We all know those moms who, while in the middle of a conversation with someone else, will rush up to you and pull out their cameras and show you pictures of little Annie doing her first Big Potty ALL BY HERSELF! Um. Ok. I just wish they had this contraption when I was potty training my kids. See photo.
I am not one of those mothers that talks incessantly about her kids. Mostly because while I am great at parenting, I know I am not Supermom. I also don’t want to shed light on the fact that I can barely keep my own life in order, much less my kids. I’m a hot mess.
For instance; when Ike was packing his room to go away to the NAVY I gave him all the photos I took of him over the last 19 years. There was half a shoe box.
Also, one of my favorite lines as a mom is: ‘There are few joys in parenting. You will not rob me of even one. So put your shit on, and go sing your fucking ass off and smile while you do it, BECAUSE I EARNED THIS!’ At least in my head I say that. And for those of you who know me: shut up. I did not say that out loud. Ok. Maybe once during a temper tantrum.
So when I brag about my kids, it’s a big deal. This brings me to Ike. Here’s a little background.
IKE stands for I know everything. He's my 20 year old son, who lived at home until he joined the NAVY and they kicked his ASS. IKE has huge entitlement issues. He is good looking, very smart, and was in college studying some shit, but because of no jobs available ANYWHERE he realized he most likely won’t get hired, and so now he has some job in the NAVY that he never talks about because I don't have the clearance. Honorable, but for crying out loud, this kid couldn’t find his ass with both hands in a closet with the light on. He is also not a joiner. Which is weird because he joined the NAVY. This is a him before the NAVY.
Ike: I won a trophy!
Me: You did? For what?
Ike: I can’t tell you.
Me: Why not?
Ike: Because then I would have to kill you.
Me: What does the trophy look like? Can you send me a picture?
Ike: No. But it has a toilet on it.
Me: What does the toilet stand for? That you've been potty trained?
Ike: Mom. Please. I can’t tell you. Also, I get a plaque.
Me: Oh! Can I see that?
Ike: No. Also I get to be honored in a ceremony.
Me: I see. When is this ceremony?
Ike: Seriously mom? Do you even understand the meaning of top secret?
He’s such an ass.
And all I can think of is how proud he is with his toilet trophy that I can never see and how I've been robbed of one of my joys. I mean, I spent years in blood sweat and tears to have him become this super hero and now...Now all I get is "if I tell you I'll have to kill you."
Whatever NAVY. If I weren't so proud of him we would have a problem.
Warrior on Son. Thanks for having our backs.
Google it...if you dare.
Did you know if you Google Tastys Big Butt it shows up on the same page as Big Ass Porn?
Of Course you did!!
I spent most of the day not feeling well, and fatigue caused me to sleep most of the day. I have rheuma-fucking-toid arthritis and sometimes it takes me out.
When BTM got home from work, he gave me my gift. A pot of flowers. Because I need flowers. Not that I don’t love the flowers, but where the hell is the knife sharpener I asked for? .
That’s right. I want a knife sharpener.
My friend Lauren doesn’t think a knife sharpener in my house is a good idea.
I need one though. My knives are dull and loading them all up and taking them to the guy who does it is expensive and it takes a week to get them back and I would rather have a dull knife than no knife. So I want a damn knife sharpener. I don’t think that ‘s too much to ask.
I guess BTM knows better. Thus the flowers.
The boy was outside playing with some friends and couldn’t be bothered. Forever Alone.
The day was a bust, but what happened later was the clincher.
It was about 11:30 at night. I barely heard the door open when I sensed someone standing over me. I woke up and saw a man, nostrils flaring, and breathing hard. I screamed. It was BTM, and he was furious.
BTM: Who did you tell about the thing that happened at The Bankers house?
BTM: WHO DID YOU TELL ABOUT THE THING? I told you not to tell anyone and you had to tell my mom and dad, and they texted me about it AND GAVE ME THE LECTURE.
At this point, I should tell you that a couple of days ago, we were at a friends house (who I call THE BANKER) for dinner, and the guys were in the office looking at something and something happened. And I can’t tell you all about it, because BTM asked me not to, but I really wish I could because it’s the best story ever. But lets just say I knew what happened BECAUSE I’M NOT AN IDIOT. And also it was so loud it took everything I had not to run for cover. Loud noises do that to me. Also, The Bankers wife and I are so used to their shenanigans that the house could blow up and it wouldn't phase us. There is never a dull moment with theses guys.
Later BTM told me what happened in detail. He did ask me not to tell anyone. I didn’t think anyone meant my family.
The angry conversation continued:
BTM: AND did you tell IKE? Because Ike either posted something on face book or texted The Banker and said some shit and now The Banker is pissed off at me, because he asked me not to say anything to anyone, but I told you because you’re my wife. And now I have to clean up your mess!!!!
I rolled over and went back to sleep.
And I didn’t think it was a big secret, because I WAS THERE AND I KNEW WHAT HAPPENED. And now my PTSD is out of control and so is my Tourettes.
Anyway, BTM is still not talking to me today and I suppose the birthday dinner that was supposed to happen tonight is off because I am being punished.
On the up side, I am much less fatigued today. Because there is nothing more energizing than someone thinking you screwed up and then having to walk on eggshells for the rest of the day.
Going to Urine Cane Harbor and actually getting in the water takes a great deal of mind prep. I have to completely focus my mind on something other than the very real possibility of kids and old people who are most certainly peeing in the water.
Then there is the disturbing fact that I am actually in a bathing suit, which is a whole thing and another story. Because I was hoping my new bathing suit would make me look miraculously 20 POUNDS THINNER, but it doesn't. Sigh.
So I always put my focus on other people in these types of situations. Because that is the spiritual thing to do anyway.
Ok. We got there and found limited seating, which worked out after we were stealthy and found one chair that wasn't being used and moved it to our location, as well as moving some guys shoes that I am sure he was using to save seating but he was not smart enough to actually put them on the chair, but instead put them under the chair. And I say all is fair when Christmas shopping and getting seats by the pool.
We got set up like pros and then kicked back in those plastic beach chairs that leave lines on your butt, even when you put a towel down. Knowing that I would have lines on my ass didn't even phase me, because I knew that I already looked like a wet cow, and I had already taken the bold step of donning a bathing suit anyway. I'm not sweating the small stuff. Because I am brave.
And then, as I was getting ready to actually get up and walk towards the pool I saw this woman walk by. And she was a big girl. So what? I'm a big girl. Here's the thing thing. She wasn't young and she wasn't wearing a bathing suit. She was wearing a white t-shirt. And it was wet. And she had nipples the size of my palms.
So now I am STOKED, and I take this opportunity,(while everyone was staring at her) to slip into the pool.
And as I looked around I saw a plethora of FAIL. From too small suits to extreme sunburn, and everything else in between, I was soon totally relaxed and in full fun mode. Because it's not about me. Clearly.
"Super mom" does not exist. You can ask for it to be created, but consider checking the search results.
You are wrong. I know at least 2 supermoms that exist.
I am wiped out. I just finished drinking a cup of crack coffee (see 2 cups of coffee and a bike) trying to muster up the energy to go pick up the boy from summer camp. I know that I probably won’t sleep now until midnight, but that’s the price I pay for the JOY of having kids.
The reason I looked up super mom in Wikipedia was because I in no way measure up to those women who can do it all and I was hoping that Wikipedia could tell me the secret. Nope.
One of them is my friend Alima. She has 4 children. 2 of them are twins. 3 of them are girls. She doesn’t sweat it. She wanted to have 4. I remember when she made the announcement that she was having one more and I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, and thought. “She’s fucking crazy.” What I said was: “Really? You want another one? Good for you.” (Crazy Bitch.)
And now she shares with me all the cute little anecdotes that they say, because kids say the cutest things. And she’s busy all the time. She is currently remodeling her house and keeping all of us apprised of new toilets that are on the market. In the meantime, she takes them to every event, every game, every gathering. She is on the PTA, volunteers for this thing and that, keeps lists, does something with other people dealing with their finances, she’s married, exercises (at least sometimes) One week she tells me that she is not doing one more thing, and the next week she is telling me about her new project. Cripes Almighty! Just listing everything she does here is making me yawn.
These kinds of moms impress me. I’ve decided to make a “SUPERMOM OF THE WEEK” Award, and this week it goes to Alima. (Clapping in the background)
I wish I could be more motivated, but I’ve done this mom thing once. My oldest son is 20, and I did the Disneyland and the fundraisers, and all the JOYS that parenting comes with. Now when my younger son brings home the fundraising packet from school to buy cookie dough-
I don’t ask friends and family if they want to buy any because I tapped them out already. Instead, I ask the boy what prize he wants for making the most money, he points to the biggest prize and then angrily I shake my head and say, I’m sorry honey, but this is the prize you are going to get. They are out of those giant prizes. I don’t even know why they put it on this flyer. I’m calling the school right now! Then I write a check for $25.00 and send it off so he can get the small prize. Sigh. Bad mom? Maybe not awful, but definitely not Super mom.
It was 6:45 this morning. We were still sleeping and my phone buzzed. I rolled over and looked at the screen. Blocked caller. I never answer any calls from blocked callers, so I ignored it. Immediately, the caller called back. The following 3 minutes went like this:
BTM: Who is it?
Me: I don’t know. It’s a blocked call.
BTM: Well answer it! It could be about IKE. (Yes, maybe his eyes melted off from studying top secret stuff)
And so I answered.
And I couldn’t hear because someone was whispering.
BTM: Who is it?
BTM: Who is it?
Me: Shutup! I’m trying to hear! He’s whispering!
Me: Hello? I can’t hear you!
Blocked Caller: I want to show you my big penis.
Me: What? You want to show me your big penis? Hold on.
I handed the phone to BTM.
Me: It’s for you
BTM: Hello? (Because he is always polite) Do want to show me your big penis?
I guess the guy hung up. And so then I went to Wikipedia and looked up big penis.
Apparently, a big penis is not uncommon for men and other primates, especially at certain times of the day, like the morning. And in comparison, men have bigger penises than gorillas. Results vary, because studies rely on self-measurement. (Of course) Wikipedia goes on to say that a mean penis, (yes I said mean) measures (5.1–5.9 in) in length. I would be mean too. So men with shorter penises must be furious!
In addition, there seems to be a correlation between foot size and penis size. So when blocked number calls me back, I’ll have to conduct my own study and ask him what size shoe he wears. of course, that might ruin his whole vibe.
You may have noticed flies walking around on my pages. That's because I am paying homage to BTM. He was telling me a couple nights ago how great and sexy he is because he has lost so much weight. Then he said "if you were as skinny as an Ethiopian and you had flies crawling all over your face, I wouldn't mind the flies." Really Fucker? And then when I added the flies he was all are you sure you want to add flies to a banner that talks about your butt? Because people might get the wrong message and think your butt stinks. And I was like, Shut up. What are you implying? And I must have given him a look that said I was going to rip his heart out of his chest which I tried to do once when I was pissed at him, and so now he knows the look and usually backs up a few steps when he sees it. But then he said it would make sense if I actually told the story about the Ethiopian comment instead of just putting flies on my banner and so I wondered why he would want people to know that he said that. Hence the flies. He probably just wants everyone to know he's sexy and thin. He is so self serving.
I got a new kind of coffee at the market yesterday. Because it was on sale. I don’t know the name of it, so don’t ask, and I am not going downstairs to find out. All you need to know is this; I drank it and this is what being on crack must feel like. Or maybe some other drug that makes you wired and shaky. Feel free to fill in this blank ______________________________ with whichever drug you feel appropriate. I love to drink 2 cups of coffee in the morning while I check stuff out on the web.
THIS coffee kicked in and now my hands are shaking and I’m irritable. Also, it feels like I want to go for a bike ride because I am super hyper right now, but I know better.
The last time I went for a bike ride, I was very impressed with myself. I had not been on a bike for a year. I got my iphone/ipod, put on my headphones, and donned BTM’s bike helmet, because I don’t have one. I should mention at this point that his helmet is too big for me but I wanted to be an example to other bikers. Because I’m like that. Always thinking of others.
I got on my bike, fully equipped for the ride. I was also wearing BTM’s bicycle shorts that had padding in them so my tender areas wouldn’t get bruised. I don’t have an arm strap for my phone, so I held it in my hand, and I brilliantly threaded the headphones through my shirt so they wouldn’t be dangling.
I set off out of my garage. There is a small hill from my house to the corner, only about 2 blocks to the T at the end of the street. For a few seconds I felt complete joy. YES! I missed this!
As luck would have it, my phone rang just as I was getting to the T and looking both ways for cars. I looked down to answer it, and as I did this, I somehow lost my balance. The bike wobbled, my too big helmet fell over my eyes and I went down.. Did I mention I was going DOWN a hill? I flew over the handle bars and did a little flip and landed on my back. My phone was in one direction and my bike in the other.
My very first thought was YOU’RE JOKING! My second thought was that the neighbors must be howling. Because you always have that neighbor that is looking out the window. (And I would be laughing wishing I had gotten it on video for you tube if it had been one of them) I stood up after gingerly assessing my injuries, straightened the helmet, picked up my phone, then the bike, and made the decision to keep riding anyway as my pride and ego were burning bright, and I would show that neighbor who was watching that I could not be shamed or denied my bike ride. I couldn’t get away fast enough. A few blocks away I stopped, got off the bike and sat on a little bench. I thought maybe if I sat there for an hour, my neighbors will have moved on to something else. Later I proudly rode my bike back home and put it in the garage and have not touched it since. Stupid bike.
Anyway. The point is, I am totally wired on 2 cups of morning joe, I won’t ride my bike and I won’t clean the house either. What’s the point of that? So the rest of the day is to be determined.