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The Parent Trap

28 Oct

Being a 30-year old parent, I have found myself surrounded by two groups of friends: The Childless and The Parents (also known as Those Who Have Blown Out Their Vaginas or T.W.H.B.O.T.V.s for short).

And don’t worry you Ceasarian-birth moms, you get an honorary blown out vagina.

You’re welcome.

Obviously I spend a lot of time with The Parents, as The Childless are busy being hip and urban and not wiping shit out of two-year-old butt cracks.

But whenever I get together with The Childless Hipsters (and I use that term in a positive I’m-totally-jealous-of-you kind of way), conversation usually comes around to parenting and/or childbirth. See, most of my Childless Hipster friends are the same age as me, but more recently married and not quite ready to jump in to the pool of breeding just quite yet.

I, being of The Parents, try my damnest every time we socialize to convince them that getting knocked up is fun and they should do it post haste.

But last week I realized that maybe my tactics of describing my torn up labia and birth canal the size of a woolly mammoth may not be exactly enticing.

Whether they want to hear about it or not (but sometimes they do!), we discuss everything from pooping on the table during labor, infants projectile vomiting on you, poo blow-outs and how to remove a onesie successfully (aka: without dragging poop all over your preshus widdle bebe) and the ups and downs (mostly downs) of incontinence.

Now, of course these make terrific horror stories to share with your Childless friends, but I’ve been finding it difficult to convince them that all these things are inconsequential when it comes to your squishy widdle bebe-kins.

Pooping during delivery? You don’t even know you did it. And everyone does it. So really, if you are part of the in-crowd, not only will you WANT to poo on the table, you’ll be proud you did.

Coated in projectile vomit? You don’t have time to gag. You are immediately concerned as to your bebe’s welfare. Only later will you be concerned about the welfare of your new cashmere sweater.

Oh wait. But you aren’t Childless anymore. So you won’t be wearing a new cashmere sweater. The reason why you will be un-phased by the vomit is because your Old Navy tee will be covered in spit-up stains by then. Maybe this projectile vomit will complete the abstract pattern you were going for…

But none of these arguments seem to work.

So now I’m stuck trying to put in to words how amazing is it to be a parent.

Like the first time they turn to you (without prompting, thankyouverymuch) and say, “Mommy, you so beautiful” or learn to spell a new word all on their own or even bump their head while playing and the only thing that can make it better is a hug and kiss from you…

And how, no matter how many times you complain about having to watch The Wiggles again, the minute you get a break away from the house without your children, the only thing you can think about is them: what are they doing? Are they okay? Do they miss you because you sure as hell miss them.

And when you come home from running errands, the look on their face, that pure amazing expression of love, and the shriek of “Mommy!!” as they run open-armed toward you…that, my friends, that is why being a parent is the best job in the world.

And getting to use the carpool lane every day ain’t too shabby either.

Song title: The Parent Trap by Lizard Music

Hollywood Divorce

16 Jun

Since the majority of traffic on my blog visits this post, I thought I should give you my feelings on the highly debated and obviously very important topic currently on most Americans minds…

The relationship of Jon and Kate Gosselin, from Jon & Kate Plus Eight.

I know it’s no Darfur or Proposition 8, but people are obsessed, okay?

In case you live in a cave or Montana or something (no offense to our Montana Hive), let me introduce you to Jon and Kate Gosselin.

Jon and Kate met in 1997 at the tender young age of 20 (Jon) and 22 (Kate). By 22 and 24, respectively, they were married and one year later, in 2000, Kate gave birth to twins, Maddie and Cara, who were conceived through fertility treatments. Wanting to grow their family even more, through more fertility treatments, Kate gave birth to sextuplets (that’s SIX babies, yo!) in 2004. So as Jon states in a commercial for TLC, he was married by 22, father to twins by 23 and a father of eight by 27. I mean, shit, Jon and Kate are both babies themselves and they have eight kids!

TLC first featured the family in a two-hour special and quickly resulted in a weekly show that has just started its fifth season. Through the show, Kate is known publically as wearing the pants in the relationship, while her husband, Jon, is quite a bit more passive and reluctant to be involved in the show, which has become quite a phenomenon.

First of all, I need to address the whole “having eight billion children” situation. To be honest, as recently as just a few months ago, I would have told you that I thought it was terribly selfish of Jon and Kate to risk having so many children at once just in the hopes that they would add one or two many children to the family. I’m sure that many people who have come from large families turn out just fine, but I couldn’t help but think that these poor little sextuplets wouldn’t get the opportunity to have the one-on-one time with their parents that every child deserves.

But then Mr. Bee and I started trying to get pregnant again. If you marked your calendars correctly, you’d know that we’ve been trying to conceive Baby Numeros Dos for six months now with no Cletus the Fetus in our immediate future (yet).

Surprisingly (sarcasm), I quickly changed my tune. Now, the thought of Bee being an only child makes me so sad for her. I want my baby to have a baby sister or brother, to have that irreplaceable experience of a built in best friend. While we’re obviously still trying to get pregnant au natural, the medical options out there can’t help but infiltrate my thoughts of the future.

I guess what I’m trying to say, quite verbosely, is that I understand now how Jon and Kate could’ve made that decision, that risk, to build the family they had always dreamed of.

Okay, now to the good stuff.

The thing that I have real issue with lately has been the media’s depiction of Kate Gosselin. In fact, let’s deal with each of these ridiculous magazine covers individually:

Monster? Really?!
From what I can tell, apparently in order to be a good mom, you have to look like shit. Because, I mean, really. That before photo? Rough.

But now that Kate actually has time, thanks to helpers, and the money to get her hair done (or “hurr did”), she is a horrible mother? Oh sorry, I meant “Monster”. Give me a fucking break.

All of us moms should take note: stop worrying about your parenting technique immediately. You simply need to gain 50 pounds and disregard all fashion and beauty upkeep to be a good mother.

Twisted?
Oh yes, even though both Jon and Kate decided to have eight billion children and profit (I don’t blame them) from a television show about their lives, KATE is the one exploiting the kids. Why is that Jon can be rumored to have an affair and everyone thinks “Eh, well, Kate IS a bitch…” but if Kate is rumored to have an affair it’s “Oh my god. What a horrible mother, wife, person. She’s a MONSTER!!!”?

Prison of Douchebaggery, maybe. Self-made, of course.
First of all, who doesn’t taunt their husband? Hell, I call Mr. Bee “Eeyore” all the time (mostly because I think it’s funny but also because it’s kind of true).

Secondly, for YEARS Mr. Bee and I gave ourselves a weekly allowance. Ours worked out to a little less than $6 per day. I’m pretty sure that’s called “being financially responsible.” If Jon’s hookers cost more than $5 a day, maybe he needs to save up his weekly allowance.

But really…a “prison”? Since when is a self-made situation considered being stuck in prison?

My favorite part of the above magazine cover is something I didn’t even notice until looking at it for the 18th time. Anyone else notice Jon scratching his belly like Al Bundy? He’s bringing sexy back, that Jon.

Who isn't?
Raise your hand if you are mom and have never been called “mean” by your children before? OR raise your hand if you’ve never taken your kids out of school for a family vacation before? The people at US Weekly (which I’ve never been able to decide: is it “Us” Weekly or U.S. Weekly?) are obviously not parents and, well, delusional. And again, what’s with the photo of Kate in a bikini? Is a well-put-together mom a negative thing nowadays?!

Lastly, I’ve got to take a minute to talk about Jon Gosselin. I understand how paparazzi hanging around would be irritating and invasive. I understand how he is probably going through some major not-even-mid-life crisis. But Jon Gosselin is one of the most selfish, immature and ungrateful fathers I have ever seen (on a reality television program about a family with eight children).

On the show, he complains about having no privacy, Kate always leaving (you know, making MONEY for the gigantor family), and generally is a big whiner. Does he ever reflect on what kind of life they would have if it weren’t for their show? Probably BOTH parents working, trying to make enough money to support a house, food, etc. for a family of TEN. And they probably wouldn’t get to go on vacations or drive around all together in a fucking chauffeured van!! Jon realizes that the average person doesn’t get to spend a day cooking with Emeril, designing cakes with Ace of Cakes, and riding motorcycles with Orange County Choppers, right?

While I watched an old episode the other day, something really struck me as being, well, fucked up. Kate was working in the kitchen, you know, taking care of the food for the whole family by herself, when Jon walked up and asked, “do you need anything?” Kate was so dumbfounded that he actually spoke those words to her that she was struck speechless and gave him a huge enthusiastic hug.

Am I the only one that think it’s ridiculous that he would ask that so little that it’s a national holiday when he does?!

Maybe Kate is a little more Roseanne than June Cleaver, but let’s face it. If Jon would grow a pair and help out instead of taking vacations whenever Kate’s not a book tour (MAKING MONEY FOR THE FAMILY), maybe she could dial it down to Miss Piggy once in a while.

Song title: Hollywood Divorce by Outkast

Timid Frieda

21 Apr

And by “Frieda”, I mean “Baby Bee”. ‘Cause really, who names their kid Frieda?! (Sorry to all the Friedas that read this blog.)

Anywho, so I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t have the vaginal scars to prove it (and if she wasn’t completely delightful, brilliant as all get out and isn’t the spitting image of me when I was her age), I would be totally convinced that Bee was not my child.

Okay, I’m only joking.

A little.

Because she is just sooooo timid.

If you haven’t noticed, I’m not sure many people who have ever met me would categorize me as timid, shy or wallflower-esque. In fact, I’ve gotten loud, boisterous and inappropriate, but never shy.

But Baby Bee has got to be one of the most timid little girls I’ve ever pushed out of my vagina!

Okay, yes, she IS the ONLY child (boy or girl) that has come from said va-jay-jay but that is neither here nor there…

I mean, I get the apprehension around strangers. Hell, I’m screaming “Stranger Danger!” half the time in my head, too. But with her grandparents? Or her besties that she sees, oh, maybe 85 times per week?!

And sometimes I feel so guilty about pushing her in to activities. Yesterday, we started out our day by going to a bouncy house place. She took one look at the bouncy slides, et al, and was all “Hells to the no, mom.”

No matter how many times I bounced up and down (looking like an overweight buffoon who could quite possibly pop the bouncy house, I might add), she was NOT interested. So while her friends played happily in the bouncy houses, Bee and I sat on a couch nearby, eating a bagel and watching the fun from a safe distance.

It wasn’t until I’d had enough (I mean, I wasn’t going to completely waste the $6 I just spent, right?!), that I grabbed her and carried her up the stairs of a bouncy slide. She screamed…and cried…and fought with me…and loved every second of it.

And she proceeded to make me join her on approximately 800 trillion more trips down the slide. Now I was a big fat buffoon dripping sweat. (Super hawt.)

The same thing happened later in the day when all the kids came over to enjoy our new Costco-purchased super kiddie pool. (It’s super awesome – photos to come shortly) All the kids were playing in the freezing, hypothermia-inducing water, except for Bee, who preferred to splash at the water’s edge.

Again, it wasn’t until I forced her in to the pool against her will that she discovered she loved it and even got hooked on sliding down the slide and splashing in to the water again and again!

I’m guessing this kind of apprehension is normal in a two year old, right?

Right?!

‘Cause God knows, those other parents don’t appreciate the sweaty buffoon eating up all the bouncy house time.

Song title: Timid Frieda from Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris the Musical


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