A very enlightening post from Bucket List Publications on being happy, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
I know it’s been awhile since I have posted, lets blame it on the fact that I ran out of coffee.
So, I was laying in bed last night, letting my boisterous brain do it’s nightly thing and run wild till I passed out. I have no idea where the idea came from but I started to think of all the awkward moments of parenthood. I’m not talking about going to Wal-Mart while wearing banana in your hair or when your tot repeats his favorite F- Word during Thanksgiving dinner. I’m talking about the really gritty moments, the ones that make you go online and look for new neighborhoods to move to. This led to me wondering if I was alone on this odd, and sometimes painful, trip down memory lane or if perhaps my most awkward reflects were a common occurrences in the crazy world of parenting. I listed my most embarrassing and amusing moments just for you entertainment. Please, ignore the sobbing.
5. Who Hasn’t Seen My Who-Ha?
Some people think pregnancy is a very beautiful, majestic thing. I, on the other hand, think it’s not only disgusting but also embarrassing. During my whole pregnancy I didn’t see the wonderful, beautiful pregnant women everyone else saw. I saw a fat, bloated, gassy, messy looking women with nice skin. I was impressed with the whole process, a human being made in my uterus, but the new changes outside was one hot mess. Childbirth was even more humiliating. I told my mid-wife how worried I was about accidentally farting in her face, or even worse, pooping on her when the time for delivery came around. Not to mention I saw videos of how it looks down there and it is not pretty, don’t care what you say. But yes, people looking at your Vajayjay is part of being a women.
So there I am laying in the stirrups, baby freshly popped out, awaiting to hear the details of the damage done, when I hear the twenty nurses (exaggeration, it was more like four) yelling, “Sir, you can’t be in here.” See I told the birthing staff that I didn’t want anyone in the room besides my husband and necessary medical personnel. My father, in his moment of pure eagerness and intense excitement, decided to follow the sounds of screaming grandchild and ran into the delivery room. Instead of being greeted by the sight of his beautiful granddaughter; he got front row, million dollar view of my who-ha being stitched up. There is some people who SHOULD NEVER see you from that angle. Good news is I didn’t poop.
4. Dinner Party Pooper
So let me set the scene for you. My husband and I needed a civilized meal around civilized people. So we went to the Olive Garden(the best we could come up with). We were forced to take our little bundle of joy with us due to the lack of available sitters, plus this would give me a chance to show her off. Several people had commented on how well-behaved our little pasta eater was being, which just added to the nights relaxing, quiet dinner we were enjoying. We were about half way through our dinner when our little one decided to let herself go and by let herself go I mean her bowels. This wasn’t a little, quiet “oh no someone needs a diaper change.” This was a catastrophe. Not only was it loud enough to alert the whole room of patrons but immediately after the long, echoing resonance, a putrid wind blew through the dining room. My face turned the color of my marinara sauce. I grabbed the dirty culprit and ran to the bathroom for relief, observing the dirty looks we got all the way.
3. Baby Gone Wild
My tot is a little on the anti-social side. The flat fact is she doesn’t like hardly anybody. So I figured if I took her to play with kids more often she would drop the hatred of outsiders and get more comfortable. Being it was still winter, the only place suitable was the play area at the mall, a place where I could sit and enjoy a book while letting my tot run about on soft and only slightly contagious play equipment. I was feeling pretty good about myself, watching her toddle around with other kids, shyly closing in on them. I then started to hear laughter. Not child laughter, adult laughter. I looked up to see my darling one year old, standing in front of a group of manly men, flashing her little chip chips. I was paralyzed by the incident. I know she was just trying to show the men her new-found belly button but this was not the time nor place or the people to show. All I remember was trying to lighten the moment by yelling, “Riley Paige, this isn’t Girls Gone Wild!”. Again, I found myself scooping up my trouble maker and fleeing the scene of the crime. Before the question even comes up, no I did not teach her that.
2. Getting Handzy in the Produce Aisle.
I definitely learned my lesson with this one. My tot and I were shopping at our local Sam’s club a little too close to nap time. Only about half way through our shopping trip, she began fussing and was wanting me to hold her and what not, so I decided to cut the trip short and just go to the produce aisle to grab some fruits and veggies before heading out. Well there I am, trying to pick the best bag of oranges when I felt a hard tug on my neckline. I looked down and my darling had ahold of my shirt, thank god I had a tank top on underneath it or someone might have gotten a peak at my melons. I tell the handzy little one not to do it again and move on to more fruit picking. A moment later I feel another tug, this time she had success and grabbed both my shirt and tank top. I snatched my shirt out of the little hands and repositioned myself. I then looked up to evaluate my surroundings in hopes no body saw me baring my produce. I looked up to lock eyes with an older man not five feet in front of me with a look on his face resembling a teen age boys after watching the girls gym class run the mile. I knew he had seen it all and I knew he was hoping we were in the frozen food aisle instead. Again trying to make light, I smiled and tastelessly joked, ” You would have though she was a breast-fed baby, huh?” By that time the humility had reached my legs and I high tailed it to the check out. When I got home I realized the oranges were rotten.
1. Dora the Self- Explorer
This one isn’t as much as embarrassing as just plain awkward and uncomfortable. My tot loves to take bathes. I pile the tub with toys and take the opportunity to clean the bathroom while I am stuck there. I often give her a couple of my shampoo bottles or face brush to play with when she gets tired of her usual toys. Well, in the middle of scrubbing the floor I hear her turn on my face brush and start laughing. I assumed she had found it amusing that she had figured out how to turn on the unusual contraption. I giggle along and say, “Did you figure it out honey, it feels funny doesn’t it.” I was horrified when I looked up to see she had turned my facial hygiene technology into a sex toy. I was mortified. I grabbed the vibrating brush out of her hand and put it up on the shelf, not saying another word. But it doesn’t stop there. It keeps going on, with her rubber ducky, a wash cloth, her own hand. I know it’s not sexual and that it is a normal process for children but I can’t help it, being the prude I am, to just cringe in disgust. I am starting to get used to it and now every time she does I say something like, “Yes, that’s your girly parts.” or ask her, ” Are you cleaning your special place?”. All while deep down in side praying my daughter doesn’t grow up to be a porn star. Well, now that you know my most embarrassing parenting moments and wonder what the hell I am teaching my child, I want to hear from you. What are some of your most awkward moments?
Alright, I might have had a misunderstanding with this whole having children thing. I was under the misguided consumption that having a new pair of little hands around the house would mean an extra set of hands to sweep the floors, pick up toys, fold clothes, and wash windows. More down time for this momma. Oh oh oh, was I delusional. Don’t get me wrong I am very proud of my little tot, she loves to help her mom around the house but can I really call it helping? Well let’s just take a look at the photographic analysis of her so-called helping hands.
TIP # 8 . Children do not make good housekeepers but they do make interesting ones. And don’t brag about your toddling handy helper being your housekeepers, that might bring the child labor laws up.
No, this post is not about oil or even about that
idiot Sarah Palin. Sorry for the disappointment
If you haven’t already guessed it by the image above, this post is about the trip that everyone dreads, the dentist. I have heard women would rather go have a complete stranger examine their who-ha then go get their teeth checked. Okay, maybe I’m alone on this one but I find the dentist rather delightful really.
When I was a child, my mother didn’t push dental hygiene as strongly as she should have. I would go days without brushing and I have never even flossed until about a year ago, nasty I know. But surprisingly, I have never had a cavity and every time I got checked out the results were always the same, other than needing braces, I was healthy. UNTIL! Until after I had my mini me. Yeah, this really ticked me off. First, I get stretch marks then I have a human crawl its way out of my vagina and then this man, in tight but strangely attractive scrubs, tells me I must have eight teeth that needs to be drilled. Once I hit my teens, I stopped being such a skank and took real good care of my teeth but evidently it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t too scared, I mean hell, I went through childbirth like a freaking champ, I could definitely take this.
I figured I could suck it up and knock all eight out with one miserable trip. Oh no, they informed me that it would have to be in four different trips, so I reluctantly scheduled my first appointment. As I turned to walk away from the receptionist’s counter, the kind lady called out “Ewe, good luck hun.”.
Ewe, good luck? That’s all I thought about on the drive home. Good luck? Was it that big of a deal to get a fill? Did she have little faith in her co-workers abilities? Was that strangely attractive man in the tight scrubs even really a D.M.D? Thank god the drive home is very short or I might have had an anxiety attack.
So, the day of my atrocious appointment came. I started it out as a normal day but my tot decided to add to the hell with being downright difficult. She was fussy, uncooperative, and doing everything in her power to be…just…bad! Parents, you have probably been there. So needless to say, after that type of morning, I was welcoming my dental rendezvous.
I entered the lobby and sunk into an oversized, leather chair and took a breath. Now normally people would be on edge at this moment.
They called my name and I headed back. Laying back in the chair, listening to Ellen on the TV, and watching the studly dentist dance above me as he chisels my mouth, I was the most relaxed I have been in a long time. He finished and I feel a huge disappointment, I had to go back home.
TIP #7. The dentist is the new spa.
Sadly, I’m just begging for more cavities just to get some dentist time.
I haven’t posted a while because I was in hiding but sadly, in bed under the covers wasn’t a good enough hiding place because that sneaky, clever birthday found me anyways. Yes, I am speaking to you a whole year older.
In my household, I try my hardest to not make a big deal out of that one time of the year. Why yes, I AM one of those women that turn into huge babies when they grow older. I spent the bulk of
my birthday morning bathing, plucking those pesky grey hairs and lathering on the miracle cream known as moisturizer. Now, if you know me you know that it takes me a whole ten minutes to get ready; throw on some clean clothes, brush the teeth and pull the hair up. So this unfamiliar beauty effort really confused my husband and put my daughter in a particularly wonderful mood. But once I felt I had accomplished erasing the last twelve months from my declining beauty, I just had to seek out the approval of my dear daughter and loving husband. My husband, being the wise man he is, commented on how slim I looked. My daughter, on the other hand, didn’t catch on as easily. Here I thought that my darling, sweet daughter would be able to console me, mainly because lately she’s been shaking her head no to answer everything under the sun.
question: Do you think mommy looks old and ugly?
disappointing answer: Yes, mommy ugly.
Yes, happy birthday to me. But I think the saddest part of all of this is that I only turned twenty-six.
TIP # 6. Unless you can handle the truth, don’t ask your two-year old their opinion. It might result in tears and an empty ice cream tub.
My birthday presents included:
- a heart wrenching insult from my toddler
- a raw hamburger
- a litter of kittens being birthed on my couch
- a new niece and
- a really comfy sheet set
But I wouldn’t change anything because I got to spend it with the family, insults and all.
For today, I had planned on publishing a witty and sarcastic post about going to the dentist. However, with today’s events, I decided against it and took a more sobering route.
The horror at the Boston Marathon today really had me thinking about my daughter’s future and to be quite honest it scares the living hell out of me. What type of world are we up against now a days? To me it seems like every day the world gets more careless and cruel.
As parents, our main purpose is to keep our children safe and healthy until they are grown and able to care for themselves. We make sure they eat right, we make sure we have the safest car seats and cribs and we make sure they do good in school and so on. We try our damnedest to keep our children’s best interests in mind. But with shootings, bombings, and increased illnesses, how are we supposed to succeed? We ourselves are helpless to certain situations, how are we supposed to help the helpless?
All I can say now is that my thoughts are with the victims and their families of the Boston Disaster.
I love reading everyone’s Q&A posts, so I decided to join in on the fun. I mean after all I am here to hand out my expertise in household orderliness or what not. Since I’m not that popular just yet, I had a little help from friends on the inaugural questions. So here we go the first ever:
Keeping whites their designated color takes time, time I really don’t want to spend doing laundry. But if you just can’t seem to part ways with the color, then I advise you to invest in a lot more time and laundry products and follow these tips.
- Wash whites separately.
- Add a booster such as bleach, borax, etc. Use oxygen bleach, chlorine bleach will turn whites yellow.
- Pre treat stains. You can use designated stain removers, liquid detergent, dishwashing liquid or even shampoo to get out sweaty and greasy stains. Just take a tooth-brush and rub the solution into the stain.
- Soak the heavily stained stuff.
- Use color removers (bought in the laundry aisle at the store) when the whites start to look dull.
- They make laundry products specifically for water supplies with high iron. The high iron will leave not only your whites nasty but will turn your shower and toilet reddish.
Well readers, this is a good question that I hear people ask all the time and I thought about this a lot myself. Everyone is different and prefers different things so I can’t give an exact answer on this one but I can give you low down in this dysfunctional household. Since we have cluelessly started a family, the inferno that once was our sex life fizzled down to one of those glow sticks you would find at a rave, the next morning. What helps? I have noticed the sexy little things about my husband. The thing that really gets my burner lit is when I walk into the kitchen and find him unloading the dishwasher, talk about HOT! And if he decides to take it one step farther and reloads it back up, it’s like Skinamax all up in here. So yeah, fornication still isn’t frequent in this duo, but that just makes it even more fantastic when it does. If that answer still isn’t good enough then maybe you should read this blog by Danielle from Keeping Up With The Holsbys.
Okay, I just had to choose this one because it was so specific and I wondered about this myself when I was first trying to figure out this thing called child rearing. I started off on the whole “TV Bad” bandwagon because yes I was afraid that I would be starting a horrible habit and later on in life I saw my little one sitting on the couch eating Twinkies and not being so little at all. It was a very frightening and blatantly disgusting. I, like most moms, want my little one healthy and happy. Then I learned what it was like to try to do ANYTHING when you have a child. I then learned to turn on the TV and drag some toys out. My kid is not just sitting in front of the TV all day; she is up running around while watching bits of TV or dancing to the TV while I’m cleaning house. So no, I do not think TV contributes to overweight children. I think lazy parents contribute to overweight children. Children are sponges, they learn by examples and if your children don’t see you up moving around then they will do the same. Get your kids up and out, keep them moving. As for the imagination part, I disagree again. I claim to add amazing actress to my long list of titles, don’t burst my bubble, and I get my inspiration for roles from my imagination and my imagination is often fueled by what I see on TV.
For a short answer, no, I disagree with you my dear question asker.
Do you have a question that you are just itching to know the answer to?
Do you have an issue you and need advice?
Did google let you down again?
Well ask this Housewife!
Enter your question below
“Riley, don’t lick the dog!”
Sadly, that is a true quote and a real frequent incident in this household. If you have read any of my previous rambles you have probably heard me type about Hurley Jayne, my shepherd/lab mix that is more of a baby than a dog. She even wore diapers for a few months during her puppyhood, we even have pictures to prove it. And if you haven’t already figured it out, I am one of those sickening animal lovers. My animals are the sunshine to my mornings, the cream cheese icing on my cupcake, they are just as much my pride and joy as my biological offspring (sometimes even more, but don’t tell my tot that). They have their own personalities, attitudes, preferences, insecurities, flaws and niches. Each and every one of them is an individual. But back to the point.
Hurley, being the lovable, sweet girl that she is, loves to give kisses. Pretty much everyone she comes in contact with has to earn her slobbery seal of approval before fully being accepted into our home. The only thing she might actually like more than kisses is a little person. Perhaps it’s because they are more likely to play with her. Perhaps it’s because they are right at tongue level. And to be very specific, her favorite face to saturate is Riley’s. And Riley’s new way of showing her strong fondness for the pooch is a hug and a lick to the snout. I yell at her to not lick the dog and she tells me, telepathically of course, ” She kissed me first.”. I then respond, verbally, ” You don’t kiss with your tongue, Riley.” I then realize how awkward it is going to be when she grows up and I have to tell her about french kissing. Now that I think about it, I’ll probably just leave that lecture out. She comes back with, again telepathically, ” But Hurley kisses with her tongue.” I then just give in and decide to just start disinfecting the dog’s head.
When we first brought Riley home from the hospital, we were nervous. Not only because I had no idea in hell how to keep a baby alive but because of our older children, the furry ones. We were terrified Maxx, the border collie, would nip at her if she got to close. We were scared Hurley would be too rough and jump on the tiny squeaky toy look-alike. But I was the most afraid of the diva of the house, my feline
dictator companion, Kia. Once we got home everything was completely different from what we expected. Yes, Kia was angry but she didn’t try to kill me in my sleep like I expected. Now, Kia is one of the first to investigate a cry and is the best nurse when the tot gets sick, she won’t leave her side. Yes, Maxx would scream and run away when the threatening, stationary infant got within five feet of him but he has never shown any aggression towards her. You can even catch them cuddling up to one another every so often but of course only when they think no one is looking. And yes, Hurley was idiotically excited but surprising was very gentle and protective of her new squeaky toy. With all the success between the four and two-legged kids, the most successful and rewarding one has to be the one between the kisser and her tot.
THERE’S NO GREATER STORY THAN THAT OF A GIRL AND HER DOG
I think it was from day one, maybe two, that I think Hurley fell in love with Riley. Which kind of baffles me because what could Riley do for Hurley that made the adorable pooch love her so much? She couldn’t play, pet or feed the canine so why the impromptu, unwarranted devotion? I think it was the infants eyes, remember TIP#1. From then on out they were inseparable. Before Riley could even sit up, Hurley would deliver toys to her and plant them in her lap as she sat in her bouncy seat. Riley would then giggle and kick the toy out of her seat, Hurley would chase after it and return the toy to her new-found friend. This would go on for hours until one of them passed out. Then came the cuddling on the couch together. When the infant turned mobile, the game became, what I called, doggy roadkill. They’d chase each other around the house, Riley close on Hurley’s tail with her push buggy. From that to blowing bubbles, watching movies, playing dress up, and getting into trouble. Always together.
TIP #5. If you find your friends’ kids to not be up to par as a playmate;
dogs, cats, guinea pigs and ducks make excellent replacements.
I do advise staying away from the smaller buddies, that almost always ends badly.
They play like sisters and they fight like sisters just the same. When Dad gets home from work, he heads to the bedroom to change and there are his girls, fighting one another to be the first to get to him. I will be in the other room listening to them giggle as they play on the bed, all three of them. Occasionally giving out a fuss if one of them is getting more attention than the other. Hurley knows how to get under Riley’s skin and vice a versa. My favorite is to watch them fight over the godly blankie. Hurley might decide to use it as a pillow, Riley screams and tugs it from under her. Hurley might decide it looks like a good bed, Riley screams and tugs it from under her. Hurley might decide it looks like an excellent toy and take off with it, all hell breaks loose. Riley never really wanting it but will be damned if her canine sister does.
It’s the same thing during meal and snack times. Hurley will never take her eyes off Riley in her highchair, always waiting for something to drop but is also always helping with cleanup. During snack time I often find them both sitting together, one apple slice for Riley, one apple slice for her accomplice.
I always knew Hurley was an exceptional companion and a good family dog but she has exceeded all of my expectations. Sure, having a child has made our family complete (yada yada yada) but Hurley has added even more excitement and gratification to the package. She’s my little Xanax in a world of stress and restlessness. My doggy savior, my Hurley Jayne.
There’s no greater story than that of a girl and her dog.
Times seemed simpler in black and white. Didn’t they? In the 50’s children obeyed their elders, the streets where safe to play on and childhood obesity was non-existing due to all the “duck and cover” drills. Can you believe the divorce rates in the 50’s were less than half of what they are today? That makes me ask the question, “What the hell did they put in the water back then?”. Some say the low divorce rate was due to the early morals, others say it’s because of the thriving economy. Me on the other hand, I say it was due to the sleeping arrangements. I mean think about it.
Take the Ricardos for example. I can only imagine their bedtime routine would go something like this; assemble night wear, brush teeth, do some reading, indulge in a little mattress cha-cha, then return to their own, separate beds to sleep through the night and probably pretty well after beating the Cuban Conga. Was this the key to their thriving relationship? Even after all the “Lucy, you got some ‘splaining’ to do”, Ricky kept Lucy around.
Recently there has been a lot of research done on the benefits of couples with separate sleeping setups. The research brings up the argument that sleeping separate leaves each individual more rested, happy and healthy. Then there is the question on the effects on the relationship itself. Does the lack of canoodling kill the love?
TIP #4. Nothing kills a romance more than suffocating your loved one in their sleep.
Let’s look at my sleeping scenario, or the lack of sleep scenario. I love cuddling with my man and waking up to his morning breath, I really do, but the time in between cuddling and waking is a nightmare. It’s very rare that my husband and I go to bed at different times. Usually, one gives the cue, “I’m going to go lay down.” ( discreet, huh?) and then the other says “Okay, I’m coming.” and follows like a sad puppy into the bedroom. My husband then unknowingly pulls me out of my pre-slumber to complain about how he can’t sleep or get comfortable for about ten minutes, then the complaining is drowned out by his hypocritical snoring. I am then left wide awake and annoyed. I lay there staring at his face, wondering how bad I would really feel if I did happen to smother him in his sleep. I try ignoring the snoring but it is just so tenacious and monotone, that I actually end up physically feeling the agitation grow inside me. I end up having to nudge him to get him to stop. He then replaces the snoring with what he calls cuddling, I call it suffocation. Oh wait, did I say replaces, I guess that was wrong because soon after the cuddling begins, the snoring returns, this time in my ear. I nudge him again and again and again till finally the alarm go off.
Then there is the issue of space. We both prefer sleeping on our stomachs or backs with our legs going in all directions. Well this does not work. So again, whoever falls asleep last looses because they can not get comfortable. We also have to add in the four-legged bed buddies. Lets start with the cats; one on my chest, one between the two human bodies, and one at the foot of the bed, always where I want to put my feet. Then add the dogs. Hurley, who also snores, either has to share my pillow with me or joins Carter by my feet. Yes, can’t you imagine a cute little Yorkie sleeping by my head or cuddled up with a cat? Yes, that would be cute but Hurley is no Yorkie. Shes a solid 65lb German Shepherd/ Lab who thinks she is the size of a Yorkie.
Now you see why I am a sister for separate sleeping. In my situation I am not the only one who suffers. Me nudging the hubby five or six times a night ruins his quality of sleep as well and his snoring does mine. Like I said I love sleeping with him but I think this issue is hindering our relationship. He gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep and I’m starting to resent him and his ability to sleep. Think of all the benefits of separate sleeping. You get a more restful sleep, no boners in the butt first thing in the morning and you don’t have to deal with the sudden sexual light switch your bed buddy might get in the middle of the night. Plus, if the husbands out of the bed then there is more room for Hurley and I.
So I say, if separate beds saved the Ricardo’s marriage, why not ours. If the Ricardos can do it, so can we!
So I have found myself in a rut, like I imagine so many other mothers have found themselves. Every day it’s always the same thing. Wake up to either dog kisses, kitty prances, or toddler screaming. No time to listen to the birds sing. I either let the affectionate pooch outside to G.O., feed the irritated feline, or grab the incarcerated toddler from her pen. No time to enjoy a cup of joe, got to fill the screaming, meowing, and whimpering mouths with breakfast. Then its off to the magical land of kitchen-choria where I frolic in dirty dishes and dog hair coated flooring.
Vacuum, laundry, NAP TIME!
Nap time, oh the words of relief.
Those glorious sixty minutes, those 3,600 seconds. I plop down on the couch and b.r.e.a.t.h.e.
Everyday the same thing. I feel like I’m stuck in the movie Groundhog Day, but without the pay. Where is Bill Murray when you need a laugh? That’s when you make yourself laugh at the small things. Hopefully I’ll be laughing after this morning.
TIP #3. Counter top cleaner and Lysol result in a slippery surface and bruised bottom.
Well, the fuzzy and the not-so-fuzzy kids decided to mix it up a little this morning. In between breakfast and kitchen-choria, I ran into a river of pussy cat puke. I didn’t find it very interesting but the tater tot did. She pulled herself from her pancake sticks to investigate. Oh, when I say investigate, I mean investigate. I returned to the scene of the accident to find mommy’s little detective finger painting with feline bile. I freaked out. She tried to flee, but in the process she ran right through the mess, slipping and turning her finger painting master piece into a slip-n-slide. Not cute.
Sadly, this is not the end. After the frantic plunge and coating of vomit, I decided a mandatory bathing became first priority. So I dropped the paper towels and cleaners and ran the bath. One spanking clean tot later I returned to the mess to find the dogs also found the pile appealing. Needless to say, I didn’t think paw prints were cute either.
Finally, the mess was taken care of. I finished the job off with some disinfectant and a sigh of relief. As I was putting the cleaners back to their settling positions, I was distracted by the sound of little feet, a big thud, and a wail. *NOTE I DID NOT SEE A WARNING ON THE BACK OF THE LYSOL CAN* I then did the motherly thing and comforted my little one and her bruised little bottom, thinking it was all over. I then caught the familiar sound of gagging kitty. Yup, the kitchen still isn’t clean.
I guess a mother’s job truly is never done.