Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Halloween Tips from Bad Mommy

This is what I love about Halloween. It has, from a freak perspective, purity of intent. There's no dallying about with God, or that contrived brand of devotion used to justify our other seasonal pageants of gluttony. There's something incredibly liberating about a holiday that encourages children to take candy from strangers." -- Steve Almond, Candyfreak

1. When Trick or Treating, remember- go early and go often. Don't be stingy with your time this Halloween. Your children need you to guide them on this magical night and they need you with them to create those beautiful childhood memories. Plus, your kid's candy haul this Halloween will become your candy stash to raid once they go to sleep. If you go out late and just hit a few meager houses, don't blame me when you're sitting on the couch in November eating crappy Dots and double Bubble Gum.

2. If you are sitting there thinking "oh, but I would never take candy away from my precious child", I am publicly calling you out for being full of shit.

3. Please be certain to inspect your children's candy for any suspicious looking items. And by 'suspicious looking' I mean Snickiers and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Send them to me and I will dispose of them properly. Also Heath bars. Heath bars can be toxic to children. I'm doing this for their own good.

4. No matter what you do, do not take any M&Ms from your kid's treat bag. M&Ms are sacro-sanct to any child under the age of eight and they will have calatogued in their mind the exact number of M&M packages received while Trick or Treating. If you eat any of them, the kid will know it in the fiber of their soul. Plus stealing M&Ms from a kid is just fucking cruel, you heartless bastard. Go get a fucking Snickers.

5. When you buy your 4 year old a Halloween costume, make sure it comes with a whistle. A really loud whistle.

6. The number of times you can ignore the plainitive wails from your children begging to "Go Trick or Treating NOW, Mommy!" before your husband prys your fingers offf the keyboard: 5

7. There is no shame in taking a glass of 'Mommy juice' with you when you Trick or Treat. I'm just sayin'....

Happy Halloween everyone!

Sunday, October 25, 2009


There are some things I will never understand. Actually, there are many things I will never understand, chief among them nonparametric statistics and who the fuck are the Kardashians, but I digress. This is the thing I don't understand right now....

So one day my darling son was spending a wee bit too much time alone in the bathroom. I know what you're thinking- 'oh crap, we've been down this road before. I really hope she doesn't start talking about nutsacks again'. Fear not. So as I said, E was in the bathroom for quite some time and while I knew he was pinching one off, it's not like he went in there with the sports page or anything (because, hello, he's 4... it's not like he can read) so he should have been able to finish up his business in a timely manner and get out. But that didn't happen. So because I am a concerned mother- once I finished updating my Facebook status and checking to see if the cheesecake I had for breakfast had found its way to my ass yet- I went in to check on my favorite boy child. This is where things get weird.

My darling son had dropped the kids off at the pool, so to speak, but then (for reasons that are completely unclear to me) decided that instead of wiping his ass, it would be better to put the toilet lid down and sit cross-legged upon it (while still wearing his socks).


Seriously? Seriously. I was stunned. The kid has been shitting for 4 years and has had his ass wiped for 4 years. The kid has been potty trained for 2 years and has been wiping his OWN ass for most of those 2 years. Ass wiping is not a new concept. Shitting is not a new concept. Why all of a sudden are we shitting and not wiping? And why the socks?

Did you notice the mommy use of the collective 'we' above? I hate it when I do that. I would like to state for the record that I have never dropped a deuce, not wiped, and then sat cross-legged bare assed on the toilet lid. Not that you needed to know that, but I wanted to be clear on this important distinction. Also, I hate socks. Again, for the sake of clarity I mention this.

At this point, I have a psychotic break from reality and develop a split personality: chill momma vs. psycho freak out momma. Chill momma attempts to get to the bottom of this in a mellow, non-confrontational way by sticking her head in the bathroom and saying, "Um, so E man... did you forget to do something, sweetie?" Meanwhile, psycho freak out momma's head spins around 180 degrees and she violently whispers to her husband in the hallway through clenched teeth: "Holy shit! He forgot to wipe his fucking ass! He's sitting on the goddamned toilet lid on his bare, shit covered ass! Who the fuck does that? Holy crap, he's got shit everywhere! He shit on his socks! I don't understand this! How do you not wipe your ass? How do you sit on a big shit smear and not realize that you didn't wipe your ass? Is this a man thing? You're a man- tell me! How does this happen? Get in there- explain to him again that he needs to wipe his ass. Help him wipe his ass. Hell no, I'm not going in there. You have a penis, he has a penis, so clearly this is your job. What? No. Fuck you, I'm not doing it. It's your turn. I've wiped plenty of ass over the last 4 years. You go. No. NO. Okay fine. Rock, paper, scissors. Goddamnit! At least you could go get me a washcloth".

Deep breath.... Inhale. Exhale. Om mani padme hum....

Okay buddy, lets get you all cleaned up. Maybe you can explain something to mommy....

Saturday, October 24, 2009

When you are engulfed in flames...

Have you ever had one of those days where nothing seems to go right? It starts off when you step in a pile of dog puke on the floor at three am and then the nasty neighbor calls the police because oh my god your dog barked and then the homeowner's association wants to put a lein on your house because you haven't paid association fees even though you aren't IN the association and the IRS sends you a letter (wrongly) saying you owe $15,000 in taxes for income that you didn't even earn and then a worker at your children's daycare is arrested and charged with felony sodomy and then your grandfather dies and you can't sleep and you can't think straight and sometimes you can't even breathe because holy shit fucking sodomy and you never made your grandfather that cake for his 85th birthday and you are completely convinced that you are losing your fucking mind because you accidentally set the stove on fire and you go to bed and leave the door wide open- not just unlocked, but hanging wide open- and you put the children in the car and forget to buckle their seatbelts and sometimes you drive and have no idea how you got there and then you realize that THIS is what stress really is, THIS is what grief is like and this is how it can completely fuck up your world and you can't write because the words just won't come and so you. just. stop.

But if you are very lucky, you have friends who will send you to the spa and a family that understands lemon pies and chocolate chip cookies instead of words. And then you wake up one day six months later and think you can do this once again... you can find the funny, the sarcastic, the absurd. You think...