Insane Christmas Wish List

It happens every single year.  My kids decide to edit their list to Santa weeks out from the big day.  Do you think Santa can just whip up a PS4?  No, that s*** is complicated and sold out everywhere and someone should have planned ahead.  Here is something that, as an adult, boggles my mind.  The fact that kids buy the story that Santa makes the toys.  If Target has the action figure or doll  you want then why the hell would Santa have to make them? Santa isn’t using a hammer.  He is swiping the hell out of his Red Card.  My 6-year-old told St. Nick at a recent “Story-time With Santa” event at our local library that he wants a Monster Truck.  He has never played with a truck in his life.  Ever.  Was he so nervous that he blurted out the first thing that popped in his head?  Santa read one book at that event and let’s just say he needs to either slow down or practice his sight words.

My kids aren’t entirely to blame for causing holiday stress.  There are those random people who will ask, “Have you written your letter to Santa yet?”  Hey a**hole, he did that months ago.  In fact, I have nearly everything on his list.  Why would you encourage him to want even more stuff after Black Friday.  Are you Satan?  I was nearly trampled to death to get this Lego. He is going to play with it, damn it.   Mama would have to whore herself out to buy anything else.

Then, there are the commercials.  The G*D damn commercials.   My kids want everything they see on television.  “Mom, look, look, look, look, look, look, I want that.   Hurry.  look, look, look, look, look.  I want that for Christmas.”  I can’t get them to pay attention when putting on their shoes, but they stop dead in their tracks when a commercial about a stretchy stuffed animal comes on.  Have you ever wondered why kids lift up the wrong foot when you’re helping them put on socks or shoes?  Every. Damn. Time.  “No, other foot. The other foot!”   Are they messing with us?

A friend of mine shared this post about a kid’s insane Christmas wish list.  I laughed so hard I cried.   The author is Drew Magary who writes for Deadspin and is a correspondent for GQ.   If my uterus wasn’t in retirement I would totally have his baby.  He is hysterical.

Click the link here to read his post:  DEADSPIN.COM

Ooops

I would love to say I am shocked by this video. I am not. I worked in TV news for a decade, back when being accurate mattered. Now, it’s about who has the story first.

KTVU thought they got the scoop on the names of the pilots of Asiana flight 214, which crashed last Saturday at San Francisco International Airport. They ran with it. Unfortunately, it was a hoax. (The NTSB says an intern was to blame for confirming the names) Trust me, anchors don’t always read copy before a live newscast. Here is proof. This makes Ron Burgundy look professional.

Music Torture

I was in the kitchen this morning when I heard what sounded like techno music blaring upstairs. Were my kids hosting a rave? I crept upstairs to bust the party. I did not find glow sticks or over sized pacifiers. Instead, I discovered a digital drum set in front of my 13-year-old’s bedroom door. I bought this electronic drum at Goodwill before Christmas. It only cost $5. Sometimes Santa is on a budget. It sells for $50 on Amazon. Score! I am trying to encourage my 6-year-old’s love of music. I had no idea it would be used in psychological operations. My recently graduated kindergartener channeled Moby, cranked the volume and placed the digital drum in front of his brother’s door. Why? Well, because my older son refused to let his little brother inside. So, my 6-year-old opted for musical torture. It took less than five minutes to break my teenager. He had no choice, but to admit defeat. Can you blame him:

 

Giveaway Alert: SANUS flat screen TV wall mount

We still have a giant boob tube in our house. The television in my room was a wedding gift. It now has to heat up before the screen shows color. It’s like watching the Wizard of Oz every single day. I would not allow my kids to have an older model TV in their room. I think there was an episode of Oprah warning about the danger these TV’s pose Oprah Winfrey scared the hell out of me for years. Those TV’s could kill a small child if the stand happened to tip over. So, when my 13-year-old got a TV in his room, he hit the jackpot and got the flat screen, I kept the TV that’s about the size of a smart car. We also have a flat screen downstairs in the family room. Family room? Living room? Whatever you call it. My husband is in the midst of an unspoken battle with a friend over who has a larger, um (cough) TV. His friend is winning. I refuse to allow my spouse to waste money on a TV larger than the 46 inch we currently have. What’s the difference? (Men around the globe gasp in unison.)

I had no idea flat screen TV’s can be just as dangerous as older, heavier TV’s. I hate to be Debbie Downer, but the truth is these TV’s, if bumped or pulled, can cause injury or even death. SANUS, the leading designer and manufacturer of flat panel TV wall mounts, has partnered with Safe Kids Worldwide to reduce TV tip-over related injuries and fatalities. Here are some crazy statistics:

* A child is killed every three weeks from an unsecured TV

* Every 45 minutes a child visits an emergency room due to a TV tip-over related injury

*Between 2000 and 2011, 215 fatalities have resulted from TV tip-over

*An estimated 17,000 people each year, the majority of which are children, are treated for injuries from TV tip-overs

* Reported cases have increased almost 25% from 2006 to 2010, and over the last 10 years, injuries have increased by 31%

Isn’t that insane? I get a lot of emails from companies asking me to host giveaways. I did not hesitate when contacted by this one. So, CynicalMother.com is giving away a SANUS flat screen TV wall mount. To enter to win just subscribe to this blog (yep, right over there on the right. Enter your email and Viola!) Then, it would be great if you head on over to Facebook & Twitter (MySpace is so late 90’s) and share this link. Good luck! The winner will be announced next week.

 

*Prize does not include installation of wall mount
*Winner will be notified via email and has 48 hours to claim prize. If prize is not claimed within that time a new winner will be selected at random.

 

 

 

 

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Road Rage

I am guilty of road rage.  Well, it’s actually watered down road rage.  I am not a complete lunatic.  I haven’t crashed my car into another vehicle or assaulted anyone.  I bite my tongue most of the time when my children  are in the car.   However, when you are going through perimenopause some things are out of your control.  Most recently, I yelled at a driver who didn’t turn right when the light was red.  “It’s right on RED,”  I shouted through my windshield. He didn’t hear me because we were separated by glass and metal.  My kids were watching Tangled Ever After for the millionth time at an ear pounding volume. You aren’t tied down Rapunzel.   Jump out of the damn tower already.   “Come oooonnnn!  Right on red. Right on red!”  My low pitched screams sounded eerily similar to “Red rum! Red rum!”  Listen,  I was late to an appointment.  I am always late.  At this point I was perspiring and close to foaming at the mouth while Mandy Moore sang in the background.  “Oh, what the hell!  Go, you idiot!”  My daughter asked, “What’s wrong Mommy?”  I took a deep breath.  Mommy was acting like a complete fool.   Comic Louis CK has a great bit about road rage.  It makes me laugh out loud every time I watch it.

 

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

My daughter loves books, but is too controlling to allow me to read all the time. (I have no idea where she gets that from) She wants to read to me. Unfortunately, she is not a child prodigy. So, she makes up a story to go along with the pictures. This morning she read me a book about Rapunzel. Her version is very different than the fairy tale I remember. It is definitely different from the board book we own:

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Her translation:

Rapunzel grew out her hair because she hates her mother. Her mom is always complaining.”

Come to think of it, my daughter refuses to get a haircut. She screams like a cast member on a Bravo TV reunion show. Is she reading me her autobiography?

Shameful

A teenager accused in the shooting death of an innocent baby in Georgia was in court today. Nancy Grace is wetting her pants over this story. She is going to pull her hair back with a bedazzled bobby pin and analyze the entire case. By now you’ve probably heard what happened. A woman, pushing a stroller, was allegedly approached by two teenagers demanding money. When she refused they shot her and threatened to kill her baby. She didn’t have anything to give them. So, she says, one of the boys shot the 13-month-old in the face. If I were still a TV news reporter I would just give you the facts. However, after a decade, I retired from the business last year. So, I can tell you I think if these boys are guilty they deserve to rot in hell. They didn’t steal a candy bar from the corner store. They robbed this woman of a lifetime of memories. My heart breaks for this woman.

The mother of one of the suspects said, “My son didn’t do anything wrong. He was just a witness.” Really? I want to slap her. Your son, ma’am, was an accessory to a crime. He didn’t know they were going to rob that woman? He didn’t know his buddy had a gun? He pulled the trigger even if his finger wasn’t on the gun.

The problem with society is that, far too often, parents don’t hold their children accountable for their actions. I hate to get all Bill O’Reilly on you, but it’s true. I have interviewed hundreds of mothers and fathers after their children were sent to prison. It is rare that they apologize for the horrendous crime his or her child committed. I know you want to believe your child wouldn’t be capable of breaking the law. “He was a good boy.” Okay, maybe he was a good boy in kindergarten. Perhaps, he shared his red crayon when a friend couldn’t find one. Now, your kid is a thug. I am not saying it is always a parent’s fault. Sometimes you can think you are doing everything right and your child grows up to be Dylan Klebold.

I like to think I am a good mother. Sure, I may lie to my kids from time to time to avoid a tantrum. We eat at fat food restaurants weekly. However, my children know the difference between right and wrong. They know there will be consequences if they break the rules. It doesn’t mean they are perfect. Several years ago my oldest joined in when a few kids broke school rules on a bus. (Can someone please tell me what the hell that smell is on school buses? Ever heard of Febreeze?) Anyway, the boys took turns writing curse words on a notebook. Perhaps, they were working on a new series for HBO? My son, who was knocked out of the spelling bee in the first round, spelled every word correctly which made it even more humiliating. I remember thinking, after the principal called, I am going to beat his ass. I didn’t lay a hand on him, but he started crying the minute we walked into the office. He was ashamed. He also knew he was in deep shit. He has been a model student ever since. I never blamed another kid. We took responsibility and apologized. I think it is the least the relatives in Georgia can do for that grieving mother.

Game Night

I don’t know about your house, but in mine game night always ends in tears. Families always look so happy in the commercials, smiling and laughing. Don’t get me wrong, it starts out fun. My younger kids jump up and down with glee. They love playing board games. Our favorites are Hungry, Hungry Hippo, Twister and Trouble. I have to force my oldest to put down the IPad and play.You will spend time with your family and enjoy it, damn it!

They each take a turn, but quickly forget whose next. “It’s my turn.” “He took my turn.” “She just went.” I may not be able to remember why I am in the grocery store, but I can manage the order in a board game. My husband doesn’t help matters. He plays Candy Land like a football quarterback going for a Superbowl win. Would it kill him to let a 5-year-old win? No, he says they need to learn how to handle losing. No mercy. I say they will suffer years of disappointment and don’t need to cry over gumdrops and ladders.

I always swear that next time will be different. It won’t, but family game night is tradition tears and all.