Wednesday, March 28, 2012

To Share or Not To Share

I know this is gonna be a big news flash to y'all, but really little kids don't know shit.  Don't get it twisted, yo.  I'm not hating on the mini mes of the world.  If you're 3 and you don't know shit, that's a-OK.  In fact, it's expected.  If you're 30 and don't know shit, well, you got a big problem.

What I'm getting at, is that it's ridiculous when we expect our children to be mini adults.

Case and point:  Sharing.

It's absolutely ludicrous to try to tell a toddler or young preschooler, "no no, that's not yours" or "you need to share."  Mostly, because I'm pretty sure, to them, it sounds like, "no no, blah blah blah" or "you need to e=mc2" and makes about as much sense.

And I'm completely guilty of this.

Since The Bun has become mostly mobile as of late, Miss Chatterbox has been going all jealous alpha female on her ass, yanking every single stinking toy out of her hands.  It's been driving me crazy.  Like pulling my hair out crazy, except I don't have to pull it out myself since The Bun has been doing a great job giving me male pattern baldness.  I'm about thisclose to pulling a Britney and shaving it all off.  The Firefighter may not like it, but I could totally rock a Demi Moore (ala GI Jane minus the crazy rehab stint).  

Anyway

After a solid week of talking/hollering/demonstrating/reading about sharing, it dawned on me.  I was making Miss Chatterbox feel bad about something she has no frame of reference for.  I decided to make it a non issue because I don't want to be the hovering parent stuck refereeing her kids.  I want them to be able work it out themselves.  I want my children to intrinsically want to be kind to their siblings, not kind because they are forced to be.  If I force them to share now, will I be setting the stage for resentment later?

Yeah, I know, I'm probably over thinking it - down side to being an only child raising sibling.  But I'm totally rooting for The Bun.  One of these days, she's gonna haul off and get even with her sister....and I probably won't intervene...

So

What's your solution for jealous/sharing issues?

Hope you have a humptacular Wednsday, folks!

Monday, March 26, 2012

Hillbilly Home Ec

If you'd have told me ten years ago, where I would be now, I'd probably have spit in your drink.  Back then, my dreams for the future most certainly did not include marrying a diesel driving, firefighting, true blue, hillbilly roughneck and popping out three kids in 3.5 years.  I also may have considered my maternity wardrobe a little more carefully if I knew I would be wearing it for 3 consecutive years.  Live and learn, right?

However, I have learned that you can not be with someone as long as The Firefighter and I have been together, without absorbing a bit of each other's personality.

Take this last week, for example. You may have noticed I was MIA.  That was because I was getting a crash course in Hillbilly Home EC.  That's right, folks, I was learning me to be all domesticated and shit.  I made bread, laundry detergent, shampoo, dish detergent, as well as practicing with the ol' sewing machine.

Let's just say, some enterprises were more successful than others.  Though, watching The Firefighter try to grate soap and not grate his knuckles was rather amusing.  In fact, it may have been the highlight of my week.  Don't be jealous.  Not everyone can lead excessively exciting lives like ours.   Seriously though, you woulda laughed too.  The Firefighter is skilled in many things, but correct usage of kitchen appliances is not one of them.

Thankfully, one of my more successful enterprises was running Miss Chatterbox's potty training bootcamp.  I am now the proud parent of a fully potty trained child who has taken up the mantel of official bathroom connoisseur of Charleston.  I do believe we have tried out every bathroom in a 50 mile radius of where we live.  In addition to her play by play announcing services, she has added private reviews, free of charge.

Typical Potty Trip with Miss Chatterbox

MC:  (In loud, outdoor voice) Momma, I poop!  Oh, no I just toot toot - hehehehehe!
Me:  Good baby, just hurry up.
MC:  Momma, somebody else pee peeing wheely wheely (really) loud.  (To the person) You wipe yet?  I wipe already.  Cover you ears! I flush the toilet.
MC:  (To person at sink) I went potty!!
Random Person:  Good job!
MC:  You go poop?
Random Person: uhhh, no?? (Quickly, leaving)
MC:  Bye!
MC: Hi! (to new person entering bathroom)  You have to go poop?  The toilet paper is yucky.  Not soft at all.  My mommy has wipes if you want one.
(We leave and go back into the dining room of the restaurant)
MC:  (In very loud outside voice)  DADDU, I GO POOP!

Sigh.  What can you do?

This last week also has been the longest continuous time period The Firefighter and I have been together in about a year.   That may or may not have made me more ornery than usual.

The Firefighter grumbled a little bit about a vegetarian dinner I made one night, so I felt compelled to fire back, "well what do you expect, Boo, when your $300 rifle and $100 worth of shrimping and flounder gigging equipment sits in the attic gathering dust rather than filling my freezer?"

The look on his face told me I hit the bulls eye, and as I was starting to feel guilty, he recovered nicely with, "well, why haven't you put up any tomatoes or peas?"

"When you gonna get me a house with some land, so I can do that?"

"About the same time I get you those damn boots you've been hassling me for for a year.  That is to say, don't hold your breath."

Yeah, I wasn't the only one feeling ornery.

I may also have dropped some not so subtle hints about his honey do list.

"Vaccumming is sexy"  "Diaper changing Daddies are hot"  and "Painter's get laid more."  may have been frequently uttered this past week.

 - Amber's Tip of the week -
Sex is a powerful negotiation tool.  Use it wisely.

Happy Monday!








Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Necessity Must Be the Mother of MacGyver

It's no secret that the pay for firefighters sucks big blue donkey balls.  Especially in a right to work state, where the average rent is more than 50% of a firefighter's monthly income.  Any wonder there is a massive turnover rate in this area and a critical shortage of public servants?    No one can afford to do the job, unless they have two or more jobs - a difficult feat in this economy.  And unions, who protect the interests of the workers, are the villains?  Whatever.  Rocky Mountain Oysters, anyone?

Yes, yes, I know.  Opinions are like bushy armpits, everyone has two, but they are only occasionally presentable and stink most of the time.  Whine, whine, bitch and moan, two sides to every story, made your own choice, blah, blah, blah.  Even so, society needs public servants to function smoothly and I believe it's more cost effective and less negatively economically impacting to prune the pay at the top of the heap rather than the bottom.  Just sayin'.

Anyway.  Political rant over.  Moving on.

If Necessity is the mother of MacGyver, Broke is the mother of Necessity.  And broke is what we are.  Which has forced me to find my inner MacGyver.  But Pinterest?  Pinterest is the most bomb diggity side kick MacGyver never had!  Seriously!  It's totally helped me think outside the box.  Only have a can of tuna, beans, powdered milk?  Bam, Pinterest has a recipe Emeril would drool over.  Kids playing hopscotch on your last nerve?  They have simple fix for that too - involving nothing more than salt and glue.

Pinterest is cooler than a penguin's fart. It's totally pimp, Yo!

However, The Firefighter does not share in my love affair with Pinterest.   He hates it.  By hate, I mean he would rather do the macarena in the demon infested fires of the 7th ring of hell while getting toothpicks shoved up his fingernails than have a Pinterestacular threesome with me.

This is a BIG problem.  Why, you ask, feigning interest in my first world marital problems?

Because I've got some seriously early hardcore nesting going on.  That's why.  And the more time I spend on the time suck that is Pinterest, contemplating cheap and free ways to cram 3 kids, ages 3 and under, into a 900 sq ft., two bedroom condo and organize it in such a way that I don't lose my shit looking at clutter, the longer his honey-do list gets.   It's also complicated by the fact that I'm not particularly realistic about our abilities and for a math teacher, I suck at eyeballing dimensions.  I also suck at directions, dodgeball, dieting and a shit ton of other things.  But, hey,  I can derive the hell out of some functions.  Need to know what s= ut + 1/2a (squared)  means or how RNA transcriptase works?  I'm your girl.  

And you know Boo's really loving the curb alert and dumpster diving duties assigned to him.  What?  Don't act like you don't dig in your neighbors' trash when there is something good sitting on the curb.  I know that ain't limited to us southern rednecks.  Though you may not take it as far as patrolling neighboring 'hoods on trash day...  Whatever.  I'm not ashamed.  I just ask myself, what would MacGyver do?

Turns out, MacGyver would Pin the shit out of some ideas on a virtual board and beg The Firefighter to do the heavy lifting to turn it into reality.











It could happen, right?

Happy Pinning!

Disclaimer- All pics are from Pinterest.  I haven't the foggiest clue how to credit them to the original? Bueller, Bueller, Anybody?

Friday, March 9, 2012

It's a Cribs' Thang, Yo!

I'm pretty sure that my children are conspiring to expedite my decent into insanity.

Yesterday, Miss Chatterbox was particularly destructive.  During one of my many, many visits to the loo, (possibly the most annoying thing about pregnancy - Thanks, Spawn), she took a sharpie to my favorite, special edition, waited in line in the wee hours of the morn, for more than 4 hours,  Harry Potter book.  I don't tend to be attached to my things, but it's Harry Potter, People.  Harry Frickin' Potter!  It's sacrilege, I tell you! Especially, since I practically hero worship JK Rowling.  If I swung that direction, I would totally do her.

(Disclaimer - there is no swinging in this tree.  Not that there is anything wrong with it, I'm just a total heterosexual prude.)

Anyway.

Moments after I sent Miss Chatterbox to her room, to think about why she shouldn't write in books, The Bun let out a pissed off squeal so high pitched, I'm sure dogs the next county over, were spinning in circles and howling.  She promptly followed that heart stopping audiological feat with a vomit inducing poosplotion.

Ugh.

I'm telling you, it's a conspiracy.  No joke, yo.  I watched Miss Chatterbox throw up her cribs' gang signs to her sister as she practically death marched to her room.

It looked something like this:


But translated something like this:

Yo Sissy, I warmed her up, she's ready ta blow. You should gots a poosplotion. While yo doin' dat, I'll hide her keys. Again, yo.  It be funnin'.  We gots dis here sheeit tied up!  She be in da nuthouse ins no time.  Then we gets our party on, mutha f$*#a!

Betcha didn't know I spoke ghetto.  One of my many talents.  

Don't think The Spawn didn't get in on the fun.  Oh no, he/she treated me to an extra special back "rub"(called the sciatica), when I tried to stand upright after changing The Bun's diaper.  

Damn kids.  Gotta love 'em!  


And one more for the road!


That means - TGIF,  Mutha Readers!!!