Tag Archives: babies

I don’t love babies and puppies. Sue me.

If you know me, you know I’m weird.  Even when I was a kid, I was always the odd one in any group.  All of my fellow summer campers would get excited about swimming time but I would get an anxiety induced stomachache.  The other birthday party guests would eat the entire strip of chocolate iced cream in the carton of Neopolitan, and I was usually the only kid waiting for a scoop of vanilla.

Everyone who didn't make basketball cheerleading "made" wrestlerettes.
Everyone who didn’t make basketball cheerleading “made” wrestlerettes.

I used to hate being different, and I spent my youth chasing normal.  I tried out for cheerleading and homecoming court, you know all of the things teen girls are supposed to want to do. I went to the beach a lot, even though I have always hated swimming. Now, at the ripe old age of 28 (44), I have decided not to care about being normal.  I’m just going to embrace my oddness and come out of the closet about all of the things I am not in love with that normal people like.

Babies – They’re needy little balls of barf and mustard shit.  EVERYONE loves babies.  People spend thousands on fertility treatments to have babies.  I don’t get it. I never had that baby desperation.  I have a son and I love him.  He was a baby once and I loved him then, too, but I really started to enjoy our life together when he could wipe his own ass and sleep all night. Talking instead of scream crying was a bonus, too.

Chocolate – I’d rather have a good vanilla cheesecake. Or a Twinkie.  Or vanilla ice cream.  I have chocolate in really small doses because it makes me feel like I have a huge coco puff loogie in my throat.

I always loved cats.
I always loved cats.

Puppies – Just like babies, they’re needy and hard to potty train.  Crate training our huge Sophie drove me to drink.  Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been a cat person. I hated going over to anyone’s house who had a dog because the minute I would walk in the door the dog jumped on me or stuck his head in my nether regions.  Yes, I have two dogs now. Not my choice.  I take care of them, but I love the cats way more. The dogs are not aware of this and follow me everywhere.

Beer – Can we just drink carbonated urine instead? Everyone has a big old chubby for craft beer.  It should be called crap beer.  It tastes just like all other beer. I’m not sure what is so crafty about it.  Does it knit or something?   I enjoy martinis and scotch.  Hell, even yoga pant wearing mom approved wine is better than beer.

Awards Shows – Four words: Who gives a f#$%? Let me get this straight, you already play dress up for a living and earn more than a second world nation, and we are supposed to give you a trophy and glamorous after parties and goodie bags filled with free stuff, too?  Teachers and Firemen, and other people who really work, should get an awards show.

Jesus – Everyone loves to say we are a “Christian nation.”  Guess what? We aren’t.  We have separation of church and state.  It doesn’t matter what the Bible says; it matters what the Constitution says.  And I am SO SICK of people trying to pass “moral” laws.  “Because Jesus” is not a reason to pass a law.  Plus, Jesus would probably think most “Christians” today are assholes.

Yep. I’m not normal.  After writing this, I totally get why I have very few close friends, and most of them are cats.  If anyone is reading this, leave me a comment and let me know if you are normal, an oddball, or somewhere in the middle.

Not Missing my Little Boy

As I flip through Facebook statuses, a lot of things make me roll my eyes. There are always super religious posts or political “arguments” on Zuckerberg’s brain suck site. No matter where you fall on the religiopolical spectrum, there is always something to piss you off or make you want to cry. I can deal with all of the usual visual hot air, but nothing makes me roll my eyes more than moms who post about missing their babies.

I’m not talking about moms who have had children taken from them. This is different. You’ve seen it. It usually happens on Throwback Thursday or any number of children’s birthdays. The mom posts a baby picture of her teen with a status about how much she misses her sweet little baby. I always found this to be hurtful. To me, it’s like saying that your current, older kid is not a kind, wonderful person. I always wondered how kids felt about it, so I asked my personal expert on all things teen, my eighteen year-old son. Here is how the conversation went:

Me: Hey, if I put a baby picture of you on Facebook and talked about how much I missed my sweet little boy, how would you feel?

Son: Like shit.

Ok. So, it’s not just me. Think about it. Imagine if your spouse put an old picture of you up and said, “I miss this skinny, blonde person.” That is how teens see this “I miss my baby” nonsense. Teens have so many hormones running through their bodies, which can make them even more sensitive. So, as a mom, I try not to hurt my son’s feelings. Also, truth be told, I DON’T miss the baby and little kid years. I wouldn’t go back in time even if it meant I would drop twenty pounds and about a hundred gray hairs.

I MIGHT have a tiny problem.
I MIGHT have a tiny problem.

I don’t really NEED to be needed. I applaud every step towards independence my son makes, not just because I am a lazy mom who would rather sit on the couch and drink wine and eat peanut butter cups. Well….. Seriously, my main job is to prepare my son to live on his own and not be an asshole. So, every step he takes towards being a sane, kind adult makes me hear a round of pre-recorded 1970’s sitcom applause in my head. There are so many good things about having an older kid.

For one, I get credit for Easter baskets and Christmas gifts. Sure, it was kind of fun to pretend that Santa or the Easter Bunny delivered surprises at night. It is much better to get full credit and thanks for the presents. Also, I can give my son his presents early since he knows that mystical creatures do not enter our home on certain nights. This is great because I would almost burst when I had to keep stuff hidden in my closet until just the right night.

I’m a better parent now than I was in my twenties, when I had my son. I have more patience now. I’m a happier, saner person. I’m happy with my husband, and not going through a divorce like I was when my son was little. I am parenting with love rather than a fear of losing control. I was a screamy yelly mom in my twenties. I got over that.

The boy is no longer a puke fountain. If he has to vomit, he knows how to get to the toilet or at least the sink. No more middle of the night sessions of running the carpet cleaner, the washing machine, along with my expletive spewing mouth.

They can pick you up when you fall on your ass. A few weeks ago, I fell on my ass in the driveway. Damn ice. It’s invisible, slippery, and deadly. I didn’t think I could walk after I hit the ground. My son helped me up and drove me to the ER for x-rays. He could not have done that when he was a toddler.

Really, there is an endless list of things I love about my son. Like most parents, I think my child is the smartest, most talented, funniest person in the world. In fact, I wrote this blog for Scary Mommy about why my son is better than any little kid. Now, this piece is written in Sarcasm. If you are not fluent in this ancient tongue, you might be offended.

So, what do you think? Do you miss your little baby? Let me hear from you in the comment section.

 

 

What’s Your Poison?

This would NOT be in hell.
This would NOT be in hell.

I’m not talking about intoxicants here.  Believe me, everyone has one, whether it’s alcohol, carbs, fair food, or bad TV.  I’m talking about the thing that actually bothers you like no other.  In other words, what is your own idea of hell?  

 As a non-Christian/Buddhist/Ancient Astronaut Theorist, I don’t believe in hell. So, no, I’m not afraid I will go to hell.  : )   On the other hand, as an academic, I’m able to look outside of my own belief system and understand other ways of thinking.  So, I have frequent conversations with others about religion, politics, and sushi without having actual arguments.  The other day, I was talking to my husband about the theory that hell is individualized, meaning it would be different for each person and include the things that bother them here on Earth.  So, I started listing the things that would be in my personal hell.  Here they are in no particular order: 

  •  Screaming infants and toddlers –- Most people goo goo and ga ga over babies.  They love them.  They think they are beautiful.  I think they look like little Buddhist monks in the wrong attire.  Unlike monks, they are loud and way too needy.  I like kids when they can talk and tell me what the heck they want.  Using the restroom alone is also a plus in my book, for them and me. (Parents know what I am talking about here.) I enjoy peace and quiet, and I don’t speak tantrum.
  • Puppies — Puppies are really cute, but when they are not potty trained and hyperactive they create a perfect hell for me. If I wanted to clean up poop, I would have a baby.  At least they start to talk and use the toilet eventually. Plus, truth be told, I am a cat person.  Nothing is cuter than a kitten. 
  • Extroverts in need of constant conversation — I work from home and spend most of my day NOT TALKING, or LISTENING.  I LOVE that.  I like reading and writing. If you need to talk, call your mom.  Send me an email or a text message.
  • Exercise for the sake of exercise — I dream of being skinny, but it’s not going to happen.  Two things stand in my way.  One is a love of salty carbs, and the other is a hatred of exercise for the sake of exercise. Whenever I am on the hamster wheel (elliptical) or exercising along with one of the 30 recorded Gilad episodes on my TV, I’m always thinking of other stuff I have to do, like writing a blog or working on that second novel. Unless I become a farmer or move to a place where I have to walk everywhere, I will stay this sort of medium-fluffy size.  Whatever.
  • Daily meals of odd seafood and mushrooms — I’m a picky eater.  My teenaged son is more open-minded about food than I am.  He and my husband have sushi dates because I refuse to eat “bait.”  Yes, I’ve tried the California roll. I hate that, too.  I also hate mushrooms.  They are slimy and gross and remind me of frogs. 
  •  Reptiles — My personal hell would have bouncing frogs and slithering snakes everywhere.  If an animal doesn’t have fur and a stable body temperature, I’m not interested.
  • Temperature fluctuations — I’m comfortable when it’s about 78 and sunny, with low humidity. Other than that, I’m either hot or cold.
  • Ringing doorbells and other interruptions — I don’t like surprise visits, especially from people who are selling products or religion.  For one, it interrupts my train of thought when I am writing or working on a project of some sort.  Two, it forces me to talk to people.  So, if you’re coming over, text me first.  Don’t call. Ever. 

 So, those are the things that would be in my hell.  What would your hell include? Leave me a comment.  I love hearing from you all, in written form of course.

 

What's Your Poison?

This would NOT be in hell.
This would NOT be in hell.

I’m not talking about intoxicants here.  Believe me, everyone has one, whether it’s alcohol, carbs, fair food, or bad TV.  I’m talking about the thing that actually bothers you like no other.  In other words, what is your own idea of hell?  

 As a non-Christian/Buddhist/Ancient Astronaut Theorist, I don’t believe in hell. So, no, I’m not afraid I will go to hell.  : )   On the other hand, as an academic, I’m able to look outside of my own belief system and understand other ways of thinking.  So, I have frequent conversations with others about religion, politics, and sushi without having actual arguments.  The other day, I was talking to my husband about the theory that hell is individualized, meaning it would be different for each person and include the things that bother them here on Earth.  So, I started listing the things that would be in my personal hell.  Here they are in no particular order: 

  •  Screaming infants and toddlers –- Most people goo goo and ga ga over babies.  They love them.  They think they are beautiful.  I think they look like little Buddhist monks in the wrong attire.  Unlike monks, they are loud and way too needy.  I like kids when they can talk and tell me what the heck they want.  Using the restroom alone is also a plus in my book, for them and me. (Parents know what I am talking about here.) I enjoy peace and quiet, and I don’t speak tantrum.
  • Puppies — Puppies are really cute, but when they are not potty trained and hyperactive they create a perfect hell for me. If I wanted to clean up poop, I would have a baby.  At least they start to talk and use the toilet eventually. Plus, truth be told, I am a cat person.  Nothing is cuter than a kitten. 
  • Extroverts in need of constant conversation — I work from home and spend most of my day NOT TALKING, or LISTENING.  I LOVE that.  I like reading and writing. If you need to talk, call your mom.  Send me an email or a text message.
  • Exercise for the sake of exercise — I dream of being skinny, but it’s not going to happen.  Two things stand in my way.  One is a love of salty carbs, and the other is a hatred of exercise for the sake of exercise. Whenever I am on the hamster wheel (elliptical) or exercising along with one of the 30 recorded Gilad episodes on my TV, I’m always thinking of other stuff I have to do, like writing a blog or working on that second novel. Unless I become a farmer or move to a place where I have to walk everywhere, I will stay this sort of medium-fluffy size.  Whatever.
  • Daily meals of odd seafood and mushrooms — I’m a picky eater.  My teenaged son is more open-minded about food than I am.  He and my husband have sushi dates because I refuse to eat “bait.”  Yes, I’ve tried the California roll. I hate that, too.  I also hate mushrooms.  They are slimy and gross and remind me of frogs. 
  •  Reptiles — My personal hell would have bouncing frogs and slithering snakes everywhere.  If an animal doesn’t have fur and a stable body temperature, I’m not interested.
  • Temperature fluctuations — I’m comfortable when it’s about 78 and sunny, with low humidity. Other than that, I’m either hot or cold.
  • Ringing doorbells and other interruptions — I don’t like surprise visits, especially from people who are selling products or religion.  For one, it interrupts my train of thought when I am writing or working on a project of some sort.  Two, it forces me to talk to people.  So, if you’re coming over, text me first.  Don’t call. Ever. 

 So, those are the things that would be in my hell.  What would your hell include? Leave me a comment.  I love hearing from you all, in written form of course.

 

Internment Camp, Here I Come!

My friend just shared something super scary with me in the form of this link:  Re-Education Camps .  Basically, according to this, people who may be less than patriotic, and outspoken about it, could be put in a camp, kind of like the Japanese Americans were during World War II.  I looked into it and it appears to be true.  So, I immediately thought, “I’m screwed.” At the risk of NSA catching wind of my very unpatriotic activities, I’m going to go ahead and share my anti-American ways with you all.

  1.  I hate the great outdoors. Americans love their camping and hiking and fishing and hunting, and all of that other Deep Woods Off BS. I hate it. I love air-conditioning and, in the winter, heating. I love indoor plumbing. I love furniture. I love comfort, and I love NOT being bitten by mosquitoes. I hate rain and I LOATHE being cold.  I don’t understand why there are outside venues for anything.  There should be glass buildings with climate control systems for outdoor events. Last summer, I ventured to outdoor activities.  I was stung by a wasp and ended up with cellulitis.  This required a 10-day course of antibiotics and all of the fun stomach stuff that goes along with that. Shortly after that, chiggers bit me. If you have never encountered chiggers, I don’t recommend it. I literally considered cutting my abdomen with a steak knife to stop the itch.  I got so desperate that I actually put nail polish on my stomach, a folk remedy, and it actually worked.  
  2. Dogs are not my favorite animals.  I’m not going to “run one over” like cat-hater woman would,or anything.  I would just rather not be around dogs. They are needy creatures, and I prefer independent beings, like cats and teenagers. Dog people love to say how unfriendly cats are, but I think that shows how needy they are, rather than how mean cats are.  I don’t like or need to be needed, which is why I have ONE child.
  3.  I’m not a lover of babies.  Now, again, as with dogs, I would never harm one. I always wave at them if they stare at me from their seats in grocery store carts or restaurant high chairs, but I will never beg to hold one or goo goo or ga ga over one.  If I had not been lucky enough to have my son, I would not have gone through fertility treatments or shed tears etc.  I would have been fine.  I love my son, and I loved him when he was a baby.  I also celebrate his growing independence. At 16, he can now use the bathroom alone, dress himself, and make himself a meal.  Of course, he’s been able to do these things for quite some time.  It’s not like he just now started going to the bathroom alone.  If my son has bothered to read this blog, he is now sufficiently embarrassed.  I have done my job. 
  4.  I hate Mountain Dew and beer, and I’m not talking about together.  I’m pretty sure I haven’t tasted Mountain Dew since before I went through puberty.  Yes, young people, it has been around that long. I think beer should be used as a repellant of some sort. It tastes like it smells, which I’m pretty sure is like urine, though I don’t have a frame of reference for this other than beer.
  5.  I think professional sports are a waste of everyone’s, time, money, and focus. Seriously, there is still war, famine, rape, physical abuse, poverty, and a host of other things on which to focus our money and attention.  Yet, we continue to have parades for teams who catch and throw balls.  They are heroes.  Really?  Let’s throw parades for fire fighters, paramedics, military people, doctors, nurses, teachers, or anyone else who works their behinds off to help people.  Better yet, let’s not have parades, another mindless activity.  Let’s take our parade money, and add it to our professional athlete salary money, and make sure that no one is hungry, homeless, or sick. 

 So, as you can see, I’m doomed.  I will likely be taken to a camp shortly.  I’m certain, after reading this, the authorities will be sure to make me sleep outside with screaming babies and needy dogs.  They will feed me a diet of Mountain Dew and beer and make me watch every professional sporting event possible. 

 Disclaimer:  I don’t really think I will be taken to an internment camp for not liking Mountain Dew and dogs.  I express my opinions in this blog, and I do that sarcastically.  While I am being honest, I’m not always being serious.  I will never argue with anyone over opinions.  You have yours; I have mine. 

“Hold on to it like Santa Claus.”

That is what I said to my hairdresser/friend, M, in a dream last night.  I wasn’t referring to my hair, as my hair is nowhere as large and jolly as Santa, though it is red. And it is a LOVELY shade of red thanks to my FANTASTIC hairdresser.   Anyway, in the dream, I was referring to M’s new baby daughter.  In real life, M does not have a baby daughter, and she is not going to have one any time soon, so, I’m not sure where that came from. 

 So, we were standing in an elementary school hallway, when Dream M shared what a difficult time she was having with the new baby.  That’s when I said, “Hold on to it like Santa Claus.  Soon it will be like she was a mythical creature.”  M gave me a look that said, “I don’t want to hear all about teenagers again,” but she never actually said that in the dream.  Then I woke up. 

 And I started thinking about what a poet and philosopher I am in dreamland.  Really, little kids do become mythical creatures as they age.  When I look at my son, I try so hard to find that little blond boy who wore costumes everywhere.  Sometimes, I catch him, just for a second, in a smile or laugh, or love of  “worms and dirt.”  I started thinking that I should have held on to him like a child hugging Santa, back when I was still allowed to hug him. 

 As I got up, and made coffee, and heated up some sweet potatoes for breakfast (Why not?  They are good for you and your stomach doesn’t know what time it is.), I started expanding the metaphor to include, well, everything.  So many people, things, and times in our lives come and go, so quickly.  They eventually become foggy memories.  A lot of times we don’t appreciate them when we have them. 

My husband did not hold on to Santa in 1974ish.
My husband did not hold on to Santa in 1974ish.

 

 For example, I remember being sixteen and desperately wanting to be a grown up, so I could do whatever I wanted.  Because ALL grown ups can do whatever they want.  They just happen to want to work and pay bills and clean the house and do laundry and clean up the excrement of others, both furry and non-furry. Really, I should have been clinging to my high school years like Santa, holding on to it like it was the Christmas morning of my life. 

 In a way it was, but in a way right now is like Christmas Day.  All of the presents are unwrapped. I have everything I have ever wanted right now, a loving, wonderful husband, a creative, funny, smart son, lots of great friends, and a job that allows me to wear jammies or yoga pants daily, and cats and dogs who follow me everywhere.  I’m going to cling to all of this like Santa.  I’m going to squeeze this red velvet suit of a life for all it’s worth.  New Year’s Eve is just around the corner.  Soon, it will all be a memory.