Oh NO...

I don’t even know how to explain this one. But I will try...

It all started with this “craft” project, or is it a canning project?

Girl has this book, an Encyclopedia Of Immaturity, or something like that. It involves pranks, jokes, weird shit. It’s all good fun. One of the projects it has in it is how to make “Pickled Elf Bottoms”. It shows a jar, full of little bottoms. It is kind of funny, really. What you do is find some nylons, or...panty hose...God, I hate that even typing those words; Panty Hose..but whatever..and you cut them into 3 inch squares, put 2 cotton balls in it, tie it up with some string in a manner where it looks like little bottoms. Random..but 10 year olds love that shit...

So, of course we’re making some.

We’re on bottom #2, and it drops to the ground into the waiting mouth of Puppy. Now, whenever this dog gets something into it’s mouth and hears the words “NO! DROP IT! LEAVE IT!! NO!!” he immediately inhales it whole. So, that sucks..

So of course it lands on his tongue, Boy and Girl yell the command that means “swallow” to him, and he does. He ate a pickled elf bottom. And I don’t know what possessed me to do this, but I did.

I headlocked the dog, and I find myself sticking my index finger down his throat. I am literally trying to purge the dog. He’s squeaking and gagging, and the kids are watching their mom jam a finger down their dog’s throat. And all I’m thinking, all..I’m thinking, is “how do I explain this one to the Vet?” I mean, I can’t. And I won’t.

I get that dogs eat weird shit...and there’s been the kotex, and the tampons and all kinds of embarrassing items, but I just couldn’t see myself hauling the Encyclopedia into the Vet and say “We’re looking for one of these”.

Even as I’m jamming a finger wayyyy down his throat, it doesn’t occur to me that this is kind of fucked up. I’m only thinking of a conversation I’d like to avoid. The other weird thing is, Boy and Girl don’t even go “WHAT the FUCK are you doing?” Now, you’d think they wouldn’t swear like that...but in this case, I’d have welcomed that cold splash of water to lull me out of my weirdness..

Anyways, my attempt to get the dog to regurgitate failed. Later, he ate the knobby end of a rawhide whole. A little smaller than my fist...

Just goes to show you that my measly little finger stood no chance...

So, I’m hoping for a poop. I mentioned to husband that we’d need to keep an eye on Puppy’s ass for anything protruding yet not fully exiting. Like, if I wasn’t there, he’d have to deal. I suggested keeping a ziplock baggy handy that he could use as a glove to be able to birth it out if need be. Husband’s response to that: “Uh, no. No. If I see anything like that and you’re not around, he just gets shoved in the crate, and we will be leaving the house. You’re making me feel shaky just thinking about it.”

So, I’ve got THAT to worry about.

That New Car Smell

There comes a time in parenting when you pass a point. Many points, actually. The point of going out to dinner, and taking turns eating, or worse, ordering while at the same time asking for the bill and a to-go box just in case things go bad. I’ve even been at a restaurant and just asked for the food to be brought to the table already in the to go box. “Fuck it, just bring us plastic spoons and pull the car around” I’d say....

Pass the point of carrying around extra underwear (however, I might consider carrying my own) wipes, diapers, formula, shovels, extra water, bandaids, gas cans, duct tape, extra shoes, socks, toys, cameras, finger puppets, crackers, juice boxes, sippy cups, anti-venom, teething toys, butt balm, bug spray, sun block and a thigh tourniquet. Boy is eight and Girl is ten. We’re good. I mean, we carry shit around, but they carry it. If we don’t have it, they don’t need it.

Which led me to believe that when I was in the business of shopping around for a new ride, I no longer “required” leather seats. Rubber seats, plastic seats, whatever. we don’t need it, we’re good. Liquids stay in the mouth, food...same. No more stickers being tossed around, no more crayons baking in the sun.

Not. True.

Ok, so Husband and I go to buy me a new car. Now, on a side note, I’ll discuss how annoying that process is. Let me first say that I am not the world’s spokeswoman for Feminism. Open my door for me. Carry the heavy shit. Offer to “run me a hot bubble bath” because that’s all I “need to feel better”. Do it. I am all about that. I like bras. I like makeup. I like being treated like the lil lady. That does not mean that I am fucking daft, or clueless, or helpless, or wearing a burka. I have a name, and it’s not “wife”. Which is what the car salesman kept referring me to. When we were going through this whole process, it was “Mr. O’Brien” this and “Mr. O’Brien” that and “Mr. O’Brien, how far can I shove my head up your ass?” this. All the time, it was : “Mr. O’Brien, I’m sure your wife would....blah blah blah fucking blah blah blah her bra” or some shit like that. It was annoying. Fuck it, whatever, I’m a lady, so I kept my cool. But I signed all the documents first, Husband signed second....

Ok, so, three hours later, we’re done. We go get Boy and Girl who had gone to my parents. We have the new (to us) car. It is so clean and sparkly and smells so new (to us) it’s almost kind of gross but in a good way. I guess, it was just a foreign smell. And we’re excited, and they’re excited. We’re all excited to be driving home in our new car that doesn’t have leather seats. Or fill-in-the-blank repellant seats.

Which is why....hmmm...which is why what happened is so unfortunate. So we’re driving, and Boy and Girl are sitting right next to each other, and they are laughing. Hard. I kept hearing Boy say to Girl “STOP IT!!” laugh laugh laugh laugh....”STOP! I’m SERIOUS!” giggle giggle “STOP. IT. GIRL!! I’m gonna PEE MY PANTS!”.

There are certain things in life that when you hear them, you speed up. Whatever it is you’re doing. If you hear that certain sound dogs make as they’re about to barf, or the cat making that hairball sound, or just any “OH NO!!” coming from a different room, you are ON IT. Motion.

So when I heard “STOP IT! I’m gonna PEE MY PANTS!!” I was instantly, and I mean instantly doing 90 mph on a residential street. To the nearest stop. I am screaming at them to “STOP IT!! HE’S GONNA PEE HIS PANTS!” But all I’m met with is more laughing and the sound of a struggle. grunting. cringing...laughter.

I pull over, Boy hops out and is instantly peeing in the grass. I look back to where he’d been sitting. On my not leather interior of the car. And I see the spot. About as big around as a slice of bread. Wet. Pee. In my new to me car. It had not even made it home yet. The ink on the paperwork I signed was still as wet as the spot I was now looking at. He peed in my new car. It was like, seriously, 13 minutes, we’d been in the car.

I’ll be honest. Not one of my prouder parenting moments happened next. I lost my shit. I did. It was awkward how bad I was losing my shit. But we all made it home...off to bed..and I was using the pee cleaner I use for the puppy in my new car.

The next morning, I was at work. Everybody was asleep when I left. I’m at work, preparing for some random surgery, got the gown on, gloves, playing with instruments, going all OCD on my set up (that’s another story) and I’m thinking. God, I was an asshole about the peeing in the car thing. I mean, laughter. It was just laughter. Hearing them laugh is such a good thing..and I was a shit. I looked at the clock, and I had 5 minutes before they were supposed to go to school. Even as the patient was coming in the door, I took off my gown and gloves, left the OCD set up to wait, and called the kids. Of course, a few people heard my apology, and were laughing to themselves: “Hey guys, yeah, it’s mommy, how’d you sleep? Oh yeah? blah blah blah...Hey listen..about the whole peeing thing, it’s all good. I’m sorry I snapped. Yeah...it’s just pee. It’s just a car. You’re more important than a car...blah blah blah...I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. I love you...have a good day at school.”

We get past certain milestones in parenting. And we come to new ones. Being able to admit when you’re an asshole. Still better than schlepping around bottles and diapers any day. Well, fuck that...the diapers stay.

Parental Guidance

Well, I’ve had the talk with the Girl...The “coming of age” talk that every mother and young girl should have and sometimes never do. I can understand why. It’s hard to break the news to them...

The fact that girls can be bitches. In fact, I know someone, who’s mother told her at the age of ten, “women are bitches, and you’re one of them”.

I tried a little different approach with Girl. Basically, at the age of ten, and after her having a rough day, I said to her : “Girls can be bitches, and you are a girl. You can either be a bitch, or not”. But I let her know, they are out there, and they are not, have not, and will not go away. I also let her know, they don’t necessarily grow out of it. This is why I likened it to the other “Talk”. Kind of like...”yeah....well, yeah. Sorry. There’s some bat-shit crazy bitches out there, oh yeah, and by the way, that cramping/vomitting/diarrhea/emotional production you just had back there..it’s coming again. A lot. Sorry about that. Off to swim practice!!”

It blows blows blows blows blows. BLOWS to have to do that to them. She’s 10 years old. I was still acting out how Jane ran with the red ball with my Barbies at the age of 10. Not dealing with this crap. Everyday I send her off to school, I feel like instead of handing her backpack to her, I’m hanging chum buckets around her head and dropping her off in open water. There’s some crazy ass people out there raising some crazy ass kids. Seriously. (I’m secretly wondering if there’s someone writing right now these very thoughts, but instead of me picturing certain people, I’m like, in their line-up too) No matter..I have my own shit to worry about.

I have two great kids that have their own list of issues. They do. Keeps me up at night sometimes.. It does. But, they don’t go around doing weird shit like stealing other peoples things, or peeking in bathroom stalls, or spitting or kicking (unprovoked) or lying . What I mean is, they tow the line at school. They do. They screw up here at times, and at other’s who are family or like family. But that’s normal. We all walk around showing each other our asses in the household like a bunch of fucking baboons, but typically, manage to hold it together in public. Truly, they are pretty good at home too. However, they are so good at school, I’m surprised they haven’t come home one day and had a meltdown of such epic proportions that CNN would have been involved.

I try to teach them manners and right and wrong and what’s flexible and what they just shouldn’t let me catch them doing. I do. And then I drop them off at The Reef with open cans of tuna strung around their neck, and off they GO! They come back from their excursion with “stories”. “SO and SO had to go to the Principal’s office today”. Oh yeah??? “Uh huh...yeah.” So, with my interrogation skills that’d I’ve honed in my years with the CIA..I probe: “So, what’d she do?” Ok...That was sarcastic. Because you can NEVER ASK SUCH A SIMPLE AND DIRECT question to an eight year old boy. You literally have to provide every scenario that another 8 year old could possibly pull in class warranting a trip to the Principals’s office, like flashcards, or a flowchart almost, until the Boy is like “YEAH! YEAH! She did stop listening, and was not participating in the discussion and would not go when told and so, YEAH!! THAT’S IT MOMMY! She DID then pick up a chair and threw it across the room. And then four other teachers had to come and help remove her from the class. But mommy? You left out the part where our class was moved to Mrs. Johnson’s class when they came to get her.”

WHAT? STUPID me!! I haven’t incorporated an Evacuation Plan For When Shit Gets Weird in my list of possible scenarios for my “How Was Your Day At School?” Flashcards for my 2nd grader.

And then, I honestly try the good Motherly route like “Wow, that must have been weird for you..were you scared? How about her? She must have been having a real bad day. Let’s just hope she’s ok and things work out ok for her.” You know, trying to teach compassion and empathy and wah wah wah bwah bwah bwah. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Sometimes compelled, even. I mean, I’m really not trying to throw stones here. I’m not.

However. I am also charged with being a Mother FIRST to my assignments. And so, that is why my shit gets riled when others start affecting my kids. My daughter had things stolen from her. In her classroom. Other’s did too. Nice lesson at ten, no? If I need to send even $2 into the class for something, I have to write a check, because of this “problem”. That’s annoying. Do I feel concern for this child? The one who’s stealing? You bet. I do. And I’ve voiced those concerns. As I have about several concerning things that happen. However, I also don’t care to have my children be the practice playthings for a bunch of kids as they work out their social/emotional skills in the meantime. “Uh..Mr. Principal? So and So spit in Girl’s hair today and I believe kicked the girl sitting next to Girl in the shin.” Mr. Principal: “Uh yes, here at School Amazing, we have a diverse population of children of many social and emotional backgrounds stemming ............................ diverse and unique somewhat haphazard and diverse styles of ..................................and we need to be conscious of the needs of these special ............................Thanks for coming in.”

In the meantime, the kids that fly under the radar are being bounced around like the big red rubber things one might see in a Gorilla House at the Zoo when peering through the shit smeared window as these “.............................kids” practice socializing. The shit that they should be learning at HOME.

(ooooooh the VIEW from my SoapBox is amAZing!! I can see Bitter Valley, The River of Contempt, oh and look, it’s Mt. Apathy....as far as the eye can see!!!!)

Oh God...it doesn’t end with the kids. It’s the adults too, because the Boy just came home and informed me that they have now started putting mashed potatoes in the chicken noodle soup. He had a pretty sad look on his face. “You don’t go and mess with chicken noodle soup”, the face says. He goes on to describe “the mashed potatoes have hair in it”. “Hair?” I say. “Yes, hair. Lots of it. I’ve had it just alone before and there is always just these long hairs in it.” He then proceeds to pantomime what it’s like, finding said hairs. It kind of looks like someone pulling a piece of spaghetti out of their mouth really far, before they would slurp it back in. Minus the slurping back in part.

He seems to be ok though, he’s moved on because he’s now asking me what I think the Mad Hatter’s toenails might look like, or Yoda naked...so...that’s kind of weird. But he’s not hurting anybody.

I’m just trying my best with these two. And I hate it when others are messing with their world. I guess that’s part of life though..learning that there’s some bitches out there, and you can either be one or not.