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Terrorist or Toddler

12 Sep

Anyone else out there feel like all they do is scold and enforce their rules on to their children?

Ever since transitioning from the terrible twos to the even more terrible threes, I feel like my vocabulary has been completely limited to: “no!” “what did I just say?!” and “one more time and you are going in time out.”

Not surprisingly, with the arrival of Bug, things like “don’t poke your brother in the face!” have also been added to the list.

Just last Friday, Mr. Bee stayed home with the baby so Bee and I could run some quick errands and go out to dinner. A little Girl Date, if you will. But I swear I spent the entire evening grunting for her to use her inside voice and oh-my-god-eat-your-goddamn-pancakes-or-else.

Some how this wasn’t the holding hands and braiding hair mommy-daughter moment that I had envisioned.

Maybe I was asking too much from a dinner at IHOP…

But I did have a fantastic parenting moment when I realized, upon watching a gaggle of children running through a parking lot (and their moms doing jack shit about it), that I totally take Bee’s occasional (key word) obedience for granted.

And as I loaded her in to the car, I calmly explained how those children were being bad for running in to the street and their mommies were not good mommies for letting them.

Yet another Mother of the Year Nomination moment for me.

Maybe both of us could use a time out or two…

Song title: Terrorist or Toddler by Larry the Cable Guy

She’s A Working Mom

16 Mar

Originally this morning I was going to write a post all about going to a party that my Sissy threw on Saturday and how absolutely “Seattle” I was on the way there.

I mean, come on. I was driving my SUV, in the rain, in traffic, on the 405 S-curves, while “dressed up” in jeans and drinking my Starbucks. Unfortunately, I wasn’t listening to Pearl Jam or Nirvana at the time. That would have really tipped the scales.

But that light-hearted post about how cool my Sissy is and how you should all be jealous if you don’t have a Sissy you love as much is going to have to wait. Sorry, Sissy.

Because last night I came upon a blogger’s post that made me so furious, I almost turned in to Lou Ferrigno.

The Incredible Mama Bee Hulk

The post was about Stay-At-Home-Moms (SAHMs) and whether or not staying at home with the kids really is a difficult job or not.

::okay, deep breaths::

So, I don’t want to single out or mock this particular blogger…but, well, I kind of do.

First of all, her blog title is “Baby Making Machine.”

And her header has a pregnant woman on it.

BUT SHE DOESN’T HAVE ANY CHILDREN.

And isn’t pregnant.

Seems a little premature to me (if only that because once you actually try to have a baby, it might not be that easy. Yet another thing that as a non-mommy, she just presumes will be easy. And I know! I did the same thing! I never thought that it would take a half year to get pregnant with Baby Bee!).

Anywho, so yesterday she posted that SAHM-ness seemed like a pretty cush job and she even described what she envisions is a “typical” day for a SAHM:

-You wake up when baby/child wakes up. If you’re lucky, you have a kid that sleeps in and you get to sleep in a little too.
-You watch the kid, make sure it doesn’t kill itself and try to teach them a thing or two.
-Clean, feed, entertain, nap it, etc.
-Clean around the house, do laundry, dishes, that kind of stuff (unless you have a spouse/maid that chips in with that stuff)
-Make food for everyone

And as if that wasn’t enough to enrage mothers across the globe, she ends the post with:

I know a lot of you women are SAHMs but I just wonder REALLY, what’s SO hard about it? I mean, if you didn’t like it couldn’t you get a nanny, or a part time job or something? I’m guessing the good outweighs the bad. I mean, why else would you continue to do it? It’s not like you don’t have a choice in the matter, and at the end of the day many say it’s the best job in the world. The best?… Maybe. The hardest?… Not buying it.

Obviously, it is her blog and her opinions and whatever. But what really struck me is that tons of readers have commented in opposition to an Anonymous Commenter (kind of a pussy move, right? But still) who said that basically she doesn’t know what she’s talking about and maybe she shouldn’t be concentrating on writing about something she doesn’t have a clue about.

And, I promise, the Anonymous Commenter wasn’t me.

But I did comment and told her that her post was the equivalent of me saying that medical school must be easy because all the sluts on Grey’s Anatomy did it and they spend half their time fucking each other.

I have always really taken offense to people with the “You just couldn’t understand” mentality. I think it’s offensive and demeaning.

But in the case of parenthood, totally true.

Even after getting through 40 weeks of pregnancy and having Baby Bee forcefully removed from my vaginal zone, I will always remember bringing her home and being exhausted. I looked at the calendar and thought, “Phew! It’s the weekend in two days. Then I’ll get a break and get to sleep in.”

And then it hit me.

I’ll. Never. Get. A. Break. Again.

That’s the first time, as a parent of a 3-day old, that I finally knew what it was to be on call 24/7.

And those moments of clarity happen with the good and the bad.

I honestly never knew what true love was before I blew out my vag with Baby Bee. True, all encompassing, I-could-literally-eat-your-cheeks-off-because-you-are-so-adorable love.

And please don’t compare your love of your dogs to the love a parent feels for their children.

Shit, I don’t even compare my love for Mr. Bee to the love I have for Baby Bee. There’s just no fucking comparison. Baby Bee wins hands down.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that being a parent is a learning experience that is never-ending.

And to seriously make judgments and opinions on it without being a parent is kind of like saying that you know how to perform surgery but you’ve never picked up a scalpel.

But the bitches on Grey’s can do it, so it can’t be that hard…

Song title: She’s A Working Momby Dean Friedman


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