The real problem.

You have all heard me rant, vent & otherwise b*tch about my #shittyinlaws. It's funny, but it also hurts. A lot. Especially because I consistently feel like The Yankee sides with them over me. Defends their actions instead of trying to see how their actions make me feel. I never thought that his parents would love me even a tenth as much as they love him. (For the record, my parents do love The Yankee like he is their own. It is amazing to watch their relationship. It makes me nauseous with envy.) I also never thought that these people would treat me like a leper, critically misinterpret everything I say and do or lack the interpersonal skills to deal with conflicts like mature adults. I also didn't plan for the conflicts they would cause in my marriage and how alienated I would feel from my own husband because of their shit words and actions. I just didn't plan for that. I mean, I wasn't marrying into the Barone family, right?


I think that is the real problem for me. Sure, they spend a ton of time kissing The Yankee's ass and chapping mine, but at the end of the day I don't have to go to bed with my #shittyinlaws. (Thank the good Lord for that.) I go to bed with The Yankee and on days (or weeks) when there has been conflict with the #shittyinlaws, our bedroom is tense. Like, cut the air and serve it as a bitter pound cake, tense. The tension is not caused by the absurd, asinine & otherwise hurtful things my #shittyinlaws do, say or imply. It is caused by feeling like I suffer alone while The Yankee condones or at the very least, ignores their behavior.


Call me naive, but when I got married I thought that vow made us a family. A me-before-all-others, us-against-the-world, family. I didn't realize that there was an asterisk for his family. I didn't realize that it was alright for him to leave me feeling abused because the hatred came from his parents. I expected that we would disagree in private, but I thought that he would have my back anywhere else. I expected that he would stand up for me when I was being attacked, directly or not. I thought that he would never dream of standing by while someone belittled, disparaged or otherwise insulted his wife, but that is exactly how I feel time and time again. I guess that is what I get for having expectations.


I know The Yankee loves me. I believe he wants me to be happy. I believe that he doesn't want to see me suffer or crumble under the weight of his parents actions. What I don't know is why he doesn't see fit to put those desires into actions. Why he doesn't feel it is his place to say "STOP TREATING MY WIFE LIKE THIS" as many times as is necessary to get the point across. I might never know, but I do know how his silence & inaction makes me feel: like sh*t.


I guess that is a win for the #shittyinlaws. 

The alarm clock situation

We have an alarm clock situation. And by situation, I mean a big PITA for me. See, The Yankee is a heavy sleeper. I'm not talking about your usual my-husband-passes-out-on-the-couch-and-snores-loudly heavy sleeper. We are talking about a serious, could-set-a-Nancy-Grace-next-to-him, borderline narcoleptic. (For reference, check out The One About Sleep and Livin The Dream. Yes, I write about sleep a lot. Get over it.) The Yankee could sleep through the entirety of Lollapalooza from the front row. When he is out, he is effing OUT and half the time he doesn't even realize he has fallen asleep. He has passed the eff out mid-conversation and the argued that he was definitely NOT asleep when I prodded him awake. Yep, that's The Yankee.

Here is the big issue, besides the fact that his comatose state gives him a carte blanche excuse to ignore all nighttime parenting duties: his job requires him to get up earlier than I do. I know, it sounds great, doesn't it? The Yankee gets up, shuts off his alarm and meanders to the bathroom while I get to enjoy the entire warm, comfy bed to myself for another hour or so, right? Yea, only in my dreamland, except in my dreams Mark Whalberg plays my husband. Mmm, Marky Mark....wait, what were we talking about? Oh yea, The Yankee and his fawking dream killer alarm clock. The man sets his alarm for roughly an hour before he actually has to be out of bed. This gives him ample opportunity to piss off his sleep-deprived wife, while he snoozes blissfully. I get to spend the hour scurrying back & forth like a damn hermit crab, trying to simultaneously rouse him, silence the alarm clock & keep from waking whichever child decided to occupy our bed in the wee hours of the morning. Lucky me!

So, I lose a solid hour of slumber just trying to get his behind awake, only to have one or both of the kids wake up just as he lumbers into the bathroom with the grace of a inebriated bear. And you know what is the worst part, there is no snooze button on my kids. Trust me, I've looked. HARD. Unless it was that raisin looking thing that fell off when they were newborns (I knew I should have saved that thing!), I've got two defective alarm clocks and they will not stop with the incessant "Moooooooom"-ing until I drag my exhausted butt out of bed to entertain, feed or otherwise placate them. Want to hear an even crueler joke? I can't stomach coffee. Yea, it's BAD.

So could someone puh-lease invent a alarm clock that will play whack-a-mole (silently, of course) with The Yankee's head until he gets up? OR a snooze button for my kids that does not resemble a muzzle? (I'd go with the muzzle idea, but those DFACs people are getting a bit annoyed with my "jokes", ya know?) I'm seriously begging. I can pay you a small fortune in sarcasm, crushed up goldfish crackers & dust bunnies and seriously, who doesn't want that?

Men have it easy. There, I said it.

I think everyone agrees that there is still a discrepancy in the standards that men & women are held to. (If you don't think this is true, please give Cinderella & Sleeping Beauty my kindest regards.) The standard can swing either ways depending on the topic. Men are much more likely to be promoted and applauded for being foul-mouthed and inappropriate. I let one "fawk" fly & I'm branded as one of "those" women. (Not necessarily a bad thing, but still.) On the other hand, if I am stranded on the side of the road, there is a good chance that at least 2 men will try to come to my rescue, 3 if I'm wearing a skirt. The Yankee would be sh*t out of luck, if he didn't know how to change his own tire. But when it comes to parenting, at least in our house, I think that Mommy get the short end of the parental stick. I highly doubt I'm alone in this.


Even if we start by ignoring the obvious pregnancy, delivery & breastfeeding related gripes, because those are just too easy, the masculine crowd still lucks out. Have you ever heard a dad stress over the male-equivalent of mommy guilt? Me neither. How about seeing a dad up stay up late researching pesticide content in fruits and vegetable? Or researching anything to do with raising healthy, well-rounded and emotionally mature children? Nope, not my husband, but you better believe he can tell you the Yankee's up-to-the-minute batting average and what the average MPGs are on the car we haven't purchased yet. To add insult to frustration, he thinks I don't notice his eyes glass over when I start talking to him about a article I read on emotionally preparing our children for schools & bullies. If he's not careful, he might end up with a bully in bed next to him.


The daddy habit that really takes the cake for me is The Yankee's ability to ignore a child's whining and crying like he's got built in ear plugs. Hell, the man can manage to watch TV (without using the pause button 83 times) with two kids under the age of three and trust me, it's not because they are sitting calmly. I will be upstairs, head stuck in a dryer and stop to yell "Why are they crying?". I don't know why I even bother to ask, because I guarantee the response will be "They're fine!". I can't even hear my own thoughts over the ruckus those two create, but The Yankee can hear the witty banter from "Top Gear" just fine. I swear he ignores them just because he knows I will come intervene and then he can continue to enjoy his relaxation. Come to think of it, I'm being played. Guess that doesn't make me the brighter half in this marriage, huh? Anyway...


But the REAL problem begins every time The Yankee steps in public with at least one child in tow. All the man has to do is carry a child and he is guaranteed an "Awwww, what a great dad!" or two. Nobody notices yours truly struggling with a diaper bag, purse, two sippys and a unyielding, squirmy toddler. Bitter? Yes, BUT not without cause! Heaven help me, if The Yankee is babywearing one of the kids, his accolades become worthy of their own award show: "Wow, you are such a sweet husband!", "You are such a great example for your son!" and continue ad nauseum. I refrain from yelling "That's his freakin job!", when someone applauds him for taking care of his children. I want to stop these well-meaning, but annoying folks before his ego gets so big it won't be able to fit it back into the car, but anything other than smiling & nodding makes me look like the bitter old hag that I'm trying not to be.  


I'm not trying to begrudge The Yankee his praise, because he really is a great dad, ignoring the kid's whining, not withstanding. He deserves to hear how awesome he is on occasion, but every day? Come on! If Steve Jobs was told every day how amazing he is, would there even be an Apple? Err, bad example. What I'm trying to say is...well...you know...if he would just...Ugh, I give up! Maybe I am becoming old and bitter, but would it kill a stranger to tell me I look like a great mom instead of pointing out that my shoes don't match & my hair desperately needs to be colored WOULD IT?! Come on, give a mom a chance!

The one about sleep.

I've mentioned that I miss sleep. Not just any sleep, that deep, restful, naked sleep of my pre-child days when I could sleep past 8:30am and wake up, blissfully, on my own. I made you weep just thinking about it, didn't I? (Note: If you are one of those on-par-with-lottery-winners LuckyMoms whose children have slept through the night since they were two weeks old and never climb into your bed to harass your last thread of sanity at 3am, do me a favor & just keep that sh*t to yourself.)


Like I was saying, most every mom I have ever met would do just about anything, legal or otherwise, to have a that sort of sleep again. I, personally, don't think it is possible, even with child-less vacations and the butterfly-wing pills I keep seeing commercials for. The best sleep I get is on my annual Mommy's Drunk Night Out and as the name implies, that alcohol & exhaustion fueled sleep is clearly negated by the raging death wish hangover I am greeted with five minutes before the hotel's checkout time. See, now I'm rambling. This is what three years of parenting has done to me people. Bad things.


Now that we have firmly established what a sleep-deprived wreck I am (as if there was any doubt), let's discuss what three years of parenting has not done. The answer is, affected my husband's sleep schedule one frackin bit. Sure, the Yankee claims to be tired, but I hear his snores taunt me as I tend to squirmy children at 3am. I know better. The Yankee sleeps like he has overdosed on Nyquil every frick night. If sleeping becomes an Olympic level event, he'll be set, but until then this is what I deal with...


(Background Info: When Monkey came home as a newborn he was a tiny, hungry little dude, but my body hadn't yet gotten the memo that it was now an all hours diner, so a bit of work had to be done to get the *ahem* restaurant up & flowing. The protocol that I was told I MUST follow, was nurse him for 15-20 min, then pump, rinse & repeat two hours from when we began nursing. Sounds like a party, right?)


So, night one at home, Monkey has been topped off and the we all settle in to bed at 10pm. 11:30 comes & GrandMom (my Mom, not MIL, clearly) nudges me awake to feed Monkey. 25 minutes later I hand him off to GrandMom to burp and settle, while I groggily torture myself pump. We all head back to bed at around 12:15am. Repeat 4 times. 7:20am rolls around and I'm up readying myself for the next order. The Yankee wakes up, looks over at the sleeping Monkey and utters the dumbest statement I have ever heard: "(Gasp) Oh my gawd!! He slept through the night!!" Insert the most evil mom look ever conjured up and me hissing "No, asshole, YOU DID!"


The Yankee thought our newborn son had slept from 10pm until 7:20am without waking, at three days old. He had the foolish luxury because he slept through every frickin feeding! Don't you just feel bad for poor, sleep-deprived Yankee? Fast forward 10 months to Monkey still not sleeping through the night. Surely, the Yankee has been getting up occasionally to give Monkey a bottle of the good stuff stored in the freezer, right? Nope. Never. Not even once.


The Yankee does not even understand the meaning of exhausted and that is why I give him the stink eye each and every time he whines "I'm tired." Now, I'm off to bed. The over/under is 20 minutes before the first "Mommy?". Place your bets, people. 

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.

The war zone.

Anyone that knows me IRL (that would hopefully be none of you) knows the challenge that is my relationship with my in laws. These people make me want to puncture my eardrum with a screwdriver, just for an excuse to leave. Seriously, I didn't create & proliferate the hashtag #shittyinlaws for the fun of it. Ok, maybe it was a little fun, but that's not the point. These people drive me to a level of insanity that 3+ years of sleep deprivation and parenting hasn't achieved. Seriously, how is that even possible?! Apparently, they are gifted.


Let's start with some background shall we? The Yankee is an only child, which is a BIG deal. The Yankee was, and still is, very spoiled by them. They still call him a nickname that nobody over the age of 6 should be called and worry about his every want & need. Forget the fact that he is a grown adult & has a wife to look out for him, they still worry if he gets enough sleep & regularly advise me to "Let him rest!" (Have I told you about he sleeps yet? No? Oh, you'll enjoy that story, but back to my ILs.) The sun rises & sets with their boy. I'm just the evil, thieving woman who stole their perfect son. As an added bonus, I do not share the same cultural background as them, which is a VERY big deal.


My darling FIL once looked me in the face and told me that "EVERYBODY should be [from their culture]." I might have told him that saying & believing that was akin to being a Nazi. Definitely gave the Yankee a shock on that one. (It took almost 2 years for him to admit that his dad *might* have been wrong and that I *might* have been justified in responding like I did. Thanks for that support, hun.) So, to put it mildly, there is not much love lost between us.


I will eat some humble pie and admit that they, especially my FIL, are great grandparents. They love our kids (even if they are only half-breeds) and really want to be involved in their lives. I make sure to put on my big girl panties and let them see the kids as close to weekly as possible, despite the other crap that I have to deal with. That being said, I shall return to my vitriol.


My in laws are jealous, petty and a shocking mix of non-confrontational, passive-aggressive and full-on combative. It is a regular occurrence to have a perceived slight brought up months or years after the fact, despite all efforts to have an open relationship and ask them to communicate if I upset them. They once got offended because I told them I appreciated their opinions, but we were going to raise our son a bit differently. Yes, that's really how I said it & they really got upset, but didn't tell me until they had simmered in bitter anger for nearly 2 years. My relationship with my in laws makes me stop to wonder if I'm living in a bad sitcom or an elaborate reality show.


It is funny from the outside (my girlfriends get a huge laugh at the torture that is my life), but it's a bit tough to giggle when you are stuck in the war zone between the husband and his parents. But if I'm going to be miserable, I might as well entertain you wonderful people with it, so here are a few more gems from my #shittyinlaws:


-The very first time my MIL (a classic over sharer) met my mom, she insisted on talking about how her pain meds were causing her, *ahem*, digestive issues. We changed the conversation 4 different times and 5 times she brought it back up. I'll never forget the look on my mom's face when my MIL uttered the phrase "rectal spasms". Care to join us for Sunday dinner?


-My darling FIL telling my husband "Go ahead, marry her & break hundreds of years of tradition!" in reference to getting serious with someone outside of their cultural background. He sure knows how to welcome somebody to the family!


-My MIL reminding me to take care of my "wifely duties" when our firstborn was barely 2 months old. I guess that would have been a good time to ask her if she knew how to get vomit stains out of berber carpet.


So, do you have #shittyinlaws or am I going to be infinitely jealous to hear all the sweet things your sweet in laws do for you?

The Dad list.

In honor of my hilarious & oh-so-handsome husband, tonight's post is a list of reasons I am thankful for Dads, especially the Yankee.


1. The terrifying thrilling and adventurous stunts he performs with the kids that make me want to cry, but make the kids squeal with delight. Tossing your kid several feet above his head over hard surfaces? Check. Launching your kid across the room onto a haphazard stack of pillows? Check. Teaching the child how to ricochet those tiny bouncy balls (aka choking hazards) down my hallway leaving colored streaks on the walls? Check. Creating makeshift sleds, slides and high objects with which to break a leg leap off of? Check. As much as I worry (that's what the wine is for), complain and grimace, my husband makes my kids lives' significantly more exciting, though I still claim griping rights when one of said stunts results in an ER visit and a tense conversation with DFCS.


2. Somebody has to teach the kids that flatulence is funny, as that is clearly the benchmark of all childhood and male humor to follow. Clearly a job that the Yankee has been training his whole life for.


3. Who else would be ridiculously proud of all things within his son's diaper/underwear, including but not limited to the ultrasound crotch shot of his baby boy, the size of a newborns *ahem* balls *ahem*, unreasonably large bowel movements and the first time your son loudly and proudly identifies his pe.n.is in public.


4. Following #3, who else would be unreasonably protective of his daughter's modesty from her time in utero and beyond. Example: At ~20weeks large, we go in for ultrasound to determine the baby's gender. The tech confirms that we are having a girl and the Yankee asks how sure she is. The tech says "Definitely a girl, 3 lines clear as day". The Yankee leans in and asks what she means by "3 lines". I suppress my laughter (come on, we've made 2 babies & had plenty of practice, you think he'd understand the general anatomy of that region by now) and explain what she means. The Yankee gets a look of horror on his face and chokes out "You mean, they are looking at her......privates?" Yes, he really asked that. This is the man that showed his son's ultrasound "money shot" to anyone he within 5 feet for a 3 week period, but clearly a daughter is a different ball game. I told him no, that the ultrasound tech was just looking for the pink bow on her head. Sometimes it's just better to play along.


5. He's a much better cook than I am. Or he's just better at motivating himself to cook. Regardless, I'm thankful. Eat your heart out ladies, he's all mine.


6. The Yankee can jiggle, cajole & otherwise trick a cranky kid into going the heck to sleep without any help from me. Mommy still reigns supreme for calming meltdowns, boo-boos and bad days, but Daddy rules in the bedtime department. Especially thankful as this gives me time for all the important things like having a glass of mommy juice, reading up on my gossip and writing snarky things for all 8 of you to read.


7. Who else would know how to bring me back to reality when I start sporting crazy mommy eyes about some irrational fear that I conjured up after too much reading online and actually care enough to take the time to do it? Yea, nobody but the Yankee, because, my crazy eyes are a scary sight.


8. The snarky, judgy traits he has picked up from yours truly and the hilarious one-liners he delivers. Also, his ability to quote what I consider to be extremely important pop culture references like HIMYM, The Princess Bride and Family Guy.


9. His unfailing support of me, my choices, & my causes. Can I tell you how I beamed the first time the Yankee said "I'm so glad you are the mother of my son and are so dedicated to doing what is best for him (in reference to breastfeeding)." His support for my ever evolving parenting style has given me the freedom to parent with confidence that I'm not irreparably screwing up our kids.


10. That he has his priorities straight. That loving & providing for his family has & continues to be his primary focus. That he is willing to take the time to wrestle, snuggle, tickle and sit down with his kids, even when he is exhausted from dealing with work, all his other responsibilities and his nutty wife.


Happy Father's Day, YankeeDaddy. We love you!