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Posts Tagged ‘kids’

Me: LJ, we have to stop to get gas for the car.

LJ: Daddy works at a place that gives gas to cars.

Me: No, he doesn’t. Daddy works in advertising. Like, commercials.

LJ: Are there cowboy hats and hot dogs where he works?

Me: Uhhh, yes. Lots of them.

LJ: Yay!!! And spiders, too?!?

Me: Are you on drugs?!

LJ: Yay! Ha!

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Last week we had a few days where NYC was just unbearably steamy, especially for the beginning of June, so we headed to my favorite weekday time-suck: The Brooklyn Museum. The weekday mornings are always ridiculously empty, almost in a deserted, slasher flick way, so I don’t feel bad when LJ starts shouting “LOOK MOMMY!! LOOK AT HER BOOBIES!!! THAT LADY’S NAKED!! HAHA!!”. Before we left our apartment we made a scavenger hunt list of all the things we wanted to find in the artwork: a dog, a train, a princess, a river, a circle, a tiger, a mommy, some kids and a red square. We found them all because my kid is a super intellectual tiny genius. (NOT AT ALL because I bribed her, and told her if she helped me find everything on the list I’d buy her something from the store. Not at ALL.)

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Inspired by a post from the blog Mama Wants This, I didn’t have to think long to decide what I would deem in our home as the worst toys EVER. The toys that make my skin crawl. The toys that make me want to hurl them against the wall, hoping they shatter into a million pieces. The toys I have tried to throw away, but always get caught doing so. The toys that make me want to shoot myself in the face.

Pain in the Ass Toy #1

Imagine listening to this for more than 25 seconds. It’s so sensitive that every time something is placed on top of it on the bookshelf, even the lightest feather, it starts quacking. All. The. Time.

Pain in the Ass Toy #2

Honestly, I used to kind of like Thomas. I loved that my daughter wasn’t into pushing dolls around in a stroller, and much preferred dinosaurs and trains. Then we saw Thomas Live at MSG, and that shit was so boring we’re all over it. This is BY FAR the worst Thomas toy in existence.

Pain in the Ass Toy #3

Ok, I know you’re all going to say, “Whaaaat? That’s an eco-friendly Melissa & Doug educational toy! What’s not to love?”. Let me tell you something: I am so SICK of being engrossed in the latest episode of Real Housewives of NYC, only to randomly hear “U is for UMBRELLA!” out of the BLUE. If one of the pieces falls off while on the shelf, it just calls out at random intervals. When it’s dark and you’re home alone, hearing some strange man suddenly call out “D is for DICE!” is creepy as shit.

So, what are the toys that make you want to pull YOUR hair out?

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After my horrific, soul-crushing Monday, I have to say: I kicked Tuesday’s butt!  LJ and I spent the entire day at Coney Island where we just LOVE the kitsch, the rides, the snacks and the overall awesomeness. (Plus, running into Zach Galifianakis around every corner didn’t hurt.)

 

 

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Mumbling to myself as I pulled on a pair of shorts, “Ugh, I feel like these make me look fat.” “Mommy, you’re a fat princess!”

“Look at me!” said LJ as she walked up to me with a dollar she took from my wallet. “Wow! Money! what do you want to buy with it?”, I asked. “Clouds!”

“LJ, what are you thankful for?” “Bagels.”

“Mommy, you’re gray!”  “Oh, my hair, yeah, I need to get it done.”  “No, your face.”

“Your teeth are yucky all the way.”

Me: “Listen, you know your fish? Shelly? She died, so she had to go away forever. I’m so sorry.” (One second pause) “Mommy, can you fix my slinky?”

“Mommy, I have bones inside my body. I love them. My bones love to ride the F train.”

“When I grow up I can be a mommy and I’ll get giant boobies!”

“What color is he? Brown like chocolate?”

“Mommy! There’s an ant on my dress! Can I put him in my piggy bank?”

“Jesus CHRIST! Jesus CHRIST!”, muttered angrily under her breath while stomping around at the DMV.

“Mommy, you look droopy!”, as she watched me try on a bathing suit.

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I just had to carry LJ home the 3 blocks from the playground, flailing and screaming, under my arm in a football hold. She’s almost 3, so carrying her under my arm like a sack of potatoes not only LOOKS ridiculous, but it’s really, really hard. She’s fucking heavy, and since I haven’t been to a gym in a thousand years, I’m pretty weak. In my other hand I was carrying her mini-kick scooter and her owl backpack. She shrieked the ENTIRE walk home, and that’s what made me keep her in the football carry: I felt like she didn’t deserve a normal, loving hold. I wanted to get home. She refused to ride her scooter or walk. I was mad. Screw it.

I snapped.

Why did I snap?

Is it because she cried one thousand times about miniscule things at the playground and made me feel embarrassed? Because I felt like every single other mom was watching, judging and gossiping about my shitty parenting skills? Maybe.

Is it because she refused the goldfish I brought for her snack? Because for some reason I was too lazy today to pack her a better, tastier, healthier snack: and she FREAKED OUT? Maybe.

Is it because despite my writing a post about wusses: my helicopter parenting has created a gigantic wuss that is terrified of wiggly bridges, slides and now swings? A little girl who can’t keep up when all the other kids are playing chase and sprinting up and down the slides because she’s afraid? A little girl who can’t climb as well as the other kids because when she was a toddler I spent too much time hovering like a lunatic, worrying that she’d fall and crack her head open? A sweet little girl who wants SO BADLY to play with everyone she meets, but ends up getting left behind and it’s totally MY FAULT? Maybe.

Is it because it’s been raining for the past 3 days, and we’ve been trapped in our teeny little apartment doing 500 craft projects and building 35 horse farms? Do I sometimes feel a little guilty about raising her in this little urban apartment? Where our only personal outdoor space is the cracked front walkway and stoop? Where we spend most of our time in ONE ROOM? Maybe.

Is it because I look at the blogs of other moms, like Amanda Blake Soule, who is effortlessly and beautifully raising 4 kids (with another on the way), along with chickens, pigs, cats and dogs… and it makes me feel like a loser? All this while maintaining her blog, publishing books, baking pies, knitting countless sweaters, pickling things, and being all around crazy awesome? Maybe. She made an entire quilt with her daughter in one day (ONE DAY!!) because they were BORED. When we’re bored, I pop in Toy Story 3. I’m not pickling shit. The apartment is impossible to keep clean: I swear there was just a dog hair in a cup I took out of the highest cabinet. Stay at home mom FAIL.

I only have one kid. One. I’m not working right now. I have a precious daughter that I would lay down in traffic for, and a supportive husband. We’re all perfectly healthy (despite my intimate knowledge of the local ER). Who the hell am I to complain about ANYTHING? Both my sister and sister-in law are single moms with full-time jobs, while I’m just an asshole crying about my messy apartment and the fact that my kid didn’t want to eat fish-shaped snacks today. It’s pretty pathetic, I know.

I’m exhausted… but I don’t feel like I have a right to be.

Call the waaahmbulance, mama needs some wine and a girl’s night out.

Or a Xanax.

Or a housekeeper.

Or all of the above.

This stay at home mom shit is hard, yo.

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Dreary morning art projects

*All taken with my iphone: hence the fuzz.

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