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Reader Participation: Guilty Pleasures

27 Dec
We All Have Them.

We All Have Them.

I presented the idea to all of you about writing a blog based off your responses to a random topic that I would pick. I received enough positive feedback to try and give it a go. So here is the first installment of this little experiment of mine. The topic: Guilty Pleasures.

I asked my readers and followers on Facebook to submit their guilty pleasures privately to me so that they may be included in this blog. I ensured complete and total anonymity to those with balls big enough to share their secret shames with me. However, I was very surprised at the number of responses I received through comments instead of private messages, displaying their “secret shames” out in the open for all to see. So it would seem they aren’t that guilty about their pleasures and have way bigger balls than I anticipated. To be completely truthful, ALL but one of the respondents said they really didn’t care if everyone knew their identity and what they were “confessing” to me. I either have the most honest and confident readers EVER or the most shameless readers ever. I’m going with the latter. 🙂 My sincerest thanks to those that participated – I love you shameless bitches! Onward.

Musical Guilty Pleasures

Several entries fell into this category. These might not be that funny at first glance but I’ll elaborate after.

  1. I freely and openly admit that bands like A-Ha and Yes are frequently on rotation in my playlist.
  2. Reader: Does singing loudly (and poorly) in a car by yourself count as a guilty pleasure? Me: Not unless you are singing Britney Spears. Reader: It’s usually Disney shit.
  3. Regina Spektor. I love female singers and she has my number.

Now why should you find those funny? Because they were all submitted by DUDES. Big, burly, dirty, manly men.

Read #1 again. Now picture a grunge kid that I used to hang out with listening to Korn. Now picture him singing, ♫“Take on meeeeeeeeeeeee, take me onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. I’ll be goooonnnnneeee, in a day or twoooooooooo!”♫ To this day, I have no idea how that guy hit those notes without his nuts shriveling up completely.

Read #2 again. Now picture a very tall, burly, ginger-headed man who introduced me to a little game called Cards Against Humanity. Now picture him bellowing ♫“Let It Go”♫ in a car with no children in tow. It’s kinda frightening now that I think about it. Ha!

Read #3 again. Now picture a guy with Pantera tattoos and a camel cigarette hanging from his lip who once pissed all over a car parked next to us as we were leaving a bar. Now picture him singing, ever so sweetly, ♫“And it breaks my heart. And it breaks my heart. And it breaks my hear-ar-ar-ar-ar-art.”♫

Food Guilty Pleasures

I actually expected more submissions regarding food but only received one. But it was a good one.

I like to eat saltines mixed in a glass of milk. I eat fries in my ice cream. I eat sweets pretty much all day long. If I buy a bag of candy, I can eat it in a day or two. Oh, and I eat sriracha sauce on almost everything. I even had a sriracha whoopie pie once.

I’m not gonna lie. The crackers in milk thing makes me puke in my mouth a little. And while I get the fries in ice cream thing, I prefer my ice cream all by its lonesome…in mah belly. I can attest to the fact that this person can eat. I’ve seen them in action. This is not a large person by the way – unless you count her boobs – which may be full of sriracha from the sounds of it. Brings new meaning to the phrase, “She’s so HOT!”

Old Lady Guilty Pleasures

My guilty pleasures are boring as hell and basically show that I’m an 80 year-old woman at heart. I love to watch Golden Girls while I crochet and cross-stitch.

The funny thing about this one is that the person who submitted it is one of the most fabulous and hip people I know. She knows all the trends and latest fashions. She knows all the happenings going on. She’s a football-lovin’, beer-drinkin’, badass bitch. Who can’t get enough of Blanche, Dorothy, Rose and Sophia apparently. And for the record, if you don’t love Sophia then we can’t be friends. If you do love do love Sophia, ♫“Thank you for being a friend!”♫ Yeah. I went there.

Child-Like Guilty Pleasures

I must admit, I guffawed when I received this next one. This is truly a guilty pleasure, hidden away from family and friends. And it’s fucking hilarious.

Ok, so Dora the fucking Explorer was banned in my house because I got tired of her asking us ‘where are we going?’ – it’s her show, she shouldn’t have to ask. Well back in August, they launched a new grownup Dora. She’s a teenager and lives in the city. No Boots the monkey and she doesn’t ask where we are going. Instead of lifting the ban on the bitch, I secretly DVR the show and watch it by myself while taking a bubble bath. Apparently, I like the teenage Dora and by hiding and watching her by myself, the kids won’t replay it over and over and over.

You come home after a hard day’s work, light some candles, pour yourself a glass of wine, disrobe and climb into a nice hot bath. As you breathe in the aromatic vapors from your favorite bubble bath, you just need one more thing to help ease that last bit of tension from your shoulders:

Instant Stress Relief

Instant Stress Relief

Apparently, kids’ shows are a popular guilty pleasure. Another reader responded with Spongebob Squarepants. Honestly, I think Spongebob is secretly for adults. Have you ever watched that show? Some of the double entendres and innuendo I’ve heard while watching it have made me blush – and that’s saying something. I don’t want to explain why crusty crabs are living in bikini bottoms to my four year-old thankyouverymuch.

Naked Guilty Pleasures

Yep. I’ve got naked readers – plural. Doing naked….things.

Reader: I still rock out to the Spice Girls when I’m alone. I love dancing naked. And I sing to my dogs. Me: But do you sing to your dogs while dancing naked to the Spice Girls? Reader: Sometimes.

This reader gets bonus points because she was the very first to respond. She gets even more bonus points because I now have a mental image in my head I’ll likely have until the day I die. I’ve seen her dance fully clothed and it can be pretty provocative. Those doggies are getting a show most men would pay for.

But hands down, the award for the naughtiest guilty pleasure by far goes to:

I masturbate ALL the time. In the library, waiting in rush hour traffic, in my bed. You’re welcome.

I love the “You’re welcome” added on the end. Now I ask you, is that from a guy or a girl? If we were placing bets, which gender would you put your wager on? I would have bet on a male. I’m a horrible gambler though. That was from a girl. A totally HAWT girl. Guys, next time you’re sitting in traffic, take a look around. You may get a little show while you’re waiting.

BitchinMommy’s Guilty Pleasures

I promised to confess two of my guilty pleasures if enough people responded to this and they did. So, as promised, here they are:

  • I work downtown. In the evening, it can take a long time to get home due to rush hour traffic (which I’m going to pay more attention to from now on!) I usually have just enough time to get across town to pick up the kids from daycare. However, every now and again, something magical happens. The sea of cars dissipates and I get a clear shot home, sometimes with 30 to 45 minutes to spare before the daycare closes. I could go ahead and pick up the kids, go home and start dinner, laundry, baths, etc. But I don’t. I covet that small gift of “alone time”. I usually drive to the Walgreen’s just down the road from the daycare and sit in my car in the parking lot. I feel guilty that I’m not overjoyed with the prospect of spending that extra time with my kids. Some mothers would look down on me for this. Well, fuck those moms. I need a moment, every now and again, just to sit in silence. A moment not filled with never-ending to-do lists. A moment where I’m not assaulted with a million questions as soon as I pull up: What’s for dinner? Can I get on the computer? Who has to take a bath first? All followed by whining, bickering and crying. If that makes me a horrible mom for enjoying this guilty pleasure, then a horrible mom I be.

That leads us to the second guilty pleasure. You may ask what it is I do while sitting in the Walgreen’s parking lot. And no, it’s not masturbate. Sometimes I just listen to the radio. Sometimes I scroll through Facebook. But mostly, I do this:

  • I play My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Yep. I play a game made for little girls and Bronies and I play it religiously. I play the game so freakin’ much that I’m at level 88. My Little Pony has made me their bitch. My heart is overjoyed when new objectives are unveiled, when I level up yet another pony or when I earn another trophy. I completely zone out and my inner six year-old takes over while playing the game. It’s a nice little break from reality. As an added bonus, I can hold my own in conversations with the girl when she wants to talk about Pinkie Pie (our favorite pony), Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash (Daddy and the boys favorite pony) or any other MLP characters. I’m the coolest mom ever, for at least five minutes until she gets distracted by something else. If this isn’t proof that I need more adult interaction in my life then I don’t know what is.
Mommy Crack.

Mommy Crack.

That’s all, folks. I hope you’ve enjoyed this. I certainly did. I would love to do another reader participation blog. I have a few ideas for topics but I’m VERY open to your suggestions if there is something you think would make for a great blog. Just leave any ideas you have in the comments or you can message me on the BitchinMommy Facebook page.

Thank you to those that made this blog possible by trusting me enough to share this information about themselves.

Later Bitches!





25 Jan

Bitch of the Moment:

It’s happened. I’m finally come across something that is so COMPLETELY fucking ridiculous, I have no words. It has left me dumbfounded and just, WHAT THE FUCK?!? I….uhhhh…..yeah. Read THIS and then come back. I’ll wait.

Someone please tell me this is a gag. I read this aloud to the hubby because, well first, I wanted someone’s else’s brain to melt from the absurdity. But I kinda had to say it out loud to believe this is something really going on out there. The hubs was just as taken aback as I was. He said it couldn’t be real; it had to be a troll. For the love of Prada, someone tell me he’s right. My fucking eyes are bleeding from having read it.

What psycho-mom does this? My mom didn’t handle the whole “starting” thing well when my time came* but I infinitely prefer her response to this, this….fuck, whatever kinda response this is.

* Exact conversation that occurred when I discovered I had become a woman (a euphemism that still crawls all over me):

” Mom!” I yelled from the bathroom.

“What?” She yelled back.

“I, uh, I started.” 

“Pads are under the sink.”

End of conversation.

My mom didn’t sit down with me, explain how or what to use, ask how I was feeling or if I had any questions. She left me to my own devices because she knew I could handle it on my own. She sure as shit didn’t dare suggest I invite all my besties over to play deranged tampon games, thereby humiliating me and scarring me for life. I have no hang-ups on periods. I don’t feel I was deprived of a “special” moment or bonding experience because my mom reacted the way a lot of moms react. She didn’t take my experience and turn it into her experience. She knew that if I had questions, I’d come to her on my own as I did with everything else in life.

Maybe I’m the weird one. Hanging out with my girls, discussing the bane of our existence ad nauseam and trying to convince ourselves that it’s butterflies and rainbows coming out of our hoo-has instead of just uterine lining is not my idea of a fun night. I bitch about my periods just like everyone else and then I move on. I don’t reflect on the beauty of it or how it makes me “special” because guess what? It doesn’t. There’s a billion other bitches out there bleeding, too. Other bitches that didn’t need a “Period Party” to cope with a basic biological function. Jeebus Krizzle! People are stupid!

Bitchin’ Moments:

I still feel dirty from the stupid that I am now covered in from having read that. Something has to replace it. Like now.

So without further ado, here are some of the gems that we have uncovered recently. I like to call them “WTF LULZ!” Enjoy:

You know you’re jealous of their legs. Also, I want to take the turn they do in this video and work it into a line-dance. So. Not. Kidding.

“Come on now and take a chance! Come on please, do that booby dance!”

“Honey badger don’t care. Honey badger don’t give a shit. Honey badger just takes what it wants.” It wasn’t until our own “Honey Badger” didn’t take what he wanted in that game (puke) that I was finally introduced to Randall. My life wasn’t complete before.

I was introduced to Marcel at a party (all parties lead to YouTube I have found) by one of my favorite college students. At first you’re all like, “Huh? Wha?” but then you find yourself thinking about it hours later laughing to yourself. Come here….Come here….I love you…. Lulz!

Later Bitches!

Oh Hai! U Memba Me?

14 May

Bitch of the Day:

Lately, I have not been blogging as much as I had planned to when I started this bitchfest that you know and love. 🙂 With sickness, spring break and now summer on the horizon, I’ve just not had many moments to sit and gather my thoughts. I could always whip something up real quick to make myself feel like I’ve stuck to my plan and provided my loyal subscribers (all 10 of my sexy, sexy subscribers) with at least something to tide them over, but that seems chintzy. My heart wouldn’t be into it and you’d know it was just fluff and noise. I don’t wanna be the bitch that bitches just for the sake of bitching.

Another problem is that my ADHD has reared its ugly head agai –


I have managed to keep it under control the last few months with medication but it has come back full force over the last two weeks. I don’t know if my meds have leveled off or what. I just know I’m getting on my own damn nerves. I must be driving everyone else crazy.

I actually spent most of last week working on one blog. You read that right – one blog. I spent many hours reading, researching and verifying information to write a blog on Birthers. The more information I gained on this “movement,” the more pissed I got, causing the word count to skyrocket. At last edit, I was over 2300 words and it was nowhere near complete. No one comes here to read a freakin’ research paper so I knew I needed to quit before I had a stroke. There is just too much to fit in one blog and I have felt like a lunatic attempting to do so (and it was sucking a huge amount of time that could have been used for something more productive – like sleeping.) The Birther blog will probably never see the light of day. Well, that’s not true. It may wind up being a guest post on another blogger’s site. If so, I’ll let you know. If not, I may post it here later on. In either case, it will definitely be a condensed version and not the lengthy manifesto it is currently. For now, it’s on the backburner, simmering in unadulterated loathing for this group of asshats.

Once I waved the white flag on that blog, I started a new one. Yes. Another blog I haven’t posted.

ADHD is a mofo.

The jest of the second one has to do with bin Laden’s death and how I feel about it. So as not to leave you in suspense, I’ll go ahead and tell you I’m quite fucking happy about his demise. The blog will tell you all the reasons why – that is, if I ever get around to publishing it. It really sucks not being able to get your head out of your own ass. Hopefully, when I see my doctor next week, we’ll be able to figure out why I’ve suddenly regressed back to the stammering, disorganized spaz I was before starting meds.

It was awesome having the ability to focus on tasks and complete them quickly and efficiently. My house was the cleanest and most organized it has been since we moved in. I had stopped procrastinating on starting tasks because they seemed too daunting – taxing chores such as cleaning out the fridge. Seriously, my ADHD is so bad that de-funking the fridge seemed the equivalent of trying to climb Everest at times. In my head, I would say to myself: there is no way I can: clean the fridge, do ALL the laundry at once, sweep the floors, pull that toy out of Lil’ Man’s mouth, potty-train the girl, water the lawn, sneak in a nap, etc., etc., etc. A “normal” person realizes these things can’t be done all at once so they prioritize their to-do list and happily go about their day. Not me.

I get anxious because all of it has to be done NOW! Instead of prioritizing the list so I can start on the first, most important task (like throwing away that shitty diaper I changed an hour ago,) I start all the tasks at once. I’ll have water running in the sink, half a basket of clothes strewn across the couch somewhat folded, a mop in the middle of the kitchen floor and a load of laundry in the washer that I haven’t bothered to push the start button on. NOTHING gets completed. It’s 11:00 at night when I realize I haven’t started the washer and every one of my son’s school uniforms are dirty, inside it. Now you know why I’m up past 1:00 am every night. My fridge is a biology student’s wet dream because I can’t get my shit together.

I had more patience and control of my temper after the meds kicked in. Therefore,I was not yelling or freaking out as much. Don’t get me wrong, I still had my blow-ups every now and again, but I was definitely more mellow than I had been previous to starting my medication. Now I’m back to being a ragey bitch. I listen to the venom that shoots out of my mouth aimed towards my kids and/or husband and I hate myself. I can’t stop it from coming out. I have no edit button. Some of my past co-workers can tell you all about my awesome editing skills, or lack thereof . I was constantly creating shit storms at work, now I create them at home.

What could my family possibly do to incite such wrath, you may ask? Here’s a few examples of their heinous crimes against me humanity (after which, I’ll explain what really happens and why I’m a dumb ass for getting angry):

1. My son leaves his “big boy” cup on the counter, full of water, so his sister can get a hold of it and spill it everywhere. He’s been told a million times to move it by the sink, out of her reach, but he knowingly and purposely leaves it there so I’ll have yet another mess to clean up. This must be the thought-process going on in my head judging from the way I react to it. It’s water, not battery acid. He’s 5 years-old, not a typical teenager doing defiant shit just to make me miserable. He’s SUPPOSED to leave crap lying around because that’s what kids do. I’m a total douche for thinking he should behave any differently.

2. My daughter is the most obstinate child I have ever met. She does exactly the opposite of what I ask out of spite, no matter the consequences. Well, duh. She’s two. Two year-olds are obstinate. They are learning their boundaries and pushing limits. All humans go through this phase. To think my daughter is the only toddler behaving this way AND that she would purposely put herself in harm’s way just to defy my requests is completely absurd. She has no cognizance of cause and effect in most situations. I’m ashamed to say, when she does wind up hurting herself doing something she was told would harm her, my first response is not always concern over her well-being. Sometimes, it’s more like ‘Dammit. See! I told you you would hurt yourself.’ Like I’ve been inconvenienced by her pain. Now, if she’s obviously really hurt or bleeding, I respond as a “normal mom” would and scoop her up to comfort her. But if minor injuries are the result of her actions, she’s more likely to get sent to her room than get a hug. I am a complete and utter shithead.

3. My husband can’t be bothered to do anything around the house. He treats me as a maid, expects me to do everything for the kids and then doesn’t appreciate me at all. Ok, we do have issues with the distribution of chores in our household. However, we have been working on it and the load has definitely gotten lighter on my side. That aside, sometimes when this batshit nonsense starts running through my head – turning me into a ticking time bomb – it’s usually for an innocent offense. Something as benign as leaving his clothes on the floor after a shower can set me off. Of course it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me or appreciate what I do for him. It means he forgot his clothes on the floor. It has nothing to do with me. He can’t help it that I’m a psycho who assumes socks on the floor equal a misogynistic display of control. I am fucking looney tunes.

ADHD can make you blurt out rude or hurtful things before you have time to think about the impact of those words. Thus, the missing edit button. This is why I advise friends to not tell me secrets. Usually, I can’t keep them.  ADHD can make you talk incessantly, even more so in social settings (sound familiar?) When you talk as much as I do, shit slips out that shouldn’t as you try to pull more material to gab on about. I never intend to hurt anyone or to violate trust bestowed in me, my mouth just gets away from me sometimes. And I definitely don’t want to be mean or cruel to my family, which is why I sought help in the first place.

I saw the light at the end of the “Hot-Tempered” tunnel for a little while. Now, it’s like someone blew the candle out again. So, until we can figure out why my train to Focused Town has derailed, I apologize for my inability to put together a proper bitching. I really want to blog often, helping those who read have a laugh here and there, even at my expense. I’m just not able to do it with any consistency right now. With the amount of time I spend writing these days, I should have a thesis at the end, not a blog.  But alas, coherent sentences seem to elude me, due to: being too easily distracted by kids making noise, getting hyperfocused on researching material, zoning ou –


Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

There’s been a few things happen lately that have totally rocked.

As of this week, I have officially lost 60 pounds since Lil’ Man was born last May. 60 pounds. That’s like losing the equivalent of Nicole Ritchie from your person. I’m happy to be rid of that bitch. The last time I saw my current weight on the scale was 2004. While seven years seems like a long time to get back to your “happy weight,” I’m not going to bitch at all. Some women never get back to their “happy weight” again. I feel extremely fortunate right now.

My sister and her family surprised me with a visit during Mother’s Day weekend. I hadn’t seen them since January so I was very excited to have them here. I got to take them around to see a few sights and we ate tons of food. For Mother’s Day, we got our beignets and crawfish on! Nothing makes me and my sister happier than good food. It’s surprising we don’t weigh 400 pounds each.

In other news, I now only work at the retail store one weekend a month. With us being extremely busy this summer and the hubby having to travel a lot out-of-state, it wouldn’t be fair to my boss and co-workers if I was constantly calling in or requesting off. It’s going to be so nice spending time with my family on the weekends, not missing special events or festivals and having the opportunity to sleep in every once in a while. I would have just quit all together, but as I’ve said before, I loves me some savings. I would hate to lose my discount as I’ve grown quite attached to it. Plus, I would miss my girls as I’ve grown quite attached to them, too. Well, some of them anyway. This way, I can keep in touch with the ones I like. 🙂

To make up the lost income from cutting my hours, I will be babysitting two little boys during the week while I’m home with my kids. Some may think I’m nuts taking on two more kids when I have three monkeys already. But trust me, five is no more work than three. It will probably help me, more than hurt me, having the two extras here to entertain and distract my kids. Also, as bad as this may sound, having two extra sets of ears around will force me to think before I speak, keeping my ADHD-fueled word vomit in check.

The girl LOVES the two year-old I will be keeping. She talks about him all the time and it is the cutest thing ever. The other little boy is a little over 4 months-old I believe and too cute. They are both extremely sweet and kind of reserved. Something I’m definitely not used to. I hope they rub off a bit on my kids. I can dream, can’t I?

Thanks for sticking it out with me, bitches!

Da Plague! Da Plague!

3 Apr

Bitch of the Day:

Tattoo should totally be on my roof, screaming that phrase to all that pass so they dare not enter here. *If you don’t know who Tattoo is – ohmygodyoureyoungandimfreakinold – you youngins can Google him. He was the midget on Fantasy Island (he preferred to be called a midget rather than ‘little person’ much to the chagrin of all other ‘little people’ activists.) Who knew he was French? Raise your hand. You really do learn something new everyday. Moving on.

The crud has once again fallen upon my house. Every being in this house is sick. The cat is even acting peculiar. Seriously, isn’t there some kind of lifetime cap on how much snot one person has to deal with? There sure as shit should be. If so, I’ve met the designated quota for twenty lifetimes. You bitches without kids can thank me for taking your share. You know you’re a mom when: You go to work thinking you’re look really cute, work all day serving customers and eight hours later come home, look in the mirror and notice what your customers have been seeing ALL DAY. Dried snot, all over the shoulder of your cute little black dress. I am SO hawt.

Since this past Tuesday, we have been to five different doctors. I have spent $180 on doctor visit copays, $86 on prescriptions, $10 on disinfecting supplies and $12 on ice cream. Why did I include ice cream? Because it’s all I can effing eat. After all that, you’d think we were all fine and dandy. Well I can’t say that. As George Carlin once said, “Not me. I never say that. You know why? Because I’m never both those things at the same time. Sometimes I’m fine. But I’m not dandy. I might be close to dandy. I might be approaching dandy. I might even be in the general vicinity of dandyhood. But not quite fully dandy.” We aren’t on the same planet as dandy. Not a single one of us is better for the time, money and snot spent trying to get well.

They won’t give Lil’ Man hardly anything when he’s sick. I understand the hesitation to treat children under one year-old. But I don’t understand how his doctors can see the way he is suffering, how truly miserable he is and how he has made absolutely no improvement this week using the same old crap they prescribe him every single time and not at least consider trying something else. Or for Pete’s sake, give me some ideas on what I can do at home to try to alleviate some of his symptoms. If I hear ‘It’s just gotta run its course’ one more time, I’m going to go postal. I’m not a hypochondriac mom. I don’t take my kids to the doctor for every little thing. I do try to let things run their course, but when my ten month-old’s eyes are caked completely shut with green ooze which has also aggravated his eczema to the point of huge, red rings of raw skin under his eyes, has completely clogged nostrils that somehow still run incessantly and a cough that is constant and wakes him up all night long, I tend to worry.

I took Lil’ Man for a second visit today to a different third world country quack with no bedside manner whatsoever doctor since I was going to get checked out for a second time as well. The only thing I gained from his visit today was that the ear infection he was treated for on March 18th (!) has apparently never cleared up. Seems his effing pediatrician could have spotted that when she saw him two days before. I’m truly hoping that the antibiotic the new quack prescribed actually works for his ear AND treats some of his other issues. She also prescribed drops for his eyes used to treat pink eye. But he doesn’t have pink eye. Someone is getting screwed and I didn’t even get flowers first.

This was the first day. The red rings of raw skin didn't show up until the third day.

The girl was slow to get the “sickness” as we’ve started referring to it. She was the last one to get the ooze and cough. She always seems to have snot for some reason. We started to treat her eyes with the first pink eye prescription which was an ointment (again, they’ve told me over and over the kids DON’T have pink eye.) Her eyes cleared up quickly so I got excited. It was short-lived. She awoke this morning with eyes sealed shut and one was swollen to the size of a golf ball. WTF? Her cough is the most concerning. The small hypochondriac mom deep inside me thinks whooping-cough every time I hear it. It hurts my soul.

The oldest was the first one to get it, as usual. If there is a definitive downside to being a stay-at-home-KID, it’s that their immune system doesn’t get the workout that a daycare-kid’s does. Since he started public school, our household has suffered various stages of the “sickness” pretty much all year-long.

This time, convinced he had pink eye, I took him to see the doctor instead of waiting it out. As a second thought, I asked the pediatrician to check his ears. Let me fill you in about the boy’s ears. I have never seen the kind of wax that is in his ears. They are like rocks. Round, hard, nasty rocks. I’ve known for a while there had to be something wrong going on in there. I mean, who the hell has wax-rocks in their ears? He never complains about his ears, though. The pediatrician always looked in his ears at prior visits and she didn’t say anything other than he had build-up. He had a physical in February. They said his ears were full and to use over-the-counter drops that would “bubble” it out. Yeah, not so much. So I figured since we were there anyway, she could check them again for us.

The news was not good. Both ears were completely blocked. I knew all hell was going to break loose. My son is a drama king when it comes to any medical procedure, no matter how small. The doctor pulls out a plastic tool that resembles a crochet hook. He sees it and instantly freaks: covering his ear, screaming, crying, embarrassing the ever lovin’ shit out of me. I coerce him to cooperate by threatening to take away one of his favorite new activities – judge me, I don’t care – it worked. She started extracting some of the wax and realized early it was too hard to get out without making him scream. I told you, rocks. She goes back-and-forth between water irrigation and using the hook. She still can’t it all out. There’s more after all that????? She moves on to the other ear. There’s a large piece that she can’t get out with the hook. She gets a tiny alligator clip to pull it out. This is where he has to be held down. Not because it hurt. Because he saw it and thought it was a needle and wouldn’t accept it wasn’t. She got the disgusting object out and found a bad infection behind it. I am a horrible mother.

We made another appointment to come back in two days to check the infection after she prescribed antibiotics for the infection and drops to soften up the stuff we couldn’t get out. When we went back she was able to get more out with the hook and water irrigation but his eardrum was completely compacted and there was no way she could get it without busting it. Long story short, we went to an ENT doctor and they got the remainder out, screaming notwithstanding. They tested his hearing and he didn’t pass on certain parts. He has fluid behind both ears. If after six weeks the fluid doesn’t dissipate,  we’re talking tubes. The doctor starts asking me questions about his behaviors at home and school, “Does he do this…..Does he get in trouble for this…..?” When I answer “Yes” to most of his questions, he tells me that my son is not acting up nor is he not paying attention, he CAN’T HEAR. I am the worst mother on the planet.

I’ve written-off a lot of his not listening to me or not paying attention as him being defiant for a while now. It never occurred to me he really couldn’t hear. We have to have him moved up in class so he can hear the teacher and give her the report showing his test results. Maybe now she won’t be such a raging bitch to him all the time. I doubt it, but we can hope.

The hubby and I have the funk as well. I’ve missed two days of work and am no better for the two doctors visits I’ve been to. Neither of them gave me anything for pain or swelling in my throat. They gave me antibiotics for sinusitis and an upper respiratory infection even though they don’t know for sure that’s what I have. I told the third world country quack with no bedside manner whatsoever that I couldn’t swallow my own spit much less the horse pills the other doctor prescribed me. What’s she do? Prescribes me more pills, none of which are for pain. Thank goodness I still had a small stash of pain meds from my last c-section and a surgery I had a few months ago. Without them, I have no idea how I would have made it through the weekend. I am feeling better this evening, finally. It helps when your throat isn’t closed shut and you can swallow your medications. Time for a new pediatrician and after-hours clinic. They won’t get another damn dime from this bitch.

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

I’m really racking the old brain to come up with anything positive to say here. This week has truly been hell. Even though I was really sick, one of the worst in my opinion, I still got stuck with the brunt of all the caretaking, cleanup, feeding, chauffeuring to appointments and disinfecting the house. I thought about doing bad things to the hubby while he slept all day yesterday. Ever the martyr, I just bit my tongue and wiped snot all day. But he paid this morning. I waited until 1:00 a.m. to tell him HE was on morning duty and I was sleeping as late as I wanted to.

I still got woke up several times by Lil’ Man since he sleeps in our room. I also had to get up to call into work, but it’s still the most sleep I’ve had in months. I’ll take it. Sleep is seriously underrated before children. Why does no one tell us how lucky we are when we can sleep in every weekend if we wish? Instead, the evil-doers who already have kids always want us to get up early, go do this, that and the other and then they bailout early to head home when we still have morning crusties in our eyes. I understand NOW why they had to do things early and why they had to be home by certain times but did those bitches enlighten us then? Nope. They wanted us to think having kids is all coos, sweet giggles and kisses. They couldn’t wait to see us suffer as they did, and we do. Wait, this was supposed to be the happy part. I got sleep, and it was good. Moving on.

Even amidst the sickness, I finally got my truck fixed. The ‘check engine’ light that has been a red, glowing reminder of how poor I am for the last two years has finally been extinguished. It only took spending $835.50 so I could get an $18.50 inspection sticker for my truck to avert getting tickets. My a/c is still not fixed but at least I won’t be polluting the pristine air quality of south Louisiana with my minute carbon emissions.

Later Bitches!

And the Award for Worst Mom Goes to…

9 Mar

Bitch of the Day:

Sometimes, just sometimes, I’m a shitty mom if you go by what some so-called Professional Mommies say.

No, really. It’s true. You can pick your jaw off the floor. I readily admit I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. I have no “plan” when it comes to raising my kids other than keeping them from being total assholes and ensuring they stay alive until I can legally kick them out of my house. As someone who, at one time, said they were never having kids, it’s no wonder I’m not equipped to be Uber-Mom. I’d like to share some of the ways I suck at Mommyhood by conventional standards (and why it’s okay):

1. When I am away from my kids, I don’t miss them.

I know, I know. It sounds horrible. All moms are supposed to ache for their children while they are away. Heaven forbid we miss out on one single thing that may happen, no matter how meaningless or trite. They may recite Shakespeare better than John Barrymore ever dreamed. Then again, and more likely, they may pick their nose and eat it. I sometimes feel guilty or inadequate as a mother because I see how other moms react to being separated from their kids. I listen to my girlfriends get sentimental and weepy when they are apart from their kids for all of two hours and frankly, I can’t relate even a bit. I listen to them wonder aloud, “What’s Tyler doing right now? Does he miss me? Does he remember me? I hope Susie remembers to give him exactly 2.5 ounces of milk at precisely 8:18 a.m. or his head will explode due to lack of calcium.” Okay, so it’s not that obsessive. The point is, they are completely wrapped up in their children, 24-7, no matter how far apart they are. How is that not exhausting? It is not in my chemical make-up to crave my children’s presence after only a few hours time away from them. There’s no way I could spend the energy obsessing about what they are doing/thinking/saying when they aren’t with me. I need that time for ME to regroup and recharge. Damn it, I deserve to have fun (silence) every once in a great while. If I don’t take time for ME, I can’t be a good mom for THEM.

The hubby and I took a trip to Chicago when my oldest was two and a half. We left him for six days with my in-laws. We only called to check on him the first couple of days. After that, we FORGOT to call. It was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew he was okay; they’d call us otherwise. I understood the fact that he was only two years-old and didn’t give a rat’s ass if we called him or not. The kid would just assume chew on an empty toilet paper roll than have to validate his mommy’s existence by telling her how much he misses her or wants her home. Trust me, he was fine without me for those six days, as I was without him.

2. My children watch t.v. And lots of it.

Someone call child services. I let my children rot their brains in front of the television every day. So much, in fact, that my daughter can sing along to most songs on ‘Dora’, ‘Yo Gabba Gabba’ and ‘The Fresh Beat Band.’ And so can I (which makes me want to throw up a little.)  The five year-old has more DVD’s than most adults. Lil’ Man will even stroll up to t.v. in his walker and stare in wonder at the screen for a good amount of time. I should feel bad about this. I should worry that this may limit them in some area of their development. But I don’t and I’ll tell you why.

The oldest has always been very bright. He spoke whole sentences that were coherent long before anyone would have expected him to. He knew all his numbers, alphabet, colors, shapes, animals, etc. two years before he started Pre-K. We did work with him on all of those things, but I will admit some it was acquired through the shows he watched on t.v. My son is not lazy or fat. In fact, he is VERY active and lean kid. He does enjoy other things such as art, music, playing outside, books, jigsaw puzzles and a million other things. If there has been some adverse effect from his boob tube viewing, I haven’t seen it yet and honestly, doubt I will.

My girl loves her some t.v. She sings along with the songs and responds when the characters ask for participation. I have no problem with her watching these shows as they have taught her things I couldn’t. See, whenever I found out I was pregnant with Lil’ Man so soon after she was born, I immediately felt guilty. My intentions had always been to work with her on all the things we did with the oldest. I knew I was not going to be able to devote as much one-on-one time with her having a new baby to care for. Apparently, I worried for nothing. Even though I have never sat down and rigidly worked with her on saying the alphabet or counting to ten, she knows how. She does miss numbers and letters here and there, but considering she’s picked this up all on her own from this “bad influence,” I’d say she’s doing well. She didn’t speak multi-word sentences as soon as the oldest did but she did jump, dance and sing sooner than he did. She’s actually developed motor skills from watching t.v. I’ll be damned.

I do monitor what they are watching at all times. My kids don’t watch cartoons that don’t have some form of educational value. (Well, the oldest does watch some that have no redeeming qualities but you can blame the hubby for those.) I also make sure they occupy themselves in other ways throughout the day so they aren’t only watching t.v. for entertainment. Like everything else in life, if you use it in moderation and with common sense, things will be fine. The television is not the “Debil” as some of my mom friends out there would have you think. You know who you are. 🙂

3. My kids eat crap food.

This is one that I would love to change but I pick my battles based on if I can win and I can’t win this one. Not yet, anyway. The two oldest kids, at one time, ate like human garbage cans. Anything we gave them, they’d shove it right down. Now, not so much.

The boy will thoroughly inspect anything put down before him. If he eyes something he doesn’t recognize, he’ll pick it out.

Him: “What’s this?”

Me: “It’s a vegetable.”

H: “What kind?”

M: *stalling* “It’s a …………… bean.”

H: “But what kind of bean?”

M: *muttering* “A lima bean.”

H: “I don’t like those.” *drops it off the side of his bowl*

M: “You didn’t even try it. It tastes like everything else in your bowl. You won’t be able to tell it from anything else.”

H: “No, Mommy. I know if I eat one of those I won’t like it and I’ll be able to tell so you don’t try to trick me to eat it.”

M: …….shit

The same conversation happens with anything new I make, any spices (like pepper) that he can see, if it has something green in it or obvious vegetables. The girl takes her cue from him and will refuse to eat something simply because he does. So now I’ve made dinner that neither of my children will eat. The really bad thing about this is the boy probably gets his cues from Daddy. Daddy doesn’t like veggies either. Daddy just started eating tomatoes this year and he’s thirty-fucking-years-old. I can’t wait that long for my kids to come around. I tried offering different veggies several times and it’s been a no-go every single time. Who doesn’t like baby carrots or sweet potatoes?? My kids, that’s who. Corn? Everyone will eat corn. Nope, neither my kids nor my husband will eat it. Not even on the cob. They suck.

Since I cannot afford to make two different meals for everyone and I definitely can’t afford making food NO ONE will eat, I make meals that don’t offer a whole lot healthwise. Lots of pasta, casserole, rice dishes, that sort of stuff. We don’t eat a lot of red meat. We mostly eat chicken. My kids are not allowed to have sodas, teas or other sugary beverages. We also don’t give them a lot of candy. In fact, we still have a whole bowl leftover from Halloween and only one of them went trick-or-treating last year. I do try to make good choices where I can for my family. If I have to feed them Homestyle Bakes to get them to actually sit down, be quiet and eat ALL of their food, then it’s a small price to pay.

To all those Professional Mommies who think I’m doing it wrong, well, they can kiss the fattest part of my ass. We’ll see in a few years whose way worked out better for their children. If nothing else, my neglected, t.v.-addicted fatty could probably kick their smothered, overly-scheduled waif’s ass.

No Bitchin’ Moment of the Day today. I’ll double down next time.

Later Bitches!

Road Rage ala Mommy – Pt. 1 The Ugly

3 Mar

This turned out to be a very long blog, so I’ve put it in two posts for those that may not have the time to waste reading it. This blog is full of expletives. Viewer discretion is advised. 😛

Bitch of the Day:

When thinking about what I would write yesterday, I had almost decided to skip the ‘Bitch of the Day’ part. Nothing terribly noteworthy happened that warranted an all-out bitch. The worst part of my day was boredom. I had a million and one things I could have done to prevent being bored but no gumption to do any of them. I mean, if you know me, you know I didn’t sit around on my ass. I cleaned up after my disgusting children ALL DAY, managed a load of laundry and made dinner. Exciting shit, I’ll tell ya. Certainly nothing you want to read about. Therefore, I was going to give everyone a reprieve from my bitchiness and just head on to the happy portion of the blog. That was, until I had to go grocery shopping.

The drive there was uneventful. The shopping experience was awesome – I’ll explain in the Bitchin’ section. It wasn’t until leaving the parking lot that things started to go down hill and really piss me off.

I realize it was later in the evening and there weren’t many people driving around, but that doesn’t give random dillholes the right to drive any which way they damn well please. As I was driving down the aisle to exit the parking lot of the grocery store, some good ol’ boy in a huge pick-up decided he was going to cut across the entire lot and nearly ran into the side of my truck. If that wasn’t bad enough, when I got to the end of the aisle and turned right, he once again tried cutting in front of me by dissecting the lot. This time, he almost hit my passenger side fender. I’m positive my face was purple from screaming at him. If I had had a gun, I’m pretty sure I would’ve shot him. Though, judging from the size of his truck, I’m betting the size of his dick is punishment enough. Overcompensate much? Oh, it gets better.

Still shaking from my parking lot adventure, I pulled out onto the highway to make my way home. I was driving in the left lane when in my peripheral vision I see something coming towards me. Another short-dicked man big pick-up truck is drifting all the way from the right turn only lane towards the left turn only lane at approximately the speed of snot. I was not traveling at the speed of snot, I was traveling at 55 mph. I had to slam on my brakes, screeching tires and all, to keep from hitting him as he crossed my lane. To add insult to injury, a car traveling on the opposite side of the highway decided that this would be an opportune time to pull a u-turn. Even though I had the green light in the 55 mph zone……..and was already halfway through the intersection (albeit crookedly from slamming on the brakes due to the previous asshole.) For whatever reason, this old bitch thought it was A-OK to pull on out in front of me. I had to slam on my brakes AGAIN. My heart was pounding so hard, I shouldn’t have to do any cardio for a month. I swear, my ass was so puckered to the seat, I probably left teeth marks. I should have let any one of these three assholes hit me. I need a new car. I would have happily let one of them buy it for me. Fuckers.

There are places I refuse to drive because people are so nuts it makes me nauseous just thinking about even getting in a car, much less driving one. Virginia Beach? Hell no. I almost died the first 45 minutes I was in a car there. Memphis? No thanks. I don’t enjoy freeways that just abruptly turn to rock and rubble with no advanced warning. Atlanta? I’d rather have a hot poker stuck in a certain orifice than drive there again. But here? Where I live? Hands down, worst driving experiences in my life. If you are from here and drive here, I’m not talking about you. I’d never talk shit about you. I love you, you read my blog. 🙂 I’m talking about THEM.

Those who constantly come over in my lane, making me swerve or slam on my brakes. This happens at least once a week – no shit. I don’t drive a tiny Hyundai Accent. I drive an SUV, it’s hard to miss. Last time I checked, it wasn’t fucking invisible. Those shiny things attached to cars and windshields are called MIRRORS. Use them, dickheads.

Those who ride my ass every single day on the way to pick up my son. The route I take is composed of old highways. There are four school zones on that route where the speed limit is 20 mph. There is also a very large construction zone that is 25 mph. Lots and lots of cops troll these zones, just itchin’ to write a ticket. Since I just received a ticket in October while driving in one of the aforementioned school zones, I ain’t speeding for nobody. But the bitch behind me in Mercedes-Benz station wagon, who must be late for her latte and Jazzercise class, doesn’t give two shits about adhering to traffic laws. She is therefore: riding my ass, honking, flipping me off, swerving into oncoming traffic to see if she can go around me. This kind of behavior happens all the time. Where the hell is the cop that pulled me over for doing THIRTY mph while this shit is going on?

Those who drive at an absurdly lower rate of speed than designated for the area. There is one sweet spot on my daily commute where the speed limit is 55 mph. Never happens. Never do I actually get to drive 55 mph. I get stuck behind someone everyday that is going 40 mph if not 30 mph. You want to see me have a near-stroke? Ride with me while I’m stuck behind one of these assholes on that part of the commute. I’m sure you will see veins protruding from my forehead. You will certainly hear me, that’s for sure.

My two youngest children ride with me to pick up the oldest from school. It’s a good thing they do because I’m less likely to go completely batshit in front of my kids. Otherwise, I might yank someone from their car and beat the living shit out of them for having a total disregard for anyone else’s safety. Almost everyday, assholes are putting me and my children at risk just so they can get to someplace they think is important, like the MALL.

Here’s where I admit shame for my response to shitty drivers: I have yet to master the art of editing myself when I’m full of rage. Word vomit flies out before I even have the chance to think about censoring myself. Loud, angry, expletive-filled word vomit. Luckily, most times the young ones nap during the ride and miss me screaming ‘Douchebag!’ repeatedly. Sometimes they don’t. Which is why my daughter can sometimes be caught saying, “What the FUCK?!” *hangs head* Yep, my daughter overheard me say that once in the truck and now she says it here and there sporadically. My husband and I have been trying to convince her that the word is ‘fork’. So when she says it while we’re in public, we’ll say, “No honey, you don’t need a FORK.” I can’t get my daughter to say the word ‘Please’ but I got her to say that word. I am awesome.

See Pt. 2 The Good for the Bitchin’ Moment of the Day.

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