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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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Double Jointed

Posted by Domestic Diva at 1:30 pm Uncategorized

Feb 222011

I was running short on time as usual, so instead of asking a store associate for assistance, I tried to stretch my 5’4″ frame to reach the containers on the top shelf. Stepping on the bottom shelf, stretching my arm as far as it could go, I was just touching the front of the container with my fingertips. Stretching, reaching, stretching, the container spun round but not closer. Without really thinking it through, and just wanting the item, I jumped an inch or so off the bottom shelf, grabbed the bottle, and of course came crashing down on my ass in the middle of the aisle. Wearing wet snow boots, the skinny metal lip of the bottom shelf gave me not a moment of traction; so obviously I fell flat on my ass. Falling down would have been bad enough but when I grabbed the bottle I also knocked several other items from the shelf that wobbled and toppled, almost like dominoes, from nearly six feet above me, landing around me and even a few on my right leg and hand.

I sat, stunned by my own idiocy for a moment, surrounded by the kind of mess I’d expect from my three year old. I felt fortunate in that at least I was alone in the mess. I hopped to my feet, shook my hand which hurt from being hit with the falling bottles, and began to reach to clean up the mess when a small team (there were three) of store associates rounded the corner with great speed. As I began to apologize for the mess and explain nothing had broken (thank God for plastic), they began to assess my condition.

“Miss, are you okay? Did you hit your head? Are you injured? Does anything hurt?” the apparent leader of the pack questioned.

With my face presumably the deepest shade of red humanly possible, I replied, “I’m really very sorry; I thought I could reach the top shelf. Unfortunately, I’m about an inch too short and tried to get it down in a very poorly thought out plan that required some level of skill and athleticism both which I’m clearly lacking.”

The youngest of the group snickered at my lighthearted response, but was quickly silenced by a stern look from the leader. “Miss, I think you should sit down while I assess the situation.” In my mind, for a moment, what I heard was “Miss, I think you’re an ass. Sit Down.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I persisted. “Please let me clean this up and be on my way. Seriously, I’m sorry and I’m fine. I’m also in a hurry.”

“Are you sure you aren’t injured? We can call a ambulance,” he said in a very concerned voice.

“Please, please, please do not do that,” I said noticing shoppers walking slowly past the aisle and trying to determine the cause of the disturbance. “I am totally fine aside now from being extremely embarrassed. I’d love to pick up my mess here and go. Please.”

“We’ve got it, Miss.” the leader said still looking at me like I was going to lose consciousness at any moment. He pointed at the mess and the other two employees began to pick up the items. I bent over too, still feeling embarrassed , but just wanting to remove the evidence of my clumsiness and move on with my shopping trip life at this point.

With the last of the bottles being placed back on the shelf by the tallest of the three, I quickly remembered why this event happened in the first place. “Shoot!” I exclaimed. “Can you hand me one of those bottles right there?” I asked. “That’s what i was reaching for in the first place,” I explained pointing my crooked finger.

“Holy crap! Your hand!” the younger employee said. All eyes were on my red and crooked finger still extended and pointing at the bottle that was still so close, yet so far away.

“Oh, a bottle may have hit it, but I’m fine really. It doesn’t even hurt,” I said nonchalantly, tucking my hand behind my back.

“No, no! Your finger was all crooked! I think you broke it, seriously!” he exlaimed rather loudly.

“I knew it!” the leader spoke out. “Miss, let’s go to the office so I can…”

I abruptly cut him off. “Listen, listen! Calm down. My finger is not broken. I’m double jointed.”

Blank stares.

“Seriously, fellas. My hands are double jointed. I’m fine, so if you could just hand me the bottle….”

They still just stood there looking at me and I knew if I were ever going to get out of there, I was going to have to give a demonstration. So I did. And just like when I was in grade school the “boys” said “ewwww” and “ahhhhh” and thought it was “gross and kinda awesome” as the youngest employee so eloquently stated.

So I may not be very clever, I may have very poorly planned and executed plans, and my athleticism is obviously lacking, but at least I have side show fingers that never seem to fail.

This is my normal

This is what the store employee saw. I wanted something up and to the left, so I pointed to it.

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Hi, Pat!

Posted by Domestic Diva at 4:57 pm Uncategorized

Jan 122011

I buy my diapers and wipes in bulk at Sam’s Club, so please tell me how I ran out without realizing it yesterday just hours before a snow storm. Having no desire to fight the snow-a-phobics, who stock up like they won’t be able to get out of the house until Spring, I decided I was not going to fight the crowds at Sam’s Club today. Instead, while the baby napped and my husband worked from home, I’d take Jake with me to the pharmacy to pick up a small pack of diapers to get me through the rest of the week.

I hurried Jake into the store as the first snow flakes began to fall silently from the sky, and we slowly and painstakingly made our way to the back of the store where the diapers were located. Jake stopped and asked me if we needed every other product he saw. “Can we buy this Mom? Why not, Mom?” he loudly asked again and again.

By the time we made it to the diapers, he was already holding a new ice scraper, a container of Elmer’s glue, a new tube of Chapstick and an 8-pack of crayons. I practically shoved him past the tampon aisle, not wanting a repeat of anything close to what happened on Super-Missile Saturday, and quickly began looking for any brand of diaper in a size 4. As I searched for the one item I actually came into the store to buy, Jake began to wander and peek around the corner towards the pharmacy area.

An old woman waved and he took that as an invitation to talk to her about the upcoming snow storm. She smiled, made some small talk, and asked him how old he was…he responded that he would be “four year old on the summer time.” He then proceeded to ask her how old she was, and I quickly tried to shush him. She laughed and said it was okay and that she was 74 years young (I would have suspected more like 112). Jake just replied, “Wooow!”

Realizing he was in a social mood, and what that could mean for me, I quickly pulled him closer as I went back to trying to find the right size diapers. The shelf looked like it had been stocked by one of my children, with brands and sizes clustered together, no one brand or size in any discernible order. Jake, at this point, was still visible in my peripheral vision, and only out of arm’s reach when I began feeling a familiar mother-type foreboding. I struggled as fast as I could through the packages and boxes of diapers. Where the hell were all the size 4 diapers?

A bead of sweat began to roll slowly down the side of my face, as I turned just in time to see Jake, now just at the end of the aisle, yell down to me at the other end, “Mommy, why does that big man have hair like a girl?”

For a minute I considered grabbing his hand and asking him if he was lost and see if he would let me help him find his mother. Fearing what kind of loud retort that might bring, I swept him up and gave a quick glance down the aisle at the 300lb “Biker” frowning in my direction. Upon locking eyes, he must have seen the sheer defeat I felt, perhaps he himself had children, or maybe he once saw the same look from his own mother, because he then gave me half a smile as I retreated back down the aisle.

At this point I was not even considering going to another store for the damn diapers in the right size, so I grabbed a pack of size 5′s and hoped they wouldn’t be too big (and I wouldn’t be scrubbing leaking poop from my daughter’s clothing for the rest of the week). I assisted Jake with his multiple products to the front of the store to pay (and finally exit), while I silently prayed that the rather large and long haired gentleman would be detained in the pharmacy area until after we left the store.

My preoccupation with keeping Jake in one place and the whereabouts of the recently insulted biker had me unaware of much else. As the couple in front of us grabbed their bags and moved out of the way, I placed our items up by the cashier, and was again overcome with a mother of a bad feeling (I mean a mother’s bad feeling).

Jake, silent for the first time in his life since he began to speak, placed his glue up on the counter and just stared at the person across from him. The cashier asked him if he liked to color and glue, and still he stared silently. I felt a knot growing in the pit of my stomach because I now knew exactly what my offspring was thinking. I laughed as I handed the cashier my member’s card and said it was for some indoor activities after we play in the snow. ”Please, God, let this be quick. I’m running out of time!” I prayed as I tried, rather unsuccessfully, to hurry through the barrage of questions that follow swiping your debit card.

Enter your pin number please….

Jake was still quiet…..

Cash back?…

Jake glances up at me….

Verify the dollar amount…..

I ignore his questioning glance….

Now press enter….

Holy shit this couldn’t possibly take any longer….

Then, because insulting an old lady and biker wasn’t bad enough, Jake dropped the real bomb….

Mommy? Does that person have a penis or a vagina?

I closed my eyes for a second, felt my recently flushed face lose color, felt the blood rush from my head, and then my stomach dropped (like when you’re on a roller coaster). The earth stood still for a moment as I looked at my son’s innocent little face just trying to figure out who or what was ringing up our items.

Without making eye contact with Pat (you remember that skit from Saturday night live, right? What’s that? Oh, that’s Pat! Was Pat a man or a woman, who really knows?), I grabbed the bagged items, receipt, my loud and inquisitive child and made a break for the door hoping for the nine hundredth time, that the earth would open up and swallow me whole.

Just behind us, as we walked out the door, was the biker with the womanly locks (actually they were quite lovely)…”Bet the fun never ends with this one,” he chuckled. “You should write this shit down. Give it to him later when he has kids of his own.”

I laughed, apologized, and wondered if I’ll make it through their adolescence let alone their adulthood…

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