Wednesday, November 30, 2011

You Just Can't Replace MOM




The Firefighter is SO OVER being the Mostly Stay at Home parent.  He announced last night, "Putting out a fire without water is easier than dealing with these two terrorists.  I'm done."

He then proceeded to outline his grievances.  Miss Chatterbox doesn't listen, she isn't quiet, she won't potty, she complains about his food, The Bun just whines and cries all day, he can't get anything done, it's impossible to leave the house, he never gets any sleep, etc.  Outwardly, I was nodding and clucking sympathetically, but I can't deny, inwardly, I was getting great satisfaction out of snickering and thinking, "I TOLD YOU SO!" and  "Oh, NOW, you believe me, you big, stinky turd."  But, when he concluded his rant with, "And I look ridiculous in that baby wrap thing,"  I completely lost it.  I laughed like I was at a Chris Rock show.  I may have snorted a few times.  I'm cool like that.

However, the harder I laughed, the more offended The Firefighter became.  We ended up in a little bit of a spat over parenting techniques after I tried to give him some helpful advice.  By advice, I mean I gloated like a know-it-all who just won jeopardy.  "Suck it up, soldier, you're the grown up."  and "That's why they call it the terrible twos" wasn't really appreciated.  My bad. Who knew a dude who runs into burning building could be such a sensitive sally?

nowpublic.com


Although, we ended up laughing again when he said, "I'm pretty sure The Bun doesn't like me because I don't have big knockers, like you. "

"Maybe you ought to get a boob job."

"Or maybe, we ought to figure something out before I get that desperate."

Hopefully, we can.  I'm a pretty lax parent, but The Firefighter takes it to a new level.  He feels that things like getting the kids dressed, or brushing their hair and teeth are optional.  Balanced meals?  What's that? I've caught him giving Miss Chatterbox popcorn and calling it lunch!

The last one I can understand, after all, no one fights food the way Miss Chatterbox does.  Although, it probably IS a statement about his cooking.  He seems to have forgotten how he used to be banned from cooking at the firehouse because it took him 5 hours to cook (and ruin) a Stouffer's frozen lasagna.  Or how about the "salsa soup" experiment?  Eww, on second thought, let's not repeat that story.   My stomach churns at the very thought of it.

The Firefighter was also convinced the baby was sick.  Turns out she just had gas.   Apparently, you need big cha chas to burp a baby effectively too.  Who knew?

I guess you just can't replace MOM.

How do you divide up the parenting chores?








Monday, November 28, 2011

Holiday Hysteria

Last week was a doozie.    A combination of sleep deprivation, baby brain, and bad eyesight led to this colossal blunder.


Guess which one I brought to work.  I'll give you a hint.  It wasn't the Dr. Pepper.  To say "whoops" would be an understatement.  I slammed my lunchbox shut and hustled it out to the car quicker than you can say, "Una cerveza por favor."  I would have preferred to have popped the top and said, "Cheers, Homies" but that whole responsibility thing got in the way.  Maturity blows.  

I also originally planned to have all 7 days off last week .   That didn't work out either.  I worked 6 of the 7 days.  You can see, I'm batting 1000 here.

I managed to cook Thanksgiving dinner for both the fire station and my family.  I was hoping for some appreciation from The Firefighter - after all that was a TON of work and not easy with a 2 small children underfoot.  What I got was, "I'm thankful you didn't set the kitchen on fire this year." 

To which I responded, "Thanks, Shithead.  The dishes are waiting for you at the house. Your welcome."  

Boom!  Amber - 1  The Firefighter - 0   (You know I love you, Boo!)

Miss Chatterbox is at that age were they start to "get it" about the holidays.  Except, she couldn't give a rat's patootie about Thanksgiving.  As she clearly stated when she said, "I no like food, mommy.  I want mac and cheese."  Yep, that's right.  She turned up her nose at the holiday spread, screamed like a banshee and even took a bite out of her playdoh in protest.  She's a little terrorist in training.  I bet she could've made Bin Laden holler "uncle."  

We did get the tree up and decorated - sorta.  We let Miss Chatterbox decorate the tree, so all the ornaments were hanging on the bottom third of the tree and subject to constant rearrangement.  I would put up a picture but sometime last night, she slipped out of bed, took all the ornaments off and hid them.  5 hours after I discovered this, they are still MIA.  Personally, I think she's holding them hostage.  I'm expecting a ransom note, any time now, reading, "Give me the cookies, and your precious little ornaments will be returned.  Ignore this message and I will pull off the arms of all the Frostys, and beards off the Santas.  You have one hour."  


It's Monday again, Y'all.  Have a good one!


Monday, November 21, 2011

He Tries So Hard...

I got so excited, yesterday, when The Firefighter told me he was going to go paint at naptime.  I laid down with The Bun, happily imagining that my kitchen, after 6 MONTHS 1/2 painted, would finally be finished.

I should have known better but y'all know I'm a glass half full kinda gal.

I had fallen asleep trying to get The Bun to do the same  (I think the people who say, "I'll sleep when I'm dead" don't have young children) and I woke up a short time later to a really strong smell of paint.  Waaayyyy too strong to be the special low VOC paint we spent a fortune on for the kitchen.  I mean that paint cost about the same as this pair of Betsey Johnson pumps.  Personally, I'd rather have had the shoes.  At least the heels would have made me feel sexy.  Or maybe they would have made me feel like a stripper.  Whatever.  Details.  

ANYWAY.

I come out of our room, into the kitchen, and find The Firefighter using my FAVORITE Limited Edition, $10 a bottle, can't get anymore - 'cuz it's discontinued,  OPI nail polish to PAINT STRIPES on his U.S.A.R. carabiners.  CARABINERS.  I ask The Firefighter, what the hell does he think he's doing.  He tells me that he's marking his carabiners.  I then ask him why he couldn't use a SHARPIE and his initials - LIKE A NORMAL PERSON.  His response?  Oh, he didn't think of that.

MEN.  Grrr.


Can't live with them....can't kill 'em.

Happy Monday, y'all!




Thursday, November 17, 2011

Random Ramblings (TMI)

Pregnancy sucked.  I did not glow - I sweated, swelled, and swore like a sailor.   Delivery sucked more.  P.A.I.N. - need I say more?  But postpartum?  That takes the sucktacular cake.  Why?  Because it's f'ing permanent.  Well, it's permanent for those of us who don't have a team of professionals to make it look like it never happened.  I mean, I'm alright with the expected stretch marks, but don't get me started on the size of my hips.  Running into something when you thought you had more clearance is not good for self esteem!

Did you know pregnancy can give you cavities?  I got dental work done yesterday, can you tell?  I may or may not be a little doped up.  There may also be some happy juice in my diet coke.  Shhhhhh, you can keep a secret Mr. Internet, right?  But really, I did not mind - at all - because my dentist is a total HOTTIE.  Three cavities mean I get three extra dates with Dr. Joe this year.   I could stare into his ocean blue eyes forever and imagine (deleted so The Firefighter doesn't get jealous)! Sigh.

Speaking of unspeakables, The Firefighter is getting more and more impatient with my reluctance to get vertical.  And I'm running out of excuses.  Not really sure why I'm scared to get back in the game, but probably because things aren't quite back to normal yet.  Having your gut cut open, piled on your stomach, then stuffed back in like a turkey, can do that to a girl.  And The Firefighter tapping me on the shoulder saying, "hey, baby, you wanna?" isn't helping fan any flames of desire.  Nope, that doesn't even stir the embers.  In fact, I think The Firefighter might want to up his game 'cuz that ain't gonna get him laid.  Ever.  Unless he's planning on getting a blow up doll.  She won't complain.

Speaking of getting laid, I think Michelle Duggar is either a people hoarder or a sex addict.  Seriously.  No woman can like being pregnant that much.    I think it must be the latter, because people don't stay put.  It's really hard to pile them up in your hallway or spare room, since they can move independently and all.  How on earth does she get her uterus to be so cooperative?  I decided, when I was pregnant with The Bun, that three or four kids would be ideal, however, my uterus seems to have other ideas.  Those plans seems to include a nice, quiet retirement, in Hawaii, maybe without me.  Is it wrong to be somewhat disgruntled by this?

In other news, Miss Chatterbox actually pooped on the potty!  This is a monumental moment, People.  It means one less ass for me to wipe around here.   It only took bribing her with an ENTIRE chocolate bar and promising more in the future.  I gave her said chocolate bar...then left her with her daddy all day - hehehehe!

So, this post doesn't really have a point, my bad.  

What are you randomly rambling about?













Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Perfectly Average and Proud of it!

You know who annoys me?

Sancti-Mommies













You know the ones I'm talking about.  They are the current incarnation of June Cleaver.  In the grocery store, they push around 3 perfectly behaved, well dressed and patient children in a cart, while looking like they not only stepped out of a J.Crew magazine, but could have modeled in it too.  The ones who look down their noses at my yoga pants, stained college sweatshirt and sneakers. Come on!  It's the freakin' grocery store - not church! They pass judgement on my tantrum throwing, mismatched, messy, but precocious Miss Chatterbox and usually feel compelled to pass on sage advice such as, "Rocks are not an appropriate toy for a girl"  or  "You just need to take control of the situation."

To which I usually respond, "PPhhhwwwwwwwtttt!"  Yeah, I'll admit it - sometimes Miss Chatterbox is more mature than I am.  And I'm cool with that.

Seriously though, while the sancti-mommies annoy me, I also pity them.  To care so much about what other people think, that you feel the need to keep up that level of perfection, must be exhausting!  Hell, I call it a good day if everyone gets dressed.  Matching clothes are just a bonus.  If The Firefighter is on daddy duty, well, I'll even lower my standards a bit.  I mean, really, how hard is it to put up a ponytail - sheesh.

*disclaimer: I feel the need to clarify - my low standards do not include hygiene.  We are fastidious about bathing, tooth brushing, hand washing, etc.  I'm talking about things like matching socks, clothes right side out, etc. 


Most of all, I feel for the kids of those sancti-mommies.  That's some intense pressure to be perfect.  Shoot, I'm hard enough on myself, I'd hate to have my parents pushing for perfection too!  In fact, I used to beat myself up because I felt I wasn't living up to my potential in life.  After all, I had classmates that became doctors, engineers, CEO's, lawyers, even one who is a wild life vet in Africa. What did I become?  Ordinary, completely and totally.

But I'm not one to stay down long.  I decided that I'm not just ordinary, I am Extraordinarily Ordinary.  What does that mean you ask (and what does that have to do with sancti-mommies - don't worry, I'm getting there)?  It means, that I live my life to the best of my ability and find happiness in the simple things.  I don't need lots of shiny things, big titles, pretty outfits, or public approval to be happy.  The sancti-mommies need all those things to feel complete, and their children learn to feel that way, thus perpetuating the cycle.

I want my children to feel loved and accepted by me...and by themselves.  I want them to fully embrace their inner - whatever.   If they want to take up professional snorkeling as a career, I'm cool with that.  If they wanna get covered in tats and run off with a biker gang - eh, I might have a problem with that, unless it's Jax from SOA - he's a total hottie!  Basically, I just want them to be okay with whoever they are.  I want them to know that matching clothes and magazine perfect homes...those are just extras not the substance of life.

So Ladies, have you ever had a run-in with a sancti-mommy?





Friday, November 11, 2011

I Don't Need Fire Safety...

"You need to clean out the lint trap, Babe.  It can cause a fire if you don't"

"I don't need fire safety.  That's what I married you for!"

www.sparky.org

I don't know how many times over the years, The Firefighter and I have had this, and similar, conversations.  I'm sure it's just ingrained in him from all the bad stuff he's seen over the years, but Lordy, it gets on my nerves!  And if I'm honest, it shouldn't, since I've been known to set a nice kitchen blaze or two or three, myself (unintentionally, I swear).   But hey, it's all good, after all I've been trained to use any of the 5 fire extinguishers The Firefighter feels is necessary to keep in the house.

Of course, he has good reason to want to keep them.

There was that time we had a Molotov cocktail thrown in our front yard.  Little punks, of course I thought it was a great idea to chase them down with the extinguisher after I put out the fire....

Then there was the kitchen towel fire...Not one of my brighter moments.  Wait whoops, sorry Boo, you may not have known about that one.

How about the time I managed to set tin foil on fire in the oven... Come on, you gotta be impressed, that takes talent!

Then the dryer fire... I really hate it when The Firefighter is right (if your reading this Honey - better take a picture 'cuz I won't be saying that again).

AND

The Firefighter wasn't home for a SINGLE ONE of these incidents.  We've also never lived in district...until recently.  Since we've moved, I've noticed an increase in the number of "fire safety" conversations.  Apparently, as a firefighter, it's embarrassing to have a call to your house for something minor.  Or maybe just embarrassing to have a fire safety dropout for a wife.  Either way, I have to say that this new development is so AWESOME!  My completely unflappable hubby has a weakness!  I'm so gonna get him called out to our house for something stupid... or at least threaten too.

Why is it so fun to embarrass (good naturedly, of course - I don't do mean) the ones we love?

Happy  Monday!







Monday, November 7, 2011

I only closed my eyes for a second.....

I had a really long, tiring weekend (making that money, honey - holla!) and try as I might, I struggled to stay awake Sunday morning with Miss Chatterbox.  After 20 + hours awake and less than two hours of sleep, it was definitely a Nick Jr. and dry cereal kind of morning.  Except Miss Chatterbox didn't want cereal, she wanted pretzels and nacho cheese dip....and I let her have it.  I know, I know, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, blah, blah, blah....don't judge, at least it wasn't french fries.

So, I get her settled in with Barney and her pretzels and sit in the rocker to feed The Bun, while waiting for my coffee to brew (which I intended to drink the entire pot) and promptly fall asleep - parenting fail number 1.  I wake up only a few moments later to The Bun sucking air out of her bottle and know the second I sit her upright, I'm gettin' yakked on.  Outfit change number one.

Fast forward 30 minutes.  I get everyone settled in again.  Miss Chatterbox is now happily drawing pictures and The Bun is cooing away in her bouncy seat.  I sit down on the couch (mistake number dos!) and quickly nod off.  Again.  What?  I was tired, yo!  After more time than I will admit to passed, I open my eyes and see this directly in front of my face:

Oh yes, and you know it's only gonna get worse.....

I look down at The Bun, and see that her sister decided to give her preschool prison tats.  All over her head, like she belonged to some badass crib gang.  She looked exactly like the doll...only a little bit bigger and, well, you know, alive.  

So, I gently call Miss Chatterbox's name.  By gently, I mean holler out all three names in my biggest, baddest mommy voice.  She very sheepishly comes around the corner.

"Yes, Mommy."
"Did you color your sister's face?"
"Yes, Mommy, I color sissy's face."
"Why did you do that?"
"I no more paper, Mommy."
"Why didn't you ask me for more instead of coloring sissy's face?"
"'Cuz you ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ (makes snoring noise)."

Well, she had me there.  

Then she said, "Mommy, you pretty" and started giggling.  I told her compliments weren't going to get her out of time out then headed to the bathroom to clean up The Bun.  When I got there and looked in the mirror, I found she had painted my face too - a la Michael Jackson! Complete with lipstick, eyebrows, eye shadow, even gave me with a red "glove"- and I had slept through the whole thing!!!!  NO, I will not grace the internet with photos of that humiliation....so don't ask. 

Damn.  I'm hiring a sitter next weekend.  

What are your epic parenting fails?