Category Archives: My Two Cents

Childhood Milestone: The “Littlest A-Hole” Stage

21 Monday Apr 2014

Posted by in Bitchfest, My Two Cents, The "Joy" of Parenting

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Don't let that cute, whipped cream covered face fool you.

Don’t let that cute, whipped cream covered face fool you.

Before I go on, the blogging community requires that I mention this disclaimer:

DISCLAIMER:  I love my children (probably more than you love yours) and think the world of them.

But…

My daughter has turned into a monster.  She has her moments of pure innocence and gentleness, sure.  But most of the time, she acts like a complete asshole.

We went through this stage with Finn when he was about this age, and it wasn’t until Alice started her round that we realized Finny’s had ended quite some time ago. For the most part, Finn has developed into a very nice young man.  He is rambunctious, doesn’t always listen and has the (slightly more than) occasional tantrum, but he is generally nice to people and doesn’t act like a little fucker simply for the sake of acting like a little fucker anymore.

Oh, lord…  She is saying these things about her children!  Calling them horrible names; cuss words, even!  How could a woman ever think such things about the  cherubs that burst their way from her very own uterus, causing sleep deprivation, memory loss, pain, saggy boobs, memory loss and lack of cultural awareness?

Most sane individuals would call this “the terrible twos.”  I choose to call it what it is.  And while your children probably were never assholes (and eat only a gluten-free, free range, organic diet 100% of the time and have never laid eyes on a McNugget, battery operated toy or a television screen), mine certainly have been in their short lives.  I’ve read my fair share of compassionate parenting blogs and no one seems to want to admit that children are being complete pricks for no other reason than they can.

“Mommy.  Peee-you.  You farted.  Ewww.”  She gives me a look of disgust that would make Gary Busey run for cover.

Seriously?  Now she is blaming me for her flatulence?  Where did she pick this up?  I can be immature at times, but it isn’t like I’m gonna get into a school yard brawl about who farted.  I have better, more adult things to do than fight over whose stench permeates her delicate nostrils.

“I most certainly did not!  Don’t blame me for that!  I wasn’t the one who broke into the pantry and ate three fistfuls of dried apricots!”

Well, most of the time I have more adult things to do.

My sweet little angel, what have you become?  One minute you are a little peanut, snuggled in my arms as I rocked you to sleep…  The next moment you are trying to flog the dog with your princess wand (which I’ve learned is really nothing more than a sword for girls) and pull Finn’s hair because his feet touched yours.  Heaven forbid anyone in this house would want to take a shower without your brow-knitted scowl demanding that you also be included.  If we refuse, you lapse into a foot-stomping, teeth-gnashing flail fest.  Punching the iPad?  Shoving your plate on the floor because the strawberries are cut up?

Lady, I am damn particular about my food as well, but I do not negotiate with terrorists.

I get it, I get it.  She is testing her boundaries…  Trying to find her place in our little family unit.  Yes, that is great.  But blaming me when she farts?  Really?

After Nathan tucked her in the other night, she gave him a kiss.  “I love you, little lady,” he tells her.

“I love you, too, Daddy.”  Cue the heart-melting…  “Now go.”  She rolls over, sticks her thumb in her mouth and asks for me.

See?  Asshole, I tell you.

But, at the end of the day, she’s our little asshole.  And truth be told, she is very much her mother’s daughter.  If it means we come to blows over strawberries diced into manageably sized pieces, so be it.  From one a-hole to another, I love you, Al.

Death of The Dad Shirt

03 Wednesday Jul 2013

Posted by in Being a Grownup, Bitchfest, My Two Cents, The Good Ole Days

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Yes, I get it. We are getting older. And yes, I realize that I am not half as stylish that I once was. But really, was this a good look for me?

If I'm going to embarrass myself, I'm bringing the whole fam down with me. Awwe, yeah... Fanny packs all around. Disney World hasn't seen a bunch of gangstas like this since 1988.

If I’m going to embarrass myself, I’m bringing the whole fam down with me. Awwe, yeah… Fanny packs all around. Disney World hasn’t seen a bunch of gangstas like this since 1988.

Getting older isn’t all puppies and butterflies; in fact, it sucks. This should come to the surprise of NOBODY EVER, except those who are under the age of twenty-four and still live under the delusion that they will forever be limber and perky with boobs that will never sag or knees that will never ache from sitting in the same spot on the floor for too long. I get it. I felt that way, too, my young dears. But all of a sudden, at about twenty-eight, you look at a picture of yourself in high school and realize that you don’t have the same skin you used to and that was an effing decade ago. Like, for real.

Blows goats, I tell you. Goats.

But still, at twenty-eight, I felt like I had a decent handle on what was en vogue, and though I realized I was too old to wear the most up and coming fashion, I could appreciate it for what it was. Now – I look at these kids and think “Holy Christ, child! Do you honestly think the side ponytail is making a comeback? Those high-waisted, acid-washed jeans are look just as hideous as they did when I rocked them in 1989 with a New Kids on the Block t-shirt and a pair of LA Gears (two sets of laces, ladies and gents; was the shit).”

I don’t WANT to be yesterday’s news. Please, oh please tell me that my time has not come – that moment in a person’s life where they forever stick to exactly the same style until the end of their days is here… My dad (I love him dearly, really, I do) would buy the same pair of plain, white Reeboks time and time again… For, like, twenty years. Finally, they stopped making them, or his girlfriend was instrumental in getting that man into the new millenium; either, or, or both – THANK GOD. It was time for a change.

My brother even bought an identical pair of Reeboks when he dressed up as my dad for Halloween. Though you can't see his shoes in the first pic of us in the 80's - I assure you, they are the exact same style as he is wearing here.

My brother even bought an identical pair of Reeboks when he dressed up as my dad for Halloween (2003, maybe?). Though you can’t see his shoes in the first pic of us in the 80’s – I assure you, they are the exact same style as he is wearing here.

It is much easier for guys, though. Styles seem to change less for them. Besides the teeny-boppers (like Justin Bieber – who seriously thinks THIS is fashionable), not much changes over the course of a decade. Nathan is lucky. He still has a few shirts he rocked in high school; they look even better with age (like George Clooney), and though the fit of jeans has changed a few times over the past ten years, if the rest of his clothes didn’t wear out, it’s quite possible he could make it to 2023 without stepping foot in a Banana Republic.

With one exception.

The DAD SHIRT.

Well, one REALLY simular to this one. via REI

A few years ago, he bought this shirt at REI, thinking it was awesome – and I marginally agreed. I certainly didn’t disagree; in fact I bought him another one for Father’s Day last year. I suppose I have my little, own self to blame. The Dad Shirt was fine for a while, but it started to eat at me.

The Dad Shirt in all its glory.

The Dad Shirt in all its glory.

When we hiked The Manitou Incline, he wore The Dad Shirt. A couple of his work buddies razed him about it; “Dude, who wears a button-down to hike The Incline??” Nathan protested that it was super breathable, it’s meant for backpacking, yada, yada, but when he glanced back at me, he caught me mouthing the words: I know, right??

Oh, god. He brought it to Disney World. I begged him; “Please, oh please, babe… Not The Dad Shirt… Please?”

He thought I was being ridiculous. I am most of the time, so it is only natural for him to think so about The Shirt.

A few days ago, he wore it again. CURSE YOU, DAD SHIRT!! We headed to Mickey-D’s for lunch in a sketchy part of town. The girl taking our order – bless her heart, it must have been her first day – was hopelessly dorky. In the spirit of full disclosure, I am a humongous dork myself – a HUGE dweeb as evidenced by that first photo. But this girl, she was the type that you might catch talking and giggling to herself over her unicorn/bubbly heart Trapper Keeper with her head-gear on. You know what? Look back at that first photo of me. She was that, only college-age. She was super sweet, don’t get me wrong, but even in her McDonald’s uniform, you could tell she would never be able to find her way around the clearance rack at The Gap.

The process of her taking our order was an agonizing five minutes. The lady behind us asked another employee (very rudely) if someone else could help the poor girl. Oh, my heart just ached for her, but we did our best to be patient with our would-you-please-take-the-picture-already,-Mom? smiles plastered to our faces. Finally we were done. I took the kids to find a booth and as soon as Nae walked over with our food, wouldn’tyaknow, we were missing french fries and he headed back to the counter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, about that, sir!” I could hear her apologize. “Let me bring fresh ones to the table as soon as they are up. I’m so sorry. I apologize… I’m sorry.”

“Really, that’s fine. It’s okay. Not a big deal. It’s just french fries,” Nathan said in his ‘dad voice.’

“Oh, thanks,” she sighed. “And sir?”

“Um-hum?”

“That’s a really nice shirt.”

I about choked on a McNugget. I thought to myself; I know, right??

Nae walked back to the table where I was unsuccessfully trying to hide my smug little smile.

“You heard that, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Yep.”

He hasn’t worn it since.

Parenting Pet Peeves

16 Tuesday Apr 2013

Posted by in Bitchfest, My Two Cents, The "Joy" of Parenting

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I’m not entirely sure why, but this topic has been eating away at my already overstimulated brain.  Maybe it started with Meredith’s post over at Pile of Babies concerning the flack she’s gotten over not sugar-coating motherhood.  Maybe it was this photo that popped up in a ridiculous baby product list.

via Babble

More likely is the fact that PMS is in full swing for the first time in over two years.

Whatever the reason, there are lots of things that make me wanna facepalm when I see parents who aren’t as snotty as I in the mall.  Without further ado, I’m gonna let Judgy McBitcherson rear her ugly head for a short spell and blow of a little steam.

THINGS OTHER PARENTS DO THAT DRIVE ME BAT-SHIT INSANE (in no particular order):

The Baby Bikini:  There is a very small part of me that simply thinks dressing your small child in a triangle top bikini just looks stupid, but every time I see a tot in a sexy two piece, I want to wring her parent’s neck.  What the hell are you thinking dressing up a BABY in suggestive swimwear for?  Why not just slather on some self tanner, pierce her navel and throw on a few coats of mascara while you are at it?  I’m not referring to modest little tankinis or even when babies just wear the cute little swim bottoms and go topless.  I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at a wee one in the buff (though I may giggle and reminisce about my own kids’ tiny, naked baby bottoms).  It is the moment when a child is thrust into a grown-up, sexualized, slutty bikini that gets my panties in a bunch.  Kids (little ladies especially) are growing up way too fast, and if there is any possible way I can hinder that progression as a parent, you bet I’m going to do it.  Please, people.  Let them be little as long as possible.

Helicopter Parents:  I’m sure that lots of people think that I’m the mom at the park who isn’t paying close enough attention to her kids at the park.  In reality, I am watching them like a hawk.  I am not one of those parents who hover over their children and try to protect them from every tiny scrape, bump or tiff with another kid.  Nathan, however, totally is and it drives me bananas.  When Finny gets into it with another child at the park; over whose turn it is to bounce on the bridge or whose sand-hole is in the other’s territory, I stand back.  I just about “accidentally” elbowed an obnoxious dad at the zoo last weekend when he repeatedly scolded Finny that his daughter’s turn to go down the slide.  Please, just let them figure it out amongst themselves!!  I intervene if there are babies involved, since Finn isn’t going to teach himself how to show the proper amount of restraint with them, but other than that, I let ’em have at it, just short of fisticuffs, anyway.  I’m not going to be around the kids when they go off to school.  I’m watching my two little hawklings – and I’m there to help them process it after it happens (and doll out the law when they’ve been especially bratty).  Oh, and Zoo Dad?  Go pound some lettuce up your ass and visit the giraffe feeding experience.

via Average Parent

Backpack Leashes:  My thought is this; if your kids can’t behave well enough to be taken out in public without a six-foot lead, maybe you should consider staying home.  I’ve heard otherwise fabulous parents say that the exception to the “No Leash Rule” is at the airport, and that may be so.  I haven’t been inside an airport since Finn was eight weeks old, so I’ll reserve judgement until I return from our Disney trip this summer.  Outside of air transportation, I cringe when I see some poor toddler being dragged around tethered to his mother’s wrist.  Besides reminding me of that SNL skit where four-year-old Mike Meyers is chained to the jungle gym at the playground, it makes me wonder why parents put their children on leashes…  I love my dogs to pieces, but they don’t understand English quite as well as my 16 month old.

Effing Ruffles on EVERYTHING:  Why, oh why has this ever become an acceptable practice?

via Pinterest

via Pinterest

Oh, look! A two-fer! A ruffled piece of inappropriate swimwear! via Pinterest

via Pinterest

via Pinterest

Okay, no ruffles, but can we agree that this is re-goddamn-diculous? via Pinterest

Preschoolers in Jammies at Walmart:  Maybe the child is in the midst of some kind of illness and you have no other choice but to bring him in to pickup Children’s Tylenol.  Perhaps it is the middle of the night and you find yourself without appropriate equipment to survive surfing the crimson wave.  Better yet; you are en route to your relative’s funeral and the little people need to be comfortable through the sixteen hour drive.  Other than that, can you please just put a pair of pants and appropriate footwear on your child when leaving the house at three in the afternoon?  Come to think of it, many of the parents who are offenders of this peeve of mine are usually in slippers themselves…  Those poor kids are a lost cause.

“Are there eggs in those cookies?  Sorry, we only eat vegan.” – We realized pretty quickly that the kids would not do well on our little vegan lifestyle.  Barring allergens, religous practices and inappropriate substances (coffee, Diet Coke, Nicorette, crack cocaine), I cannot imagine making a child abstain from a particular food because it isn’t organic or gasp! isn’t Paleo.  I feel like it is my job as a parent to be pretty cognizant about what my makes its way into Finn and Alice’s tummies – but I also want them to experience new things, and just be kids already.  McDonald’s french fries are not going to kill anyone if they are only consumed occasionally.  I am also equally peeved by parents who feed their kids nothing but processed food day in and day out, but that is a whole ‘nother story.

Not Saying “No:”  I ran into a mom and her (first and only) child at the library last week who doesn’t say “no” to him.  Like, ever.  These are probably the same people who sign their third grader up for a tee-ball league where they don’t keep score.  This peeve is really more of an annoyance than anything; I feel like it is completely delusional to think that never telling a child “no” is going to result in a more productive member of society, but to each their own.  If I never said “no” to the kids, I would likely resort to a system of grunts and thumping my chest.  “We say “ouch” if he hurts someone or if he is going to hurt himself.  We say “share” if he takes something away from another child.”  Me, I like to keep it simple.  I have a handy, all purpose word – it is short, just two letters.  It starts with N and ends in O.

Judging Other Parents on Thier Parenting Style:  Oh, did you see what I did there?  Yep.  I’m a complete hypocrite.  I must just be against judging anyone’s quality of parenting that is deemed greater than or equal to mine; which sets the bar pretty darn low.  I don’t proclaim to be a wonderful mother – I know there are binders full of women who do a better job than I.

I have my share of idiosyncracies that annoy the ever-loving daylights out of folks I really respect.  My mom, for instance, would visibly cringe when I would brush Finn’s teeth in the tub, or worse – occasionally feed him in the tub.  (Seriously, how does everyone not feed babies while they are bathing?  No laundry, no napkins.  A stroke of genius if I don’t say so myself.)  I irritate more than a fair share of parents who think it blasphemy to allow babies in bed with their parents.  There are lots and lots more, I’m sure.

There are also a handful of my own rules that I have broken.  No kid over the age of two should have a pacifier in their mouth – but Finn was attached to his until we made the poor guy quit cold turkey the day after his third birthday.  I also used to detest babies with big ole flowers on their heads.  Then I had a daughter.  And now I am a flower offender, too.

All of this goes to show that we all totally suck at raising our kids in one way or another.  In the end, I suppose I should give all parents who do things that irritate me a pass…  Because this job totally blows sometimes, and it is flipping hard to always do the right thing.  How about this, parents of the world?  We can bitch and moan about the things we do that drive each other to the brink of sanity – but let’s leave it at that, okay?  Get it off our chests and then move on with our own styles, as long as we aren’t raising each other’s kids, it is all our own prerogative to leash and ruffle our children as we see fit.

Except those people who put skanky bathing suits on their babies.  Can we all agree that there are some lines you just don’t cross?  If Alice is the only one in a burka at the beach, I am fine with that.

The Cheese Stands Alone

15 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by in My Two Cents

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Last Saturday, Nathan and I spied a juicer on sale at GNC.  I’m not a juicing aficionado, but fifty bucks for a juicer seemed too good to be true.  After the girl behind the counter assured us we could bring it back if it was a piece of crap, we decided to jump in, head-first, into the juicing craze.  We stocked up on carrots and celery, kale and spinach and headed home to give it a go.

And the next thing you know, you are a vegan.

Seriously.  Almost.

After getting so-so results from our first batch; it was palatable but not everything we’ve heard the blogosphere raving about, we started researching a little more about juicing.  It seemed like every other “juicer” (of the fruit ‘n veggie variety- not ‘roids) was going on and on about this movie Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead.  

“Hey, that’s on Netflix,” I told Nae.

Allow me to preface the rest of this by explaining that Nathan and I are some of the most skeptical, suspecting Debbie Downers on the planet…  Nine times out of ten, we are very much those people who mutter “bullshit” quietly to each other while watching the news or a documentary.  We only trust our mothers slightly more than we trust CNN.  We’re bad.

After getting all pumped up and ready to do a mini juice fast after watching Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead, we watched Forks Over Knives at the behest of Nathan’s mom.  And over the course of a weekend, we went from chowing down on McDonald’s for breakfast to cutting my favorite foods out of our diets.  My mom asked me if I was giving up cheese – my fifth food group.

“Yes, Mom.  Even cheese.”

“Ah, ha ha!  We’ll see how long that lasts!”

Love you, Mom.  Thanks for the support. 🙂

via

Basically, we have decided to cut down our consumption of animal derived foods to 5% of our diet.  You math majors at home might deduce that means 95% of what I eat is from plants – non-processed ones at that.  We have decided that our goal is to work toward changing our eating habits forever, and being realistic about our goals.  So yes, I’m still going to make a regular old birthday cake for Finny.  We’ll still eat out “regular food” once in a while.  I don’t expect my stepdad to whip out the tofurkey at Thanksgiving in our honor.  And this vacation to Disney?  Yeah – nothing is standing between me and a Dole Whip.

I’m still wearing leather shoes, too.  I’m not trying to be a PETA-Membership-Card-toting-Greenpeace-flag-waving hippie.  This just feels right.  It is kind-of like it is what we are supposed to do.  Not that it isn’t without its challenges.  Nathan came home all whipped up about the change – he “loves eating like this.”  Then I fessed up to shoveling a fistful of chocolate chips and marshmallows into my mouth for and afternoon snack.  And following it with a peanut butter chaser.

“Oh…  I had a Daily Double at McDonald’s today.”  He sighed.  “But just the sandwich.  And I was SOOO hungry!” he added quickly.

Like I said; it isn’t a cakewalk.

Like my mom said; we’ll see how long it lasts.

Social Notworking

06 Wednesday Mar 2013

Posted by in Bitchfest, My Two Cents

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I’ve done it. I have cut the cord. Truth be told, this has been coming for a while now, but it. is. officially. over.

Sorry, Facebook. I think it is time we see other people.

facebook-like-icon

via

The end of the affair was a fizzle rather than a pop, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it yet. I haven’t exactly severed all ties; I still need Mr. Zuckerburg for work, and to get in touch with a rogue acquaintance now and again. As time drug on, I found myself dreading the touch of the little blue ‘F’ on my phone. I have been over the “Annie-Get-Your-Assault-Rifle-ers” and the obnoxious Facebook moms for quite some time, but it was the suggested businesses clogging up my newsfeed that hammered the last nail home.

I deleted Facebook from the only device that I use it on; my phone.

“Deleting the Facbook app will delete all of its data. Are you sure you want to continue?”

Uuuh… Let us take a moment to reflect…

“Oh my god, Junior looked at me and said ‘Mommy, you fat.’ How cute is that? Better hit the gym! LOL!!” How about we post about Junior’s hilarity six more times today? (And please, never, ever ‘LOL’ yourself. It is like laughing at your own joke before anyone else has heard the punchline.)

Aaand… Blocked.

554919_4762383937862_1794965423_n(Shamefully, I dated the guy who posted this. In eighth grade, but still.)

Unfriended!

“All you gays and lesbians would just have a lot nicer time if y’all found Jesus!”

Deleted!

The Facebook app on my phone has weathered the Farmville storm of 2011, the Presidential Election last year, dozens of blown movie plots and reams of sonogram profile pics (okay, you realize you are posting a photo of your uterus on the internet, right??). Facebook and I have gone through a lot… But for the last time:

I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE AMAZING PURVEYOR OF LEATHER BOOTS THAT IS THE COUNTRY OUTFITTER. No matter how cute thier purses are.

And there is no way to opt out of these little suggested posts, so I simply opted out of Facebook all together. Albeit with a desktop safteynet.

I am under no delusions about avoiding the consumer machine by deleteing Facebook off my phone. I am, admiddidly, one of the biggest chumps when it comes to advertizing and the global marketing bonanza. Pizza Sliders from Pizza Hut!? Whu-wha? Seriously, people PIZZA. SLIDERS. I don’t even like Pizza Hut, but this time, it is gonna be different. I also know that I am a total oddball for axing the social media heavy-hitters like Twitter and Facebook. I suck at tweeting – twitting? Twatting? And I have had my fill of Instagramed dinner plates, thankyouverymuch. People thought Nathan and I were crazy for canceling our land lines six years ago. They still think we are insane for not having television. (We have televisions, just not any broadcast networks or cable). We unplugged both those things and never looked back. The only thing that I have missed is the monthly bill. Tell your mom I said ‘hi,’ will you Mr. Statement? Xoxo!

If there is one thing I am going to miss on Facebook, it is George Takei. Remember Star Trek? The ORIGINAL one? Mr. Sulu? Yeah – that guy. He is an amazing individual. All of his posts are funny, humble, witty and genuine. All that and a bag of chips. Not to mention he is in his seventies. I can only hope to be so cool. Follow him here. It is worth it. Please trust me.

Nathan thinks I’ll only last about a week without it. True, I will miss my friends’ witty quips, watching one of our Best Man’s microbrewery take off, seeing all the little kids grow up and oogling all over all the cute pooches. And George Takei. Oh, George, I will miss you the most. I just had to get out before you, too tried to schlep leather goods from your timeline.

But one thing is for sure; The Goddamn Country Outfitter will not be given a flying fuck again. LOL!!

For an interesting viewpoint on quitting The Big F, check this out. I stumbled across is while trying to find just the right thumbs down symbol. Which is a thumbs up symbol turned upside down – check out the big brain on me.