Category: Family
Want to yell at your kids? Make them laugh instead
Patience is not my virtue. I am actually pretty notorious for being impatient, snappy, and an overall dickhead when I feel as though people are wasting my time with their stupidity. This is why it surprises everyone, including myself, that I have a seemingly unending well of patience for my child.
I was reading Lauren’s post on yelling, and it made me think about a few recent instances in which my kid has made me want to rip my hair out. They were your typical childhood situations: we were running late for school/work, and he just Couldn’t. Get. His. Damn. Shoes. On. Or, he lost at Candyland and threw a fit. Both times, I could feel my temperature rising. But neither time I yelled. Instead, I’ve found two things that work about 90% of the time: make one or both of you laugh, or just give him a hug until you feel your blood pressure lower.
On Yelling, Because I am Really Good at It. Alternate Title: I Need to Be Better at More Things
Everyone knows Mona was the boss.
So. About 6 weeks ago, I ceased yelling at my son. I’m a champion yeller. I learned it from my parents. They are also champion yellers. My parents never, not once, raised a hand to me. (My mom, I think, pulled my hair once.) Instead, they yelled so they did not beat me. That sounds terrible to say, but in retrospect, I was a Shit. Not one to cause trouble at school or at friends’ houses, I saved my smart mouth for my family. I knew what I was doing. And yelling helped them keep their sanity. So when I had my son, and he was old enough to understand PISSED OFF, clearly, the best route to discipline and express my displeasure was to rattle the fucking walls. Continue reading
The Weight of Your Words
“You should really eat to live, not live to eat.”
My step-mom said this to me when I was around nine or ten. Before this, my body was something that propelled me on the playground. It was for fun and function. It never occurred to me that I had something to be ashamed of, or that food and eating was something I should feel bad about. In hindsight, this comment was probably not intended to be hurtful, and I’m sure it was promptly forgotten.It’s certainly not the worst thing ever said to me under the guise of helpful parenting. The problem is, those words were the first shots in the war against my body that has lasted for twenty plus years. Continue reading
Laugh Your Damn Pants Off: Midgets
The inaugural LYDPO post is from Denise, who, due to recently moving, isn’t able to post herself. This story just about made Diet Coke come out of my nose and is the inspiration for this new, sporadic feature.
While walking behind a fairly short gentleman (maybe 5’3″) on the beach today Bryce screams “LOOK! A MIDGET! CHASE HIM!” The guy whirled around and I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped and Bryce took off running…after a pigeon! Thank you Lord. The gentleman and I were happily able to pretend like that didn’t just happen and hopefully next time Bryce will remember to call that bird a pigeon instead of a midget.
Dr. Awkward
As mentioned in previous posts, male lady doctors are, in my experience, rather uncomfortable to communicate with. Maybe it’s just me being a lesbian man hater, but this dude clearly has no understanding of my parts or their feelings.
We’ve been monitoring ovulation daily. The tests we are using are pretty fancy little pee sticks. According to the instructions, typically, the results will show two days of high fertility indicated by a flashing smiley face. This, typically, will be followed by two days of peak fertility indicated by a solid smiley face.
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Hey, Jealousy!
As a kid, there are easy lessons and the hard lessons. For me, the simplest of principles was empathy. The golden rule made more sense to me than phonics, which is saying a lot, because HI! spelling bee champ all the way. I was so into equality that I played public defender and prosecutor on the playground like I was getting paid. I meted out justice in schoolyards across the country like I was Julio if Paul Simon was actually singing about a crazy case of third grade gossip stemming from your pal’s half-tried attempt at a spin-the-bottle game after the track meet. I LOVE EQUALITY. Do unto others, at a very early age, resonated with me as a deeper recognition that it is our responsibility to keep things even. And I wanted everything to be even. Always.
Unfortunately, this love for fairness came (as all great things do) with a price. My fatal flaw, even during my campaign of childhood rights-fighting? Jealousy. Continue reading
A Short List of Terrible Nicknames I Have For My Son
Alternately titled: Get The Stink-Eye At Kroger, Guaranteed!
This is by no means a complete list, but here are some of the nicknames that fly out of my mouth when I refer to my child. I love him whole-heartedly, and I hope that he will forgive me for having some of THE WORST nicknames ever for him. Continue reading
Am I Not Worrying Enough?
So, today on the ol’ Facespace, a friend of mine posted that she’d witnessed at Target a woman who left her 8-ish-year-old-daughter alone in the girls’ department while she went to go, presumably, take a leak. My friend posed a question essentially asking if she was paranoid, or was there a crack in the woman’s judgment? After reading the comments responding to this post, I have to ask: What the fuck is wrong with people? The majority of people commenting said something to the effect of, “No! You’re not paranoid! I never let my children out of my sight ever because bad people!” Which, okay. I don’t agree, but you do you, and you know your kids better than I do! BUT! One person responded that he thought the mother should have her “uterus revoked” for committing such a heinous act of terrible parenting, clearly on par with Joan Crawford or Michael Lohan. This poor woman who NONE OF US KNOW at Target is now being judged, like, way harsh, Tai. Clearly, I don’t think this was my friend’s intent in posing this question on Facebook. Sometimes parents like to gauge where they stand. And, for the record, I don’t think my friend is paranoid for not considering this sort of thing whilst shopping for facewash, Oxiclean, a dvd copy of Meatballs, and a new sundress. If someone doesn’t feel that his or her child is ready to be alone in Target, then that’s that. But was the woman who went pee really deserving of all this bullshit? (Hint: NO.)
Baby Dreams
The other night I had a dream that I was pregnant. We were so happy, so uncontrollably excited. We had just found out and had gathered my family to share the news. I can still feel the nerves and joy fighting in my stomach. I woke up and disappointment flooded me; it’s still lingering. The next day I started my period. It felt like a defeat, expected but crushing nonetheless.
I know that if I was pregnant, part of me would be ecstatic, but I’d mostly be freaking out. Money, space, time, money, money, money – all of the usual practicalities of expanding a family. But there’s also the boys to worry about, how would they react, adapt. And me. I have some health issues, both physically and mentally. I’d probably have to go off of several of my medications. I can’t imagine that would end well for anyone. My biggest (to this date irrational) fear is post-partum psychosis – that step past depression that ends with something very very very bad happening. It’s terrifying to know you have that potential locked in your mind.
I get asked if we’re planning on having a baby at some point. I never know how to answer. I say no because it’s easier. The long answer is: I probably can’t, at least without medical intervention of some sort. That was a horrible thing to hear from a doctor years ago, when I knew I didn’t want children. Now? It rolls around my mind continually. And I can’t take birth control. We’ve lived together for a year, not trying, but not not trying and it hasn’t happened, so I’ve dropped that “probably.” It makes every period a reminder that I’m broken in some way, which is a whole other bag of crazy that doesn’t need to be opened right now.
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Losing Baby Weight Is A Bullshit Endeavor Sometimes
So, when I was in the middle of pregnancy and had finally gotten to the point where I had to put away all of my regular clothes and exist solely in Target and H&M’s approximation of semi-attractive maternity clothes, I convinced myself that a few short weeks after giving birth would find me sliding my skinny jeans back on and wearing all those cute tiny tops and adorable dresses that I lived in before I got knocked up. Never mind that there was an entire month where I ate nothing but candy. Never mind that my only weird pregnancy cravings was the giant soft pretzels covered in butter and salt. Never mind reality. Continue reading
Put Your Damn Pants On! 