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Musings
Category

  • Shingles and Shenanigans

    The other day my mom calls me up and says:

    My Mom: I think I have a tick bite on my chin.
    Toni: I seriously doubt that.
    My Mom: Well I seriously think a tick bit my chin.
    Toni: Mom, you look in the mirror all the time. You would have seen a giant tick hanging off your face sucking your blood.
    My Mom: You’re probably right.

    She calls again the next day.

    My Mom: I think I have shingles on my chin.
    Toni: Why would you think that?
    My Mom: Because my head is all tingly, and my face hurts.
    Toni: Shit.
    My Mom: Can you come over and look at my chin?

    I went over to her house, and looked at her chin. Sure enough, I thought they were shingles too.

    Toni: I think you’re right.

    Now here’s the thing. My mom usually lives in Boston, so she doesn’t have a primary care physician in New Hampsha. The longer you let shingles shingle, they more shingly they get. And let me tell, shingles fucking suck so hard. For me, they were worse than childbirth.

    So OF COURSE I wanted to help my mom and take her to the emergency room so she could get the medication ASAP. But it was also 10pm, and I hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

    Toni: Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?
    My Mom: That would be really nice, yes!
    Toni: Ummm but we could go in the morning right? Like, you’re already all cozy in your jammas?
    My Mom: Oh sure, we can go in the morning.
    Toni: I will go get you some of my hippy shingles medication for tonight.

    As I left her house to grab my new age bark paste –  I felt guilty as fuck. I knew the right thing to do was to bring her to the emergency room that night and not wait until the next day….

    Toni: Here is some dragon eggshell mixed with Echinacea that I used on my shingles… but maybe we should just go tonight?
    My Mom: You don’t mind?
    Toni: OF COURSE NOT! Let me just go eat my hamburger for dinner and then I’ll take you.
    I ate one hamburger, and left my second hamburger behind because I didn’t want my mom and her shingles to wait too long.  For me, this is a lot more tragic than you would think.  But you guys, ever since I was pregnant, I got into the habit of eating TWO hamburgers.  Eating just ONE feels wrong!

    My mom and get to the hospital, she checks in, and I am still super hungry.  We get called back into the room, and the nurse starts checking her vitals.

    Nurse: Now why are you here this evening?
    My Mom: Well my neck has been feeling weird, and I thought it was because I got too enthusiastic in Yoga or something. Like maybe I did a shoulder stand for too long. But then I realized no I didn’t do any such thing. It’s not the yoga. I have shingles.
    Nurse: I see. Do you have any allergies?
    My Mom: No. Well I sneeze all the time, but I’m not allergic to any medications or anything.
    Nurse: Do you take medication for your sneezing?
    My Mom: I take Benadryl every night.
    Toni: HOLY FUCK YOU DO??
    My Mom: Yeah, it helps me sleep.
    Toni: Seriously, I think there are better ways.
    Nurse: Are you two sisters?
    My Mom: I AM HER MOTHER!! BUT THANK YOU!! Everyone always thinks that.

    The nurse left, and the Doctor entered. Now this doctor was not exactly the most jovial character on planet earth. He is an ER doctor in rural New Hampsha and exactly how you would expect him to be. There was no kidding around for him.

    My mom however is a personality and a half. She likes to say things to get a rise out of people, and entertain herself. If you are wondering where I get it from… well there’s your answer.

    Doctor: What brings you here today?
    My Mom: I have shingles.
    Doctor: And why would you think that?
    My Mom: Well at first I thought it was the yoga but… then I realized I didn’t hurt myself in yoga. It’s shingles. See look.
    Doctor: Usually shingles happen with our older patients.
    My Mom: Well I am 63.

    The doctor looks again.

    Doctor: Yeah, it does look like shingles.
    My Mom: Aren’t I clever?
    Doctor: What do you mean?
    My Mom: Aren’t I cleaver to diagnose myself with shingles.
    Doctor: Not really. A lot of people diagnose themselves with shingles. And they’re usually right.
    My Mom: Don’t you still think I’m clever?
    Doctor: I don’t know about that.
    My Mom: I knew if I came in quick, the shingles would go away faster, and hurt less.
    Doctor: There are only half-truths in that statement. That isn’t exactly the case.
    My Mom: Isn’t it better to come in within the first 72 hours? That’s why we rushed over.
    Doctor: When did they start bothering you?
    My Mom: This afternoon. So that’s why we came tonight. Aren’t we clever to get here on time?
    Doctor: Well, you had about 68 more hours you could have waited.
    My Mom: But we are clever.
    Doctor: I will be right back.

    The doctor left and I just sat there with my head in my hands not knowing whether to laugh or try and drown myself. He then returned.

    Doctor: Okay well…
    My Mom: Are you going to prescribe me Valtrex or something?
    Doctor: What I was trying to say is…. I am going to give you something tonight that you can take immediately, then you can fill your prescription tomorrow morning…
    My Mom: Do you think CVS is open right now?
    Doctor: No. Which is why I said I was going to give you something tonight.
    My Mom: Okay well the less drugs the better.
    Doctor: What do you mean?
    My Mom: I’m just not the type of person who takes drugs.

    COMING FROM THE WOMAN WHO TAKES BENADRYL EVERY NIGHT MIND YOU!?

    Doctor: Well I can prescribe you something for the pain, and you don’t have to fill it if you don’t want to.
    Toni: Mom, shingles are seriously painful.  They may not hurt yet because you just got them, but they will.
    Doctor: What did you take for your shingles?
    Toni: I was given the Valacyclovir.
    Doctor: Yes, we could also prescribe steroids, but it is not given to patients under 55.
    My Mom: Well I’m 63. Even though we look like sisters.
    Doctor: I was just saying that’s why they weren’t given to her.
    My Mom: Should I take steroids if I am sad?
    Doctor: What do you mean sad?
    My Mom: Just if I get sad from my shingles.
    Doctor: We can prescribe them. And the painkillers.
    My Mom: How will I get the drugs? Do I just call the hospital and mention your name and they will give them to me?
    Doctor: No. Not at all.
    My Mom: Well how do I get the drugs?
    Doctor: I will write you a prescription tonight that you can take with you.
    My Mom: So I shouldn’t just come in here and drop your name.
    Doctor: Definitely not.

    As you can see, this doctor was just NOT getting my mom at all. Here she was dropping comedy gold, and he was taking her so seriously!! I thought they were going to kick us out of the hospital. There was no way she was going to win this guy over.  But then… he entered with the prescriptions.

    Doctor: Here are your prescriptions for the shingles and also for the pain.
    My Mom: Am I going to turn into Rush Limbaugh if I take painkillers?
    Doctor: Why would you say that?
    My Mom: I just don’t want to turn into Rush Limbaugh.
    Doctor: I don’t think that’s going to happen. You’re not a big fat idiot.
    My Mom: Can you believe that Al Franken was able to go from Saturday Night Live, to writing a book called “Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot,” to being the senator of Minnesota?

    AND just like that –  they were friends!! They talked about Al Franken for the next 5 minutes!!

    Doctor: Well that was quite a tangent. Good luck to you, and if you have any problems come back and I’ll take care of it.
    My Mom: Great. I’ll just drop your name.
    Doctor: It’s a good thing that you came in early and took care of this.
    My Mom: I don’t fuck around.
    Doctor: I can see that.

    The doctor then shook our hands and left as the nurse came in to give my mom her pills.

    My Mom: Nurse, would you mind looking in my ears? They have been really itchy and I just want to make sure there are no ticks in my ears.
    Nurse: Have you been outside?
    My Mom: Just in my screened in porch.

    And sure enough, there were no ticks in her ears.

    mom-shingles-blog-2

    July 30, 2015 • Adventures, Family Drama • Views: 188

  • What if Caitlyn Jenner Became the Anti-Kardashian?

    I am not proud to admit this, but Facebook is my news. It’s where I get alerted to the conversations of the public lexicon. Without my friends telling me what to pay attention to, I tend to stare deep into the abyss of my navel as if my consciousness is eating it’s own tail.

    I have been so wrapped up in a state of manic narcissism mixed with workaholic frenzy that I seriously have no idea what is going on in the world. I get broad strokes of what’s happening – people are still racist as fuck, the prison industrial complex is alive and well, and WW3 might happen tomorrow, but it might not.

    So admittedly, I am behind in my ability to be interesting at a cocktail party, unless you think queef jokes are funny, in which case, I am a blast. Get it?

    With the Caitlyn Jenner story, I get how revolutionary this is for culture. I don’t question the vast social impact it has for the transgender community, and how Caitlyn has ignited a national conversation of vast importance. Yet during a late night stoned conversation, my friend made a point that I just can’t let go of. She said, “It’s not that interesting to me that Bruce Jenner decided to become a woman. I can understand how one would dis-identify with their gender. What I find most compelling is the kind of woman he chose to become.”

    Okay granted, I was pretty high, but I was like “holy shit.” Caitlyn is very much like a Kardashian in her physical presentation – the body type, attention towards fashion, the excessive make up. There is a “Real Housewives of Where Ever the fuck,” vibe. These fancy rich women who hold onto beauty standards, glorification of youth, and will go to vast extremes to maintain a certain look.

    Sure it’s fun to get dressed up, look sexy, and play around with clothes and lipstick. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet when the exterior of your feminine form comes to define your interior, it does make me take pause. I wish being feminine wasn’t about looking feminine, but rather glorifying empathy, nurturing, emotional expression and all these other “feminine traits.”

    The female experience is so much deeper than the packaged façade the media insists it is. The cultural pressure to wax, pluck, tuck, and preen our bodies into smooth Barbie body parts has nothing to do with what it actually means to be a woman. Part of me wishes that the kind of woman Caitlyn became was a super feminist hippy earth mother goddess. That she wore flowing organic fabrics, challenged all convention, and wanted to blast open the patriarchy.

    Now that she has her TV show, what if Caitlyn became the anti-Kardashian? What if she rejected the commercialized approach to reality TV and created a whole new approach that was rooted in rawness and truth? Wouldn’t it be cool if she was like the ultimate Mother Gaia incarnate who was able to embody the true harmony of the masculine and feminine energies?

    Okay fine that’s a lot of pressure on one person, but if we are going to obliterate gender, that would be a kind of bad ass start.

    caitlyn-blog-(i)

    July 27, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 192

  • The Art of Spoiling

    We all know that Grandparents tend to indulge their grandchildren. It comes with the territory. I guess for them it’s fun giving kids whatever they want, and then sending them back to their parents to deal with repercussions – because who cares!? And actually fuck you for your teenage years… here’s your child who’s high as fuck on sugar and will totally crash in about 20 minutes.

    My mom should lead seminars on spoiling. She has taken it to a fine art. I truly believe the MOMA should commission her for a live performance piece. Grandparents across the nation can learn from her ways.

    When I tell my mom things like “I like to be aware of Munch’s sugar intake so she doesn’t become a monster,” or “I like to limit her screen time so she doesn’t become a FUCKING MONSTER,” my mom usually just rolls her eyes at me. She insists I am being dramatic, and that The Munch is “a lovely child who is easy to be around and a great companion.” Yeah… do you want to know why she is a good kid? BECAUSE I DON’T LET HER EAT SUGAR ALL DAY, LIMIT HER SCREEN TIME, AND TELL HER “NO” ALL THE FUCKING TIME SO SHE ISN’T A PSYCHO BITCH!

    It’s like my mom doesn’t see the correlation between boundaries and decent behavior!

    Yet she is the Grandmother, and she will do as she damn pleases. For example, The Munch comes home from a sleepover the other day and tells me “Manna let me have 3 cookies for breakfast this morning.” I called my mom thinking Munch was exaggerating because surely NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would give a 5 year old 3 CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES FOR BREAKFAST.

    Toni: Hi Mom, how did last night go?
    My Mom: She was an angel. I gave her 3 cookies for breakfast this morning to celebrate the American Iranian nuclear peace treaty.
    Toni: Are you fucking serious?
    My Mom: I want her to remember this momentous day where America and Iran became friends!

    A few days later I picked up The Munch from my mom’s and asked casually what she had eaten. You know, so I had an idea of what food groups, and if there was already a fair amount of treats I should be aware of.

    My Mom: She just ate healthy things – mango and some veggies
    Toni: Okay great!
    Munch: I had 3 cookies and a Nutella sandwich. AND Manna let me watch TV the whole time. I watched hours and hours of My Little Pony. Like so much, my eyes hurt.
    Toni: Did you now?
    Munch: Yeah! Mom, can I go to Manna’s again tomorrow?

    The look of a truly cracked out Munch.

    spoiling-blog-i

     

    July 22, 2015 • 5 years old, Behavior, Disciplining, Eating, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting • Views: 327

  • Why I am The Way I am : The Shredder Saga

    I feel like there are probably moments when you read my writing, and then perhaps ask yourself, “why?” Just “why is this girl like this?” Why did she have to say that? Yes it is warm, but there’s no need to compare going outside to “walking inside a moist vagina.” Just unnecessary imagery.

    Was she dropped on her head? Did her mother smoke while she was in utero? (Answer: yes) What is wrong with her?

    I think I was just born into an eccentric family. We are all a bit wacky in our own ways, and I believe the email chain I am about to share is pretty much the perfect explanation of who I am.

    Here is the context:

    In my Dad’s study, there are piles and piles and piles of paper. Kind of like the room of a mad scientist, but instead of test tubes, there is just LOTS of paper with Ancient Greek on it. So my dad decides he needs to clean his study, and the best way to do this, would be to shred all the paper.

    My dad then goes on line, and buys and industrial sized shredder. Keep in mind; my dad pays all his bills electronically. There really is nothing in his study that is worthy of shredding, and if there is, I am sure he could tear up that ONE piece of paper.

    Yet my dad insisted he needed this industrial sized shredder anyway.

    The shredder arrived, and weighed 250 pounds. My dad, who was in Greece, assumed from MILES AWAY that this GIANT MACHINE could be brought up the FIVE flights of stairs to his office by the handy man Tony Farma. My brother interjected, and explained that the shredder is wayyyyy too heavy for that. My brother’s solution is that the shredder stay in the dinning room, yet my mom – who is German and very particular about aesthetic – would not be pleased. An industrial sized shredder in her dining room does not exactly fit into her taste palate.

    My brother, however, had grown very attached to the shredder, and insisted that it remain in the dining room. It was now a part of our family, and one can’t just go around abandoning industrial sized shredders.

    Enjoy

    Title of Email : Applied archaeology on the shredder
    Author: My brother

    Dear Dad,

    So there is this huge heavy box that is sitting in the front hall. I
    think what must have happened is Tony Fama intercepted it but then could
    not deal with it because it is really heavy and it would seem it would
    need a team of ox to do anything about. I recommend it just sit there
    for a while. But what I am trying to tell you here is that it is a
    multiple person job moving this huge box anywhere. But I like having it
    around because it makes me think of you. But it is the kind of thing
    that if Mom saw this, she’d shit. Dad, I love you. Son

    My Dad’s response

    Dear Laszlo,

    I swear, your Mom gave her blessings to this. If the shredder can fit
    into my 5th floor study, near the wooden ladder that goes to the roof,
    then we have a plan. That’s what I pitched to your Mom, and she liked the
    idea.
    Love,
    Dad

    My Brother’s response

    OK Dad this sounds good.

    But what I am saying is this thing seems like
    really heavy. So, I am thinking that it might be a good idea for you and
    mom to lovingly look at it. What happens if it doesn’t fit? Then one
    just has a huge shredder that has been opened and doesn’t fit anywhere.
    Can I just propose that the thing sit around until there is a plan? I
    just don’t want to have that much to do with it but I assure you that I
    pat the huge box lovingly each time I walk past it. Dad, I am cc-ing
    Mom.

    My Dad’s Response

    Dearest Laszlo and hi to your Mom
    Actually, our dear Niloo did some very good detective work on the size of
    the li’l critter.
    Actually, I shouldn’t call it “li’l”, but it’s still supposed to fit
    upstairs. It’s just the box that makes
    it seem so monstrously big. See what I mean?
    But you should not have anything to do with it. Tony will I’m sure hire
    some guys to carry the critter upstairs.
    And just think of all the fun I will have shredding so much junk.
    Lots and lots of shredded paper will go to the trash.
    I can hardly wait.
    Love,
    Dad

    My Brother’s response

    Dear Dad,
    Please know that I would walk through Hades with you to make sure this
    shredder finds a home in 8* Revere Street. I was just worried that it
    would not fit anywhere. But if you grant me your assurance that this
    device will in fact fit, I am happy just to think of many happy hours to
    come of you shredding things. I love you so much and I am sorry if I
    caused undue alarm with respect the dimensions of the device.
    Son Continue Reading

    July 20, 2015 • Family Drama • Views: 338

  • Me, My Brother, Mania, and the Muse

    Last year something very important happened to me. I was feeling tired all the time, and like I didn’t have enough hours in the day to get things done. Then my brother suggested the revolutionary idea that I get up earlier so I could be more productive. My retort was that then I would be even more tired, to which he suggested, “not if you drink coffee,” – and then my life changed FOREVER!

    I drink coffee like a holy sacrament. I don’t fuck around once I’ve ingested this sacred sap of the muse’s teat. As it pours down my esophagus and infuses into my veins, I only direct my attention towards truly celestial creative work. Then the mania begins.

    My brother is probably the only person who truly understands just how severe the hysteria can be. How once I feel the artistic fervor to accomplish something, it takes over like parasite – engulfing all the mental microbes of sanity. I then enter into a trance where all that matters is the vision locked inside my being that I have to release from the asylum of soul.

    But let’s say I drink the blessed beverage, and then perhaps, get a phone call, or come across another human being. The result is by no means a normal exchange between two rational adults. It’s more like if you encountered a strange humanoid that had been living in a cave and was raised by bears. When someone has to deal with me after I just drank coffee, they will experience the unleashed OCD energy that should ONLY be channeled into a solitary act of my own making.

    The other day, I went to Boston for a “girls night out” for my friend’s birthday. I think this is an important thing to do as a parent, because you need nights where you think to yourself “my butt can still vibrate to the beat.” It makes you feel alive. I always have a good time because hey, no one is asking me to make them a sandwich made with mayonnaise, peanut butter, and cereal. There was one time when I was out dancing with my friend, and someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “why are you having so much fun?” to which my explanation was “because I’m a mom from New Hampshire.”

    So when I woke up the next morning after my night on the town, I went downstairs to gather my things to leave. My brother was in the kitchen, and in the middle of experiencing his righteous ritual. He looked up from his coffee with wild eyes. Now remember, we have the same DNA. We react the same to all substances. So once my brother gets an idea on coffee, his idea WILL be executed!

    My brother: Baby sister sit. We talk about the succession of the South, and how World War 3 might be here by the fall.

    Toni: I have to go pick up my friend to get her back to New Hampsha on time.

    My brother: Baby sister is hung over. You are going nowhere! You will be drunk driving!

    Toni: No I am not! I am fine! I promise!

    My Brother: Look at this picture of Baby Munch! She will say to me, “Why did you let my mom leave that morning! Why didn’t you make her stay!? Now I have no mother.”

    Toni: I’m so fine!!! I swear to you on everything holy!!

    My Brother: No baby sister! Make this friend come to you! I insist! Sit! We chat!

    There was NO changing his mind, or making him see the world differently. I had interrupted his consecrated custom, and now all that prana was directed towards me. The muse had spoken to him, and he was committed! But I was already late to pick up my friend, and also pretty sure my brother was going to tie me to the chair to hear his analysis on race relations in modern times.

    Toni: What if I go get some coffee? Then will I be okay?

    My Brother: Oh. Right of course that’s what you should do. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.

    laz-muse-blog

    July 15, 2015 • Adventures, Family Drama • Views: 391

  • The Munch Birthday Blog

    Today is The Munch’s 5th birthday!

    Of course this marking of time makes me look back at these past few years and reflect. Hold on. I have to go stare in the mirror real quick. Okay I’m back. Still cute.

    Oh right… I was supposed to be reflecting about my child! Duh!!!

    Being a parent has taught me many things – like what it’s like to wipe someone else’s butt first thing in the morning, or what another human’s puke feels like dripping through my fingers. My child is the one person on planet earth whose imperfections, leaking body parts, or explosive emotions don’t freak me out. Yeah sure, I don’t always want to deal with them, but the fact that she is a part of me makes me infinitely more patient, loving, and tolerant. I’m like “awwwwww, I love you because you remind me so much of me, sweetie.”

    Even though I have to give The Munch A LOT of my time, energy, and food (she always want to eat what I’m eating), I’m also fully aware of how much she has given me. Like pink eye. Just kidding… I washed my hands so I didn’t catch it. Actually in truth, I don’t wash my hands at all. I only pretend to in public bathrooms because I don’t trust anti bacterial soap, but I also don’t want you to judge me. It’s not like I’m peeing on my hands though, so what’s the big deal you critical twat?

    Anyway…

    What I’m trying to say is that parenting is an endless journey of satisfying someone else’s needs. Wait. No. That was my auto correct. Sorry. What I meant to say is parenting is the best thing that ever happened to me!

    The Munch has been a source of endless inspiration. I mean look how much I write about her! Sure, I take breaks every once in a while to talk about politics or vaginas, but the rest of this blog is my observations on this special creature. Even though The Munch has no idea I have been exploiting her childhood for my personal gain, she has been such a good sport about it!

    I have learned more about human nature from this human than I ever thought possible. She has been my greatest and wisest teacher, and has instilled me with lessons like “don’t sing Mama while I’m singing because I cannot hear myself if all I hear is your voice.” I mean, come on. That is some Buddha shit right there.

    My Munchee is a true miracle and I’m grateful for her beyond words.

    birthday-munch-blog-2

    July 1, 2015 • 5 years old, Mommyhood, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 317

  • Owning Your Shame

    The thing about doing something you regret is that you are often too ashamed to own up to it. When you are afraid to share your humiliation with other people, it ends up burrowing deep into your psyche. It then festers inside your soul like gangrene as you are left alone to deal with the remorse. Not only are you then shouldering the burden of your guilt, but also the heavy load of keeping it in.

    I feel like the only way to truly forgive yourself for misdeeds is to air them out like socks. Rather than tucking your offence back in like teenage boy with a boner, just let the mast of your transgressions fly erect.

    I had one of these experiences the other day. I was bringing The Munch to her last day of school picnic, and of course, was running late. I was also supposed to pick up her Uncle and Cousin Calvin on the way, so I was consequently making them late too.

    Of course in the grand scheme of life, it is not a big deal that we weren’t going to be on time. We were probably just missing out on some pagan Waldorf ceremony where the group sang to grandmother moon while making mazes out of freshly harvested wheat – but I was feeling anxious non the less.

    Part of my problem was that I was SUPER FUCKING STRESSED out that week. A lot was going on, and I was NOT on my best form. I am not usually one to take out my feelings on others, but much like those rare moments when you think a fart is just a fart – shit happens.

    So Munch and I got in the car, drove down the driveway, and were about to turn onto the highway.

    Munch: Wait Mom! Can we go back and get my Frozen Flip Flops?
    Toni: Dude no. We already have your sneakers and other sandals. Let’s just go… we are already late.
    Munch: PLEASE MAMA I WANNA TURN AROUND AND GET MY FROZEN FLIP FLOPS!
    Toni: NO!

    This wasn’t just any “no.” This was the kind of “no” where I screamed in Munch’s face with such vigor that her hair blew back from the velocity of my breath.

    The Munch turned away from me, looked out the window, and silently cried.

    Okay, there is NOTHING more disturbing than a child crying silently.

    I felt soooo fucking horrible about myself. But I was also still SUPER aggravated! GODDAMN THOSE FROZEN FLIP FLOPS! I HATE THEM!

    Toni: Munch, I’m really sorry. I should not have yelled like that. But sometimes you can be really annoying when you don’t take “no” for an answer. Can you understand that?
    Munch: Yes.

    Munch was still pretty damn sad. So just to totally mix messages, confuse things, and probably fuck her up for life – I turned around and got the shoes.

    Toni: Here are your shoes. I really resent doing that, but I did it out of guilt because I snapped at you, and I don’t like snapping. Just please realize that when people say “no,” you have to respect it.
    Munch: Okay.

    We hugged it out, but she was still pretty quite on the drive to her cousin’s house. So when her Uncle and Cousin got in the car, rather than let the energy chafe the vibe of the car like testes on a hot thigh, I just told them the story of what happened.

    Toni: On our drive here, Munch really wanted her Frozen flip flops, but I really didn’t want to get them, and I yelled at her super loud! Like I was a child! I acted like a big baby rather than the grown up!

    We all laughed.

    Munch: And then I cried! But we made up, and my mom gave me a hug.

    Then everything was fine. Why hide this outburst so we both had to pretend it didn’t happen? By talking about it, we both could let go of it. People flip the fuck out all the time, and the best way to deal with it is to look it in the face and admit it happened.

    This is me gearing up to be an asshole…

    shame-blog-(i)

  • I am a Dance Mom Failure

    For the past year, The Munch has been attending dance classes at the local dance studio. I’m usually teaching dance or dancing myself during that time – so her grandmother has been forced to be the stand-in “dance mom.” Since I have not really been around, I was totally clueless to the culture of this studio, and just how much they were seriously not fucking around.

    It all started with the impending dress rehearsal. I asked Munch’s grandmother if she could take her, and she started to get very nervous.

    Munch’s Grandmother: Oh I was hoping you could take her to her dress rehearsal.
    Toni: I would but I have a super important meeting and then I’m teaching. Is there anyway you could?
    Munch’s Grandmother: I can, but they want her to be in full costume with make up and a bun. I only had sons, so I don’t think I can do all that.
    Toni: I’m sure it won’t matter. She’s only four. Just shove her hair up and slap some eye shadow on her face.
    Munch’s Grandmother: Ummm, they are very particular about the buns.
    Toni: Okay, well I will send her to your house with a bun already in her hair.
    Munch’s Grandmother: Okay, they are just really serious about those buns.
    Toni: I’m sure it will be fine.

    That Monday, I got Munch ready in the morning for her afternoon rehearsal.

    Toni: Listen, I have to do your hair now, because Grandma isn’t sure about putting your hair back in a bun for your rehearsal. So just try not to mess it up.
    Munch: Okay. But can you put two braids in the side and then a braid around the bun?
    Toni: Do I seriously have to go all Game of Thrones on your hair right now? Can’t I just do a regular bun?
    Munch: I WANT BRAIDS WITH MY BUN!!!!!!!!!!!

    So I did what any normal parent would do when their child screams in their fucking face. I did exactly as she asked.

    I brought Munch to her Grandmother’s house and she was immediately anxious when she saw Munch’s hair.

    Munch’s Grandmother: Oh her hair looks very pretty, but are you sure those braids are okay?
    Toni: They’ll be fine. It’s a dress rehearsal! Who cares?

    Well it turns out those braids WERE NOT FUCKING FINE AT ALL! Munch’s Grandmother was scolded for having the wrong kind of bun, and the owner of the studio had to do ANOTHER PERFECT BUN! She then sent Munch’s grandmother home with hairpins, a hair net, and specific instructions for me on how to get her bun perfect!

    Okay fine.

    The night of the show, I gave Munch the best goddamn bun you ever did see. But her “Dust Bunny” costume, which was a tutu adorned with pink feathers, was fragile. So I decided I would just get her dressed at the venue, so as not to smash her tutu during the car ride (or have pink feathers all over my car). We drove to the performance venue with the windows rolled up (so as NOT to disturb the bun), and got there just on time.

    As I was dressing Munch, another Mom told me she was going to leave early, as the “Dust Bunnies” were the first to perform, and it was a long show. She was afraid her daughter would be too tired for the next night’s performance if she had two late nights. Her logic made perfect sense to me. One because who wants to deal with a tired kid? And two because who wants to sit through 2 hours of watching other people’s kids dance?

    After Munch had her 3-minute moment on stage, we sneaked out, and I went to find her backstage. I guess leaving 5 minutes after the show has started and taking your kid away is NOT exactly “Dance Mom” etiquette. So as I was leaving her teacher walked past perplexed.

    Dance Teacher: Are you taking Adelia? She’s not going to stay for the bow?
    Toni: No. I’m getting her home early so she isn’t a total A-Hole tomorrow.

    So I guess “Dance Mom’s” also don’t refer to their child as an “A-Hole” in public.

    The next night of the 2nd performance I figured I could have the same routine as I did the 1st night. I did the bun at home, and assumed I could get Munch into her costume backstage again. Yet when I tried to enter, I was stopped.

    Dance Mom Volunteer: Are you a chaperone volunteer?
    Toni: No?
    Dance Mom Volunteer: Well you can’t come in here. Dancers only.
    Toni: Okay, I just wanted to get my kid dressed real quick.
    Dance Mom Volunteer: You were supposed to do that at home. She was supposed to come dressed and ready to perform.
    Toni: Well is there a bathroom I can use?
    Dance Mom Volunteer: No. There isn’t. She was supposed to come dressed and ready.

    My mom and I took Munch around the corner, found the fucking bathroom that this chick pretended didn’t exist, and proceeded to put on her goddamn costume and makeup.

    Toni: Jesus H. Christ she was being aggressively unreasonable.
    Munch: Who was mom?
    Toni: Nobody. Don’t worry about it.
    Munch: That mom that wouldn’t let you in that room?
    Toni: DON’T TELL HER I SAID ANYTHING! YOU WILL RUIN ME!

    I mean that was a lot of stress! Now I am not saying that Munch wasn’t the most AMAZING Dust Bunny… but basically she just skipped across stage a few times with a bunch of other girls who looked just like her, and then rolled on the floor.

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    June 22, 2015 • 4 years old, Adventures, Education, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting • Views: 398

  • The World Of Make Believe is Kinda F*cked Up!

    As adults, I think we all envy the imagination of children. Their ability to lose themselves in a play pretend planet, and envision a reality I can only achieve after taking acid. Yet sometimes when I enter into these alternate dimensions with my child, I sometimes take pause, and think to myself, “Damn kid, your make believe worlds are kinda fucked up!”

    Here are some of the most recent games I have played with The Munch:

    1) Dead Mermaid Examiners:

    Munch: Let’s pretend we are these explores that find dead mermaids. We travel the seas, and every time we find a dead mermaid, we bring her on our ship and examine it. And then, we look inside her body, and see all her broken bones, and how her heart isn’t beating.

    Toni: Ummm okay. Do we have magic powers to save the mermaid or anything? So we can bring her back to life?

    Munch: Yeah, but first we have to use this tool to peel off her fin to make sure all her bones are broken – and then we can use the magic to make her heart beat again. But after we make her alive, she goes back into the water, and the bad guys just kill her again.

    2) Evil Jailer:

    Munch: Pretend that you are sleeping in my bed, and then I come in the middle of the night and capture you. But I tell you I am brining you to my house to watch my animals, but really, I just put you in jail. And because you believed me, and you love animals, you didn’t know I was going to do that. And when you are in jail there are bars everywhere, surrounding you, and you can’t get out.

    Toni: What happens to me when I am in jail?

    Munch: You cry because you want to get out.

    Toni: Wah!!!

    Munch: Pretend that I am evil, but you have this magic treasure that turns me nice. So here, you can use it now.

    Toni: Okay. I am using this magic treasure and I am making you nice! Shazam!

    Munch: Your magic didn’t work. I am still evil.

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