She Must Beat Them

I'd like to think I have a handle on my kids. Sure, there are the occasional outbursts in public, sometimes so unbelievable that I pretend I'm the nanny, but for the more manageable ones I'm not opposed to public time outs and major ultimatums. ("If you don't knock it off I'm going to throw all of your toys away when we get home.")

But I'd say that more times than not, I'm in control. And yesterday during the first part of our trip to Home Depot, I still believed I had it goin' on. (I can't think of a worse place to bring kids than a home and garden store.) But armed with a lollipop to keep each in line while I shopped, I smiled happily. They were in check. Hell, I should write a book, I thought.

Until I saw her: A mother with 6 kids. Six. Twin toddlers in a double jogger an older boy was pushing.The other three were in the cart. I don't think anyone was over 10. I first spotted them in the paint, which outside of plumbing, has to be the most tantrum-producing aisle in the store. But her kids were quiet. The kids in the cart were sharing a book and the toddlers munched on goldfish. I smirked. Anyone with a brain could see a meltdown was imminent.

Suddenly a loud screeching made me jump, and people around us scrunched their faces up in horror. I looked for a wild puma in heat, but it was coming from my toddler. "STOP IT!" My five year old shouted, kicking the cart too hard and stubbing his toe. As he howled in pain, my toddler somehow maneuvered out of the belt and grabbed as many paint sample cards as he could, throwing them into the air. G cried harder and threw his sucker at C, which caused him to shriek again. People glared. A grandma clucked in disapproval. Then an orange Home Depot vest was running, waving me away from cleaning the cards up, desperate to get me and the Puma out of the store.

Then I saw her again, at the checkouts. Her son was helping her unload the cart, and somehow all 6 kids stayed in check as she payed. One asked for a candy bar. "Not today." She said simply, and that was it.

I stared. "Wow, you have your hands full!" I said, "are they all yours?" Of course she had to be the nanny.

"Yup, all mine." She smiled back, shaking her head in mock dismay.

I looked at my two who were literally trying to kill each other. I hissed at them, baring my teeth. They ignored me.

As we headed home, the kids started to whine and moan for food and water with such drama you'd think I hadn't fed them in 6 weeks. I thought of that mother and shook my head in disbelief. How did she do it?

Then it occurred to me. I nodded in satisfaction and cheerfully turned the car into McDonald's: She must beat them.

Focker Me

Yesterday, my 5 year old had one of his best little buddies over to play. While his mom and I chatted upstairs, we suddenly noticed that it was far too quiet. With the bedroom door closed and behind it three rambunctious boys, we looked at each other with raised eyebrows and wondered.

But one thing led to another, and we forgot about checking on it. When my girlfriend and her son left, I turned to G.

"So, G, did you have fun?"
"Yup." He nodded, munching on a grape.
"You like playing with him, don't you?"
"Yup. He's awesome."

I leaned in closer. "So," I said, lowering my voice and waxing Jack Byrnes in The Fockers, "why was it so quiet in your room before?"

He looked up at me. "Huh?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know, when the door was closed." I narrowed my eyes more.

He smiled sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. Well it was just because we, I mean I was reading books to him."

"Oh yeah? Which books?" I demanded.

Oblivious to his mother's endless idiocy, Gio grabbed another handful of grapes. "Well, I readed him Star Wars, Curious George, that pirate book, you know, just all my favorites."

Oh. "Uh, good job, honey." I mumbled lamely, ruffling his hair. He smiled brightly up at me and skipped off to his room.

I'm an asshole. I suppose if this mom thing doesn't work out I can always look into moonlighting for the secret service.

Mother of The Year

My two year old is still (still) STILL getting up at night. I've posted about it here and there and basically, he's just really naughty.

And spoiled.

C has been taught since birth that crying will get you lots of snuggles from daddy. Mommy's the tough one. But for the last 7 months, due to a series of dramatic events I don't care to delve into, the boys and I have been living with family until new housing was secured, which has blessedly just happened. For 7 months, as we squeezed into a basement and sweated it out, the baby punked us. He screamed and screeched and got away with middle-of-the-night tantrums.

Now, we are in a new home and the boys have a wonderful, bright, colorful bedroom complete with bunk beds. C is on the bottom, and up until 2 AM (the witching hour), he's blissfully happy with his Elmos and blankie. Initially Stupidly, I thought he had been cured. (Yes, I think of him as 'ill'. If I don't I may leave him at a fire station.)

But of course, he still gets up every night. So, like with my first son, I enlist the Supernanny tough-love method. (G went through this same crap at 6 months, year and a half, two, and three. And G would stick his fingers down his throat until he puked. I never cracked.) But unlike with G, this time around I am a single working mother of 2 and in full-time nursing school. So the tough-love, while effective, only works when done by the book. Here's an exact excerpt of last night:

2 AM, C: "Maaaaaaa-maaaahhhh!"

Me (shouting): "Go back to sleep!

Silence. Exhausted, I settled back into deep, triumphant sleep.

3:30 AM, C: "Rrrooowwwwww!" (cat howling in terror, two year old screeching in delight.)

Me (sitting up in alarm, blinking furiously in my well-lit bedroom): "What the...wha....?"

C, giggling sweetly: "Oh, hi mama! Loo, mama, loo! Titty! Titty!" And I gasp in horror as he hangs from my clothes in the closet, falling on top of the cat, who moans in pain. 

It was at that moment I realized that C had been up and running free in our two-story home, unsupervised for 90 minutes, probably longer. And much like an alkie coming off a bender, I slept through all of it.

Mother of The Freakin' Year.

I'm sure this is what I looked like. Sans the fake tan, alcohol, and  lack of panties. 

French Vogue Model: Bait for Pedophiles?

Ok, stay with me. I know that blog title was pretty heavy-hitting, but just take a look at the spread of the baby model in French Vogue.  Comment dite vous PEDOPHILE ALERT en francais?

I'm not sure how the Parisian family court operates, but I'm sort of hoping someone is sent over to the parents' home to do a little Q&A. Like, what the hell were they thinking?


(Look how they had to adjust the material to create a hip line, a full bottom. Barf.)

This is beyond Brooke Shields when she did Blue Lagoon or the Calvin Klein ads. "Nothing comes between me and my Calvins!" Her subtle *wink* to perverts across the world that she was indeed panti-less under those tight jeans. (Except those of us who have had a short stint in the modeling world, ahem, really know said jeans are usually wrenched on over some sort of spanx that would rival medieval attire. But I digress.)

Back to French Vogue. This is really, really sick. It makes pageant girls look almost tame, and I've always viewed pageant moms as pimps. Sure, there's the odd tween or teen who wants to strut the runway and win that crown, but what child wants to endure grueling fittings, non stop travel, diets and nazi-esque coaching when she could be out playing? It's the same with Thylane Blondeau and her not-so-smart momager, who's shooting back with her own defense, which I find paltry and tepid.

I just did a post on my other blog, Watchdog Mom, about Sunday's Teen Choice Awards on Fox, and their long list of R-rated movie nominations. It's the same premise: When are we going to let kids be kids? Forget the metaphor of "pushing the envelope". We stopped that a long time ago. This is full-blown sex-on-demand for pedophiles, and it's being bulldozed down our throats.

And when will it end?

The Breastfeeding Doll: Uhhh....What?

There's a Spanish-made doll out there that helps little girls simulate nursing. It's called "The Breast Milk Baby". There's bra type 'bib' girls put over their shirts which has little flower-shaped petals the baby doll can suckle. And suckle it does. There's an audible "sloop sloop sloop" sound the doll makes; and then mommy (in this case a 4 year-old mommy) can burp her fed baby.

Mama say what? 

I'm totally cool with breastfeeding. I nursed two hungry boys. When I hear about moms getting the evil eye in public while they nurse, I get a little angry. It's OUR right to feed our kids when they need it, and unless we're traipsing around with an engorged boob hanging out, look away and mind your own bi'ness. But this whole doll thing is insane, and here's why: Girls do not need any more encouragement in this culture to grow up faster than they already have to. From padded bras and swimsuit tops for 8 year olds, to thongs in the tween department, our little girls are going from preschool to high school and nothing in between.

Yes, it's good to encourage breastfeeding, but I seriously doubt that crazy doll would have made me more likely to nurse my kids. If I had girls I would not want them anywhere near a toy that drew deliberate attention to their still-flattened chests. And have we thought about play dates? Are these moms letting their girls 'nurse' their babies at the park? School? On the bus? Ick!

My cousin has three girls (all under 3 if you can handle that), and she likes this doll. She likes watching her eldest pretend to nurse her baby dolls while she breast feeds her infant. I get that; when my oldest son was 3, he tried to nurse his stuffed puppy while I fed his brother. (I only put a stop to it when he tried to do it on the subway.) Kids want to mimic adults. But this is just wayyyy too soon. If we were in a time where teen pop stars on Nickelodeon weren't performing in lace corsets, and sex was the bottom line for all advertising, maybe I wouldn't be so opposed to it. But now, in 2011, where sex rules? I see it differently.

What's next? Toy dolls who need to be reminded to take their birth control? Wear a condom? Take their genital wart meds? (Ok that last one was little much, but you get my drift...)

Breast Milk Baby Doll Teaches Girls About Nursing: MyFoxNY.com

One Big Acid Trip

My 5 year old is quite enamored with pirates. It's actually bordering on obsession, and I'm afraid I may have to have him analyzed. He now wants a peg leg. As in a real peg leg. And he's been asking me for weeks.

"Honey," I started gently, "do you know what a peg leg really is?"
"Yeah. And I really want one. Please, mommy? For my birthday?" His birthday is in June.
"Well the only way to have a peg leg is if you lose one of your real legs. Do you understand?"
He nodded. "Yeah, it's ok though. I'll have the peg."

Acid trip, anyone?

Op Ed: Katy and The Smurfs

The post today is a self-published op ed (hey, it's my blog) about Katy Perry, some Smurfs, a tacky bedazzled dress, and my clenched jaw. 


Catch it over at my alter-ego, Watchdog Mom. Get it here.