Labor?
It's labor day weekend and I vowed to observe the holiday spending four labor-free days at home, lounging and what-not. Yes, FOUR days. Whenever possible, I make it a point of taking full advantage of 3-day weekends by extending them. There were plans for many coconutty adult beverages and much pool lounging.
My labor-free plans were soon foiled. Evidently, powers much bigger than me had something else in store for my labor-free weekend. Not only did I find myself connected to my employer more often than I would have liked, Hubber somehow managed to wrangle me into helping him with...dare I say it....yard work. Not the fun, re-potting plants kind of yard work, either....I'm talking the back-breaking kind that only an all-night alcohol binge can cure. Which I was too darn tired to have, by the way...because of broken backs and swollen hands and blistered feet and other things that make me groan in PAIN. We need to hire yard guys.
Poop Stinks Like Shit
Let me preface this by saying that I love dogs. I love me some big, burly, huggable dogs. I grew up in a home with dogs. I love to pet dogs and roll around with them and play fetch and take them for walks and reward them with snacks. I do not, however, own a dog. Why would such a huge dog-lover like myself NOT have a dog, you ask? The reason is, I do not like scooping poop. If a dog could be potty-trained, I'd have 10 of them. Dogs aren't that damn smart. They like to poop right out in the open. And, poop, well, it stinks like shit....and the smell of shit makes me gag. Hence, the lack of dog in this house.
proof that I actually like dogs
Now that I've expressed how I feel about dogs, I'll get to the point of this here rant. What I hate more than scooping poop is STEPPING on it in my yard. I have the yard of a non-dog-owner, so I expect my yard to be poop-free. Is that too much to ask for?? IS IT?! Some dog-walking neighbors seem to think so. They let their dogs run free, pooping in every yard they pass (what do they feed these animals??)...never mind the homeowner's association newsletter's pleads for dog walkers to clean up after their dogs as they go....never mind MY disdain for dog poop toe jam.
There's this one lady who has FIVE little yip-yappers. She walks three on leashes and two run free, all at the same time. To make matters worse, her hands are free of poop scooping supplies.
And she can barely control the leashed dogs while the others crap and urinate all over town! I wish to shoot her in the eye with David's bb gun. That's how much I hate her. One day I caught the gang red-handed. I dropped what I was doing and jetted for the front yard. Here's how it went...Me: ---clapping hands and making kicking motion with my leg---
Dog Lady:
Me: Ma'am, you're going to have to clean up after your dog.
Dog Lady: Ok.
Me: No, it's not, "O-K"....you let your dogs poop all over the neighborhood and not once have I seen you with a trash bag to clean up after them.
Dog Lady: Ok.
Me: And, for the record, I have a toddler who likes to play in the yard - MY yard...a yard that I OWN...that your dogs have no business POOPING in!
Dog Lady: Ok.
Me: I'm serious! You better come back here with a trash bag and clean this shit up!
Dog Lady: Ok.
Me: If you don't, I will find out where you live and I will empty the contents of every single one of my child's diapers into your yard so that you will know how it feels to be shitted on.
Dog Lady:
Then, she just walked off. Her careless attitude drove me insane. I'm not sure whether she came back to pick up her dog's crap after all. But, I've seen her and her gangle of dogs many times since then. Her hands, as always, are free of trash bags.
I do, however, now know where she lives.
Two can play this game!
You-Tube
In our house, we like to discover funny videos on You-Tube. We like to pass the time laughing at all these fools making stupid videos. Some of them are pretty hilarious. J is facinated with this Fred guy on You-Tube (www.youtube.com/user/fred). He's a 14-year old kid acting like a 6-year old with an alcoholic whore-ish mother. His voice sounds like that Joe Cartoon hamster in a blender thing. Remember? He's ridiculous. And why I allow my child to look at those videos is beyond me.
I, on the other hand, am loving Jon Lajoie. Who? This guy: www.youtube.com/user/jonlajoie. He's just an everyday normal guy. His newest video is entitled "show me your genitals." He's a genius.
In our house, we like to discover funny videos on You-Tube. We like to pass the time laughing at all these fools making stupid videos. Some of them are pretty hilarious. J is facinated with this Fred guy on You-Tube (www.youtube.com/user/fred). He's a 14-year old kid acting like a 6-year old with an alcoholic whore-ish mother. His voice sounds like that Joe Cartoon hamster in a blender thing. Remember? He's ridiculous. And why I allow my child to look at those videos is beyond me.
I, on the other hand, am loving Jon Lajoie. Who? This guy: www.youtube.com/user/jonlajoie. He's just an everyday normal guy. His newest video is entitled "show me your genitals." He's a genius.
Parenting a pre-teen is hard work. Especially when you're practicing the artful parenting tactic know as "flying by the seat of your pants." I'm becoming quite masterful at it. I make up the rules as I go. And, I can do that. Because I AM THE PARENT. Thank you very much. J just tests us to the limits...she pushes and pushes us until we're forced to scream at the top of our lungs, pull our hair out and cry, even. What happened to our little girl? That little angel who liked to sit on her daddy's lap or cuddle up next to her mommy in the couch? It's like she's mutated into this disrespectful, ungrateful, loud, bossy, whining lunatic. I don't remember being this way when I was her age. I waited at least until I was 15 to begin driving my mother batty. J isn't even 12 yet and already I'm going over the edge.
Box Fans in Windows and no Walkie-Talkies
Well, it's happened. I've finally become one of THOSE parents. You know, the kind that like to remind their children how good they have it? I catch myself doing it all the time. And once my mouth is open, there's no stopping the flow of crap that spews forth into one of the ears of my oldest daughter and right out the other one. My mouth can't help itself, it's got a mind of it's own. My brain is saying, "Ok, she's not listening, you're wasting your breath. Plus, you sound like a complete and total idiot." But my mouth is still moving as if Shakesperean poetry is swirling around on my tounge. It's inherent with being a parent, I think...the bullshit you try to feed your kids - those ungrateful little heathens.
When J complains that her furniture is dated - that it's for little kids and she's not a little kid anymore. I tell her about how when I was a kid I was LUCKY to even have furniture. We piled our clean clothes on the floor next to our beds. We sat on old milk crates to watch TV. Then I go on and on about how we lived in a old house with no air conditioning and how we put a box fan in the window (J doesn't even know what a box fan IS!)... but that didn't cool things off, it just moved the hot air around enough to dry your sweat. And when she wants a new comforter for her bed she gets the story about how we didn't even HAVE comforters on our beds when we were kids. It was so dang hot in the house that we slept on a sheet with barely any clothes on to stay cool. She should be more thankful for what she has and quit complaining about how she doesn't ever have enough!
On the flip side, I think it's our fault as parents that our kids are so clueless. We were raised in low-income households often going without the material things our friends had. And we remember how we felt as kids, seeing others enjoying their "stuff" while we played with dirt and sticks and fire (if you were with my brother). So, as adults, we vowed to give our children better lives than what we had...and we translate that into material things rather than love and attention and security and crap like that. I am guilty. I work hard to make money to buy stuff...to live more comfortably than necessary. And, although I bitch and moan about how my kid doesn't appreciate anything, I turn around and buy her more crap just because I can. What the heck is wrong with me?
Right now my unappreciative, disrespectful ingrate of a pre-teen is grounded from her friends, cell phone and computer for the weekend. When I was her age, I didn't even have a walkie-talkie or a typewriter to be grounded from! We were grounded from stepping outside of our bedroom. And, there was no television in our bedroom. We had to sit in our hot, muggy room with only a hand-me-down radio serving as a connection to the outside world. We were lucky if we were allowed to have dinner! And, I can't even get my kids to eat - I have to bribe them!
Well, it's happened. I've finally become one of THOSE parents. You know, the kind that like to remind their children how good they have it? I catch myself doing it all the time. And once my mouth is open, there's no stopping the flow of crap that spews forth into one of the ears of my oldest daughter and right out the other one. My mouth can't help itself, it's got a mind of it's own. My brain is saying, "Ok, she's not listening, you're wasting your breath. Plus, you sound like a complete and total idiot." But my mouth is still moving as if Shakesperean poetry is swirling around on my tounge. It's inherent with being a parent, I think...the bullshit you try to feed your kids - those ungrateful little heathens.
When J complains that her furniture is dated - that it's for little kids and she's not a little kid anymore. I tell her about how when I was a kid I was LUCKY to even have furniture. We piled our clean clothes on the floor next to our beds. We sat on old milk crates to watch TV. Then I go on and on about how we lived in a old house with no air conditioning and how we put a box fan in the window (J doesn't even know what a box fan IS!)... but that didn't cool things off, it just moved the hot air around enough to dry your sweat. And when she wants a new comforter for her bed she gets the story about how we didn't even HAVE comforters on our beds when we were kids. It was so dang hot in the house that we slept on a sheet with barely any clothes on to stay cool. She should be more thankful for what she has and quit complaining about how she doesn't ever have enough!
On the flip side, I think it's our fault as parents that our kids are so clueless. We were raised in low-income households often going without the material things our friends had. And we remember how we felt as kids, seeing others enjoying their "stuff" while we played with dirt and sticks and fire (if you were with my brother). So, as adults, we vowed to give our children better lives than what we had...and we translate that into material things rather than love and attention and security and crap like that. I am guilty. I work hard to make money to buy stuff...to live more comfortably than necessary. And, although I bitch and moan about how my kid doesn't appreciate anything, I turn around and buy her more crap just because I can. What the heck is wrong with me?
Right now my unappreciative, disrespectful ingrate of a pre-teen is grounded from her friends, cell phone and computer for the weekend. When I was her age, I didn't even have a walkie-talkie or a typewriter to be grounded from! We were grounded from stepping outside of our bedroom. And, there was no television in our bedroom. We had to sit in our hot, muggy room with only a hand-me-down radio serving as a connection to the outside world. We were lucky if we were allowed to have dinner! And, I can't even get my kids to eat - I have to bribe them!
Running With Scissors
Remember those things your mother always told you never to do? Like sticking your finger in an electrical outlet (lest you shalt die)... or sticking your tongue to the freezer ice growing in your freezer (lest you shalt lose your tongue, then die)... or running with scissors (lest you shalt fall on the sharp end and stab your heart, then die).... or poking your brother in the arm with the lead of a pencil (lest he shalt contract lead poisoning, then die while you get the ass whipping of your life)... or wiping from back to front (lest you shalt contract some horrible infection, then die). Ok, I digress.
In any case, my point here is that either my mother-in-law didn't pound these warnings into my Hubber's rather hard head when he was growing up, or he's lost a few of those important memory brain cell thingys over the years... because look what I discovered the other day:
Yes, that's right... our just-barely-two-year-old daughter almost stabbed herself with scissors on her birthday! Why? Because her Daddy, let her play with them while he helped her open her gifts. Notice she's holding the pointed, very sharp end of the scissors TOWARDS her fragile little body. Also, notice the false sense of security on her face. She thinks she's a big kid who can hold scissors near her heart without the chance of it ending up in a red, bloody mess on the floor. This kid has a lot to learn. As does her father.
Remember those things your mother always told you never to do? Like sticking your finger in an electrical outlet (lest you shalt die)... or sticking your tongue to the freezer ice growing in your freezer (lest you shalt lose your tongue, then die)... or running with scissors (lest you shalt fall on the sharp end and stab your heart, then die).... or poking your brother in the arm with the lead of a pencil (lest he shalt contract lead poisoning, then die while you get the ass whipping of your life)... or wiping from back to front (lest you shalt contract some horrible infection, then die). Ok, I digress.
In any case, my point here is that either my mother-in-law didn't pound these warnings into my Hubber's rather hard head when he was growing up, or he's lost a few of those important memory brain cell thingys over the years... because look what I discovered the other day:
Yes, that's right... our just-barely-two-year-old daughter almost stabbed herself with scissors on her birthday! Why? Because her Daddy, let her play with them while he helped her open her gifts. Notice she's holding the pointed, very sharp end of the scissors TOWARDS her fragile little body. Also, notice the false sense of security on her face. She thinks she's a big kid who can hold scissors near her heart without the chance of it ending up in a red, bloody mess on the floor. This kid has a lot to learn. As does her father.
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