Parenting is Like Throwing Penny’s in a Wishing Well

Credit: vastateparksstaff on Flickr

Yesterday, as my oldest son and I were on our way to Los Angeles we drove past Forest Lawn Memorial Park. It had been a few years since I had driven past it and I had forgotten how beautiful it was. So I pointed it out for him to see.
And then he asked me what it was.
And I was left there with the decision of what to say. I mean, how do you explain a cemetery to a little kid after all?  I decided to go in for the kill.

“When people die, their souls go to Heaven to be with God and their bodies stay here with us. Some people like to bury their bodies in the ground at a place like that so that we who are left here on Earth have a place to visit them. But they’re not really there, only their bodies are because their souls are with God”.

I patted myself on the back. I thought I did pretty good explaining souls and death and cemeteries and stuff to a 5 year old.  And then he said:
“I like trees!”

And I realized at that moment that parenting is a lot like throwing pennies in a wishing well. You can’t see where the penny went but you did hear that hollow thud when it hit the water.
Here I was giving him gems of gold, pure parenting advice gold and all he had to say was that he liked trees.

All I can do is have faith that the penny I threw is in there somewhere.

When my husband changes a diaper

This post is about the difference between him and I.
I am frugal and tactful.
He is wasteful and afraid of getting poop on his hands.

Changing diapers requires wipes. Wipes are expensive and kind of bad for the planet. I have honed my baby diaper changing skills to use as little wipes as humanely possible. One wipe for #1 and Two wipes for #2.

This is me changing a poopy diaper:

My husband? Not so honed in on the baby diaper changing skills as I. And he’s dealthy afraid of getting poop on his hands. As if the poop would make his precious little man hands skin melt.

This is my husband changing a poopy diaper:

Which to be honest, he didn’t do much of before baby Eaglin #3 was born. I could probably count on one hand how many poopy diapers he changed throughout the years. Thankfully he got the memo that he was required to step it up a notch with baby #3’s arrival. However, watching him change a poopy diaper will probably never get old. He would probably wear a hazmat suit if he could. And use salad tongs…so he would be certain to not get any poop on his precious little man hands.

This is yet another post inspired by my favorite funny bunny Amber Dusick of Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures.  There was no better way to get my point across than to give yet another homage to one of my favorite bloggers.

Is this you?

I’m on the hunt for the most-awesome-photo-booth-stealth-picture-taker-ever.
Well, let me explain a bit…

You see, we went to a wedding a few months ago. Baby Eaglin #3 was still in the belly, my oldest son was the ring bearer, my husband was drunk as a skunk and my daughter was well…adorable as usual. There was a photo booth at the wedding. Here are a few of my favorite pictures:

and of course, us:

and then this.

THE MOST AWESOME PHOTO BOOTH PICTURE TAKER IN THE WORLD.

Is this you?
Because if it is. You are awesome my friend. All kinds of awesome.

What not to do: How to make your kids easy targets

Being a parent is scary. Not only are you responsible for the well being and production of another human being but you’re also responsible for their safety. Which, lets admit in this day and age is a daunting task. There are so many creepos and pedophiles out there that mask themselves as sheep in wolves clothing that we as parents really need to be on guard about whom we allow our children to be in contact and association with. Below is a list that I have compiled of 5 ways children can be easy targets.

“come here little Zack, I have a lollipop for you in my van”

1. Anything that your child wears or carries that is personalized with their name on it.
This screams “approach me and pretend you know me personally so that you may shove me into your van”

“Hey Kristi! Your mom Loni said you could check out the inside of my van”

2. Stick figure family decals with every family members name.
This makes predators able to identify who is who and it makes your car easily identifiable.

String bikinis for little girls is just gross.

3. Dressing your daughter like a hoochie momma.
Modesty is the best policy folks.

4. Not paying attention to where your kids are when you’re out shopping.
I know it’s hard, because finding the cheapest shampoo is more important, but there are creepo’s out there ready to prey on your frugalness.

5. Social Media blasting of your child’s pictures, names, personality and other likelinesses.
I know, I’m guilty of this one too. But at least I don’t announce their names, you’d have to dig them up and then I’d know you were a stalker.

 

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Now it’s your turn. What say you Sarcastic, Funny and Brutally Honest readers? What would you add to this list?

Birthday sex

Today is Mother’s Day. It also happens to be my husbands birthday. Which although sounds like it may have been a conflict of interest was actually quite nice. He was obligated to be nice to me and I was obligated to be nice to him. So we ended up being really nice to each other…for the like the first whole day ever.

But now as the day comes to a close we have a new problem. We have ourselves a new conflict of interest.

There are 2 days a year that I get a reprieve of his 15-year-old-boyish-non-stop-horndogginess:
My birthday
and Mother’s day

There are 2 days a year that I don’t get a choice:
His birthday
and Father’s day

So now what?
I’ll tell you what: It’s going to be a standoff.
Him in one corner with that devilish look in his eye that I’ve come to know and um…fear. And me, trying to lock myself in the bathroom and claim bathroom problems.

Wish me luck.

From the Archives – “It all comes out smooth in the end”

Originally posted on Sarcastic, Funny and Brutally Honest on May 19, 2009. 

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You know, before you have kids nobody tells you the truth about being a mom. And by the “truth” I mean the amount of sh*t you have to deal with. R E A L shit.

Take for example my kid. He crapped in the backyard last week. IN THE BACKYARD. Why? Who knows. Well, the only one that really knows is him. But he’s not telling.

And don’t get me started on poopie diapers. I am so tired of changing poopie diapers. Who invented diapers? Sure, it’s convenient to not have sh*t in your backyard, but holy damn. Sh*tty diapers are the worst. Just take my word for it (if you’re not a mom). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve considered taking my kid to a gastrointestinalgynocolonist to examine his poop, cause man, this sh*t can’t be normal.

My kid came in the house this morning covered in dog shit. COVERED. IN. DOG. SH*T. I was so grossed out and he thought it was sooooo funny. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like a total amateur as I was sumo gripping his tiny little arm with one hand and ripping off his poo clothes with the other hand all while trying to cover my nose with my shoulder and not letting his grubby little shit hands touch anything.

I can honestly say that there is always some sort of poo particles on me at all times. Between the dog and the kid and the cats I am one big fat walking poo germ. It’s gross and I’m tired of sh*t.

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Reading this almost exactly 3 years later is funny to me. With a daughter who is messier and sh*ittier than her older brother ever was and another baby on the way, this post is almost cute…in a “aw, she didn’t know what she had comin’ kind of way”. HA! 

From the Archives – “Why my mommy sucks: by The Kid”

Originally posted on Sarcastic, Funny and Brutally Honest on May 21, 2009. Sarcastic Boy was just about 2 1/2 years old. Enjoy! 

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My mommy was trying to take a picture of the gigantic strawberry:

But I wanted it:

But she wouldn’t give it to me!: I got sad:

But I didn’t give up trying!:

 

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If that’s not historic proof of my sick and natural twisted nature to tease my kids, then I don’t know what is…lol

The Man Cold

My friend Brigitta from Brighter Schemata  posted this video on my facebook wall over the weekend after I announced that my husband was sick and apparently going to die of the influenza virus:

Which gave me some relief and made me laugh at an otherwise reallysuperfagileistic obnoxious as hell situation.
My husband stayed home from work on Friday because he was so sick. That was the first time in over 13 years that I have known him that he had stayed home from work because of being sick. He’s one of those die hard worker bees. So, sure, he was sick. I get it.
BUT MY GAWD.
It took all I had to not laugh in his face after he moaned and groaned and said he was dying. It took all that I had to not scream after he emailed me his food requests. It took all that I had to not shove the toast I had made him down his throat when he refused to eat it because (and I do quote) “I didn’t make it right”.
That’s right folks, apparently I don’t know how to make toast. How do my kids survive?!?
I quarantined  him to our bedroom so he could sleep and get some peace and quiet and I took the kids to the park and took over completely. (Which, honestly as a stay at home mom isn’t that hard to do. I could probably go on like that for about 3 months of no help before anyone realized that Dad wasn’t even there). He medicated himself with a mixture of Vicodin and heavy Advil left over from my previous c-section. I’m surprised he’s still alive.
So we got through it, he woke up a little better on Saturday and I woke up sick on Saturday with the Flu.
To sum it up, I’ll just put it like this: Our paths to getting better were much different. I had to survive on tylenol, water, the kids using me as a trampoline (because mommy isn’t allowed to be alone), lots of dirty looks from the husband as he changed poopy diapers, well, a lot of complaining and dirty looks in general and taking lots of cool baths because no one would let me knock myself out with painkillers. Damn pregnancy. No alcohol and no painkillers? Ugh.
But we survived. And I’ve got this great new resentment for The Man Cold.
What is your favorite story of being sick? Is it similar to mine?

Husbands are NO good at barf

One of my favorite bloggers is Amber Dusick of Parenting Illustrated with Crappy Pictures. If you don’t currently read her blog YOU MUST START NOW. I adore funny people, especially ingenious funny people. Her crappy illustrations of parenting get me laughing every single time.
In honor of my favorite funny bunny, Amber Dusick I have created my own crappy pictures wannabe post.

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Husbands are no good with dealing with sick children. Especially when those sick children have to barf. My husband FREAKS OUT when the kids are sick and have to barf. This is his exact reaction to our sick, barfy children:

And then, his solution to a barfing child is this. While gagging. And totally pissed off. To sit there and allow her to barf all over the floor I just scrubbed on hands and knees for only 2 days prior. Weird, lame and totally messy:

Now, as a mom or maybe as a normal human being  with actual brain cells that function. You would do this right? (That’s me running):

or this:

or  this:

or shit, even this:

But nope, my darling husband does this. While gagging. And pissed off. Every. damn. time.

Let me say it again…husbands are NO good at barf.

Wordless Wednesday – I’m bad-assed and I know it.

"I know I'm bad-assed" Copyright: Desiree Eaglin

This blog has been sadly ignored because I was busy planning and preparing for Sarcastic Boy’s 5th Birthday party. This picture, which I am naming “I know I’m bad-assed” makes me laugh every time I look at it. He knows he’s bad-assed. The other kids? They’re bored as hell as we wait for our turn to ride the train. It was a great day and a great party. Best thing about it? It’s over and now I can get back to blogging again.

In other unrelated news, I spelled “phase” as “fase” in an email this week. Without even realizing it until the email recipient pointed it out. If THAT isn’t proof that my brain is overworked and needs a vaca I don’t know what is.