Tag Archives: parenting humor

Irish for a Day

15 Mar

 

A couple of years ago, the hubs started learning how to play the bag pipes. At the time he started, the vision of kilts, kilt checks and my son running around in his underwear attempting to play on his dad’s precious practice chanter were not at all a reality or something I thought could be a reality. Nor did I realize what being a “member of the band” would be around St. Patrick’s Day. It’s been a parade kind of couple of weeks and I’m excited to see him blowing like a champ!  (Yep, I went there!)

So my experience at this weekend’s local St. Patrick’s Day parade was my first ever.  I’m Italian (Nutalian as my son puts it) and I’m not a big parade person. I had no idea what was in store for me while trying to support the man of the house.

The kids were so excited to see their Dad in action. Little did I know that “in action” meant chicks stopping him left and right for picture within the first 10 minutes. And you know what else it meant. Lots of drunk people.

We finally left our celebrity to line up and wait for his big entrance. The parade was all sorts of amazing. Beaded necklaces, “gold” coins and candy flying everywhere.  We got to see him up first which was fun. In the spirit of how reserved he is the following text convo ensued between me and a friend:

Me: I should totally follow up his fanfare by flicking some panties on his bag pipes. He’d die, I’m sure. Lol

Her: I dare you!

Me: I so wish I had some handy. Damn it!!!!

So now I’m regretting not thinking of this idea earlier at home when I could have stuffed a pair in my pocket. But I’m also surrounded by a bunch of adults who act like they’ve never seen beaded necklaces or candy.  I’m telling you these people were diving for necklaces. This shit was cut throat. They didn’t even seem that drunk.  Some dude actually tried to fight my son for a necklace. And there were plenty to go around so….he needed a beating. I was sure that if there weren’t children around people were going to start showing their goods for it. Next text:

Hubs: Ok I’m done and we’ll be in front of the bar.

Me: I really want to be in front of the bar. The bead diving here is getting ridiculous. I’m sure Jax is going to get to see some boob shots soon. Not too shabby for 6?

So we did catch the mother load in terms of beads. The kids were happy. I looked like I worked really hard to get those beads, and I didn’t even have to put “the girls” to work. Although I may have “slightly” elbowed the dick who fought my son for a beaded necklace. It was the same dude who caught 6 beer coozies at once and stuffed them all into his back pocket like a crazy person. I had no idea it was about to get crazier!

The plan afterward was that the band was to play at this bar. My daughter was already showing signs of her hangry and my son…he’s just ready to be social. All of a sudden the crowd around the bar didn’t feel so breathable.  I started talking to one of the band mates. We were talking (or yelling loudly in each other’s ears) about kilt checks and whether my husband wore drawers underneath. So I just looked at him wide eyed…

Me: It can’t be true that you are all walking around here free ballin’ it.

Him: really?  Check it out…(lifts kilt and bares it all…)

Me: Well then. I feel fully initiated into the club. 😳

By now my daughter is done with the drunk people. The boy wants to dance a jig of some sort but there’s no room. As the hubs line up to play, I run to get pizza to stuff into my hungry 10 year old’s mouth…but she starts to cry. Cause there’s no where to eat and she’s tired and hot and hungry and there’s sweaty drunk people around her. So one hysterical kid, a crazed dancing son and a tired mom holding a pizza box in the middle of the a drunk crowd. Before you know it one drunk chick is trying to comfort her and the other one lifts Jax up and starts dancing and pointing screaming “look at yer daddy! He’s over there!” And of course she’s pointing to the wrong guy. Didn’t matter because Jax was having the time of his life with this brand new cleavage he had acquired. My daughter’s now sobbing in the middle of a bazillion bagpipe  players and I stand there like an asshole holding up a pizza box praying for Calgon to take me away.  And let me just tell you being an Italian holding up a f*cking pizza box in the middle of an Irish festival…not popular. It was quite the scene.  I felt bad. I totally didn’t see my husband even play…but he knew we were there somewhere.

We were officially done. At least I was. My daughter was. Jax was ready to party all night long.  I didn’t know I’d have to pack a shank in my panties in order to go to a parade for crying out loud! But after all was said and done, the kids did admit they had a good time, I was proud, and he was happy.  And no one died!

Funny thing is, I loathed the bagpipes before. They were a symbol of sadness and only had I heard them at Police Officers’ funerals. But today, holding a crying ten year old, and a pizza box…I changed my mind. (Shhhhh… Don’t tell him I said that!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles

 

Things I wish I could say to My Kids Some Days

19 Sep

img_2587First things first…there are rules for this blog post.  Do not read any further if you are one of the following:

  1. A Judgey Judge-erton
  2. Someone with no sense of humor
  3. Someone who is against bad words
  4. Anyone without kids who think they can do a better job
  5. Anyone who is a total asshole, assholes need not apply here

Ok, now that we have that cleared up.

I was raised in a house where mouths run free. My mom said what she wanted and we were not to repeat bad words.  But now I’m an adult… and I have to say I try to watch my mouth. These are some of the recent happenings in my house and what I really wanted to say…

My daughter is 9 and pretty damn sassy. Not many know this because she’s shy around others but sometimes I really do get the urge to slap that pretty little mouth to Mars.  I enjoy a drink or two.  I don’t drink myself into a coma every night…or ever (at least since the last time before kids). The other day we were looking for restaurant options while riding  in the car and I looked over and suggested a pizza place that just so happened to have an outdoor bar. So Rae McSassypants says “Mother (she calls me that when she wants to be a total shit), we know you only want that pizza place because of the bar.”  so deep breath… Reagan, having a drink at dinner or occasionally going out with my friends for a drink does not mean I’m choosing restaurants because of the bar. A little respect with that mouth…please.” You know what I really wanted to say?

“Are you kidding me? I drink because you little shits make me crazy sometimes! And because I have to tell you 10 fucking times to brush your teeth at night, which I shouldn’t even have to do at your age.  I drink because sometimes you whine and it grates on my nerves like nails on a chalk board. And you just fucking called me Mother.  You get allowance and minor chores. Why the hell are you calling me Mother?  Do I look like Joan Crawford to you? Sometimes, I just need to decompress because you make me feel like the worst mother ever. So excuse my french if I need a glass of wine.”

The other day I took something away from my son.  He looked at me and said with the most contempt I’ve ever seen in his eyes. “You are the worst mom, ever!”  So like a good mom, I just walked away. But what did I really want to say?

“Well, I sure as shit don’t like you some days, either.  Parenting is hard as hell and when you tell me I’m the worst mom ever, I really just want to tell you to go find a better one. But you won’t find a better one because even though there’s a lot of Facebook perfection out there, none of us are perfect. We all suck sometimes.”  I heard him talking to his sister and she asked him why he said it. He told her he didn’t mean it and that he loves me so much.  This morning he snuck into my room crawled on top of me, kissed my forehead and whispered over and over that he loved me so much.  My little man, he sure knows how to make up for his mouth.

We read a book about the birth of Jesus Christ the other day before bed. Randomly my son starts a dialogue: Him: Boys have Penises and girls have bah-ginas. Me: Thank you, Kindergarten Cop, now go to bed.  Him: Do you thank God for your Bah-gina cause you should.  Me: I’ll thank him later, go to bed. What did I really want to say?

“No, I can’t actually say I thanked God for my vagina today, or ever.  I thank him for lots of things but not for the thing that makes my life a pain in the ass for a week a month.  You try to thank Him for the bleeding, bloating and craving shitty food. Thank him for my shitty attitude,  and the ability to go from 0-60 in a single bound when you piss me off during Aunt Flow’s visit.   And for the 5 pound weight gain, let’s not forget about that. So, no, I don’t think I’ve recently thanked anyone for my vagina.   But, I promise as a dude one day you will be thanking God for vaginas.  You don’t even know how many times you will thank him. So lets not boss me around for what I’m going to be thankful for.

Hold on to your rockers for the last one…

Two days ago my six year old son decided to stick his iPod into the toilet and take a picture of his asshole. He tattled on himself to his father who came flying into the bedroom to show me the picture.  I was about to lose my shit laughing when he came around the corner and I had pull it together for an educational moment. Me:  J, why would you take a picture of your tush? Him: I thought it would be funny but now I know its not so funny after all. Me: Firstly, no more taking pictures of any private parts anymore. Secondly, iPods don’t belong in the bathroom, especially not in the toilet.  Lastly, please go flush the toilet and wash your hands. What did I really want to say?

Why…why in the fuck would you take a picture of your asshole!!!  That’s disgusting.!!! And if you lost your iPod in the shitty water, I would have kicked your ass and you wouldn’t get another electronic device until you got a job and paid for it yourself. But really, lets talk about your mad skills buddy. You stuck your iPod INTO the toilet and got an asshole pic without ruining it.  As disgusting as that is. Props and high fives for your agility and skills. I can see it now: The New York Times Photograph of the Year goes to JP for “The Bunghole in the Abyss”. You can have a whole gallery of asshole photos to sell when he’s older. Crowds of people would fill his gallery and look at his pics sideways trying to find the meaning of the picture. Me, his proud mama, would be gleaming there.  That’s my son’s asshole!

I’m speechless as to why he thought this was a good idea, but he did. The next day it was brought up and he admitted that he just wanted to see what it looked like.  And then I realized.  The dude was was exploring his bod. He’s never seen an asshole before.(I have seen plenty, literally and figuratively).  He was just looking for a little information real time. You can’t say the boy isn’t resourceful. Back in the day we used mirrors to explore.  He could actually  take a picture of it and zoom in.  I should have just slapped him on the ass and said, go to it buddy. Go check it all out, punkin.  And make sure that shit is sparkly clean. And no posting. No one else wants to see your asshole.

You see, we live in this Facebook perfect and pretty world where some of our kids are perfect and everything is sunshine and roses, losing weight is easy and we never get mad. FUCK THAT!!!  I can’t sugar coat that. My life is a big fat mess. Most days I wonder whether I’m screwing up my kids. If one day these kids will be adults in therapy hating and blaming me for their life.  Somedays I look in the mirror and try and brave it though a day  I want to be curled up in bed crying. And yes somedays are amazing. My kids are angels, I wake up happy, not bloated and pimple free. Somedays, I drink wine just cause I like it. Sometimes both of my kids just want some mommy lovin’ and do whatever is asked of them. I treasure those days.  But the days I’m emotional and tear up in the car because I’m stressed are equally important. The days that I wonder how I can balance life…they are needed days. Life isn’t perfect. Our kids do screwy things. Sometimes we laugh when we shouldn’t. Sometimes we say the wrong thing. But sometimes we also get it right.  That’s the thing about balance. We can’t have all good or all bad.  But we can have all we need and be grateful.  It’s also ok to not be so grateful too, because you’re not perfect. I’m not perfect.  If you think you are…we can’t be friends. Perfect people need not apply at my door.  I want your messy, weird and amazing self…for exactly who you are.  Don’t change for me.  I love you just the way you are…

Until next time…

DP

 

 

 

 

 

Toddler tantrums and such…

29 Nov

I would like to start off by saying I love my children.  I even love people…most of them anyways. And I don’t like to judge people when it comes to parenting. We all have awful parenting moments. (Yes, even you, perfect parent!) I hope my kids will mostly love me later on and not have to spend years on a therapist’s couch whining over what an asshole I am. What I mostly don’t want, is to raise an asshole for a kid. I don’t want my kid to be labeled the dickhead or bitch of the group. I want them to be strong, kind and helpful. At the same time I don’t want them taking guff from anyone. My girl is 9 and she is shy and amazingly beautiful but she is sassy as hell if she’s comfortable with you. But like most first born children, she is a pleaser. My 5 year old little dude is going to be in sales. He is witty, loving and persistent in all endeavors. This includes misbehaving and tantrums. When we are out and about these are the people who don’t help out in my goal to create a future amazing adult.

The lady at the Target who can’t stand seeing my little man crying over not being about to buy the latest 3.0 character. He’s persistent and we usually have to get through the line. He doesn’t get spoiled. He also doesn’t get rewarded for awful behavior. So when you are giving out candy and you look at him and tell him you’ll give him candy, and my I put my bitch face on and tell you no he can’t have candy, please don’t be insulted. Also, please don’t overlook a parent to address a kid when it comes to your hard caramel candy. Firstly, it’s a hard candy for crying out loud and secondly, you can’t just give a kid candy without asking parents. I’m sorry it’s inconvenient to hear him cry…but I don’t really give a rat’s ass. It bothers me more more than it does you because I have to endure it through the line and into the car. I also have to second guess myself the whole way secretly wondering what I’m doing wrong that makes him so persistent every day.  I didn’t mean to give you that “shove the candy up your ass” look, but really…I kinda did.

The lady at Publix who huffs and puffs over any kid having a tantrum in  their store. I just assume put my “asshole” crown on and wave through the store like it’s a shit show parade. I’m more embarrassed than you are annoyed. But I need milk and most likely wine now.  So just let me get through the line and think about getting your tubes tied. No ones kids are perfect. (But if you do have a perfect kid, hit me up because I want to see what that looks like!) My kids are a reflection of my imperfection. Ask my mom, I’m the reason why there were no more.

And lastly, Andrew, the clerk at CVS who helped me and my son last night. J wanted a big wheel truck toy and I said no. So he whined and cried through the empty store. Andrew must have had his sassy pants on and certainly didn’t want to deal with the whining. (Did he think I did?) So what does he do at check out? Hands me my item, blows up an empty CVS bag, ties it up and silently hands it to J. So my son walks out with an empty bag full of gross hot air. I mutter what an asshole he was under my breath.  And suddenly, my son goes into defense mode because he heard how annoyed I was.  “Mommy, he’s not an asshole. I’m just mad because I didn’t want an empty bag.” I lost mother of the year and felt kind of proud all at once. For a moment in all of the irritation of the tantrum, I see the light. He saw  good in someone. He was mad about the empty bag…but he saw something good in someone who was ultimately pissy about being inconvenienced.

So, I realized (minus the bad word), that he is a mix of me. I’m a pain in the ass, persistent and full of attitude and sass (and even a bit whiney sometimes). But I like to look for the good in people. I even find good in people that most people don’t like. Maybe it’s a flaw but I kind of like finding treasures in people. Now I realize I can handle the embarrassing tantrums, because maybe my kid won’t be a jerk after all. Maybe…

So, let’s just all agree that we are all trying to do our best. And maybe try not to beat the other parents up. We all have lots of parenting challenges. So just celebrate each other and stop being a dick about my kid having a tantrum. I’m doing my best not to raise a bully or a total jerk for an adult.

I have to go now…my kids are beating the shit out of each other! 😳