Which Child? The Hairy One.

The thing about the title of this blog post is that it could be misunderstood to mean that I am referring to one of the children I gave birth too. What's worse is that if there was a distinction that could made between my two boys, one could very well be described as "the hairy one". Unfortunately, he most likely gets that from me. Well, not me in particular, our heritage. Although, I would like to refer to myself as a mutt, since I have a wide ethnic variety in my heritage, it is tough for me to deny that I am Portuguese. It's not that I would deny it, it's just that well...I couldn't. It's likely that when you see someone with porcelain skin, red hair, and freckles you might think they were Irish. Portuguese probably wouldn't enter your mind at all. I may be going out on a limb here, but when people see me I have a feeling they don't think I'm Irish. I know this for a fact actually because I once almost got into a fist fight with a girl on St. Patrick's Day who insisted that I could not possibly be Irish. I am Irish too, but it wasn't worth the fight since, in her defense, I look more like a Cinco De Mayo kind of girl.

I fit right in where I grew up. I looked like I belonged, with my black hair, dark brown eyes...and my hair. I could technically still have been viewed as a minority in my city in that I didn't speak Portuguese fluently. When I would visit out of state as a child I wondered if I was actually hairier than other girls, or if it was that my hair was so dark that it was more noticeable. I decided on the later...especially because it wasn't even an issue in the summer, since apparently the Portuguese tan well and you could barely see the hair.

When I moved to the city I live in now, I definitely felt like a minority. I had known a few blonds growing up, but there seemed to be an abundance of them in this particular area. I felt a little different...and well...hairy. I was able to get over it when I watched the fair skinned beauties getting torched on the beach in the summer while using baby oil to try to get "darker". I tried to let some of them know that purple did not equal tan, it meant third degree burn in their case. I on the other hand was getting less hairy by the minute as I tanned right up through SPF 15. Take that!

I've lived here for over ten years now and my friends still like to bust me up for being "different". It was funny at first because it was as if none of them had ever seen one of "my kind" before. Last year I even had a friend ask if she could dress up as me for Halloween. I'll admit, I wasn't sure if I should be insulted at first. I secretly prayed that she didn't come dressed like a gorilla and confirm my fear that I was noticeably hairier than "her kind". Then she showed up dressed like this:

I can live with that. She makes me look pretty cute, and thankfully she is unaware of my fear of being referred to as "the hairy one" and spared me a penciled in uni brow, which would certainly drive home the point that I have an abundance of hair. It's also possible that she feared my retaliation. That also works for me since I would have hated replacing her sunblock with baby oil and ruining her summer.

From what I know of Portuguese traits they are considered dominant. I never would have believed you if you told me I would have a light haired, blue eyed, boy. Turns out the mutt in me came forward in the making of my first child. He takes after his Dad. The second child, that takes after me, displays the dominate traits, and when he was born he looked like a baby gorilla. He was so hairy and dark. Even now, I try to scrub what I think is dirt off the back of his neck, only to realize he is tan. His brother needs SPF 50 applied every 2 hours or he may blister.

The actual child I am referring to in this post is not one of the ones I gave birth to. There are a lot of people who refer to their pets as their children and I've come to realize that I am one of them. I don't usually refer to my dog as my child, but I certainly treat him as if he were one of my children at times. I think I may have noticed the parent/child type relationship when I would ask things of other people that at I once I asked about my children. "Did he poop today? Was it diarrhea?" Naturally, if he did have diarrhea I would have to keep him home from daycare. Yes you read that right...I take him to daycare to "socialize" him while we are away from home. Whatever. I haven't gotten to the point of throwing him a birthday party or anything. I do love to entertain though...OK, I did consider it briefly and I can't rule it out in the future quite frankly. At the present time my dog/child is weighing 95lbs, at age one. I know about the dog years crap, but I can't refer to him as being seven. He has been alive for one year, and he is the size of a small adult human. This combination doesn't always work the well, especially now that I am his "owner" and I should be able to control whatever he does. 

When we first got him he was out of control. He would run and knock down small children...and small adults. The first thing we did was have him neutered to help control all the humping, however he was still full of energy and obsessed with other dogs. I would try to walk him to get some of the energy out, but it turns out that the lady he peed on in the pet store was right; a harness promotes pulling. We got him in November and there was snow and ice on the ground all winter. I seriously considered wearing a helmet to walk him because he would run toward anyone he saw. I decided my course of action to "control" this would be to take him to obedience training. When I told my mother I would be bringing the kids to these classes also, she misunderstood and thought I would bring the children so they could learn to be obedient. We laughed for a while...then brainstormed about how profitable an actual obedience school for children could be.

DISCLAIMER: Before you leave a crazy comment about how terrible I am...thinking that children should be obedient and blah, blah, blah. I'm joking. We didn't actually consider starting an obedience school for children. That said, if someone does happen to become profitable at doing such a thing, let the record show...you heard it here first. Also, I am in a Judge Free Zone here. Advice is welcome, I have a suggestion box that can be used for highly opinionated views about what I am doing incorrectly as a parent. I call it my 'Bitch Please' bin. I am also trying to go green with it so I recycle the craziest advice to other mothers so they will not ask for any more help from me.

The first obedience class I brought him to, the children did not attend. The way that class went I may have had a nervous breakdown if I had brought them. My puppy was one of the youngest, yet one of the biggest, and apparently the one in desperate need of obedience. He barked constantly and pulled me around so much when we got there that the owner of the place put us in a little office by ourselves, almost like a time out. While we were in there I tried to get him to look at me and just asked "Why? Why are you doing this and making a spectacle of yourself and....well...me?" It reminded me of the times I was out with my two year old children and they would flip out in a full blown tantrum in the middle of the supermarket. In a familiar way I was looking at the people around me and apologizing as if I somehow had actual control of this scene.

The children joined me for the second class. I debated all day on whether or not to go. I was going to have to try and control this puppy while also trying to keep my kids focused on what they needed to do. At the suggestion of the trainer I brought lots of treats for the puppy. It definitely worked because he did not take his eyes off me the whole class, doing whatever I asked to get a treat. I then realized how much he was like me. Responding to food...and hairy. I then took notes on how I could get this dog to do whatever I desired by offering him food and put it in my business plan for the child obedience school...What?

Turns out we ended up dropping out of obedience classes. I don't need him to be obedient. He just needs for me to be fun, and active, and enjoy having him with us and he responds. He's like a child that way. He loves to be walked and almost seems to ask when he stands at the garage door and looks through it at his leash. When I don't really feel like it, I still try to force myself to go, because I know he needs the exercise, and it sure as hell isn't going to kill me to get some. He makes me walk in the rain, he gets me to run. He gets me to take a few minutes to clear my head . He brings me to places like this;

My kids do this too, when they bring me a book and sit, snuggled up against me, while I read. Sometimes when I have a million things running through my head in the car, they will yell for me to turn up the radio...and I do...and we sing at the top of our lungs without a care for a few minutes. My family reminds me to live every once in a while. This family now includes an additional, giant, hairy child.




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Tales of the Red Rocket

Well...I thought it was going to be a bitch. Two bitches, actually. Nope. I was sort of looking forward to having a couple of females to break up the overload of testosterone in this house. Instead, our new addition is of the male variety. An enormous male. An eight month old, eighty five pound, handsome, stud.

Now, let me start by saying I've never had a male dog before, and certainly never one of this size. I can't recall anyone I know having a male dog, or at least I wasn't introduced until after they were neutered. This new horse puppy, was not neutered by his prior owner. I've gotta admit, I'm a little disturbed...by well...his balls. Well technically, I'm not a fan of any balls. Lets face it, they're not the prettiest things to look at. Luckily, the ones I am around on a daily basis are covered up a majority of the time. Until now. This guy walks around here with his sack dangling around, putting it wherever he likes...and he likes my couch. You'll see how much he likes it later on in this post. Plus, the fact that he is not neutered helps me understand the term "horn dog". He really would like to hump anything with a pulse. That's not true...it doesn't need to have a pulse (there are some men I know that have these same standards). The "red rocket" makes numerous daily appearances around here. My sons think it's hilarious. All day long I am treated to the phrase "Eww! His pink pee-pee is out again!" Lovely. Then they reenact his romps. They will grab each other and thrust crazily while laughing until they cry. Yep, I'm living the dream here people. By the way, take another look at the picture above in the area that harbors the "red rocket"...he is getting ready to make a guest appearance.

The first night we got him, my husband ran out to the store and left him with me...alone. I'm not afraid of dogs at all, but this one was definitely a little intimidating. Plus, I wasn't sure if he would be ornery because of the move so I was sort of avoiding him at first. Then I thought, screw this...this is my house. He is just a big baby after all. I sat on the couch and called him to me. He came to me right away, tail wagging. That's a good sign, I thought. He gave me his paw, and when I took it in my hand he started licking me. Aww, he really is cute. Poor thing, he must be wondering what the hell is going on. After what felt like forever, I put his paw down and took my hand away. He sat in front of me just staring. Then he started looking at me in a creepy kind of way. Like that old guy in the bar that is staring at the group of girls celebrating a 21st birthday. He gave me his paw again and I took it for a second and put it down. He gave it right back. I went to put it back down and he put his other paw on the back of my shoulder. What the hell? The next thing I knew he was standing on his hind legs and I was staring down the barrel of the "red rocket". I pushed him away from me with both hands, stood up, and jumped onto the couch. Dammit, this asshole just tried to violate me! Then I took a second to look at myself and started dying laughing.

He was better after a week or so. The "red rocket" made less appearances and he seemed to be settling in nicely. That is until what I will now refer to as the "incident". All of a sudden he seemed to be getting mildly destructive when we would leave the house for prolonged periods of time. He would chew on a shoe a little, but didn't shred it to pieces or anything. He would rearrange my rugs a bit. That is, until this happened....

That is my couch people! The one I told you he liked to rub his balls all over, well he REALLY tried to make it his bitch. Now I don't know what the hell to do with him. I tried to crate him once and he literally destroyed the crate. He is all signed up for obedience training and doggy daycare (that's right, I said doggy daycare) but he can't start either of them until he loses his family jewels.

In the meantime, I figured I would take him to one of those chain pet stores and try to find some gadgets that might help me get him under control. I walked in, well actually he dragged me in, and I was immediately greeted by a friendly employee. She was nauseatingly nice while I told her about some of the troubles I was having with him. She informed me that the trainer was in and if I wanted we could go speak to her. Why the hell not? I had to practically drag him through the store because there were some other dogs there that I'm sure he was dreaming of mounting. Finally, we reached her and the first thing she said was "You know, a harness encourages pulling. You should be using a different type of leash if you want to have any control over him" Well thanks bitch. I'll keep that in mind. She then proceeded to ask me a battery of questions and every time I would answer she would start shaking her head saying "No, No...you shouldn't do that" After a few minutes I'd had enough of this know it all. Apparently so had the dog because he lifted his leg and proceeded to pee all over her shoes. Usually I can contain myself. I've had a lot of practice restraining myself when my kids say or do something inappropriate, but I couldn't this time. I laughed and asked her which aisle the dog treats were in. He was going to get some right in the store after that!

I guess I'm not a fan of being judged as a pet owner any more than I am of being judged as a mother. No matter what grief I have to put up with from this beast, I'm going to love him and he will have a happy, healthy life here with us. Anyone that thinks otherwise better invest in some plastic to protect their shoes!

Feel Free To Judge Me

Mother of the year? Nope, not me. In fact, throughout my mothering career I have been the Susan Lucci among those in the running for this impossible to obtain award. But, I'm cool with it, and so are my kids. As a matter of fact, I rock as a mom...and I am quoting my children when I say this. It may have to do with the fact that the judgement which is passed upon me (obviously by those who have won this award in the past) is wasted on someone who doesn't give a rat's ass what they think. What am I doing with a rat's ass you ask? I'm not sure, but I do know that I am not giving it up.

Don't get me wrong, I admire what so many moms are able to accomplish with their kids...especially when it comes to nutrition. My kids suck to feed. Oh sure, it was all fine and dandy when they couldn't speak yet, or throw offensive foods off their highchairs. I could feed them whatever I wanted. Plenty of fruits, veggies, and protein. Now, forget it. They are small versions of their father whose main staples consist of pasta and pizza. He's about as plain an eater as they come. Mr. "I don't want any 'chunky things' in my pasta sauce" and god forbid there be a vegetable on his plate. Me, on the other hand, I will try anything... and I mean anything. My husband probably wishes I was as experimental in the bedroom. I even prefer to try things before I know what they are, just in case knowing what it is may ruin the experience. I'm back to talking about food here people, not my sex life...dirty, dirty minds.

Here is where the judgemental part comes in for a lot of people. I feed my kids whatever they ask for. Period. Of course I don't allow cake and cookies and such for dinner, but a majority of their dinners consist of chicken nuggets and french fries. I've even gone so far as to by a deep fryer which cooks those things up in a matter of 2 minutes. I'm going to lose my mind if one more person tells me that I am making more work for myself and that they should be eating whatever I make for my husband and I to eat. Right. If I tried to enforce that rule my days would be spent listening to hours of moaning and complaining that they don't want to eat what I made. They are stubborn little shits (they get that from me) and they would sit there until the cows came home. Yes, I also have cows that come home when things take forever to happen. Then before they went to bed they would look at me with sad little eyes and say "I'm hungry". I wouldn't be able to stand sending them to bed that way so I would cook something for them to eat, two hours after I made dinner. So you see...judges...this would actually make more work for me. Feel free to leave comments and motherly advice as to how I can change this, which I will promptly delete and mentally file under "Who Does This Bitch Think She Is?"

I read about all these mother's who are able to feed their kids tofu, whole wheat pasta, and sugar free everything. No doubt these are the same mothers that gained 15 pounds during their pregnancy while they did yoga up until the day they gave birth. I was sabotaging my award chances right from the get go, as I slept for most of my pregnancies or sat on the couch with a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon.

Here are some other moments that tainted my relationship with the judges:

- I've been know to pull over to the side of the road to have them exit the car, leave their door open as a type of shield, and pee

- I've taken them to see a band and brought them home well past what would be known as a "respectable" bed time

- Occasionally I skip an evening bath or bedtime story

- I once forgot that my sons tooth fell out and the tooth fairy did not arrive. In my defense, he lost it in the middle of the night. Therefore my story that the tooth fairy had already planned her trip by the time it came out was sufficient.

- I reward them with time to play video games

- I've taught them the rules of a few "drinking" games and allowed them to play with water rather than alcohol

Overall, I've come to terms with the fact that I will never even be considered for mother of the year. I don't really care either. The bottom line is that I love my children more than anything in this world and I would do anything for them. I am here-by bowing out of contention. Please continue to feel free to keep judging me though...I don't give a flying fuck. And what is that? Don't know, but I store them right next to the rat's asses.