bad day »

Worst Mom in Town

Posted by Domestic Diva at 2:28 pm Uncategorized

Sep 142011

Well, as expected Fred’s return to his lost owners created a lot of negative emotions in my house. I have to sometimes remind myself that my kids are only six, four and two years old, and that life lesson rarely come easily or without some difficulty.

For Joey, my oldest, he was primarily saddened. He knew that returning Fred to their home was the right thing to do, and it just made him sad. The poor kid cried for an hour straight, and demonstrating the resilience of kids, he moved right from grief to anger which of course was directed at me…the worst Mom in town. I should also mention that Joey has been asking for a dog as long as he could talk. Last year, at some point, he talked with a school counselor about it (I hope it wasn’t in her office because no one told me about it). He came home and said that the counselor thought we should have “an open discussion about owning a pet and the responsibilities it holds.” I’ll be giving him plenty of counseling material with this latest event.

Jake, only being four, was saddened by Fred’s return, but he was not sold on the dog’s return as the right thing to do. There were a lot more questions like “If they lost him and aren’t responsible, why can’t we keep him?” Still questioning my decision, as he does most of the time anyway, he moved right into slathering on the guilt. He turned down an invitation to play with a friend after school and told me he was “just too sad to play.” He also fondly remembered Fred this morning and ask me, “Hey, Mom? Do you remember that time I had a dog to love?” Yes…it was yesterday.

Now Cecilia is two. Life with a toddler is challenging enough, and a lesson about right and wrong, on this level, just doesn’t translate into toddler. So when a two year old doesn’t understand why something happens, you can end up with crying, throwing fits, acting out, etc. Well, she did cry, and like her brothers. also can be dramatic (wonder who they got that from??) Yesterday, when she first realized the dog was gone, she told me “I wuved that doggy. Fred was my best friend.” She then proceeded to cry herself to sleep and I was feeling totally guilty and horrible until I saw this when I went to get her from her nap:

Take my dog? I'll show you. Here's Cecilia painted in Triple Paste (which is $25 a tub by the way). her legs, back of her hair, hands, carpet, dresser, books, toys and door all were covered in the ointment. It doesn't wash off with water either.

So now in addition to the unicorn poop, which I’m still finding all over my house, I have another submission for Shit my Kids Ruined. The ointment, which really works well keeping rashes dry, also does not come up very easily. So after wiping my daughter off with a dry cloth, baby wipes, and then a wash cloth I finally got it all off of her. At one point, while bathing her, I said, already knowing the answer, “Why would you make a big mean mess like this?” She replied with, “Where’s my dog?”

Mystery solved.

So three of the saddest kids ever went to bed dogless last night, and awoke today ready to spread the guilt on thick again.

“I wonder what Fred is doing now?” Jake pondered.

“Probably wondering why Mom gave him back to irresponsible owners…” Joey replied.

“That doggy was cute. I wuved him and wuved him,” Cecilia recalled.

And perhaps worst of all was Cecilia’s reading material today which I had never seen before this morning…do they sell “Self Help” books for toddlers?

"Chicken Soup for the Kids Soul...Friendship" adorned with a picture of puppies.

And don’t worry she was actually crying because Jake had a book she wanted (and in addition to not understanding why we gave the dog back, Sharing is a pretty foreign concept as well).

So here we are…one day with a dog…and now one day without. I imagine it’ll be a few more days until my popularity begins to rise again.

Have your kids ever made you feel horrible about the “right” decision? Leave me a comment and let me know! And while you’re here, take a quick second and click the link below to cast an automatic vote for me on Top Mommy Blogs…thanks!

What’s bugging you?

Posted by Domestic Diva at 6:14 pm Uncategorized

May 142011

Friday the 13th started as most others did. The chipper chimes of my phone’s alarm annoyed me from my slumber. I begrudgingly turned on the shower and began the start of another day. This morning, in addition to being unlucky because of the date, would prove to be another busy day between schools, shopping, yard work (we expanded my garden an extra 5×20 ft), and doing some stuff for the website. At least today there were no volunteer hours or field trips which seem to take a valuable chunk of my day right out from under me.

As I lathered my hair, I thought about yesterday’s field trip to one of Delaware’s State Parks, which truth be told was more like a swamp, with Joey’s Kindergarten class. Although it was a rather short trip, just under three hours in all, the kids managed to squeeze in a lesson on the importance of trees, a quick craft, a walk through the nature center, a walk around a pond (swamp), followed a trail into the woods and finally grabbed a picnic style lunch.

When I dressed Joey that morning I put him in long pants even though the temperatures were forecast to climb in the afternoon. I choose similar attire, and as we walked through the woods and I spied patch after patch of poison ivy, I knew I made a smart decision as far as the apparel was concerned. Although, I did forget hats. Aside from the fact that ticks (and Lyme’s Disease) are prevalent here, I would have preferred an extra barrier between my head and any other creatures. I also skipped perfume and lotion, yet still managed to come come with no less that a dozen mosquito bites. I’m hoping not to be the state’s first confirmed case of West Nile Virus because I saw some of these massive blood suckers as they began feasting on my flesh. These winged beasts looked like something out of the Jurassic Period.

Anyway, I was ready to jump out of the shower when I remembered another day warm temperatures laid ahead so I broke out my shaving cream and razor and began shaving my stubbly legs. This daily shave (above the knee even) was really the only bad thing about warmer weather that I could come up with as I went up the back of my right leg and did a half turn to reach the upper part of my thigh. Just because it’s not an easy reach I looked back to be sure I covered the massive area. last thing I need is a tuft of leg hair sticking out of the back of my shorts (although it might camouflage the cellulite at least).

Ah, I had missed a spot and as the razor took the hair and cream away I saw a tiny black spot. I brushed the spot with my finger and it was smooth and slightly raised but didn’t come off. As I contorted further to inspect this freckle perhaps, it moved…and when I say it moved, I actually mean the spot crawled.

I opened my mouth to scream but no sound escaped. I then proceeded to leap into the air, however, with my body already oddly contorted I slipped and began falling out of the shower. I grasped at the liner which stopped me from tumbling out of the tub but it did tear right through the plastic where three of the rings were. That was the furthest thing from my mind though. I needed to find the creature that was on my leg. I calmed myself as best I could and tried to re-assume my previous position. I was too panicked to hold that twisted position so I quickly sat in the tub and flipped my leg over.

It was there, through the unrelenting spray of water still coming from my shower head, that I saw the tick positioned inside a dimple just south of my right ass cheek. Oh the horror! The tick had just begun to bite, and perhaps my fatty thigh, although most likely appeared delectable to the tick, was not as easy to grab so I was able to pull him off with little effort.

Being a large child trapped inside an old Mom’s body, my eyes welled with tears as I washed the tick down the drain to his watery grave. Oh, were they all over me? Where had it come from? My afro? Not caring about the time, I rinsed my hair and repeated my earlier wash. About half way through my wash I saw another on my arm. “I’m infested!!!” I cried out to no one.

This tick was even easier to remove and unlike his friend had not bitten me as of yet. “See you in hell,” I told the blood- sucker as I sent him to the same watery grave as his friend.

Needless to say, I’ve been freaking out for more than a day. My hands are constantly feeling my scalp for any abnormalities (I know, I know. The real abnormalities are beneath my scalp). I feel buggy. I feel gross. I have a growing hatred of nature. I’m left wondering what will kill me first- the Lyme’s Disease or the West Nile Virus? Then this morning I pulled a tick off of Jake who didn’t even attend the trip. It had bitten him right on middle of his chest. I’ll be checking his chest and my ass for redness and or red rings for the foreseeable future, and if this creepy crawly feeling doesn’t go away I may end up shaving my head.

Can you imagine what would happen if a bunch of bugs got into my mustache or worse yet, penetrated my afro?! It would be like a bug party and I'd have to shave it off and just start over. I may be posting bald pictures soon.

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When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go

Posted by Domestic Diva at 1:38 pm Uncategorized

Apr 292011

A few years ago, when Joey was potty training, the child would not use a public toilet…ever. He wouldn’t pee or poop at school, while out shopping, traveling, and once on the way to the beach he cried for forty minutes because he had to go so bad and was holding it until we reached my parents. We tried stopping at a fast food restaurant, told him to pee in the grass (which he still refuses to do), so I made a purchase of a travel potty, pictured above, in case of an emergency.

Last summer, miraculously, Joey began using public toilets. In fact, now Joey likes to check out every public toilet we encounter. He especially loves the ones that make me really cringe like at the doctor’s office, ball park or any frequently used but rarely cleaned facility. It’s not just that I’m freaked out by germs, but Joey now likes to get “intimate” with the seat. Anyway, the travel potty sat in the back of our SUV unchristened until a couple days ago.

Now, I know those of you who have read my story of one of my last trips to Pittsburgh where I was stuck in traffic, had not peed in seven hours and was forced to pee in a size 6 Huggies Diaper in the center lanes of downtown Pittsburgh during rush hour/holiday traffic might think I was the one who used the travel potty for the first time…but it wasn’t me.

So late Wednesday morning, on our last day in Pittsburgh, we accompanied my mother-in-law and sister-in-law up to the cemetery to plant some flowers on my father-in-law’s graveside. Joey had been there only once and my other two children had never been in a cemetery. On our short drive there I told them they needed to be respectful and although it was a beautiful day, there was to be no running around.

After the initial round of questioning, most of which I didn’t answer (about bones, being dead, ghosts and worms), we arrived and the kids immediately did not listen to a word I had said. Although their general level of noise could wake the dead, we managed to keep things to a dull roar, and after some slight reminding, they stopped walking between headstones and asking if they could climb and sit on them too. Only about ten minutes had past before Jake announced his need to poop. My husband told him he could go in the woods, Jake was decidedly against this because he “is not a bear.” My husband then took Jake to the rear of the car where he proceeded to christen the travel potty in the middle of a cemetery.

So much for being respectful in a cemetery. I’m pretty sure taking a crap is worse than running around, stepping on graves or sitting on headstones. What can you do though? He’s three and when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go…

A letter from the SUV that God forgot

Posted by Domestic Diva at 10:11 pm Uncategorized

Apr 252011

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing this letter somewhere in the mountains of northern Maryland or maybe south western Pennsylvania. Geographically speaking there is little to no visible difference as far as the landscape is concerned. I am accompanied on this trip by my husband of eight years and my three children who this July will turn 6, 4, and 2 respectively. It’s hard to say how long we’ve been in this steel cage on wheels. Days? Weeks? Months? My husband assures me it’s been a mere three hours, but I think he’s gone mad. I’m certain my mind is going too. These may be my last coherent words before my mind is totally lost.

I’m sitting in the middle row positioned behind the passenger’s seat, and it is my job to keep the children happy while my husband drives. My children don’t like being confined and/or restrained in one spot for more than a few minutes as often is the case will little children. I knew, however, that this trip was going to go poorly when twenty minutes into the drive the oldest called out, “Are we there yet??”

I think we actually may have traveled through some sort of worm hole or time warp, or perhaps I’ve died and gone straight to hell. The stubble on my legs proves either we’ve been in the car for an extremely long period of time or I forgot my weekly shave. Either way, this is just terrible.

I prepared as much as anyone could for a thing like this. Aside from everything we’ll need if we ever reach our final destination, the car is stocked with as many distractions as possible for the 6+ hour trip. We even made some new purchases: The dual dvd player we bought (plays one dvd on two screens) has proved a blessing and a curse. Sure it’s a distraction, but when have you ever seen three kids agree on any one movie selection regardless of age and gender. I packed some new movies, films which I’m sure are terrible, but at least I haven’t seen them 6,937 times like the other selections hand picked by the children themselves. As of right now, I’ve been subjected to the second half of Toy Story 3 (for the third time in two days), Despicable Me, Happiness is a Warm Blanket Charlie Brown, and now we’re onto Cars (a real classic in heavy rotation since 2006). Given our current course and the speed at which we are traveling, we’re due to hit downtown Pittsburgh at rush hour, so I highly anticipate at least one more movie selection after the current 116 minutes of highly stimulating animation concludes.

We’ve had several near meltdowns, and even though the children just ate before leaving, the constant barrage of questioning regarding when they will eat next and what food will be served, is speeding me towards a meltdown of motherly proportions. Of course there are also smaller grumblings and back talking from “he won’t stop looking at me” to “I’m hot” and “Yeah, well, I’m cold” and my favorite “he’s breathing loud at me!”

The baby is also three hours past nap time and she.is.pissed. If I don’t make it out of this SUV that God forgot it may well be because my almost-toddler murdered me. Randomly and without cause she’ll cry out. As I scramble to determine the nature of her distress handing her juice cups, pacifiers or a toy, she’ll scrunch her face, yell and throw whatever I hand to her. The last time she screamed, I tried passing a pacifier to her which almost immediately came whizzing past my face at a velocity I never would have dreamed possible from a 22 month old. Thank God it hit the handle of the door becuase I’m certain had it hit the glass, it would have shattered. Upon further inspection, I’m sure it bent the metal frame of the door.

As I indicated before I may already be dead. It may have been from a physical assault from my toddler, or perhaps my brain just exploded from listening to the nonsense constantly being spewed behind me from the boys. Although, it could very well be from some of these world class drivers we’ve seen since around Baltimore. We’ve witnessed cars that passed two lanes of vehicles weaving in and out and one point even passed on the shoulder. There was an ice cream truck going 32 mph on the interstate, quadruple lane changes with no blinker and/or other discernible warning, a thousand or so people who were not utilizing the left lane for passing (although Marylanders do this in Delaware too, so I’m beginning to suspect it’s backwards here- slower traffic keeps left, not right), and my personal favorite, “Twinzies.”

Twinzies was coined when a car in the lane next to us would speed up and slow down to match our exact speed. No matter what, this car (van in this case actually) did, they wanted to be just like us. A ridiculous conversation between my husband and I ensued where we imagined the other car saying things like “Hey, how fast do you want to go? Oh, yeah? Me too!! Twinzies!!!” Then we imagined the family occupying the car rearragning their seats and changing clothes to match us exactly. Then they would pull along side us, honk and point and mouth the words “Twinzies!!” at us. This conversation went on for a solid thirty minutes (just about the time it took us to lose our car twinzie), and it was then I realized my husband was nuts. I guess I’ve lost it too since I coined the term. Initially Joe just called them “a bunch of real friggin assholes.”

Anyway, as I sit here and ramble on as I drive through this unending stretch of road taking me up one mountain and down the next, I feel full of emotion. I want you, dear reader, to know that even though I’m sure I’ll not survive, or may already be dead, that you meant so much to me. No matter my situation, whether it be my boys emptying a giant pack of tampons out and throwing them at each other in the front yard, or someone getting poop every where, or even the time they let a stray dog in the house, you…you were always there for me. Sometimes with a relate-able tale to help me feel less alone, or an occasional experience you would share that would trump my own, but no matter what, I felt like you were there with me. You lifted my spirits, helped me laugh through some (funny yet) traumatizing parental moments. No matter what situation I was in, I was not alone.

So as I sit here facing an eternity of driving hell with three now hostile almost animal like little creatures with a husband who has lost his mind, I feel comforted knowing somehow, someway you’re here with me. Perhaps even though I am crippled with despair in this very moment, one day you and I will laugh together and say it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps we’ll sip our wine and say “Hey remember that time you took 3 kids under six on a 6+ hour car trip?” And we’ll laugh and laugh…I hold onto that tightly now as I sit now with tears in my eyes knowing that this trip has not even started and in just a couple days we’ll be in the car doing it all over again. In the case that this is hell and I’m already dead, I guess I should get used to repetition. Either way, pray for me, dear friend. Pray.for.me.

Your friend always,

Susan

Challenged

Posted by Domestic Diva at 7:23 pm Uncategorized

Apr 212011

This has been one of those weeks where I’m feeling like I’m being tested daily (and not just as a parent). There’s been no shortage of bloggable material, but to be perfectly honest, I just haven’t felt like sitting down and writing about it. Aside from this week being incredible busy with a ton of running around, I’m in some sort of allergy haze as there’s been an eruption of pollen in my area. So rather than doing multiple posts, here’s the week in review:

Saturday: Went to the beach even though it was raining and took the three kids outlet shoe shopping. No further explanation needed.

Sunday: Went to a park, played mini golf, went on the beach, ate an actual bucket of boardwalk fries, and nearly slipped into a coma.

Monday: With Easter less than a week away, I decided to get the stuff for the kid’s baskets while my husband took a quick break for lunch. This was a deliberate move because the store where I was headed was the same place Jake insulted an old lady, biker, and cashier with an unknown gender all in one trip. For the first time, I grabbed a cart because the “Easter Box” with all the baskets, grass, and plastic eggs I had saved from last year was swallowed by my basement. I also had other items to purchase as well, so I hurried around, filling the pharmacy’s cart. As I approached the front of the store the cashier placed both hands over her mouth and began to giggle. She’s worked there a while so I know who she is, and I’d say she was socially awkward to say the least (that’s not an official diagnosis, and I’d rather just not go there). Anyway, as I start unloading she loudly exclaims, “Your hair is like KAAAA-POOOOOW!” I smiled and agreed, after all I walk around like this every day; I know what my hair looks like.

And yet for some reason, she kept at it. For nearly six minutes she rang up my items, and stopped after almost every item scanned to comment on my hair. “Do you know it’s out there?” and “I don’t mean to say it like that, but it’s all like WOW!” and “What’s it like in the summer?” oh, and “Can you even fit it under a hat?” There was a man, in his early forties maybe that was behind me in line. He just kept repeating quietly, “Oh, my God, stop talking.” If it wasn’t for the 10% off I get with every purchase, it might not be worth it to face the slew of insults at my local Rite Aide.

Tuesday: Spent the morning on a farm with Joey’s class, and Jake was also there with his preschool group accompanied by my husband. I’m not real into touching livestock, getting intimate with my future food, or thrilled about ecoli, but the trip was really entertaining for the kids and only a couple of hours long. We managed to get out of there with only one) goof when I told Joey to listen to a man who was speaking to the kids about various seeds (wonder why he was not paying attention)? This particular “farmer” had a pretty thick accent and Joey yelled out, “I can’t understand him, Mom! He’s speaking Spanish!” (Except he was Indian and speaking English). The gentleman shot me a look and did not seem amused. Other than that it was a good trip.

The kids were then loaded back on the bus and taken to a local park where all 106 of them respectively (with some other park goers and a few siblings) played for several hours after enjoying their lunch at picnic tables. For the most part it was fine, but all those kids climbing on the equipment at the same time, some hanging out the sides of the “rocket” jungle gym 10 ft in the air, was almost too much for me to take. I would have added some rum to my coke or tried to get my hands on some Xanax or something had I know the absolute mayhem that was about to take place. Just too many kids, too large of an area, with too few adults. Aside from some minor arguing over prime playground territory, a few kids drinking out of a dog watering bowl, a couple tumbles, and a few rain drops, the kids had a blast. There were no missing children, compound fractures or catastrophic falls, so all in all a good day.

The giant Rocket Jungle Gym that nearly gave me an anxiety attack. Please picture 100+ kids ALL on this at once. It happened.

Wednesday: Just like the last few weeks, we’ve had one day that hits 80 degrees (before it drops down to 50 again). Worked in the garden all day, husband had an allergy attack after cutting the grass and his eyes almost swelled totally shut. Ran to the store, saw FIVE people I knew, spoke to all of them, came home, looked in the mirror and was surprised they didn’t give the same reaction as the lady from Rite Aide. Dirt on my face. Dirt on my shirt. Hair was like “KAAAAA-POOOOW!”

Thursday: Spring break started a day early for Joey. He woke up with red, swollen eyes and a bad headache. I spent the day trying to rid our house of all the pollen I let in yesterday when I had every window open. Dusted and cleaned furniture, windows, walls, floors. Dust rag was a yellowish green from pollen and I sneezed most of the day. Considering wearing Depends Adult Diapers while Cecilia, the former sweet and innocent baby turned curious and destructive toddler, is awake. Took two bathroom breaks and paid for my brief moment behind a closed door. Trip one into the bathroom she spilled both of her brother’s juice cups on the kitchen table and the kitchen floor. She then proceeded to empty a container of baby wipes in order to ~~spread~~ clean the mess up. Two cups of coffee and a couple hours later, I slipped in the bathroom unnoticed…or so I thought. I heard a gentle scratching sound at the door and called out “Who’s there!” to which Cecilia squealed in delight and ran down the hall. Upon leaving the bathroom I discovered the scratching was not a sound made by her hands but rather from a red crayon that was all over the bathroom door, front door and down the hallway.

As I mentioned today is the official start of Spring Break. Pray for me, people. Pray for me.

Hope you’re all having a good week! Leave me a comment while you’re here and don’t forget to vote for me on Top Mommy Blogs!

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Curb your kid

Posted by Domestic Diva at 8:06 pm Uncategorized

Apr 142011

Monday we hit 80 degrees and the kids and I enjoyed a plethora of outdoor fun. They played in their sand box and on their swing set, rode their bikes and colored on the sidewalk while I worked in the garden and started on my fabulous farmer’s tan.

Then Tuesday came in like a lion with colder temperatures, wind, rain and we were forced to stay indoors. For some reason, my younger two kids think I control the weather. After such a fantastic day Monday, being stuck indoors again was the last thing they (or I wanted). I tried my best to keep them entertained, but by Wednesday morning with even colder air, windier and wetter conditions they were absolutely miserable.

The whining probably started about 9:30am Tuesday and by Wednesday at 1pm it had escalated to a point where I was ready to lose my mind. We had colored, painted, read books, played computer games, played with Play Doh, built blocks, had a tea party, played hide and seek and played some board games. Yet still the whining continued….”Moooooooom! I want to go out…I want to play….I want to go for a walk…I want it to be Spring!!!”

So I did search the internet for more fun crafts to try? Did I drive 50 miles to the closest museum to break the rainy whiney blues?

Hell, no.

I put on DVD after DVD. When they were done with DVD’s we watched a half dozen Backyardian’s episodes, ate junk food, played Wii, and then watched some more TV. We dined on a gourmet style dinner of mac & cheese and hotdogs. We finished off the evening with ice cream.

I went to bed Wednesday night vowing to not to leave that spot between my sheets until the sun made an appearance. Lucky for me, Thursday came and the sun was shining, birds were chirping and the temperatures were climbing. The kids and I moved slowly at first, almost hungover from the previous day’s bad parenting.

I felt like I was going to need to make up for the mind melting activities of yesterday afternoon and evening. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling kind of guilty about my short temper, turning my kid’s attention over to the television, and my poor nutritional choices.

So we had our fill of the gorgeous weather. We played in the sandbox, I pushed them on the swings, they “helped” me in the garden, and just cause I felt so bad, I decided to squeeze in an extra walk in the stroller.

The kids were pretty quiet now due to all the running around, and I was feel reborn as a parent. The kids would point out the occasional dog, say “hello” to the other neighbors who had the same great idea that we did, and seemed to be just happy. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief, and I smiled as Cecilia repeated the sound. What a perfect Spring day…for some.

As we came headed down the next street, now just two blocks from home, I saw an empty stroller on the curb. It sat half in the overgrown grass of the vacant (still waiting to be built on) lot, and a woman, dog and small boy were about 6ft into the tall grass and weeds. “Maybe there’s a frog or something in there,” I pondered to myself as we came closer. Although, I’d never let my kids walk in there, frog or no frog, because there are ticks and snakes and other undesirables calling these 20 or so un-built home sites, home.

The dog was pulling wildly at the leash on the woman’s wrist and she was uncensored as she released a string of curse words in the canine’s direction. The dog didn’t pause and continued to leap and now bark as we approached. I was still trying to figure out this odd scene. The boy seemed to be bent over forward in front of the woman who I assumed was his mother. She had her back to us and didn’t seem, until this moment, to have noticed us, and now half turned to see who was approaching.

The woman’s left arm jerked around and she pulled hard at the un-obedient dog. Her sunglasses held some of her hair from her face, but I could see she was visibly sweating. She too was bent over and suddenly, as she half turned, and our eyes met, I knew exactly what this poor woman was doing.

As this woman worked to restrain her dog, she also worked to balance her son who was sort of squatting, bare assed in front of her. She held in her right hand a white plastic bag that she was desperately trying to grab with her left hand as well. The bag, I’m sure was initially intended for the dog. At this moment, however, the bag was being used as a toilet for her 2-3 year old boy.

“There’s more coming out, Mom!” he yelled.

My eyes locked with this woman’s. At first neither of us said a word. She didn’t need to say anything, her eyes, filling with tears and her cheeks a scarlet red, said it all.

“How did I end up here?”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“This is not what I expected from parenthood or life in general”

“I told this little jerk to go to the potty seven times before we left”

“I am standing in an overgrown lot up to my knees in grass, weeds, bugs, and toddler shit.”

My mouth opened and no sound came out. I wasn’t so much shocked at what I saw, but more surprised that it was happening to someone other than me. This is the life I live and yet there she was. I knew my mere presence was making her life even more unbearable at the moment, but I hoped that she saw in my eyes that I’ve been there before too (not literally in a grassy area holding human poop in a bag, but close).

I asked as kindly as I could if there was anything I could do? Hold the dog perhaps? And just as the woman was about to turn me down the boy stood up, half pulled up his underwear, and announced he was “all done.”

At this point my kids were pointing and questioning why they couldn’t go into the grass, so seeing that the situation was under control, I continued forward with a sympathetic glance. She did say thank you, and I just waved and continued home.

It was in that last block and a half that I really felt just terrible for her. Here I was feeling redeemed, feeling like a great Mom, and then I bore witness to another parent having an as-bad-as-it-gets kind of moment. Half of me just ached for her and the other half felt thankful. Thank you to the gods of parenting that wasn’t me, not today. Not after the last two days…maybe her misfortune was the universe trying to show me on those worst of the worst days, or in the most embarrassing moments of motherhood, I’m not alone…

I had never seen the woman before, but I wish I knew where she lived…I’d bring her a bottle of wine.

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Cloudy with a chance of afros

Posted by Domestic Diva at 9:12 pm Uncategorized

Mar 312011

I have an opportunity to cross an item off my Bucket List. Blake, my favorite stylist, and one of the only people talented and qualified enough to attempt to style my hair, has offered to make me a blonde. Holy shit. I’ve had high lights, but never sported anything lighter than a chestnut brown.

Changing hair color is probably nothing for some people; I have tons of friends who do it both freely and fabulously. My fear, my hesitation is because I already hate my hair. My naturally curly, angry friggin hair. When I keep up on my cuts with Blake my hair tends to stay slightly tamed and subdued. When I get busy, the kids get sick, we have our usual plans, and life keeps happening then my hair tends to let loose and go natural. I am approximately 5 weeks overdue for a cut. Check this nonsense out. This is what happens when I don’t put product in on a humid day.

My Nut House Application Photo

So Saturday I will be getting at the very least a haircut, and maybe even a new color. Let’s just hope I don’t end up looking like a Q-Tip.

It might not make my hair pretty, but it will make me feel better. Click the link below to cast an automatic vote for me:

Toddlers vs. Assholes…Continued.

Posted by Domestic Diva at 6:44 pm Uncategorized

Mar 222011

I ran a post last month titled “Toddlers vs. Assholes” where we explored how some behaviors, when exhibited by a toddler or young child (we’ll say under 8yrs old), are considered appropriate because of the age of the person acting out the behaviors. When you take these same behaviors and imagine an adult doing these same things, you’d probably agree and say they were a real asshole.

Am I saying all toddlers are assholes? No.

Am I saying just because someone is four years old they can’t sometimes act like an asshole regardless of whether their actions are considered age appropriate? Oh, I think anyone can be an asshole….

Many of you gave some really great additions to my first list that included announcing the need to have a bowel movement loudly while eating at a restaurant, bending over while bare assed after pooping and asking if they were “good” in front of company, and just yelling words like “Boobies” without cause and while in public to name just a few.

Now, as many of you know, I live with three ~~assholes~~ small children. Whether it be for emotional support or to feel better about my own situation, I tend to hang out with other people that have ~~assholes~~ small children. With so much interaction with little people, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that my list has doubled since my last post. This concept, I have a feeling, will be an ongoing feature.

This list has the newest items first with the older post’s items included as numbers 11-20. As with the original list I’d like to you to take a moment and imagine each behavior acted out by a small child as well as by an adult….what would you say? Typical toddler? Just an asshole? You’re the judge.

I give you Toddlers vs Assholes, Part II.

1. Someone who spits chewed food into your hand

2. Someone who picks their nose and puts it on a wall/school bus seat/friend

3. Someone who coughs in your mouth while you are talking

4. Someone who participates in a “farting contest” until they poop in their pants

5. Someone with uncontrollable legs that kick your car seat for the duration of the ride

6. Someone who unfolds or dumps clean folded laundry

7. Someone who touches/fingers food on your plate without invitation to do so

8. Someone who draws with crayons/markers/pens all over tables/desks/walls/doors/floors/self

9. Someone who pees in the backyard rather than take two minutes to use an indoor toilet

10. Someone who fills up a watering can in the toilet and calls it “helping”

11. Someone comes in your room at 6am, on a Saturday, wakes you up by jumping on your bed and demands that you immediately get up and make them breakfast.

12. Someone starts screaming at the top of their lungs in the middle of the night. You frantically go to find out what’s happened only to be told they are thirsty and want a cup of juice.

13. Someone goes to the bathroom and calls you to come wipe their ass when they’ve finished pooping.

14. You try to take someone by the hand to guide them in a particular direction and they instantaneously lose all muscle control and become totally limp. You must now drag said person to the place you were trying to go.

15. Someone, even though they can use utensils, throws forks and spoons on the floor and eats with their bare hands. This includes foods like cereal with milk and macaroni & cheese.

16. This same person will often rub their food into the table and chair, throw some on the floor, rub some in their hair, and occasionally on anyone sitting within arm’s reach.

17. Inside voice? What’s an inside voice? The quieter the place, the louder this person talks.

18. You are in a public place such as a restaurant. The time comes to leave and this person throws an epic fit. They scream, they yell, they cry. They demand you stay and refuse to listen, quiet down, oh, and they go limp…again.

19. Someone takes their personal belongings and randomly dumps it all over the floor all around your house. When you ask them to pick up their stuff they ignore you, say something “smart,” or begin crying. You end up picking up their personal belongings.

20. Someone tells secrets, lies, or personal information about you to total strangers. For example, they could answer your door and tell the UPS man that you are unable to come to the door because you are currently busy pooping. There’s no good reason for that.

As I said, this list will surely grow with time…anything you feel should be added? Agree? Disagree? Leave me a comment, I love hearing from you!
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Butt Fingers

Posted by Domestic Diva at 10:46 am Uncategorized

Mar 152011

I didn’t just wake up one morning a total germ freak. I’m a product of my environment. I developed my chronic hand washing/sanitizing as a result of seeing some really disgusting and foul things over the years. Now that I’m a Mom, and my kids are still young, I’m battling to keep them healthy in a dirty, disgusting world.

Just so you understand, and don’t judge me too harshly, here are some of the reasons I am why I am:

If you’re new, you may have missed the incident last year where I was trapped in a car and forced to pee in a Huggies Size 6 diaper (you can read that one here). Now, had I just used a public rest stop bathroom, I wouldn’t have had this problem. My issues with public toilets had been building for quite some time, but one incident that occurred when I was twenty really sticks out and was probably one of the biggest contributors to my public toilet phobia.

I went on Spring Break with three of my roommates to Cancun, Mexico. On the next to last day of the trip, I was so drunk and dehydrated that I drank melted ice water from a beer cooler at a bar. Genius right? The last day of our trip (and for another three weeks after) Montezuma had his revenge. Long story short, our plane was delayed going home and the airport was under renovations. When I finally located an open bathroom, there were only two stalls. The first door slowly creaked open to reveal a clogged poo and pee filled bowl that made me gag instantly. I stumbled backwards and felt a shift in my own bowels that was the only thing propelling me forward to the next stall. I bargained with God, swearing never to drink again of this next toilet was workable, and cautiously approached the door. After the door opened far enough for me to see the only other available toilet, it revealed a horror my brain could have never comprehended before. The seat…the seat….I’m sorry this is hard for me even now….the seat was COVERED in pubic hair. And just so we’re clear, I mean the entire seat was covered in HUNDREDS of short, dark and curlies.

I remember standing there just totally sick, hungover, and tired staring at the seat for a minute. Then I began to cry. My mind couldn’t comprehend what could have taken place in that stall. It was one of the worst things I had ever seen, and if you’re a believer in post traumatic stress, I’m telling you I had it after that. I’ve never looked at a public toilet the same way again. So what did I do? I cried a while and I stood in the bathroom holding my stomach and wishing I was back in the States. A friend said she’d stand guard and I could go in the sink, and then a stranger came in with the same travel related illness. This girl was either crazy or a super hero, but either way she braved the pubes and the crabs I was sure were there too, and wiped the seat down. After she cleaned and used the toilet, I layered about 7″ of toilet paper on the seat but still hovered, praying my ass wouldn’t catch anything from being within 3 feet of that previously furry seat.

That was just one incident in a foreign country’s airport. Surely, my experiences here would be better? Or not. I worked for years in a corporate setting, with various levels of management, and I can’t even begin to count how many times while using the bathroom at work, that I would hear a toilet flush and then the door open and close. These people just wipe, flush and walk right out of the bathroom without washing their hands. These nasty people, many times slipped in and out without revealing their identity. Who were they? Who knows…was it the person using the copy machine or fax ahead of me? Maybe. Were their shitty hands punching the same buttons I would be using? Were they hitting the elevator buttons and then heading to the cafeteria? Were they handling the cups and sticking their poop-ridden hands in the ice (don’t even get me started why someone’s bare hand need be in the ice machine)? Perhaps. Were they someone in a meeting who would shake my hand? Could be. So when coworkers would tease and joke with me about my hand sanitizers and Clorox wipes, I would always smile and laugh too, but who knows, maybe they were the ones not washing and then carrying on with their day happily spreading shit (literally) around.

Bad news for some folks was if I caught them trying to leave without washing, I would say something. Not embarrassing for me; they’re the nasty ones. Anyway, my point is, I’m like this because of the things I’ve seen time and time again. I’m like this because every time I see something I thought was the worst possible thing I could see (like the pube toilet), someone does something worse.

Without further delay, I give you the worst possible thing I could see someone do in public. I’m pretty sure I would go postal on this lady if I saw this. (If you watch Tosh.0, you probably saw this on last week’s episode. If you don’t watch Tosh, and you are easily grossed out, don’t watch this nasty ass-digging lady who could live in your town, pump from the same gas pumps, shop (and handle) the same produce, share the same library books, etc, etc, etc).

Tosh.0

Tuesdays 10pm / 9c

20 Seconds on the Clock – Dingleberry Season

tosh.comedycentral.com

Tosh.0 Videos

Daniel Tosh

Web Redemption

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Wheat free me

Posted by Domestic Diva at 11:33 am Uncategorized

Mar 072011

In case you’re new, I’m allergic to wheat. It’s one of the many things that is wrong with me. I didn’t always have a food allergy, and here’s the short version about how it happened (and if you already know the back story or you don’t care, skip to the 3rd paragraph): About nine years ago I started getting sick. It started one October and I literally threw up almost every day until the following January. The only reason I didn’t puke seven days a week was because there were some days I was too sick to eat any food. I had to go to the hospital more times than I’d care to recall so I could be re-hydrated and given IV medications to stop the puke-a-thon. They’d send me home, tell me to stick to a bland diet and then the whole cycle would start over again once I ate a piece of bread, crackers, pretzels, or anything else made with wheat/flour. So after three months, an upper GI, CT scan, and a barrage of blood work and other rather unpleasant exams, no one ever mentioned the possibility that I could have developed a food allergy at age 23. Well, no one except my chiropractor, who was a bit alternative even for a chiropractor, and a lady my Mom worked with who had a similar experience.

So I cut all wheat products out of my diet and I stopped getting sick. It was like a God damn miracle. My initial intent was to slowly introduce wheat back into my diet and see what happened. I never made it that far though because I ended up eating food containing wheat by accident. I learned the hard way quite a few times about how foods are labeled such as “modified food starch” could contain wheat, and one of the worst was eating food that was labeled “gluten/wheat free” BUT also label as “made in a facility that processes wheat.” Basically that means that there could be cross contamination and as long as that’s on the label, it’s an eat at your own risk situation. Wheat is also in a number of foods you might not expect, or realize, like some soy sauces, seasonings, and let’s not even talk about beer/alcohol (it just depresses me). My point here is that I’ve basically become a label freak and read and analyze everything before I eat it. If I’m going to a restaurant that is a larger chain I go to their website, read about ingredients, and have even emailed with questions. If I was going to eat wheat and get sick on purpose I’d eat a whole pizza, drink a ton of beer, or enjoy a Cappriotti’s Italian sub with extra pickles.

So anyway, I’ve had two recent wheat accidents. One was at a Wendy’s where I ate some French Fries, which at some point used to be listed as gluten free on their website, but now either the fries themselves have changed or now they are just cooked in the same oil as other wheaty items like chicken nuggets. Either way, I love french fries, and Wendy’s fries were always my favorite, but now I can’t eat them. The last time I ate them I was super, super sick. Did I also mention that aside from puking, getting the cha-cha’s along with swelling in (ALL) my joints? So it’s real easy for me to determine when I have a stomach bug/food poisoning versus wheat poisoning.

Even though I already knew the answer, I called Wendy’s customer service to confirm their fries were now another item I could not eat. I told the customer service rep my story, and instead of saying, “sorry, the new fries do contain wheat and we’re so sorry you were sick for three days after eating them” she says, “Yep. The fries do have wheat. The good news is you can still eat our salads without the croutons.” That’s the good news? Seriously? I don’t know about any of you, but there is nothing appealing about eating a Wendy’s salad. If I wanted to eat something sure to give me diarrhea like their nasty lettuce, I’d just eat the fucking french fries. That was pretty much my response to her too.

Over the weekend I opened a letter from the Perdue company and found an enclosed check for $15.00. They sent this in response to an inquiry I made into their Perfect Portion individually wrapped chicken breasts with roasted garlic seasoning. The package said “gluten free” but the time I spent in the bathroom, and the very unpleasant things that happened in there (along with the joint pain), was a pretty big indication to me it was not gluten free as advertised. They sent me a very generic response to my initial inquiry about the cleanliness of their sites, how they feed, monitor and process the chickens which didn’t answer my question which was “are there other items that you process in your plant that contain wheat?” They actually called and left me a voicemail saying there was no chance of contamination because the plant was wiped clean at night and the gluten free products are always made first. I took that as there are wheat products in the plant, and as such there IS a chance of contamination. As far as the $15 check they sent, are they paying me back for the product or for the pain and suffering…or perhaps for the toilet paper I had to use? At least they didn’t suggest I eat a salad.

In other news, I’m losing weight still without the need to exercise. It’s probably in part to my occasional accidental wheat-purging and the fact that I’m reduced to eating foods like salad (thanks Wendy for the suggestion). Also because I haven’t had french fries in months which may be the cause of my bitchiness (not the cold weather as I initially thought). Sorry for the whining, I let myself indulge in a pity party every once in a while about my allergy. I know it could be worse, but to someone who loves food as much as I do, and someone who would love the simplicity of eating a fucking sandwich, it’s a bummer.

Found this cartoon at http://jacattack.wordpress.com/2010/07/14/you-no-eat-a-no-wheat-a/)

Oh, and just so you all don’t experience anything close to what I go through when I eat wheat, please don’t miss the Skippy Peanut Butter recall. It sounds shitty. Happy Monday!

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Toddlers vs. Assholes…Continued.

Butt Fingers

Wheat free me

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