bad parent »

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!

Holy crap

Posted by Domestic Diva at 10:20 pm Uncategorized

May 092011

What is it that they say about the third time around?

It’s a “charm, right?”

I agree, but only if by charm they mean that the third time around is a testament to your sanity.

Because when I say it’s my third time, and a charming one at that, I am, of course, referring to potty training.

My first two ~~disasters~~ experiences were with my boys whom I was told, given their gender, would be more difficult to train. After surviving the literal shit-storm- twice-I can honestly stand here and tell you it would have been easier for me to eat some coal and poop some diamonds than have those two just go on the toilet. After months and months with Joey, I sat with him in the bathroom one day and said, “We’re not leaving until you poop on the potty. I’m prepared to sit this one out.”

Three hours later he yells “Mom! Mom! I need a Pull-Up or a diaper! The poop is gonna fall out!” Had this kid even been listening to what this process was all about??

As for boys being more difficult than girls, I cannot say for certain whether this is true, or if my other Mom friends at the time saw the defeat in my eyes and heard the underlying desperation in my voice, and therefore told me all boys were a challenge when it came to potty training in order to make me feel better. Perhaps they didn’t want me to feel like a mother of a failure…because I did.

As I begin this transition for the third time, I pray that boys are harder than girls. This means I should be having an easier time with my 22 month old daughter…but so far I’m not. Cecilia just started potty training, and when I say that I mean she is still in diapers 24 hours a day, pees and poops only when diapers are on, and prefers potty time to be a place to be read to and sung to while she sits bare-assed on the toilet for what seems like hours at a time. On occasion she’ll take a break from books so she can dip her hands into the big toilet or unroll as much toilet paper as she can before getting caught.

Ashamed, becuase I should be a veteran at this by now, I turned late one night to the internet. Surely, Google would discretely refer me to some parenting websites that might offer some clue into unlocking the potty training secret, or something that would shorten this process and allow me to keep my sanity, at the very least.

So I sat in my living room, logged off of Facebook and Twitter, and quietly typed queries on Google in the dark of my living room praying for a cure (is that the right word?).

It was there in the dead of night, quietly tapping away on my keys that I discovered some of the worst products for potty training. But this, THIS is exactly how they get you!

You’re desperate!

You’re tired!

You’re knee deep in someone else’s crap when suddenly you see these products and think, “Hey, maybe it’ll work?”

“It’s just got to work!”

“Please, dear God, let it work!”

There, in that moment of sheer desperation, you take out your credit card and before you know it you’re the proud owner of:

Potty Time Gets Plush

These are plush toys- one is pee and the other (you guessed it) is poop. Two things: 1) I am not encouraging my kids to play with poop or pee whether it be plush or not AND 2) If my kid owned this, it would be THE toy they couldn’t live without and I’d have to explain to people why my kid’s “lovie” was a plush turd

Shit or Get of the Pot

This is not a game. I repeat, this is not a game. Changing diapers is bad enough, I have no desire for my kid to use and then drive their poop and pee around on this toilet on wheels. We can’t get through an hour without someone spilling juice, let alone a dirty, full potty- Gross!

I’m Speechless

That’s right, with Poopy time fun shapes, you insert the applicator, and sit back and let the fun begin. You’re kids will love crapping hearts & stars! Because nothing will give them a positive bathroom experience like you shoving a plastic tube up their anus.

Are you in the trenches with me? How’s potty training going? Have any products that are worse than these? Do you own any of these? Leave me a comment!

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

Older Entries