A Swinging-Good Time

I know it’s been a while and maybe one day I’ll explain…but for now, just enjoy this post.

So, my lovely, generous, kind husband – a companion to all humans and animals alike – decided to tie a rope-swing to the tree right outside of our front door. Such a wonderful idea! We had rope-swings when we were kids: simple fun, simple pleasure. Only one tiny, little problem comes with such simple fun: it attract kids. Specifically, other people's kids, who are…ummnn….annoying.

Now, I don’t know how much you guys know about me but I’m pretty sure some of you know I am not a huge fan of children. Yes, I know I CHOSE a career where I am required to work with children and I CHOSE to have a child and I CHOOSE to have my daughter’s friends over, but believe me when I say I do not like other people's kids.

(Side note: I love my friends’ kids and I love Hannah’s friends and I love my work kids)

If I get to know a kid, I will most likely like him/her but I have very little desire to make the first move. I can’t explain it. My kind and loving husband gets along with all children; I've come to the conclusion he’s not normal. Somewhere in his brain is a chemical imbalance; he should be medicated.

Additionally, I've come to the realization I also need to be medicated because every time I come home from work there are about 5 kids swinging on that stupid rope-swing. They are loud, they are obnoxious, and they are disheveled. Why does that bother me so much? I just don’t like sloppy. Oh, and they leave trash. Everywhere. Oh, and they ask my child to come play with them, even though it’s time for dinner, and even though she isn’t old enough to play on her own, and even though they should have no interest in playing with her because she is about 3 years younger than the youngest kid in the group.

So every day when I pull up to the house, I have to battle with my child to get her inside. This is us every day:

She: “Mama, the girls are here! Can I go play?”

Me (under my breath): “Shit.” Silence.

Me: “Not right now, Honey; we have to eat dinner first.” Even though dinner is in an hour.

She: “But, theeeeeey areeeee not eaaaaating dinnnnnnnner!” Worst combination of words, ever!

Me: “I don’t care what they are doing; you are going inside to eat dinner.”

She: “Waaaahhhhahaahhaha!” Someone put me out of my misery.

Me: “If you don’t stop whining you are not going to go outside ever again.” Yes, I know I shouldn’t make unrealistic threats. Judge me for my dislike of children, not for my parenting.

She: “Waaaahhh…..ok. Can I go outside after dinner?”

Me: “If Papa wants to take you.” Haha! Sweet revenge. If he wants to put up rope-swings around the neighborhood, he is going to have to deal with listening to kids squeal and fight over whose turn it is.

She: “Okay.”

I hate that rope-swing. 

You'll poke your eye out with that...

About a week ago, while I was working on yet another paper on why our education system is creating imbeciles, my husband and daughter were flying paper airplanes across the living room. Suddenly, an airplane crashed into my laptop and interrupted my train-wreck of a thought. After yelling something, surely profane, I decided to be a team-player and throw the airplane back to them; but as I lifted this particular airplane, I quickly noticed something was very wrong with it.

Now, from what I remember, paper airplanes look like this:

This airplane looked like this:

Strange, I know. Being of an inquisitive nature, I demanded an explanation for this abomination of the classic paper plane. 

Me: “Ummn, what’s up with this stupid airplane?” (this really is how I speak, no eloquence, really)

Husband: “What’s wrong with it?”

Me: “It looks retarded”

Husband: (I don’t really remember his response, but I assume it was something like, “You’re retarded.”)

Me: “Seriously…” (starting to whine), “explain yourself and this airplane, at once”

Husband: “Well, this way it doesn’t have that pointy tip and our daughter can’t hurt herself.”

Me: “Oh! You’re retarded” (I’m not that great at insults.) Actually, I am, but I was tired and not sure why I just undersold myself. I am fantastic at insults.

Let me explain to you why this whole scenario is strange and worth journaling. My sweet, loving, caring husband, usually says things like:

• “Just let her climb that, if she falls and hurts herself, she won’t do it again.” 
• “Just let her eat that, if she has a terrible allergic reaction we’ll know better next time, the hospital isn’t that far.” 
• “Whatever, if she wants to mess with the cat let her, she will soon learn cats have sharp parts"
• “Well, if she runs with a pencil, and stabs herself, she’ll know not to do that again.”

I’m sure there are plenty more “fun phrases” I can come up with, but you get the picture. He wants her to experience the harsh realities of the world at 20 months, he believes in her abilities to rationalize and not do something repeatedly if she hurts herself the first time. He thinks toddlers understand causality. Silly husband. 

So as you can imagine, I am shocked! He has created a paper plane specifically so our daughter doesn’t hurt herself. 

What happened to “So what? If it pokes her in the eye, she’ll learn to throw less like a little girl and more like a man.” 

In conclusion: tall things, peanuts, cats, and pencils – all safe for a toddler. Paper planes? -  Extremely dangerous. 

Action shot:

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• Make breakfast
• Clean
• Drink water
• Walk away
• Blink
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• Open the window
• Get dressed
• Brush teeth 

(For your own safety, the safety of your child and your home, please limit the preceding activities to no longer than 3 minutes)

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Joke's on them: They let us take her home!

Did you know when you have a baby in the hospital they let you take that baby home with you, almost right away? I am not an idiot, I realized this as well, but I thought there would be some sort of a test? A questionnaire, perhaps?  

For your consideration I’ve created a questionnaire sample:

Are you ready to take this baby home? If you answer “no” to more than 2 of the questions below, you are not ready to take this baby home. Please come back in a week from today for re-test.

1.       Have you ever babysat?

2.       Have you ever worked with young children?

3.       Do you like young children?

4.       What do you do when a baby is hungry?

5.       What do you do when a baby cries?

6.       Do you know how to change a diaper?

If they had me take the above test, I would fail. Although, I understand there is no “failing” on a questionnaire, but I would find a way.

I only ever babysat a few times, and even then I was co-babysitting with a friend of mine, who, to this day, swears I just did it to take half of her pay. I say her accusations are entirely false. However in her defense, I got paid while she did all the work. Call it what you want, I call it taking advantage of a business opportunity.

I have never worked with young children. Nor do I ever want to.

I don’t particularly like young children.

I believe you feed a baby when he is hungry – but what you feed her, at that time, would have been a puzzle.

I know what NOT to do when a baby cries – shake them. I, for a fact, know shaking a baby when she cries is forbidden. They made me sign a paper at the hospital where I promised I would not shake my baby. It’s true. When I jokingly asked, “What would happen if I don’t sign this paper,” the nurse wasn’t amused, murmured “Just sign it,” and probably contemplated calling child-services.

No idea how to change a diaper. How would I know? Seriously- how? Did you miss the part where I got paid for NOT changing diapers?

Parents Making Dumb Decisions: Part 1

Last night, my darling little troublemaker woke up at 2:00a.m., and refused to go back to sleep. Maybe there were monsters under her bed, maybe the wind was too loud, or maybe she was just finished sleeping. Either way, I was definitely not done sleeping. I decided to do what I never do (mistake #1) and take her to bed with me (mistake #2). Husband said, “Forget (Cee-lo’s version of “forget”) this” and left to go sleep on the couch (mistake #3). My darling little daughter curled up to me and fell asleep. All was perfect in the world. No monsters in my bedroom, no wind to be heard, just us…sleeping; me - snoring.

Silence. Silence. Silence. Thud. Crying.

Rule #1 – Do not let your child sleep in bed with you if there is no one on the other side to keep her from falling off the bed. Yes, she rolled off the bed. Yes, she cried. Yes, my heart stopped. No, nothing was broken - toddlers are bouncy! It wasn’t my greatest moment, but everyone learned a lesson that night. I learned I should stick to my principles and never let my kid sleep with me. Husband learned if I decide to “forget” my principles, he needs to suffer with the rest of us. My daughter learned that falling of the bed is more frightening and painful than the possibility of some fake monsters living in her room.

Overall, I say this was a learning experience.

Naps are overrated

I've had a pretty intense day and this evening, I fell asleep on the couch.

The sequence of events that follow:
Nap -ahhh...sweet dreams of nothings.
-Hair being pulled by 1-year-old.
-Husband politely asking the 1-year-old to please stop pulling Mommy's hair while she is sleeping. "Mommy is tired, she needs a nap, please don't pull her hair." Because 1-year-olds listen to reason.
-1-year-old yelling, squealing, running, pooping.
-Lots of crying.
-Wake up to a completely naked 1-year-old being plopped onto my stomach.
-Confusion.
-1-year-old wipes her wet face on mine.

The conversation that follows:
Husband: "Hold her, I need to find the number for poison control."
Confusion.
Me: "Why? What did she eat? Why is she naked?" Is the world ending? Need more sleep.
Husband (while googling poison control): "She ate some Desitin."
Me: "How?"
Husband: "The cap was broken. I was drying her off from her bath and then I see her squeezing Desitin in her mouth."
Me (totally calm, for no other reason than still really sleepy/confused): "Aww, you gave her a bath, thanks so much. Isn't there a poison control number on the Desitin?"
Husband: "They are only open 9-5"
(I guess most babies are only awake 9-5).
Me: "Oh."
Husband, on the phone with poison control: "Hi, my 1-year-old swallowed some Desitin, was wondering how bad that is. Well she didn't really swallow it."
pause.
1-year-old: has broken free of my hold and is now running around the living room naked, flailing her arms in the air as to show her freedom from constrictive clothes.
Husband (still on the phone):..."She got a mouthful but I scooped it out right away." pause. "Oh yes, she is rambunctious." pause. "Ok, great, 19053."
Me: slow death by laughter
Husband: "She will be alright, just some bad taste in her mouth for a day or so."
Me: still dying

Moral(s) of the story:
Husbands can be sweet and take care of the baby while you nap.
Napping can be dangerous if husbands try to be sweet.
Napping while the rambunctious 1-year-old is awake, is asking for trouble.
During nap-time, bathrooms become the war zone between water/husband/1-year-old/rolls of toilet paper.
Flooding of the bathroom is a likely event, in case of nap.
Although, A for effort; flooding is unsuccessfully concealed by the juxtaposition of wet towels and unraveled toiled paper rolls.
1-year-old will try to swallow inedible/dangerous/poisonous items.

Naps are overrated.