When my son walked through the door yesterday, after having broken the “no walking home” rule, I calmly asked him to sit down so we could talk.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I was conflicted about the situation.
The act of walking home isn’t a “bad” thing. He didn’t shoplift, or get in a fight, or snort crack. He walked home, with friends. HOWEVER, I had told me he wasn’t allowed to walk home.
So, I was upset that he had done something he knew he wasn’t supposed to do.
I started by telling him that I wanted to be clear that “walking home” wasn’t a bad thing, but the fact that he DISOBEYED ME was the reason I was upset.
At first, he tried to talk himself out of it. “You told me I could walk home if I had a friend with me.”
“That’s not what I said, Andrew. I said that perhaps I would consider letting you walk home IF you had a group of friends with you, but that for now, the answer is NO. Can I ask you why you didn’t just call BEFORE you took off walking?”
He put his head down and said “I knew you’d say no.”
“And you did it anyway?”
“Yes, because I really wanted to walk home with Ryan and Anthony, and I thought if I was with them, you wouldn’t get mad.”
I told him I needed a few minutes to think about what I was going to do.
“Mom, just know I’m sorry and I’ll never do it again.”
I spent a few minutes in my room, thinking of what to do with my son, the one I gave birth to almost 13 years ago, whom I love with every fiber of my being, whom I have spent my entire adult life protecting from anything that could possibly harm him. The one who is growing up TOO DAMN FAST.
I started to cry. I realized that the reason this upset me so much didn’t really have anything to do with the fact he broke the “no walking home” rule and almost everything to do with the fact that the little boy who emerged from my vagina after 2 hours of pushing, making me a momma13 years ago on March 3rd is no longer a little boy, but a budding young man.
Don’t get me wrong, he did disrespect me by breaking the rule, and that deserved to be dealt with, but, the fact of life is that kids do break rules from time to time. Even my perfect children. And yeah, I get upset and there are consequences, but this one act of disobedience is about much more than “not asking me first.” It’s about him growing up, becoming more independent, making big decisions…
It’s hard to put into words exactly what I’m feeling right now without sounding ridiculous. “He walked home without asking first, it’s NOT THE END OF THE WORLD.” I understand that, but this feeling that I have in the pit of my stomach the same feeling I had the summer before he began kindergarten.
I am not exaggerating when I say that I cried the entire summer. I couldn’t believe that MY BABY was no longer going to spend every day here with me, making me laugh, giving me kisses, making messes for me to clean up… I couldn’t even comprehend my mornings without him here with me. I cried every damn time I thought about him being gone for 4 hours a day.
And? I worried if I had spent enough quality time with him in his first 5 years of life. I should have taken him to the park more often! I should have read more books to him! I should have taken him to chuck e cheeses more often! I should have watched more movies with him! I should have cuddled him more!
I called my friend on one of my really “bad days” and told her that I felt like I hadn’t spent enough time with him. Her response? “STOP IT, you spend ALL of your time with him, you do fun things with him all of the time, you’ve been a great mom, DON’T YOU EVER QUESTION THAT.”
I’m having those feelings all over again. The feeling of “losing my baby boy to the big bad world”.
My heart is broken right now and I’m feeling a little lost.
I realize that I’m being very dramatic about this, but MY GOD IN HEAVEN I love that boy and I am scared as hell about all of the bad things that could happen to him as he becomes more independent.
I want to protect him, to keep him pure and innocent and the fact that I can’t do that for the rest of his life is a little hard to accept.
After a few minutes of thinking and crying and wondering what to do with He Who Disobeyed Me, I composed myself, walked into the kitchen, sat down next to him and talked to him.
I’m not going to go into the details of what happened when it was all said and done, but I will tell you that I know he won’t be doing anything like that anytime soon.
I also know that I need to sit down and reevaluate my “position” on the issue because the truth is that he probably is old enough to walk home with friends, but I just wasn’t willing to admit that until this very moment.
Mommy don’t play that.
My oldest son, who is in the seventh grade, just called me from his friends cell phone.
“Hey mom? I’m walking home from school with Ryan and Anthony.” He wasn’t calling to ask me permission, but rather to TELL me. He had missed the bus and was already on his way.
I’m very angry with him for making that decision on his own, especially since I’ve already told him he’s not allowed to walk home.
The school is not “far”, but it is far enough away that I’m not comfortable with him walking home. And it’s not just the distance that bothers me. It’s the fact he’ll have to cross several major streets. And, it’s the fact that he disobyed me. And, it’s the fact that I’m not used to him making bad decisions like that because he’s a really good kid. And it’s the fact that HE’S MY FIRST BABY. And it’s the fact that it’s only a matter of time before he’ll be telling me he wants to go on a date and can I buy him some shaving cream first so he can shave his Fuzzstache?
My mind is racing right now. What will the consequence be? And how much of his decision had to do with being afraid to tell his friends “Sorry, I can’t, my mom won’t allow me to.” And does that mean HE’S GOING TO DO THE POT IF SOMEONE OFFERS IT TO HIM, because if he can’t stand up to his friends about THIS, how do I know he’ll be strong enough to “say no to drugs?”
Perhaps I’m slightly overreacting, but you know what? This teenage business isn’t easy. The sense that I’m losing some of the control and influence I have over him and that his friends are gaining power over the decisions he makes is scaring the shit out of me.
I mean, we’ve talked about this many times and I’ve been VERY CLEAR on this subject. He knows he is ABSOLUTELY NOT ALLOWED to walk home. So, why was it so easy for him to disobey me and then call me to tell me that he was disobeying me?
I want the consequence to be severe enough that he thinks long and hard the next time he’s faced with a choice like this, but I don’t want to overreact either.
But I feel like this is serious. And like Oprah says, it’s not even about “walking home.” It’s about how easily he made a choice to go against the rules I set in place for his personal safety.
I feel like crying. I’m so disappointed in him. I realize that this is part of the “growing up” process, though. No kid is perfect. All kids make mistakes, but my job is to make sure that he learns from his mistakes. To try to steer him in the right direction and hope that the next time, he’ll make the right choice.
Perhaps a shower is in order.
Everytime I change my daughter’s poopy diaper, I make a big fuss about how horrible it smells.
I crinkle my nose up, start fanning my nose and say “Ewww, caca…ew”.
This morning, me and my daughter were laying on the bed, talking and being silly. I pulled her close to me to hug her and she unknowingly burried her face in my arm pit.
She pulled away, made a sour face, started fanning her nose and said “Ew… CACA… EWWW”
I think it’s safe to say my daughter just told me that my pits smell like shit.
Fuzzy
Yesterday, I was standing outside in the front walkway, waiting for my husband to come home from work.
I do that sometimes, because I miss him all day long and by the time 4 o’clock rolls around, I can not WAIT to see him and kiss his grubby face.
So, I’m standing out there, waiting and my oldest son, Andrew, walks out to talk to me. As he’s talking, I am drawn to his upper lip.
“Could it be?” I think to myself as I lean in a little closer.
“OH MY GOD, IT IS!”
He’s talking and I don’t hear a word he’s saying.
I interrupt him.
“ANDREW JOSIAH, YOU ARE GROWING A MUSTACHE. DID YOU KNOW THAT?”
“No I’m not!”
“Yes, you are. OH MY GOD.”
My son has A FUZZSTACHE!
As soon as Tony pulled up, I grabbed him by the arm and said “Look at Andrew’s lip and tell me if you see what I see.”
He looked. Closer.
“HA! He’s starting to grow a little mustache.”
“CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? OUR BABY HAS FACIAL HAIR!”
I suppose I shouldn’t be so shocked, considering he’s had Hairy balls since 2002.
But I am. Totally shocked, happy, excited because MY BOY IS GROWING UP! Sad, because MY BOY IS GROWING UP!
I was obsessed with it all night.
“How’s your ‘stache?”
“Stop it mom.”
“Hey, mom, do you know what my friend said while we were playing basketball yesterday?”
“Um, nice stache?”
“MOM!”
That’s all I talked about all night.
His Fuzzstache.
Because that’s a really big deal. I can’t get over it. I want to take a picture of it, but he won’t let me. Something about it being “embarassing”. Whatever.
The truth is, the older he gets, the more I respect his “privacy”. I don’t write a lot of things I want to write about him on here anymore (except to mention HAIRY BALLS EVERY CHANCE I GET) because I feel akward doing it now that he’s entering his “Teens.”
That’s right, in less than 2 months, “First baby will be thirteen years old.
And he will have the facial hair to prove it.
But if you’re the one looking for “sex toys cheese balls” you probably shouldn’t say anything.
I’m curious.
How did you find my blog?
I’d love to know how people have found their way here. (ESPECIALLY if you’re one of the MANY people who found it looking for “Pooping during childbirth.”)
A party. With Balls. For my vagina.
Next weekend, I will be attending a “Passion party”.
Words can not even express THE PURE JOY I feel inside of my heart (and, let’s be honest, my vagina is pretty darn excited too.)
I have never been to one of these parties, but I once had a friend whose mother sold sex toys and such and man, did we have fun looking at them and trying to figure out what they were for. (We were pre-teen and very curious.)
I can GARUANTEE YOU that I will be laughing during the entire presentation because as much as I like to talk about my vagina and boinking, I will be very uncomfortable in a room filled with unfamiliar vaginas.
How WEIRD is it going to be when they start talking about BEN-WA BALLS (ha! ha! HAHA!) and I make eye contact with some woman who is thinking about buying them and I know she very well may be WALKING AROUND WITH SILVER BALLS UP IN HER TWAT?
The funny thing is that I remember seeing those in my friend’s mom’s collection of sex toys and I HELD THEM IN MY HANDS whilst pondering what a person could possibly do with cold, silver balls that would make them feel good in the places I wasn’t supposed to know about yet.
I get it now! BENWABALLS!
BALLS!
I am going to FREAK OUT, PEOPLE.
Especially if they whip out THE LOVE SWING.
As if the swing itself isn’t enough to make me laugh until I piss myself, take a gander at the “description.”
Suspend your partner at the perfect height for making love standing or in those tricky positions that normally hurt your knees or back. Moving your partner is effortless, providing you both more energy for passion.
My first question on that one will be, “What’s the weight limit?” Because, does that look like it could safely hold ALL OF THIS? I mean, I think at my weight, one would have to have vaulted ceilings to NOT HIT THE GROUND the minute one sat down in anticipation for some KAH-RAAZY VERTICAL BOINKING.
I have seriously reverted back to around the age of 11 where I do not find these things sexy or exciting but,um, TOTALLY HILARIOUS.
I’m already dying here and there are still 8 DAYS until I actually am sitting in a room with women I don’t know looking at products that are going to quite possibly TOUCH AND OR BE STUCK INSIDE OF OUR VAGINAS.
There is no possible way I can be mature about this. I know, some of you are thinking “get a grip, woman, it’s not a big deal.” But, I have lived a sheltered life, a life in which my father was a pastor and um, we didn’t talk about “down there”.
The BEST PART about this is that right after The Party? We’re hopping in a limo and GOING CLUBBING.
Think about that for a minute.
Three o’clock, I’m all “So, what you’re telling me is that I stick that up me twat, and then bend over backwards whilst he’s licking this bubblegum oil off of my boobs?” Two hours later I’m in a club, on a dance floor, with strangers. Do you have any idea how much I’m going to want to run around telling everyone what I just learned?
“HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF BEN WA BALLS? DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU PUT THEM? WANT ME TO TELL YOU? HAHA!”
Y’all? This is has the potential to be the greatest night of my entire life.
There’s “sexy” and then there’s “Mariah.”
I realize that posting this outs me for the pathetic loser that I am (meaning I had NO WHERE TO GO on newyears eve because ha! This is the fourth year in a row we’ve not been invited anywhere for New Years Eve! )
Anyway.
Oh MY GOD.
Mariah Carey. Obviously, this women has no idea that there is such a thing as TRYING TOO HARD.
MARIAH. WE GET IT. You’re sexy. (but not really, but we get that you WANT us to think that.)
YOU CAN PUT YOUR BOOBS AWAY NOW.
Please. They scare me.
Also? Honey, the money you sepnd on personal assistants that help you do things like BRING THE CUP UP TO YOUR MOUTH because you’re too damn lazy to do it yourself? Could you please spend that money on some dancing lessons? You’re not fooling me with your oversized scarves or whatever the hell those things are you that you use to try to distract everyone from the fact that your dancing SUCKS BIG ONES.
You have big ones, don’t you Mariah?
I know, I’m just jealous because OMG!11! MARIAH IZ SO HOT AND SEXXXAY!1 AND i’M NOT AND I WISH I WUZ HERZ!
But seriously.
Put your boobs away, ok?
seriously
MILF
Yesterday, Kathy became a mother to a baby boy, who I can only imagine is perfectly beautiful. I cry everytime I think of her holding her son, because I know how much she wanted a baby. STUPID BLOGGERS KEEP MAKING ME CRY, MAN.
Welcome to the world, little Reilly Thomas.
Busted Booty
I’m exhausted.
And what is one to do when they are mentally exhausted?
Bust out the Coconut Parrot Bay, that’s what.
The boys begged me to let them spend the night at a neighbors house tonight. I didn’t want to let them at first, but I am so damn exhausted, I said “YES!”
At first, Tony was pissed off that I said yes, then, IT CLICKED.
“No boys.” “Rum.” “She’s not wearing a bra.” “I’m horny.” “Penis.” “Vagina.”
Next thing you know, he was all “Have fun boys!” and “Can I get that rum and coke started for ya, baby?”
See, we both get a little too excited when we get a night without the boys because having sex with growing boys in the house is dangerous business. Especially now that one of them has taken The Puberty Classes and knows what Mommies and Daddies do. So, when they’re not here, it’s like NAKED PARTY FOR TWO IN THE BEDROOM.
When the boys were a bit younger, we used to joke about tying cow bells to Andrew’s ankles because I SWEAR TO GOD, every damn time we’d get our groove on, we’d hear him crawl out of bed and we’d have to jump into the “Fake Sleeping” position whilst pulling up our pants to avoid getting caught.
We’d be like “CAN HE SMELL THE SEX? WHAT THE HELL? COWBELLS FOR HIM!’
(this is the part where the “coconut” is kicking in, so, um, keep that in mind.)
We were always careful to shut the door and to be very quiet.
But there was this one night….
Tony wanted to Do It. And I was like “Let’s!” And so, the clothes came off, the bodies started touching and next thing you know, we were Full on Boinking. ON A WEEK NIGHT! Because we are Fuh-reekay, like that.
Anyway.
I don’t want to get too graphic here because there are certain people named MELLY who get all grossed out when I even MENTION having The Sex with PigHunter, but, um, he was “on top” Gettin’ Jiggy Wit’ It and all of a sudden, he STOPPED.
Then he looked at me. Then, he looked to see where my hands were.
To his HORROR they were NOT touching his ass.
Next thing I know is I hear my son’s very sweet voice uttering the following words.
“hehehe, I’m touching your booty butt, daddy.”
He rolled off of me, I pulled the covers over my Lovely Lady Lumps and um, he pulled the covers over his “booty butt” and we both just layed there wondering what to say to this sweet, innocent little 4 year old who had just squeezed his fathers NAKED, CAUGHT IN THE ACT OF THE BUMP AND GRIND A-S-S.
He laughed again, “hehehe…I saw your naked butt, daddy!”
“Yes, you did. Why did you get up from bed?”
“I was thirsty. heheh BOOTY BUTT.”
We realized he had NO CLUE what he had just, uh, “stumbled upon” and so we said as little as possible, perhaps something about “Wrestling” and sent him back to his bed.
He never mentioned another word about it, and NEITHER DID WE.
Moral of this story?
NEVER DO IT WITH THE DOOR UNL0CKED and if you must?? (because your husband keeps “forgetting” to buy a new door knob with a lock on it because “he can hear them when they get up, so don’t worry and GET NAKED, WOMAN.) COWBELLS, people.
Cowbells.
To answer the question….
“Why haven’t you been posting much?”
Um.
That’s why.
The thing about having THREE kids is this…
When one gets sick? They ALL get sick because no matter HOW MANY TIMES YOU TELL THEM TO STAY AWAY FROM EACH OTHER, they end up in the same room, coughing all over each other, rubbing their infected eyes together, sneezing in each other’s faces.
Andrew? Bronchitis.
Gabby? Ear infections. Cough. Wheezing. Eye infections.
Ethan? Possible strep throat Some type of bacterial infection. The Flu. Pink eye.
$120 have been spent since friday on co-pays and prescriptions. I’m not complaining, at least we have insurance, but man, that’s a whole lot’a sickness all up in this house.
There are so many damn medications, I’ve actually screwed up and given the wrong drops in the wrong eyes. Andrew’s accidently taken Gabby’s antibiotics. IT’S KARAAZZZEEE up in this House O’Germs. Wild and Crazy, I tell you.
So, again. That’s why.