Ok. Seriously Now.

I am terrified of something. It haunts me as I lay next to Lila during story time at night. It creeps up on me when she wakes up in the morning and wants to sit on my lap on the couch. It eats at me a song I like comes on the radio and she declares, "I LOVE THIS SONG"!!!

I am afraid that this is the most I will ever like my kid.

We're not talking about "LOVING" because I am pretty sure I would (actually do) subject myself to all manner of torture to ensure that she doesn't suffer. But LOVE is not the same as LIKE.

My profile pic says it all.

As many of you know, I started this blog because motherhood is sometimes hard and sometimes boring and sometimes frustrating and sometimes just sucks. I also had pretty severe post-partum depression and spent the first several months of Lila's life not "liking" her very much. She screamed 16 hours a day for 6 months and slept in 20 minute spurts and that meant that I slept in 10 minute spurts because it took me at least 10 minutes to fall asleep. Needless to say, I was pretty sure that my child was sent specifically to punish me for whatever the hell I did in my past life.

If I invented shit like this, I probably deserve it.

The other problem is that over the last 4 years, I have struggled with major depressive disorder and that pretty much makes you not like anyone or anything. I spent a lot of time just trying to stay sane, and having a toddler around (and then a preschooler) generally accomplished exactly the opposite of that. Although I absolutely adored her and knew that she was the most wonderful child anyone has ever had (and I'm not saying that because I am her mother, I am saying it because she totally is) and I wanted to enjoy spending time with her, kids are kind of a huge pain in the ass.

As you can see, age 3 was worse than age 2.

And then last summer, something happened. It all started with my nervous breakdown and a brief trip to a "recovery resort" (read: mental hospital). When I came home, I was still weak but something had clicked while I was away. I felt different. Suddenly I felt like I was really a mother. Perhaps it was just some delayed reaction or maybe it was the drugs they had me on, but I like to think it was because Lila had turned 4, and suddenly she was learning all these cool things and not throwing so many tantrums and actually learning that it isn't okay to scream in the house.

This feeling has been a constant since then. Lila is a really good kid. She is smart and funny and loving and well behaved (when she isn't at Grandma's). I find myself excited to spend the day alone with her where before the idea of it terrified me (seriously, I would have panic attacks). I love doing bedtime with her because she talks about the things she loves and always includes me. She likes whatever I like, wants to do whatever I do, and I know everything about her.

And that's when the fear kicks in. What happens when she goes to school all day? She will learn about things that I can't control. She'll make new friends and those friends will begin to teach her things that I don't want her to know and she'll start realizing that the things that I like are actually really awful and lame and she'll tell me so. What if I just don't like the person she becomes?

What if she thinks this ass basket is cool?

YES, YES, I know this is probably not going to happen like that. That I am ignoring all the incredible things that she will be doing and that in all likelihood, I will grow to enjoy her even more. But this isn't about being rational. This is about realizing that I lost time during my darkest periods and fearing that this happiness will be fleeting (by the way, I totally got all teary-eyed typing that last sentence and that is why I am would rather just complain all the time).

This is when I need to be assured that it isn't just my medication (because I don't trust that at all) and that at some point I will realize that it isn't just a fluke (at least until she hits the awful teen years).

Because you want to know why I blog.

Sunday Stealing!!! Because I LOVE telling you everything!

1. Why did you sign up for writing your blog?
Because Motherhood Sucks!  Duh!  No really, I was insane with Post-Partum Depression and needed to vent.

2. Why did you choose your blog's name? What does it mean?
See above.  I think my blogs name is pretty self explanatory. 

3. Did you ever had another blog?
Yes.  I had one called "SelenaLand" for a long time where I just posted random things I liked and ranted about current events.  I have started and deleted a few others revolving around cancelled television shows.  Oh, and my Depression blog.

4. What do you do online when you're not on your blog?
Mostly I look at Internet porn and radical Christian apocalypse sites.  Usually at the same time.

5. How about when you're not on the computer?
I mostly just drink a lot of coffee and try not to have to kill anyone.  I haven't slapped ANY total strangers this week and that is surprising because Black Friday was this week!

6. What do you wish people who read your blog knew about you?
That I don't TOTALLY hate motherhood.  Only like 85%.  ;-)

7. What is your favorite community in the blogosphere?
I like the Write on Edge people. 

8. What is your philosophy on your blog layout?
I don't have a "philosophy".  I just picked a template. 

9. Tell me about your picture you use to represent you on your blog.
My Profile pic is of a 50s era mother taking something out of the oven and telling her daughter "Just because Mommy loves you doesn't mean Mommy likes you."  Or some variation on that.  That is the theme of a good portion of my posts. 

10. Pick 3 random blogs from your blog roll and tell us about them.
Well, People I Want to Punch in the Throat needs very little explanation.  Attracted to Shiny Things never EVER disappoints me, and what mother wouldn't LOVE Moms Who Drink and Swear (besides really douchy ones)?

11. What features do you think your blog should have that it doesn't currently?
I think it should alert me as soon as anyone interesting visits and then allow me to chat directly with that person.  But I get to set the standards of what "interesting" entails.  I don't want to make friends with some asshole who has 35 ferrets and lives in a basement.

12. What do you consider the 10 most "telling" interests that we would infer from your blog persona?
Hmmm.  Obviously I am into self-torture and masochism. I clearly like to watch a lot of television. I spend WAAAAAAY too much time on the interwebs ("IT'S A SERIES OF TUBES!!!).  I enjoy pie but won't bake one.  I enjoy eating out at chain restaurants.  I like to be left alone...HOW IS THAT ONLY 6 INTERESTS?...I am interested in bad jokes and dark humor.  Perhaps you would somehow intuit that I am also interested in world domination and obtaining super powers, but I don't think I have made that evident on my blog.  Oh and my interest in fire. 

13. Do you have any unique interests that you have never shared before? What are they?
Sloths playing woodwind instruments would be a unique thing that I would be totally interested in.  And I have never even thought of it, let alone shared it. 

14. The best thing about blogging is all of the friends that you make, aside from those folks, do you think your blog has fans?
I like to believe so.  Thousands of people can't possibly just be coming to my blog after searching "Justin Bieber Bulge" like my stats say (true story).  The CLEARLY secretly love my blog. 

15. What's your current obsession? What about it captures your imagination?
I am currently obsessed with getting through the holiday season without having to enter the asylum (again).  It's going to be tough, but I now have a pill for that.

16. What are you glad you did but haven't really had a chance to post about?
I refuse to admit that having my child was the best thing that ever happened to me and she is a truly fantastic kid.  Telling anyone that would completely tarnish my reputation. 

17. How many people that first became a blog friend, have you met face to face?
None.  I have to keep my identity a total secret, which is why I use my real name. 

18. What don't you talk about here, either because it's too personal or because you don't have the energy?
I started my Depression blog because Motherhood is depressing enough. 

19. What's a question that you'd love to answer?
"Tell me why people around the world are completely enthralled by you? In other words, how did you become a millionaire from writing your blog?" 

20. Have you ever lost a blogging friendship and regretted it?
Not sure what all this entails.

21. Have you ever lost a blogging friendship and thought, “Was that overdue!”
Again, I don't understand.  If a person whose blog I read and commented on and interacted with started to act like an asshole, I would simply stop the interaction.  Is this a real problem out in blog land?

From SUNDAY STEALING

The Ghost Mother

Sometimes I feel like a ghost. 

I have been struggling with my depression again and as always it threatens to asphyxiate me and drown out all the good that lives in me. 

But no one ever tells you that when you are a mother and you have depression, you do not get to suffer alone.  The thing you love, the thing that keeps you from being lost completely in the abyss suffers too.

Having a mother with depression is like being forced to be psychic.  You never know what is going to make her angry.  You never know who is going to greet you when you come home.  You never know if there is going to be someone to take care of you or if you are going to have to figure it out yourself again.  This was MY experience.  My mother was depressed.

And against everything I swore I would never be as a parent, this is slowly becoming my daughter's experience as well.

I feel like I am depriving her.  Her mother doesn't want to play.  She doesn't want to go anywhere.  She can't muster the energy many days to leave the house.  And when she does, the rest of the day is shot, because she only has so much patience and will to burn.  She loses her cool when the kid is just being a kid. 

And the more I feel guilty about being sick, the more I want to withdraw - to not subject her to me.  And this makes me more guilty and feeds into this twisted circle that is quickly becoming something of a spiral or a whirlpool dragging me down to God knows where.

The meds have not been helping so I keep going back begging for some kind of help.  "We'll find something that works for you," the doctor said to me today.  But it's hard to watch what I am doing to my kid while the battle wears on. 

And then there's the fear.  The fear and worry that I am scarring her for life.  That I am unable to teach her some essential survival skills that will keep her from succumbing to the same pitfalls and setbacks the threw me into the pit and left me there for dead.  I don't want her to have to ever feel this way.  But if history is any indication, my fears will be realized no matter how hard I work to prevent them.

It is hard to hold out hope for a turnaround.  It is hard when most of the medications and therapies have just led to brief remissions and when substantial lifestyle changes have been sidetracked by this unbearable lethargy.  But I have no choice.  I have my little girl to look after.  She keeps me from being able to give up.  I HAVE to get out of bed.  I HAVE to face the day.  I HAVE to make dinner even when it hurts and is overwhelming just to stand at the stove and stir a pot.  Even when I suck to be around.  She still needs me.

I just hope she will forgive me for all the lost time.

Mean Evil Morning Mommy

Every morning it is exactly the same thing.  Lila gets up and goes downstairs and a few minutes later I come clomping exhaustedly down the same stairs barely awake and heavy with sleep and Lila comes RUNNING to me excitedly trying to jump up onto me for a hug as if we had been apart for the length of a prison sentence or something.

Most times I barely catch her and she throws herself at one leg contentedly rubbing the side of her face against me as I struggle to keep my balance.  I pay her no mind as I limp steadily to the kitchen to make myself coffee.  I admit it - My cup of coffee is the only thing that makes me capable of putting up with the absurd amount of streaming energy that the kid has first thing in the morning.

I remember KNOWING that I was not allowed to ask my mother for ANYTHING until she had a few minutes to sit down with her cup of coffee and have a few sips in peace.  I knew it.  I understood that if I did ask for anything I would get a response like this:

That's my mother before her morning coffee.

I just KNEW this...as far back as I remember.  So why is it that MY kid, as whip smart as she is, feels the need to help me start my day with demands for 10 different cartoons, none of which are on right now and specific pieces of cereal with a certain very measured amount of milk, when I can barely function enough to remember to flush the toilet?  Have I not traumatized her enough to make her understand that Mommy needs her coffee first?  Do I have to turn into this EVERY morning:

Because no matter how many times I say nicely "just give Mommy a few minutes to wake up" I get the same whining and complaining and demanding which always turns me into the evil Mommy who won't feed her child. 

Is it wrong that I just need like 15 minutes?  Seriously.  Just long enough to brew a pot of coffee, sit down have like 5 sips so that I can be more like this:

F**K YOU, GRAVITY!!!

Today I am going to talk to you about my boobs.  Not that I think you want to know, but because I need to vent and this is my place to do that and so I am doing it.

I remember a day not so long ago when I loved my boobs.  Really.  I did.  As a younger, less self-conscious girl, I often thought my boobs were my nicest feature and although small they were perfectly round, symmetrical and perky. 

I loved my boobs so much I would sometimes get drunk and feel the need to show them to the whole bar!  (Yup, I was THAT chick). 

I remember that I was always dressing them up in pretty bras and cute tops that showed them just right so that they would feel how incredibly special and appreciated they were, because I knew that age (and someday possibly motherhood) would take their toll.

When I got pregnant I cried because I knew that it would likely ruin my boobs forever.  The prospect of them getting bigger was truly exciting for me, but I was totally disgusted by the idea of anything coming out of them, because up to this point, they were not functional.  THEY WERE DECORATIVE.  And I liked them that way.  I was up for breastfeeding, but knew I wasn't going to be one of those mothers who stressed about it.  If the kid took to it (and they worked properly) I would do it and if not, I had no real problem with giving her a bottle.  But secretly, I think I hoped she wouldn't take to it because I dreaded the long stretched-out look that so many women ended up with after a year or so of having someone sucking at those things.

Finally the baby came, and although she seemed to have no problem tearing into my boobs and getting her fill from them, the scabbing and pain (which the breastfeeding lady couldn't seem to fix for me) was more than I was willing to deal with in the days after having my entire mid-section opened and a baby pulled out of there.  So I opted out.  And then the milk came in.  I was thrilled the day I looked in the mirror and saw this:


My boobs when the milk came in.

But they hurt like a bitch.  Good thing I wasn't breastfeeding and could take a ton of the pain killers I had left over from my c-section to dull that shit.  But that was temporary and within a year, everything was more or less back to normal except flatter and wider. 

This was not ideal, but I had a healthy (if not ill-tempered) baby girl to show for it and I had lost most of the weight without too much stressing. And honestly, stepping into the "Mommy" role made me totally uninterested in the state of my boobs, or the rest of my body for that matter.  I HAD GROWN A PERSON INSIDE ME FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!  What man could make THAT kind of claim?

For a couple of years I fell into that trap of not really bothering to shave my legs or trim the lawn or any of the other basic maintenance items that had been a total preoccupation for my younger, always-dating self.  I put on weight, which made my boobs fill out again and under the right tee shirt with the right bra, they totally looked bigger, better and more awesome than ever!

But the other day I was getting into the shower and for some odd reason (probably because it's bathing suit season again) I stopped in front of the full-length mirror naked and looked.  This is what I saw:


My boobs at the nude beach

 WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY BOOBIES??????

One was considerably bigger and the other was facing the wrong way!  My nipples have slipped downward and they hang more to the side than the front now!  I can only blame age and gravity (because I am NOT going to offend the several bowls of ice cream I enjoy each month) and can only imagine that this is normal and that most women have some kind of similar experience.

I felt betrayed.  I mean, my boobs were like my buddies.  I counted on them for a boost in self image when everything else failed me.  Bad hair day?  At least I have nice boobs!  Face breaking out?  My boobs sure look full today!  Period cramps?  At least my boobs look fantastic!  And now that's all gone.  What the hell am I going to do with them now?  I can't sell them.  No one would want them.  And I can't keep them covered up all the time (although I may try).  I suppose I could have implants and/or a nip/tuck kind of thing to yank them up to my chin but who the hell has the cash for that.

I suppose that in the end I will just have to accept that we had a good run and that the glory days of fantastic breasts are behind us. We went on many b-cup sized adventures together and I sure will miss the good old days of using you to seal the deal when I want to get backstage at a concert or just need some confidence for a date.   I just hope I can stop getting choked up whenever I see a KFC ad.

All photos were the result of google searches.

Holy Shit! It's JUST A SCRAPE!

My kid scraped her leg yesterday.  This should not be blog worthy news but there are some things about her that you need to understand.

1. She has NEVER bled.  I am not kidding.  This kid has this weird inpenetrable skin and has never gotten a real cut.  Only bruises and bumps and scrapes that don't bleed.  Therefore:

2. Lila believes that a scrape is the most painful thing that can befall a person.  There is no way to convey to a kid her age that there are things like broken limbs, head gashes and period cramps that she may have to look forward to.

SO last night Lila was screaming like a banshee because her scrape was hurting her. 

I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I am serious when I say she cried for 3 fucking hours about a scrape.  I am not downplaying this.  See if you can spot the scrape on her little knee:

Yeah it's hard to see.  Here is a super enhanced version with scrape seeking technology so that you can actually find the thing that caused 3 hours of misery:

Yes.  It's there.  No, it isn't a shadow.  It's a little scrape.  Did I mention that she cried about it for
3 fucking hours?????

After the first hour and a half, it was clear that no amount of pain relief ointment or band aids were going to help.  Because she just insisted that it made it hurt more.  And finally I had to resort to the mean trick that I swore I would never do.  I told her that if it hurts that much, we should go to the hospital and have it removed.  The leg. 

It's funny how she calmed right down and suddenly it didn't hurt as much anymore.  In fact, it felt so much better that she wanted to run around and have some ice cream. 

They say they know VERY early

As a mother, I often feel the need to prescribe meaning to every little thing my kid does.  She likes to wear tappy shoes?  She needs to take tap lessons.  She wants me to buy her paint?  Maybe she'll be an artist.  Everything and anything becomes some prediction of her future.  I know this is insane but when she said what she said, I obviously raised an eyebrow.

http://monedesignz.spreadshirt.com

The other night I was chatting with Lila, all relaxed and cozy and ready for bedtime when the subject came to her friends at preschool.  Devon is her BEST friend and she has to walk out holding hands with her every day.  She has professed her LOVE for Devon on many occasions and the two often kiss on the lips.  I just chalk it up to her being best friends with this other overly affectionate little girl.

Then she said something to me that I partially applauded and which also made me nervous.  "Mommy," she said.  "I think Devon is my boyfriend but she's a girl.  Is that okay?" 

"Of course it's okay," I said, as open-minded liberal free love mother of the year.  But somewhere inside (and this is a HUGE confession because I am completely in love with the gays on every level) I was nervous.  What if she is (gulp) a lesbian???? 

When I was pregnant Ben and I joked about how we wanted her to be a lesbian so that we wouldnt have to worry about teenage boys and I totally know that when it came down to it I wouldn't care.  But being gay is still a hard life in this country.  Who wants their kid to have to grow up doubting and being made fun of and not being able to marry who the hell they want?  Or being this guy:

They always go just a LITTLE too far...
image via MSN.com

Then I stopped myself because I realized that she is not quite four and likely just has a little friend crush and isn't interested in boys yet.

But most people that I know DO say that they knew when they were VERY young...Shit.


On a totally unrelated side note, when I searched for a picture of lesbians, I couldnt get any to come up because there were too many explicit images.  There is something very wrong with that.

CRAP-TASTIC! - No, seriously.

I dont know why Lila sees the toilet as being pure evil.  It's not like I showed her this:

Image from http://yippie-kai-yay.blogspot.com/

Well folks, after a year of begging and cajoling and trying ever suggestion (including bribery, trickery and just leaving her alone) Lila managed to take a crap on the toilet on Tuesday.  Not only that, she has crapped Wednesday and this morning as well.

I wish I could say it was her choice.  I wish I could say that I did what any loving and attentive parent would have done and let her come around on her own.  But I didn't.  I simply refused to buy any more pull-ups and it just so happened that she was sick and couldn't really hold it anymore.

I wish I could give credit to the gazillion suggestions I received from you all.  I wish I could say it was because I bribed her with a trip to Target for a new Barbie or because I told her I would take her to Friendly's for ice cream (Yes, I told her both of those things) but it wasn't.  It was just because Ben has a shitload of patience with her begging and crying that I don't have.

He was the hero in this one.  After me trying to talk her through it for about 15 minutes while she cried in sheer terror that she could not properly explain (because she is three), I gave up and called in the big guns. 

Ben went in and offered to take all the water out of the toilet so there would be no splash.  This helped but did not in any way make her want to go.  I sat in the hallway crying because this was obviously mean and cruel but I reminded myself that I had never heard of anyone so traumatized by having to shit on the potty that they became mass murderers.

Ben started asking her about school.  About who was sick and who was the "leader" and all of a sudden I heard her stop crying and squeak out a little, "I think I did it."

And she did.  She was so proud of herself and so we had to act like crapping in the toilet was the most incredible thing we had ever witnessed.  We told her she was brave and so big now and she just beamed with pride!

from cafepress.com

And of course, yesterday we went to Target where I managed to spend $22 on a Barbie and some other crap toys just to keep the momentum going.

So to all of you who reassured me it was going to be okay and that my kid would eventually stop crapping her pants, I say THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT.

Now I have to figure out how to properly wipe a kid's ass when she is half standing up.

Yes...It DOES.

I have a problem of feeling very alone sometimes, surrounded by women who LOVE being moms.  So every now and then I google "motherhood sucks".  I am rarely disappointed.  Today I found this blog and wanted to share it with you.


The worst mother

Motherhood Sucks. And then you DON’T die.

By the WORST mother


Yeah, you heard me.

MOTHERHOOD SUCKS!

With a capital M-O-T-H-E-R-H-O-O-D-S-U-C-K-S

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why are moms so afraid to admit this? Oh, that’s right, I know….

BECAUSE REAL MOMS LOVE EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF BEING A MOTHER.

EVERY.

SINGLE.

WAKING.

MOMENT.

So, does that mean there is something wrong with ME?

You all know I disagree totally with this whole thing.  NO!  There's NOTHING wrong with you!  IT FUCKING SUCKS 90% of the time. 

I love this:

Luckily she does come to a new and better conclusion:

Seriously.  Go check her out.  Mention you found her through me and I will be forever thankful.

CLICK HERE
or go to:
http://theworstmother.wordpress.com/ 

-Selena

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?

My Taste in Music is Obviously Questionable

I was fooling around with the interwebs again clicking various links from blogs I like and opened up Mama Kats site and found this prompt:

"Soundtrack of your life: Pick 10 songs that you would have on a soundtrack for your life, pick a line from each that you most identify with and write a short statement of why this song made it."

This got me thinking about all the songs that have been very mood enhancing and/or devastatingly depressing at certain points in my life and so I am going to give you a play by play of the songs playing during the movie version of:

Mostly True Fiction:  Why Selena's Life Sucked but Kind of Didn't

Opening Credits:  A sweeping scene of rain clouds over a volatile body of water with breaks of sunshine beaming through in some spots like at the end of a thunderstorm.
Song: Ordinary World by Duran Duran ("What is happening to me...crazy some say...where is the light that I recognize...GONE AWAY")

Childhood:  I consider this any time BEFORE I was 11.  This time is mostly about my family including the drunk Polish side of my family who I spent most of my time with.  I went to Catholic school and was raised watching MTV with my then-teenaged brother and he used to get somewhat protective over me growing up too fast because he was convinced I would end up a whore. (I think he was on to something)
Song: Sister Christian by Night Ranger ( "Sister Christian there's so much in life..Don't you give it up befrore your time is due...It's true." )

Summer of 1989- I discover boys:  My friend who I will just call "Pippie" and I find a skateboard shop in our neighborhood filled with boys who are too old for us and total rebel punk rock types.  PERFECT!
Song: Boys of Summer by Don Henley (or the remake by the Ataris which I will quote here) "Out on the Road Today I saw a Black Flag sticker on a Cadillac.  A little voice inside my head said 'dont look back, you can never look back'...Thought I knew what love was...what did I know? Those days are gone forever...I should just let them go..."

Summer of 1991 - Selena turns into a Hood rat:   We thought we were really cool and all gangsta and all that but really we were just a bunch of stupid white kids.  Around this time, my mother's depression was at it's worst and so to cope I hooked up with a guy who used to slap me around.  I also ended up hospitalized for depression but when summer came around the bunch of us took over a local schoolyard and terrorized the kids there.
Song: Around the Way Girl by LL Cool J ( I can't quote it because it's too cheesy but it fits, trust me).

1997:  Groupie Alert!: I wrote about it a little before and I am not going into any detail other than to say that I really DO need to do a full post about it.
I will just pick my song:  Plowed by Sponge ("In a world of human wreckage...")

From there until 2004 before I moved to Arizona:  Holy shit.  I was crazy.  I am still not sure what my problem was.  But the jist is that I had many MANY boyfriends.  This may be a great place for a montage, where they shoe me meeting a perfectly nice guy, having sex with him and then turning psycho and throwing shit at him and/or stalking him and finding that he actually IS married after all.  Seriously.  It was a fucked up time in my life.
Song: Crazy on You by Heart ("If we still have time, we might still get by...Every time I think about it, I wanna cry...") I do.  I want to cry when I think about that time.

2004-2007 - Move to Arizona: I just up and left.  I had a friend out there and I was unemployed having been fired for Sexual Harassment (I totally didn't do what I was accused of although I admit to plenty of harassment in other circumstances) and the guy I just broke up with thought I was going to be his wife someday.  Seriously.  So I just left.  I spent a lot of time sitting outside in the hot desert air wishing for rain.  And the song really describes what life was like there
Song: No Rain by Blind Melon ("...And I don't understand why I sleep all day, and start to complain when there's no rain.  And all I can do is read a book to stay away.  And it rips my life away but its a great escape...")

2007-2008 - Baby: Lila NEVER slept.  NEVER. NEVER.  And I needed some medication for depression and the unrelenting anxiety I felt because I never slept and was going crazy.  I stayed on the Xanax long after I needed it because it kept me from losing my mind during those nights where I was up and awake after getting up for the 3rd time with the kid.
Song: Mothers Little Helper by the Rolling Stones ("...you can tranquilize your mind, so go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper. And four help you through the night, help to minimize your plight...")

2008 - Move back to Syracuse:  We were broke.  Bens business had gone under and we really wanted our kid to be near family.  It was a bittersweet move because we had both hated growing up here and had left for good reasons.  But here we were going back home. (You shoule know that compared to AZ with its 95% days WITH sunshine, Syracuse has at least moderate clouds about 90% of the time)
Song: Mama I'm Comin' Home by Ozzy Osbourne ( "...and I don't care about the sunshine yeah..cause mama, mama i'm comin home..")

Now: This part would be about dealing (or not really "dealing") with a toddler/preschooler who is strong-willed (a nice way of saying evil).  The song sums up what I do all day.
Song: Shout at the Devil by Motley Crue.

What can Super Nanny do for you?

You know those friends that you know online and think you would be best friends with in real life but you've never actually met?  Well, Lara is one of those friends. 

She is child-free but as you will see has some serious issues with Super Nanny and small children.  I begged her to write me a post for my blog and I LOVED this and laughed hysterically and I hope you will to.

***NOTE:  In her original writing, she referred to the child many times as "it".  I took the liberty of changing that to "he" or "she" randomly even though it was funnier the other way because it reminded me too much of having a malfunctioning robot.

So here it is:

...................................................

I don't have kids. I hardly see them. I go to bed at 5am. I am just waking up when you are picking them up from school. Let that sink in for a minute….

My diet is mostly bourbon, I play guitar six hours a day, and get angry when I can’t find my slutty-shoes.

I'm not bragging, though. My life kinda sucks. I found out in my late 20's that I have an auto-immune disorder (it’s genetic, not Super-AIDS). The label on my meds tells me that it "may cause flipper-limbs in fetal mice". I might be able to breed, but it seems risky and mean-spirited given the information I have. Mostly, I am just incredibly poor. I am like Liz Lemon without the high profile tv job. Or any job. For better or worse, the baby-ship has sailed. So why should you listen to me?

Because I am fucking addicted to Super Nanny.

As with everything I do, my tv habits are compulsive. It started with Ghost Hunters. (I'm reassured when they don't find ghosts. It makes me feel safe in basements.) Then came Destination Truth and Paranormal State (are they really still in college?). Having run out of para-normal reality TV, I started watching mega-normal reality TV, mainly Biggest Loser.

Then I panicked. I ran out of shitty reality shows to watch. I grudgingly followed Hulu's recommendation to watch Super Nanny.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

It was like mother-fucking Shark Week! World's Deadliest Trainwrecks! Alligator vs. Everything! The amount of shrieking, vomiting, and pool-table punching was worse than every episode of Jersey Shore combined. And these are average families with average toddlers!

I guess I'm not around kids enough to realize that this is normal, typical, kid behavior. My ovaries pretty much shriveled up and died after a half-episode.

Here's what I've incredulously learned from Super Nanny:

1. Kids are advanced manipulators by age 3. "I'll apologize for punching you in exchange for snacks." It's like Lindsay Lohan saying she'll leave jail in exchange for drugs. For real?

2. Your kid wants to control your house. Who doesn't love democracy? Well, three-year-olds, that’s who. The would-be tyrant is 3 feet tall and does not understand mechanics, fire, traffic, or nutrition, and can’t read. I would say he does not get an equal vote.

3. Kids are not idiots. While they lack information about mechanics and traffic, they are still very smart. Too smart…and sneaky. "This food is so yucky I puked. I’m sick" Really? The hidden camera shows the little shit stealing Otter Pops a half hour later. He's not sick. He's not a picky eater. He's not suffering from pre-school anorexia. He knows he can help himself to the freezer as soon as your back is turned, so he makes a show out of barfing casserole!

4. Some parents are unbelievably ghetto. One mom told her kid he "had to go into the mall because kidnappers were waiting in the parking lot." Remember points 1 through 3? They're not dumb; they know when you are lying. This just makes them lose respect and abuse you even more. Acting ghetto just proves they're smarter than you. Now they have a superiority complex!

5. Most parents want their kids to be happy. At all times. It seems obvious since I don't have any heart-strings to pull, no fondness for the patter of little feet; that I am not your kid's friend. I am an adult, and if I am out jogging and I see your kids fucking around on a thinly frozen lake, I will yell at them and tell them to knock that shit off. And then I will continue on, confident I did the right thing. I will be like "I kept that little jerk from drowning to an icy death. He should thank me if he lives to adulthood." I will not hug them or wonder if their feelings got hurt, or if they hate me. But you like your kid. You LOVE your kid. You will always remember your kid as a confused 1 year old in a bunny costume. You get sad when you have to set boundaries; who has the heart to yell at someone in a bunny costume?

This bitch will tell you what the fuck is what.

If there is one thing that anyone can learn from 22 hours of Super Nanny, it's this:

Don't fear discipline. You are not your kid's friend. You are an educator and protector. You have the wisdom to know that pouring ketchup on yourself and shitting your pants at Denny's is not the path to a successful life.

Next time your kid is sadly howling and spitting insults at you, put them in timeout and tune that shit out, and don't feel sad. I know she was a cuddly baby in a cute bear onesie just a few months ago, but right now she is an asshole who is being punished for kicking the kitty in the face.

And when they start acting up, think of them as mini-19 year olds and ask yourself if you'd accept this shit from your college roommate. Because a). your kid will soon be someone's college roommate, and b). they'll still be telling housemates that their cooking is gross and sobbing uncontrollably whilst demanding to sleep in their beds. We all know that guy.

And learn how to do the proper Super Nanny Timeout. I hear that shit is golden.

Lara watches so much reality TV because she stays up late crafting. She has a gorgeous Etsy site called SPIXI  filled with fantastic little items at unreasonably great prices.  Use coupon code MOTHERHOODSUCKS at check-out for 20% off your order.

Annoying. (Or what it's like to be three)

"Mommy.  Mommy.  Mommy.  Mommy.  MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMY!"

She isn't paying attention.  Daddy keeps on talking to her but I need her NOW! 

"Mommy Mommy MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY!!!!"

I don't want to hang on a minute.  I don't want to wait until she's finished talking.  I have to tell her something REALLY REALLY REALLY important!  I have to tell her NOW!  I have to tell her right this minute because I really really have to tell her!

"MOM-MY.  MOM-MY!"  "MOOOOM-MY!"
Maybe if I just whine a little bit, "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMY!" But not too much because then she won't let me tell her.  I'll just make the sad face too.  "MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMY!"

Um...She's looking at me now. I want to tell her something but what is it? She stopped talking and she's waiting for me to tell her what.  I have to tell her something and I want her to know that....hmmm......Look!  There's my Strawberry Shortcake Doll.  I'm going to go over and get it. 

"I like Strawberry Shortcake, Mommy!"

........................................................................

From the prompt found here:

Just call me MOMMY

Last week, the Wall Street Journal published an article in which the author (whose name I don’t want to put out this soon because you will be distracted by it for the rest of the post – OH OK…) TAFFY Brodesser-Akner, says that the group of women who blog about being mothers should not be called “Mommy Bloggers” because it is somehow degrading and discounts their writing by calling them “just mommies”. She believes that using the term “Mommy” makes us relate to each other like children and the fact that we’re not acting like dignified adults in the different ways to raise our children (aka the Mommy Wars) is because we openly use the word “Mommy” to describe ourselves.

(read the original post here)


On first glance, I was totally on board with this. I used to see myself as a feminist. That is, until I had my kid. Because there truly IS no such thing as equal parenting, no matter how much the father tries to help. Mommy is something magical and feminine and no matter how much we may wish it and will it to not be true, and no matter how wonderful a father is, mommy is a very unique relation that cannot be replicated by daddy. But back to my point…

I read this and found that much of it is probably meant to be inflammatory and there I was, suckered into this emotional manipulation .

“I am mystified: Why is anyone other than my 3-year old (and his 8-month old brother eventually, but not yet) calling me Mommy? Why are we grown women calling each other Mommy? Is being a mother such a silly avocation that we have to baby it up, stringing it with the hormones and gushy feelings of what our children call us? Does it strike anyone that calling a woman who has had a child Mommy is demeaning and infantilizing? Does it strike anyone that calling philosophical disagreements Mommy Wars is no different than screaming “GIRL FIGHT!” as two strippers go at it in a mud pit?”

“Wow!” I thought. “This is a really good point. She’s totally right!” I flashed to the whole school-girl fashion trend that happened briefly in the early 2000’s and how I HATED it just because it was, at its essence, a bunch of dumb women being slutty and indulging male dominance fantasies and in a twist of unreality, calling it feminism. “Shit.” I automatically felt my nostrils flair. “The MAN wants to call us Mommy because it means we’re dumb and subservient and full of sunshine and love! It’s another fucking trick for the MAN to keep me down!”

But I kept reading.

“Women began to identify with the name Mommy and started not to mind when businesses would market to them as such: The Mommy Hook is a clip that hangs off my stroller and holds on to shopping bag. The Mommy Necklace is a necklace your child can’t choke on. Mommy Make-Up promises I can “look divine in half the time.”

We are being marketed to as this squishy thing—the Mommy—which confirms our needs but calls us names while doing it. Because when a woman calls herself a Mommy, she is, in some ways, identifying with her captors.”

“YEAH!” I thought! “The only thing I hate more than the MAN keeping me down is advertisers keeping me down! Fuck those dudes on Mad Men! Don Draper isn’t going to trap me in his fancy web!”

Wait, did they have robots in the 1960's?


But then I got to this and my entire take on this article changed:

“Now, I won’t demean the Mommy blogger. I will, however, say that when you call yourself a Mommy, you are signaling to the world that you might not take your writing so seriously and maybe we shouldn’t either.”

Not for nothing, but if I wanted to be a serious writer, I wouldn’t be doing a blog called BecauseMotherhoodSucks. I want my writing to be easily related to and pretty self-deprecating and not a little bit humorous and not take itself seriously. Most of the mothers I see out there blogging are not trying to win a Pulitzer. We’re just laughing it off and trying to connect with other mothers like us.



Doesn't want to be called 'Mommy'

 Just as I was thinking, “This bitch is taking this whole thing WAAAY too seriously,” I read this:

“Maybe you think I’m taking this too seriously. But consider this: When we allow our children to name us, a name they use before they can speak, and then we go by that name in the world, are we doing them any favors? When our children see that we are first and foremost a mother, and a mother in their terms, I believe they suffer.

And they do. Who is this woman who identifies with being called Mommy by strangers? Who is the woman who has abandoned every other thing she is, has been, or ever will be in favor of being known only as her kids’ mother? (And how’s her marriage doing?) Worst yet, who of these women doesn’t know that her children will grow up, move on, call her something more dignified…and then where will she be? What shall we call her then?”

My first thought was, “My kid cannot grow up and move on soon enough" (but that’s another blog), but my very second thought was “Once a woman is a mother, she is always a mother. She is ALWAYS MOMMY to her child…”  To me, being “Mommy” to someone other than my kid is not TRULY an option. It's not like anyone is actually confusing "Selena" the person with whoever they choose to call "Mommy".  I am pretty secure in the fact that writing a blog about motherhood and callling myself "Mommy" to my kid or on my blog is not a big deal...kind of like a straight guy who likes to wear pink. 



He's laughing because he ruined her life.

Does Taffy really think that I am not thrilled about motherhood simply BECAUSE I am a “Mommy Blogger” and this is making me into nothing more than a dumb mother? Have I lost my identity BECAUSE I identify with the “Mommy”? Is Lila a brat BECAUSE I am “Mommy” first and foremost? Maybe I am not who I think I am? Maybe sound like someone who’s smoked too much pot? Who’s looking in my window?

PLENTY of moms lose who they are when the baby shows up.  That's part of why the Mommy Blogger thing is so popular.  We see ourselves in this place that is logically kind of absurd, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“I have a horrible suspicion that different mothers with different views would hate each other less, that there would be no Mommy War, if there were no Mommy, if we all agreed that we are adults. Because agreeing to disagree is an adult thing, and it is the point at which civility is born. How can you have an adult conversation when you’re talking like a baby?”

OH, FUCK YOU TAFFY! Some mothers are just assholes. Just like not all kids are cute and some are actually homely little shits, some mothers are just fucking douchy. That mother who thinks you are a terrible mother because you aren’t into homeschooling your kid and making them eat organic tofu when they shoot out of the womb isn’t worth trying to convince otherwise. She will look stupid to me, and I will look neglectful to her. The mother who works two jobs who believes that she has no choice isn’t GOING to be convinced by the 24/7 housewife that letting her kids go without dinner as long as she gets to spend more time with them is the way to make them happier, more well-adjusted children. Sometimes we just don’t get to do all the things we want to do as mothers.



Only gives her kid name-brand termites.



So much of it comes from assholes like Taffy who sit on her side of the “Mommy” fence, I assume is built out of a couple of wonderful parents and plenty of support and help and a super strong self-identity and will likely never have to write a bullshit “Mommy blog” to vent her frustrations because she is completely satisfied with the life choices that led her to be able to write for such “dignified” venues as the Wall Street Journal. Not all of us feel that way.

 

My side of the Mommy Fence needs some work.

Some of us DID sideline our dreams of writing and chased other dreams instead. So now we blog. Some of us didn’t know we liked sharing ourselves with an audience until we started blogging about our kids. So now we blog. Some of us really enjoy just throwing shit out there, not to get paid for it as a professional to be taken totally seriously, but instead to write about our frustrations and pride in being the Mommy. So now we fucking BLOG!!!

I disagree with the idea that calling us “Mommy Bloggers” or “Mommy” ANYTHING is a bad thing. There IS something silly and childish about it. But you know what else it is? It’s temporary. We all KNOW that the time when our kids call us “Mommy” is so limited and transient. It will be over before we know it and we want to suck it up and hold on to that closeness and cuddling and the ability to satisfy most of what this little person needs in life right now. Because before we know it, we’ll just be “mom” and we’ll be embarrassing and ruining their lives with our curfews and rules.

So fuck you Taffy. Me and my Mommy Blogger friends don’t need the irony of someone named “Taffy” telling us how what we are called shapes how people see us.



From now on, just call me "Mommie Dearest Blogger"



SHIT...maybe next year.

Well, once again I have destroyed my chances of winning Mother of the Year. 

I really hate my days off work during the week.  Since I work part time at the gigantic downtown library and they don't have the budget to hire full time people, I have every Tuesday and Wednesday off of work.  Tuesdays are nice because the Kid goes to preschool in the morning until about 11:30 and it gives me time to get dressed and plan something for the rest of the day to occupy her so that she doesn't just whine and harass me all day.  Yesterday we hit the Barnes & Noble where she played with the trains (way more fun that the set we have at home for some reason), then played on the stage (she sang and danced for no one in particular), and then we went home where Netflix had sent us Lilo and Stitch to keep us occupied for much of the afternoon.  This also afforded me a "relax" time on the couch (go ahead, applaud my fantastic ulterior motives) and after that we only had about an hour before Daddy came home to entertain her while I made dinner.

But Wednesdays are always another story.  Sometimes, Lila cries to go to Grandma's (where she spends the days when I work) and I have NO PROBLEM calling my mother and letting Lila plead with her to let her come over.  But most days, it is up to me to make magic for her. 

Luckily, Wednesday morning is story time at the local branch library.  Unfortunately it's at 10:00 which for some reason seems to come too early for us.  But Lila loves the storytime.  It's a small affair with 3 to 5 kids at a time and a wonderful older childrens' librarian who Lila is attached to.  You see, we used to live on the same block, right up the street, and so last year we spent A LOT of time taking walks to the library and hanging around in there.  But since we moved, it isn't really walking distance and so we need to take a car rind and in the winter that means a little longer to prepare.

Since Lila is going through her phase of freaking out any time I tell her its time to do anything, I had to warn her a few weeks ago that if she ever threw a fit when we were getting ready to go anywhere, we simply would not go.  But since I also desperately NEED to take her to storytime in order to have a little time to space out, I really need to make it happen.

Well, today I told Lila I the plan.  "I am going to go upstairs to get showered and dressed.  You need to play nicely for about 15 minutes and then you will be getting dressed, cleaned up, and ready to go to storytime."  She didn't throw a fit.  She said "okay".  So far so good. 

I went upstairs to get my clothes together and Lila came up behind me and went into her room to play.  This is also good because then I can listen while I shower.  I heard her getting frustrated with something and when I went in she told me she needed some help getting her notebook and pen from under a stack of coloring books.  "I am pretty sure you can do this yourself," I said, but I took the notebook and pen out and she went to put it on her little princess table.  I walked out and took my little stack of clothes into the bathroom. 

I heard more sounds of frustration (namely, the notebook being thrown on the floor and a grunt).  I went back in, now half undressed.  "What's the problem Lila?"

"I can't make my pen work..."  OK.  I went and hunted for another pen.  "Problem solved.  Give me 10 minutes."

Then I heard a loud crash and a whiny scream.  Lila had overturned the table in her room and started a mini fit.  I told her to take a deep breath.  She did.  Then I asked her to show me what the problem was. She started yelling at me that she didn't want any help from me.  "Fine," I said.  I am getting in the shower.  Please play good for like 5 minutes and I will help you when I get out." 

Somehow, this was too much for her and she threw herself onto the floor screaming.  I attempted to EXPLAIN that story time is starting at 10:00 and if she wants to go, I have to get into the shower NOW.  "Play with something else for 3 minutes, and then we can talk.  She continued to scream and yell at me telling me that she doesn't WANT to play with anything else and that she needs me to fix her table NOW".

I told her I was giving her ONE MORE CHANCE to knock that shit off and then we weren't going.  At that, I turned to walk out of her room and got into the shower.  I heard her stomping the ground and screaming.  I soaped up as quickly as I could while she continued to cry and as I did this I felt my blood begin go boil. "OK.  YOU WANT TO BE A HUGE BRAT TODAY?  NOW WE DON'T GO TO STORY TIME."

At this, her tone changed and she started the truly upset broken-hearted crying.  But FUCK HER.  I tried to be nice.  Why the hell was I going to take a kid who is clearly just being an asshole to storytime?  She was not throwing a fit because she wanted me to hang out with her.  She was throwing a fit because she has a temper and even though I tried to talk her through it she threw a fit anyway. 

As she continued to cry, I yelled at her that she OBVIOUSLY had decided that staying home and breaking her stuff was much more fun than storytime and so she should go ahead and break all of her stuff so that I can throw it away and she won't have any toys to get mad about anymore.

And I yelled and yelled and yelled and she just kept on crying and telling me that I am a Mean Mommy.  And then I started being a real asshole.  "Boo Hoo Hoo..." I said.  "I am being a brat and now I can't have what I want so I am going to be a bigger brat...BOO HOO HOOO!!!"  I was mocking my 3-year-old child. 

I admit, looking at that now, it was probably not nice to do.  It was childish.  I am the adult, right?  I am supposed to remain composed and calm, right?  So why does my kid have the ability to make me fucking insane to the point of wanting to strangle her?  I actually had to go into my bedroom, shut the door, and scream into a pillow until my throat started to hurt so that I didn't totally lose it.  I considered calling her father and telling him to come home so that I didn't traumatize her emotionally for life.

Then I started to feel guilty because I KNOW that my behavior is no more acceptable than hers, and I AM NOT THREE.  I started to think that I am setting a shitty example and now she is going to think it's okay to be an asshole to someone when they are upset. 

About 20 seconds later, Lila came in with a pack of candy that she got from her Valentine's Day party at school, as if NOTHING EVER HAPPENED and asked me to open it.  I said, "You know we're not going to storytime right?"  "Yeeeaaaah." she said sadly. 

"And you know that it's because you threw a fit for no good reason, right?"  "Yeeeaaah." she said. 

"Then why would you be allowed to have a candy treat when 5 minutes ago you were acting like a total brat?" I asked her, trying to be the stern Mommy.  She gave it to me and I told her we were going to save that for later. 

Then she said, "I want to tell you something very important."
 
"Oh yeah?"  I said.  "What's that?"

"I'm really sorry that I made you mad and sad." She said matter-of-factly.  "You don't have to take me to storytime when I'm being bad."

And that's when I realized that I have a really fucking good kid, and that as a mother, I totally do not deserve her.

Things I swore I would never do.

Before I was a mom, I knew exactly how to raise children (other people's).  I swore that I would never:

• Make separate dinners for my kid.  She could go to bed hungry if she didn't like what I made for dinner (...but she will only eat hot dogs and mac and cheese...and if she doesn't eat she doesn't sleep.)
• Lay in bed with my kid every night until she went to sleep.  They need to learn to sleep on their own. (...but I would rather not fight with her for 3 hours and cannot get any time for myself - or her poor father - until she is out.)
• Put my kid on a leash. It's mean and people laugh at you. (This, I never did.  But I swear I get why you would.  Toddlers are FAST!)
• "LET" my kid throw a fit in public.  My kid will be well-behaved. (...it's really funny how you think you could control that, but short of bribing there is no good solution but to leave - and then they've won.)
• Make food into shapes and designs so that it will be "fun" to eat. I will simply teach my kid to like trying new things.  (see above.)
• Let my kid watch TV.  It destroys their brains and there is nothing good that can come of it. (...No one tells you it's the only way you can get ready for work.  And actually, Lila was counting to 20 and knew her alphabet at 2 years old, so it can't be all bad.)
• Watch the same movie over and over and over and over and over because my kid would be more cultured than that. (This is simply a joke.  If you want to have a few quiet moments in your house, this is not optional.)
• Listen to stupid Raffi and other kiddie music ad nauseum in the car (yup....and I sing along at the top of my lungs too).
• Shop at Wal-Mart because they are evil. (There is no way I am buying ANYTHING at full price when it will only be destroyed the moment I turn my back).
• Scream at my kid like a maniac and threaten to lose my mind. (Yes, Lila has driven me to the point of sanity.  I am thoroughly surprised the both of us have survived to this point intact.)
• Talk incessantly about every stupid detail of my kid's life. (Except that it is my (other) full-time job, my greatest accomplishment, and  my biggest source of stress all in one...There's about 80% of the things people talk about.  What else is there to discuss?  POLITICS?)
• Care what other people thought about my parenting ability. (It is the biggest insult in the world!)

I am sure I missed some, but Lila's imaginary friends need some juice so I have to go and entertain all 14 of them now.  Please, feel free to add on.