I just read about a new study that debunks “The 5 Second Rule!” Researchers at San Diego State University found that bacteria can actually attach itself to food in seconds. I know y’all are probably wicked smart, but my reaction to your findings: No s***! Parents don’t actually believe it to be a legitimate rule. It just makes our lives easier. I can’t boil a pacifier every time it falls to the ground. Sure, first time parents are overly cautious. By kid #3 you don’t bat an eyelash if they eat dirt. No, I’m not going to allow my child to eat food off the floor of a gas station bathroom. However, if I am at a store and my child drops his/her cookie, I am picking that sucker up. The alternative is dragging a screaming child out of a shopping cart. You cannot keep your kids in a bubble. You can’t sanitize everything. Calling out, “5 Second Rule” is our way of saying, “Don’t judge me.” Most parents will just give the nod. Been there. Done that.
Recently, I wrote a piece voicing my opinion on the STFU Parents Blog. Blair Koenig, who operates the site, left a scathing comment and sent out a tweet. I expected it. I did not expect to receive offensive emails calling me a bad mother, crazy and even attacking my husband’s military service. Apparently you are not allowed to disagree with Blair. I know I am not the only one.
It seemed the visitors coming to my site weren’t familiar with my sarcasm and sense of humor. I should have taken the high road, but decided to respond to her comment like I often do. Then, my supporters started getting involved. I decided yesterday, before it got ugly, to remove the post and put out the fire. I left my initial piece up. This is Blair’s response:
I never wrote an email threatening anyone. In fact, in my first post I stated that some of her stuff was “really funny.” I blog about my life as a mother. I often make fun of myself. Regardless of whether pictures are submitted via email or found on google, there are people on STFU Parents who are being laughed at without realizing they are part of the joke. Sure, some people post TMI on Facebook. Perhaps they are looking for advice, to vent frustrations or even brag about their child. I am not organizing a protest, but I won’t give her book as a baby shower gift. It would only collect dust while the recipient is posting photos on Facebook of their new bundle of joy.
My daughter isn’t a baby anymore. At least that is what she tells me every morning. I guess she wants to make sure I haven’t forgotten while she slept. It is like being punched in the gut. While cradling a doll in one arm and a blanket in another she will say, “Guess what?” I know what’s coming, but I don’t want to hear it. For her, it’s exciting to grow up. It breaks my heart. After two miscarriages I am pretty sure this is my last baby. I guess my dreams of becoming the next Kate Gosselin are over. Do you think Bravo’s Real Housewives franchise wants a woman who shops at The Dollar Store and colors her own hair?
My clock is ticking. I actually think it ticks, then stops and ticks again. Thus, my perimenopausal rage. Well, at least that is what Dr. Oz diagnosed it as in a 60 minute episode. I just thought I was a bitch. (No comment from the peanut gallery.)
In a few short weeks my daughter will turn three. Before you know it she will be five, 13 and off to college. Then, what the hell am I supposed to do with myself? I guess there is always BINGO. “I’m not a baby anymore,” she proudly declares. “I’m a big kid.” Little does she know, she will always be my baby.
Well, that went well. I was optimistic going into today. Sure, I had to take my children to get flu shots. Sure, I was outnumbered 3 to 1, but I am the parent. I had my purse stocked:
I also didn’t tell them where we were going. Some parents believe you should be honest with your kids. I believe it is in everyone’s best interest not to have children screaming before we even walk into the doctors office. My 12-year-old new the deal. My 5-year-old figured it out the minute we sat down. I would love to tell you he handled himself with dignity and grace. I would be lying. He held his hand in his face and began to sob. It was at that moment, when I needed to be a nurturing mother, my daughter announced to the entire waiting room, “I have to poop!” I had lost all control. She sat on the toilet counting “1,2,3,4,6” while her brother wailed outside the door. “You missed 5,” I said.
It got worse when we went into the exam room. The needles were neatly laid out on the counter as if to say “I’m coming for you.” My son, never one to be subtle, dropped to his knees, “Noooooo!” I was sweating. I tried to encourage him with my positive, motherly voice. I wanted to scream too.
I had to physically hold him down in a chair while the nurse injected the flu vaccine. When my first born sobbed at the doctor’s office I cried too. After a few years you realize they will be okay. The only thing you can do is comfort them. Oh, and hand out Ring Pops afterward. Like I’ve said before, my kids would cut a bitch for a Ring Pop.
Believe me. I get annoyed with parents writing posts about their perfect children. I know it’s all BS and your child is really Satan. However, I actually enjoy looking at pictures my friends post on Facebook of their kids. Blair Koenig does not. This chick started a blog called STFU Parents. We all know a Blair. She is the bitter woman who doesn’t have children. She may not want them. Perhaps she is jealous because much of her adult life has been spent on a bar stool or hugging porcelain. Some of her stuff is really funny, but some of it is mean. There is a simple solution. Adjust the privacy settings on your Facebook page or defriend her. Then, you can post video of your delivery without being ridiculed on her website. On that note, I would never want a permanent recording of child labor. My first baby was delivered without an epidural. I don’t recommend it. I screamed like a feral cat. I almost died delivering my daughter. Besides, your child will never want to watch a DVD of your vagina stretched to the size of a melon. I have known people like Blair who turned their nose to anything related to children. Then, they had a baby. She will change her tune. (By the way, I couldn’t even find a Blair Koenig on Facebook. So, she doesn’t want you to see her personal page? Yet, she is trolling the internet and using photographs of strangers on her blog. Interesting. )
My son got a yellow card. He didn’t delay the game or trip someone in a soccer match. He got in trouble in the cafeteria. Stand down Dr. Phill.
I knew there was a problem when I picked him up. He walked slowly toward me, stared at the ground and mumbled, “My teacher wants to talk to you.” Great. What could he have possibly done? Did he recite a scene from “The Simpsons?” No, a 5-year-old shouldn’t watch that show, but Mommy can’t always be home. Sometimes Daddy makes poor decisions. What if he cursed? I will kill this little shit.
My son started sobbing when the teacher began to speak. It turns out he called a “friend” an idiot. I think we throw the word “friend” around too much. I would argue they are acquaintances who occasionally share a crayon.
I had to punish him. It is unacceptable for him to insult anyone. I took away video games for the night. His teacher explained that another kid “whipped the bird” at lunch. She had to be fair and punish them both. I’m going to go out on a limb and say f-you is way worse than idiot. Still, this behavior is unacceptable.
This may sound crazy, but this entire situation made me feel like a good mother. My son felt guilty and was embarrassed. I must be doing something right.
I have come to the conclusion that the best baby shower gift is a steam cleaning machine. Before you are a parent you think you need stuff like a “Diaper Genie.” You can’t smell the dirty diapers that is until you open the lid. If you think shit smells bad, guess how good shit that has been stored for a few days in a plastic container smells? If that thing was a real genie it would make the diapers disappear.
Registering for a baby shower alone is like drunk texting. You will regret it. Bring an experienced mother with you. I have used my steam cleaner more than my coffee maker this past week. This evening, I had the pleasure of cleaning fruit punch off the carpet. It’s how the other half lives. I know what you are thinking: “my children will only eat in the kitchen or dining room.I just laughed out loud. Let’s pretend that happens, you forgot about spit-up, vomit and urine. You will spend the next 18 years cleaning up all three. Isn’t motherhood glamorous? If I didn’t have a steam machine my carpet would look like a Twister mat.
My 5-year-old has been sick for two days. Initially, I thought I had been duped. The sneezing and coughing magically stopped after I decided he would stay home from school. He even asked if I would take him to the park. Honey, are those superhero masks cutting off oxygen to your brain? Hell to the no. Instead, he played with toys, video games and even made a brief appearance as Spiderman.
He enjoyed ice cream and potato chips. We watched all his favorite TV shows. “This is what I’m missing when I go to school,” he said. Hardly. I am just trying to make up for my completely irrational reaction to his spilling juice on the carpet. It wasn’t necessary for me to cry, but I have PMS.
The truth is if he weren’t home I would be scrubbing toilets and bathroom walls. You may ask, “The wall?” Yes, on occasion this kid gets urine on the wall. How? I have no f-ing idea. It is more than a splatter. He is easily distracted. I imagine his brain works like this:
Focus on toilet. I wonder if Batman would win in a fight against Iron Man. Focus on toilet. I want cake. Focus on toilet. I like SpongeBob, but why is he friends with a squirrel? Focus on toilet. I wonder what that pipe is for. Focus on toilet. I am tired. Focus on Ooops, I missed.
In all honesty, his cough got worse as the day went on. He woke up this morning with a fever. My daughter is jealous he is getting so much attention. She put his backpack near the door and said, “Spiderman needs to go back to school.”
Can anyone out there bail be out of jail? My 5-year-old son is turning me in. He is in kindergarten and just started bringing home small paper books. Get down from your tree hippie, I know all books are made out of paper. I mean, these are printed at the school. I’m sure they pay a publishing company a ridiculous amount of money for the right to copy 4 pages. I could have written these books myself. “I can run. You can run. We can run.” ( I think it’s pretty presumptuous of the author to assume we all can run.) There are a lot of popular children’s books written like this. Take, for example, “Goodnight Moon.” I know what you’re thinking, “But that’s a classic.” If the old lady was running instead of whispering hush that book would be a copied handout. My 12-year-old can draw better illustrations.
My son brings home a new miniature book every night. We read it five times, send it back and a new one comes home the next day. Well, I decided to photocopy the book so my son can continue practicing at home. “You can’t do that,” my son said. He can’t distinguish his right foot from his left, but he knows copyright laws? I’m not selling the book on the black market. It’s stapled together for goodness sake. “I’m telling my teacher.” Awesome. Now, she will not only know I made my husband sleep on the couch, but that I steal too.
My son’s homework assignment brought back a flood of memories. His class is reading the coming of age novel, “The Outsiders.” The assignment was to complete the first chapter and list descriptions of each character. I told him I had a poster of Ponyboy and Johnny on my wall when I was younger. I think I cut it out of Tiger Beat Magazine. Whatever happened to C. Thomas Howell anyway?
Me: “The Outsiders was made into a movie in the 80’s”
My son: “You were alive in the 1980’s?”
Me: “Yes. I was alive.”
My son: “Wow. Did the movie have any special effects?”
Me: “No, but it was a good movie. With hunks like Patrick Swayze you don’t need CGI robots.” (2 snaps in a Z formation)
(rolls his eyes)
My son: “The old guy in that cheesy Dirty Dancing movie? He is dead, right?”
Me: “Yes. He died, but he wasn’t old back then.”
My son: “If there is a movie why do I have to waste my time reading the book. Can’t we just buy it on my IPod?”
I gave him the look, he smiled and finished reading.