December, 2012
Archive

  • Did I just do some permanent damage?

    You know how certain people can really push your buttons, and sometimes their provocation makes you act out in ways you regret?  And even though there is no excuse for being immature, or letting frustration consume you, it also seems unfair to shoulder all the burden of responsibility because that person was being a dick?  But at the same time you realize that no matter how much of an asshole someone else is, you are still responsible for your own behavior and therefor can only blame yourself for your deeds? Well, this is one of these stories.

    It all happened on my birthday.  Full disclaimer, I am a little testy about my birthday in general.  The 29th of December is kind of a lame time. I always get joint presents, a lot of people forget, usually friends are too busy to hang or too burnt out and gearing up for New Years, and I never got to have cupcakes in my honor at school.  If you think I am being petty, well you are right, but I think you are being petty for thinking I am petty so who is the petty one really?

    But I can’t complain about my birthday this year.  I went hiking up a mountain in the snow, I danced with my friend Cyndal, I had a nice talk with my brother who I don’t often see, and an impromptu yummy dinner with my family.  In reality all was fine and I had nothing to be on edge about.

    But The Munch hadn’t napped in the past 3-days, and I could tell the lack of sleep was getting to her.  Because I got back from dinner late, I wanted to give her a quick bath and get her into bed quickly so she could get some much-needed rest.  Now here is where I went wrong.  I should not have felt so stressed out about her getting to sleep and just lived life.  But for some reason, I was being obsessive and therefore rushing the whole process.

    After her bath time we have this game we play where I pretend to put her diaper on over her towel.  For some reason, she thinks this is hilarious.  Hopefully her sense of humor is still developing.  But this night, I was telling her a story, so instead of doing that game I used the opportunity to slather her ass with oil and cream for it was pretty chapped.  (Since her potty training she has been going commando all day with her bum exposed to the elements of life… and of course every couch, pillow, and chair in the house but I try not to think of that).

    I had gotten the diaper on, and her bum all oiled up, when The Munch realized we forgot to play the diaper game.  Now at this point, I just wanted to get her in jammas and into bed, so I explained that we would play tomorrow instead.

    “NO Mamma! NOOOOOOO take my diapi off!”

    “Munch, I already greased up your bum.  We will play tomorrow night I promise.  It is really late and you need to get to bed!”

    “WAHHHHHHHHAAAAAA NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

    She then started ripping off her diaper while I was trying to put her jamma pants on.

    “Fine Munch, we can play the game okay? But you have to stop yelling in my face.”

    “NOOOOOO! I WANT TO YELL IN YOUR FACE!”

    At this point she was too enveloped in fury to even play the game, and too committed to her rage to just put her diaper on and move on with the night.  Every time I tried she would rip it off and scoot her but off the diaper. Now let me remind you the whole reason I wanted to leave her diaper on in the first place was because I had already put stuff on her bum to help heal her chapped ass.  Not mine… hers.  My ass is doing just fine.  And now the oil and cream had been wiped off and spread all over the floor and towel.  At this point I was so aggravated that she wouldn’t play her dumb game, she wouldn’t let me put the diaper on, had wiped her bum dry chapping it more, and was screaming obnoxiously while staring me in they eye,  that I took the diaper and threw it at her face.

    Yeah…. That happened. Not very mature I know.

    She just kind of looked at me for a second… and then WAILED!!!!

    Whoops.

    Now, of course you can’t throw a diaper hard.  I didn’t even whip it. I just tossed it… but at her face.

    “WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

    Sigh.  I can’t even tell you how guilty I felt.  Even though she was being unreasonable, I can also understand where she was coming from.  She was tired and wanted to play her stupid diaper game and laugh. The reality is no matter what, I can’t act like a two year old just because I am dealing with one.

    Then I started freaking out because they always say your first memory is a traumatic one, and all I could think is that The Munch’s first memory is going to be of me throwing a diaper at her face.  I need to start saving up for therapy NOW!

    I picked up The Munch and hugged her for a while.  Might I add during this hug I reapplied the oil and cream because you really can’t go around with a red chapped ass.  I got her in her diaper and jammas, and she seemed to be in a good mood again.  Even though I couldn’t shake how bad I felt, I hoped that maybe The Munch would just forget about it and all would be fine.

    We cuddled and kissed and everything seemed back to normal.  I figured “She is only two right? Maybe she has the memory of a goldfish, which has a 3 second capacity.  After 3 seconds, they have no idea what just happened and life is new again.  Yeah, toddlers are a lot like goldfish. That makes sense right?” So I put her in her crib and said goodnight hoping this whole incident could be forgotten.

    “Goodnight Munch.  I love you.”

    “I love you.”

    “Sleep well.”

    “Mamma…you threw a diapi at my face.”

    “I know. I am sorry. I was really frustrated. Can you forgive me?”

    “Ummm yeah….”

    Yeah… so not only did The Munch bring it up last night, but so far today she has told everyone she sees that “Mamma threw a diapi at my face!”

    Pretty sure she is not letting go of this one, and there is going to be a lot of ass kissing in my future.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    December 31, 2012 • 2 years old, Mommy Mind, Parenting • Views: 109

  • Hey World, Tomorrow is My Birthday

    Hi!

    My birthday is tomorrow! Will you send me positive quantum physics energy? I am feeling needy.  I yearn for your love! Give it to me! It is not enough.  MORE!

    Is it me, or does your birthday make you feel really self-involved?  You have this one day that is all about you, but thinking about you too much will make you sort of want to choke yourself.  But not in a fun sexy way.  Although thinking about me is my favorite pastime, it is also really bad for my self-esteem.

    Let me know if you have any good ideas that I should do on this day celebrating my first breath on earth.  I need to take my mind off of me, so I can have more fun being around me.

    So think about me tomorrow okay? You know I will be!

     

     

    December 28, 2012 • 2 years old • Views: 25

  • Family Dynamics

    Every family has their dynamic.  Mine happens to be we all like to tell each other what to do, and micro-manage to the point of near insanity.  The four of us also happen to have the same compulsion of filling the vacuum of silence and compete to dominate conversations.  So when you get us together there is little quite, and a lot of inserting opinions and orders.

    Example:

    My brother Laszlo: “Here, Munch, have some Apple.”

    Toni: “Munch, we are going to go night night soon and take a nap.”

    My brother Laszlo: “But don’t you think she should finish her apple?”

    My Dad: “Now Laszlo don’t interfere with the mother’s word.”

    Toni: “Dad, no need to interject yourself.  Relax.  It is fine.  She can eat her apple and then I can bring her to nap.  I just want her to get emotionally prepared.”

    My brother Laszlo: “Here you go Munch, here is more apple.”

    My Dad: “Hmmmmmmm Laszlo….”

    My brother Laszlo: “What, what’s the matter?”

    My Dad: “Nothing, its nothing.”

    My brother Laszlo: “No what is it?”

    My Dad: “Well, I don’t want to interfere.”

    Toni: “What?”

    My brother Laszlo: “Dad what is it, is it something about they way I am feeding her apple? Should I not give her the skin?”

    Toni: “The skin is fine, she can eat the skin.  Give her the goddamn skin.”

    Dad: “No its not the skin, its just the pacing.  I think you are feeding her the apples too fast.”

    Toni: “Seriously Dad, you don’t have to tell him what to do.”

    My brother Laszlo: “No Toni, he is probably right.”

    This type of relating to each other is just how we roll, hyper opinionated, always meddling, and excessively verbal about our thoughts.  You add my mother to the picture and then things get really wild.

    My Mom: “Laszlo eat your rice faster, you are holding us all up to have dessert.”

    Toni: “No he is not Mom, he can just eat his rice and then have his dessert when he wants later.  He can catch up.”

    My Dad: “Laszlo careful of how you are scooping the rice.”

    My brother Laszlo: “Dad, I am pretty sure I know how to scoop rice.”

    My Mom: “You are getting rice on the table.  I am going to go get a sponge to clean it.”

    Toni: “Seriously Mom, you don’t have to clean it right now, lets just have dessert.”

    My Mom: “I can’t eat dessert with messy rice on the table. It will just take a second.”

    My Dad: “Toni, let your mom clean the rice if she wants.”

    The irony of this is that I never realized that I would spawn a being that would put us all to shame in our idiosyncrasies.  If you take every one of our compulsive traits, The Munch has them amplified.  She is not only the boss of all of us, but she has learned quickly how to control conversations, tell us how to live our lives, and is also a compulsive cleaner.

    These are actual sentences that came out of the Munch’s Mouth these past few days with the family.  (*She calls my mom  Mana, and my dad Baba)

    Munchisms Christmas Conversations:

    “Mamma can you put my baby over there? But don’t sit over there.  Sit there.  And don’t take her paci out of her mouth.”

    “Mana will you put this dress on the baby? But not that dress. Noooooo, not that dress.  This dress.  And will you sit on the floor please?”

    “Uncle Laszlo tell me once upon a time story.  Will you tell it again?  Again.  Tell it one more time.  One last time.  Tell another once upon a time story.” (* Took up 40 min of dinner-time hearing these stories).

    “Baba, can you bring my cradle up stairs.  Then can you bring my other bed up stairs.  Can you bring the highchair up stairs too? Can you put it right here? No not there, here? Can you go downstairs and work now?”

    “Mamma drink this coconut water.  Baby you drink coconut water too.  Drink it.  DRINK IT NOW! OPEN IT!”

    “We are having cake? We need to sing the happy birthday song.  WE HAVE TO SING HAPPY BIRTHDAY SONG AGAIN!” (*Sang happy birthday to Baby Jesus).

    “Mamma can you clean up this oatmeal? CAN YOU CLEAN UP THE OATMEAL NOW! STOP DANCING!!!!! CLEAN UP THE OATMEAL NOW! IT IS DIRTY Nooo don’t clean it like that. CLEAN IT BETTER!!”

    “No Uncle Laszlo I don’t want to see Santa.  He is scary.  Like Mr. McGreggor.  In Peter Rabbit.  Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottentail were good bunnies.  But not Peter.  He was naughty.  But you are not naughty.  I AM SCARED OF MR. MCGREGGOR.  WAHHHHHHHHH!”

    “Baba can you read Peter Rabbit to me? No not that one.  That one.  Can you read it from the beginning?  No, not like that.  From the beginning.”

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    December 26, 2012 • 2 years old, Adventures, Relationships • Views: 32

  • Christmas Magic

    Hope your day is full of magic and wonder….  and only semi-awkward family moments

    December 25, 2012 • 2 years old, Current Events • Views: 35

  • Going to College In Diapers

    After a certain age, it is hard to notice the passing of time.  When you are growing up, each birthday feels like this really big deal.  Turning 10 and finally being in the double digits, turning 18 and being able to smoke cigarettes, buy porn, have sex with 40-year olds, drink legally in Canada, and something else that is important… I can’t think of it right now.  But after your 21st birthday, you are no longer excited about getting older.  It is just something that happens.  And the less you look forward to your birthdays, the less you notice one year passing into the next.

    But nothing will make you notice time more than observing your child grow.  In the past 2 and a half years The Munch has learned to roll over, sit up, crawl, walk, run, talk, feed herself, brush her own teeth and hair, use an iPad, do a perfect summersault, jump off the couch, and most recently, shit and piss in the potty.  The Munch has accomplished so much, and in that time, all I have learned is that maybe I should eat less sugar.

    It is truly remarkable how fast kids grow and absorb information.  They learn even when you aren’t trying to teach them anything. I really wasn’t pushing The Munch to use the potty, mostly because diapers are super convenient for me.  I don’t have to pull over for her while driving so she can pee, I don’t have to negotiate gross public bathrooms, I don’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to escort her to the toilet.  In fact I kind of envied the whole getting to wear a diaper thing, because nothing is more of a drag then having to leave to go to the bathroom in the middle of movie while at the theater.

    Besides, I didn’t want to force potty training, because that seems like a lot of effort.  Every once in a while would talk about one day using the potty, but we also talked about her learning to massage me she is not even close to being good at that.  And why rush someone into wiping their own ass? You will have to do it for the rest of your life, so enjoy the luxury as long as you can?  So I took my mom’s approach and reasoned that I never heard of a kid in college still wearing diapers, so figured she would work it out before then.  And this weekend that is what she did, all by herself decided she was done with diapers and now is on to bigger better things.

    At first I didn’t believe The Munch and kept putting diapers on just to make sure.  But Munch resented my lack of trust and would make me take them off.  So now I have all these semi-used diapers that have cupped her crotch and bum area, but have not been soiled.  Seems like a waste to throw them out, so I figure I will use them like paper towels and napkins.

    “Seriously Mamma, do not wipe your face with that.  And can you give me some privacy please?”

     

    December 24, 2012 • 1st time for everything, 2 years old, Baby Body, Baby Brain, Education, Pee & Poop • Views: 91

  • Trust Me

    Do you know who you can never trust? Anyone that says “you can trust me.”  That person is an untrustworthy fool.  Trust me.

    The idea of faith and destiny permeates through countless religions, cultures, and cliché’s.  The concept of Karma, the rational of “what God intended,” even fun songs like Que Sera Sera (Whatever Will Be Will Be).  We often justify hardships in our lives though this type of thinking.  The Divine Plan.

    Okay then God…Gaia… Universe… whatever.  Why are you always trying to convince people to trust in your plan? Who says your plan is so great anyway?  And what makes you so deserving of my trust?  You are kind of forcing it on me, and being really pushy.

    And if I am supposed to believe in this cosmic vision of my life, then how am I supposed to have any dreams of my future?  What is the point of striving for anything, when everything is already decided?  For instance, lets say I had this ambition, something really important to me, like being best friends with Sarah Silverman.  I could write her a bunch of letters, got to her house and leave gifts on her doorstep, send her 10,000 messages on twitter, and I all I get is being called a stalker.  She is not my best friend at all.  You can tell me that God didn’t want me to be friends with Sarah Silverman, or maybe she is just a snobby bitch.

    My point is that there are all these things I have wanted in my life that didn’t happen.  I would get through the pain and disappointment by trusting the universe, and believing that “everything happens for a reason.”  But why do we have so much blind faith in a force that has no explanation, no tangibility, and also seems like kind of a dick?  I think Gaia has been wrong about many things that didn’t go the way I wanted them to.  For instance;

    • I should have grown gills to breath underwater.
    • I definitely should have been granted the power to stop time so I could sleep late when I ever I wanted, cheat on any test I didn’t study for, have the time to learn a second language, rob a bank and never get caught, kiss people I never got to kiss even if they are all frozen in time, you know… stuff like that.
    • I absolutely should have gotten all the jobs I wanted and didn’t, all the love I craved and missed, and not to mention the stomach of a cow so I could have 4 compartments whatever I wanted.
                         “Trust me Munch… I am totally going to catch you… JUMP!”

    December 21, 2012 • 2 years old, Musings • Views: 38

  • Thank you

    I Love You

    In my blog I do a lot of talking about me.  So today I want to talk about you.  More importantly, how you make me feel.  Phew, we are back to talking about me again.  I feel a lot more comfortable now.

    In case this is our last day on earth, I just wanted to say thank you.  Thank you for reading my blog.  It means everything to me.  More than I can express in words, but not more than I can express in sounds.

    “Oooooooooooiiiiiiiing! Doink.  Doinngggggg.  Booooobiepoodles!  Yoikes.  Pow pow pow pow pow pow pow.  Pitter-patter.  Cha-ching! Fthhhhhhhhpt.  POP!”

    I just want you to know, I really appreciate your taking the time to read my musings.  You give my life more meaning than you probably understand, and I will forever be grateful.  And if the world doesn’t explode tomorrow on the Mayan apocalypse, and our bodies are not turned inside out, there are some things I want to do with you.

    If 2013 does indeed exist; there is a whole lot of living we have to do.  For example we could:

    • Place our butts together and fart at exactly the same time.  Who knows whose fart will have more velocity, and whose butt will suck up the combined flatulent.  Only time will tell.
    • Buy a house and fill it with water so we could swim from room to room in mermaid costumes.
    • Open a store that has nothing to sell.  Then when people come it to buy stuff and get annoyed that there is nothing in the store, we could lecture them on being so materialistic with a self-righteous tone.

    I really hope this isn’t the end of days, and the Mayans were just fucking with us – but if it is, thanks for being on the ride with me.

    (This is one of my natural homeopathic remedies to rid me of my shingles.  Putting turmeric all over my face so I look like an Oompa Loompa.  Do you think I can start a trend?)

     

     

     

    December 20, 2012 • 2 years old, Musings • Views: 33

  • Flushing My Head Down The Toilet

    Maybe it’s just me, but something about having sores on my face is depressing.  The constant unrelenting pain sprinkled with the burning itching sensation is really affecting my spirit.  Everyone kind friend who texts or calls wondering if I am okay gets the same blah reaction from me.

    “How am I today? The same. A face full of festering blisters. Pretty much want to flush my head down the toilet.  How about you?”

    So I decided that I was going to go hard on some healing today.  My diarrhea-coated disposition can’t be helping, and figured I would be as pro-active as possible so as not to wallow in self-pity.  By the way, is there any other context where you have ever used the world “wallow” except when it comes to misery?  That word needs more applications.  I think I am going to start wallowing in joy or lust in the near future so get ready!

    My day began with some cranial sacral therapy, energy work, and a chiropractic adjustment.  The hippy witch doctor told me that feeling dejected was part of shingles, and tried to help with my energetic emotional self.  Not sure if it fucking worked…. But I feel ugly, stupid, and like a big dirty loser.

     

    Then I went to get a B12 shot from my other hippy doctor.  Now I have a thing with male doctors where I don’t really want take my clothes off around them.  So even though he told me it would hurt way less to get the shot in my butt, I got it in my arm.  And you want to know what? My arm really aches and feels like it is going to fall off.  I think tomorrow I will go without pants.  Then he can take the hint and we can move on with our lives.

    Then an acupuncturist came to my house.  Now I have had acupuncture before, so I thought I knew what to expect.  Usually they jab some needles in your body, and then leave you alone for 20 minutes to ponder existence.  This woman, however, spent the entire time tweaking the needles.  So would go from needle to needle as if she were tuning an instrument, sending nerve pain ricocheting throughout my being.  She would touch one needle and my eye would hurt, then another and my lip would hurt, then another and my cheek would hurt.  It was like a cascading symphony of suffering.

    “I know.  My way of acupuncture is very painful.  But it works.  Shingles can last months you know? But you are handling my hurting you very well.”

    “Well, maybe that is because I am terrified of you.”

    So after a day of trying all these things and having a nice Asian lady torture me for an hour, I actually feel 10 times worse.  It is hard to believe, but my pain and itching have not only spread, but also intensified beyond what I have been incessantly complaining about.   I called the acupuncture lady and asked if that was normal.”

    “It hurts more now? Yeah. I opened up a lot of energetic blockages. So it will hurt more. You will probably need about 5 more treatments. See you Thursday.”

    Ummmm maybe I wanted to keep my energy blocked?  Okay, so I am officially flushing my head down the toilet now.

     

     

    December 19, 2012 • 2 years old, Adventures, Health • Views: 133

  • Munchee Method’s on How to Feel Better

    Munch: “Mamma what’s the matter?”

    Toni: “I don’t feel good Munch.”

    Munch: “Because of your eyeball itching? And your face?  Mamma your face hurts?”

    Toni: “Yes Munch.”

    Munch: “Your shingles Mamma? Your shingles hurt?”

    Toni: “My shingles hurt a lot.”

    Munch: “But you saw the doctor Mamma?  You are all better now.”

    Toni: “I wish it worked that way.”

    Munch: “NOOOOOOOO! YOU ARE ALL BETTER!”

    Toni: “Soon Munch soon.”

    Munch: “Do you want me to kiss it all better?”

    Toni: “That is very sweet Munch, but I don’t want you to get shingles in your mouth.”

    Munch: “BUT I WANT SHINGLES IN MY MOUTH!”

    Toni: “Ummm, why don’t you blow me a kiss?”

    Munch: “Mamma, what’s the matter.  Your shingles hurt?”

    Toni: “Yes Munch, they still hurt.”

    Munch: “Do you want to watch Elmo?”

    Toni: “No Munch that is okay.”

    Munch: “NOOOOO MAMMA!! WATCH THE ELMO MOVIE!! YOU NEED TO WATCH THE ELMO MOVIE NOW!!!!!! THEN YOU WILL FEEL ALL BETTER! Elmo will sing his song.  It sooooo funny.  You will dance with Elmo.  Can you get me some more raisins?”

    Toni: “Okay then.”

    Munch: “Do you want to lay on my tummy and watch the Elmo movie and then you feel all better?”

    Toni: “Good call Munch.”

    December 18, 2012 • 2 years old, Health, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 35