Tag Archives: bad parenting

Why Homeschooling stinks…

I have decided. Homeschooling STINKS. You moms who use the “perfect” curriculum and have their work all done and perfectly planned days? You are not human. Seriously. How are you pinterest perfect women doing this? Women who have large families and rock class time with ALL their kids? When I can not even manage 4 lessons in a day?  I am guessing you have amazing children who will actually listen (without eye rolling and attitude and insisting that they are smarter than their parent and the textbook we spent hundreds on) and get work done, right?  Or perhaps it is all 100% me failing as a teacher. I think I mentally took him back to school about 227 times today.

How in the hell could I have possibly thought that teaching this pigheaded, obnoxious, rotten little turkey myself was a good idea?  Every single lesson has been so much of a fight. Every single one. I am 3 weeks into my school year and I am ready to burst with loathing and frustration. Last year we went with “unschooling”. I basically taught him…nothing. And he passed his test with flying colors. This year I read an article about the amazing schools in Finland and decided I need to ship him off to live there until he graduates after 3 hours on the first day of school. Because every day is a battle. I now understand the 300 notes that were sent home from school on a regular basis about his behavior and his challenges. (OMG I gave her a crappy teacher gift of a mug and a starbucks card. I owe that woman a damn medal and a million dollars)

Today was the hardest day ever. We are heavily focusing on writing and language arts this year. He is learning how to write research papers and how to create storylines and idea webs. Vocabulary and spelling are an adventure not a myth. And he hates writing. He hates it with a passion. He wants to scream every time he has to write more than his name or a few numbers on a piece of paper. He cries about hand cramps and handwriting is even worse. Today stunk. Literally. As we sat there on hour TWO of a 20 minutes or less assignment, with the whining and frustration reaching the ultimate mega explosion level, it happened. He farted. The loudest most disgusting fart I have heard or smelled in probably my entire life. And I have been in the car with my uncles following a Burger King run. Trust me. It was nuclear. With tears stinging my eyes, and choking on every breath I said “WILL YOU PLEASE JUST PICK A DAMN SUBJECT FOR YOUR FACTWEB?”

“Fine Mom.” he replied, an evil glint in his eye. “I want to write my paper about farts.”

I took a deep breath. I looked him in the eyes. And I made a split decision. I said yes. His shock and sudden silence was overwhelming. And I realized, this is where I am going wrong with Homeschooling. I chose this journey because I didn’t want to stuff him in a box. I wanted him to be excited about learning. I wanted it to be an adventure. I wanted to see the spark. Instead I was making him do “busy work” instead of getting his hands dirty. I was asking him to be something he was not. I was trying to make him NOT be himself.

So now we are resetting. Today he wrote a very fantastic “Fact Web” on the science and history of Farts. (Moulin Rouge has a lot to do with this, and when his paper is done I will share it with you all.) We watched some pretty raunchy videos on YouTube about fart science. This afternoon we will check on his crystal growing experiment, do about a zillion multiplication facts, lose ourselves in the classic tale of Treasure Island, watch Bill and Teds excellent adventure for a little silly not at all accurate historical info and a lead in to a few of the people we are “meeting” this year.  It sure does stink. But its the smell of victory.


A mother who doesn’t love her son…

Hurricanes birth story. It was a series of ups and downs and insanity. It started when I found out I was pregnant. The immediate sick feeling I had in my stomach pretty much summed it up. Not happiness. More real. What in the actual FUCK am I getting myself into? And how the hell did this happen?

REWIND: January, 1998
A very young me sits in a hospital gown, freezing half to death. She can hear the doctor and nurses talking in the hall in hushed whispers, and her boss has paged her 3 times. She has been having major troubles with her uterus, and the pain had her scared she might have been having a miscarriage. Which would be a neat trick since she was not having sex with anyone. Finally, the doctor walks in. He has a really peculiar look on his face. The nurse will not look her in the eye.

“Go ahead and get dressed, the exam was fine. But we will have to go over a few things.” he says.
“I will be late for work, just tell me while I get dressed behind the curtain, please”
“I really…”
“Doctor- please! I need to go to work!”
*big sigh from the doctor*
” The procedure went well, [Nix], but… I am afraid I have some bad news. There was a significant amount more damage and scar tissue than we anticipated. If you ever decide to have children, you are going to find it very difficult, if not impossible to conceive and carry a child…”
“And?” says the foolish young 20 year old me. “Who’s worried about kids right now?”

Fast forward: March 2001
Miscarriage. How did I have a miscarriage? What’s a DNC? I am not even supposed to be able to get pregnant. How can I have had a miscarriage?

Fast forward:  May 17, 2006
*dials phone* “Hey sis? I need you to come over….Because I have to take a pregnancy test. Yes I am serious. My period is late. It’s probably nothing. I don’t want to tell him yet. He will flip. We have a 5 year plan! And I am not even supposed to be able to get pregnant!”
…..3 hours later….
This can’t be right. I go for my surgery consult next week. I will have them test me.

May 24:
Surgical consult time. Gall stones be damned they are coming out. Pregnancy test? No need. I can’t get pregnant. Required test for all women? OK whatever, give me the cup.  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I AM PREGNANT?!?!?!?!?”

January 30, 2007:
Induction at 5 AM, still in labor at 5:30 PM. In walks my doctor, and he looks scared to talk to me. “So. There is good news and bad news!  Good- since I broke your water, you are having this baby today.”
“And the bad?”
*Awesome Doctor slowly backs out of the room ready to run* “My shift is over and [Bitch from Hell Doctor is my relief]

Sidenote: BFH doctor told me at my 4 month checkup I was morbidly obese and should have waited to get pregnant, and since I was already pregnant it was too late, but I needed to gain no more than 18 pounds my entire pregnancy. My husband was and still is a BIG dude. How can I have HIS linebacker child and gain only 18 pounds? I hated her. And now she was going to be the one to deliver my baby.

*In strolls BFH. Does cursory exam of my nethers*
“You are not progressing, and the baby is in distress. We are going in for a cesarean. These are the risks, sign this waiver, lets go”

Why isn’t he crying? The cord was around his neck several times. He was slightly blue. They wouldn’t bring him to me. I was in panic mode. He wasn’t crying. My mom looked worried but kept telling me he was fine. Then I heard it. The loud scream. They brought him to see me, and I looked deep into the eyes of my newborn son. And felt…nothing. Like it was just another day. When my husband came in for the first time to see us, to see him, he looked so happy. This look of pure joy to see his son. I felt…nothing.

Week 1- in the hospital. I had setbacks. Spinal headaches. Some infection they could not control. I could not breastfeed and the feeding Nazi was in my room telling me I HAD to nurse. I HAD to feed. It didn’t matter that I was sobbing uncontrollably, telling her even the pump on the lowest setting made me want to scream in holy hell pain. My son was a delight according to the care team. Nurses held and snuggled and cooed and fought over holding him. Family came and held him. I did some. I tried bonding. Skin to skin. Tried to not let the BF Nazi upset me. My savior. Nurse Babs. (Real name) She came in as I was crying and upset, not holding my son, because I was in so much pain. Feeling like a failure because in all honesty, I hurt. And breast feeding was the farthest thing from my mind. I wanted to love and hold my son. I wanted to care. And I felt.. nothing.

Week 2- We are home. We are getting into a routine. He screams, he eats, he pukes, he screams again. He never sleeps. He screams and screams. I feel… nothing. Wait. I feel something. I feel anger. Resentment. Frustration. He won’t. Stop. Screaming. He is broken. I want a new one. That is cute and doesn’t scream and throw up everything he eats and make me feel like hell. I kind of wish I never worried about him not crying in the delivery room.

Week 8- The only time he does not scream and actually sleeps is when he takes a nap in the sun next to the cat. I lay him on his belly on a blanket by the sliding glass door, while the cat snoozes out on the balcony, he snoozes inside. The only way he will sleep is sitting up or on his belly. I have told the pediatrician 20 times I think he has reflux but am rebuffed and told it is “colic” and will get better. He starts to scream at 4 PM and by 11 PM he has not stopped. King Pig has awesomely put away the clean dishes before he left for his night shift. Which includes the babies bottles, which are missing and he will NOT stop screaming. I try to hold him one armed and slam cabinets open and shut looking for the bottles with my other hand. My neighbor bangs/knocks hard on the wall. I am loud. I am bothering her. I am SO angry, I take the cabinet door and I open and slam it over and over about 10 times. I am done. I finally find the bottles and make him one. He spits almost the entire thing up. In desperation, I lay him on his belly in the bassinet. It is 1 AM. I am exhausted. He settles and dozes off. I do too, my hand on his back as he sleeps. I am awakened by the sound of my husbands heavy footsteps.
“Hey honey! How was your night?” he says
“A million times better since you are home. Please watch him for a few minutes. I need to sleep.  I am so glad you got off work early.”
“Honey, what are you talking about? It’s 7:22 AM!”

And then. I felt it. Something. I felt an overwhelming horrifying panic. I was gripped with the biggest wave of choking emotion I have ever felt, even still to this day. I sat straight up in the bed, and shouted “Oh my god the baby!!” and looked over at the bassinet. Where he was sleeping soundly. And right then. I finally felt it. That wave of emotion that they say a new mother should have. I looked at my sleeping son. Who had finally stopped crying and slept several hours. I watched his back rise and fall, and realized he wasn’t dead.  And I bawled. I cried so hard I peed. King Pig had no idea what to make of it, so he just wrapped me in a hug and let me snot all over his shirt. But I finally felt it. I was so connected to him in that moment, I could feel every breath he took inside my heart.  And now, I feel it daily.

I feel it when he calls me in his sleep. When he falls, when he fails, when he succeeds. When his night terrors grip him. When he watches for me anxiously out the window if my afternoon shift turns into a night shift and I see his little face peeking out watching to see if I am home yet. When he has a meltdown because the situation has overwhelmed him and the world won’t stop moving when he needs it to be still. When he comes to me with his grubby face and fist and no pants. When he argues with me, eye rolls, when he brings me he 3957th Lego creation that he has made, when he goes on endlessly about Minecraft. When he has a flash of anger and lashes out. When he bounces in my room way to early and hollers out “HI MOM!!!!!”  When he lays in his bed asleep. I feel it.  But it took some time. We had hurdles to cross. We had to build that bond. Maybe that makes me a bad mom. To not feel this overwhelming sense of emotion. But the reality is, love in any capacity is not an automatic thing. Love is built. Even from birth. I didn’t love him then. But now, my love has no description. No end to its capacity. New moms, know, it’s not always automatic. But it will come. In it’s time. And you will love every minute of it. But please know. It’s not horrible to feel or not feel. Let the love grow until you can not let go. ❤

Out of the mouths of babes…a Mom-troversial Moment or two…

We do things a lot different in the Mom-T household. We are ALL full of sass and crass. It’s just the Mom-T way. So I should never be shocked at the things that my child says or my students say. Or the fact even King Pig (my husband for you newbies) can say or do things that are a bit…controversial or just down right hilarious.  For example…

Hurricane has decided he wants to be a fireman. So everything in his world is firefighters. Drawings, stories, books, videos. His favorite show is Rescue Heroes.  He made a drawing of a buidling on fire being put out by firemen. ANd my husband told him it was missing the screaming victims. Now, Hurricane can NOT pronounce the word horror. It always comes out WHORE. So he draws this awesome picture, my husband says his piece and Hurricane flips. “Damn it daddy! It’s always whores with you! Whores whores whores! All you ever talk about is whores. BIG whores, bad whores. Its firemen daddy. NOT whores.” I was laughing too hard to correct him to HORROR or admonish him for saying damn it. Another time I was eating my favorite pickles, a brand called Bubbies. (Best pickles EVER, BTW).

“Whatcha eating mommy? Pickles? Mommy they are… (sounds out label) Boooooobies. Mommy you look happy to have those Boooobies in your mouth….”

Then there was my students deciding to talk in all numbers. To pass the long drive on a field trip, one of the students started a “talk in mostly numbers” game” Being me… I got into it. They got loud. I threatened to “pull this van over right now and 137 you guys right now!” One of the students responded and I almost wrecked. (Names changed, obviously) “Well, Ms. Mom T, if you pull over to 137 us we will all get even. Bubble girl will 39 you, Puppy-boy will 49 you, Captain Mad will 59 you, and I will…” I had to cut him off. I almost wrecked laughing. But yeah. Of all the numbers for him to pick…

Songs are the best as well. Lyrics being sung completely wrong, or completely right. And funny. For example, we were not Making Thunderherds, we were “Making up with Nerds”. And don’t get me started on the Barbie girl song…

And no one can ever forget him telling me I needed to get peanut butter for my pussy. Because the kitten had gum in her fur. Yep. Kids.

Polite society shut the F*** up!

My son has always had amazing manners. He says please and thank you, always holds the door for ladies, and is generally amazing and although silly, he is polite about his shennanigans, which tends to earn him free passes. When we are out in public we have a “4 squares” or 12 feet rule. He needs to be no more than about 12 feet away, which on a city sidewalk is about 4 squares. It increases to 6 squares on neighborhood streets. He has always been great about following the rule, and will sometimes run ahead at places like museums, or on this particular date, the zoo, but always within eye and voice range.

We were enjoying the newest exhibits at the National Zoo in DC. I drive so he can sleep on the way home, and we park at the bottom, run to the top while still full of energy, then its downhill the whole way we are exploring. As we ran together up the hill, he was so awesome, yelling, “excuse me please! Beep beep please we are passing!” Got lots of smiles. On our way past the top, we detoured because they were moving the elephants along the new exercise walk they made for them. He very politely asked to move to where he could see, and about 12 different people told my husband and I how awesome he was. Yeah. We were puffed up with pride! What parent does not like to hear their kid rocks?

We moved on to the very top and stopped at an enclosure to look at a bear or something. There is a rock wall you can take a break on off to the side, so we stopped for lunch. It was pretty quiet still. Another family came along as well, and they were what my husband and I like to call a “photo-op” family. Mom and daughter, and father and son totally in matching outfits, and the kids color coordinated. Girl and mom in sun-dresses that had blue  flowers that matched the blue shirts of dad and brother. So matched, mom and daughter had khaki headbands to tie in to dad and brothers shorts. Hurricane and the girl were about the same age, and started to chatter and play. How cute, we all made small talk, etc. Finally, I tell Hurricane it is time to move on to the Pandas. So he asks the girl “Excuse me, would you mind moving please?” She ignores him and keeps playing.

“Umm, excuse me, but my mommy and daddy are ready to go, and I can not get down. Could you move please?” Still no movement from the girl. “I’m sorry, but we need to go. Can you move now please?” No response. Finally, he gets  loud. And I get redder than a baboons butt as he yells out “I said EXCUSE ME, bitch, could you PLEASE MOVE NOW?” I swear the entire zoo went silent. In my head I am dying. I am laughing so hard inside myself I am about to cry. Because the “photo-op” family was frozen in place. Like robots that ran out of energy. Slack-jawed. Eyes wide. I nearly died trying not to laugh. “HURRICANE! WHERE ON EARTH DID YOU LEARN SUCH A WORD?” I admonished him. Before he could pull the eye roll and ‘uhh YOU duh” move my husband silences him with a stern look and says “We just might have to march over to the bathroom son and wash that dirty mouth, now apologize please!” And the dad looks at us and mumbles something about white trash and apologies not necessary. Once they walk away so fast I think their asses grew rockets, I laugh so hard I set off the monkeys.  Then Hurricane looks at us. He is upset. “Mommy, do I have to wash it out? I tried to ask nice. Like 300 times!” And I just mumbled, don’t let it happen again, and sent him on his way. And we proceeded to laugh the rest of the way through the zoo.  Because as a parent, the parrots are at more than zoos and pet stores, and sometimes, you just need to get the point across. But yes. We are white trash. With an amazing son, and damn proud of it!

I wanted to beat the %&^% out of her BUT…

I saw something tonight that both angered me and broke my heart. I stopped to grab dinner for the family at McD, a rare treat for us. I glanced over at the car next to me and saw an 8 month old infant. Strapped into a high back Graco booster seat. With a lap belt.  My initial instinct was shock. And anger. An INFANT in a HIGH BACK with nothing but a seat belt to hold her in. I was ready to scream. To yell. To have a heart attack.  At the sheer irresponsibility and insanity. I took a deep breath, got out of my car, knocked on their window and asked how old the little sweetie was and if they were aware of the “new” car seat laws requiring a child be in a 5 point restraint  and rear facing until age 2. They were not, and the baby had outgrown her carrier seat. So I did what any mom would do. Called the cops and flipped my shit on their irresponsible asses  I gave them my extra car-seat. You see, I keep a 5 point harness in my car for long trips with Hurricane. Which he was almost too big for finally.   Hurricane does not ride more than 10 miles in a standard booster, and until next week on his 6th birthday I had no intention of moving him to a high back full time before he hit 50 pounds. But something about this woman and that baby touched me. So I gave them the seat Hurricane is just about out of. It won’t expire for another 3 years. And now I know the little one will be safe. I even installed it, as I have taken a certification class on seat installation, to ensure it had the best fit. The one woman of 3 in the car remarked it was a really nice seat and asked me why. I told her the truth.
I couldn’t live with myself knowing
a) a mother would lose her child because a seat was not in the budget if the cops pulled them over.
b) a sweet baby was injured from my inaction and
c) It was part of a movement to pay it forward, and she should be sure to do the same for someone down the line.

Hopefully I helped save a life, shape a life, and pass along a message. Pay it forward. It’s the movement that keeps giving. ❤

Is TV really the root of all evil?

I will have to get back to you, I am watching TV……
OK sorry… lets chat while there’s a commercial …I get this question all the time from fellow mommies and daddies. Why do “experts” insist TV is so bad for our kids? Limit the time every day? Well if I do that….OH LOOK Press Dough! I should buy that for him for his birthday, then we can spend some time together and make cool cookies!….Sorry where was I? Ok, so I need to limit my sons TV time each day. I can sort of understand how the “experts” feel. But at the same time…Nick Jr is “like Pre-School on TV” and it totally buys me time to…..OH….check that out! I did not even know they made Snuggies that have sports teams on them. Maybe I can buy my husband one of them for his birthday….. Ooops sorry… hang on while I turn the volume up so he can hear his show…… Back to the TV debate. I get the experts being concerned about the amount of TV we let our kids watch. Kids today do NOT get enough time outdoors. They do not have as much imagination or creativity as they used to. Right? I mean the fact my son watches 2 hours a day is apparently akin to murdering him… OH murder…I almost forgot…I need to program my DVR to record that special on serial killers….

This Box will kill our children….

On to the serious part of this conversation. Look, I totally understand why people may look down on TV and kids.  The above is an almost exact commentary from an ACTUAL conversation I had on the phone with a friend of mine a few nights ago. Between the two of us we were distracted by the shiny box about 30 times. I DO understand the controversy. Here is what it boils down to….

Letting your kids watch TV is not the end of the world. If it were not for the Qubo channel I would NEVER get anything done. EVER. With my husbands work schedule, and mine (I am a working momma) our house would NEVER get clean. EVER.  I can do what needs to be done courtesy of Nick Jr or Qubo. The  thing is, you have to watch what they watch and see what they see. Is it helping or hurting? As I have stated in the past…I do use TV to help me babysit my kids. But at least it is Qubo not FearNet. (and as an FYI to all people with Verizon FiOs, it should be channel 491 for you. You are welcome) 

My son’s newest obsession? Rescue Heroes. And as a result of that show he never ever fights me on using his seat belt. Thanks to that Moose thing in between shows on Nick Jr, he turns off lights and likes to help me sort the recycling. Thanks to Sid the Science Kid he got his last round of shots without a lot of fuss. Because the shows reinforce what values I, as his parent, am trying to teach him. My own mother in law used to get frustrated with TV. THEN she saw what I am letting him watch. And she started to ask him, where did he learn things… “Oh well I talked about it with mommy and daddy after we saw it on Diego.”

He knows all kinds of insane words and has a vocabulary of a 9 year old, at age 5. Why? Because I never ever tolerated baby talk with him, and because of a little show called WORD GIRL. He is learning his letters and life lessons from me. And a little reinforcement from Super Why is not going to hurt a thing. Thanks Alfred the Hedgehog for showing him to “deduce”. We made him a detective kit and went out and collected clues to find his missing Spiderman. I can not begin to thank the Jim Henson company and Children’s Television Workshop enough for a little invention called Sesame Street. It opened the doors to a whole new world of programming. All of which, if you keep an eye and ear on it, is really NOT so bad. Some of it is nothing but mind numbing horror and madness. Pointless drivel. But not all of it.

So this is what I say to the experts:

Dear Experts,

While I appreciate your concerns that my child watches too much TV, I respectfully ask you to shut the hell up. If I see he is not getting enough exercise or starts having behavioral problems I will re-evaluate my parenting skills. But to tell me TV is the cause of all his problems? You are full of shit.


The day after that…

Its always the day after that the real feelings come out. I wish when we were having a fight I could just skip the bullshit and name calling and move right to the part where we actually talk to one another and communicate.  Its always the next day or the day after that when we start to actually talk again. I almost died of shock though. I saved it just because I do not think anyone would believe it. A text message saying “I know. You are right. Lets talk about that tonight” Say WHAT? I saved it. I even forwarded it to my best friend who did not believe I had actually gotten that text. She was there when the fight began. So she figured it would be me to concede. WRONG. I am like a pit-bull. I do not give in. Period. If I did give in I would not have become who I am today…a cynical, sarcastic, twisted individual.

Welcome to my world. I was asked by a good friend of mine to share a little about what makes me “Mom-troversial”. First and foremost, I am a mom, but I am doing it MY way. Which may not be the right way. I get told all the time “You should not talk to a kid that way” “You should not spank” “You should not let him do this or watch that” I seem to start drama and contreversy with every parenting decision I make. Mom-troversial.

But I get told all the time that my kid is a great kid, so I must be doing something right. We recently moved into the neighborhood and every single neighbor has told me I have the smartest kid with the most attitude and funniest personality in the whole ‘hood. And he got to be who he is because I am that mom. The one who takes her kid outside and gets nose to nose and tells the kid to the kids face “you are acting like a shit, you are embarrassing me, and this is going to stop. NOW”  I am that mom who tells my son to get dressed because we are leaving in 5 minutes, and when he decides playing is more important, takes him out of the house, in the cold, in his pajama pants, no shirt, one sock, and no shoes. I am the mom who has friends watching to make sure he is safe, but tells him we are leaving right now, and if you are not in the car I am going without you. Then proceeds to get in my car and pull away. (Only around the block, but I did come back and he did learn his lesson, now when I say I am leaving he gets right into the car)  I am that mom who gets so frustrated I just give up and burst into tears. I am even that mom who told a friend of hers that is a policeman to take me away and tell the kid he  was getting a new mommy since he could not listen to me.  (True story, scared the hell out of him for awhile. Now he tells me when I say no to things to have the cops give him a new mommy who says yes all the time, so that one, kind of bit me in the ass)

I will be sharing lots of randomness here. my TSOTD (true stories of the day) which for the most part will make you laugh or cry. My best advice as a mom and career nanny. (Yes people pay me to raise their kids. I have not screwed any of them up in 15 years, so my own should be a cake walk, right? HA! A lot of the time my posts will make little to no sense because I will fire them out as fast as my brain can let them go. And THAT will be a train wreck. But I am out there now. Time to fly. 🙂

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