Target Gems

I haven’t written much lately.

I wish it was because I was off adventuring Earth’s cradles of life but it’s more mundane than that.

I find myself at the children’s hospital here twice weekly again after a near two year hiatus.

I may touch base on these things at another time, but I’m feeling gun shy about it now. I had gone into this, much as I go into everything in my life, talking about it. I went to facebook and ‘moms groups’ in search of both support and advice. I was met with support and advice, but also, with a critical eye and a demeaning undertone that I wasn’t expecting. People questioned the authenticity of my concerns. I shouldn’t feel compelled to explain why I am concerned that my 8 month old is not rolling over. I shouldn’t need to explain that I am worried because my 4 year old has a more complicated relationship with food than a recovered anorexic. But I do feel that need, and so I’ve been staying quiet on the whole thing, or, as quiet as I can.

So that’s why I haven’t been around. Because the days are being consumed with therapy and then practicing said therapy at home. Because I write stories about my life, but my life is not a side show.

So now that we have that out of the way:

Let me leave you with a story from this past week.

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I have crossed the threshold of two-children-families into the no-mans-land of three, also known as ‘is she going to get all Duggar on us?’ And suddenly people are getting kind of weird.

When I’m at the store (okay fine. It’s Target. It’s always Target, there is never any other store.) When I am at Target, with Three Wildlings sitting, standing, hanging off of the cart, I catch the sideways glances.

“A little boy?” I am trapped in the (Yes. Target) elevator with the Three Wildlings and one other mother. Other mother has a super cute dress on, and shoes that have heels. She is wearing makeup and a necklace. Her silent, clean, matching daughter was obviously put on this Earth to remind me of my failures as a parent.

Marilyn has chosen to wear a Steeler’s jersey and green shorts, panda socks that pull up over her knees and purple sparkle flats. She has refused my requests, and later my pleading to brush her hair. Sam is wearing a tie dye shirt and a madras bathing suit. Judah has a dirty diaper. I have a hang-over, but it’s from lack of sleep, not hard partying.

“Yep. A little boy!” I answer too cheerfully, trying to make up for the obvious. “His name is Judah.” She smiles at us, and then looks at her daughter. I can hear her silently thanking God that she is not me. “Sophia here has an older brother.” (I’ m lying, I don’t have a clue what her daughters name was. I don’t always remember to brush my teeth I don’t have the brain space to remember some random kids name). “My husband wanted more, but really, one girl and one boy, that’s perfect.” She smiles at me again, she has perfect teeth. I hate her.

I look at Judah. My lovely misfit who shouldn’t be here according to this woman because I already had a boy and a girl.

He farts loudly.

She pretends not to notice. (Of course she does!) Marilyn looks up at Judah and shrieks. “Judah! You farted!” then erupts into unladylike peals of laughter complete with a few snorts. As the elevator opens I smile viciously. “I just had him for the entertainment factor”

And then we are out amongst the wolves. If you’ve ever shopped with children before, you know it is impossible. I don’t know why we even bother trying. With three, it is particularly unfair. There are more of them, putting shit I don’t want into the cart than there are me’s to take it back out.

“You look like you’ve got your hands full!” This is the gem one woman dropped at my feet while slowly (painstakingly so) unloading her (over the top full) cart onto the conveyor belt while I stood behind her. In my cart was; four jars of baby food and one package of diapers. I had abandoned the rest of the shopping list after Marilyn and Sam cleared the My Little Pony aisle in one large sweep and dumped the entire contents into my cart.

Scene: Judah has decided he no longer wants to sit in his very comfortable cart-cover so I am now holding him in one arm, and pushing the cart with one hand. Meanwhile, I am also fending off a well meaning Sam. “No. I don’t need you to push the cart Sam. Last time you pushed the cart you hit every ankle in a five mile radius”

Marilyn pipes up with “What’s a radius mom?” and Sam kindly informs her that a radius is ‘her butt’. (I raise lovely children). I look longingly at the Starbucks kiosk. It’s just over there, but it’s past the checkout counters, so it might as well be on Mars. Marilyn is on the floor looking at the bullshit they put in the checkout lines. Barbie’s Key chains, smackers lip gloss, baby wipes, candy, some doll she’s never heard of that she is absolutely now going to die without.

I am watching the woman in front of me unload. The offender. “Yeah. I sure do. And we’d like to get home.” I tell her, staring at the back of her head. If she would just look at me, I know I could get her to let us cut in line.

“I wouldn’t have the patience to bring three to the store with me! I don’t know how you do it, not enough hands and all.” she says.

Let me tell you something, in case you don’t know. Parents are very aware of how many hands they have and how full they are. So unless you want to offer to hold a screaming child, pay for my items, explain to my now fake-dying four year old why she actually does not need that nameless-doll, or I don’t know… let me and my five items go before your 4500 items do not refer to my full-handedness.

The Offender took Twelve minutes to check out. Do you know how long that actually is? It’s about the time it takes for your four and seven year olds to concoct a plan to ruin the rest of your day, and then to go through with it, twelve different times.

The faces of the week

At one point during this week all the Wildlings were:

and

and

and as such it made me feel:

But at some point, as it normally does, it went wrong.

And everyone got all:


(She has a fever! At an amusement park! What kind of bullshit is this?)

and also:


(That’s the faces of misery, in case you were unaware)

And while I don’t have a photo of Wildling #3 being miserable, trust me, he was. Wildling #3 thinks the camera is his personal photog, he has the mindset of a Kardashian (which is, look pretty when it flashes, always smile, think of nothing but boobs)

Which lead me to feel more like this:

and eventually this:


This is the photo where I beg for it to be Friday at 5pm, and then remember I am a PARENT and no such thing exists anymore!

Things that happened this week for which I give credit to the above post:

  • Wildling #2 spiked a ridiculous fever at an amusement park
  • She had strep throat
  • Wildling #1 had swimmers ear and complained for four straight days (without taking a breath) that he was mad at his ears (and me, I guess) because he couldn’t dunk under the water at camp.
  • Wildling #3 played ‘tricked ya’ with night time sleep.
  • I started week #2 of Jenny Craig. (I haven’t killed anyone yet, so that’s a positive, right?)

If you want something deeper than this: you might look here:

Another puddle.

Yes. That’s a puddle of water.

But tomorrow is Fuck It Friday! And I’m going to buy myself a gift to really drive home how much I am over this week. Stay tuned. (Don’t you want to know what I’m buying myself?)

My daughters questionable art

Marilyn loves crafts. She loves art.

I used to have a coat closet on the main floor of my home. Now Marilyn has an art closet. I used to have a love seat in the basement, now Marilyn has a desk complete with a built-in pencil sharpener and a drawer stuffed with supplies.

I used to go to Michael’s/AC Moore/JoAnn Fabrics and peruse the store just brimming with creativty. Now I go to the store and come out with this:

So no. That’s not my picture, my house or my stuff. It’s actually borrowed from (www.simplify101.com) but you get the point, right?

It’s a lot of stuff. I gave her my damn coat closet! She happens to be pretty talented, for four. She can color in the lines, she’s very creative, look!

Here she is sporting a Rainbow Headband, tied together on each side by Rainbow Clouds.
She is also showing off a beaded necklace (beaded on a pipecleaner no less, trendy and resourceful) as well as two rainbow loomed bracelets.

Here she is carefully stenciling.

Here she is show casing a gorgeous suitcase she painted for Joe’s birthday this past month.

My point is, the girl knows her art supplies and her way around them. So why, why, why did she bring this home from camp?

I mean correct me if I’m wrong but that is a name tag in the shape of a penis right? Which if you’ve read anything about Marilyn, you know for a while, was one of her absolute favorite words and she could name you lots of other words to call it too. (Weiner, Peen, Pee Pee, Private part, willie, ween, so on and so forth) She is just charming right?

*Ed note: She claims that it was supposed to be a dog bone but she got scissor-happy and cut off one of the ends. I am not sure that I’m buying it.

Fuck it Friday – August 2

Hi internet creeps! Guess what? It’s Friday again!

We’ve had a fun week around here, talking about how kids keep friends (http://wordsfortrade.com/2013/07/28/a-childs-guide-to-friend-keeping/), asking whether or not Grandpa is dead (http://wordsfortrade.com/2013/07/31/is-grandpa-dead/) and compiling a titillating list of things that annoy my kids (http://wordsfortrade.com/2013/08/01/things-that-annoy-my-kids-a-list-for-your-pleasure/).

But enough of that right? Because it’s Friday. And that means it’s time to throw our hands in the air, wave them like we just don’t care and say Fuck It.

Deadline at work? Fuck it.
Kids want dinner? Fuck it.
You weren’t allowed five minutes of peace yesterday (so no shower) and therefore you are starting to smell a tad bit ripe? That’s right, Fuh-uck-iiiiiit. (That’s what perfume was invented for!)

Today’s Friday Fuck it is brought to you by the following things.

These fish tank lightbulbs I bought at Petco two days ago. Neither of them work.

This laundry. And the thirty five loads not pictured. (This is so much bullshit.)

This pillow. Which was white prior to me putting it in the dryer. Because the dryer tried to set it on fire. (Please don’t tell my husband, he’ll revoke my laundress title the way he doesn’t allow me to cook…. on second though… someone link him to this blog. I’ll be eating bon bons.)

And this garbage and recycling that both my husband and my eldest son promised they would do (yesterday).

Lessons Learned?
Petco Sucks, Endless laundry is probably a view of what hell looks like and men and boys alike are liars.

Don’t forget to comment with your special Fuck It Friday addition!

Things that annoy my kids, a list for your pleasure.

I’ve done a fair share of writing about 2/3 of my Wildling clan. By now you probably know that Sam is seven, he is empathetic and always comes home dirty, and that Marilyn is four. She has curly blond hair and is a cold hearted killer. She also knows way too many names for genitals.

We added our third Wildling to the tribe in December. His name is Judah. I don’t write about him as much because he doesn’t talk and therefore, I can’t tell you about him sing-songing penispenispenis over and over again in our local Target or how, like Sam, he wants to know why people with brown skin are referred to as black.

But Judah is still a main character in this circus so I wanted you to meet him.

So there you go. That’s Judah.

He was pretty boring for the first few months, assimilating to his life outside of the womb and what-not. But I think he’s getting the idea that in order to survive in this house, you have to be loud, proud and part of the crowd. (Okay, you can stand apart from the crowd, but honestly, what the fuck else rhymes with proud and loud?)

Because there were no amazing conversations this morning about skin color, dead relatives or impromptu dance parties I figured I’d give you instead, a list of things that piss my children off. You’re welcome.

  • Sam can’t find the socks that he brought downstairs
  • Sam finds the socks but only after getting new socks.
  • Marilyn is out of chocolate cheerios in the box and must eat chocolate cheerios previously put in The Cereal Container.
  • Marilyn wants to watch My Little Pony, but out of the 97 episodes, I put on the one she hates.
  • Marilyn wants to watch My Little Pony and I put on a good episode, but today she’s decided she loves the one she previously hated.
  • Mac-N-Cheese is for dinner.
  • Mac-N-Cheese is not for dinner.
  • It’s bath time.
  • Bath time takes too long.
  • I did not give them enough playtime during bath time.
  • Judah wants a bottle.
  • Judah wants a nap.
  • I put Judah down for a nap and now he is all “it’s play time motherfucker!”
  • It’s raining. They have to wear raincoats.
  • It’s raining. I forgot their raincoats and they need them or they will melt.
  • I give them water. They want milk.
  • It’s raining and they want to play outside.
  • It’s raining and I tell them they can play outside and they retort “Don’t you love us?”
  • The garbage men don’t show up on time
  • The mail man doesn’t want Sam to help him deliver mail
  • The firemen don’t want Sam to help him put out fires
  • The policemen don’t want Sam to help them capture bad guys.
  • The president doesn’t return Sam’s letter.
  • There are commercials on the television.
  • I ask them to put their dirty clothes down the laundry chute
  • Marilyn wants to play ponies and Sam wants to play x-box.
  • Sam wants to play with Marilyn and Marilyn wants to sit catatonic in front of the tv.
  • I ask them to stay in bed past 535am
  • I ask them to wear shoes outside
  • Judah pooped.
  • Judah wants his toy and it’s out of reach.
  • Judah has his toy within reach but now it’s annoying him.
  • I ask them to not flush toys down the toilet.
  • The toilet is stopped up (I wonder why)
  • They want to go to the playground. (In a lightning storm)
  • I am their mom.

I would write a list of things that make them happy, but unfortunately I just put Judah up for a nap, which means he’s now up and emphatically shouting into his monitor that it’s playtime.