5/10/2007

Are we all bumbo bumbling idiots?

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Seriously? As in ... Seriously? You’re kidding, right?

These are the first thoughts that ran through my head upon hearing about the Bumbo Seat Recall. I have a Bumbo Seat. We love the Bumbo Seat. Baby O sits up in his Bumbo Seat. It’s a blue, soft, squishy seat of wonderfulness.

4/7/2007

Flinger Flight 666 Parenting

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Welcome aboard Flinger Flight 666. Next destination: Hell.
We’re proud to serve you goldfish and fruitsnacks for your inflight meal. Your movie will be “Elmo’s Potty Time” on a loop. You’re aboard a special flight filled with a scientific experiment where your children have been sleep deprived and starved and are needing your attention.
In case of an emergency, there are no exists.
Thank you for choosing Flinger Airlines.

We were going along just splendidly, or rather as splendidly as one with a new baby could possibly be going along, when BLAMO! The ‘flux hit the house. LB had the flux. We weren’t aware that’s what was going on until well in to my “I hate being a mom OHMYHELL what did we do?!” phase. Once she got on Zantac, life became bearable. A few months later, she started sleeping and a few months after that I uttered the words “Number Two.” And now, here we are. History has a way of repeating itself.

Poltergeist, exorcism, and that damn ghost kitty Parenting

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I’ve talked openly about my child’s refusal to nap and its subsequent effect on me.  We’ve been battling the “Nap Issue” for some time now. Eons ago, Oma said “perhaps she’s just giving it up?” to which I threw tomatoes at her and booed very loudly.  I may have even hissed, I’m not sure. Either way, I know that even if SHE thinks she does not need a nap, *I* know she does. She claims she wants to go play because “my eyes aren’t tired, Mommy!” but I see this:

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4/2/2007

Oprah and Bon-Bons (or, why I suck at being a WAHM) Parenting

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Anyone else feel like you’re treading under water? Grey’s Anatomy aside here, we’re all drowning in snot and a megga slow server. I swear I’ve tried to update only to get a “page loading” message for, oh, more than the .2 nanoseconds that I have patience to wait so I close my browser and decide my site hates me. No, it’s not you, it’s me. It’s the snot. It’s the fever. It’s the holy-hell-sinus-pressure-that-I-can-only-take-farking-saline-spray-for (!?) and the other things the Internet was telling me you don’t need to hear about.

Being sick is boring as hell, y’all.

3/2/2007

Conversations on the Couch: Friday Night Edition Parenting

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Me: “You know, I actually know people that try to have s.e.x multiple times a week.”

Him: In complete disgust “Why? Are they trying to have kids?”

2/5/2007

From Sane to Totally Losing Your Shit in 12 hours or less: A timeline Parenting

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May 1: Officially 34 weeks pregnant.

11:00 AM- Whilst talking to a group of moms, have contraction. “BlahblahBlah.. uugghhhhh… uuhhhhhh… pppffffffff…. BlahBlahBlah.” Perhaps mention that you’ve been noticing more of these braxtin gigs lately. Also, they hurt.

2/3/2007

Herding Buffalo ADHD

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I have this disease Mr. Flinger calls “Herding Buffalo.” It usually occurs when life is in complete chaos and there is little time for anything.  It usually happens when an idea enters my busy brain and suddenly it can’t get out. The single idea turns in to fifty things that need to be done RIGHT! NOW! and suddenly there is the sound of herding buffalo in my head.

Right now, I have Herding Buffalo.

1/8/2007

A letter of resignation Parenting

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Look, I’ve had some hard jobs. I’ve worked technical support for a school district with over 100,000 users and only TWELVE support specialist. I’ve answered, “I don’t know my email password” and “How do I change my desktop picture?” more times than I care to confess. It took patience. Not as much patience as the time I worked in a daycare with a class of eight two year olds and only ONE of me all stuffed in a twelve-by-twelve room for nine hours a day. I thought that was really hard at the time. But this job? This parenting gig? It’s so. much. harder.

I don’t want to be the mom with the crazy hair and the furrowed brow and the flames shooting out her nose. I don’t want to be the women with the premature gray hairs, the lines etching on her eyes, the drool and glazed over wistful look during the four minutes of quiet each day. I want to be happy. I want to enjoy my children’s youth. I want to be able to honestly say “It’s hard, sure, but…” Right now? All I can say is “it’s hard.” There is no but.