Rules were made to be broken.

So, like a lot of us mamas, I am part of an online mommy group (the previously mentioned DCHS2001MAP) which has become a full-fledged addiction (because I clearly don't have enough to do).  We all post about our experiences as mothers, especially how we are raising our children.  Lately I've noticed that we differ greatly with our parenting techniques, as we are all unique individuals in different stages of our kids' lives.  This got me thinking about how I was as a brand new mother... while not set in stone, I had certain ideas about how I would raise my son. After all, I was going to be the perfect mother. Shows you how much I knew about parenting.

sleepy time

I've come to the conclusion that being a stay-at-home mom is hands down the absolute hardest job I have ever had. This coming from a girl who has cleaned public restrooms, watched (and smelled) people vomit on amusement park rides, and has had her life threatened over a rental car on more than one occasion just to make a few bucks. 
In order to run my household efficiently & ecologically and raise my son to be an upstanding member of society who will one day run for president or find a cure for cancer (okay, you're right... I would rather he be the bassist for Aerosmith), I created a set of rules which I vowed never to break.  Well, one year of stay-at-home mothering taught me differently.  With that said, things I swore I would never do:

1. Let my child watch tv.  Lucky for me, he doesn't like it anyways. Unlucky for me, he doesn't like it at all.  I now find myself desperately searching through Netflix to find something, ANYTHING that might make him sit still for five seconds so I can put the laundry in the wash.  Sesame Street?  No.  Baby Einstein?  Huh uh. Yo Gabba Gabba? I don't have the right kind of mushrooms in my fridge in order to have that playing in my house.  But yesterday I discovered Early Bloomers, and with high hopes I pressed that A button on the Wii remote... SUCCESS! While Holden is busy listening to xylophones & watching the blue clouds on the screen, I can pour myself a gin & tonic finish the laundry. In conclusion I have found that these shows are actually for the parents, not the children.

2. Curse around my child.  Well, that went right out the fucking window.

getting into EVERYTHING.

3. Use the word "No".  Because obviously using that word would rob my son of the memories of being raised in a positive environment, thus rendering him homeless or perhaps even in jail one day due to severe bouts of depression & alcoholism.  I suppose I could say, "Holden, sweetie cakes, please play with mommy's keys over here like a good boy", but I have found "No!" to be more of a time saver when those keys are heading straight for the electrical outlet or the dog's eyeball.  The only downside to this method, however, is now my son calls everything in my house a "no".  Well, except for the entertainment center... that one's "no no no", complete with a nearly one-year-old wagging finger.

4. Leave my child with a babysitter that I don't personally know or who doesn't come with a complete resume from the Babysitting Institute of America.  It has now been so long that I have gone on a date with my husband that I am thisclose to letting the guy on the corner with the "Cash for Gold" sign watch my son.

5. Use disposables.  Trying to fill those earth-mother-goddess shoes of mine, I have decided to let Holden fill reusable diapers. They have been cost-effective & eco-friendly, but, some days there just isn't enough time to get all the laundry done. So it's either use a disposable diaper or tape a sponge to my kid's ass.  I will keep the sponge for my dishes, thanks.

6. CIO.  Known in the parenting community as "Cry It Out",  CIO is an extremely hot-button issue.  Mothers who let their kids cry are often demonized, and since I was going to be the perfect parent, my son would never so much as even sniffle.  Well, after not sleeping for almost a year now, I have learned that ultimately one of us will end up crying.  And since I am the gate-keeper here, I can not jump out of bed every time Holden whimpers in the middle of the night.  Don't misinterpret what I am saying here... I under no circumstances let my child scream his face off in his crib if he truly needs something.  I have just learned to tell the difference between fussing-cry & needing-cry.  Fussing-cry lasts approximately 30 seconds, and needing-cry would go on until the Rapture if not addressed.  Since I don't want Jesus getting the wrong idea, I give the kid a bottle at 4am, although I am probably shouting obscenities in his name anyways.

Ben, circa 2004

7. Have kids in the first place.  This one is actually my husband's. Keep in mind my husband wasn't always the kind, adoring father he is today...  he used to go to art school & talk about his disappointment in Vito Acconci & read Bukowski & drink imported beer.  But that's why I liked him.  Who knew one day we'd have such a cute kid?  I will say though, it's no surprise Holden came out with a mohawk.

Bullseye

Dear Target:

I am a very busy woman. I have a small child and a home to run. Aside from taking care of my son, today was spent cleaning dishes (by hand), sweeping floors, & doing the laundry, followed by a grocery run to your fine establishment in Orange City, Florida (my third trip to Target this week, actually).   None of these tasks would have been completed without the sponge, dish soap, broom, dust pan, & laundry detergent purchased on your premises.

Exhibit A

In addition to being a very busy woman, I am also a very broke woman, so I try to find the best bargains possible when shopping for my family.  Let’s be honest here, Wal-Mart is cheaper than Target, we all know this.  Wal-Mart is also less than a ten minute walk from my home, yet I get in my car & use my gas (which is hovering around 3.50 a gallon here, did you know that?).  Not only am I polluting the environment to shop at your store, I am also not burning the calories I would walking to Wal-Mart.  Wal-Mart: 3, Target: 0.  But really, I am not here to tell you why I should probably shop at Wally World.

As if my time weren’t precious enough, I am also the co-founder of a prestigious online mothering forum called DCHS2001MAP. You may have heard of us.  On this forum, it is a running joke that I spend all my “free” time at Target… I even went into labor with my son at your Redondo Beach store in California!  Anyways, earlier today our group bought a gift for one of our pregnant members.  Can you guess where this gift was purchased?  You got it, none other than Target.com!  As a founding member & leader of DCHS2001MAP, I bear a strong influence on our mother members, and we frequently discuss the best deals on products or where to get which hot item for our children.  As your marketing department surely knows, WOM advertising is an effective tool when trying to broaden your customer base, but people are ten times more likely to use it when they have encountered a negative experience with a store or product.  And as we all know, we mommies talk. 

In addition to the aforementioned truths, I invited Target to share in my two most joyous occasions: the union of my husband & myself, and the birth of my son.  I registered for both my bridal & baby showers with Target, thus encouraging my friends and family to spend their hard-earned dollars at your stores across the country.  As you can see, Target and its affiliates have affected many facets of my life, be it family, personal, or social.  Oh, let’s not forget medical either, as just three days ago I filled my son’s prescription at the Target pharmacy.  He’s been fighting a nasty ear infection, poor thing...

With all of these trips to Target, it only made sense that I sign up for the Target Red Card (that and I got tired of being badgered by your employees for the better part of a year about it).  This way my purchases come straight out of my checking account and I can save 5%... how nifty is that?  So, I gave your cashier my driver license & a blank check to get the proverbial ball rolling.  After completing the account interrogation, I realized that my address on both documents was my former one in California.  Oops… Mommy brain strikes again.  I immediately called the number on my temporary card and canceled the delivery of my shiny new Red Card to the current tenants at my previous address.  My old neighbors had informed me that the people who moved in after I left own various large weaponry and are most likely drug dealers.  You can perhaps understand why I might not want full access to my bank account sent there. 

Exhibit B

After being assured that the card would not be mailed out, I was asked to hand write a letter to your corporate office requesting a change of address.  I’m pretty sure that recent technological advances have been made so that I may instantly change my address by telephone or maybe even the internet, but just for you Target, I obliged.  You can see why a few weeks later I may be concerned that I have yet to receive anything in the mail from your offices, so I called back.  I was told that my new address was on file and no card had been mailed out, but you would resend the paperwork.  Imagine my astonishment when I finally got something in the mail from you… forwarded from California. Who knew the post office still forwards mail after a year?  So, once again I called your office, my tone slightly less polite.  The gentleman on the other end said the card had indeed been sent to the California address, that he would cancel the card, and send a new one to my Florida address.  At this rate, it’s more likely that I will get a Publisher’s Clearing House check delivered to me than my Target Red Card.

You may be familiar with the term “Shit rolls down hill”.  So, naturally, the lack of competence on your end has forced me to ask your cashiers for a 5% discount each of the eight times I have been to your store in the last 30 days.  That’s about twice a week in the last month, one of those weeks being spent in Celina, Ohio where there is no Target.  You do the math. Anyways, I have to ask your employees every time I check out for the discount they have been raving to me about for months.  And each time they say they can’t help me.  I can not express how incredibly frustrating it is to walk into your store, dressed quite literally head-to-toe in Target apparel, pay for my goods with a debit card pulled from my wallet which was also purchased at Target, and be told that they can’t help me save THREE LOUSY FREAKING BUCKS. 

Seriously, Target?  I didn’t use any four letter words when I had to call guest services because you sold me a bag of Market Pantry brand, weevil infested rice.  Nor did I complain to you when the diapers I bought (up&up brand) were slathered with another human being’s chewed up gum.  So, not only have I been shopping at your store & buying shoddy merchandise, I have been padding your pockets by purchasing your own brands (kindly refer to Exhibits A, B, & C, detailed below, if you are uncertain of my loyalties).

Exhibit C

I’m feeling like this relationship is a little one-sided, Target.  As a mother, I am a giver, and all you do is take, take, take.  I have nothing left to give you, Target…. And I think we should see other people.  And yes, it’s definitely you, not me.

All my love,

Mama Kate

Exhibit A  Items purchased at Target found in my purse (which I purchased from Target):

infant hoodie, teething ring, diapers, chapstick, cream eyeliner, blush, hand sanitizer, Kashi bar, & wallet.

Exhibit B  Actual purchase from Target 1/18/12:

It's in a reusable Target bag, for Christ's sake!

Exhibit C  How we were dressed while purchasing Exhibit B:

Items purchased from Target that you can see: sweater, dress, purse, sunglasses (both pairs), onesie.  Oh, and all the window decor.

Items purchased from Target that you cannot see: flip flops, undies, diaper, toe nail polish, monitor in window sill. Oh, and a friendly farewell hand gesture.

You give me fever

This past weekend marks my son's first serious illness.  I will kindly refer to the past several days as "The time I almost divorced my husband because he wouldn't stop arguing with me over every minute detail of every situation regardless of me giving him the stink eye or that vein popping out of my forehead".

looking more like mommy's little mental patient...

It started with the fever.

Husband: He's probably just teething.
Me: Umm, 103 fever is NOT from teething.
Husband: Well my mom said that her cousin's kids-

It was right about here that I stopped listening.  Why I started listening again I haven't the foggiest.
Next day, same scenario...

Me: I think he has an ear infection, he's been touching his ear all morning.
Husband: He just likes to play with his ears, hun.  It's probably just a stomach virus.

Oh, right.  I forgot that Holden's one previous stomach virus made my husband an expert in this arena.  I suppose on some level this is the same reason why Dr. Seuss didn't actually need to go to med school.
Because it was a Sunday, my choices were to either go to Urgent Care or wait until the following morning to see our pediatrician.  As the morning dragged on, I watched my son's temperature fluctuate more than my scale does after a night of three salted margaritas too many.  So, I called the husband.

Me: I think I need to take him to urgent care.
Husband: We can probably wait til tomorrow, that way we can just take him to our regular pediatrician.
Me: Ben, his fever was 104.7, he's been vomiting, and he's still tugging at his ears.
Husband: I just think we can wait til tomorrow... He-
Me: WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!

What my husband was failing to understand is that by this time tomorrow, my son would likely be 400 degrees, cooking omelettes on his forehead.  So I did what any rational human being would do... I hung up on him and ignored his phonecalls.  This entire scenario bore a striking resemblance to the one when I went into labor...

Me: Hun, umm... I'm pretty sure I'm in labor.  My contractions are really close, so I think we should go to the hopsital.
Husband: Are you sure? Maybe it's false labor again? Maybe we should wait a bit...

Uh, until what?  Until there is a baby floating in a puddle of placenta on our carpet?  Oh the landlord would just looove that.  Fast forward to the car ride to the hospital...

Husband:  Sorry, but I feel like they are going to send us home again and this-
Me: This what? Was a waste of time? You know, if this is our "ride to the hospital" I hope you know you totally ruined it for me. It's supposed to be fun. Asshole.



feeling a little better.

 Sixteen hours later I had a baby.  Who knew?  Oh wait, I did.  Anyways, an hour later we were all at the Pediatric Urgent Care, and you can only imagine the look I gave my husband when the doctor confirmed it was indeed a bilateral ear infection.  You know, that "told you so" look.  Followed by much scowling & stinkeye (the combination of which translates to "Yep... you're not getting laid for a month, buddy. Maybe two").   The following 24 hours were filled with antibiotics, cold compresses, Motrin, Tylenol, bulb syringes, Vicks vaporub, thermometers, Pedialyte, ear drops, and unfortunately, suppositories. I swear I have never had to put so many things on or in so many parts of my son's body.  He was beginning to feel like a pin cushion.  A screaming, red, vomiting pin cushion.  And I'm not sure who cried harder, me or him.
During one of his 3am fever spikes, he began vomiting again.  The vomit was another point of contention between my husband and myself...

Me: Oh no, he just threw up everything we gave him...
Husband: Really? I wouldn't call that throwing up.

Seriously?! Then what would you call it? Him practicing for a very special rendition of The Excorcist?  Obviously, that conversation wasn't going anywhere, so once again I fixed things the old-fashioned way and ignored him. 

For three days everything felt like it was on repeat... fever, vomit, medicine, argue. Fever, vomit, medicine, argue.  Add no sleep to the mix and you can see why the situation was so volatile.  Although, I do have to give my husband some credit... he got up with me at 3am to help take Holden's temperature.  He measured out dosages.  He rocked Holden to sleep. He even did the dishes & folded some laundry, and not once did he complain.  Argue like those bitches on The View, yes.  But complain, no.

Year One

At the end of the month, we will be celebrating my son's first birthday.  How the CRAP did that happen?! No seriously, where did the time go?  It's hard to believe that a year ago I was pushing 200lbs and freaking out that I would be bored of my son after 15 minutes alone with him.  In retrospect, it's hilarious that I thought there would be time for boredom.  In honor of making it through the first year of parenthood unscathed (well, almost), I offer twelve things I have learned over the past twelve months... and if you are expecting sweet tidbits like "nothing compares to the joy of a child's smile", you've got the wrong blog.

1. Carrots look eerily similar coming out as they do going in.

2. The real reason why men age better than women: they don't spend an entire year making ridiculous faces at their babies.  Frown lines, clown lines... what's the difference?

3. Going to the bathroom alone is a thing of the past.

4. Much like alcoholism, teething is a family disease.

5. Silence & glassy eyes mean a poop-filled diaper is in the near future.  (These signs may make a reappearance during the teenage years, although for dramatically different reasons)

6. Cabernet is a girl's best friend.

7. Don't waste money on fancy, light-up, singing toys when electrical wires and/or cell phones will do the trick.

8. Clipping a child's finger nails is harder than taking the SATs.

9. Sleep? What sleep?

10. If you are a stay-at-home mom, it's almost a guarantee that the first thing your child will say is "dada".

11. No, that stain won't come out.

12. Okay, okay... fine. Nothing compares to the joy of a child's smile.

One year down, 17 more to go.  Cheers, Holden!

Merry Christmess

In honor of the holidays (and me FINALLY cleaning out my purse... ick!) I give you the deviant's first vlog. Cheers!

Rock and Role

Someone recently commented to me about all the different roles women take upon themselves & those cast upon them by society... the word "mother" alone stirs up poignant & respectable titles such as nurse, teacher, & giver, to name a few.  But let's get real here, this deviant's blog is neither poignant nor respectable, so I have comprised a short list of roles I throw down on a daily basis...

1. Professional Wrestler. This is a more recent development, as now my child insists on trying out for the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics Team every time I change his diaper.  He flips, kicks, and somersaults his way out of my grasp, so I am left pinning him down by his ankles as he successfully hurdles a poop-filled diaper onto the floor. Thanks kid, go for the gold.

2. Napkin. I have completely given up on wipes & rags.  Time is of the essence if I don't want broccoli & blueberries smeared all over my walls, so I have been known to use my sleeve or the hem of my dress to wipe my son's face. 

3. Chauffeur. If I'm not at home, I am most likely driving Holden to the doctor. Or a playdate.  Or the library. Okay, I'm probably at Target, but still, it's not like he can use his walker to get where he needs to go (check back with me in a few months on this... it's a work in progress).  Needless to say I've become used to having conversations with someone in the backseat... who doesn't even respond. By the time he's old enough to sit in the front seat, he probably won't want to anyways. And I have a feeling he will still be ignoring me...

4. Lunch lady. Remember when you were a kid waiting in line in the school cafeteria? And you got really excited about tater tots or pizza? Remember when all that excitement came crashing down the second the lunch lady threw something on your tray that more closely resembled someone's liver than a burger? That, right there.... that look on your face. Expect to see that same look staring back at you on a daily basis for the next year of your life every time you make your kid lunch. The lunch lady role inevitably leads to the next item on our list....

5. Salesman. You will find yourself saying things like, "Okay, I have a really sweet deal for you. Now, I don't do this for just anybody, but if you eat your peas, I will throw in some fresh cut apples, free of charge! How does that sound? Amazing! Am I right?" Prepare yourself for a lot of rejection and hard bargaining.

6. Private Investigator. I can't count how many times I have had to search for a missing puzzle piece or blue mega block. This gets old fast, but the good news is that it forces you to look under your couch, where you may find some spare change if you're lucky.  If you're not so lucky you may find a dead bug & some fur balls which cause you to launch a full-scale cleaning operation. Let's hope for the spare change.

7. Musician. Did I mention the lullabies yet? Free concerts... my house... nightly at bedtime. Be there.

8. Coat rack. Gone are the days of just using a purse to go anywhere. It is now necessary to load up my arms with not only my purse, but a diaper bag, my sweater, my son's hoodie, his lunch box, any shopping bags I may have accumulated, and my car keys. All while balancing a kid on my hip. This does not include juggling a cell phone or a cup of coffee.  I don't know about you, but I put a lot of stuff on my coat rack.

9. Magician. This is an all-inclusive title... whether it's sawing your budget in half (instead of sawing a lady, that is... although sometimes I swear my head is splitting),  making your kid's food disappear (did he really eat it or just feed it to the dogs again?), or pulling a stuffed rabbit out of a hat... or out from between your kid's legs (okay, maybe my kid is the only one that feels the urge to shove every toy on the face of the planet in his crotch, but you get the idea).  And I swear it has to be magic, because otherwise I just don't know how it all gets done.

Breaking Spawn, Part 1

Hell must have froze over today, because I actually... wait for it... waaaaait foooorrr iiit... WENT OUT WITH ANOTHER HUMAN BEING WHO WASN'T MY SON!!!! Shocking, I know.  A girl's night out was long overdue.  To sum it up, I had an absolute blast.  And considering the last blast I had was a blastocyst, I would say this was long overdue.
I must say though, going out with your girlfriend as a mother is a bit like going to a foreign country.  The people look different (as in, presentable and/or bathed), speak differently (as in, intellectually), & act differently (as in, normally).  So I have compiled a short list of how mommy-glasses may affect your girl's night out....

1. Too many options at the bar:  And no, I don't mean the beers on tap.  We hadn't even been seated yet and were already perplexed by the fact that we could sit ANYWHERE WE WANTED.  This may seem obvious to you non-parents, but when you have kids you have to find the biggest table. With room for highchairs. In a faraway corner.  That way when your kid starts hurling cheerios or racecars 15 feet into the air you are spared getting slapped with any frivolous lawsuits. The thought of sitting at any table of our liking was overwhelming.

2. Interaction with the male species:  Our server was a young man, so I took the opportunity to see if I "still had it".  And what rolled off my tongue I ask you? "So, how old do we look?" Ugh, Seriously Katie? I'm pretty sure the last time I asked someone that I was 15 and trying to get him to buy me a pack of smokes. He replied, "Well, I already saw your IDs." Me: "Uh huh... so how old do you have to look to get ID'd?" Him: "Under 30." Me: "I see...." Him: "But I asked for your ID so that's good, right?" Me: (scowls) "Well, guess I'm coming back next year to find out!"  It will probably be that long anyways until I'm allowed in public again. Sigh.

3. Mommy Guilt/War Stories:  It's so odd going anywhere without your child that you feel like you've forgotten something.  This leads to the Mommy Guilt, so all you do is talk about your child.  At least during this part of the conversation the alcohol is starting to take effect, and truths are revealed.  My girlfriend admitted to me that the other day she forgot to bring a snack for her son when they went to the park.  She desperately searched her bag to see if there was anything for her hungry three year old to eat.  All she could find were stale cheerios at the bottom of her purse, so she did what any good mother would do... tried to pass it off as real food.  Unfortunately her son scoffed at the notion of "dirty" cheerios so he went without. Some may call this child abuse, I call it resourceful.

4. Lightweight division:  Two girls who never go out plus happy hour.  Need I say more?

5. Tainted Love:  When you've been married for over five years and you see Edward & Bella on their honeymoon, you can't help but feel slighted & skeptical.  "Romance AND sex? Who does that anyway?" "Please, I give them six months!" 

6. Bladder Control:  It's about this point during the night when those beers start to hit me with a fury.  I used to laugh at those commercials with the funny jingles & little water balloons simulating bladders, but suddenly I have a deep empathy for those women running out of board meetings to the bathroom... they're obviously mothers.  YOU try pushing something the size of a football out of your vagina and see what happens.  Go on, laugh, I dare you.  You'll probably just wet yourself anyways.

7.  Bella's Belly:  Motherhood has this peculiar way of seeping back into every primal instinct you have to procreate.  There I am, watching Bella Swan writhing in pain looking like she's dying of cancer because of this monster in her uterus...  her cheekbones sunken in, her lips pasty white, and her belly covered in bruises... I lean over to my girlfriend and say, "Aw, I miss being pregnant!" 

8. Movie Babies:  I don't care if it's half vampire! Why is that newborn baby bigger than my ten month old???

9.  The long good-bye:  The movie has ended, the night is coming to a close.  This would be the moment where young lovers hold one another in a warm embrace, tenderly stroking an arm or brushing hair out of the other's eyes... Snap out of it!! Mommy good-byes go more like this: "Um, I don't want to go home."  "Me either...." (long pause) "Are you going to that play date Friday after Thanksgiving?"  "Yeah, but no one else is really going... it's black Friday." "Yeah, I don't do black Friday... people like, die and shit." "I know... they totally get stomppled." "Um, I think you just made that word up." "Oh..."

10. The drive home: I can't express the odd feeling of getting in a car and just... going. No strapping screaming baby in carseat. No strapping carseat in car.  No popping sippy cup in baby's mouth.  No fishing around for lullaby cd.  No double checking that carseat is tight enough.  No finding sippy cup that was thrown on floor and rolled under seat. No singing along to lullaby cd the entire way home.  No pulling carseat out of car.  No finding that damn sippy cup, again. No unstrapping sleeping baby from carseat.  No screaming at the dogs for waking up sleeping baby 12 seconds later.  None of that nonsense.  Just a phone call from your husband asking you to stop at the gas station for a tallboy because one night in with the baby was "a lot of work".  If he only knew.....