magabelleez

My youngest daughter has this problem. Well I don’t really see it as a problem but my husband does. As he likes to say, she cusses like a sailor. Now I don’t actually see this to be anything but normal genetics. She is after all her mothers daughter. Monkey (that is her nickname) likes, ,n0, loves to say “oh shit!” Now I’m sure that many parents will scowl at the fact that I’m ok with this. In my defense, she says please and thank you, excuse me after see burps and will even make sure everyone in the room is fully aware of the fact that she farted. So the kid says oh shit, on average 10 times after something, well hell anything has happened. Is this so wrong? It pretty much covers all her bases. In respect to my husband though I gave myself a mission today to stop his poor little girl from turning into vulgar woman like mama. So I tell her this morning, don’t say oh shit, instead say uh oh. Let’s recap the day. Hmmm missed the paper by a mile, instead drew on my feet….uh oh. Ok it worked but now you defiantly need a bath. Decides getting out of the bath to use the potty too much trouble, instead just went in the tub, I mean the water was warm what exactly did you want me to do. Uh oh. Alright I say rubbing my temple wondering if I can actually pour a glass of vino without my husband saying are you drinking this early? Outside playing with Goober (older brother) and gets a splinter in the foot. Gotta hurt but still the uh oh can definitely cover this situation. Hands all sticky from the orange you just practically threw at me telling me “disgusting!” Ok you obviously have sensory issues & nap time did not do its job as well as I would have hoped, but still I am your mother so I will give you the damn uh oh. After I have counted to 30 that is. Unfortunately on your third go around as a parent, counting to three just doesn’t cut it anymore. Dogs took a huge crap right outside my room,  you stepped in it and now there poop prints all the way into your room. Oh yeah and probably on your bed of which I’m nicely settled into. Uh oh. No, see I’m not giving you that one. Uh oh is not gonna cover this situation. Let’s give it the respect it deserves. Hell even a basic “Oh shit” isn’t gonna cover this situation. Now it’s bedtime and I’m looking back on my pathetic attempt at mothering today and all I can say is . ……..Oh fuck.

So my three year old daughter has and complete infatuation with play dough. This is probably her favorite pastime and used to be her most expensive until I decided to cut out the corporate american middle man and make my own damn play dough.. See every time my daughter played with this stuff it seemed to disappear. At first I looked for it, but after a while I just dreaded what I might find if I actually go searching. With three kids there are some things better left a mystery. I did later find out that my daughter, in her own words, referred to the dough as “disgusting” after each play session and decided the dough was trash worthy. After a very long speech and some instructional techniques I convinced her that play dough can and should be used again. She shoots she scores. When you actually win the power struggle with a three year old not only should you keep score but you do the dance. You know the dance. Some of us do it mentally others, like myself actually do the damn dance! Haha who is the mom now! I didn’t even have to offer a Popsicle! Yes! Ok now that my self esteem and my daily motherly doubts have vanished, at least for the next ten minutes I am all for sitting down and playing with the stuff you just made me find all the ingredients for, mess up my whole clean kitchen and oh yeah had to cook at the crack of dawn for you because your time telling abilities have not kicked in yet. “Make a boat, make a boat!” This key phrase was repeated about 25 more times and I finally cave. Not only do I cave but I actually get into this. I’m shaping, leveling, pinching and flattening this boat to perfection. I even go so far as to incorporate Popsicle sticks into my …..now a ship…boat is so not a worthy name anymore, we are beyond such an insignificant label. So I got a Popsicle 3D flag going on, not a single crease in my foundation in fact I pretty much dare you to find a mistake with this creation. I then take it one step farther and get the gingerbread cookie cutter to give the vessel, yes we have upgraded our label once again, give this vessel a captain. I originally was going to go with sailor but my daughter said “captain cookie man” and beat me to the punch. One more finishing touch and my masterpiece was complete. What captain cookie man is complete without a sailors hat. On my third attempt I finally got the circle just the right size to flatten and shape. At which point I’m absolutely glowing and proud of myself. I am taking myself very seriously at this point and patting myself on the back with a congratulatory gleam in my eyes. My kiddo comes over and says “I love it so much mom can I hold it?” Approximately 2 minutes after entering the hands of a three year old my vessel became a ship, then back to a boat, and then back to a pile of dough she woke me up at the first sign of light to make for her.

Anyone who has kids or is around kids knows how hard it is to interpret toddler talk. Now imagine the toddler has a stuffy nose. It’s like a speech impaired parrot on crack. They just keep repeating it over and over again with absolutely no adult comprehension. So you feed them a damn cookie or cracker just to stop the insanity. After there is no more food you are left with the fact that you are going to have to come up with Plan B. So my brilliant plan B was just say “Oh really, sure, ok, cool” I figured that covered all my bases and so I went with it for most of the morning. I soon realized I said Ok to shoving play dough into my three hole puncher, putting cheerios into the enchiladas and that yes it was ok to take the brand new bottle of glue, the cat and go into her bedroom behind closed doors. Plan B just kicked me in the ass. Right after lunch I agreed to what I thought would be some peaceful bubble blowing only to walk outside and find one of my dogs drenched in bubble goo. “Trouble like it mom, he is special.” Hmm. Ok I decided I am gonna have to go a whole different direction with the kid today and re-learn her language. So I grabbed my own bubble wand and sat down to have a heart to heart with the 3 year old. I soon felt as though I entered a world with mushrooms, rainbows and VW busses that ran on glitter. Man I wanna live in that world all the time.

Rugrat: That cow leg disgusting, it cant breathe. (yes the dogs brought another one)

Mom: Well it’s dead hun it’s just a leg.

Rugrat: I am dead too, I have a leg.

Mom: Yes you have a leg but you are alive.

Rugrat: I am not alive, I am a girl.

Mom: We talked about this yesterday you are a girl and Daddy and E-man are boys, but you are still alive.

Rugrat: No I am special

Mom: Yes you are alive and special

Rugrat: That’s disgusting

Mom: What is disgusting?

Rugrat: Daddy said you have a big butt.

Mom: Oh really, Well daddy has a ….. (breathe, count) daddy is funny huh

Rugrat: No daddy is disgusting

Mom: That’s not nice

Rugrat: You make me sad say sorry

Mom: Ok I am sorry?!?

Rugrat: I want to get the dirty off and be sunny.

Mom: No response….what the hell does that mean?

Rugrat: I had a special fart mom

Mom: That is nice, you need to say excuse me

Rugrat: I don’t like my movie its not special its dirty

Mom: We aren’t watching a movie we are blowing bubbles

Rugrat: My turtle has a special fart.

Mom: We don’t have a turtle

Rugrat: He is dead

Mom: What turtle is dead. We don’t have a turtle boogs.

Rugrat: Say hi to him

Mom: Hi to who?

Rugrat: Turtle is tickling me

Mom: That is nice

Rugrat: No it’s not nice it’s disgusting

Mom: Ok well tell him to stop tickling you.

Rugrat: Stop mom you make me sad again.

Mom: Ok well we need to go pick out a book and take a nap.

Rugrat: (screaming) No it’s not bed time, bed time disgusting, I am a girl you make me sad.

Mom: (just staring)

Rugrat: Say sorry mom.

Mom: Ummm if you take a nap I will give you a cookie.

Rugrat: Two, three, four cookies.

Mom: Sure why the hell not!

Crafting has been slightly impossible due to the recent invasion in my office. My husband recently got a xbox 360 as a gift from his brother and since I have the main Internet thing whatever you call it, I was informed of the necessary placement right smack dab in the middle of my desk. Not only have I inherited the actual machine but everything that goes along with it. The large pile of wrapping material, instruction manuals, and the actual games themselves. When I asked if these too are indeed necessary permanent room fixtures, I was given the look as if I had asked the world’s stupidest question. I came to terms with my office now being shared with the addictive idiot box contraption, but I have not come to terms with the new popularity status of the actual room. I used to have this nice relaxing room that I could chill out and do my thing in. Not anymore. At approx 7 am my husband likes to ease into his day by getting a little halo fix in and eating his breakfast in here. My youngest then decides to bring every single one of her toys in here to share with daddy before he dives into work for the day. I then manage to step over toys all day long until about 3pm when jr. video gamers arrive home from school. They then battle to see who can get their homework and chores done faster and run to get to the devil machine first. If you are a mom you are probably saying that is a good thing right? No, mainly because they are just hoping you don’t notice they skipped half of their chores See once your kid (or husband) get the controller in their hand forget it. Complete zombie. You literally need to stand directly in front of the TV with your arms waving at warp speed to even get the slightest bit of response. Sometimes that doesn’t even work because video gamers have this ability to do the head tilt, and look at the tiny bit of screen you cannot cover up. The head tilt is usually accompanied by some sort of wailing. My favorites are, “you just killed me,” “I almost had the level beat,” or the ever popular “I get another turn now because mom messed me up!” A few times I have tried the turning off the machine tactic. It’s great if you don’t mind getting the “I didn’t get to save my game” comments and dirty looks for the rest of the day. Ok so we have established the room is a complete crap mess now and extremely popular. Let’s move on to my personal favorite. The smell. The room is warm to begin with due to the fact that, Malfoy, my 6ft boa lives in here with his heat lights. Now add a 9 year old who literally sweats from the intensity of the only exercise he will get all day, and remembers to put on deodorant once a month if I am lucky. Not exactly the sweet smell of roses. There is always an abundance of snacks in the room and with my children it seems as though most of it hits the floor. Add that to the playdough and my carpet looks like abstract art. Now comes the 5 oclock hour, or what I like to refer to as “viva la vino” hour. Dad is off work and wants to play! My husband is a controller hog, so after about 20 mins WW3 begins over who has had the longest turn and who gets to go next. In the middle of this entire mix boogie has managed to pull out every crayon, marker, sticker and glue stick unnoticed and gone to town with them. Just when dinner is ready and I think the madness will stop, I realize I have called my family to eat 10 times with no response. I stop. I count. I breathe and then a dream sequence enters my head in which Al Pacinos blood starts running through my veins and I yell, “Say hello to my little friend,” as I pull out my hot glue gun and take the stinking xbox down like the inferior piece of crap it is. Then I smile!