Never Have I Ever: Mom Edition

Who has (possibly hazy) memories of playing the drinking game, "I Never"? Apparently now it's called, "Never Have I Ever" but the premise is the same. One person makes an adult-type statement, such as "Never have I ever had sex," and then everyone who has had sex has to take a sip of their alcoholic beverage. A way to be a good sport was to say something that you had, in fact, done. So if we were playing together right now, I might say, "I never played drinking games." And then I would drink.

One of the things that I always liked about the game was that it was a great way to build rapport and to find out you weren't alone in some of your stupid mistakes. I've been going through old blog posts lately, and one thing that strikes me is how alone I felt in my earlier days of motherhood. I was sure no one else's kids threw as many tantrums as mine, or that I was the only one who spent an entire day covered in stains and messy hair. So. . . .

(You don't HAVE to drink if you've ever done any of these things. You can just mention it in the comments. Or chuckle to yourself. But if you'd like to drink, have at it. I won't be drinking, because I've done all of them and Monday morning is not an appropriate time to get white girl wasted.)

Never Have I Ever:

• Gone out in public in clothes I thought were presentable only to find out that I have baby spit up down my back.
• Accidentally flashed anyone while breastfeeding in public.
• Licked my baby's pacifier after it fell on the floor and stuck it back in his mouth.
• Had my toddler scream so loudly in the grocery store that people turned to stare. 
• Restrained my toddler so that I could get him into his car seat.
• Had my toddler run away from me in a public place. 
• Bribed my child with my phone to get him to behave.
• Had to carry my child out of a play date.
• Accidentally cursed in front of my children so often that they said, "Shit!" when they dropped something as toddlers.
• Given in to my toddler's demands just to stop the screaming.
• Gone to the store in pajama pants.
• Forgotten about a class or practice, even though it was written on my calendar.
• Sent my kid to school in dirty socks because there aren't any clean ones. 
• Let my kids eat fast food for dinner.
• Let my kids be on screens for more that an hour a day.
• Yelled.
• Secretly donated a toy that I really, really hated.
• Forgotten to make my child do her homework.
• Let my kids miss school to do something fun. 

What about you? What embarrassing/not so responsible things have you done as a parent? Let me know in the comments. 

No Good Reason

The longer I parent, the less I try to judge other parents. I mean, it's a common joke among parents that we were all much better parents before we actually had children. My kids were going to snack on organic fruit, not watch television until they were four and never hear yelling.

Whoops.

I do feed them organic fruit, they just don't voluntarily snack on it. And I resolve not to yell every single day. . . which sometimes works. And there are certain days when Ironflower and Lovebug are so busy that they don't have time to watch T.V. When I get tempted to judge other parents, I think about what a pregnant-with-Ironflower-me would say about my current parenting and I shut that criticism down.

Usually.

At the pool last summer. The 7 year old in an appropriate tankini. 

At the big kids' swimming class last week, I spotted  a girl of about 4 wearing a string bikini. 

Similar to this:

From Babikini

Except the back part did not have as much coverage and "Diva" was spelled out in rhinestones across it. 

The little girl kept tugging at the suit as she walked, like it was giving her a wedgie. Which it probably was, because string bikinis aren't made for swimming classes. 

I don't even think they should be made for four year olds. While (obviously) only pedophiles would find a four year old in a tiny string bikini sexy, the entire point of string bikinis is to be sexy. There's a reason that all those fabulously-bodied Olympic swimmers don't wear string bikinis when they are competing or practicing. In fact, anyone who likes to actually swim probably doesn't wear string bikinis. 

String bikinis are for posing. Sexily.

Which is fine. For people who are ready to be sex objects. And not preschoolers at their swimming lessons. 

Yes, I am totally judging the mother who put her child in a string bikini. Especially for swimming lessons. I've been trying to come up with a scenario where there's a good reason for this, but I can't. If someone gave me a string bikini for Ironflower, I would give it back. If Ironflower asked for one, I would tell her no. If I (magically) got my bikini body back and wanted us to having matching bikinis, I would find ones that were appropriate for both of us. 

The only thing I've come up with so far is that maybe the mom is actually a cast member from one of those "reality" Gypsy shows, where dressing provocatively is a requirement. Although since I can't even take photos of my own kids at swimming lessons, I doubt they're letting a reality show film on the pool deck. 

Nope. There's no good reason for a four year old to wear a string bikini. 

Cheating At Chuck E. Cheese

So we took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese for the first time.

It wasn't our intention, but the sewage spillage in the Hudson River caused our favorite bowling place not to have any water. In fact, the entire mall didn't have any water. And Ironflower had to go to the bathroom. So we started driving inland to find another bowling alley or whatever, Ironflower bravely grimacing in the back seat. And we came upon Chuck E. Cheese.

The kids were thrilled, although they were also quite happy to leave after an hour and a half. We got enough tokens that they each got to play their favorite games as many times as they wanted, though Ironflower and HugMonkey spent more time in the climbing structure than anything.

I discovered that I am very bad at games that involve shooting baskets.

And that my 6 year old is better than I am at skee-ball.

Also? Adults at Chuck E. Cheese typically cheat at skee-ball.

Instead of rolling the balls up, they lean over and drop them in the highest point sections, thus insuring their kids lots more tickets. More tickets = more plastic crap their kids can "buy". Now, I'll admit that we had Hot Guy play some games so that we could earn more tickets. And that I played the Deal or No Deal game so I could earn us some extra tickets. But I think there's a difference between adults playing the games and adults cheating at the games.

Right?

Personally, I wish they'd just skip the whole ticket thing altogether. Why not just have kids play the games for their own sake? Isn't playing the games supposed to be fun? Should we really have to reward kids for doing something fun? Ironflower and Hugmonkey had a great time riding on the rides and climbing in the tunnels. Lovebug actually enjoyed the tunnels too, but he loves video games so he had a lot of fun playing Mario Kart with an actual steering wheel and whatnot.

The kids had fun picking out their plastic crap at the end, but only one of those toys (out of 7) has actually been played with since we left Chuck E. Cheese. Of course, that may be because we didn't cheat to get them the more flashy toys. Except, as Lovebug pointed out, "They don't even have any Legos!"

Have you taken kids to Chuck E. Cheese? Do you think cheating is okay, because you know you paid way too much for those game tokens? Do you think kids would have fun there without the tickets?

I Let My Kids Watch Toddlers and Tiaras

The first time I let them see Toddlers and Tiaras, it was an accident. A younger Ironflower caught a glimpse of a girl in a sparkly dress before I turned the television off. Immediately she wanted to know why a girl her age had such a "beautiful" dress. I tried to explain the horror of child beauty pageants. She begged to be in one.

Obviously my explanation needed work.

The next time it happened, I was just trying to avoid a completely annoying commercial airing during House Hunters. I'll be honest here, I can't stand to watch children's television any more. So when we have our weekly casual dinner in front of the TV (okay, it may be a twice weekly thing), I try to find something that we can all enjoy and that won't force me to explain topics I'd rather avoid at this juncture, like sex and Republicans.

As I flipped, we caught another girl in a sparkly dress. Who was having a total meltdown. My kids were horrified by the things she said. We wound up talking about the difference between looking pretty and acting pretty. Of course, we also watched to see if she won a crown or not. That's how it happened the first time.

We've watched other episodes since. It's not that I tape it, it's just that it happens to be on when we're having casual dinner night. And it really prompts interesting discussions - what clothes are appropriate, how the little girls are always cuter in the before pictures, what they should say if they want to give up one of their activities, what to do if you forget your part during a performance.

Besides, anything that makes my children say, "spray tans are ugly" has got to be insurance against them winding up on Jersey Shore 25, right?

Preschool Drama Part 487

Remember how last time I was all, "eating my words"?  Apparently I'm going to have to snort them next time, because they seem to have come back up.*

I was at the park, of course, and heard this mom talking about why she was transferring her kids to another preschool. We'd nodded at each other earlier, because we recognized each other from somewhere. From blatantly eavesdropping on her conversation I realized I knew her from the kids' preschool. And that she too was devastated about the firing of the awesome teacher. So devastated that her kids were going to a different school. So I blundered my way into the conversation she was having with another mom.**

She was under the impression that the awesome teacher had been fired to save money, as she had the highest salary. But of course, that was not confirmed. Which was her biggest gripe - how come no one, not even the awesome teacher, knew exactly why she'd been fired? I felt myself get mad all over again. Then the other mom began describing the new preschool. It sounded wonderful. The poor woman she'd originally been talking to chimed in with how much she loved that preschool.

When I got home, I looked it up online. Not only did it seem to have a similar philosophy and a better physical space, it was affordable too. I phoned and left a message. Now I'm just waiting for the director to call back so that Hugmonkey and I can visit. If he seems excited to go there, then we're switching. If not, I'll be having a nervous breakdown.


*Sorry about the imagery there. I have been extremely punchy ever since Hurricane Irene scared me witless.

**Totally obnoxious, I know. But it seemed better than taking notes while continuing to eavesdrop.

Bad Mother Chronicles, part 1087

(I wrote this a few weeks ago. Although it probably could have happened today, if we weren't having Ice-ocalypse. Which seems pretty lame compared to the Kansas City ice storm of 2002, but I'm still glad I don't have to go anywhere.)

This morning I told my kids not to touch my shit.

Seriously.

It was like I was talking to my freaky freshman year roommate and her even freakier boyfriend. They liked my make-up a lot. And that's not what made them freaky. But anyway, it's probably not appropriate to talk to your children the way you once talked to drug addicts. Although they did hide my shoes.

We were hurrying out the door to take Ironflower to school, but I have been busy preparing for a trip (note to potential thieves: we're having a housesitter. With a Rottweiler.)  and trying to complete a million tasks and Hugmonkey has a cold. So I'm a little stressed. I run to the top of the stairs, where I KNOW I left my shoes and they are not there. Since it always takes 10 minutes longer than I expect to get all the children ready for the cold, we are always in a hurry. But if you think I'm leaving my house without my warm shoes when it's 20 degrees outside, you don't know how deeply I've chosen comfort over cuteness.

I would make Tim Gunn cry.

So, I wanted my ugly, warm, snow resistant Merrells. But they were not where I had left them. Nor were they nearby as if they had been kicked aside casually during one of the new games that involve running and screaming. They were not in my room. They were not by the door.

I called to the squabbling children (twice) and asked them if they had seen my shoes. I should have known something was up when they came upstairs to "help" me look. To them, looking for something usually amounts to a quick glance around the room. But this time they actually looked in several rooms. I began to get suspicious.

Finally they admitted to playing with my shoes.

And not remembering where they left them.

"What on earth were you even playing with my shoes for? Were you playing dress up?" I asked. Did I mention that these are ugly but functional Merrells? I mean, they're not typical dress up attire. Unless you're pretending to be hippies of questionable sexuality or something. But it seems my children, even though we have provided them with enough toys to open a small toy store, thought tossing my shoes around would be fun.

"Please leave my shoes alone," I said politely. They nodded. Then I went to find my purse. Which had been opened. By someone with sticky hands.

"If you want something from Mommy's purse, please ask. It's private," I explained. They nodded. Then I went to find my hat. Which was missing. Each child blamed another child. I gave up on it.

Last came the keys. "Don't move the keys, kids. Mommy keeps things in a certain place so she can always find them, " I may have been able to hold it together had not the oldest thought to pipe in.

"But we were playing and we needed keys and.. . ."

That's when I remembered having to go to Housing to get a new key because the roommate and her boyfriend had "borrowed" mine from my desk, without permission, and then lost it. It took about 7 hours.

"Just don't touch my shit, guys." We all stared at each other. "I mean, um, don't touch Mommy's stuff without permission, okay? It makes us late when I can't find it and it gives me flashbacks to the worst things about college." They nodded hesitantly, possibly waiting to see if would swear more.

I hung my head in shame and headed out the door.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I taught elementary school for 10 years - 8 of them in really challenging schools - and I never swore in front of the children. Not when the kid threw the chair. Not when the other kid bit me. Not when the stalker parent hovered outside of the classroom yet again. Not when the kid threw up on me. Not when things got cancelled or switched at the last minute. Not when my last principal changed my evaluation after I'd signed it.

But it only took about a month as a parent before I exclaimed, "Shit!" as my little girl pooped all over my new shirt. Of course, I told myself that it didn't matter, that Ironflower couldn't understand what I was saying anyway. I think I told myself that until she was 2. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized she had no interest in repeating what I said but instead came up with socially acceptable phrases like, "I hate you, Mommy!"

Of course, when Ironflower was 2, Lovebug was 9 months old. He seemed too busy trying to walk to pay attention to what I was saying. Not that I cleaned up my language when he began to talk. Which is why one of his first phrases was, "Oh shit!"

I did try to fix things when Lovebug was two and a half.

We did get him to stop saying "Oh shit!" and even "Cheezits Christ!" fell by the wayside. In fact, Lovebug no longer swears at all. Neither does Ironflower. I can't say the same thing for their parents. Which was brought home today when Hugmonkey proudly repeated, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" after hearing one (or both) of us say it.

Apparently, saying "shit" has now become some sort of family milestone. After talking in sentences but before potty training. I can only hope that Hugmonkey grows out of it like his siblings and doesn't remain a potty mouth like his parents.

Though I do kind of have a perverse wish that before he grows out of it, Hugmonkey says "Shit!" in front one of those really prissy and annoying moms.

Are You Experienced?

Just now I was messing about on The Twitter when I heard Hugmonkey scream and then cry. I glanced down the hall to see him sprawled on the ground in the living room. "You okay, buddy?" I called. He ran to me for a hug, then ran off to destroy something. I have no idea what happened. And it occurred to me that that whole scenario never would have happened when Ironflower was 2. When Ironflower was 2, we were either in the same room or she was in her crib. When Lovebug was 2, he may have been in another room but I would have quizzed Ironflower on what happened while I scooped him up. Now I wait for the piercing scream before I go running. 

I am now an experienced mother. 

You too are an experienced parent if. . . 

1. You don't jump every time someone cries,

2. The 5 second rule sometimes stretches into the 10 second rule, or even the oh-well-he-already-put-it-back-in-his-mouth rule. 

3. You keep toys, food and extra clothes in your bag and/or your car. Because you learned your lesson when you had to wrap your child in your sweater after a poopslosion, or you had to buy overpriced snack food somewhere after a meltdown or you ever tried to eat out with your children.

4. Your child has uttered a swear word she learned from you.

5. You realize that your children's sleeping habits and temperaments have more to do with luck than with your parenting skill.

6. You have done at least 3 things you swore you'd never do as a parent.

7. The sound of Dora's voice makes your skin crawl, but you've still let her baby-sit your child while you take a damn shower.

8. You have dawdled on your solo trip to the grocery store because you know to take your "me" time when you can get it. 

What do you think makes an experienced parent?

More Reasons My Kids Will Need Therapy

I swear to the Goddess that this post was going to be happy. I was going to list things I like. Or something. I really wanted to write a post that didn't involve bitching. Possibly that's too much to ask when I'm on the rag, the kids have spring break and my allergies are trying to kill me, I don't know.

I do know that I was a shitty mother this morning and I feel the need to confess. I had this plan in my head. I would take my kids to the indoor play area and grab some fast food lunch (sorry Jamie Oliver, I really am trying to do better {more on that later} but I've got 48 hours of solo time, killer cramps AND a headache). It would be fun. They would be happy. And cramps like french fries.

There were a few other people there, one family with two boys and a pair of women with their 2 girls. Lovebug and Ironflower rushed to make friends. The older boy didn't want to befriend Lovebug at first, which Lovebug took on the chin and moved on. Eventually, the boy changed his mind. Ironflower seemed fine with the younger girls. I spent my time chasing ChunkyMonkey and preventing him from getting trapped in the play area.

Until I saw the 2 girls, but no Ironflower. The place isn't very big, so I found this surprising. Eventually I found her crying in the corner. The girls didn't want to play with her anymore. Now, I try to be reasonable. I know my daughter can be bossy. The girls were younger and already knew each other. I said as much (well, I substituted "decisive" for "bossy"). She kept crying. I asked if they said anything mean. She shook her head. She rejected playing with her brother. And me.

And then. . .well, I got mad.

I told my daughter that she needed to get over it and not let those girls ruin our good time. Or we would have to leave. She got up and climbed slowly around. She bit my head off when I checked on her and then she cried some more.

Even after the girls left, she didn't want to play. She was too sad about them not wanting to be friends with her. I hugged her and held her on my lap. And then I sort of went off about the whole situation.

It's not that I wasn't sad for her. But if this kind of thing is going to devastate her so much. . .how will she ever handle elementary school? How will I?

I pointed out that she was ruining our family fun time over 2 little girls that we would never see again and obviously weren't very nice. I pointed out that she loves to play with Lovebug. I pointed out that I had gotten dressed  and paid money and dealt with 85 ChunkyMonkey tantrums so they could have fun, dammit, and why couldn't she just have fun for the love of God??????????????? (I left out the dammit, but I'm not sure about the "for the love of God)

I am not a nice person.

The mood lifted as we left. We got McDonald's. We read stories. We had quiet time. Now they are watching a DVD. Under calm questioning, Ironflower still cannot articulate (and if you know Ironflower, you know that's very very strange. . . . Ironflower is nothing if not articulate) why she was so upset.

But I'm so afraid of the next time someone doesn't want to play with her. We've always encouraged our kids to be friendly and to include all kids in their games. But maybe that's not the best thing for Ironflower emotionally. I just don't know.

Advice, internets? Also, feel free to tell me how to handle this without turning into an evil cow.

Good-bye, You Bitch

That's what my son said today, after I prompted him to say good-bye to a boy from Ironflower's class. The kids like to run around a bit after being picked up from preschool, because apparently freezing temperatures, a biting wind and snow on the ground are not half as important as playing with their classmates for an extra few minutes. Today I'd seen Lovebug argue with the boy, a nice kid from Ironflower's class. As it didn't get physical and no one came to me about it, I figured all was well.

Until, as we walked to our car with the boy and his mom, my son said, "Good-bye, you bitch." The look of shock on her face combined with the shock I felt made me giggle. I covered my mouth. I made him apologize. I repeated, "We don't call people that" like a mantra.

But of course, we do call people that. Not me, actually - my favorite word, as I've mentioned, is "shit." But my husband and possibly my brother-in-law prefer the term "bitch".  We just spent 10 days at my in-laws, a number of them snowed in. Add in the 3 days driving there and the 3 days driving home and well, we've had a lot of togetherness lately. (Yes, you read that correctly. Three days in the car back to the farm outside of Kansas City, 9 days in a house with no internet, and three days home.  And we're all more or less intact.)

None of which excuses the fact that we've been swearing in front of the children again. Well, in front of Lovebug. Ironflower doesn't seem to notice most of what we say (even when it's directed at her), but Lovebug is like a little sponge. A sponge that called a bigger boy a bitch in front of his mother.

I personally don't care much about swearing, which is good since that would make me a total hypocrite. But name-calling really disturbs me. Maybe it's because I can still remember being called names - that still echo in my head - as a child, but don't even notice most swear words anymore. The only reason I haven't hijacked all of Lovebug's Thomas trains is that I don't think he knew that he was name-calling.

But he'd better remember next time.