Bad Dad Monday: When The Kids Are Quiet 

This week’s Bad Mom Monday is brought to you by my children’s dad.  This is Part 2 of how my week went last week.  To see Part 1, click here

My 6 year old son has been diagnosed with ODD (Oppositional Defiance Disorder) and ADHD. I lovingly refer to it as an official diagnosis of Little Asshole Syndrome. We’ve known about Monkey’s unique personality quirks since he was a little over two years old, and his reactions to transitions were rage-packed.  

This kid is so intense that he was kicked out of preschool.  They definitely don’t call him my clone for nothin’, because I have my own reputation for giving my poor parents a run for their money.  My sister almost never existed because they didn’t want to risk another me.  

Because of Monkey’s behavior we’ve been trying all sorts of methods to help him work on his social and emotional skills. This also helps us work with my almost 5 year old daughter, who may also have an ADD diagnosis, or, at the least, some sort of sensory issues. (Her method of traveling from one space to another is twirling.)

Now, if kept separate from other kids, especially each other, my kids are relatively decent little humans, with age appropriate reactions and behaviors. But after they get dropped off at school or if they are on the same floor as each other at home, my children turn into demon spawn who eat the souls of quiet happy people.  (Because there are no quiet happy people in this house.)

Then we were invited to a showing of the 1,2,3 Magic DVD during Abalone’s preschool parent night. Before the showing I was pretty damn pessimistic. Because I tell these kids to be quiet a lot.  Lets lower our voices, inside voices please, goddamn it shutthefuckup and stop arguing! 

So no way was some lame ass 1,2,3 counting thing going to work for my favorite little assholes.  

But it did. And it has. And Monkey has had a lot of good days at school. Abalone is still twirling but she’s stopped throwing her face into the couch.

And they’re quiet.   

A little too quiet.  

….way too quiet.  

Why can’t I hear the kids? Are they whispering up there to each other? Shit.  

Abalone has no bangs.  

Oh boy was Jesse mad.  

And when he asked her why she would do that?  

“Because me brother showed me how.”

Well, shit, kid, I can dig it.  But don’t tell your father.  


It’s Only Fun Until Someone Loses An Eye

Lately I’ve been posting about fun stuff and lots of laughs. And I’ll tell you the truth, I have this fear that I won’t be able to deliver something to all of you that’s full of laughs. I’m usually in bed each night thinking about how I will write the next Sunday’s post. Luckily, these past couple of weeks, I’ve had things fall into my lap and saw an opportunity to blog about it. 

And this week I’ve had two things fall into my lap and you might view them as laughable or pitiful. Part 1 is today, part 2 will be Bad DAD Monday.  

If you get the heebie jeebies from eyeball talk, you should probably stop reading now.  

Three weekends ago my Morkie got out, for the billionth time.  (This is why he’s microchipped.)

Woo, without a haircut
Woo, with haircut
We got him back within an hour thanks to my mom’s big mouth, but when he came back his right eye was bulging and swollen.  He had some burrs stuck in the fur around his eye and so I figured he ran through some brush and irritated the eye.  We got him a dog eye wash and some Terramycin. The swelling went down and there was no more snot goo coming out of his eye. 

After a week I noticed a yellow marble looking thing inside of his eyeball so we took him to the vet.  At that point the vet said he’s likely blind in that eye.   His cornea is in great condition but the marble thing is his retina detached from within the eye. 

Then we had to take him to a specialist and get an ultrasound to find out the cause.  It could have been due to a tumor or to an impact but we and they don’t know.  The specialist performed an ultrasound and said that Woo’s eye is definitely blind and could bulge out of his head at any moment because the antibodies in him are treating the detached retina like a foreign object and attacking it.  

They had to remove the eye.  

Here’s Woo just after surgery. 

The swelling is down a lot since Friday and they sent the eye to WSU to dissect it and I really want a video of the dissection. But he’s bouncing all over the place as if he never had surgery and once the hair grows back it won’t be noticeable.  

I still don’t know if it’s cancer or not.  We’ll get the histology report back at some point but it’s Memorial Day weekend here in the states so who knows when that will be.  But I’ll keep the blog updated when I find out.  

I also have a call into them about what if a strand of hair grows backwards into his eye socket and twirls around and around until it tickles his brain and then he turns into a psycho dog?  It could happen.  

But every great battle scar deserves some sort of commendation so we’ve nicknamed him One Eyed Woo-wee.  

Bad Mom Monday: Artwork 

Bad Mom Monday: a weekly post about why I might be a bad mom.  
My son, Monkey, likes to take photos and draw.  Today I shall leave you with very few words and let the pictures pretty much speak for themselves.  And you really all should get your minds out of the gutter.  That is a MOTORCYCLE and a NERF GUN.  Geesh.  

Top 3 Inventions For Lazy Moms

This week I’ve been thinking about great inventions that were created due to laziness.  Like Poo-Pouri, for those too lazy to courtesy flush; or Snackeez, for those too lazy to wash extra dishes; or The Snuggie, for those too lazy to turn their robe around.  

I’ve come up with three inventions that I don’t have the time/money to market research or create.  <disclaimer:  I’m fully aware that these things might be impossible. Don’t be a dick and point that out to me.  You could just suspend your disbelief for a bit.  Mmmkay?>

1.   The Toilet Snuggie.  I don’t know how it works, but, remember how I said I live in an old house?  Old houses can be cold.  And at 2 a.m. on a cold tile floor and an ice cold toilet, a Snuggie that will keep me warm (especially when I fall asleep on the toilet), won’t fall into the toilet, and has wiping access, would be so lovely.

2.  Memory Foam wrapped vacuum cords.  I’ll tell you, this lazy mom does not like to wrap up vacuum cords.  The damn floors are just going to get dirty again, what’s the point of putting away the vacuum. (Maybe this is another reason why Wanda hates me – she has no place to call her own and she gets no privacy.)  So when I have to walk to the bathroom at 2 a.m. And I step on Wanda’s cord, and I yell “Sonofamotherfucker!” and it echoes through my previously mentioned old house, my husband might fall out of bed and/or, my Great Dane might come see what’s wrong, knock me over (naked), and stand on my head, causing more yelling.  So soft cushy cord wraps might be neat and very helpful.

3.  Cuss Word Foreign Language Headphones.   This might be a shocker to you, I cuss.  A lot less than I used to but not enough for my daughter not to ask if various words are bad, like “beer”, “dude”, and “gotyousonbitch”.  You might also be shocked to learn that I grew up in the SF Bay Area and got to drive in cities like Oakland, LA, and Long Beach.  I tend to yell at other drivers within the bubble of my own sound proof vehicle.  When the kids were very young I stopped yelling “asshole” and switched to “idiot”.  You’ll have to trust me (because I’m not going to post the video) when I say that one day we watched our 18 month old son pretending to drive and yelling at the make believe cars in front of him, messing with the radio to find the best song.  Idiot was his choice insult.  

So wouldn’t it be the most productive if they invented a smart car with foreign language technology?   There would be drop down headphone and every time my pupils dilated or my heart rate went up, the car would know that “fuck” would be coming out of my mouth soon and the kids would put on the headphones. They would hear something productive like classical music or a foreign language lesson.  In my car, they’d be fluent in Japanese in two weeks.    The headphones would drop down like oxygen masks on airplanes and a no smoking style light would light up.  Except this would be a red light with a big F with a circle and a line through it.    

There’s a principle in permaculture called “stacking functions”. Now, two of my inventions involve going to the bathroom and maybe they could be bundled together in a cool gift box with safari colors to add value to what the consumer purchases.  But those foreign language headphones could definitely stand alone as an awesome product.  I’d personally market it to homeschool teachers, might come in handy when they’re late for co-op or if they’re planning a trip to Mexico to immerse themselves in the language.  Who needs a language dictionary when your kids can translate?  But don’t let me create the program.  I’d probably teach kids pendeja or cabron and some family will wind up in Mexican jail.  

I think I’ll need everyone to sign a waiver  before they’ll be allowed to buy my inventions.  

Bad Mom Monday 

Bad Mom Monday:  a weekly post about why I might be a bad mom.  

This was a recent conversation with the kids while on our way to Nana’s. 

Monkey brought up “nuts”.  Yes, those nuts.  Now, I make a point of using correct biological words for all body parts but somehow his father, my husband, still managed to teach him the fundamentals of guy talk and at some point during their primitive garage get-togethers has taught my son “nuts” and “balls”.  I’m pretty sure there’s a piss bucket in the garage too.  (And that’s a whole ‘nother story about why my daughter is angry that she can’t go pee in the garage.)

So it went like this.  We heard the DJ make a joke.  “Why didn’t the skeleton go on the roller coaster?  Because he didn’t have any guts.”

Monkey:  He didn’t have any nuts!?  Hahaha. 

Me:  No, buddy.  He said guts. 

Monkey: Oh. 

Me:  Monkey, do you know what part of the body are nuts?

Monkey: Duh, you’re penis.  

And then we got to Nana’s and started to hop out of the van.  That’s when Abalone said:  Me like to eat nuts. 

And Monkey got a horrified look on his face, with a dash of confusion.  

Me:  No, buddy.  She means like peanuts, or almonds.  The nuts you eat.  

And thats when my husband fell apart, doubled over, and could no longer contain himself.  

Vacuum Mafia

This is Wanda.
Wanda Dyson.
(Yup, that’s a photo of my dirty vacuum)

So named because I can hear her yelling at me in true Wanda Sykes fashion. “I know you’re not going to make me suck that!” (I don’t know if WS actually said that, exactly, but you can pretend in your head like she did.)

WD doesn’t like me. I make her vacuum weeks’ worth of dog hair pushed into the corners of the bedroom and hidden behind the doors. And I excuse my behavior by asserting that I live in an old house. It needs old stuff in it. Weeks-old dog hair IS old.
I make her vacuum up other gross things, like cat litter. And things she hates, like rabbit hay. She hates hay because the long strands get stuck in her hose and Wanda loses suction.
Wait! Dysons don’t lose suction.
Yes, that Dyson commercial lied – and now I’m going to get sued for libel. In my defense, the commercials said “never loses suction”. And it does lose suction. Well, not completely all the way, no. But it loses some suction.

Who here loves a good sucking? Raise your hand. Don’t be shy.

You want that Lego toy sucked just as much as you want the cat fur sucked. And none of it gets sucked when WD gets a throat full of hay.

Half sucked, sort of sucked, is like blue balls for housekeepers. Those poor housekeepers, they just want the task done. Nobody wants blue balls.* And we all know that rush we get when the hose releases its load and we’ve got some amazing suction once again. Ecstasy. AmIright?

But nothing sucks more than a Wanda that won’t suck.

She’s slowly toying with me. One day she’ll suck like a seasoned whore. I can tell when she’s sucking best just from the sounds she makes. She’s loud, mad. And then other days her loud noises are only whispered sweet nothings. Do I look like I need a nothing sucking? Probably not.

So, now, WD is refusing to do her required sucking on demand and I’m growing weary of her crappy work ethics. I’ve complained to other management here at Chateau Jeans and they stare at me in bewilderment. But my complaints have been overheard by WD and I think she’s unionizing.

I drove into work this week and you can imagine my confusion when I was greeted by two more floor cleaners waiting for me in the parking lot. Initially I thought that they belonged to the janitor but then I remembered that he sucks (not in a WD sort of way) and can’t even clean the toilets. And then my brain wondered if the landscaping dudes had left them but then the voice of my husband asked me if I honestly thought they were planning on vacuuming the grass. Shut up, voice of husband.

Did some pissed off teenagers drop them off? They wanted to be rid of chores forever?! It’s a good plan on paper.

Oh oh, it’s a Jets vs. Sharks thing, right? When you’re a Jet you’re a Jet all the way. Swiffer Jet? Shark Vacuum? No?

So then I realized these had to be associates of WD. And they were here to do her bidding. She’s pissed that I’ve been abusing her, demanding that she work.

These two were floor cleaning Union stewards. AKA her pimp and bodyguard (canister guard?).
I parked, and got out of the car. Then I did what any same person would do: walked quickly to the door and peeked around the corner from inside. They hadn’t moved. Whew, I was safe.

No one in the office bullpen mentioned the vacuums that day. Maybe they never noticed? Maybe they did and like to fuck with me (they would). Or maybe it was just me who saw Vacuum Pimp and I really am going nuts.

I went about my work day and forgot about them. When I left work they were waiting for me, melting in the sun. I hoped they dropped they’re shanks somewhere because there was no way that I was going to miss taking a photo of random vacuums in the parking lot.

I’m sure Wanda is going to blame me for the Great Vacuum Melt of 2016, and refuse to suck when it’s time to vacuum the front porch the next time I don’t feel like sweeping. Whatever, bitch. You’ll suck it and you’ll like it.

Two days later there was a murmur in the office about the vacuums. There was only one left. I think they got into a turf war with some mops and the second vacuum was likely tossed over the bridge.

The problem wasn’t that one was gone, the problem was that one had somehow made it inside and now I might have to go into witness protection.

* This does not include my BDSM peeps. They might actually want blue balls.