No matter what you say, it's a shitty job.

When you become a mother, there are hundreds of things that no one warned you about.  The bleeding nipples, the constant worrying, how you can both love and want to strangle your child at the same time.  For me, ALL OF MOTHERHOOD was a shock because I never really paid attention when people with kids talked before. 

But the thing that I am finding the most surprising, or perhaps the most difficult to deal with is that it has made very clear exactly what my mother did right.  Lately though, it is becoming more and more obvious what she did wrong.  Not that I didn't already go through therapy for a hundred years and deal with all my Mommy blame issues.  Up until recently, I really thought I had forgiven her.  I had decided that I was going to just use what I knew to not make the same mistakes with my child.   And I do a really good job of providing Lila with structure where I had none.

There are plenty of things that I already knew about my mother.  My mother (just like I do) suffered from a debilitating depression through most of my childhood.  Because of this, she had little patience for my greedy desire for attention and would disappear at night to see her friends to be someone else for a few hours and forget her problems.  The depression also made it hard for her to commit me to anything.  No instrument lessons or dance or extra-curricular activities because committing me meant a commitment for her. I also know that she never pushed me, never gave me chores, never taught me to sat goals, never gave me boundaries.  I always just slid by.  I was smart.  I was pretty.  I was a kid and didn't know that I was lacking life skills because I was always able to talk myself out of any setback. 

As a mother suffering from depression, I often find that I am too overwhelmed or exhausted to hear another whiny plea for a toy.  I desperately want to just give in and let Lila watch TV all day and eat whatever the hell she wants because it is REALLY FUCKING HARD to sit there any listen to her cry when I ask her to do the things she needs to do.  But I don't.  Because my job as a parent doesn't allow me to.  And as much as I want to take a handful of Xanax and walk away sometimes, I CAN'T.  I understand the avoidance and withdrawal that my mother needed in order to preserve what little energy her illness left her with each day.  I understand how much easier it would be to just decide I don't really care and just give in.  It is easier to see your child happy than unhappy.  I forgive her for feeling that way.  Because I feel that way every day.

My mother is long recovered from her depression.  She found medication that keeps the worst of it away and has worked out some of her own demons with a therapist.  But here's the thing.  As my child's daycare provider, the person who Lila spends several hours each day, my mother STILL does all these things.  And it fucking infuriates me.

All the things that I demand of my child, all the ways that I try to mould her into a well-behaved, appreciative, cooperative kid is undone every single day.  It seems that each time I pick her up, there is some argument with my mother because she has again disregarded my wishes and given something or allowed Lila to do something I have told her not to.

For example, (and believe me, this is just one) Lila was getting stomach aches.  It occurred to me that she ate grilled cheese sandwiches a lot and those give ME stomach aches.  So I told my mother not to give her any for the entire week to see if she still has stomach aches.  And what did Lila have for lunch THE DAY AFTER I told my mother this?  A MOTHERFUCKING GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH.  And when I asked my mother why the hell she gave Lila a grilled cheese sandwich, she shrugged and said, "that's what she wanted for lunch."  I often have to remind my mother that Lila is 4.  She wants an elevator in her bedroom closet and wants to get a pet Lion.  Four year olds are not allowed to make every decision in their lives.  That's why they need babysitters.

Of course, my mother maintains that she does these kinds of things because she is a GRANDMOTHER and that grandmothers are supposed to spoil their grand kids, which would be fine if Lila went over there once a month.  But that's not even the point.  Little things like this only remind me of why as an adult, I have such a hard time with moderation and why I am  (illogically) crushed if I cannot get people to give me the things I want. 

I have posted a few blogs about my mother spoiling Lila, and you will find plenty of examples here,
here, and also here of how my mother refuses to listen to me with regard to how I choose to raise my child.  In her mind, I turned out just fine and so she must have done things right.  BUT I DID NOT TURN OUT FINE!!!  I am selfish (I was given whatever I asked for), I am lazy and unmotivated (there was never an incentive for doing anything or a punishment for not doing it) , I am very smart but cannot finish anything (no one ever made sure I did)  and I have always been an underachiever (how do you push yourself if no one ever pushed you to do ANYTHING you said you didn't want to do?).  Additionally, it never clicked that other people actually SET GOALS for the things they wanted to do and worked toward them until I was 26.  I always just had things "happen" to me.  Don't even get me started about money problems (my parents' view of money and credit are seriously fucking ridiculous - my mother believes in signing up for every credit card that she possibly can, and then maxing them out and making the minimum payments because "I won't be around that long anyway.  I might as well get the things I want now before I'm dead.  NO I AM NOT JOKING). 

(I have already posted about how shitty I am as an adult HERE)

I KNOW that she gave these things to me. I blame her because my father just went along with whatever my mother said.  And at some point in my mid-twenties, I realized that it was no longer her responsibility and it was up to me to try to change these deficiencies.  And I really thought I had forgiven her because when I became a mother (and subsequently a mother with depression), I UNDERSTOOD why she did the things she did. 

But I look at myself with Lila and I can't help but to be angry at my mother.  Because I don't want to have to instill those things in her.  I don't have any idea how to, because I suck at them myself.  In fact,  I want to be left the hell alone most of the time.  But I know what I have to do.  This isn't some transcendental knowledge or wisdom that I have.  This is what fucking parenting is.  It is all about responsibility.  It is about loving someone enough to do what they NEED even of they fucking hate you for it.  It is filled with difficulty and discomfort and headaches and insanity.  But that's all just the basic part of the job.

Why did she do what was easy with me?  And why does she refuse to listen when I try to tell her that love is not just buying Lila toys and letting her throw several blobs of raw cookie dough at the ceiling so she can laugh when it sticks (nope, not kidding about that either).  It is about setting limits so that she knows what to expect.  It is about making sure she is getting the foods she needs to grow and learn and feel good. It is about telling her that you will not tolerate bad behavior because you don't want her to grow up to be a total asshole.  She does not understand this.  She says she does, but she reverts to the things that I described the next day. 

This makes me feel disappointed in her.  I am disappointed that she didn't do better with me.  I am disappointed that she never bothered.  I am disappointed that she thinks love is about temporary happiness, even if it destroys the future potential.  I am just so fucking sad about it. 

They need to knock this shit off...Seriously.

There is a really good reason that I try to only let my kid watch PBS cartoons.  But every now and then, a different channel gets put on and the commercials make me want to stab my eyes out. 

First it was the Pillow Pets, whose annoying and hypnotizing commercials turned my kid into a total animal.  You can read that post here.

Then about a month ago, evil had a new name and it was the Happy Napper. 

Well, thanks to Grandma, Lila got her stupid ladybug Happy Napper and can't actually nap on it because a) she has not napped since she was 2, and b) because when you stuff the ladybug into her little house the resulting pillow is lumpy and hard as a rock. 

This morning SOMEONE (Daddy) put on some cartoons for Lila and as soon as the Doodlebops (which are their own form of torture for me) was over, I looked up from my crap-induced stupor and realized Lila basically floating mesmerized toward the television. 

There is a new horror in town:

Now, if I am honest, these things are kind of cute.  The puppy (shown above) has ears that move up and down when you step in the slippers. And the unicorn appears to go to sleep when you aren't wearing them. 

As far as I can tell, they don't make any noise, although I have not researched them thouroughly enough to tell for sure, and so I am not totally and completely opposed to these (although if there is even the mildest snort, giggle or music that comes out of them I will change my tune).  But the commercial will make you want to vomit.  And after seeing it LITERALLY one time, Lila has been singing it all morning. 

The commercial told Lila that "Stompeez are more than just slippers...they're slippers with PERSONALITY!...They'll make you LAUGH!  They'll make you SMILE!"  all the while in the background the kids are screaming "WE WANT THEM!!!"

Luckily for you, I cannot find a link to the video, but if you go to the actual Stompeez website, you will see what we're dealing with here. 

Mind-numbing website complete with song.

When the commercial was over, Lila suddenly became re-animated as if a hypnotist just snapped his fingers and looked at me dead in the face and said, "Mommy, they're not just slippers.  THEY'RE STOMPEEZ!  AND I NEED TO HAVE THEM."

It is no use trying to explain to a 4 year old that she NEEDS food, water and shelter and that she simply WANTS the ridiculous slippers because it will just re-inforce how much she NEEDS them and she will probably end up convincing me otherwise.

I am going to try to explain to my mother that she IS NOT to buy them for her under any circumstances and that if she is lucky, she MAY get them for Christmas but I know it will be no use.  Grandmas can always be depended on to buy more of the useless crap that kids seem to love.

Ba-Ba Blues?

What the hell is it with the older women and their total refusal to allow modern moms to do what we think is best for our kids?

Yesterday I was at a family barbeque (and I won't even get into the thrilling experience that I had) and was talking to my aunt, whose first grandchild has just turned one.  She and her son were discussing the bottle and the aunt was APPALLED at the idea that he would even THINK of taking the bottle away from her at a mere 1 year old.  She defended her stance saying that the pediatrician said "15 months at the latest for a bottle, 18 months for a pacifier."  She acted like it was flat-out child abuse to even consider depriving a kid of a ba-ba so "young".

"Once you pop you can't stop," says Grandma.

This is not the first time I have encountered this kind of outrage from an older woman in my family.  My mother completely lost her shit when I suggested that Lila was not supposed to have a bottle to go to sleep since that is what parents had done for 50 years previous.  She told me that this was basically the cause of all the problems I had with Lila's infancy and that if I just gave in all those problems would disappear. 

I finally DID give in.  And guess what, a year later when Lila was 2 and still wanting a bottle to go to sleep my mother acted like I was talking about murder when I suggested that it was time to stop.  Even though the doctor had told me to do it a year before.  Even though every parenting book ON EARTH says that they shouldn't have a bottle to go to sleep, my mother thought it was simply cruel. 

Believe me when I say that it was one of the worst transitions I have ever had to make.  Lila was never a good sleeper to begin with and this just made her worse.

All that being said, why do these women think that we modern mothers are so mean and cruel for trying to do exactly what all the pros tell us we need to do?  Are they offended that their way may have been wrong? Or is it actually mean to take a comfort item from a baby?  Are we no good at going with our guts or is it just a matter of them trying to keep the babies as babies for as long as possible?

What do you guys think?

My Mother's Daughter?

I know you are going to be shocked to hear this, but I really didn't turn out so great.

I dropped out of high school even though I was taking college-level classes simply because I refused to participate in gym class.  I hated high school so much that I never bothered to apply to college.  When I did go, I went to community college and only took classes I was interested in rather than actually attempting to follow some kind of curriculum.  I dropped out of college too when I realized someone was going to have to pay for all those classes I enjoyed so much and then managed to throw my student loan into default during what can only be described as "one of my insane periods".  This has ruined my chances of going back to school to get a degree so that I can make real money to actually pay back the loan so that I can go back to school to make real money...you get the idea.

And I blame the entire spiral on one person..MY MOTHER.

My life after about 10th grade.
(Image thanks to wired.com)

Yes, yes...I know.  I am an adult and was when I went to college so how can I blame my mother for decisions I've made since that magical age when I should have been living alone and being responsible for myself?

Well, simple.  Her parenting sucked. 

And I am reminded of it every time I show up to pick up my kid and she is having a Hershey Bar at 5:00 pm (perfect for an appetizer I suppose) or when she demands that she IS NOT putting her shoes/coat/clothes on to leave because she doesn't have to do what my mother says.  I am reminded when Lila comes home and tells me she played with the hose all day in March "because Grandma doesn't like it when I cry".  I am reminded of it when I try to explain the concept of "time out" to my mother and she tells me it isn't nice to let Lila cry like that, even for a few minutes and that it "hurts Lila's feelings" when I yell at her.

My mother is a woman of no boundaries and fewer limits.  It was her lack of limits that allowed me to have a 17 year old abusive boyfriend when I was 13 and allowed me to skip school and sleep in because everyone knew I could pass the test.  It was her lack of limits which was the forerunner of my inability to delay gratification for ANYTHING until I was about 25 years old.  And by then it was too late.

She never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do, assuming that I was a strong kid and I would figure it out and she criticizes the way I refuse to allow Lila to do insane things (like take everything out of the refrigerator to keep her busy for 2 and a half minutes) even though it would "make Lila SOOO happy."

I parent NOTHING like my mother.  I set rules and limits.  Lila cannot stand up on the dining room table.  She cannot act like an animal in Wal-Mart.  She will not get Pepsi no matter how much she cries for it and I don't care if she wants a toy.  I said no.

I am hoping that with a little guidance and direction, I will succeed where my mother failed me.  I want Lila to find a life that suits her but also that is not full of missed opportunities and hurts that were totally unavoidable.

Oh, and I hope to spare her the 10 + years worth of therapy I have accumulated throughout the years.

Inspired by one of Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts:


Not your mother's daughter...how do you parent differently than your mother did? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?

Selfish Mommy fucks it up again

Ben had a car accident yesterday.  He was driving home after picking up the kid because I had an appointment to see a therapist after work.  We got a monster thunderstorm yesterday which flooded the highway and so traffic was absurdly backed up all over the surface streets.

About 15 minutes into my session, my phone rang with Ben's stupid ringtone and I turned it off because HE SHOULD FUCKING KNOW I AM IN MY SESSION trying to get myself together so that I don't have to be a total bitch who screams at him about shit he already knows all the time.

When I got out, I looked at my phone and there were 2 text messages from Ben.  The first said, "call me as soon as possible."  The second said, "I totaled my truck".  Now, perhaps you understand that my first reaction was kind of like, "THAT SEEMS LIKE AN UNDER-REACTION!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! IS EVERYONE OKAY???" And then I thought, "What the fuck!!!! Is my kid okay?"

So I called him immediately and he assured me that everyone was okay, not a single scratch or bruise, and that the seatbelts did exactly what they were supposed to do.  By that time he had gotten home and Lila was resting on the couch watching Pingu (if you are unfamiliar with Pingu, think weird Japanese Penguin Gumby who doesn't talk but has some jibberish language).

I rushed home and was met at the door by an angry and obviously traumatized 3 year old who said, "We tried to call you because Daddy crashed and I was crying and you DIDN'T ANSWER YOUR PHONE!"

"Mommy was in with her doctor and didn't have my phone with me," I tried to explain. 

"I was scared and I cried and I wanted you and YOU DIDN'T ANSWER!!!"

Yet another failure under Mommy's belt.

Rationally I know that it wasn't my fault and I could never have known.  In my mind I assume that if I had a CAR ACCIDENT or some other emergency, that I might call more than one time knowing that the liklihood that a person would answer the phone when they were in therapy is pretty slim.  But hey, I'm the insane one going to therapy, right?

But a part of me feels sad that I wasn't there.

Later that night, I tried to talk to Lila about it to figure out just how upset and traumatized by it she really was.  And it turns out that she was more concerned about the thunderstorm and the fact that lightening is made of electricity (which scares the shit out of her now that she knows that...thanks Cat in the Hat Knows a lot about that) than she was about the car accident.

Before she drifted off to sleep, she asked me if Daddy was going to get a new truck and I told her we didn't know yet.  She said she would be sad if he didn't have that old truck anymore because he had it when she was a baby.  And I told her that we would all be just fine.

Why I think the holidays suck.

When I was growing up, no one was as into Christmas as I was.

As a small kid on Christmas Eve, there was never much of an event.  We would get Santa some cookies, throw a carrot or two into the yard for the reindeer, and get ready for bed.  Besides the usual "shut off the lights and settle down", I would also get, "if you don't stop playing around in your room and shut up, Santa is going to skip this house!" thrown at me every few minutes. 

When I got a little older and knew that Santa's workshop was actually K-Mart and that the presents were kept in my parents' closet, my mother used to use Christmas Eve to meet up with her friends and get plastered, and my father and I would quietly and uneventfully watch TV until I decided that rastlin' wasn't very Christmas-y and I'd just go to bed.  Most of those nights, I would lay in bed having panic attacks believing that my mom would not bother to come home that night and Christmas would be ruined. 

Back then, my mother would be hungover in the morning and so she would refuse to get out of bed early, and my brother (who is 10 years older than me) and I would just sit there bored out of our minds staring at the tree, waiting for something to happen.  When my mother finally DID get up, she would amble about for a while and miserably sip a Pepsi while we opened our stuff.   I can't say that I was often disappointed back then.  My parents were always broke and yet somehow always managed to pull out all the stops for Christmas.  My mother (as you may know from my posts about her) has this belief that kids should have the things they want and that to disappoint them in any way is to scar them for life.  I am no psychiatrist, but I think my mother tried to show her love with presents.

Later in the day, my mother would start preparing for dinner.  We were not a family who believed that holiday dinners need to be eaten at 2:00, because that's much closer to lunch time (you idiots!), so the preparation wouldn't begin until halfway through the day.  We could expect to see one or two uncles, an aunt and a couple of cousins, along with my grandmother who lived down the block.  Grandma Virgie was in her 60's and a chain smoker, which was odd because for as long as I could remember she traveled everywhere hooked to an oxygen tank because of the Emphysema that she had from chain smoking.  Virgie was also a drunk.

When I was a kid, "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" was not just a stupid song that made us laugh.  IT WAS A WARNING.  Grandma Virgie would simply stagger home drunk in the snow after dinner.  Looking back, it seems really irresponsible for anyone to have let her stumble around outside alone in the cold and dark but I guess those were different times.

Inevitably during dinner, one uncle would get too drunk, start a fight with someone or everyone, and the police would have to be called. This happened every holiday that I can remember until I was at least 9 years old, when my grandmother passed away (oddly, NOT from emphysema) and we stopped getting together on the holidays at all and it became all the more depressing. 



Through my teenage years and into my twenties, it would just be me, my parents and one lone drunk uncle (it varied - I have a couple) on holidays.  There was nothing magical or sentimental and it really wasn't much different than any other dinner at home except for the total freak out my mother would do at feeling obligated to cook when she just wanted to be left alone. Back then, my mother suffered from depression and my brother had moved away to Florida (probably JUST to avoid having to be home for the holidays).  In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I would listen to those fucking Christmas songs and the mental pictures of sitting around a roaring fire with all your friends laughing and drinking eggnog and no one calling anyone else a motherfucker or cunt and everyone being cheerful and giving wonderful gifts that they selected regardless of cost and out of pure love and respect made me truly HATE the holidays. So I took a job where EVERYONE hates Christmas. At the mall.


When I moved to Arizona, I loved not having to deal with the family at the holidays.  However, I never could get used to eating Christmas dinner on the patio next to the pool.  I continued to work in retail and the only reason it ever seemed like December was because work would suddenly get extremely stressful and I would threaten to quit more often.  For me, it never seemed like it was really Christmas at all, except when one of those fucking songs would ambush me while I was at the grocery store and all those feelings of wanting the perfect Christmas would well up inside me and make me feel like punching something. 

I always assumed that once I had kids or stopped working in retail I would be able to put the past aside and start to actually "feel the Christmas spirit".  But it still eludes me.  The last couple of years, Lila was too young to really anticipate the holiday and she really didn't care either way what was going on.  This year, I got so stressed out about not having money that I ruined it for myself.  I still want to give gifts that show some level of appropriate thought and emotion and I still want to feel like there is some kind of magic.  But I couldn't afford the gifts and the magic is tough to conjure when you're poor.

Lila was excited about the whole thing, but halfway through opening her presents found herself bored with it, wanting instead to go play with the Wii or take pictures with our camera.  This infuriated me more than I can tell you because (like an idiot) I overspent because I wanted her to see lots of boxes wrapped up under the tree.  So I bought her a lot of little things and apparently, what I gave her in quantity was lacking in quality.  For me, the lesson is that I was acting like my mother and not being the kind of parent that I want to be.  I don't want a kid who expects tons of shit for Christmas!  I want a kid who is willing to think of others and perhaps give some of her toys to kids that don't have any.  All I did this year was miss the mark. 

As for Christmas Eve...I wanted to have a celebration where the whole family comes over and we eat and talk and sing and watch Christmas movies.  But it turned out that everyone already had their own plans.  So Ben and I invited just the parents over and we had a small quiet dinner and then they went home.  Lila and I got cookies for Santa and put a bunch of carrots out on the porch for the reindeer.  We left him a note reminding him of the one thing she really wanted this year (big Tinkerbell coloring paper and paint to go with it) and we read The Night Before Christmas.  I admit, I fell asleep in her bed with her and "Santa" almost didn't come...but in the middle of the night I woke up and made sure that everything was in place so that she would feel that magical feeling when she came down the stairs to see the tree lit up with her presents underneath. 

After we were all finished opening the presents on Christmas morning and the three of us sat down to relax, I asked Lila if there was anything she wanted that Santa didn't bring her.  She thought for a moment and said, "he didn't bring any slippers for Daddy...or a new coat for you."  And I smiled because I realized that THIS was the kind of kid I wanted to raise.

Just so that I have it written down...

Lila got bored opening her presents Christmas morning.  About halfway through, she began asking if she could play with OUR video camera and whined when we said no.

The same sentiment happened (and I was glad) over at Grandma's house when the presents just kept on coming out from under the neverending tree. 

I believe that she could have stopped after 5 or 6 items and would have been perfectly happy with what she got. 

And I had to set a new rule that morning.  If it takes me 30 minutes to get the toy out of the packaging, you have to play with that toy FOR AT LEAST that long. Why are they making kids' toy packaging childproof?

More of that Christmas Spirit

One of my co-workers sat at her desk staring at the computer screen as if she was about to throw up.  When I asked her what the deal was, she told me that she'd just spent $500 on a computer for her grown son when she'd meant to spend $300 and he totally didn't deserve it because he is an asshole.  She said that he was rude to her the other day and she actually told him at that point that there was no way she was going to cough up the money for the $300 computer that he wanted and yet, here she was, spending money that she really shouldn't be spending on an ingrate when she could be using that money to do something useful like pay bills.

I did the same thing over the weekend.  Although completely determined a few weeks ago to show Lila that Christmas IS NOT about how many gifts you get, I managed to spend my entire (and I literally mean down to the nearest dollar) paycheck on toys, clothes, candy, games and stocking stuffers in a matter of 2 days.  I have no cash left to live on this week and had to beg her father to fill up my gas tank but dammit, Lila will have fucking magic on Christmas morning, at least for the 15 minutes it takes to tear the paper off all the boxes.

WHY do we mothers do this kind of thing all the time? 

I realize that Lila has no need for this crap!  I also realize that the majority of it will NEVER be played with after it's first time out of the package.  I realize that I am going to be behind on my bills and miserable without my morning coffee run at work for the next two weeks.  I realize that we do not HAVE that kind of money to spend on stupid toys and that since she is 3 she would not know whether Santa left 10 boxes or 25 boxes on Christmas morning.

And yet, there is this profound push by us mothers to get our kids more and better stuff.  To make them happier and more fulfilled at least once a year by buying Christmas gifts.  In a very rational way, WE ALL KNOW that this is insane and that this stuff makes them nothing if not more spoiled but we do it anyway.  Even when we can't afford to pay the cable and Internet and it gets turned off and we decide to live without it for a couple of months rather than to have to deprive our children of that extra toy or gadget (speaking from actual current personal experience).  It's fucking insanity. 

And don't even get me started about the stupid sense of obligation that I am fighting with to not buy dumb little token gifts for everyone I come into contact with on a daily basis.  Do I need to get a gift for Lila's teacher?  My co-workers?  My boss (-es.  I have 2)?  How about the guy at the parking garage that I see every day?  My mailman?  My neighbors?  Aunts, Uncles, cousins, grandparents, in-laws?  Isn't that what the entire point of the now 3 month, drawn-out holiday season all about?  Aren't I supposed to give and give and give to everyone but myself?  Don't I need to shop myself into a coma and then have the energy to invite all these people over for a perfect holiday feast so we can sit around a fire roasting chestnuts and singing carols?

At least, this is what the stupid idealization of Christmas says.  My kids should get everything they want and I should buy buy buy and no one should feel left out or neglected and I should be cheerful about it and sing and hum the whole time because, you know, 'TIS THE SEASON!!!!

I am going to commit to myself right now and ask that Lila's father hold me to this.  Next year, I will set a budget and that is it.   And it will be a small budget.  Maybe $200.  There will be hand-made gifts, so I will need to start planning around Halloween and I will not fight the urge to NOT indulge every wish my kid has, especially since as she gets bigger, the wishes will too.

Oh sweet Baby Jesus, there in the manger in my scraggly nativity scene, please give me the strength to not stress myself out like this ever again.

Is your mother an asshole too?

Sometimes my mother really pisses me off.

The kid is going through what I think is a VERY normal part of being 3.  She insists on wearing ridiculous items of clothing all the time.  She got a pair of hot pink rain boots and wore those for 3 days before finding a (too big) Strawberry Shortcake winter knitted hat at a second hand store.  She insists on wearing both whether it's warm, cold, raining, sunny or appropriate for the situation.  Did I mention that she also needs to carry her umbrella most of the time?  And I really don't care.  Most people know that kids go through this phase of wearing weird shit.

Today I brought her over to my mothers (as that is where she stays while I work at my tremendously thrilling library job) and my mother gave her this pathetic look when we walked up to the door.  "Doesn't she look BEAUTIFUL???" I said winking and subliminally urging Grandma to play along.

"No." says my mother.  "She does not.  She looks like you can't afford to dress her."  So, being as quick-witted as I am, I reply "She wouldn't even HAVE rain boots if I couldn't afford them.  She'd still be in flip flops in October."  My mother wearily shook her head. "How can I take her to Wal-Mart today dressed like that?" (Insert truly annoyed comment regarding the irony here).

My kid can wear whatever the hell she wants.  What the hell is this judgement thing from my own mother and why do I even care?  I haven't felt so pissed at any one's comments on my mothering since the "baby competition" we all used to have at Gymboree when the kid was less than a year old (You all know the competition I'm talking about..."My Dalton started walking at 4 months."..."Yeah well my Annabel said Mama in Japanese last week."..."Yeah, well Lila punched your kids in the face and told them she is the boss of them just a second ago because my kid isn't taking shit from anyone.").

God, I hate the constant self-doubt.  Does it ever end?

TO THE ASSHOLES WHO MAKE AND MARKET PILLOW PETS:

First off, let me say thanks. My kid has found a little security object that helps her when she wakes up in the middle of the night so I don't have to get out of bed 42 times in the dark. She truly loves your product and it makes me happy she has it.Now the REAL reason I am writing this:


I BELIEVE YOU PEOPLE AND YOUR ADVERTISEMENTS DURING EVERY CHILDREN'S TELEVISION SHOW ARE PURE EVIL.

Lila saw a commercial for Pillow Pets about 3 months ago and screamed like...well...like a little girl. She desperately wanted the ladybug and would fall all over me begging for it every time she thought about it (which was more or less constantly). Luckily, they were one of those things you had to call a toll free number to get so I could explain that that was the number to call Santa to tell him you wanted it for Christmas. It's impossible to get one before then.

Then you assholes put them in every store on the planet. I found this out when my mother (who literally CANNOT say no to Lila when she cries) brought Lila home with a bumble bee that she saw at Wal-Mart. Lila was ecstatic that Wal-Mart had them at all and said that she would gladly wait for Santa to bring her the ladybug because Wal-Mart doesn't sell them. Lila was genuinely happy to have this item and she thanked her Grandma over and over and over. I actually, for once felt that maybe this was a good thing. As much as I hate the idea of her being spoiled, this one particular item was not like the others. She was still thrilled with it after 4 hours unlike every other toy she sees on TV, which usually lose it's luster as soon as it comes out of the box.

Three days later, Lila and I are walking through the Band-Aid aisle at the drug store, and lo and behold! There is a big cardboard display FILLED with Pillow Pets. Why is the drug store selling a $20 fad-ish kids item next to the hemorrhoidal ointment and antacid tablets? Lila screamed, grabbed all 4 ladybugs and threw herself on the floor and rolled around on them. Embarrassed because my kid looked like she was making fun of people with seizure disorders, I grabbed her up and told her we had to get out of the store before it started to rain (one of many lame excuses I use to get her to move it).
"THEY HAVE MY LADYBUGS!!!!" Lila was squealing and stuffing her face into it. "Mommy doesn't have the money for that right now (and I didn't. I brought a $10 bill with me into the store). The tears were worse than I ever would have imagined. She cried for almost an hour. We got home and I showed her the bumble bee and although she hugged it, it did little to console her. After calling my mother about this dilemma, my mother told me to tell Lila there would be one waiting for her at Grandma's house tomorrow.

This infuriated me but at least it wasn't ME giving in.

She got her ladybug and all was well. She slept with both of them and insisted on taking them everywhere with her (yes, both of them).

Then, the following weekend, we were in Target to get some blinds for our new house. We turned down the wide aisle to the housewares and immediately Lila started crying. A few rows down, on an end display were the beloved Pillow Pets. And two little girls were hugging them and fondling them and throwing them up in the air. Lila lost her shit.

"They're playing with MY UNICORN!!!" She was basically hysterical and since she refuses to ride in the cart she fell to the floor and screamed and cried. I did my best to get her up and explain to her that they belong to Target and technically were in no way "HERS" but she wouldn't stop. She finally stopped crying long enough to walk over to the girls (who were much older and bigger than her) and snatch the unicorn out of one of their hands. Apologizing, I grabbed it from her and gave it back but the battle was on. Needless to say, we DID NOT get blinds that day. And I did not tell my mother about that event.

Seriously, is it too much to ask that your commercials not have mind control messages embedded in them that only children under 9 can decipher? Is it too much to ask that the hottest new toy be confined to the "hot new toys" area in a given store? Or that a store that is better known for it's feminine protection aisle than any cool trendy items WARN ME that my kid may freak out when I get to the end of the feminine care aisle?

Fucking Pillow Pets.

That little BITCH!!!

My three year old is a little bitch.  I am not saying this to be funny.  This is not something I am proud of.  But she is. 

I have noticed her talking back and demanding things for some time now.  For the most part, I stay calm and basically explain that 1) There is NO WAY I am going to give her what she wants if she is going to be a brat about it, and 2) Just because she decides to ask again, with the sad eyes and a whiney voice and gives me a great big "PLEEEEEEEEASE" doesn't mean she will get what she wants.  This method is not working. 

Lila is turning into a total bitch.  When I am driving somewhere she wants to go and I (God Forbid) stop at a red light, she sees it as her place to yell "GO MOMMY!" at the top of her lungs, as if I am just trying to keep her from having a good time.  Time after time I turn around and tell her "I am the driver.  I am the Mommy.  I decide when to go."  This method is not working.

I (half) jokingly told her father that she was getting to that age where I should strap her to the couch and play Mommie Dearest for her so she could see what happens when mommies are pushed to their emotional limits and they think their kids are ingrateful little brats. (Of course, I realize that this is not the intended moral of the movie, but in light of the fact that time-outs are a joke and she doesn't care when I take things away or with -hold treats, I think it may work as an effective tool in scaring the sass out of my kid).


Yesterday we went to Wal-Mart (I will not digress into how much I hate Wal-Mart and everything it stands for and everyone in it) and we were trying to hurry.  First there was the hissy fit when I said we couldn't buy a $40 Play-Doh set.  Then there was the refusing to hold my hand and running off.  Then there was the refusal to leave.  I kept cool.  There was NO WAY I was going to be that trashy mother yelling at her kid in the shampoo aisle at the Wal Mart.  When we finally got out to the car, she insisted on climbing into her car seat herself.  And I thought, "she's three...she needs to feel like she can do it herself," even though I was in a hurry to get to the bank before it closed.  She got into the seat and I started to buckle her in and she said, "I wanna do it."  "No baby," I replied.  This is pretty hard to do and I just want to get out of here, okay?"  The response she gave me took me off guard at first:

"I WILL DO IT NOW MOMMY!!!"

I felt the surging desire to slap her little mouth like my mother would do when I got overly sassy.  I wanted to...I really, for about half a second thought that it would be the best thing I could do...Maybe it was just the fact that I was in the Wal Mart parking lot, but I felt like swearing at her at the top of my lungs and slapping her.

But I didn't.  I put my hands on both sides of her face so she was looking right at me and said, as lovingly as I could at that moment, "If you talk to me like that again, I will slap your little sassy mouth."  Perhaps threatening isn't much better than the actual thing, but she sure was quiet on the ride home.  I almost think that THIS method may have worked. 

For the record, I have never hit her.  Never spanked or slapped or grabbed her roughly by the arm (or ear).  I have a good handle on my temper and I know I would never forgive myself.  But there are times when I can see myself doing it, in my mind, clear as day, and I wonder if perhaps spanking couldn't work on certain types of kids (the crazy ones).   Because as much as I want Lila to be an independent and happy kid, I want her to be respectful and polite just as much.  Not just because it makes ME insane, but because she needs to know that you have to be courteous and nice to function in a society with other people.

If I were to be completely honest, I would have to admit that she probably gets the attitude from me.  I raise my voice a lot.  And I find myself saying those dreaded words that every parent swears they will never say: 

"Because I'm the MOMMY, that's why."

And for now, that's the only thing that kid needs to understand.  Because being a super bitch in our house is MY job.

I thought it would suck less....WRONG.

Lila is almost 3. I have had it with the whining. Somewhere, somehow, Lila got the idea that any time she is even remotely displeased with anything all she has to do is whine continually and magic will happen and she will have whatever it is. (Actually, she got this idea from spending too much time at Grandma's but that's another blog).

Lila's whining voice is exactly the same sound as nails on a chalkboard....into an amplifier...with feedback screeching in the background. Plus, she managed to inherit my loud Italian projecting voice and uses that along with her remarkable whiny pitch to make me insane. At not quite 3 years old, she has absolutely no ability to be reasoned with and has a temper like a rattlesnake. She can be perfectly happy one minute and writhing on the ground like a mental patient the next. And it seems there is NOTHING I can do about this.

I have tried telling her "Mommy can't understand you when you use that whining voice." I have tried time outs (which she seems to think is kind of fun because she has to try to sit still for an unspecified amount of time). Often, I have to put her in her bed and shut the door and tell her she can come out when she's done being a brat. Usually after about 10 minutes she walks out all smiles and says "I'm done crying mommy." But it never lasts for more than a few minutes.

Sometimes she talks to me like I talk to her saying "COME...IN...HERE...NOOOOOW
...MOMMY!!!!! And I get to feel guilty because she learned to talk to people like that from me.

I have no idea what to do with this whiny brat that my kid has become. She is stubborn, as I know kids her age are supposed to be. But I feel like I spend so much time yelling at her and forcing her to "calm down" that I can't enjoy her. I am afraid she thinks I don't love her.

Wasn't it supposed to get easier when they started to become little "people"?

That BASTARD!!!

Yesterday, we were having dinner at my mother's house and Lila was in the form she always is in at Grandma's... "Total Brat Mode" (TBM). During dinner Lila starts whining and crying about something and since she probably didnt really know what it was that she wanted she couldnt tell us and it turned into a fiasco of whining and screaming and trying to wiggle out of the high chair.

My aunt was there and gave me a sorry look and I said "welcome to my whole day, every day". Ben had the fucking nerve to say to me "Really? How do you think I feel? I had her all day today and most of the day yesterday. I am sick of hearing you bitch about how hard it is."

Now besides the obvious "FUCK YOU," which I couldn't say in front of everyone there, I wanted to clarify something. BEN DID NOT HAVE HER ALL DAY. We were both home with her. We both took her to the grocery store. He thinks that just because I am in the next room doing the dishes and he is responsible for making sure she doesnt crack her skull on anything that he "has her all day" and I find that fucking offensive. Like I was out of town on a spa date for the weekend and it was just him alone with her for days at a time (I fucking WISH!!!).

During the week while he gets to be a productive member of society, I get to tend to her every whim (and believe me, there are millions of them) and try to stay sane while watching Calliou for the 400th time before noon. And because a couple of days a week my mother keeps her while I work part time just to have some grown up time, she is spoiled and has no sense of boundaries or rules. When Lila falls down or cries dramatically for 45 minutes because her doll fell off the couch, there is no one else there so that I dont have to drop everything and comfort her. There is no second parent to keep an eye on her so I can take a quick shower. There is no other parent there to give her lunch so that I can get a few things done. And that is the luxury that Ben has when he claims he "has her all day" on Sundays.

I shouldnt complain too much. I realize that most people dont have the help I have with Lila. I realize that Ben helps more than many Dads and that he tries to participate as much as possible. But we are FAR from equal in our parenting and this kind of traditional arrangement is something that I vehemently protest because I figured that I was more evolved than that.

And yet, he has the NERVE to tell me he's tired of hearing ME complain about how hard it is? Maybe I need to take more time for myself to show him what it's really like to have her ALL DAY.

Sugar and the meaning of insanity

My mother likes to load Lila up with sugar when she babysits her. The other night, Lila came home and I swear I thought someone had slipped her some Methamphetamine. It was not pleasant.

If you have never been in the presence of a kid wound up in this manner, I will take you through it now.

First, the mania. Lila ran and ran and ran and ran and the whole time was babbling and talking about god knows what at a volume that would rival the best of the Arena Rock shows from the 80's, complete with the screaming and some head banging. It was about 45 minutes of "Mommy...MAMA...MAMA...MOMMY...MOMMY....MOM....MAMA!!!!!! All of this was punctuated by little trips or falls where she would have a total nervous breakdown and scream and pound her face into the floor/wall/chairs and then, suddenly, jump back up and laugh maniacally and run some more.

It was getting close to dinner time and although I KNEW that she wasn't going to sit in her chair to eat, Ben insisted that we try. See, here's another thing I never understood until I had my own spawn: If your kid doesn't eat dinner, she doesn't sleep well because she is hungry. So you will do anything to get a few good helpings of mashed potatoes into the mouth because it is the difference between a rough night and a decent nights sleep. Lila threw her food at us. LAUNCHED her bowl onto the ground and screamed in a way that I held my glass of soda afraid that it might shatter.

Ben put her into bed. She jumped and yelled and screamed and in fact, we decided that she was having more fun in there than she had been having running around. Some disciplinarians we were turning out to be.

Finally, she crashed. We put her in the tub, kicking and screaming, and by the time bath time was over she could barely keep her eyes open for her story.

And she slept! My kid still wakes up most nights, but this time she slept so deeply that I had to check on her in the morning because it was freaking me out.

Note to Grandma: NO SUGAR AFTER 2PM because I don't want to deal with that shit ever again!

Terrible One and a Halfs

December 14, 2008 - Sunday

Now that Lila is spending a considerable amount of time with her Grandma and Ben because I am working, I no longer have 24 hour control over her. I am finding that my kid is turning into that asshole kid that I was absolutely adamant not to have.

We went to the grocery store yesterday and as I saw all the other young children sitting quietly in their prospective shopping carts, my kid proceeded to scream, kick, cry and grab at every item that came within 3 feet of her. She yelled for balloons, for meat, to get down and even for the signs hanging from the ceiling demanding to me, "GO GET".

The reason my kid behaves like that is NOT just because she is at that age. The reason that my kid is like that is because all the other adults in her life seem to think that the best way to get her to behave in the grocery store (or Target, or at the mall) is to give her whatever she asks for to play with, and Ben even lets her get out of the cart and run around. I mostly blame ben.

I dont believe I need to explain to you all why this is not okay. But apparnetly Ben doesn't see the danger of a kid who will suddenly be old enough to out run him, or grab things off the shelf and break them, or get hurt in an insanely busy grocery store on a Saturday afternoon. Ben also doesn't see why she can't play with pennies (choking factor) chew on crayons (he says they're non-toxic) or climb up our bookcase (it's anchored to the wall after all). Ben cannot conceive that what he is doing is laying the groundwork for how she is going to act in the future. She will not behave out in public. She will run around with crayons, pencils, pens, in her mouth and fall and stab her brain. She will think it is okay to climb up on anything and pull something onto her.

Maybe it's a dad thing. Maybe it's only mothers who foresee the worst possible outcome and decide that they must protect the kid at all costs, even if it means that they cry and beg to do what they want. Perhaps dads cannot think far enough ahead to predict that she is going to be an asshole who has no boundaries. Maybe this is normal. Maybe I need to quit my job (which I love) and go back to being the 24 hour gate keeper so that she can know that there are rules and that she cannot under any circumstances do whatever she wants. Because although I have told both Grandma and Ben what the rules need to be, I am finding that they both subsccribe to the "just keep her happy" method of childcare with no regard to the fact that at her age she should not be deciding what the rules are.

I want to have a polite, functional and NORMAL kid. I want her to know what is and is not allowed. Even if she has to test the limits to learn this. Even if she has to throw tantrums and cry and think it's the end of the world because she can't have a balloon. Because what I do know is that when my kid turns out to be that asshole, no one is going to say "It's her Dad's (or Grandma's) fault for spoiling her." The concensus will be that Lila's mother did a shitty job of raising her.

Shit. My kid is turning into an asshole.

On a seperate and totally unrelated note:
My parents have officially moved out of my childhood home. Ther neighborhood has long been on the decline and they had to get out of there as stabbings and armed home invasions were becoming the regular around there. They purchased a nice 2 family house with my aunt and uncle in Solvay. My mom loves it.

Here's the thing. somehow I am so emotionally retarded that I cannot actually acknowledge it in real life. In the several weeks leading up to the move, I never once mentioned it. I never wanted to go see the new house. I wouldnt even offer to leave work early to pick up Lila in the days leading up to the move so that my mom could pack, simply because I would have to acknowledge it. Yesterday Ben helped them move. I was going to stop by to see how it was going and maybe help out a little, but I got half way there and decided that I could not bear to see my old room empty. So I went home. I know that I should go to my mom's new house and help out however I can. Maybe bring over dinner. I know that's what a grown up would do. But I just can't emotionally deal. It's ridiculous, I know.