Saturday, July 18, 2009

Return of wedgie balls!

I'm concerned this is going to turn into a mom blog, but I guess that's bound to happen since I am with my kid 24/7. Yesterday we had a marvelous time thanks to some fantastic planning on my part. I thought that in the evening after a full day of babysitting I would take him to the worlds coolest toy store to buy a present for one of his friends for his birthday party which is today. Way to procrastinate! The most horrible thing to do to a tired toddler is leave them in a stroller with all the coolest toys surrounding him, just out of reach. I was taking a ridiculously long time deciding what to get him, and trying to hand my kid toys that he couldn't break to occupy him, but naturally, he was losing it. I eventually gave in, and let him out as long as he stayed with me-ya right. I was trying to get him to the book area which meant getting my transportation-obsessed kid away from the toy cars, which led to me trying to picking up a screaming child who has turned into a writhing spaghetti noodle on the floor. As this happens the adorable little mini family with a sweet perky mommy and daddy and their three or so month old daughter walk by smiling and pleased with their sweet little baby who will never ever act like that horrible brat over there who's terrible mom must give him everything he wants! I cant help but say to them, "I remember when he was so small and quiet." They try to smile, but give my kid a sideways glance like "ya right bitch." Other people around me are glaring at me like "why are you buying him toys! Take him away so he will learn!" I want to scream out "We are buying toys for someone else, and I would take him out if this wasn't the last possible fucking second!" Arg. So Megan, the unempathetic salegirl with the montone voice says, "here, give him a sticker." Meaning "can you shut your kid up, my Xanex is wearing off and its two hours until I and get my next drink and Im trying to keep from shooting up the place!" My kid takes the sticker from her, rips it up, throws it on the floor while screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I stick my purchases on the counter tnd throw the money at her. She accidentally forgets to offer me their free girf-wrapping serive, imagine that.
He is happy as we walk back to the bus stop, but then we get onto the overly crowed bus. Me, my, kid, the stoller, and the bag get on, and six seats open up, which was awesome. We sit down, and he starts squirming and fussing which turns into yelling. I assume this is because many people are trying to talk to him and looking at him, and he is over it. It is a long ten minute ride where I can do nothing at all.
I get him home and he is still yelling at me. I go to change his diaper and discover that his poor little tender baby balls are outside his diaper and the area is red and chafed! This is the second time this has managed to happened to the poor kid, and now I feel like complete shit.
Way to go "mom."

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Blah, blah, blah.

I had a feeling from the moment I woke up to my son peeing through his diaper onto my pajamas that today was not going to be "my day." This was confirmed by the previously mentioned child being in the worst mood I have ever seen his in in his life. He usually signs or tells me if he wants more breakfast, and with a relative cheeriness about him. Today, with a spiteful "where's my dinner bitch" look on his face, he SCREAMS to me "MOOOORE MORE MAMA!" But as I go to shovel more oatmeal onto his tray, he slaps the bowl out of my hand and it splatters all over the floor as he shrieks "IM DOOOOONE!" Oatmeal on hardwood floors is not as fun as on carpet, but still fun. He doesn't want to take a bath to hose off the oatmeal, yogurt, and berry juice that is in his hair, nose, ears, left eye, and belly, and then he throws a grand mal tantrum when I get him out. It is at this time that the landlord calls. I love it when people call when my child is carrying on like I'm killing him. He is coming in a few hours to measure sink to put in a new one. This is both good and bad news. It is good because a while ago the sink fell into the cupboard below it because it was being held up by four millimeters of dry-rot for the last 2000 years since the building was built, and he promised me a new sink as soon as he returned from his month long vacation, seven weeks ago. For the time being it was held in place by a board, and the deep side was unusable. I need the deep side to store my dirty dish collection in. Washing dishes as you make them makes sense, but it just isn't my style.
Its bad news because I now have a million things to do in a couple hours, and a grouchy kid who doesn't want me to do anything but wait for him to need me. Sadly, none of the chores I have already done that morning are relevant to the cause.
I despise the monotony of doing chores. So to make things interesting, I write every single little thing I have to do on tiny scraps of paper, ball them up and pull them randomly out of a bag. I have to do the chore I draw no matter how much I hate it. Yes, I'm a whack job, I know, but it helps me, so screw you. So already, I had pulled and completed "clean giant booger that is your fish tank," "you are an evil plant killer," "(Meaning, water the plants. I put bullshit ones in there too, so I can feel like I'm accomplishing a lot.) and "if CPS walked in and saw THAT highchair looking like that..." I like to verbally abuse myself when I clean. But none of these are at all going to help me prepare for the landlord.
First up, I have to de-catify the house. I don't think he could possibly not know that there are four cats living here, but he pretends not to notice, and I don't flaunt them. I'm not supposed to have cats in my building, but they keep coming, and I think given the state of my marriage it is a great time to obtain as many cats as I can possibly get. (And if anybody noticed that I said three before, and four this time, I am fostering a friend's kitty until she finds a new place.) Then I have to do all the dishes , and clean out everything that has accumulated in the big side of the sink that I wasn't supposed to put anything in. Then make it look like I keep things immaculate at all times. Then make the apartment smell like anything other then baby/lizard/cat poo because all the creatures chose TODAY to shit 64 times.
But somehow thanks to my buddy Elmo and some apple slices I was able to pull this off, and have my awesome friend and her adorable toddlers over both for my sanity, and so that the overwhelming amount of ankle biters would assure a quick landlord visit.
And the day got better as it went. I'm getting a granite counter I guess instead of another slapped together-with-lead-paint particle board piece of shit, (a fact that makes me do a tiny, optimistic little George Jefferson strut about when I think about it.) And my son ended our day with a voluntary out-of-the-blue bear hug and a "my Mama!"
I guess I will wait until tomorrow to trade him for a carton of cigarettes or some nice string.:)

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Fish people, move along.

This is not about fish. I would probably love fish if I didn't kill them all within seconds of putting them in my fish tank. This is an actual picture of my aquarium: As you can see, no fish. I've decided to just grow algae in it since that is the only thing that thrives. This will probably be the last you hear about fish on here unless I rub another one out or attempt to describe some abomination I tried to make for dinner.
I am not going to write about the band Phish either, so if you have gotten your feathers ruffled because I spelled it wrong, simmer down. I met a Phish follower named "Koochie," (seriously that's what he said) when I was in high school and he was a creepy dude (kind of a long, weird story,) so I've been too scared to attempt to listen to their music.
Fish is my son's nickname, in case I've gone too far. Are you bored yet?
I'm kind of a stay at home mom, but I babysit. My son is the most adorable, sweet, special creature on the planet, I'm completely in love with him. I've been married for three and a half years, but practically married for almost ten, (to a guy that pretty much just left us for a gorgeous male to female transsexual and to try as hard as he can to get the full alcoholic experience.) I'm a scorpio. I have four bearded dragons, and three cats, (who all have serious psychological problems.) I enjoy knitting hats. I have many lovely friends who are great moms and fun people, ( and are all in their own ways crazy and dysfunctional too and I love them!)
I got drunk one time and asked my best friend to cut my hair like Jeff Foxworthy.
I think that's enough ice breaking. Should anyone ever decide to follow this, I will wonder about you. This is all crap.