Monthly Archives: November 2009

Weighty Matters

As I waged the “going to sleep” battle with my five-year old, I gave-in as usual and allowed him to stay up just five minutes longer (who am I kidding, it was like a ½ hour). He curled up on the couch with me, snuggled in and said “I’m little and going to sleep on my big mommy”. As quickly as he said it, he said “I, I, I mean, you are older than me”. I then said to the little guy as reassuring and as quickly as I could “I know I know what you meant”. Then I just held him and kissed him as tight as I could until he fell asleep.

Once asleep I put him in his bed, tucked him in, kissed his head and headed back to the couch and cried like a baby. I didn’t cry because I have more rolls than a bakery. I didn’t cry because I thought my son thought I had more rolls than a bakery. I cried because my son is aware of my insecurities about my weight. I cried because I try so hard not to make it an issue, and yet, he’s smart enough to pick up on the little subtleties: watching Biggest Loser, the phone calls with my any one of his aunts (or anyone who will listen, I mean I’ve been singing this same tune for quite some time) discussing our weight loss journeys, the reason why I’m in Health Magazine, my many scale hops, and all those pesky trips to the gym to go into combat. I cried because a little bit of his innocence is lost – he knows the difference between being big and small – in every aspect older/ younger and who has a big ass and who doesn’t. I know in my heart that when he spoke to me earlier this evening that he meant older and younger – a mom’s knows, I could hear it in his voice; it was the fact that he had to explain himself to me, the fragile weight conscious mom that really struck a nerve, a greasy diner french fry drenched in mozzarella cheese coated in delicious brown gravy fat fucking nerve. Damn it!!

To be so cliché’ I will throw out the phrase: “They grow up so fast”. I never understood what that meant until this very moment. I knew that once he entered kindergarten all bets were off. I knew he would be exposed to new, different and exciting ideas. I knew kindergarten would tarnish him, that seedy world of alphabet people, finger-paint, and those pesky coloring assignments would strip away at his innocence and soon he’d be swearing like a sailor, (okay so that’s probably me), envying other kids t-shirts and sneakers and resort to selling those banned snacks (starbursts, m&m’s, and oh my, that 100% fruit juice) on the street corners for extra money so he could dress like the cool kids.

I wish I could keep him sheltered on some of the injustices in this world like: prejudice against anyone really: color, sex, creed, weight, and anything else for that freaking matter, got a tongue ring, tats, blue hair – go for it, it’s all good! It’s none of my business, and it shouldn’t be anyone else’s. As parents it’s our job to teach our children from right and wrong, good, bad, and be the respectful, law-abiding individuals to get through life relatively happy – because people, there’s always therapy to undo all the crazy I impose on my children. Currently hubby and I are teaching our children too: drop the f-bomb, bite his brothers ass, fart on anyone whenever they get a chance (I swear that’s his dad), burp, cry till they get what they want, whiz into the toilet not around it, play nice in the school-yard, and umm… laugh hysterically at any poop humor (sadly from both of us) that is mentioned. To say we have to work on a few things is really not saying enough.

My children are not as sheltered as I was. I am a Catholic (now turned Lutheran) girl who didn’t kiss a boy until she was in the 9th grade at which point when my “boyfriend” rammed his tongue down my throat I was so freaking caught off guard, our teeth clashed and I swear I swallowed his tooth. Later that day, my friends convinced me to dump him. I gotta tell ya – I was so freaking relieved and I didn’t get kissed for another five years. I couldn’t have been happier.

That’s what I want from my kids, I want them to be sheltered, I don’t want them coming home with secret girlfriends especially those named Sara ( whom he told me was his girlfriend while taking bath, umm, yeah, next he’ll start locking the door (too soon for that)) and proclaiming that he has an archenemy. Archenemy really? At five? Who is he Batman? I want my kids to have some friends, break some rules but not enough that they hurt themselves or anyone else. I want to shelter my little buggers as much as possible. There is enough time for them to figure out on their own about this the cruel cruel world that we live in, and that getting married at five to some little skank is not really appropriate behavior. And on that note, Mom is going to learn how to take her weight phobias and the f word out of her conversational rotation.

Posted in Mangia Mia Fitness Pia, That's Life

Stop the Insanity

I am being manipulated by my son. This little bugger is batting his big baby blues, whining “Peease, Peease mommy” at me, and I am butter, BUTTER. I cave. I am soft as shit and it’s killing me. It’s the munchkins when I get my coffee, it’s the gum (yes, gum, what can I say, he’s advanced) at CVS, it’s the little bits of profanity that he throws out ( all my fault, I take full responsibility), it’s the stickers at the dollar store, what’s next… Playboy at 7-11? To quote Susan Powter I have to “STOP the INSANITY”. He’s getting away with murder, making me look like a dumb-ass mom (besides the fact that I am dumb-ass mom), and frankly, even if I am one, the fact that I took him from the playground and away from a wrestling match with his little buddy does not constitute calling his Mom a “Pain in da ass” – besides the fact that he is ONLY two.

The other day my parents took me out for coffee. We walked into the bagel store and it was nirvana for the little bugger. I’ve never seen his eyes so wide, so bright they lit up the store, with a grin like the Cheshire cat his eyes darted from side-to-side, up and down, in pure joy. Why? ‘cause the candy shelves were at eye level. He was literally a kid in a candy store. He didn’t know if he should shit or go blind. We got our coffee, choose a table, and bought the little guy a cookie the size of his head, but all the little bugger could think about was that candy shelf. He sat down on his chair, took a bite of the cookie, hopped off his chair and ran like Flo Jo to his idea of heaven. I chased him, fought like an animal to take the blow-pop from his tiny little hand –which of course, he has a death grip on, while he was crying “peeease, peeease mommy”. I gave in, chucked 50 cents on the counter and figured, the kid got a cookie and blow-pop, he’s golden. Two licks later, he’s takes off again, this time he’s running a 50 meter and steals a pack of M&M’s, squealing “peeease, peease mommy”. I hunkered down, faced him eye-to-eye like the Super Nanny advised and tried to reason with him: “Matthew, you can’t have that”, “Matthew, let’s have some cookie”, “Matthew, put that down”. Clearly it’s not working, he’s in full beg mode. He’s on his little knees, eyes peering up at me – like a dog, tears on the brink of falling down his apple cheeks begging for the M&M’s. How can I not cave and buy the candy? I know, I know, rookie mistake (Super Nanny is “tsk-tsking” me fo’ sure). We got back to the table; he took off again, and this time it’s the gum. Now, I’m really trying to put my foot down. But it’s high noon. He watched me with the intensity of wolf and his prey, and then when he saw that I was about to go in for the kill and grab his ass, he pulled the trigger on the greatest trick in the book – the tantrum- – he threw himself on the floor, screamed like a girl in a horror film, kicked his legs, and banged his hands on the ground. The entire store looked at me, I tried not to care but it was impossible. The old men were sneering, the cashier looked at me like the incompetent Mom that I am, and if I am not mistaken, I am certain that I saw both my mom and dad giggling, as if they were thinking “pay back is a bitch”.

If Oscars were given out for the Best Tantrum, this kid would be a contender. I tried not to sweat (impossible for a hairy i-tie) as I picked him up. I threw him over my shoulder as he beat me in the head with his grubby little fist, all the while thanking God and my now amused yet useless parents for the hair on my head which alleviated some of the pain. ‘Cause this little bugger is strong. We headed back to our table and this little scene happened at least two more times. To be honest I lost track – must be from all the swats to the head, but I didn’t give in to any of the other crap he was trying to steal (*pats herself on the back*). I took the tantrum like a Mom that meant business. What seemed like two hours was really five minutes, and at this point I was sweating like a beast, full on 100% embarrassed, making little comments to all the patrons and to my parents who are offering no help: “Yea, he’s a tough one”, “Gotta be quick with this little guy”, “I know, I know, gotta be on my toes”. In reality I wanted to scream “HELP ME, will someone fucking help me, NOW! Someone pick up this kid, throw him in the car, and get me the hell out of here STAT”. But I got nothing, I tried to remain calm, smile, and pretend that I was in control. I am a bad actress, a very bad actress.

On his very last attempt at the candy shelf, I grabbed the little shit and placed him firmly in a chair, I tried to compose myself. I fixed my shirt that looked all crumbled, swiped my locks from my eyes and took a deep breath. Apparently breathing was not an option. I took too long, the bugger chucked his blow-pop across the room and took off. He was out the door, into the parking lot. His short two years flashed before my eyes, and now I am out the door doing my best Flo Jo impression (keep in mind the little guy is faster than me). I was in full panic mode, but I grabbed him in what I felt like was just in the nick of time, when in reality the parking lot was empty. I picked him up, said something stupid like “Matthew, don’t run from me again, you could have been dead”. What does he do? Laughs. And I know in his little head he is saying “You fell for it again, you couldn’t resist the cute, and I’ll never stop pushing your buttons.” I was on the brink of tears; my reprimand was useless. I am spent. I screamed to my parents “Let’s go”.

As I wrestled him into the car seat I asked my mom what I was doing wrong, she replied “nothing.” I know that couldn’t be true because I failed to display any parenting skills in those 20 minutes. So I asked again: “Mom, what am I doing wrong? What would you have done?” In very calm, motherly soft tone with a smile on her face my mom replied “I would have beaten the crap out of you and you would have never done it again”. I laughed out loud and thought to myself, there has to be a middle ground. If I beat him, I’ll get arrested, but my current approach is not working…then it clicks,and THAT’S when I decided to Google corporal punishment.

Posted in deanna, grandparents, kids, tantrum, The Little Buggers

Peanuts

While on diaper duty this morning, the littlest bugger grabbed his penis and said “ohhhh, got my peanut”. I laughed, thought it’s so fricking cute, he’s so fricking cute, don’t you love when the little ones “mix up” the English vocabulary? Then panic struck. I hope 20 years from now he doesn’t say that and then I thought I better start the pray chain – in hopes that it gets bigger than a peanut. Pray with me.

Posted in deanna, peanuts, penis, The Little Buggers