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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I Don't Need A Nickname

I've come to the realization that I actually cause Lazy to happen. It could almost be considered a "condition" around here sometimes. The worst part is that it took me until recently to step back and see what was happening. I made a conscience effort to take a look at what I actually do to cause it. Most of the time the things I do are so irrelevant, that the people I do them for would never consider themselves Lazy for not doing them. Frankly, I don't blame them. I am an Enabler. I've never had a nickname in my life, but if there is one out there that applies at this point, that would be it.

I would first like to blame my own Lazy on most of this. It is possible that this affliction spread from me to them. It just so happens that most days start off bad, simply because I procrastinate when it comes to starting it. Hopefully this isn't contagious also. Lazy, I believe spreads through the fact that I am a Snooze Button Whore. Please, do not decide that this is a more applicable nickname for me...After all, I have impressionable young children and I would prefer to avoid having them call me a Whore.

If you were to follow my day you would realize that I have very limited options for a nickname. Here's how one might go:

I start my day after pushing the snooze button on numerous devices. You read that right, I like the snooze button so much that I set 3 alarms at slightly different intervals on 3 separate devices. I hit snooze on each one at least once, and possibly twice on a couple of them. This is where the Whore aspect creeps in. I like the snooze button so much that I took on multiple partners.

Back to my day...

Today my day started as I ran into the bathroom. I knew things were going to need to move swiftly this morning to get the kids ready in time for the bus. Curse you snooze button!...Call Me. My dog was hot on my heels. I turned on the water for a shower, got undressed, and sat on the toilet. As soon as my ass hit the seat my youngest son walked in, rubbing his eyes and mumbling something about a school day. "Yes, it's a school day" I said as I quickly grabbed some toilet paper to cover my chest. What?...I'm surprised he didn't tell me he liked my shirt...Instead, he started screaming that he didn't want to go to school, stormed out of the room, and slammed the door. Awesome...he's in a good mood. No doubt he will be a lover of the snooze button when he gets older.

I guess this is as good a time as any to point out that a decision to be Lazy and stay in my bed for "just a few more minutes"...causes the constant need the rest of the day for me to multi-task. I've always been proud of being able to do so many things at once, but lately I've come to the conclusion that I complete a majority of these tasks in a way that would be described by many as "mediocre". I am a half-ass, multi-tasker (An additional nickname option I suppose).

I was about to step in the shower when I noticed my dog looking a little fidgety, circling about looking to see where he would go to pee if it came down to it. Shit...OK... I'll be quick, I promise puppy. I grabbed my razor off the counter, and saw my toothbrush. Yep, I can cram that in too. I put toothpaste on it and jumped into the shower. I was going to perform multi tasks, not only at the same time, but in a window of time that was quickly closing.

The short version of this is that I exited the shower having only shaved one leg...and with a new found liking of brushing my teeth while in the shower. I know...I didn't understand it before either, but...it turns out that if you aren't a priss when it comes to brushing your teeth, constantly wiping spittle off your chin...and yes, I would picture you using the word "spittle"...shower tooth brushing can be OK. I personally like to scrub them frantically while using my other hand to shave a leg. Well, it turns out that when the water rinses the froth off your chin, it travels down the front of your body, leaving you feeling minty fresh on your front half for a good part of the day. Who knew??

Oh right...back to my day...

I didn't take much time to decide whether or not I was going to abandon the shaving mission. By now my poor puppy was practically crossing his legs to go out. I ran down the stairs, still not dressed, since that skirt was out of the question with this one shaved leg. I ran back up the stairs, threw on a bathrobe, and went to the kids room. I now realize that I dressed them like they were still 6 months old. I mean...I didn't lay them down on the floor like I was changing a baby, but I physically stood them up, undressed them, and put their clothes on. I'm not sure why I was so alert to all this but I even noticed that I would tap each leg and they would lift it up, in and out of their clothes. Unreal. In my defense, they would need to wake up 5 hours before school started in order to be dressed on time if I didn't help. Even if I was not a Whore...for the snooze button that is.

Now we are on to Breakfast, and I am finally dressed, because I dressed while walking down the stairs. Turns out this multi-task was successful on both fronts. I got their breakfast ready and as soon as I put it down in front them, I say "Eat". I repeat the work "Eat" every five minutes or so until they are finished. I do this because...and I have tested it....if I don't they will drift off and think of something to ask or talk about and actually "forget" to eat. I need to verbally guide them to keep the pace right for catching the bus. I then have them brush their teeth, which surprisingly, they do without guidance...however, at some point intervention is required. Water can be distracting. Then I tell them to put on their shoes. I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but my kids wear Velcro shoes, simply because tying of shoes in the morning would completely come between me and my snooze button. Go ahead...say it...Whore. I'm not proud. I'm also a little confused why I was embarrassed to reveal that, but not to discuss the whole shower tooth brushing thing.

In the end, my Lazy, causes them to appear Lazy, as they walk out the door just as the bus is rounding the corner down the street. The theme to Chariots of Fire plays through my head as they run in slow motion to make it to the bus stop. I stand in the door and lift my arms in victory. It is then that I realize my stairs/dressing multi task was, in fact, an epic fail.  I somehow, half assed it, and neglected to put on a shirt. The neighbors look on while trying to shield the eyes of their children. I'm sure that my nickname will come from an event like this....

Or, it will just come right from my blog. Given the number of times the words Lazy and Whore were mentioned here, I have come to the conclusion that I would like to remain without a nickname for the remainder of my days...

My Easy Button Is Broken

It may just need new batteries. Or, it's more likely that my kids simply removed the batteries and put them in one of their toys. It is also quite possible that I have completely worn the thing out. If that is the case, I believe the burn out was caused by the number of times I used it in my early twenties. Life sure was easy then. It's funny though, I don't ever remember using it then. Maybe it was in my trunk with something set on top of it, pressing it constantly. There are times during the day when I throw out a prayer that my kids have easy buttons that I could just "borrow" while mine is not working but, so far no luck. As a matter of fact, I think maybe they are using mine and wearing it out on me. Whatever the case may be, it definitely does not seem to be working at the present time.

Here is an example of how something seemed easy, but turned out to be very difficult.The other day I decided I would take the dog for a walk. Perhaps my misstep came in verbalizing what I was thinking of doing.

"Can I come Mommy?"
"Sure"
"I want to come too"
Umm, OK, sure...
"Yeah, we'll both come with you...and we can ride our scooters"
Hold up...the Easy is rapidly exiting from my original plan.

Well, alright then, lets take this traveling circus on the road.

As I stepped outside I realized that Mother Nature was going to rip the easy out of this also, by claiming to be 'Spring' and actually being a cold bitch. Obviously, I didn't verbalize that...I just like to swear here. My kids are not fluent readers yet...plus, they would never think that anything their Mom was writing is something they would want to read.

I told the boys I needed to run back in and grab some gloves. I may have left out some additional information, or instructions like "Stay right there, don't move, I'm going to take two seconds I know exactly where they are", but I figured it would take just as long for me to say that as it would to get my gloves. It was enough time for them, apparently, to take off. I walked out the door and they were gone. My heart fell into my stomach and instantly scenes of them being abducted ran through my mind. Not because I feared that would happen in my neighborhood at all, but because of how quickly they disappeared.
I started running in the direction I guessed they may have headed and quickly realized I was right. I relaxed a bit and mentally scolded myself for a second.
You HAD to go straight to an abduction, didn't you?
What?! It happens!
As I got closer to them I noticed my five year old going into a neighbor's driveway. No big deal. I started to pick up my pace to catch up with them. When I got to the corner a car came to the intersection heading toward the driveway he had just gone up, and stopped.
"Stay there" I yelled
Just as the car started moving again my five year turned around and started flying down the driveway.
What the hell!!
"STOP!! STOP!!"
Thank goodness, the driver saw him and stopped well before getting near him. Meanwhile, here he comes with a huge smile on his face having a great time, oblivious to the car even being there. I love that my street has hardly any traffic, but it's a moment like that when you realize it could be a bad thing....Or...that you are going to have to remind them every single day that they need to watch for cars.
As he got closer to me I was trying to keep my cool and told him for the 23,764th time that he needs to watch for cars. He just smiled his biggest smile back and said "Wow, did you see that mommy? That was fun!"
"Yep, it was a blast"
Then...I knew it was coming and started to cringe.
I was about to be on the receiving end of a verbal assault, from no doubt a mother herself, as she was driving carefully down a street that tends to have lots of kids around.
"Is that your son?"
I'm ashamed to admit that for a brief second I thought... what would happen if I say no?
I would have an opportunity to gain some advice from a veteran. We could talk about this child's mother and what rookie mistake she was making. Yeah, that's it.
Crap. He called me out already.
"Yes...he's mine"
"Your lucky I was going slow. He went right in front of my car"
"Yes, I appreciate your driving slowly in this area. Sometimes the kids don't pay attention"
What I decided to keep to myself was: 'Certainly, you can't believe that as I was getting ready to leave the house to walk and I said "Hey guys, do mommy a favor...when I go inside, take off while I'm not looking, and ride your scooters in front of any cars that may come down the street". I assure you this wasn't the conversation that took place. As a matter of fact I have now realized how much instruction I left out in speaking with them. I apologize. They make terrible decisions sometimes. By the way, my plan was to walk the dog. My parenting mishaps today were a) saying I wanted to go for a walk and b) having cold hands. I didn't want to say no to them, but it would have been much easier if I was just walking the dog. What?! Why am I crying?! I don't know!!'
I'm glad I kept this as my internal dialog. I think she may have noticed the distressed look on my face because her look softened. She even smiled and said "I know how it is...It's not easy"
Ain't that the truth.
It's possible that I used up all of my easy when I was a child. No doubt my mother played a huge roll in making things easy for me when I was young (Hey, maybe SHE was using my easy button. That's fine, I'm sure she needed it, I'll let it slide)
Maybe life isn't meant to be easy. Maybe the hard things in life are what make it worth while. Hey, now that I think of it, I believe we were discussing that at "Girls Night Out" the other night. OR, maybe that was a reference to somethings else... never mind, I'll save that for my next blog.

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.