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    Some of my lower parenting moments, As Seen In L.A.

    August 29, 2006

    Every time I tell my mother that I am a crappy parent, she feels compelled to give the “crack whore mother of the week” story that some kid couldn’t see his mom because she tested positive on her drug test and the court told her to come back and visit her kid when she was clean.

    That being said, I am a crappy mother.

    Let’s start with the vacation eating rules.  I feel that when on vacation, The Boy should not be required to eat his usual daily recommended allowance of five servings of fruits and vegetables.  His father doesn’t agree with this but then again, who’s ordering the bad food?  We’re on vacation, for heaven’s sake.  Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t want to be near him when he has had his third lollipop, cause he becomes a freak.  I try to space out the sugar.  But if I am kicking back a funnel cake at the Fun Park on Balboa Island, why shouldn’t he have some too?  This weekend was French Fry weekend.  Other than 4 bites of Dad’s breakfast burrito, the child managed to eat french fries almost three times a day for 3 days.  Not that we had french fries at every meal.  He has just figured out how to hide the fries in places that provide opportunity for easy retrieval–under the cushioning of the car seat, under the desk in the hotel, ect.  He alternated his fries with pretzels.

    How about the fit he had during the wedding when he decided that “Great is Thy Faithfulness” was not going the way he liked it and he threw himself on the floor screaming?  Thinking on my feet, I smacked my hand right over his mouth.  Nobody wants to be the one whose child screamed and ruined the wedding.  It was then that my son introduced me to a feat that I didn’t think possible.  He began screaming out of his nose.  Not to be outdone, I smacked my hand over both his mouth AND his nose and went running from the church.  If you wanted to breathe, you should have thought about that before you decided to go all postal in the middle of a wedding.  Feeling guilty about depriving him of oxygen for our 20 second run, I promptly bought him a Cherry Coke so he would give me just 7 minutes peace.  That’s right.  Rewarding bad behavior.  I would do it again in a heartbeat.

    Another example of my poor parenting was when The Boy (after spending two days of pushing the fire alarm button in the elevator EVERY TIME WE RODE IT) got his hand caught in the door as it was opening.  As he screamed hysterically, it took his father and the nice man in the elevator about 10 seconds of brute strength to get the door open because his mother, in her hysteria observing his hysteria, was frantically pushing the open button rather than the close button.  2 minutes later he was asking for his “LA!!” and pointing at cars.  So I guess I just bruised his hand rather than permanently maimed him.  I would like to blame my irrationality on pregnancy because no one wants to be the parent that flips out.  But what are you going to do?

    There were other incidents but I’m exhausted by myself.  Here’s to being funny tomorrow since I missed the mark today. 

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    In the words of Duckie, I believe a “Touche” is in order

    August 25, 2006

    My 8 year old niece Mada bought 50 glow bracelets and 50 glow necklaces online and sold them last night at the Movie at the Park in her town.  This is her first step toward world domination, filling Warren Buffet’s shoes and probably becoming president of the United States.  She called at 9:15 to tell me how it went.  She sold EVERY SINGLE ONE.  Clearly my father’s genes have continued in the family.  She made $75.  Not too shabby.

    My sister got on the phone to tell me that it started out pretty dicey but once it got dark, they sold like hotcakes.  She said that there were a group of bad-ass teenagers sitting on a blacket beside them, smoking cigarettes and having general teenage bad behavior.  Mada decided that she could sell LOTS of necklaces to this crowd so she started to work her magic.  Jen said that the teenagers were kind of making fun of Mada for selling the necklaces but she just kept hanging in there.  One of the boys was saying smart-ass things like, “if I hug you, will you give me a necklace,” i.e. Marti Gras style.  Yeah, real appropriate to say to an 8 year old.  While Jen was trying to figure out how to deal with this one, she realized she was wasting her time.  At that moment, Mada looked over to the boy and said….

    “I’ll give you one for free if you stop talking.”

    Everyone in the group then bought a necklace. 

    Who’s your daddy now, beeotch?

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    The differences between men and women

    August 24, 2006

    This morning I heard my husband get on our very crickety old scale after he got ready.  I jumped up to share in the glory as I was responsible for starving him in the manner to achieve this accomplishment.

    D:  I gained weight?????

    I came around the corner to find him standing on the scale, wearing his heavy duty khakis, a polo shirt, his brown boots and carrying his laptop.

    Rank amateur.

    K:  Give me your 7 lb. laptop (which it is).  Subtract AT LEAST 3 pounds for the boots.  How about now?
    D:  oh.

    Yeah.  What I didn’t say was, subtract 1/2 pound for the shirt, 1 lb. for the pants, 1/4 lb. for the socks/underwear, 1 lb. for the $7 in change you have in your pocket and your guess is as good as mine for the deduction of that fat wallet that contains everything under the sun including that piece of paper with your ex-wife’s social security number on it. 

    If he were a woman, he would have gone to the bathroom first, taken off all his clothes, gotten on the scale, exhaled and then checked his weight. 

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    “May the Lord bless you and keep you…”

    August 23, 2006

    I shouldn’t complain really.  I mean, The Boy decided a few days ago that if his mother won’t get on the bandwagon, then he’ll just potty train his own bad ass self.  So for 2 days, approximately every 4 minutes, he is peeing in his little potty in front of the fireplace.  As it is summer, it is a less desirable location than it sounds but at least I can see him from my permanent position on the couch. 

    I shouldn’t complain really.  This morning he took off his diaper, went over and sat down, grunted twice and managed to fill his little potty right up.  I can see that all that fiber in the pounds of fruit he is eating is really helping out.  Between that and his ability to pee which rivals the dog’s ability to mark EVERY TREE on a three mile hike (just when you think there is absolutely no possible way that he can do it just one more time, he shocks then hell out of you and does it again), we could be banging out this whole potty training thing.

    I shouldn’t complain really.  I mean, if your mother is too lazy to clean out the potty after every teaspoon is deposited every 4 minutes, what’s wrong with taking the dust brush, running it through approximately 7 “sittings” and then shaking it around like a priest with holy water?   All over the living room.  All OVER the living room.  ALL over the living room.  That will teach mom to lie down on the job. 

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    Snakes in the Drain

    August 22, 2006

    We have issues at our house regarding the drain in the tub.  There.  I can say it.  Now that the rat bastard who SAID he would buy our house if he could sell his house figured out that selling a house isn’t very easy now, is it, and requested a do-over.  So all those problems that we have been covering with a little paint here and a little turning off the faucets there can now be discussed in the open.  Because the house is never going to sell and I am going to have to live in this little shoebox for the rest of my friggin’ life with Mr. I’m Just Checking The Prices of MRE’s And Not Really Buying Them and his Mini Me and God only knows what is going to come out of this belly when it is all said and done.  But alas, I digress.

    I spent my last $6.89 on the brand new Liquid Plumber super action Clog Remover guaranteed to take your clog and send it shooting out of your drain and onto the cafe table of a romantical couple dining out in Paris.  The trip to Paris to see said spectacle is not included in the price and unfortunately just left to your imagination.  I imagine that my romantical couple is about to get engaged but the clog ruins their whole evening and they break up. 

    My husband sent me out for just Drano but I could not say “no” to Madison Avenue.  To do so would be disrespectful and downright un-American.  I mean, what if this new product was the end-all, be-all?  We’ve poured 37 gallons of Drano down the tub drain and still my hair continues to fight the fight.  Well, my hair and all the rest of the hair that has gone down the drain for the last 53 years.  How’s that for nostalgia?

    Yeah, the crap didn’t work.  They have a money back guarantee but then they don’t tell you HOW to get your money back.  Shocking, I know.

    Then we tried to snake the drain.  You are thinking, “which one of you tried to snake the drain?”  That would be all of us.  All three of us in the tub.  The Boy contributed by trying to do exactly every thing his father did.  Which, thank you Jesus, his father thought was sweet. 

    “I can see I’m going to have a little helper on my projects from now on.”

    I’m thinking:  “For GOD’S SAKE, get the HELL out of the drain.  HELLO, NOT HELPING HERE.”  But I didn’t say it.  I just let the male bonding drip on and on until they both realized that nothing short of hiring someone was going to fix this clog and they left. 

    Then I started.  I poured a quarter bottle of Super Dooper Mega Wega Drano “only use as directed and NEVER in conjunction with another cleaner” right down that drain.  Please.  Then I plunged it.  Afterward…

    K:  Can you plunge Drano?
    D:  NO.
    K:  What, hypothetically, would happen if you plunged Drano?
    D:  Besides splashing up in your eyes and permanently blinding you, it could render it ineffective because it is actually keeping it from the clog.
    K:  Ok, just wondering.
    D:  Did you plunge the Drano?
    K:  Don’t worry, I still have my eyesight.  But you might not want to brush your teeth upstairs.
    D:  Did you pour the Drano in the sink?
    K:  No, but we’re having a little chemical reaction here.  It’s not the fire that they predicted but it’s smelling a little toxic in here right now.  I’m just making a suggestion.  You can brush if you want to.
    D:  So what are you doing brushing up there now?
    K:  I was already committed when the toxic smell began.

    We’ll never know what did the trick but I have to say that it’s draining a lot better.  Personally I think it was the trifecta.

    (if you have stumbled upon this blog looking for the campy “Snakes in a Drain video” you are in the wrong place.  I anticipated that google may send you here and tried to provide a link, but then I ended up with spyware on my computer that said it would help me find porn.  I wasn’t looking for porn and it’s not very hard to find anyway, but I figured that others might not want it.  So I guess you are going to have to just back out to Google.  Good luck with that).

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    What we have here is a failure to communicate

    August 21, 2006

    Yesterday I was sitting in church and found myself staring at an LCD screen on the wall with numbers flashing up every few minutes.  I have been wondering about these screens scattered along the walls of church for, I don’t know, like 5 years now.  As I sat there, staring at the screens and not paying attention in church because I have the attention span of a flea these days, I decided that today was the day I was going to ask someone why the screens were on the wall.

    We used to take Ethan into church with us but those days are O V E R.  He’s having issues about going to the nursery but it’s 60 minutes without offspring so I don’t care. 

    Derek left church early to go get The Boy from nursery because Derek’s attention span is less than a flea.  I met the boys on the way out and we walked back to the truck.  And that’s when I found out what the numbers on the screens are all about.

    D:  He cried the whole time.
    K:  What do you mean?
    D:  He cried the whole time–from when we left him until when I picked him up.  The woman in the nursery asked if I saw his number on the screen.
    K:  Shut up.  His number that they put on the sticker on his back is HIS NUMBER.  So every time we saw 183 come up, it was our signal to come get our screaming child?
    D:  You got it.
    K:  So all those times we joked about dropping The Boy off and then going to breakfast rather than actually going to church was what they thought actually happened?
    D:  I think so.
    K:  OMG, there is nothing worse than getting busted and you didn’t even do anything wrong.  We were there, in church.
    D:  She was really nice about it.
    K:  A dozen times and no one mentioned the whole number thing?
    D:  Well, I think someone always asks if he has been here before and we said “yes.”
    K:  So because the FIRST time someone didn’t tell us, we totally missed the boat?
    D:  Yep.

    The best part is, the numbers flashed the entire time.  Like there were hundreds of screaming babies.  And I never saw one person get up and leave.  Maybe they should have live feed of the sign down the street at Bagel Buffet…

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