It Takes a Village...

Family, whether it’s biological, adopted, or chosen is the one “thing” that I can count on in my life – that and my two-year old escaping from our house, and striping naked, can surely count on that, but family most definitely supersedes most things. Nevertheless, to me, family is the greatest thing in the world. My definition of family is broad (don’t say it, my ass is flat, much like an old Jewish man, no offense meant, it’s the truth!):

Fam.i.ly [fam-uh-lee, fam-lee] noun, plural-lies, adjective – a unit of individuals either descendents of Vincent and Concetta Pitta, Fanny Spadaro or married into (either by herself, her husband, her sisters, whomever really) or chosen by Deanna herself, individuals that love, support, and care for Deanna, her family, her children without fail or judgment, laugh at her jokes, reads this blog, and in general loves her, and her family unconditionally and vice versa.

What brings me to a post like this? As always, “people”, “loved ones", “things” we treasure most are usually valued when 1) they are gone, moved or have unfortunately passed away or 2) when you really need something. For me, it was the latter. Thank God no one left me, I’d find them wherever they were, even in heaven and kick their sorry ass!

Ya see, my hubby and I had plans to embark on a Road Relay – 24 hours of running, with the Ragnar Relay Series. The babysitting that we lined up pulled out – not sure why, could possibly be that they found out that the two year old jumped out of our house window, not that should scare anyone nevertheless, they just couldn’t do it. This happened three weeks before the event. Dying to run 19 miles with no sleep, or proper nutrition and the chance that I’d get to poop in the woods during my first 8 mile run was so overwhelmingly exciting that I exhausted every babysitting avenue that I had, and then when nothing came up, I tried soliciting new babysitters. Not sure if the word leaked out that there was the chance of being tied up, tarred and feathered by my two-year old, ‘cause no one bit the bait! A week before the event, I thought I’d give it one more shot, just call me persistent and dedicated or maybe I just like pooping in the woods! Nevertheless, it was more like the thought of dragging two kids on an overnight relay was paralyzing and even more exhausting than running itself. My final attempt was an email to some family and friends asking if they knew of anyone that could help, perhaps they knew a bloated college student that needed to shed the freshman, sophomore, hell any sort of poundage chasing after two very active boys. I figured I could test them out during the week, and if they weren’t too scared pay them arm and a leg to watch my kids for 12 hours.

And then IT happened, the heavens opened and angels came down (cue tampon commercial music) ah, hell, the phone just rang. I saw the caller-id, picked it up and heard “I am headed out to Home Depot, and I was wondering if your son was allergic to duck-tape”. After I spit out my water from laughing so hard, I got into in-depth conversation with my cousins Donna and Ed about this babysitting gig. We discussed why they would embark on this type of adventure, thanking them profusely, debating whether or not I trusted the two-year old – the thought of my cousin’s pool and the body of water that they live on haunted me, and lastly if I had coverage for the first two days of the race. After a few days of debating with myself, my parents, my husband, and anyone else that would listen, we got the call that my wonderful mother-in-law was able to watch the little guys for two of the three days, dedicated to pooping in the woods, I threw-caution to the wind, called my cousins and signed them up for what I thought could possibly be the adventure of their lifetime. I figured, they had two smart able bodied kids that could run my little buggers down, and that my little guys are so cute the chances of them being voluntarily thrown into the water was slim to none, plus I was counting on some really good stories!

12 hours, yes, 12 hours of babysitting is what my cousins endured, and not one good story about the little bugger. I was expecting at least on striptease, and at the very least a “Jesus Christ” to fly out of his mouth a few times. I guess like “they” always say, your children usually behave better when you’re not around. That little fucker just makes me look like an ass on a daily basis, damn him but Thank the Sweet Lord in Heaven!

Nonetheless, these cousins, whom I love dearly with all my heart (and not because they took my kids) were the last people on earth that I thought would volunteer to assist us. I was in awe and so grateful, I just never saw it coming, I definitely chuckled a little as the two year old is a handful and half, but more than that I was very appreciative!

This is exactly what family is all about – coming to your aid, helping, caring, loving no matter what – no matter how much time has passed, no matter how much they’ve pissed you off, perhaps you just slammed the phone down on your “family”, maybe someone gave your son a french fry without your consent, perhaps Aunt Susie and Uncle Bob pinched Grammy’s heirloom tablecloth – does it matter? Whether it’s the family you were born into, adopted into or chosen, it’s all you have. ALL you HAVE. It’s your family man, you go, you answer the call (whatever the call, except to help move, no one should answer that call) – and then afterwards you put exlax in their coffee. Revenge, is a totally different story.

It’s Family! Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.




You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them. ~Desmond Tutu

The other night I ate at a real nice family restaurant. Every table had an argument going. ~ George Carlin

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one. ~Jane Howard

At the end of the day, a loving family should find everything forgivable. ~-Mark V. Olsen and Will Sheffer

Govern a family as you would cook a small fish - very gently. ~-Chinese Proverb

There is no such thing as fun for the whole family. ~ Jerry Seinfeld

Terrible Two's

Terrible Two's, I really thought this was another one of those "Old Wives' Tales" – a “Myth” - that it wasn't really a "thing" like it doesn't really mean that when you’re darling little one year old turns two and POOF! He turns into a little monster, but um, yeah, it really does happen. One day I will find the scaly horns on this kid, and it would totally solidify my thoughts, that yes this “sweet child o’mine” is definitely a monster. My first little bugger was a walk in the park, certainly a curious bugger, a handful but Richie is nothing like the whirlwind of his brother - whose is aptly nicknamed: "Master of Disaster" and "Diaper Dude" because yes he’s as cool as dude, and a master of destruction. Don’t believe me, well let’s go over what has occurred in my home in ONE WEEK, granted this just confirms that I may possibly be the worst Mom ever, but that’s not up for discussion today, because today is Mother’s Day and we are discussing the Terrible Two’s and the Master of Disaster, or Diaper Dude if you will, whatever you prefer.

1) He broke into the “refrigar” (as he calls it), and ate a quarter stick of butter, yes, butter, I am not lying. I found the little guy at the kitchen table sitting as nicely as if he was eating with the Queen. The grip he had on the butter probably would have made her faint, especially since the wrapper was stuck to his shorts, and he had a silky shine around his mouth, chomping away – happy as a pig in shit. I kid you not, when I came out of the shower, he knew he was caught and just kept eating it, kinda of like “well, I busted, I might as well enjoy it before this bitch takes it away”. My only assumption on why anyone would want to eat a stick of butter is that he is having major withdrawals from our four week Fast Food (McDonald’s) break, the blood must be running through his veins smoothly and he probably felt the need to clog them up, however, we all know what happens when you assume, so maybe I shouldn’t do that, ‘cause people this kid makes an ass of me every day.

2) Flushed a bar of soap down the toilet (second time in a month). I found the boy peering into the toilet, wrappers around him, soap sliding down the pipes, and at the top of his lungs screaming “I did it, I did it”. All I wanted to do was bite him, bite his little ass. I was so frustrated, so much so that I ranted and raved for what seemed like hours, I never screamed so loud - my voice was actually hoarse. Ya see, the little guy pulled this stunt about three weeks ago. The first time it happened, I called the plumber in sheer panic because Hubby was working and has no cell phone and baby when you gotta go you gotta go. The kicker is that I completely forgot that I had another bathroom (you would too, if you had a crazy two year old), the emergency cost us $100.00. This time I waited, I figured I could be as resourceful as the two-year old if I had to go that bad and if I couldn’t figure it out, I could wait the 12 hours before the hubby got home (after 6 hours, I realized yet again that I have another bathroom, realizing this at like 4:00a.m. I was in the fetal position trying to climb the stairs, and not wet myself at the same time, good times, good times!). Nevertheless, the total cost for repair for bar of soap number two: $20.00. Glad I waited even if I ruptured my bladder.

3) Caught red handed once again, the little shit was sitting on the kitchen counter with a pair of cooking scissors in hand clipping away at his hair, when he saw me round the corner he jumped down so fast –running through-out the house. I was in a full panic screaming “don’t run with scissors, no running with scissors”, outwitted and outsmarted by this little bastard again, I called his brother to help corner him, when we finally did, he threw the scissors at us, and just laughed, laughed and laughed, until he cried, cried and cried in the “Chill Out Chair”. I really wish I could laugh at him with really messed up hair but I caught him before he really destroyed it.

4) This kid loves the kitchen counter, and mind you we tied up all the chairs to the table, so he figures out very clever ways to make his ascent to the top. This time I naively left out a storage container with all the summer clothes that he pushed into position to climb. My hubby found him naked from the waist down, chomping on a chocolate covered donut – I know, typical male eating naked. Anyhoo, the only reason he caught him was because he was screaming “Daddy, I need help, Daddy, I need help” apparently he didn’t want to get his “peeny” caught as he was making his descent, and needed a little assistance. I realize there are several gross factors with this one – I assure you that I thoroughly disinfected the counters.

And the icing on the cake:

5) As we were both talking to my sister in Cali, I entered the kitchen to pack up lunch for the next day, the little guy is in the living room, I can see and hear him, my spit would hit him between the eyes ‘cause the rooms are not that big. As I entered the room to see where he was I realized he disappeared. But I saw him, saw him shirtless outside picking at something on his face. I dropped the phone, and ran outside. He darted away into the neighbor’s yard, up the back steps and opened the back door. Humiliated, I apologized, made some silly comment, came back to the house, panting, reprimanding, scolding, panting – and out of the corner of my eye I see the window open, and then I saw the screen up, lifted – up high up. I know I never lift the screens. I looked at him, he looked at the window, looked back at me and calmly said, “I climbed out da window and I do it again”. I was speechless. I examined his body saw the appropriate scratches, and almost passed out, dialed my sister who I hung up on screamed into the phone something like: “HOLY SHIT HE JUST JUMPED OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW”, and just cried. He jumped out the window – a 6 foot drop. After I calmed down, I apologized to my sons, tried to talk to the little one on what a horrible, stinking, very, very dangerous thing that he did, and said to my oldest “Sometimes I just can’t handle him”, in which the six year old sensei said, “I can tell.” Enough said.

I realize I am very lucky that this little bugger is still 1) alive, 2) Alive 3) ALIVE.

I have come to the conclusion that I have to parent this child in a completely different way than Richie, that discipline has to be consistent and that in no uncertain terms, I have to keep him safe, and HAVE to be one step ahead at all times, ALL TIMES, all that – and of course a constant supply of Xanax, the occasional shot of vodka, and most definitely a good pair of running shoes…stop thinking like that I would NEVER abandon my kids- Mama just needs a break every once in a while!

Happy Mother's Day!!