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An Ass As Big As A Hot Air Balloon

If you want honesty, talk to a kid. When my daughter wants more information about something that I just can’t find the words for, I tell her to ask her dad.

A few years ago, my daughter took a picture of my butt which she thought was funny. When I saw the picture, my ass looked like it could take the place of a hot air balloon and fly the basket with the highest occupancy.

I asked my daughter if my butt is that big and she said, you saw the picture.

Ah, yes. Kids and the brutal truth will smack you upside the head when you least expect it.

On the other hand, when I’m feeling shitty about myself, the hummingbird tries to cheer me up.

For instance, when I fuck up dinner most nights because I still can’t cook properly, and I either undercook or overcook something. She’ll say you’re the best cook, mom.

Yes, I know that’s a lie but it’s sweet.

Then, there are the brutal moments. I styled my hair a different way using a curling wand and my natural curls instead of straightening the hell out of it. I had many compliments the day before. The woman at the pharmacy even said my hair looked really nice. I may go there too much if they know me that well.

Anyway, I did my hair the same way a few days later and my daughter comes home from school.

Her: Your hair looks different.

Me: That’s because I’ve been letting my hair go naturally curly.

Her: No, I mean it doesn’t look like you brushed it at all today.

Me: Ouch! Oh, I didn’t think it looked too bad.

Her. Yeah, and it looks like you slept on it a few times and it’s all bunched up together.

Me: Damn, girl, you’re a hard chicky to please. I just finger brushed it so it wouldn’t make the curls frizz.

Her: Well, okay but your hair looks like you just woke up.

Me: Whoooosh! My kid just killed me with verbal firepower about what I thought was my awesome hair. Well, sweetie, I don’t always have enough time to spend on my hair because you can be as slow as a slug in mud and you won’t listen when I tell you to hurry up in the morning before school. If you did, I could have more time to spend on my hair but instead I’m walking out of the bathroom yelling, Hummingbird!! Are you dressed yet? Did you brush your teeth and hair? Did you go pee yet? Every. other. minute.

Me for real: Well, sweetie. Maybe my hair would look better if we can work together to get ready for the bus on time.

Her: Okay, mom. But, you really do look like you have bedhead.

Me: Fuckity fuck fuck fucking hell. Thanks bird but, sometimes it’s not always best to tell the truth like that.

Her: Why?

Me: Ask your dad.

What are some of the brutally honest things you’ve been told by your kids? 

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Second Grade

It was rough last year when my daughter was in second grade. While I have the absolute highest respect for anyone that works with children since that shit isn’t easy, my daughter’s teacher and the hummingbird didn’t quite mesh. The bird completely adored her teacher but her teacher seemed to have some harsh things to say about the bird.

We also heard nothing but RAVE REVIEWS about this teacher from every-fucking-body who heard her name. So, I was confused about how she talked about my daughter the way she did.

I don’t mean to make a big deal about it but it still bothers me after over a year. This was one of those unexpected situations I’ve had since being a parent. Of course, every day as a parent deals with unexpected situations.

When we walked into “Mrs. Second Grade’s” classroom for our first parent/teacher conference, I went in expecting nothing less than how cooperative and attentive the hummingbird is.

Wrong.

She dived right in to tell us how the bird takes her time with each task and doesn’t “transition” from task to task as expected.

I’m not making excuses, but kids. move. so. fucking. slow.

So, I was baffled at how annoyed Mrs. Second Grade was. She actually said “Please, tell me how to handle your daughter?”

Oh.

Ok.

What the fuck, lady?

I’m sorry if she takes her time to do things right the first time.

Counting preschool, we’ve heard nothing but positive things and constructive criticism about our daughter which I’ve taken to heart. But never anything so grim sounding, like our kid is a disaster and doesn’t know how to handle my child because she doesn’t always jump to attention.

Yes, she’s as slow as a snail but what kid isn’t? Oh my god, they move like they’re sinking in quicksand. It’s like pulling teeth in the slowest possible way ever when it comes to kids getting ready for school, or going to an activity, or getting dressed, or brushing their teeth… etc.

Yet, this teacher made it seem like that was the strangest thing for a kid my daughter’s age. Sure, I get frustrated on a daily basis with my little snail but I’m around her friends and they also take time to do things. You have to remind them 10 times when it comes to practically anything.

Especially, when a play date comes to an end. We have to give at the very least, 20 minutes to prepare to depart from one another.

Even then, it usually takes an additional 10 minutes to say goodbye.

Anyway, it was very frustrating for the bird’s teacher to be so down on her. I don’t doubt at all that Mrs. Second Grade is a great teacher. I do know, however, that when my husband volunteered at our daughter’s school last year for a handful of teachers, he said that while helping out with the class, Mrs. Second Grade reminds him of the drill Sargent he had in Officer Candidate School.

I know part of it is also the fact that this teacher went straight to the negative things about my then 6 year-old. Seriously, though. She was only 6 years-old.

If I may speak freely, that is such bullshit. A teacher being so hard on a kid at such a young age. When I was six, one of my favorite things was sniffing crayons and wishing they were edible.

My daughter still talks about that teacher with such love and I just hold my tongue.

I have to say it again.

She was just 6 years-old. My aspirations for my kid at that age were not to fart at the dining room table and to wash her hands… WITH SOAP. You have to add the soap part.

The teacher she has now is a much better match, thankfully. I was so nervous about this parent/teacher conference but then I ended up in the hospital so I missed it. What my husband told me was so much different than what we heard three times last year.

The hummingbird is working really hard, too. She’s getting extra help in math. I’m guessing it’s because common core math is such a fucking nightmare. I was even having trouble explaining her second grade math to her and trying to understand what the fuck they’re doing and why they’re making math more difficult than it should be.

The bird also had 4 fucking torturous nights of homework in second grade every week. I know it will just become more work as she gets older but she has less homework in third grade than she did last year. Thank you, sweet baby jebus!

Because if there’s ever a time for yelling and tears for both of you, it’s during your kid’s homework time.

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Of Course I’m Going To Run Into Someone I Know When I Look Like I Fell Out Of The Ass Of A Tyrannosaurus Rex

When I was in my pre-teen/teen years, my mom would tell me why bother with the way I look when we were just going to a trip to the grocery store or the laundromat.

Guess what?

Mommie dearest lied.

You’re, in fact, destined to run into anyone and everyone when you look like your dying of Ebola and forgot to even brush your hair when making that quick trip to Target for some cold medicine.

My mom would say that we’re just going to the laundromat and boom, there was my crush of the month who was also there. I was 13 and would be mortified.

Oh my god… my hair isn’t hair sprayed to death and I don’t have make up on.

My most recent run in was a few weeks ago. I had to get a CT scan of my heart and it was really early in the morning. They called me back to get the i.v. started for contrast and I was sitting there with my hair all wild, no bra, and blotches on my face from lack of makeup.

I was sitting there waiting my turn and completely zoned out on benadryl and prednisone because I’m allergic to the CT scan dye and break out in blisters.

There I was, slumped over the chair, since benadryl fucks me up like you wouldn’t believe.

From my dazed view I hear the words “Are you the little hummingbird’s mom?” “I saw you here last week when you were in ICU but I didn’t want to say anything.”

Yes, yes I am.

“I thought so. We’re neighbors. I’m “Ashley’s” mom”!

Oh, yes, yes you are… as drool dribbles out of my mouth and I’m seeing Smurfs skydive because Benadryl fucks me up that bad.

Most of the time I don’t give a fuck, though. I proudly showed up to my 8 year-old’s school in my pajamas the other day.

It takes me a lot to put on real clothes but if I’m driving 5 minutes to my kid’s school in 20 degree weather, I want to be comfy in pajama pants, a sweatshirt, snow boots, and to make the outfit… my fanciest scarf that says yes, yes I do kind of sort of give a fuck.

Really, it’s that fancy of a scarf. Or, fancy in my eyes. At least it’s not something I crawled out of bed with.

While we’re at it, let’s go back to that time in Target when I was picking up cold medicine. My nose was bright red from blowing it and my eyes were bloodshot. My hair was wild and my voice was hoarse. Then, I hear,

“Excuse me? Excuse me, Miss? I know you from the Unitarian church, don’t I?”

Her face doesn’t register but since we don’t got to the UU church very often, I’m sure that’s where we know each other from.

I quickly say “Yes, that must be it. Nice seeing you”. Then, I run my ass down the handsoap aisle and want to fall through the floor from embarrassment.

So, dear, mom. When you said “Don’t bother, you won’t see anyone you know”…. I will shout “It’s a trick! I’m going to see 30 people I know because I decided not to put on my bra. Because that’s the way it works.

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Bad Seeds

I bought a different brand of clementines recently, since they didn’t have halos and cuties. I have found through my 8 year-old that they are not the same. I repeat, they are not the same. Run for cover. The clementines I bought have seeds. Oh my god, the horror!

When I was a kid, I thought I had it tough because I had to watch commercials and sit for long periods of time to record a song on the radio that the dj would be talking through.

I had to work my ass off when making mixed tapes. It took time and dedication. To top it off, that mixed tape I would work so hard on would get stuck in the player and the tape would come out.

Sometimes it was salvageable just by sticking a pencil in one of the holes of the cassette tape and rewinding it.

So, no, I didn’t have to walk 10 miles to school with a broken leg when I was younger but damn it, if I wanted to know who played that actress in the movie with that other actress, I couldn’t just Google or look on imdb. I had to suffer through not knowing until 20 years later.

That’s hardship, ya’ll.

I was giving my daughter a snack and while she was fast forwarding through the commercials of the show she was watching on the DVR, she sighed.

“Ugh. These aren’t halos. They have seeds. I don’t like these kind.”

“Oh, cry me a damn river.”

Okay, I didn’t say it but that’s certainly what I was thinking.

Instead, I was able to use my “when I was younger” lines.

When I was younger, we had to watch commercials.

When I was younger, we used a thing called a landline.

When I was younger, people thought and still think mullets are a smart life choice.

When I was younger, I had to eat whatever my mom cooked.

When I was younger, my family couldn’t afford the kinds of food we eat now.

When I was younger, my family could only afford to go clothes shopping once a year.

Before I could drive my daughter crazier, she stopped me and said “Okay, the seeds aren’t that bad.”

She ate the clementine with those icky, bad, and horrendous seeds that were causing her to have a bad clementine experience without any more complaints.

Mission Accomplished!

Now, does anyone have a pencil I can borrow?

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Go To Bed. Go To Bed. Go To Bed.

By the time my kid was seven years-old, I didn’t think sleep would be an issue for her.

It is.

Fucking fuck.

There’s always some ailment that needs tending to and is causing her to stay awake. Like that invisible scratch on her ankle, or she needs a hangnail cut off, or another good night kiss.

Well, a new bedtime hell has taken over the house and it’s all Bloody Mary’s fault. A classmate of her’s told the hummingbird how if she says Bloody Mary in the mirror three times, she appears.

Now, it’s all about Bloody Mary coming to get her and she’ll get up out of bed three or four times before she falls asleep.

Also, a few weeks ago, we had two power outages a few minutes apart. It was early in the morning and it woke her up.

So, besides Bloody Mary, we have to assure her that if it rains or snows, there’s most likely not going to be a power outage.

It doesn’t matter though. It’s just one more excuse for her to use to try and get out of going to bed. If only she knew that I know ALL of the tricks. But, she seems so sure that she’s pulling one over on me.

Sleep, how I miss you.

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The Reluctant Reader

young-girl-reading-jeanhonore-fragonard

I’ve loved reading as soon as I learned to. I gobble up books but also have this book hangover I go through after each book I read. It can be hard to keep up with my reading with a kid in the house who always wants my attention. I naturally assumed since I loved to read, my dna would make her feel the same.

Oh, how wrong I was. Asking her to read and having her actually do it is like pulling teeth. Once she gets started reading, she’ll sometimes get into it. Or, if I suggest reading to her, she whines nooooooo. I love reading her the Ramona Quimby books and she’ll independently read the Princess Posey books which I highly suggest since oh my god she actually reads them, thank you sweet baby jeebus, but again, getting her started up in reading is the biggest pain in the ass.

Here are the stages I’ve gone through with my reluctant reader.

Stage one: You need to read for ten minutes. Yes. Yes. No, you’re not going to see if Samantha is home. You’re going to read. Yes. Yes! Please go and read. Please? Just read. 10 minutes. That’s all I ask. Read. Read now. I got you several different books to choose from at the library today. Maybe you just haven’t found the books that you find interesting yet. So, please go read. Yes! Read! Go!

Stage two: Would you like me to read to you? Why not? Well, let’s have you read to me. Why not? Please? Let’s just sit down and you can read to me for only 10 minutes. You need to ready every day. Yes, you do. Yes. Please read now. Why not, Well, I’m sorry that you have a scratch on your ankle but that doesn’t mean you can’t read. No, it doesn’t. No, it doesn’t. Please, hummingbird. Just read to me for five minutes then. Five minutes! No, it’s not that long. Okay, how about this. You can have a cookie after dinner. Okay, ice cream then. Yes, you can have chocolate sauce but then you have to read for ten minutes. You don’t want chocolate sauce then? Oh, you do. Then, yes, read for 10 minutes. Please just read now. Please!

Stage three: Okay, it’s time to read. We have two hours before dinner. Why don’t read for 20 minutes to yourself while I read too. Why not? No, you can’t watch PAW Patrol. It’s time to read. No. There’s no PAW Patrol while we read. The television is going off. There. Please read. Whichever book you want. There must be something you’d like to read in our library book bag. You picked out all the books. Please, pick something and read. Then, I’ll pick. Here. Okay, then you pick something now. Please, hummingbird. That looks good. Okay, you have twently minutes. No, I said for twenty minutes. Not ten. Twenty. Hummingbird, it’s only for twenty minutes. I’m not asking you to jump off a cliff. Twenty minutes and then you’ll be done for the day. Okay, how about if you read for twenty minutes and you can watch PAW Patrol. No. You can’t watch two. Just one for twenty minutes of reading. Fine, thirty minutes of reading and then you can watch two PAW Patrol’s. No, you can’t watch three. Only two if you read for thirty minutes. Okay. Thank you.

Stage four: Read! Yes! Now! Please, read now! I don’t care if you don’t want to. READ!

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This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

I first started uttering this sentence last year. I never really got it until I took a good look at my house and saw it in such disarray and I wanted to ugly cry. I only have a 7 year-old but she makes the mess of twenty frat boys. Add to that a husband and holy shit, I’m done for.

Burps and farts galore – We instilled in the hummingbird at a young age that these things were funny. Now, it’s come back to bite me in the ass. My husband came from a “prim and proper” household where they NEVER did that and I honestly don’t think my in-laws have ever let out a good burp in private which could be why they are the way they are.

There’s no farting at the table but it doesn’t stop the hummingbird to let one rip which then makes me gag. The hubby will follow that with a large burp which he never usually did until we had the bird and poop and barf were a big subject between us when she was a baby. I’ve created gassy monsters.

Clothes everywhere – Asking kids to put their dirty clothes in a laundry basket is apparently one of the most difficult tasks since they end up leaving them all over the bedroom floor and scattered throughout the house. There’s a dress laying by our front door, dirty socks by the stairs, and shorts and a skirt just lying on the floor in the kitchen.

No matter how many times I stress to my 7 year-old that she must pick up her clothes, I end up being the one to pick all of that up. Her room on the other hand is her responsibility, which is why I try to avoid it. Her complaint is that “I can’t clean all this up myself” and my response is “But, you made the mess so you need to pick it up.”

Itty bitty Lego all over – The hummingbird and hubby love playing with Legos. I’ve never gotten it and have tried to be involved too but I’m just not into you, Lego. I have found there is something more painful than stepping on a lego. A few months ago, I stepped on a small My Little Pony and I’m not sure my foot will ever recover.

The shoe fight – Not only has the hummingbird acquired more shoes than I have, which is totally my fault, every damn morning, we still go through the shoe struggle. It starts off with the simple request of her getting her shoes on and ends up with me practically on my knees, begging for her to just put on shoes that fit.

Somehow, the shoes she outgrew keep coming back in the mudroom, even after hiding them from her, and it goes back and forth with me telling her she needs to wear shoes that fit. But no, that would be too easy. She wants to wear the shoes that just a week before, were hurting her feet. Oy!

Food on the floor that looks like someone went on a drunk eating binge – The little bird is currently going through a growth spurt which is awesome but most food seems to make it on the table and the floor than in her mouth. I wasn’t sure how that happens until a few nights ago after being at summer camp all day, she came home like she had been given red bull.

She couldn’t sit still at dinner and kept on hopping up to show us some dance moves she learned or she would sing us a song. She was bitten by the acting bug last year when she saw a school play of an older friend. And, just last week, after months of rehearsals, she was in a children’s stage production that she loved doing. So, she has been singing non stop for the past few months.

I’m all for that put please don’t fling your food around at the dinner table while getting up to belt out songs. It’s not just the food left under and around the dining room table but a buffet also starts forming around the couch and coffee table. The worst things I’ve stepped on, besides pee, is grapes and macaroni and cheese. The mushy feeling on the bottom of my foot is nasty.

I farted or I’m pooping – Even when it isn’t apparent, the bird has to make it known that she farted. Then, I get a whiff and run like hell from the room which she finds hysterical. When I can finally come back to the room, I’ll ask her what she’s been eating because damn, with all the food she leaves on the floor, one would think she has nothing to release that’s so stinky and awful. I also thought after the whole potty training experience, I wouldn’t have to deal with poop anymore but nope. She has to announce it every single time.

Parenthood isn’t for the faint of heart and the smells and sounds will knock your ass out.

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