After enduring an hour of mocking and verbal abuse whilst playing Guitar Hero, I thought “Hey! Why not subject yourself to some more abuse and humilation and let the boys write a story about you?” (Thanks to Theresa for the idea.)
They were MORE THAN HAPPY to honor my request. (Little snots.) Prepare yourself, for my children do not hold back. Oh no they do not .
My mom looks like an idiot when she plays guitar hero, but she thinks she looks cool. She doesn’t even know how to play.
A lot of times, she thinks the game is broken, but the problem is that she isn’t strumming the guitar, which makes her kind of dumb when it comes to the game.
If it gets accidently paused, she asks the person to restart it because she’s a drama queen about it and acts like a baby when she plays it.
My mom’s a pretty nice person when it comes to anything else, but when it comes to guitar hero, she’s a game hog and she has no manners.
WhatEVAH. Obviously, they’re just jealous and can’t deal with the fact that I have killer Aerobic Dance Moves to accompany my sucky guitar playing.
Category Archives: Parenthood
Fun Flickr Fact
Today was Ethan’s 9th birthday, so I find it highly amusing that a photo that I took of him yesterday made the front page of Explore and to #1 on interestingness.
Sibling Love
Excuse me for bragging, but my youngest son kicked ass at the End of the Year School Awards ceremony.
My GOD. I’m so proud to be his mother.
He recieved a “Citizenship” award, a “Recognition with HONORS” award, a “Service” award for outstanding service as a student council Representive (one of only TWO for the entire 3rd grade class, thank you very much) and (this one is my most favorite for obvious reasons) “The School District Writing Celebration, Young Authors” ribbon for excellence in writing. His was one of only THREE stories chosen to be displayed at the district office as being one of the “best written stories” of 2006.
Hello, Future Blogger of America! (I know, poor kid, I should lower my expectations.)
As he stood up there, with all of his awards in hand and a huge smile across his face, my heart was bursting with pride and I had to hold back from standing on my chair and screaming out “LOOK AT THE KID! HE’S AWESOME! AND I’M HIS MOTHER!”
I am pretty sure that the fact that my son kicks so much acedemic ass makes me a “good breeder.”
He’s such an awesome kid and seriously? One of the funniest human beings I’ve ever known. He’s also fiercly loyal, protective and affectionate.
Oh, and? He loves The Ladies.
He once deemed himself “The Protector of Girls.” And man, he takes his self given title seriously.
Like the one time some boy was picking on a girl at a party, my son got right in the kids face and said “DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A HAPPY FACE, DUDE?”
What makes that so funny is that the kid was about 10 years old and Ethan was 6. He didn’t care, he was just “doing his job.”
One of the greatest joys of my life has been watching him with my daughter. He’s incredibly loving with her, sensitive to her feelings, and extremely protective of her.
((OMG! The Cheese&trade, it has returned!)
Every once in a while, he’ll stand in her bedroom and stare at her baby pictures. He’ll start to cry and say things like “This picture just makes me cry mom, because she’s growing up so fast, I can’t believe that’s the little baby I held in my arms at the hospital.”
The other day, I asked him what it felt like when he held her for the first time.
“Mom, it was like, the greatest moment of my life. I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. I loved her right away.”
He loves her deeply and she loves him right back. Her face lights up when she sees him in the morning and when he leaves for school, she hugs him, kisses him and says “Bye Boo.”
The most exciting part of her day is when she hears his bus come roaring down the street. She literally freaks the hell out. She jumps up and down, squeels, laughs. I try to make sure we’re outside everyday so that she can be there to see him when he gets off the bus because what happens when he steps off of the bus is honestly one of the most precious things that I have ever witnessed as a mother.
She watches intently as the kids start filing out of the bus, waiting for the moment that her Brubber appears. The minute she sees him step out, she takes off running towards him. And then he runs towards her. And they run and run until the finally meet and he sweeps her off of her tiny little feet, and they hug and giggle.
And I cry. Every single time. Corny? Yes! But maybe if you saw it yourself, you’d understand how it could make a mother cry.
They love each’udder
Excuse me for bragging, but my youngest son kicked ass at the End of the Year School Awards ceremony.
My GOD. I’m so proud to be his mother.
He recieved a “Citizenship” award, a “Recognition with HONORS” award, a “Service” award for outstanding service as a student council Representive (one of only TWO for the entire 3rd grade class, thank you very much) and (this one is my most favorite for obvious reasons) “The School District Writing Celebration, Young Authors” ribbon for excellence in writing. His was one of only THREE stories chosen to be displayed at the district office as being one of the “best written stories” of 2006.
Hello, Future Blogger of America! (I know, poor kid, I should lower my expectations.)
As he stood up there, with all of his awards in hand and a huge smile across his face, my heart was bursting with pride and I had to hold back from standing on my chair and screaming out “LOOK AT THE KID! HE’S AWESOME! AND I’M HIS MOTHER!”
I am pretty sure that the fact that my son kicks so much acedemic ass makes me a “good breeder.”
He’s such an awesome kid and seriously? One of the funniest human beings I’ve ever known. He’s also fiercly loyal, protective and affectionate.
Oh, and? He loves The Ladies.
He once deemed himself “The Protector of Girls.” And man, he takes his self given title seriously.
Like the one time some boy was picking on a girl at a party, my son got right in the kids face and said “DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A HAPPY FACE, DUDE?”
What makes that so funny is that the kid was about 10 years old and Ethan was 6. He didn’t care, he was just “doing his job.”
One of the greatest joys of my life (OMG! The Cheese&trade, is has returned)has been watching him with my daughter. He’s incredibly loving with her, sensitive to her feelings, and extremely protective of her.
Every once in a while, he’ll stand in her bedroom and stare at her baby pictures. He’lll start to cry and say things like “This picture just makes me cry mom, because she’s growing up so fast, I can’t believe that’s the little baby I held in my arms at the hospital.”
The other day, I asked him what it felt like when he held her for this first time.
“Mom, it was like, the greatest moment of my life. I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. I loved her right away.”
He loves her deeply and she loves him right back. Her face lights up when she sees him in the morning and when he leaves for school, she hugs him, kisses him and says “Bye Boo.”
The most exciting part of her day is when she hears his bus come roaring down the street. She literally freaks the hell out. She jumps up and down, squeels, laughs. I try to make sure we’re outside everyday so that she can be there to see him when he gets off the bus because when what happens when he steps off of the bus is honestly one of the most precious things that I have ever witnessed as a mother.
She watches intently as the kids start filing out of the bus, waiting for the moment that her Brubber appears. The minute she sees him step off, she takes off running towards him. And then he runs towards her. And they run and run until the finally meet and he sweeps her off of her tiny little feet, and they hug and giggle.
And I cry. Every single time. Corny? Yes! But maybe if you saw it yourself, you’d understand how it could make a mother cry.
Finally, videographic evidence to back up my claims that I didn’t get the laundry done because I was too busy keeping my daughter from hurting herself
Today is “One of Those Days” with my daughter.
Just now, I commanded her to take a nap.
“Daughter, I command thee to lay down and take a nap!” She responded with “Nap? HA! I STOMP ON YOUR NAP!”
Notice how after she realizes I’ve just caught her NOT napping on tape she stops for a second like “OOPS, busted!” but then she’s all “WHATEVER! Jumping is fun! Weeeee!”
Yeah. It’s great to know that she RESPECTS MY AUTHORITY.
Look who’s smiling again.
I do believe she’s finally come to terms with the fact that The Bobs are gone forever.
Now, if only I could come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be a breastfeeding mother ever again.
It’s hard to say goodbye to that part of my life as a woman, harder than I ever imagined it would be.
Wean THIS!
Hi. My name is G-Unit and I’m mad at my mommy right now. That is why she does not have time to write today, because she is too busy dealing with my anger. You see, my mommy decided to take The Bobs away from me FOR GOOD. I was wondering what was up because everytime I’d lift her shirt up and ask for “Boobies” she’d say “No, boobies are sleeping.”
I didn’t like it, but thought, “Fine! When they wake up, they’re ALL MINE!”
But, that was 4 days ago. Four.Flippin.Days. I may not even be two yet, but I know that Boobs don’t sleep that long. This morning, I lifted her shirt and demanded that she give me some boobie and she said “All gone.”
All gone? What? WHAT? It was then that I realized she was trying to take them away from me forever and it was then that I got very mad. I screamed. I hit. I said “ONE MORE!” I cried. Oh, how I cried. Mommy started crying too. Why is SHE crying? IT’S NOT LIKE ANYONE TOOK ANYTHING AWAY FROM HER! How can she do this to me? My Bobs. I love My Bobs.
I WANT THE BOBS BACK AND I’M NOT GOING TO LET MY MOM ENJOY HER LIFE UNTIL SHE GIVES THEM BACK TO ME.
Let the Deflating began!
I just returned home from watching my son “Represent” his class at the 3rd grade spelling bee.
As I walked into the room and saw him sitting at the front of the room, with his little “participant” ribbon amongst his Fellow Spellers, my heart exploded with pride. “That’s my boy! My amazing, unique, wonderful little boy.” I wanted to shout it out for all of the 3rd graders, parents and teacher to hear. Instead, I stood in the back quietly, giving him the “thumbs up” and blowing him kisses.
He was the last of the 10 kids to go and his word was “equipment.” He had a pad of paper and pencil and ONE MINUTE to spell the word. I thought he’d pass through to the next round without any problems. However, his nerves had taken over and instead of taking his time and getting it right, he blurted the word out as fast as he could.
“Equipment. E-Q-U-I-M-E-N-T. Equipment.”
AH! He was disqualified in the first round.
I could see the look of disappointment on his face, he was on the verge of tears. So, instead of scolding him for not taking his time and using the pen and paper to spell it out first, I walked over to him and said “I’m so proud of you, you have NOTHING to feel bad about. Out of all the kids sitting in this room, you made the top 10. Hold your head high and be proud of that.”
(Honest! I said all of that! The only thing missing from that Awesome Parental Speech was the cheesy soap opera background music.)
I meant what I said. However, I’m an extremely competitive person who has a hard time accepting defeat and since my son doesn’t read this, I’m going to go ahead and vent here real quick.
OMG! WHY DIDN’T HE USE THE PAPER? WHY DID HE RUSH? OMG! THERE WAS NO NEED TO RUSH. AAAAHHH. AND AHHH! HIS COUSIN MOVED ON TO THE NEXT ROUND AND NOW I’LL HAVE TO HEAR THE BRAGGING FROM MY SISTER AND MOTHER IN LAW AND AAAAHHHH! WHHHYYYYYY?
The truth is, I’m proud of that kid for making it as far as he did. He’s an incredibly smart boy and I don’t know that he’ll ever truly understand how proud he makes me on a daily basis.
But next time, use the pad of paper, kid.
Ha! I kid! I’m TOTALLY OVER IT.
Yesterday, I did not chicken out and I did go to see my doctor. The weight gain wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Five pounds. But still, five freaking pounds. But! [weight watcher leader mode] I’m not going to obsess over it! Because today, it’s all about being positive! And “looking at the bright side!” Because being negative breeds more negativity! DOWN WITH THE NEGATIVITY! Hey! at least it wasn’t 10 pounds! Positivity. P-O-S-I-T-I-V-I-T-Y. Positivity! [/weight watcher leader mode]
Excuse me for a minute. I just threw up in my mouth a lot.
My Doc ordered a buttload of tests, which I have yet to go have because I had G-Unit with me and I didn’t feel like trying to pee in a cup with her standing in between my legs giggling at my “Pachina.” I can’t remember all of the tests that he ordered (I’m not exaggerating when I said “Buttload.”) but I do know that he’s checking my thyroid and having x-rays done on my lower back. He also gave me a shot of B-12 and prescribed muscle relaxers because “my back is tight and full of knots.”
When he prescribed the muscle relaxers, he was all “You’re not still breastfeeding, are you?”
And I was all “Ummm. Yes! I am still producing and distrubiting the Tittymilk!” And he was all “well, you can’t take these pills then and you really need to be taking these pills” and I was all “Ok! I’ll stop today! No! Really! I will! Because Girlfriend kinda thinks she owns them and ha! ha! GET THIS! She acts like a dirty old man when she sees them. She giggles and wraps them in her arms and says “Oh boobies. Niiiiiiice boobies. Oh Boobies.” so, it’s time to stop anyway because SHE DOES NOT OWN THEM.” And he was all “Right, you tell her that they belong to Daddy.” And I was all “Uhhhh…um, hahaha, uh, yeah, daddy wants his titties back. hahah Um..I shaved my vagina for you today. hahah. Um, Hellooooo akwardness! CAN I GO NOW HAHA?”
(Word to my doctor: Having you talk about my boobs in “non clinical terms kinda makes me feel all weird inside so please don’t ever do it again because I don’t like feeling akward when you’re standing next to me.)
I’m happy (and yet very, very sad and conflicted because oh my GOD, this part of my life is coming to an end and my heart? It’s kind of hurting.) to report that my daughter did not partake of THE BOBS at all yesterday and has not partaken of them today either. She only asked for them once, but has since seemed to have forgotten about them (Except for when I was changing and she saw them and said “Ha! Ha! Boooobs. HI BOOBS!”) I expected it to be much harder on her than it’s actually turning out to be. It is I who is the one having a hard time with this. I’m sitting here feeling rejected, sad and as if I NO LONGER HAVE A PURPOSE IN LIFE.
So, it’s official. Operation “Let The Tittymilk DRY UP” is in full effect and I am no longer a “Breastfeeding Mother.”
*Sobs*
My heart. It hurts.
For the past few days, everytime I look at my oldest son, I cry.
I cry because I can no longer pick him up, hold him in my lap and bite his little cheeks.
I cry because the adorable little toddler who used to stand no taller than my knees and who would raise his hands high in the air so that I could pick him up, is now as tall as I am.
I cry because the precious little boy who used to be so proud to have his mommy walk him to class everyday is now a pimply faced teenager who doesn’t even want me to get out of the car when I take him to school.
I cry because as of last month, I have to buy his shoes from the “mens” department.
I cry because he no longer thinks girls have cooties, but watches them with a curious eye when they walk by.
I cry because the little boy who used to walk around in a Ninja Turle Jumpsuit doing kicks and turns now walks around with a walkman singing rock songs and bobbing his head to the music.
I cry because the little boy who wanted nothing more than for his mommy to read him a story or play catch out in the front yard is now to busy hanging out with friends to give his mommy the time of day.
I cry because the first child I concieved, the beautiful little baby boy who made me a mother, my little “Nunu” is growing into a young man right before my eyes and as proud as I am of the man he’s becoming, my heart wishes I could stop time, rewind it and let him be my little boy for just a little while longer.
Farting on command = Funny. Biting people’s faces = not so much.
I really wanted to write about what could easily be called The Best Aerobic Dance Class EVER. I’m not just saying that because I remembered the routine and did NOT mess up when the instructor forgot the moves and how I kept going and how the instructor was all “VERY GOOD EVAN” (that’s what she calls me and oh, how my heart melts when she calls me that) and how when we were finished with the dance, she turned, looked right at me, started cheering and said “BRAVO, EVAN!
BRAVO!
SWEET REDEMPTION.
God, how I want to tell you all about the class last night, but, man, I need to talk about my daughter.
Do you mind if I talk about my daughter?
I think she’s the most beautiful, loving, funny (She farts on command, people! Which reminds me, last night, my husband asked me to stop commanding her to fart because, apparently, one night when we were having a Farting on Command-athon, she “squirted” a little and when he went to give her a bath, there was a streak of wet poop in her diaper and GOD FORBID HE HAVE TO WIPE A STREAK OF WET POOP. Seriously, people, he asked me in a SERIOUS TONE to stop “commanding her to fart.” Ha! Ha! I love my life!) little girl I’ve ever known. I’m constantly in amazed by her personality and MY GOD, I love her.
I love her. I love her. I love her.
However! She’s turning into a stinkin’ little brat.
Funny thing is that whenever I mention this to people, their response goes a little something like this “Well, DUH!”
People say things like “of course she’s a little brat, she’s got all of you people spoiling her. How could she NOT be a little brat?”
The good news is that she is not an “asshole” brat. She’s more of a “throws herself back and screams in a high pitched voice when she doesn’t get what she wants” brat.
Come to think of it, she’s not really a brat at all, but more of an “overly emotional drama queen who refuses to keep her diaper on during naptime.”
(Can you tell I’m uncomfortable calling my Precious Daughter a “brat?”)
She’s always been prone to The Dramatics, but it seems to be getting worse.
(Bonus: The Dramatics: A slide show.)
Girlfriend gets pissed in the blink of an eye. One minute she’s kissing and hugging me, the next she’s trying to bite my finger off.
I think part of her “acting out” has to do with her inability to communicate what she wants. You see, my daughter doesn’t have a great vocabulary. It’s crazy to me and my husband because our boys were both early talkers. They were talking in complete sentences before they turned two. We get excited when G-Unit puts two words together. And they’re words that DON’T EVEN MAKE SENSE.
Let me give you an example of her vocabulary.
“DoeDoe”-Cereal (and yogurt)
“Beebee”- Blankie
“hmpeeet”- armpit
“duddee”- Duckie
“buhwhat”- Butt
“brubers”-Brothers
And so on and so forth.
Total improvement from her vocabulary of two months ago, which basically consisted of EVERYTHING (Except BOBS, DAD, MOM and NO) being called “DADA.”
This is how a conversation went back then.
Her:DADA!
Me: Blankie?
Her: NO! DADA!
Me: Crackers?
Her: No! DADA! DADA!
Me: Um, You want to color?
Her: NO! WAH! OMG! DADADADADA
Me: UM, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING, CHILD OF MINE?
Her: pointing to the TV- DADA!
Me: Ohhhhhh! You want to watch TV?
Her: DADADADA!
You get the idea. It was maddening.
I’m sure if she could articulate her needs that she’d be less prone to do things like “bite her brother in the face” when he doesn’t understand that “DOODOOGOBODOBRUBBER” means “back the hell up and stop kissing me RIGHT THIS MINUTE!”
I’m not making excuses for her biting, because it’s unacceptable behavior, but! If someone was all up in your grill and you your jibber jabber couldn’t convince that someone to kindly remove themselves from your grill, wouldn’t you get frustrated at your inability to communicate your need for them to STEP OFF?
Or, maybe I am making excuses for her biting because having a child that bites is embarrassing!
My boys were NEVER this demanding, this dramatic, this… this… DIFFICULT.
Is it a “girl” thing? Is it a “last child” thing? Or is it just a “GABRIELLA” thing?
Or, perhaps it’s a “We’ve really turned into crappy parents in our old age” thing.
Gah.