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  • Why Is “Mom” the Answer to Everything?

    Even though I love the shit out of my kid, being “the mom” can sometimes seriously suck. Whenever The Munch is sick, all she wants is me – her mom. No one else will do. Not even if My Little Pony had an orgy with Frozen, Cinderella, and The Little Mermaid to produce the ultimate neon princess pony with magical powers and tail.

    I think we all have this visceral connection to the idea that “mom” emotionally translates to safety. When I was young and sick, it was my mom who I felt I could trust most to know what to do. Which was pretty much the right idea since her cure to all ailments was to mix together a drink of lemon, honey, warm water, and whisky. Not sure if those concoctions actually helped me heal, but they did facilitate a damn good time.

    When we are at our most vulnerable, especially when young, one true relief is being with mom. But what is it about “the mom” that is most soothing? Is it because we once lived inside her as an actual physical home while feeding from her blood like a parasite? Does the inadvertent nurturing dependency of pregnancy impact an assumption that mom = support? But what about adopted children? I am sure they still want to snuggle with their mom even if they didn’t spurt out her birth canyon. Is it a female thing that bitches are inherently more comforting and shit? But what about children of gay couples? Which mom is the sick mom? Or which dad becomes the sick dad? Is one person always burdened with being the sick parent? Why did it have to be me?

    The Munch came home from school yesterday with a fever, and has literally been on top of me ever since. I mean I know I am delightful and all, but this primal urge for her to be near me is intense. She slept on me all afternoon – pinning me down so I felt like a guy after a one-night stand that wants to chew his own arm off just to free himself from the embrace of a girl he is just not that into. If I tried to maneuver myself away, Munch just held on tighter around me neck – IN HER SLEEP LIKE A BOSS!

    Then of course last night she didn’t want to sleep by herself. She kept waking up with these intense hallucinations like she was at a Grateful Dead Show – her heart beating as fast as tripping hippy. So I brought her into my bed hoping we could both get some rest. My logic was that if she was alone and scared she would wake up more than if she was next to me. I also wanted to keep an eye on her in case things got really bad throughout the night. What I wasn’t prepared for was the fever induced nightmares that would ensue. It was like trying to sleep in an insane asylum. Every 20 minutes she would yell in her sleep. Some of my favorite utterings she bellowed into the darkness were “Don’t peel my skin off! I want to eat it later,” as well as “Those bushes are evil and the sugar will destroy you,” and then “I don’t want to go to school, the monsters keep taking our blankets and using them for polenta.” I was fucking terrified.

    At one point Munch woke up for some water, which she proceeded to drink too fast, and then vomited all over my bed. As exciting as that was to have this exorcist moment, it was also pretty gross to sleep in bile. So we went back into her room, where I slept on the floor in case she puked again. Then came the deliriums, which caused not only intense thrashing, but for Munch to wake up yelling in my face blowing barf-breath directly into my nose – all the while still sort of sleeping and sweating like a coke head in the early morning hours.

    Today wasn’t any better. A kid with a fever is a lot like being around a detoxing junkie. There is a lot of crying, flailing, fitful napping, and relentlessly asking for more medicine. There wasn’t any liberation from her unyielding need for me to hold her through this process, which was as flattering as it was oppressive. It is nice that she feels so consoled by me, but I haven’t seen the light of day in 24 hours. Has WW3 started yet? What is going on out there?

    Hopefully despite all this direct contact I won’t catch whatever she had, but if I do get her germs Munch promised we would take care of each other. Meaning I would still do everything for her, but she would let me have some of her orange juice and some of her medicine that takes like candy.

    I give up…

    sick-munch-mom-blog-(i)

    September 24, 2014 • 4 years old, Health, Mommyhood, Parenting • Views: 218

  • Is It Bad That I Didn’t Miss You?

    There are a lot of things that we are supposed to say in order not to seem like total sociopaths. I am supposed to say things like “I love my parents,” or, “I would die for the people in my family,” or “excuse me” if I fart. To say anything different would make me look like a total psycho. As the mother of a child the one thing I *really* should be saying is “I miss my child desperately when I am away because she is the joy of my life and the light of my loins.” Okay but here is the thing, I was just gone for five days from The Munch – and I am pretty sure I didn’t miss her at all.

    Ummmm is that bad? Does that make me a terrible person? I didn’t even really think about Munch that much when I was gone either. Holy crap – that makes me a worse person doesn’t it. Fuck. I am not doing well right now. Wait… wait for it… okay breathe… it actually felt awesome not to think about or miss my child. Shit.

    For the first 15 months of Munch’s life I was basically with her every minute of every day. Trust me. Read my blog during those early years and there is a meticulous account of every detail, including the consistency of her feces once food was introduced. But now that The Munch is four, there is more autonomy for us both. We have our own lives separate from each other. Munch goes to school, she has a babysitter, she spends time with family… Yet even though I do have physical freedom in my everyday life – what I don’t have is mental freedom. I am always having to think about where she is, who is picking her up, what food she has, if she is wearing the right leotard, does she have her rain coat, is there an extra pair of shoes in her bag, and are they the right fucking shoes because my kid is both neurotic and crazy.

    PS…. I also didn’t miss the tantrums, the yelling in my face about not giving her a 3rd piece of chocolate, the shoe throwing, the stink eye, the refusal to get dressed in warm clothes… you know, the basic toddler rage or a developing human.

    I don’t go away that often, so those days where I could just think about me and my needs were seriously epic. I was hundreds of miles away from Munch, and having a break from being responsible for her was as satisfying as burping after drinking soda too fast. It made me realize just how emotionally taxing it is to always have someone else on your mind. To be constantly worrying about them, and wanting to make sure they are okay. It is like Munch is a fascist dictator of my brain and heart. But it is not her fault! Well sort of, because she is really demanding…. But I blame the biological and psychological bond of motherhood more because holy fuck is it intense. Thanks a lot nature!

    On day three, The Munch was missing me so I talked to her on the phone. She was crying and telling me she wanted me to come back – but I got her laughing so then she was fine. Although I was momentarily sad that Munch was sad, it was also amazing talking to her on the phone because I never really do that either. There aren’t a lot of opportunities because we aren’t usually away from each other for that long. Yet having a phone call with my kid only further reinforced the truth of how the physical separation between us is only increasing as she ages. The attachment of those baby years is no longer, and now our relationship will have to withstand distance. Munch and are only going to grow farther apart because her life will take her away from me at times, as will mine. We can’t be together every moment of every day, so the journey then turns into staying emotionally connected even when we are not in each other’s faces.

    There is a certain beauty of loving someone so much you yearn for them. The Munch missed me because I have been the anchor of her life, and I represent so much in terms of love, safety, and security. Yet soon The Munch will crave independence, and want to get away from me. It is probably then that I will miss her desperately and call crying, but she will be like “Ugh… thank god I am away from my mom so she can stop fucking writing about me for five minutes.” But fuck you future Munch because I will write about that phone call so you can’t escape me!

    When I got home Munch was sooooo happy to see me that it actually made me tear up. She kept hugging and kissing me – telling me how much she loved me. I felt so honored to mean so much to this precious person. I was totally humbled by how much I adored her, and how lucky I was to have this tiny tyrannical human in my life. I held Munch in my arms and knew that every moment, even the hardest ones, were totally profound because of the depth of our love. Then of course she got mad at me because I wouldn’t let her watch “My Little Pony,” and I started planning my next trip.

    didn't-miss-you-blog-(i)

    September 22, 2014 • 4 years old, Adventures, Mommy Mind, Mommyhood, Parenting, Relationships, Working Mommy • Views: 293

  • Enter into MY reality Bitch!

    When someone is an asshole to me, my initial reaction is usually “Wow you really suck salty scrotums. I hope you choke on sperm chunks so hard it comes out your nose, dribbles down your face and back into your mouth.” It’s easy to assume that rude conduct is indicative of a rude human. It can be challenging to distinguish between the behavior and the person when someone is energetically, metaphorically, or physically crapping in your mouth. Yet just because someone is acting like a dick doesn’t mean they are one.

    Dealing with humans can still be exhausting! At any given moment we might be contrarian, mildly antagonistic, or moderately unreasonable. When I can’t relate to the person I’m with, all I want is to shake them like a British nanny until they are living in my reality. What is wrong with you and your crazy fucking thoughts!!?

    I had an epiphany the other day about relationships. I was listening to this podcast about people with Alzheimer’s and how to best relate to them. The prevailing thinking has been when Grandma makes statements inconsistent with “reality,” she should be corrected. “Grandma, this is your home now”, or “That is your grandson,” or “don’t eat that- it’s a book.” Yet now research suggests instead of talking Alzheimer’s patients out of their reality, we should enter into it. If Grandma says she sees monkeys out the window, we should tell her her how much we hope they come inside and run around. In other words, embrace her reality.

    Profound, right? Even more so when considering how this approach is is applicable to all people. We all construct narratives in our heads to make sense our realities and when people challenge them, we often go on the defensive. NO MAN, STOP TELLING ME YOUR REALITY. THIS IS MY REALITY!! Instead of projecting our realities onto others, why not embrace theirs?

    When I have an issue with someone, I usually focus on how they make me feel. What if I turned that around and deeply considered how the other person feels? I tried this with The Munch recently to see if it might an effective strategy when she is being a total fuckface… I mean faintly challenging.

    We were getting ready in the morning and I told her we had to go to her hippy doctor so she could get her wandering eye poked at with crystals and sage or whatever.

    Munch: I don’t want to go today. I just want to go to Debbie’s house.
    Toni: But I made the appointment already. It’s too late to cancel so we are going.

    We went downstairs to eat breakfast and The Munch’s mood turned to shit. She was cranky, yelling, and eventually threw her shoe in the sink while I was doing dishes. I wanted to throw my shoe at her damn face at after that, but instead I tried to enter her reality instead.

    Toni: Munch, what is going on with you? Is something wrong? I think you know better than to throw your shoe. Can you tell me what is going on?
    Munch: I really don’t want to go to the doctor today. Sometimes it hurts and I don’t want to get my eye adjusted. I just want to go to Debbie’s house.

    I can work with that. In all fairness, she had made a request that I didn’t listen to, so she was upset. I can understand why it is hard for her to have to go to the doctor and get prodded and she didn’t want to deal. It’s not like I am going to acquiesce to her every time she doesn’t want to do something, but I felt compassion for her in that moment.

    I went to Munch’s hippy doctor instead and it was AWESOME! She fixed my ankle that had been hurting for months. WIN for ME!

    Poor Munchee and her eyepatch

     

    reality-blog-(i)

  • Role Model Bullshit

    It used to annoy me when parents would bitch about celebrities being a “bad influence on their kid.” I would be like, “Hey uptight moms and dads – you are the role model your kid should be look up to! So look in the damn mirror and worry about yourself. Don’t censor creativity or complain about Janet Jackson showing off her nipple. Lighten the eff up!”

    But now I kinda get it…

    So far the majority of The Munch’s screen time has been cartoons, so I never really thought about how famous people would impact her psychology. I wasn’t all that concerned about the effect of The Carebears on her understanding of the human experience because wanting a “belly badge” that gave you magic powers seemed pretty reasonable.

    Over the weekend I decided to show The Munch a video with actual people, because hey why the fuck not? The video is by the singer Sia, and features this 11-year old girl from the reality show “Dance Mom’s” – Maddie Zigler. The dancing in this video is captivating beyond belief!! Seriously, the best thing ever. Maddie is so unbelievably good as not only a dancer but also an actress that I considered following her on twitter but I can’t do that BECAUSE I AM AN ADULT and that would be weird. I needed to show this video to the Munch because the choreography is so compelling, and I felt it would be inspiring for her to see it considering the dancer is a little girl like her.

    And…. I was totally right! The Munch LOVED the video and became obsessed. She played it over and over again for 2 straight hours because she was trying to learn the dance! It was insanely endearing to watch. There is this certain satisfaction when you can share something you love with your kid. The video had moved me so profoundly, and I was thrilled that the artistry also impacted my child. I was like “The Munch has amazing taste because it is just like mine!”

    As much as I adored the song and video, I didn’t have the bandwidth to hear it as many times as The Munch wanted. Yet I also didn’t want to interfere with her moment! So I gave her my phone so she could play it as many times as she wanted and continue practicing her dancing. Sounds like a decent plan right?

    After a certain point, The Munch noticed the videos listed below the Sia one that I so adamantly approved of. The “suggested” videos on Youtube connected to Sia weren’t exactly what I would have been showing my 4-year old. Yet since Munch was the one on the phone, she then started searching through a variety of Iggy Azalea videos, including the charming one entitled “Pu$$y.”

    Now if you don’t know who Iggy Azalea is, she is female rapper from Australia. She has blinding blond hair, skin as white as Snow White, and sounds like Nicki Manaj. I am not going to say she doesn’t have skills because she does, but she also totally sucks. Her dancing is mediocre, her style is uninventive/classically slutty, her lyrics are unexceptional, and the beats overproduced.  It is just cliche modern music.  The only thing remarkable about Iggy Azelea is that she is a hot white girl who is decent at spitting rhymes. But there is nothing about her that makes me feel like she is interesting as an artist.

    Munch of course became infatuated with Iggy Azelea and wanted to watch her video cleverly named “Bounce” (about her bouncing hips) 10 bagillion times. Now of course I don’t want to impose my taste on my kid because that not only seems controlling, but also totally counterproductive. There is no better way to get your kid to hate something then trying to make them like it or not like it. But still, the last thing I wanted was my daughter thinking some average pop artist was cool simply because she was wearing bright colored clothes and the videos were edited with subliminal messages.

    **************************************

    Okay… So I wrote that this morning.  When putting Munch to bed tonight we had a dance party to Iggy Azelea, and it was actually kind of awesome. So I guess The Munch is going to be an influence on me too…
    (In case you missed the link, watch this video because it is my only reason for living).

    role-model-(i2)

    role-model-blog-(i1)

    September 2, 2014 • Behavior, Education, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing • Views: 256

  • Just Another One of My Total Failures – No Big Deal

    Do you ever have those moments where you are like, “Wow… I am really embarrassed that just happened. Thank the universe no one was here to witness this totally humiliating experience. I pray this information never gets out because I don’t think I need to be judged on this complete failure.” Yeah… well I had one of those over the weekend and I am going to share it with you because I don’t know why…

    I feel like some context is in order. So I have been a “sober” person now for almost 6 years – which is a really really long time for a person like me who loves not being sober. Then last summer I dabbled in drinking coffee – which soon became the best time of my life because it got me high as fuck. My system was so pure from the absence of outside influences that caffeine was like meth. FUCKIGN AWESOME. But after about 2 months I had to quit. It got too intense, and my afternoon crashes were ugly – like its 5 am and your coke dealer won’t call you back so you tape over all your windows so to never face the sun again kind of ugly.

    A year went by, I was coffee-free, and all was good. Then a few weeks ago, I said to myself “Don’t be such an extremist Toni. You can do this. 95% of the adult population does this. You can drink coffee if you want. Just have it 4 days a week… Monday – Thursday, when you have the most work. Then don’t drink any for the next 3 days so you don’t become an addict… or so you don’t dull the high of Monday by getting too used to it…” Good thinking right!!?? Don’t create a dependency in order to still feel the potency of the effects! I should totally be a drug counselor right? “Listen, if you do heroine every day, it will lose its effectiveness – so instead doing it casually every few days for maximum impact.”

    What I didn’t anticipate was how hard the days would be without the coffee. Friday through Sunday I would be pushing through in this total state of “blahness” – unable to find my mojo. There was no meaning, no joy, nothing to kick start my morning into a frenzied state of productivity. I was existing, not living. Am I being a dramatic you say? NO I AM FUCKING NOT!!

    Now here is the thing about spending the day with a kid… or at least my kid. If I am in a good mental place, I can handle pretty much anything she throws at me. The more self- possessed I am, the better I can manage the complexity of my child’s moods. Although it might sound cliché or corny, taking caring of myself is the number one effort of social activism I can partake in. When I am truly centered and in control of my emotional being, I can handle the chaos of existence with grace. Yet when I am experiencing my own inner turmoil, it is easier for me to do things I later regret.

    The times that I handle The Munch with maturity and embody the model of behavior I want her to live up to, then I can feel like I am doing a decent job as a parent. Yet when I am fragile and too easily influenced by The Munch’s emotive state, those are the instances I am not exactly a “good example.”

    So this is what happened… We were at her swing set, and Munch wanted me to make her baby doll act frustrated. Part of me was like “yeah I guess I could do that…” but this other part of me was like “entertain yourself by swinging on your swing kid.” Like I said before, I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind from the coffee detox, and sometimes you just want your child to deal with their own life and not have to be their damn clown.

    Toni: Munch, why don’t you just swing for a bit and let Mamma stare off into the nothingness contemplating the futility of existence for a bit.
    Munch: No Mamma, don’t do that! Make the baby act frustrated!
    Toni: Fine…. What should she be frustrated about?
    Munch: Just make her act frustrated!!
    Toni: Dude, this isn’t “Improv 101!” I need some direction or something to go on. What do you want the baby to be frustrated about???
    Munch: MOM JUST MAKE THE BABY ACT FRUSTRATED!!!

    Ummm so that is where I got frustrated myself… and threw the baby. NOT AT MUNCH MIND YOU… I just threw the doll high up in the air, and she landed with a thud by Munch’s feet. Now this was a confusing moment for us both. I didn’t hit Munch with the baby because I am a coordinated person who knows how to land a shot if I wanted, but I did fling the baby in Munch’s overall direction. Albeit it was a lob, to throw a baby is a little… ummmm… juvenile.

    Munch looked at the baby, then at me, down at the baby again, and once more at me. I was pretty ashamed by my actions, but tried to blow it off to save face.

    Toni: Mamma, just threw the baby huh?
    Munch: Yeah… good thing it didn’t hit me…
    Toni: Yeah… Mamma is pretty silly right??

    Munch wasn’t buying it. She then also remembered that I never made the baby frustrated. The culmination caused Munch to be quite angry with me, so she took off her Minnie Mouse shoe, and threw it at my head.

    Doink!

    It was a perfect shot. We were both equally surprised because Munch normally doesn’t have the best aim… but this throw would have gotten her into the major leagues.

    A number of things were going threw my mind at this point. Number one was, “Holy fuck my kid just threw a Minnie Mouse shoe at my head!!!” Then of course, “well I did just throw a baby… BUT I DIDN’T hit her!!”

    I really didn’t know how to react or what to say. I needed a minute to sort all this out, so I kept quiet, got up calmly, and left to go inside. I stood in my kitchen and did what any normal person would do when faced with a dramatic conflict – I started doing the dishes and talking to myself. “Listen Toni, you have to redeem myself as an adult who acts with rationality and not emotional impulse. You are the grown up. You can do this!” After about five minutes The Munch came in looking for me.

    Toni: Munch, I am really angry with you for throwing a shoe at my head.
    Munch: Well… you should have ducked.

    (Although not the apology I was looking for, that is some pretty flawless logic)

    shoe-throwing-blog-(i)

  • Does Always Wanting More Make you An Addict?

    The problem with good things is that they leave us wanting more. If I have a bite of delicious cake … I want more. I have some good sex…I want more. I try some amazing pure Columbian cocaine…I want more. The nature of pleasure is to desire more, more, and more of it.

    Part of being an adult is learning to moderate the seduction of indulgence. We are expected to find balance because we have the foresight to understand that too much of a good thing is actually bad. Too much food destroys your heath. Too much sex gives you bumpy rashes. Too much drugs can kill you. Understanding boundaries is part of growing up. The alternative is to end up an addict.

    The thing with kids is they don’t get it. They have no concept of time, so rationalizing the limitation of a certain behavior because of future consequences is futile. I can tell my kid “Look, if you eat all that chocolate you are going to feel sick and shit your brains out later.” Her response will always be “I don’t care.”  It is up to me to moderate her intake, because left to her own devices The Munch just doesn’t give a fuck.

    I’ve tried letting The Munch totally indulge, so she could do a little soul searching on this subject. The prevailing logic was that she would realize for herself the results of excessive behavior, and consider the impact the next time she is faced with temptation. Yeah. No. That really didn’t work. Saying to my four year old “Remember last time when you ate too much ice cream and felt really sick,” only resulted in yet another “I don’t care.”  Whatever memory of the ice cream tummy ache from the past held no power over the delicious taste of ice cream in the present. I guess The Munch is very Buddhist because she only exists in “the now,” but the awareness of past or future effects is a pivotal part of learning restraint.

    The Munch is relentless in her quest for more of everything. She is never satisfied and this is annoying as fuck. She will make a promise like “Mom, let me watch something. I will only watch one episode of My Little Pony I promise. Then you can turn it off and I won’t fuss.” So I let her because I trust her* (*want to get away from her) but when her stupid neon colored show is over, The Munch immediately says, “okay just one more. I PROMISE!”

    While I admire The Munch’s commitment to negotiation, everything becomes a battle because of her inability to be content with what she just had. She will literally be eating a cookie while asking for another. I will be like “Dude, you don’t need to double fist cookies. Just relax and appreciate what you got!” But then she will start crying because I won’t give her another cookie WHILE SHE IS STILL EATING THE FIRST FUCKING COOKIE.

    Here is my dilemma. I can’t tell if The Munch’s excessive wanting “more” of everything is a result of her age or a precursor to a struggle that she will battle with for the rest of her life. I don’t want my kid to grow into an adult with an addictive personality. That is how you end up in back allies doing things you really regret. And is a hard thing to overcome. It is difficult for me to distinguish between normal kid shit, and the makings of a person who is going to beat up old ladies to steal money for blow. It is a fine line, my friends.

    Munch: Mamma, can I bring two lollipops to the beach?

    Toni: No Munch.  One is enough.

    Munch: But what if I want another one? Let’s just bring two just in case.

    Toni: Munch, that is excessive. You don’t want to feed that part of your soul. We all crave more, but it is pivotal to know your limits. Being greedy is a detrimental trait because you will never be satisfied, nor truly appreciate anything. Be grateful for what you have. You are so lucky and have so much abundance in your world.

    Munch: Okay how about I eat one lollipop now, and we bring the other one for later.

     

    more-blog-(i)

  • Swimming In Bacteria Like a Boss

    Okay. So I totally fucked up. But it’s not totally my fault. It is also nature’s fault… and global warming… and all the politicians/corporations/bankers who are ass fucking the planet. But I guess it is also my fault too.

    This is what happened. I live on a lake. It is a beautiful clean mountain lake. I have always thought it was a magical, healing, energetically pure body of water. It never occurred to me to doubt its virtue. The other day my baby sitter, Lilliana, brought The Munch to the beach to go swimming and was told not to go in because of bacteria contaminating the water. When Lilliana texted me this information I was like, “what the holy dick hole. I don’t believe this shit. I have never heard of this in my life. NEVER in 30 years on this lake have I been told not to swim because of bacteria! That is some serious yuppie bullshit!!”

    I just didn’t believe the hype, and quite arrogantly considering I did ZERO research on the subject. Had I just taken… oh… I don’t know… 3 minutes on the Internet all my questions would have been solved. But NO! I was NOT going to be told that I couldn’t swim in the damn lake I have been swimming in my whole damn life.

    Okay so this is where shit got bad. Later that afternoon when I went to pick up Munch she mentioned our plan to go swimming that we had made earlier that morning before this whole debacle.

    Toni: Do you think we should care about the bacteria in the water?
    Munch: Nope.
    Toni: Cool. I am going to trust you because you have the wisdom of a 4-year old. Forget the fact that I am an adult who can and should research potentially dangerous situations. Lets do this because you, my child, say its cool.

    And we drove straight to the bacteria filled beach.

    Okay, so here is a little context. For one… august has been cold as fuck. New England weather already sucks, and our summer has been uncharacteristically short. It didn’t get warm enough to swim until July, and then we had a serious cold rainy front for most of August. Essentially we got dicked out of summer and our only swimming time. After days and days of crappy weather, it was finally a nice day to swim. To not go because of some cryptic threat seemed ludicrous.

    Then next influence is my overall denial of drastic changes in the environment. I know they exist – but I don’t want to actually believe it. I see all those kids wearing sun shirts to protect their skin from the hole in the ozone, but I keep going back to the fact that I never wore sunscreen when I was a child… so what is the big deal? It is this stubborn renouncing of obvious truths because to admit reality is too painful. Yeah maybe when I was a kid the lake wasn’t contaminated, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t now.
    Here is another element of the equation that maybe is less nature’s problem and more mine. I felt SUPER guilty about how much I have been working all summer, and wasn’t feeling like I spent enough time doing stuff outside with Munch. The fact that the season was almost over, made me feel like I didn’t appreciate it. The months went by so fast, and I spent an ample of amount of time inside working trying to make something out of my life. It was this crippling realization that my relentless ambition kept me from enjoying the fleeting warm months with my child.

    The last contributing factor to this scene is the “Holly” in me. You see, my mom –Holly- has a very particular approach to life. She is they type of woman who has mustard from the 80’s that she will put in your sandwich – ignoring the fact it expired 15 years ago – and rationalize eating it because fermentation or whatever. She has fed me rice with maggots unknowingly cooked in, because hey protein. She doesn’t measure when she cooks because measuring is for pussies. She let me ride in the back of a pick up truck because you know, safety is for weak. My mom just doesn’t give a fuck. She operates on her own frequency, and her attitude has obviously impacted my psychology.

    So being told I couldn’t swim because of some stupid bacteria seemed absurd! Forget the fact that NO ONE was at the lake. Never mind the water was eerily still and I could see the algae floating on the surface. Munch and I went anyway, had a wonderful swim, and watched the sunset.

    Sooooooooooooo…

    The next morning The Munch felt a little off. Her throat hurt, her tummy was cramping, but she seemed to pull through after breakfast so I totally forgot about it.

    Later that afternoon we again went to the beach. I assumed whatever silly little water thing HAD to be cleared up by now because it was all so ridiculous any way. Buuuuuut…. yet again it was closed. Yet this time though, there was a GIANT sign explaining what was going on with the water. So yeah…. I spend a moment looking it up, and it turns any contact with this bacteria can make you sick as fuck – including skin rashes, fever, sore throats, and stomach problems.

    Ummmm whoops.

    After I read that, I couldn’t help but feel sick myself. I couldn’t tell if it was in my paranoid head, or it was because I HAD BEEN SWIMMING IN BACTERIA FILLED WATER LIKE AN OVERCONFIDENT FOOL!

    So my guilt about not playing outside enough with my kid quickly transformed into guilt about maybe poisoning her with bacteria infested water. Luckily, she seems fine and never got to the explosive diarrhea or anal leakage stage… thank god Munch has been eating over at mom’s house having old mustard sandwiches with maggot filled rice to build her immune system.

    bacteria-blog-(i)

  • Here You go Sweetie… Eat this Tapeworm for Your Fat Ass

    Hi. The world sucks. Everyone is a total asshole. We might as well just flush our heads down the toilet because that is where society is headed.

    I recently read a delightful article about a mother who covertly fed her daughter tapeworm eggs so she would lose weight before a beauty pageant. When this girl went to the hospital complaining of cramps, the doctors did an ultra-sound thinking she was maybe pregnant, only to discover her belly was full of worms.The teen was administered medicine to flush out the parasites and await the exciting reality of having worms exit her asshole.

    A rehash: a mother didn’t think her daughter was skinny enough, wanted her to win a stupid contest about beauty, and made the decision to risk her child’s life (giving her the life experience of SHITTING LIVE WORMS UP TO 30 FEET IN LENGTH). Can you please close your eyes and imagine a LIVE WORM slithering out your ass, knowing it had been living INSIDE OF YOU??!!

    Of all the things I would not want coming out of my ass, a 30 foot live worm is at the TOP of my list. A squash would be a close second because of the girth, but at least it wouldn’t be moving around. In fact, I would take almost any inanimate object coming out of my ass – including a lamppost – over something that alive. It’s just wrong.

    Now that we’ve gotten over the whole worms coming out the ass part… wait hold on… wretch, gag, barf… okay I am better… there are some GLARING issues about parenting, this mother’s priorities, and how beauty is a defining attribute for girls. Of course I could say the classic rationalization that my mind gravitates towards, like the societal conditioning of women as sex objects, the societal pressure of female attractiveness, and the inaccessibility and absurdity of modern beauty standards. Of course I agree with all these points and believe we’ve been corrupted by oppressive definitions of gender. Yet this is also a chicken and egg scenario. Women often care obsessively about our physical appearance because culture dictates this and our culture is obsessively focused on female beauty because women are obsessed with it.

    We can hate the media for always writing about Kim Kardashian’s body, but every time I see an article about Kim Kardashian’s body I always look at it. I have been socialized to care and I should be furious about the constant objectification of women but I am also totally capable of rejecting this fucked up brainwashing.

    I remember being a kid in history class learning about slavery, the holocaust, Jim Crow, apartheid, and asking the teachers “I don’t get it. How did people allow that?? How could they not know that was wrong?” The prevailing justification I was given, “That was the culture of the time. Those people were reacting to the zeitgeist, so you can’t really blame them for participating in the perceived norm.” To which I would respond “What the dick!” and be sent out of the room.

    My reaction was “No way would I have gone along with that bullshit! I don’t care what kind of culture raised me. I would KNOW slavery was wrong. I would have NEVER let Jewish people be taken to concentration camps. There is NO WAY I would have drank water from some stupid whites only fountain. I would have been different. I would have NEVER let that happen!!”

    The same thinking applies here. Despite conditioning, there were still people who knew enslaving humans/segregation/genocide was wrong and actively fought against it. We women can also be like “fuck this beauty standard shit in the ass.” We don’t have to participate or buy billions of dollars of beauty products every year. We don’t have to hate our bodies or feel insecure that our thighs touch. We don’t have to give a shit about shit. Even though I know it is hard to reject all the fucked up messaging, it was also hard for people to start the Underground Railroad or hide Jews in their attics – but they still did it!

    Let’s do this. Let’s do it for ourselves, our mothers, our sisters and our daughters. Lets keep our toilets tapeworm free

    worms-blog-(i)

    August 26, 2014 • Current Events, Health, Mommyhood, Musings, Parenting, Women's Business • Views: 364

  • Don’t even think of leaving your kid alone… EVER

    I don’t know about you guys, but I had a lot of independence as a kid. Maybe my parents were quasi neglectful, or maybe I was just exceptionally mature. After all, I loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and believed marshmallow “Fluff” was a legitimate food source. So there you go.

    I started walking to school on my own in the first grade. The journey was about a mile and I embarked on this solitary excursion with my pride packed in my little backpack (which I ONLY ever wore on my right shoulder because I was NOT a NERD who wore their bag on BOTH shoulders….that would be CRAZY!!!!!) After school let out, I walked back to our empty house, put on my roller-skates, and glided around aimlessly until it got dark.

    When I was eight years old, I began babysitting for our neighbor’s twins. They were six months old and I got paid $5 an hour. I guess I was an innocent victim of a child labor ring – obviously I should have gotten $10 for two kids! I would play with these baby girls, change their diapers, sometimes remember to feed them, and play some more. I may not have been the most diligent baby sitter of all time, but I kept them alive and we had fun.

    In the summertime, I easily biked 15 miles a day because my mom thought driving her kid around was a “republican thing to do.” The majority of my childhood I was either alone or frolicking with friends making wise decisions like eating half a pound of cookie dough for dinner. Maybe this lead to a bout of serious diarrhea, but I also gained a sense of responsibility over my own person. I learned to rely on my instincts of self-preservation and subsequently understood how to take care of both myself and other people. The more my parents trusted me the more I trusted myself.

    It turns out that my mother, my neighbors, and half the parents I knew as a child, would have been arrested if they were parents today. According to a recent pole, 68% of Americans think there should be a law that prohibits kids age nine and younger from playing in parks unsupervised and 43% feel the same way about 12-year-olds. Despite the fact that people in this country are enjoying the lowest crime rates in decades. When asked: “Do kids today face more threats to their physical safety?” 62% answered “yes.”

    Americans are living with unprecedented fear. Enter the presence of modern day news. The pressure that 24-hour “news” channels have to fill each hour with content, every story is magnified to epic proportions. Media relies on people tuning in, so the more intense the tragedies, the higher the viewership. We have a morbid fascination with catastrophe, so media companies have a vested interest in amplifying every horrific detail to make more money, unconcerned that this ultimately exacerbates our culture of fear and paranoia.

    Call me crazy but parents today are in deep denial thinking the dangers facing their children are lurking in the park rather than I don’t know…THE FACT THAT CORPORATIONS AND THE BANKING INDUSTRY ARE RAPING THE PLANET OF ALL ITS RESOURCES SO THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS? Or how about our foreign policy: the U.S. is currently fighting SEVENTY-FOUR different wars right now? It is comparable to someone refusing to swim in the ocean for fear of sharks but then driving down the street because they don’t feel like walking—turning a blind eye to the reality that the likelihood of getting eaten by a sharped tooth bony fish is INFINITELY smaller than dying in a car crash.

    The benefits of allowing children to be accountable for themselves by playing with other kids without constant supervision and micromanaging of adults seems much more meaningful than our culture’s current obsessive panic over safety. Imagine if the movie “Stand by Me” took place today? The boys would be like “wanna see a dead body” and then some medley mom in the background would be like “no, you boys do not – now get back inside.” Roll credits.

    Of course we need to protect our children, but that also means helping them learn how to protect themselves. A generation of kids who has never once felt the autonomy of making their own decisions will potentially grow up to be a generation of very insecure adults. Although a 12 year old is still young, it is also kind of old. I mean… Mary was 12 when she had Jesus. If she can raise the Son of God, then I am pretty sure our kids can swing on a damn swing without their mommy having to observe their pumping skills.

    Maybe I am wrong. Maybe these kids will be happy and well adjusted. Maybe part of the problem is that too many of us were raised by inattentive parents. Who knows. I do know that the fun of playing outside until dusk with no one telling what to do so maybe you try a cigarette that makes you puke seconds after the rush of your life–those memories will last a lifetime.

    (I would be scared of Munch if I came across her alone at the park)

    alone-kid-blog-(i)

     

    August 26, 2014 • Behavior, Current Events, Disciplining, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing • Views: 376