It's getting personal.

My weekend started out in the usual weekend fashion: with a huge list of things to do (read: a list of things I had been avoiding all week) and a birthday party for one of Monkey's classmates. As it turns out, my darling Monkey was not in a partying mood or at least not in the mood to attend a party in someone else's honor. He may or may not have refused to play with any other kids, refused to wait his turn at every game, refused to sing happy birthday to the birthday boy and instead sang happy birthday to himself, had a full-on meltdown when I tried to encourage him to play with another little boy, disrupted the opening of gifts and snagged food & drinks from at least 3 people. I may or may not have been completely mortified and ready to leave the party after 20 minutes, but I persevered as long as possible (read: 40 minutes).

When things got really rough, I sought out birthday boy's mom to make a face-saving quick apology & exit. She happened to be talking to another mom, that I have since taken to thinking of "InappropriateQuestionMom". I waited for an opening and politely acknowledged that my kid was acting like a banshee 3 year old and that it was time for us to leave. Birthday boy's mom (who happened to know that I have been having some concerns about Monkey's social development) kindly said that they all have those sort of days and not to worry about it. I told her I appreciated her saying that, that I was hoping that Monkey would want to interact a bit more, etc. and then InappropriateQuestionMom opened her d*mn mouth and asked the worst possible questions that you can ask a complete stranger in that given situation: "Have you gotten a diagnosis yet?"

In retrospect, I have thought up at least a dozen responses that would have been better than the way I responded. I think I have it narrowed down to "Yes, the diagnosis is that YOU are an idiot!" or "The diagnosis is that he is three years old and the treatment is to avoid b*tches like you." Sadly, I did not respond with snark, wit or even outrage. I cried like a sissy little girl. How's that for MommaBear tough? (I better get my sh*t together before he gets out of preschool or I am really going to be a mess.) This stupid, inconsiderate woman who has seen my child once (on a bad day, no less) managed to rip a hole in me, letting my anxiety & emotion boil over. Mommy Fail. 

The things is, I really don't care that this twit thinks it was her place to insinuate that my son has something that warrants a diagnosis. I don't care that I shed tears in front of people that are nearly strangers. (OK, maybe I do care about that, but only a little.) What I care about is that IF my darling Monkey does have a developmental delay or any other challenge to overcome, that this is what he will have to deal with. Rude, nosy and judgmental people that will assume that because he is boisterous, independent or just having a rough day, that there must be something wrong with him. That I should rush him off to a doctor for a diagnosis, therapy and/or drugs to "fix" him.

Maybe I'm over-reacting. Maybe my mommy anxiety is getting the better of me. Maybe (definitely) I'm emotional, but I don't think that anything is gained by inferring to a complete stranger that something is "wrong" with her kid, no matter what your intentions are. I'll freely admit that judgement is a part of motherhood, but so is teaching your children tolerance and inclusion. How are you going to teach your children to see everyone as equal when you spend your time judging children for acting like, *gasp*, children?

I doubt I'm the first mom to encounter an idiot like InappropriateQuestionMom and I probably won't be the last, but I hope the next idiot is prepared because tears won't be the only thing flying. That is, if we get invited to any more birthday parties. (Sorry about that, Monkey.)

Yet another reason to drink.

Why do I always feel so caught off guard by major events? It is definitely not because I procrastinate. (It totally is, but let's just pretend, OK?) I was just cruising through the usual weekday stuff (#shittyjob, #shittyinlaws and some headbutting from my kids to round things out) and was *shocked* to look at my calendar & realize that I have less than a week until my tiny fragile baby strong, energetic Monkey starts school. I am going to be the mother of a preschooler. Sh*t. I'm not ready! Can we rewind? PUH-LEASE? Seriously, I'm not ready. Yes, I still need to shop for the perfect backback & lunchbox combo. And they will probably not want him to wear crocs, so I guess shoe shopping is in order. Plus he grows like a damn weed, so I need to get him some new shirts that fit. Preferably without ketchup stains. But I can handle all of that. Maybe. (He will probably be attending school in too short, ketchup stained tshirts, wearing crocs and with his lunch in a grocery bag, alright. Whatever.) What I CANNOT handle is the realization that my baby is not a baby. Oh dear heavens! He's going to be signing his MLB contract with the Yankees next week, isn't he? I need a drink.*




*Are all moms this unreasonably emotional when their oldest child starts preschool or is it just me?**


**If it's just me, I don't want to know. Lie to me. Seriously.

Took a broken nose to set me straight.

In the age of constant introspection, "Where did I go wrong?" seems to be a popular question. Hell, I haven't even grown a kid to school age yet and I'm already asking myself that, especially when he is vehemently refusing any sustenance besides chicken nuggets or is trying to pee on his sister during bathtime. I sob into my delicious salvation beer and try to figure out where I got off the path of awesomeness and onto the path of terrible indiscretion that will undoubtedly ruin my precious child[ren]. Was it that time I turned up the radio so I didn't hear him wailing from his car seat? Was it because I watched Law & Order: SVU ad naseum while I nursed him as a newborn? Was it because I forgot to take my prenatal vitamins every day? Nobody can second-guess details like a Mom & I think I was given a double dose of that specific neurosis.


I'd spend half my Mommying time wishing for some quiet, alone time and then the moment The Yankee freed me to go take nap or Facebook in peace, I'd swell up with guilt at all the things I was doing "wrong". I'd berate myself for wanting to nap instead of playing yet another game of "tickle the toddler without getting kicked in the face". I was making myself miserable, imagining a life of traveling carnivals & "How did that make you feel?" for them. Then it hit me...my son's melon of a head, a direct shot to my nose. It HURT and I cursed, loudly & in the presence of my children. After I could form a thought that was longer than four-letters, I realized something so obvious it was painful (or was that my nose?). HE IS 3!


I can no more banish him to a lifetime of carnival work than I can assure him a position in the West Wing of The White House. Worrying over every parenting decision at this point, is akin to doing the post game wrap-up after kick-off. I can talk the play to death, but I'm still no closer to knowing the final outcome! So, to follow the analogy, I had to learn to shut [my brain] up & enjoy the game. Doing so allowed me to be much more present and to actually, gasp, enjoy my time with them instead of analyzing every behavior, response and sentence for a sign that I was doing something wrong. I'm certainly not one to tell you how to parent (especially because I don't need the responsibility of screwing up your kids AND mine), but I do think moms should cut themselves a few more breaks. The job is tough enough with all the pressure from the outside, try not to add your own weight to the pile. But if I could give you one piece of advice, try not to get head butted in the nose, because it hurts like hell and you probably don't want your kid to learn "f*ck" from you.

Livin the dream

By now you've got to be thinking, "Wow! This NuttyMommy is amazingly awesome & oh-so-witty! I bet her life is really glamorous too!" Took the words right out of your mouth, didn't I? *smug smile* Yea, I thought so. So, in an effort to brighten your non-glamorous world, I'll give you a short peek into mine. Are you ready for this? Probably not, but here we gooooooooooooo!

3:12am Monkey comes into my bed. Just because. Monkey takes up 1/3 of the bed, the Yankee takes up another 1/2 of the bed, leaving NuttyMommy with 1/6 of the bed to occupy.

3:17am I realizes that I will not be able to sleep in such a tight space. Guess what NuttyMommy does when she is cranky & unable to sleep? Fractions? Haha, absolutely not! I poke the Yankee until he moves over.

3:24am The Yankee moves over, giving me another 1 inch of sleeping room between the Yankee and the Monkey. Success!

3:25am I realize I am laying between two space heaters and I am BURNING up.

3:26am Kick off covers. Monkey cries for "horsepower blanket".

3:27am Try convince Monkey that Mommy's blanket is just fine.

3:27:30am Monkey begins screeching for "horsepower blanket" at roughly the noise level of a freight train. The Yankee continues snoring.

3:27:45am I venture off to find "horsepower blanket".

3:31am I return with beloved "horsepower blanket", sippy cup and stubbed toe.

3:32am I try to reestablish my space in bed, by moving Monkey towards the Yankee. Success!

3:34am I return to my coma sleep.

3:56am Monkey kicks me in the rib. Ow.

3:57am I reorient Monkey from his current east-to-west sleeping position.

3:58am Resume sleep.

4:27am Monkey kicks me in the upper thigh. Ow.

4:28am I reorient Monkey from his southeast-to-northwest sleeping position.

4:29am Resume sleep.

5:41am Monkey begins whining to snuggle Mommy despite the fact that he is currently sleep in a south-to-north position with his legs draped over my stomach.

5:42am Reorient monkey to the proper north-to-south sleeping position with my arm trapped below his neck & shoulders.

5:48am My arm goes numb. Attempt to remove Monkey from arm, resulting in whining Monkey & a grumble/snort from the Yankee.

5:53am Lull Monkey back to sleep my rubbing his back. My rear end is now hanging off the side of the bed.

5:54am Attempt to resume sleep with unsupported rear end.

5:54:15am Realize that this is an impossible sleeping position. Gently slide Monkey towards the Yankee.

5:55am Success! Resume sleep.

6:00am Alarm goes off. Poke the Yankee, as it is his alarm. No response. Climb out of bed & fumble for snooze button. Climb back into bed.

6:09am Alarm goes off again. Shake the Yankee this time. He groggily instructs me to hit snooze. Climb out of bed & press snooze button. Climb back into bed.

6:13am Monkey is awake and whining for his trucks. "Mommy! Twucks, pwease? Twucks, pwease? Twucks, pwease? Mommy! Twuck, pwease? Twucks, pwease?"

6:14am I remind the Monkey that is sleepy time, not truck time.

6:14:30am "Waaaaaaa! Twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks...."

6:15am "No trucks right now. We'll play with our trucks when it's time to get up. Now, come snuggle Mommy."

6:16am "TWUCKS, PWEASE?"

6:17am "No trucks. Please lay down."

6:18am Alarm goes off again. Shake the Yankee to no avail. Climb out of bed & hit snooze button. Monkey is chanting "Twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks...."

6:20am "Do you want to watch SuperWhy?"

6:21am "No! Twucks, twucks, twucks....Horepower Movie?"

6:23am Fumble for remote. I am rewarded with sweet Lullaby of Sheryl Crow's Real Gone (opening scene of Cars) and a quiet Monkey. The Yankee is still snoring. The dog howls downstairs.

6:23:01am Resume sleep.

6:27am Alarm goes off again. Shove the Yankee & growl for him to deal with the alarm. The Monkey laughs.

6:32am Monkey begins whining to "Go wake Sissy up! Go wake Sissy up! Watch horsepower movie with Sissy!"

6:33am "No, we don't wake up Sissy."

6:34am "Twucks, pwease? Wake up Sissy, pwease?"

6:35am "No trucks and NO waking up Sissy. Watch your movie for 5 more minutes."

6:36am The alarm goes off again. The Yankee hits snooze, again. The dog is in full blown howl downstairs.

6:37am Sissy/Bug starts crying. Monkey is thrilled and tags along to rescue Sissy from her crib.

6:39am Attempt to fit 3 people in the half of the bed not being occupied by the Yankee. Restart Monkey's movie. Nurse the Bug.

6:41am The Monkey begins whining for his "twucks" again. Shove the Yankee & tell him to get up, turn off the alarm & go get the boy's trucks. Now.

6:43am The Yankee complies & stumbles downstairs to find the trucks. Forgets the alarm.

6:45am The alarm goes off again. I cannot move because I am nursing a Bug who thinks that 11 hours of sleep is far too long to go without sustenance, so I'm forced to listen to the "bomb about to explode" warning noises from the alarm. The Monkey resumes his chant of "twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks..."

6:49am The Yankee returns with one truck. The Monkey does not approve and melts down for "more twucks". I glare at him & tell him to turn off the damn alarm and go get 2 more trucks.

6:51am The Bug is done nursing & is now touching the Monkey's only truck. The Monkey is ANGRY.

6:52am The Yankee returns with a whole bin of cars & trucks (smart ass), puts them down and locks himself in the bathroom. (Punk.)

6:53am Dole out cars & trucks on the floor for both kids to play with.

6:55am Give the Monkey a time out for not sharing/snatching toys from his sister.

6:56am The Monkey howls from time out, the Bug enjoys having all the cars & trucks to herself and I make a quick escape to the other upstairs bathroom.

6:58am Free the Monkey from time out after he apologizes to Sissy/Bug and says he will share.

6:59am Check my email while the kids play together.

7:01am Give Monkey another time out for not sharing/snatching toys.

7:04am Free the Monkey from time out after he apologizes and says he will share. Again.

7:06am Hear the Yankee humming in the bathroom & decide I'm going to hurt him, if I don't evacuate the general vicinity.

7:07am Usher the kiddos (with all cars and "twucks", of course) downstairs to start breakfast.



And now, you lovelies, have been brought into the inner sanctum of my glamorous life, at least the first 4 hours of it. Glamorous, isn't it? I know, you wish you could be me.