughout the holidays and beyond? How do I teach her that memories are a great resource to go to when you are down, when my memories bring me so far down?

Oh the grossness!

Today's topic is 'foods that I love that others think I'm crazy for eating'. Well, you see, I am a picky eater so my post is gonna go the other way. There are certain foods that just really make me gag that other consumers in the circle of life find quite normal to eat on a daily basis.

For example, red meat. Red meat of any of the normal variety, really. Hamburgers, steak, veal, meatballs. ugh. It makes my skin crawl. You see, when I was younger, I ate red meat. I loved cheeseburgers and french fries. Then one day, I got one of those gritty little-ballies in a burger, you know..the gristle. The thing that is so tiny yet so horrifically disgusting when you are taken by surprise by its hardness. Yeah, one of those. I swore off burgers forever.

Then, as I got older and started taking note of what I put in my body, the whole idea of cooked flesh just weirded me out. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not all for "saving the cows" I know they are there to be consumed, its nature. I wear leather (rowr) and I have black & white, calf skin cowboy boots...(I know you're jealous now) I am not a member of any of those "save the fill in the blank's" and I think that red meat is a great source of iron and protein. I just don't wanna eat it.

This however, causes a great deal of raucous in many houses I visit for dinner. I don't understand why! Just because I can't eat the pasta with the meat sauce you cooked because I taste the meat flavor or the veal shank you prepared for hours because the bone sticking out just makes me quiver. Don't get so upset. I'll eat plain pasta. I eat chicken too...(even though when I think about what it is really, I get queasy, so I try not to think about it) I'm not all that hard to please. Salad works just fine too. I even sometimes bring my own turkey burgers or chicken cutlets to bar-b-q's just in case. (I have been caught with nothing but hot dogs and burgers one time too many!)

Don't panic though. I'll eat before I get there if you want. I can gladly eat a bowl of rice or cereal if you truly have nothing else. I just don't like the taste or the smell or the texture or the idea of red meat. That's all. I am a picky eater. But I don't think dinner hosts should freak out every time I come over. I am very flexible...Just as long as it hasn't mooed, baa'd, oinked, quacked, meowed or barked before you got your hands on it. Now is that so bad?

Typical

Me on the phone: Dad, turn on Dr. Phil! He has hoarders on. You hafta see this.

Dad: (struggling to find the power button on the remote) Hang on. Shit. (stumbling) These damn machines. Where's that button? Nothing is ever easy...When you think it's gonna be easy...it's not. There. (long silence) What is this?

Me: Hoarders dad. Like you.

Dad: What?

Me: You know, pack rats. People who save every-frickin-thing and don't throw anything out. Like you. I thought you should watch this.

Dad: Oh! 'Hoarders'...I thought you said 'Whores'! This isn't interesting, what else is on? Where's Spongebob?

The way I learned it.

When I was about 7 years old. I was in the bathroom with my mom (a usual occurrence) and she had "Aunt Flo"; she called it "her friend". I asked what it was and the answer flat out: I have my period. The conversation led to a woman's menstrual cycle and why we get it and what happens when you get it. Which led to "the birds and the bees".

Once again, Mom was real and honest and didn't use 'baby' terms for anything. Now, looking back I am grateful that she didn't sugar coat anything and that she was real, open and honest. I literally could talk to her straight about any-thing! One of the many of my mom's best qualities.

She used the technical terms for everything and she whipped out different books geared towards teaching children about sex. I have them still, I just can't find them. They looked a lot like this site here. (pretty graphic for a 7 year old) One book (that I can't find online) was called "Before You Were a Baby" by Paul Showers. I still have it in my basement. I plan on using it when the time is right.

I am all for explaining it the way you feel most comfortable. Some people find it difficult to talk about certain topics like how and why you 'do it'. But like my mom, I am most comfortable just saying it. (when it comes to this stuff) I hope when the time comes and Fa is inquiring, I'll be ready and willing to share the secret.

I remember moments like this with my mom and I miss her terribly. I wish she was here to talk about other things like being a Mom and family and well, sex. I am thankful that she taught me certain things but regretful that she still can't be here to teach me more. I always respected her outlook on things. I still wish I was like her.

I remember one time, I was in maybe 7th grade and I was talking poorly about some chick, I don't even remember her name. Wait, yes, I do. But I won't tell you. She approached me and asked if I was talking about her. I admitted it and said I was talking about her because I hated that she "did so and so things" (I think she was just a bitch) and not many people liked her because of it...even the girl that told her I was talking about her hated her. I was shitting my pants but she didn't know it. It ended there.

I went home that day and cried to my Mom. I was upset that the other girl, "my supposed friend" ratted me out and that the chick I was talking about had the balls to call me out. My Mom's advice: "Fuck 'em. Tell both of them to go shit in the woods and tell them to stay far away from you or they'll be sorry. And if you have to, get her down on the ground...they are all the same size as you when they are on the ground." Uhm, OK.

So what did I do? I did what Mom told me to do, of course. Was I shitting? Yes. Guess what happened after that? I was the coolest chick in the 7th grade (for a while anyway). No one fucked with me and everyone wanted to be my friend. And I didn't even have to try to drag her ass to the ground. Yes. Sweet Success.

My Mom was a tough chick. Once, she pulled some lady out of her car and beat the shit out of her for a parking spot under the "El" in Long Island City. The cops came and had to pull her off the woman. Mom had the woman's thumb in her mouth and she was biting down on it and she didn't even realize. She grew up in the Queens Bridge Projects and fought everyone. If you know NYC, you know the Projects. You don't wanna be there. She beat the piss out of boys and girls, she didn't discriminate. After she fought with them and totally kicked their asses, they became her friends and protected her.

I always valued her toughness and hard ass. I wish I was like that. I pretend to be, but I'm not. That's the way I learned about life. I hope I can be as tough for my daughter. I hope Mom's toughness spills into her, my toughness is flighty and unreliable. Our mouths are exactly the same though.

But I did wind up getting my daughter an extra lovey...just in case.
I told you I'd do anything for her.

e-mail From Gerber

I am shit out of luck from Gerber...This is the e-mail I received today.

Laundress,

Thank you for your e-mail and telephone call.

We have checked with our warehouse but there were no pink gingham diaper style burp cloths left in stock. We are sorry to disappoint you.

We are taking this opportunity to send you some coupons which we hope you will find useful and will help offset your disappointment.

Best wishes from your friends @ gerber.com.
________________________________________
Good thing for K and her Southern Belle Sista.

By the way...there were no coupons attached to the e-mail. Boo, Hiss...

Burpgate

Well, I won the burp bid! Yay, me. I can't say I'm excited. I was so stressed over it, I feel like it is almost a let down now. All that trouble and what?

I had to overpay way more than my orignial bid because of the 'wonder-brain' who out-bid me the other day. I swore I was winning those suckers...on principle. I still think they may not be the right ones. Now, I'll just wait and see.

I spoke to a kind lady at Gerber.com today and she is going to research the discontinued items for me and get back to me as soon as possible. I begged and pleaded with her. She felt terrible for me and SF.

I am waiting for the other kind woman that I found over at that 'bidding-arena' to let me know when her cloths are ready. I ordered 4 from her...they aren't the right ones either.

All I can say is if Gerber doesn't get back to me with what I need so desperately to hear. I am screwed. Fa is screwed. She will ultimately learn that you can't always get what you want...or what you need for that matter.

More updates to come.

****It just keeps getting better...
My bestest buddy K has located two (2) yes, t.w.o original 'Gerber Baby Pink Gingham burpies' all the way from Alabama. Thank goodness for her crazy family down south. They happened to have them...whoo hoo and yee haw. Thank y'all so very much. They are in the mail coming to my house as I type.

I also have 4 pink gingham burp cloths made from a sweetie on e-bay and I'm still waiting for the other burps I bid on yesterday!!!

All's settling in nicely here at Burp Central...for the time being.

Where's all the burp cloths?~Part Deux

Thank you all so much for your concern and care regarding my daughter's lovey. I wanna hug you all and have you over for chocolate chip cookies.

I am waiting to win this precious bid. I found out that the person bidding against me is someone I kinda know. That's what I get for putting feelers out to people 'I think' I know. I'll leave it at that. You can make up your own stories in your head about how I feel about that. Your ideas aren't half as great as the real way that I feel. I haven't acknowledged it yet, for fear that this person might be slightly mental? It's just a very weird scene. I am totally weirded out here. I'll just say, what mother out there that's a quarter normal would try to take away another child's comfort? Knowing full well how important it is...

I also came in contact with another woman who actually makes them. (I won't even say where I found her for fear that I might be sabotaged again.) She has four pink gingham burps that I told her I want...desperately. I am waiting for her reply. Then, in desperation and on the verge of shaking, I e-mailed Gerber and asked them if there was any way they could supply me with the actual frickin' burp cloth that is from their company. I am waiting for their reply too.

So, that is where I am at this moment in time. I appreciate all of your support. Thank you for showing me that I am not a freak and thank you for helping me see that this is an important object in my daughter's life that as her mother, I should fight for. I will get her these burps, if it is that last thing I ever do. Moms all over the world understand me.

Except maybe for one.

Where's all the burp cloths?

I am in deep shit.

Fa has this burp cloth that she can NOT live breathe without. She sleeps with it, eats with it, takes it every-fuckin'-where. She adores this thing. We used to have two of them. Then my bestest buddie K gave me her daughter's final (and not needed) pink gingham burp cloth as a backup. We had three. I was confident and secure. Then, I lost one a few months back in the mall. But I was all, "Ah, what's the big deal? That was the spare anyway! We have two more!"

Now, I can't seem to find the farkin' second pink gingham backup burp. I am in deep shit.

Don't get me wrong. I do try to offer up others as substitution. We have at least 30 different colored burp cloths. Purple, Green gingham, flowered burps, teddy covered burp cloths, plain white-with-spit-up-stained burp cloths, "Super Pink Burp cloths"...But I only have ONE, single, solitary pink burp cloth. The Queen of all the burps. "Pink Lady", the love of her life. The one and only.

It is filthy.

We take it everywhere, she sleeps with it. It has been dragged on the floor of home depot while we look for doors and doorbells to ring. It has been lost in Whole Foods where we had to backtrack down the aisles to find her. It/she has been stepped on, peed on, fed and wrapped around our heads. It is a mess. Fa won't let me wash it/her.

So, last night was the final straw that broke the burp cloths back. I stole it. I washed it. I dried it. Fa was not privy to my deceit. She looked all over the house for it though. We played "hide and seek" with it and pretended not to know where it/she was. We kept looking for it. All the while, I kept checking the load of laundry to see if it was ready yet. I sped up the spin cycle in the wash to quicken up the process and shorten her anxiety. I dried it with lightening quick speed and let it cool off for a millisecond before handing it back to her. She is smart, she knows the feel of 'just-dried burp cloth' and she doesn't like it. As she was watching Oswald on the couch, her before bed ritual, I handed it to her with a smile. She was none the wiser. I won that battle, but I surely didn't win the war.

What about next time?

Needless to say, I have a bid on "that wonderful online superstore" for the only pink gingham burps I can find in creation. Apparently, they are not being made anymore. I can't find them anywhere. I better win this bid. If anyone out there overbids me for these burps, I'll hunt you down, and chew your head off and piss down your neck. That, my friend is a warning.

I am desperate. I am in deep shit. I'll do anything for a pinkie. Hell, almost anything.

**Updated**
Some motherfucker just outbid me by 50 fucking cents. I'm going to find this prick sucking bitch and slap her with a burp cloth.
**Updated again**
Hmmm....very interesting coincidence.
**Updated and Overrated**
I am currently the highest bidder on the burpies. Seems to be a 'very familiar' name bidding against me in "Burpgate". I investigated and it seems with "friends like these, who needs enemies?'...stay tuned.

Chocolate, you cruel confection.

I hate you. I love you. I wish I could bathe in you daily. Go away. You are making me crazy. How do I enjoy you in small doses without slopping on 5 extra pounds? You are cruel, do you know that?

Now get out of here and don't come back. Wait, just one more bite.

No! Leave. Leave now. I hate you. Why do you do this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this treatment from you? All I want is some love and attention. And a little sliver of your tasty morsel now and again. Why do you tease me so and make me devour you uncontrollably, in chunks!

Just a taste and then be off...I can't bear to watch you walk out that door.

Goodbye my love. See you next year.

I curse therefore, I am.

So what?

But, Kate got me ta thinkin'. She is trying very hard to curb her colorful language and I think that's a great idea. For her. I see her points about cursing in front of the kids and I wish her all the luck in the world. I admire her for admitting she has to try to stop. I know it will be difficult because I have a mouth like a drunken, pirate hooker. I do. Big D thinks I do it to get a rise out of him. I really don't.

Some say it's a lack of vocabulary skills, I disagree. I have a fantastic vocabulary and I am a phenomenal speller (not typer).

Others would argue that foul language is a bad example for children. I can agree, somewhat. I mean I didn't curse at or in front of my past students and I try hard to curb my expletives in front of other people's kids. I slip up occasionally, but not usually. But, it's not my job to teach other kids how to curse...let their parents do it.

When I'm home or comfortable or just being 'me'. I swear, I curse, I use foul language. I do.

Fa hears it. I feel a tad bit bad for it, for a split-second. She is young and impressionable and hears Every-Thing! She repeats things. Then, we giggle. We igonore it. We say that Mommy says bad things and she shouldn't. But it's me, and I can't help it. And it really is funny to hear her say "R crapped in his crate again." or "We hafta throw my shit in the toilet."

When I am in public, she sometimes asks if she could "touch my bosoms" because we always say "Don't touch Ma' Bosoms!" when we are joking around. We laugh. I "bite her arse" and play "babbaloo on her bum". She breaks out in hysterics. We use 'funny' language as a tension release when she is tantrumming and I say; "Aw, cut the crap!" She cracks up.

When I'm mad I say, "oh shit" or "fuck!" or "Damnit to all that is hell" or even "Your mother's balls". When I am happy I say; "hell yeah" or "Hot damn" or "Wholly fuck" I have even been known to say; "Shit on my rake and call me Uncle" or "Slap my monkey and call him Shitburger" or my all time favorite "Balls"... We pee ourselves with hysterics. When someone cuts me off on the road, I call him an asshole or a prick. I may even give him the finger. Well, what else should I say? "Oh, snufflepuffs, you cut me off dear lad...I'm so sorry sir, was I in your way? I promise not to ever be in your lane ever again." (fucking shit head) That pisses me off. Oh wait, I'm sorry, That really burns my britches. Is that better? It may sound better to your average prude but I don't talk that way, and Fa will know the difference.

Cursing is so benign in the grand scheme of things. There are other worse things I could be doing. Crack comes to mind. Cursing lets us laugh and be silly. It helps to get out emotions. It lets each other know we mean business.

Admit it, home is where we can be ourselves. Fa has to learn that there is a time and a place for everything. This goes for kissing, hugging, arguing, cursing and even farting...another joy in life. She has to know that she can't call her teacher a fuckface just because she is one. Face it. When someone says "fuck you, fucker" it stings. Words hurt, curse words too. So she needs to be taught the acceptable platforms that allow you use such language. She needs to learn when and where to use these colorful words.

We learn to be polite, to hold back, to speak our minds. We learn not to pick our noses, we learn not to eat with our hands. We also should learn curse etiquette. I curse at home. I also use other ways to express joy, anger and sorrow. But cursing just feels good. I curb my tongue out of the house only because others have this mentality that 'cursing is bad' or 'cursing is evil' and I am raising the 'froo-its of evil' by cursing in front of her. C'mon. I learned when to curse (from my mother), so will she. My mother also taught me about "the birds an the bees" with a very cut and dry demeanor. That's for another post. Stay tuned.

Fa's only going to be 3 but she hasta learn some time. Should I wait until she's in school and some shitty kid is cursing at her and totally freaking her out? No, I'll arm her with some witty comebacks, good vocabulary and a little colorful language to spark things up and if any little prick decides to be mean, she'll put them right in their place. It will take trial and error. I'll probably get some phone calls from school. Then I'll meet with with principal and tell her that we do have alternative ways to express ourselves and Fa and I will work on them. And on my way out of the office I'll call her a douchebag under my breath. I truly believe that cursing is a way of life. My life especially. And if Fa decides she hates foul language, than more power to her.

We should embrace colorful words and let cursing be. The more we try to hide it, the more taboo it becomes and then Fa will really be looking for ways to use it. Now, I'm not going to be able to keep her away from all things taboo. I know that. And I surely wouldn't give her drugs or teach her how to inhale to show her the dangers of drug addiction. But, I will have to teach her about healthy choices and making smart decisions. Is cursing such a bad decision?

Oh, Fuck it!