An open letter to my toddler

Dear Son,

Tonight, when we took you to your sister’s open house at school, you seemed to have a nuanced, finely-tuned plan.

You began with a spirited refusal to submit to our unreasonable request that you wear pants in public.  After a snot-spewing tantrum and a wrestling match you generously let me think I had won, you filled your diaper, thus making me undress you.

Even at your age, you seem to have a well-developed sense of irony.

You were requesting to bring some item I could not decipher, as your speech is still undeveloped. You have a history of bringing random items, like the time you dragged a 6 ft shower hose everywhere for a month, or the 3 ft extension part of the shop vac, with which you beat your sisters for the better part of the summer.  I couldn’t even guess what you wanted to bring, but your fit was epic.

And I ask you this:

How did you know there was a red button that read “press in emergency only for hood exhaust” in that huge science/technology classroom?  Not only did you find it, but did so with dazzling efficiency.

Of all the fun things in the room, how did you single out the teacher’s match-stick model of a windmill?  I hadn’t even noticed it was there, until you tried to attach an enormous metal clamp to it. Where did you find that clamp, by the way?

In French class, did you just intuitively sense where Monsieur What’s-his-name kept his 200 pencil-end erasers? I know people ignored you when you put them on the ends of your fingers and loudly announced these were “big booboos, KISS!”.  You surmised they would pay more attention if you pelted them at their heads, and you were right.  That man was very annoyed.

What animal were you pretending to be when you slithered up 3 staircases on your belly?  The 35 adults you were blocking from using the staircase wanted to know.

And why do you always become such a freak in wide open indoor spaces?  I understand the echo is good, but no one needed to hear that.

Another successful evening on the town.  If you keep this up, it is unlikely you will ever get a date.

Love,

Mom

I have SOME boundaries

My well-meaning friends keep trying to convince me I need to add a pet to our freak show.  Let me answer you all here, in writing, so you can reference my pet policy before you think about approaching me next time.

To my friend who owns a large black dog: when you told me how he retrieved a beer bottle from the recycling, chewed it into pieces on the couch, resulting in a 2 hr/$600 visit to the vet, I was uninspired to rush to the pound and rescue anyone.

To my friend who has to have the house “bombed” twice a year due to a long-haired cat: don’t even bother with your “green cleaning products”.

My friend with the dog that “bathes” itself noisily.  The image of that leisurely, rhythmic licking has seared itself onto my eyeball forever.

To my friend who spent a sleepless night looking for the family dog in the woods:  if my kids actually sleep through the night once every 17 days, I’ll be damned if Sparky gets in the way with a night of cat-chasing.

To the owner of a severe slobberer: I already suffer the humiliation of occasionally appearing at work with a healthy snot wipe on my collar or a handprint of jelly on my behind.  A drool mark would push me over the edge.

To my “how about a cat” friends:  In my house you will always feel a cheerio crunch under foot, have all windows and mirrors covered in handprints, and find unfolded laundry.  I have, however, been spared fur.  Sticky, clingy, ever-present fur.

Regarding my friends with pets “on a special diet”:   my battles to get everyone fed are already epic. Toddler preferences can change at a moment’s notice, hell, even DURING a meal. Matt needs to be carbed up like your average lacrosse team.  Then I also have to cater to someone who doesn’t like chunks, meat, 98% of all vegetables, no spices, limited amounts of cheese, no eggs, who is made to “gag” by certain foods.

Why, why, why would I add a vegan feline who needs his brown rice cooked just so?  Why would I chase down fresh lamb for my allergy-ridden dog when I barely get to the market now? Why would I take life and limb into my own hands as I try to force a pill the size of a human thumb down an 8lb cat’s throat?

I will stick with our beta fish.  Maybe we’ll add some chickens in the fall. However, nothing will cross my threshold that damages property, forces me to vaccuum 2x a day, has weird habits, causes extra laundry, has parasites,  and smells.  I have three of those already.

As a Mother, I have Failed

My children should be calling Child Protective Services.

• I put the peanut butter on the wrong side of the cracker.  I didn’t realize there was a “right” side of a saltine, as they look identical, but I now stand corrected. One side is clearly better than the other.
• The other soccer sock was under the mudroom shelf and I should have known. Because of this gross act of negligence, someone, who will remain unnamed, had to play with one dirty, one clean.
• I use $14 shampoo.  It is my only luxury, but it causes many sentences directed at me to start with the phrase “Mom, if YOU can buy $14 shampoo, then I (insert ridiculous pre-teen request here)…”
• I packed the little red tractor in the stroller.  Everyone knows that when you go to get ice cream, you have to have the green Mini Cooper in the stroller, never the tractor.  I have left emotional scars.
• To insult a coughing toddler with an offer of a sip of water is unforgiveable.  It is so rude, in fact, that the toddler could throw up on himself because this offer caused so much stress.
• Everyone knows it is a basic human right to have brownies for breakfast and peaches should only be served with ketchup.  I should honor that and stop being so selfish.
• New city, new school, about 12  new teachers between two kids, and on day 4 of school I still don’t know that Coach So-and-so isn’t actually a coach, but a homeroom teacher.  Clearly, I am just not paying attention, I don’t care, and why do I have to be like that anyway?

Make no mistake, some mornings I know exactly why I go to work.  It is a less abusive environment.

I don’t care about the rainforest anymore

We have two vehicles.  One is a van that, while it requires more gas, keeps the anarchists separated in the back.  The car, very fuel efficient, keeps them in close vicinity to each other.

Here is a snippet of what will come out of your mouth if you go on a “green” road trip with 3 kids all wedged in tightly for the sake of reducing your carbon footprint.  Screw the rainforest, I’m not doing this again:

“I said STOP LICKING HER WALLET.”

“If that egg breaks in the cupholder, so help me god!!!”

“No, your sister did not intentionally make her foot closest to you smell the stinkiest, so please stop harrassing her about it.”

“Take one for the team and let him smack you with his truck.  PLEASE. It keeps him happy, OK???”

“No, I can’t assemble Playmobile right now.  I AM DRIVING.”

“This is not really a good time to talk to me about how Herbal Essences makes your hair feel.”

“I know it would make the trip easier for you, but it is illegal. We can’t leave her at home for 2 days–she is only 8.”

“Why are your brother and his carseat under 2 inches of water?”

The Illegal Classified

We have a small duplex in a no-name town that has a vacancy.

Responses to my classified make me question my faith in humanity’s IQ. This is the one I want to write, but various laws prohibit me:

Seeking Tenant for nice 2 bedroom home.

Washer/dryer hook-up, wood floors, newly renovated, efficient heating system. Pets by audition only.  That means that your 18 yr old incontinent cat is not welcome, though he is “a nice kitty”.  He is INCONTINENT.  Cat piss may be one of the most vile, lingering miasmas known to humankind.  Why would I invite that into my investment???

And to the person who’s puppy doesn’t chew.  He is only 5 months old.  He hasn’t BEGUN to chew.  He will chew, about a week into your lease. I have sense about me, though, and therefore he will never have opportunity to make saw dust out of the molding.

Also, if your boyfriend answers my craigslist ad and gives me a number to call, which I do, please don’t call me back demanding “Who are you?  Why are you calling my boyfriend’s phone?”  before you have listened to the message. The answer is: “I was about to be your future landlady, but before so much as your first “hello” you pretty much accused me of sleeping with your 22 yr old heartthrob. I have to say the deal is off.”  Besides, everyone knows I used match.com for my current spouse.

Please stop the “fiance” farce.  I don’t care if you have legally wed, are about to wed, or are just shacked up.  You are talking to a  woman who chose to have a child out of wedlock.  Having a “fiance” may make you seem respectable to the Catholic Church and when your Aunt Rosie visits at Thanksgiving, but I could care less.  What makes you respectable in my eyes is CASH, or at least your ability to balance your check book so your rent doesn’t bounce.

And to the woman who called to rent for herself, her 3 grown children and her roommate–IT IS A 2-bedroom.  Where exactly will you put all that humanity? And for the record, your cat isn’t welcome, either.

Also, no smoking means no smoking in the house, on the deck, in the yard. I understand that I did not specify “in the basement”, but being that I mentioned every other square inch of the property, couldn’t you have interpreted the spirit of that request??? And I consider cigarette butts on the deck physical evidence.  Am I jumping to conclusions?  Perhaps.  I jumped to the same conclusions when you LIT UP during a phone conversation with me.  I’m just trigger happy that way.

Your “parole officer” or “case worker” is not a reference I feel good about.  And your mother, whom you list as your “former landlady” is not objective.  She may even be saying everything in her power to get you out of her house.  And telling me I should rent to you because your current landlord is evicting you is a red flag to me.  I know I sound judgmental, but there you have it.  Being “between jobs” doesn’t inspire my confidence, either.

So, if you are a nice human being–gay, straight, married, atheist, black, gourmet cook, into your tantric yoga practice, or even voting McCain–I am aloof to your color, creed, life choices or habits.  I just ask you pay bills, keep a job and have pets without health issues that would impact my hardwood floors.

The Vikings Have Left the Building

School started.

When I left for work this morning, the house looked like a viking raid had just passed through.  Dirty breakfast dishes everywhere, cereal crunching underfoot, wet towels on beds, and assorted shoes all over the mudroom floor that “just don’t go” with the outfits chosen the night before.

The debris of a hasty, haphazard exit.

 

But I am happy.  Deliriously happy, in that zen, post-coital, nothing-can-possibly-ruin-this-moment way. 

My life will have order again. 

I spit on that day in May.  THIS is the true mother’s day.

 

The Men in My Life

How is anyone supposed to get dinner on the table?

What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.

…and we should all be grateful for that.

Only in Vegas do you:

• share an elevator with Yoda. She (!!!) is actually from the midwest, and here to partake in the “Star Wars Trading Card Collection Championship Fan Faire”.  Yes, of course I asked, and she paid $1500 to attend the ”conference”.
• see an IPOD vending machine.  You can get digital cams, and bluetooth, too.  In case you lost yours at the tables.
• witness an altercation in the Manilow Store where polyester-clad Florida residents get snarky over “Music and Passion” paraphenalia.
• have a 70 year old waitress with the most amazng, gravity-defying breasts imaginable. 
• stand in line at an all-you-can-eat buffet behind someone wearing a stuffed wolf head, complaining about why the Alaska crab isn’t available.

I dug deep for the tacky-appreciation, but, even for me, this place is too much.

The Horse Died here

I am in Las Vegas for a New Media conference. 

I have been to the Sahara.  I have been to the jungles of Central and South America.  I have even braved Washington DC in the summer. 

I have, however, NEVER been in weather like this.  Never.  

Why would people settle here?  What made them stop, look around and say “Yeah.  This place is better than from where we came.”

They never said that. People only moved here because they were in transit and this is where their horse died.

 

West Baltimore?

Today was Vietnamese take-out night.

Matt was running late, so I thought it would be nice for him to come home to dinner at 6 pm., because that is the kind of wife I am.  The gang and I headed out to pick up dinner.

After I bought spicy #13 and #20 with tofu, we headed home. I on foot, the girls on bikes.   As we round the corner of North Winooski (2 blocks away from our house) I have to tell my girls to please get off their bikes.

Because we are practicing good bike etiquette toward pedestrians?

No.

Because we are approaching a corner and I am training my girls in the finer points of traffic safety?

No.

Because we are approaching 3 ATF agents in bullet proof vests in the middle of a substantial bust?

Of course.

The vests have the “ATF” on them–that’s how this country mouse knew. There were 2 plainsclothes officers and one local cop in uniform.  Oh yeah, and the guy just busted.  Bent over his truck. Handcuffs.  Big gold bling around his neck. The works.

Now I know you are wondering, “Should I ever be in this situation, what would an appropriate outfit be?”

Well, I’m not entirely sure how to answer that.  I’d like to suggest, however, that you do not accessorize with a hunter green jogging stroller and a big wet patch on your bedonkodonk from sitting on a rained upon park bench moments earlier. You will feel stupid.

In case this wasn’t all surreal enough,  at that precise moment, as I push the aforementioned stroller by the cops,  Mr. Ding-a-Ling, the ice cream truck, pulls up blasting “It’s a small world after all.”  What better location to do business?

Are jolly rancher snow cones to ATF agents what donuts are to regular cops?