Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Honey Badgers Say the Darndest Things


If you are my friend on Facebook then you will be all "Thanks for phoning this post in, T. Way to put out as little effort as possible" when you read these. But I think they are hilarious and I feel they must be shared with all my peeps for the greater good. And because I am too wiped out to be clever by myself. 

SOOOOOO....here is what Her Highness is saying these days...feel free to snort laugh. I won’t tell.

Alice asked me if I knew the song "Gina Loves Me". I think something got lost in translation at school.

Alice is jumping on my bed...
Me: Please be careful.
Alice: NO. NEEEEVVVVEEEERRRRR.

Alice: Look at that funny honky.
Me: That is called a donkey.
Alice: Oh.

Alice to Daddy: you are a boy princess.

Alice: can I have my Shaking Booty chap stick?
Me: You mean Sleeping Beauty?
Alice: NO. Shaking Booty.

Looking at old pictures at my parents...
Me: who is that?
Alice: That's mommy. With magic teeth.
Me: those are called braces.

Me: please put your shoes on.
Alice: aye aye captain. Full steam ahead.

Me: I'm going to take a shower.
Alice: ok, just call me if you need me.

Alice (eating crackers and Hummus): Do you know Hummus the Train?
Daddy: I think his name is Thomas the train.
Alice: oh. Thomas the train.

She also has learned some choice words and phrases. I am sure I am we are all to blame. I am sharing these to make y'all all feel like better parents, not to embarrass her grandparents. It is like a public service, so we all can laugh at how kids say things that are a unsavory to make us look like a-holes with potty mouths in line at Whole Foods...

Holy Shitballs
Holy Shit
Holy Crap
Damn
Whatever
Penis (not bad for her to use this, but I could do with less frequency)
Hell to the No

Feel free to leave a comment with potty mouth things your kids have said to make me feel better.

Please.

I need to be made to feel better, because seeing them all in a list like that is making me feel like I am neck in neck with Honey Boo Boo’s mom for Mom of the Year.



Monday, October 22, 2012

1-800-Exorcisms

This past weekend Lady Baby decided to push me to the edge of sanity. She dangled me over the cliffs of maddness. I had moments when I am pretty sure I saw Ghandi and Jesus and Mother Theresa and all three of them told they would want to lock her in a cage too. Seriously, y'all. At one point I was about to dial 1-800-Exorcisms because there is no way my delicate flower could make those noises unless she was possessed. 
Where is Max van Sydow when you need him?
We went to the mountains with some friends. Those kind and forgiving folks have a four year old. Said four year old may need years of therapy after the torture he endured at the hands of my child. She poked, she pushed, she snatched, she verbally berated, she pushed every button she could find. I not-so-secretly wished he would punch her just to put her in her place. However, his parents asked me not to tell him it was okay to give her the people's elbow. So Her Highness spent half the weekend in time out and the other half trying to ruin our trip with her insane shenanigans which involved but were not limited to the following: doing the opposite of what I asked, screaming and sobbing, hitting me, stomping, and refusal to act like she had any sense.

I am really at a loss. The child has been spanked, but I am not sure that is the answer. I yell, she yells back. I put her in time out and she entertains herself with singing loudly, chatting to herself (or one of her other personalities, I am really not sure at this point), and entertaining herself. The only thing that seems to really make a difference is taking her paci, her blankie, or her chapstick. I don't want to use paci as a discipline tool because at some point it will be gone and I don't want that to feel like punishment. The other two are not always an option depending on the situation. I need suggestions. I need tips. I need someone to tell me what happens after chapter 1 of How to Raise a Strong Willed Child because that is all I read before I got bored and switched to the Sookie Stackhouse series. My bad. Lesson learned.

She is two. And two year olds are borderline psychotic on a good day, so I understand that part of the problem is age. But I suspect that the fact that she is an "alpha female," who is very stubborn, adds a serious dose of I-don't-give-a-shit to the behavior equation. She cannot be shamed, she is not a people pleaser, and she has no appreciation for rules she does not agree with. So what does that leave me with? A child who can go El Diablo faster than I can say "if you do that again I will put your blankie in the disposal." 
sheeeee'sssss bbbaaaaacccckkkk.
If you know Super Nanny, could you casually mention that we could use a consult? If you know the mom from Exorcist, could you tell her that I would love to have coffee sometime and discuss that whole head spinning thing? Or better yet, maybe we can all three have a skype session? That would be great. Also if you have any advice or know of a Scared Strait boot camp for two year olds, please leave it in the comments.


Wednesday, October 17, 2012

I am a P.O.W.

The whole thing starts with the war. Some might call it their birth story, but let's be honest. It is bloody and there is screaming and gnashing of teeth and the implements used for baby removal are basically weapons. Like I said. War. Then your tiny jailer comes out and the war is over and you now belong to her. The ever dependable and never wrong Wiki defines a POW as "a person, whether civilian or combatant, who is held in custody by an enemy power during or immediately after an armed conflict." Mother=POW. (I am educated about this type of thing. I mean, I have watched the first season of Homeland. And TV always gets it spot on. Am I right?) Here is what I am talking about. You cannot argue with this evidence...

  • I am accompanied to the bathroom.
  • I am accompanied to the kitchen. 
  • I am accompanied pretty much everywhere I go. If I attempt to flee alone, I am verbally berated and possible assaulted.
  • All computer time is monitored closely. It can be ended at the jailer's discretion at any time for any reason. This includes her just slamming the screen down. 
  • I am accompanied to the shower, where the curtain is pulled back at minimum five times to check that I am still there.
  • I am asked 17,652 times a day what I am doing. 
  • I am subject to intense questioning constantly. Interrogations can happen night or day, and are often paired with poking, close talking, and yelling. 
  • I am at the mercy of another person's whims. If my actions do not suit my jailer, I am reprimanded quickly and harshly. 
  • I must follow all rules set forth by my jailer. If I act out she loses her temper and I am quickly reminded to always ask before altering any normal course of action.
  • I am not permitted any of my own belongings. Trying to keep anything hidden or private is forbidden.
  • Sleep deprivation is practiced regularly. It involves but is not limited to letting me fall asleep then waking me up, waking me up at repeated intervals through the night, delayed bedtime, and very early waking. The last two are often used in conjunction.
  • All food must be shared at the jailer's whim. It doesn't matter if I am full or hungry or want more. Its her really her food. I just get to take a few bites to stay alive to keep the torture going.
  • Torture techniques involving the repeated playing of The Little Mermaid, Curious George, and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. This is meant to induce insanity.
  • Forced physical labor happens constantly. This includes, but is not limited to, hauling several bags of groceries and your jailer through the rain, vacuuming while your jailer hangs on your legs, cooking dinner while high stepping over your  jailer, and walking the dog while pushing your jailer on her tricycle.  
  • All requests are issues as commands. There is no arguing. You do that schmidt or else the suffer the wrath.
  • Forced worship at the First Church of Toddler, no other deities tolerated, and complete and utter devotion is mandatory.
The good news is, within several days of meeting your jailer, you fall into Stockholm Syndrome. That way, you don't even realize how exhausting it is having someone follow you around, question you constantly, eat your food, prevent you from sleeping, and verbally berate you. Also, you are afraid to anger your jailer because they are so very very scary when displeased. 



Saturday, October 13, 2012

Gettin' my Conference On

Yesterday I went to a little meeting called Converge South. And by little meeting I mean a whole bunch of people at a day long day of sessions about blogging and social media and technology. Yikesies. I really had no idea what I was getting into, I just figured it sounded like something that would be good for me, maybe. Especially considering I write a blog professionally for a lawyer (please pick your jaw up off the floor) and do a few Facebook pages for businesses.  Surely that was a credible reason for me to go learn about manipulating the interwebs. So I paid my early bird ticket three minutes before midnight on the last day and then promptly forgot about it.

And then it was a week before the event and I was damn nervous. Like first day of high school nervous. Like everyone is going to hate me and no one is going to talk to me and I shouldn't even be there because I don't know what I am doing nervous. Lady Baby went to see my mom and dad for the night, so I didn't have to worry about her. I put on my best black pants, and by best I mean the only ones that fit, and a fancy target cardigan, and by fancy I mean old, and I headed downtown. 

I walked in to the conference and people are all clumped together gabbing about who knows what. It has been a long time since I walked into a room and saw not one face I knew. That feeling is the worst. So I walked in and sat down at the only empty table and tried not to stare at people. I also figured out a little trick. When you don't know anyone but don't want to look sad and alone, pull out your phone and look busy. I can't imagine what people did pre-smart phone to look busy and important. 

I sat through classes on Facebook and blogging for money and creating your community. I was so happy they had presenters even during lunch so I wasn't forced to stare at my phone while I was eating, looking at Pinterest while trying to look like I was working on important blog things. Forget about having to socialize. Instead munched on my turkey sandwich and soaked up knowledge. Much better than small talk.
See my name? Me so fancy.
I did meet some very nice people who wanted to know how I did things (huh? weird, right?) and actually happened upon another blogger that lives in my neighborhood who has a lurvly design blog/magazine. Check that out here: Twin Stripe. You won't be sorry. I spent an hour last night looking at her posts and thinking I should probably throw my Target sweater away and repaint my entire house. The last speaker of the day was an absolutely adorbs English chick who has a food/travel blog. She is basically local (Winston Salem) and I fell in blogger love with her. Her site is called Chow and Chatter. And she is very giggly and I respond well to giggly. I am known to be giggly too. Also, I wanted to ask her where she got her dress. She did however say Twitter really helped her build her community, and I have a hard time with Twitter. Love/Hate. I love it for a bit then I start to feel overwhelmed by it and I hate it again. I am going to try to be slow and steady. Like everything else, whenever I do the Twit I come out of the gate crazy fast and then taper off. My typical halfassery. But I am gonna try. ( I can hear your snickering from here).

So, I left with a renewed verve for the blogging and writing and brand building and a desire to never wear those black pants again because they were a little too tight. I met some lovelies and hope to be able to connect with them in the future. I enjoyed being around other people who are unsure what they are doing but have big ideas. When I go back next year I will know that I don't have to really dress up, which track to do, and to bring my phone charger. I will have a little more confidence because at some point yesterday I realized there were other people there who were using their phones to look busy and who seemed as if they were learning as the toodle along through life too. Those are my peeps. 

PS...Everyone had business cards. I don't have business cards. So I handed people a scrap of yellow legal pad with my blog written on it. Stay Classy Lint Trap...

Monday, October 8, 2012

Potty Training...The Saga Continues

We are in no way home free over here in the potty training arena. There are accidents, there are mishaps, there are incidents. There are situations.

Since potty training commenced all has been pretty easy. I was so worried about how in the world I could get Lady Baby to be a willing participant with something that requires listening, doing what I ask, and room for zero tomfoolery. Despite being fairly easy to potty train, she has managed to work in quite a bit of shenanigans. If you are shocked, this must be your first time here at Lint Trap Manor. Shenanigans are her specialty.

  • I have had to wash the paci twice because if fell in the potty. I am not sure how that even happens when it is in your mouth and you are sitting down. Both times were mid-deuce. It defies all logic.
  • There is a phenomenon that occurs called Phantom Poop. At least once a day she has to poop and sits on the potty and nothing. Nada. Zip. It is the Chupacabra of potty training. 
  • I have become the mom who lets her child pee in the park behind a tree. I remember being horrified by this when I was lived in a world that didn't revolve around a tiny bladder. Now, I am all, "we are of the earf and you can pee right behind this tree." I have learned that there is an art to it or one drenches their pants. Everything rolls downhill. Remember that. That is key to park pee-pee success. 
  • Little girls can sit on the potty with the best intentions and then pee all over their pants. There is an aim issue that must be figured out. Unfortunately, we have not really worked it out. I am open to suggestions. 
  • It is funny and horrifying all at the same time when your child falls into a public toilet. When there is buffoonery on the toilet and no listening and refusing help, I don't feel so bad when the hind end falls in and gets wedged in the toilet. It's kind of her own fault. And then I remember that she is my delicate flower and I wrench her out of the tainted gas station toilet water that will possibly make one's undercarriage fall off or give her crabs, and I try not to say I told you so. Believe it or not this particular instance has happened more than once. Twice just last week. 
  • When someone turns the light out in the Target bathroom, it is DARK. Like abyss-in-inner-space dark. I suppose they were thinking of the handicapped when the made the switches low, but my child saw it, screamed "this is just my size!" and immediately turned the lights off. That is how horror movies start, people. I panicked and threatened some very ugly things to my sweet child and the lights came back on. If you are ever in a tinkletorium and the lights go out and then you hear a mother saying unspeakable things while a child laughs devilishly, don't panic. Harken back to this entry and rest easy that the light will be back on post haste. And please don't call social services, that mom is doing her best.
  • If your child comes to you and says she has an accident, always ask if its a liquid or solid accident. Always askWe were at the little farmer's market at our local elementary school. Her Highness had an accident while playing on the playground. No big whoop. Hubs sent her to me since I carry all things accident related in my purse, and he operates under the false assumption that I should handle all things potty whenever possible. Toodles and I stepped behind a column directly beside the last booth (who happened to be a good friend selling her lovely baubles) and I pulled down her panties to change them. Much to my horror, a very large turd dumped out and rolled across the pavement. Well played husband, well played. A shadoob. On the sidewalk. Right there. On. The. Sidewalk. I died a little that day.
They need this sign at the farmer's market. Obvs.
For all of our accidents, things are going well. Some days we are totally accident free. I get really excited and think this is the beginning of the end of pantie rinsing, and then there is a mishap. We will get there at some point. You can't rush greatness. Or phantom poops.

Update: Last night Lady Baby had phantom poops all. night. long. I feel like I lived through sleep deprivation torture. I am thinking about renting her to the CIA or Homeland Security. She could rock some interrogation.

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