Bad Mommy: I was never a star student

Screaming, for me, is a regular element in the finishing of course work. It's been that way since first grade - or whenever it was we started learning about math (math is stupid, by the way).

In elementary, it often went like, "I HATE math! I hate YOU! I'm stupid! I don't WANT to do it! I don't CARE!!!" At the time, I probably would rather have lived in a box and had no parents than actually sit down and think about subtracting 3 from 7.

In Junior High, it went more like, "I HATE math! I hate YOU! I'm stupid! I don't WANT to do it! I don't CARE!!!" At that time, I definitely would rather have lived in a box and had no parents. Except for the box part - I needed my curling iron and hair spray.

High School was a little different. "I hate EVERYTHING! I hate YOU! YOU'RE stupid! I don't CARE!!!" I did actually move out for a couple of days - not to a box, but it might as well have been. I still didn't care if I had parents, but they did buy my Guess Jeans, so I didn't stay gone long.

Now, as an adult going back to school, things have changed just a tad. There's less blaming of my parents, and boxes don't hold the same intrique; but there's still yelling, more eloquent "bleeping," and sometimes I throw things.

Today, Monsoon said to me, "I'm sorry you're computer doesn't work when you want it to, Mommy. But maybe you should get off those not-nice-words when you're angry."

I feel like I should probably set a better example of how you're supposed to behave while studying. Or maybe he'll make a note of not being an idiot like his mother?

Bad Mommy Weekly, No More Toys

I know what you're thinking. This mommy hasn't shared any Bad Mommy Weekly posts in quite a while. She must have discovered the holy grail of mommy-dom. She's become the perfect mommy and no longer has any Bad Mommy stories to tell.

You're absolutely right. Just stop reading now and go find some unfit parent's blog to read. There's nothing to see here.

For those you living in reality, welcome and congratulations! You may continue skimming this post and likely feel better about yourself in the end.

Monsoon is a reallyreallyreallyreally rough kind of kid. He doesn't do anything half way. He likes to pretend, usually that he's a hero out to save the day. Lucky toy who doesn't get chosen to be his nemesis, though. The way he breaks things, you'd think we only let him play with glass toys. Most of the time, it's an accident - he just gets carried away beating the transformer into the ground or drowning the evil electronic microphone in the toilet.

It's because of this toy-torture that he doesn't have as many toys as most kids do. He has plenty - a surplus still, if you ask me - but we weed through and sell or give away toys that he doesn't play with often because if they're here, they'll surely turn into the enemy and once their beheaded, no one will want them.

He still breaks the ones he has, though, so I told him last week that if he broke another one of his toys, we would take away ALL his toys and give some of them to kids who would appreciate them and take care of them. I reminded him all week, when I saw him getting rough with them, of the consequence of breaking another toy.

After only a few days, he came to me, pieces of his bumble bee helmet in his arms, and asked me politely if I would fix it.

Well crap.

I took every toy in the house, made him help me box them up so that he could experience the full effect of what was happening, and put them all out in the garage. He cried. He tried not to cry, which is awful because then I know he isn't doing it just to get his stuff back. He was devastated. So I told him he could keep ONE toy and one toy only. He could keep the helmet he had just broken. It wasn't much of a comfort to him, but I thought it fit well with the lesson I was trying to convey.

So today I'm dusting his room, including the helmet, and I'm thinking, "Well how odd. Two of the four pieces are broken in the exact same spot. Hmmm."

You can guess where this is going, right? It took about ten minutes, but I finally figured out how to put the pieces back together. Apparently, it was made to come apart.

I have to tell him. Don't I?

The Bad Mommy Weekly: Jealousy's a kick

I'm the type of bad mommy who might want to kick the waitress when we take my son and my niece out to dinner.

Yes, Prissy is adorable, but lady, if you bring 8 different members of the staff to our table to discuss how utterly beautiful she is without blinking an eye at MY son, his feelings are going to be hurt. Sure, he may be a little annoying what with all the straw sword-fighting, but if you'd just tell him he's cute, too, he'll probably stop poking you in the gut with those straws - and his mommy might not accidentally dump a glass of ice water on your shoes. Hey - I am the only person allowed to roll her eyes at my kid.

I love Monsoon to bits, but I'm not always the best example of how to cope with jealousy.

Bad Mommy Weekly: Bad Aunt-A edition

My son isn't usually a drama queen. He rams his head into walls and spills himself down flights of stairs, usually jumping back up with a quick "I'm okay!" He isn't afraid of spiders and doesn't mind when the dog jumps on his belly or licks his face. He's even hard to discipline at times because he just doesn't care about having a toy taken away (unless I put it in the garbage) or having to sit in time out (unless I start the timer).

There are very few things that I know for sure will upset him. Every time. One of them is water. One minute drop or splash anywhere on his face, and the kid could take Kim Basinger's spot as Vicki Vale. It's ear-splitting. When he first learned to stand, he went a good six months where he refused to sit in the bath. He would only stand. He's four now and still will not lay down in the tub. Needless to say, rinsing shampoo out of his hair has always been quite the chore.

When I put my niece in the tub with him this afternoon and accidentally spilled a stream of water down her face, I froze with the anxiety of what was to come. Aaaannnnddd.... nothing. She didn't care. It was amazing. Shocking, even. So much so, that I did it again - on purpose. Still, nothing. Seriously? If I tell this girl she can't put her sucker in dog poo, she could beat out any celebrity on the planet for "best scream" if there were an academy award for such a thing, but water in her face doesn't phase her? I dumped an entire bucket of water over her head, just to see it again. Still nothing! She just... kept playing. Yes, I'm a bad Aunt-A weekly, too.

Sister, I promise, I wasn't trying to drown her. I love her!

The Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 7; Channeling my mother

I love my mom, and she was great at so many things - always signing up for field trips and throwing extravagant birthday parties. Patience, however, was not her forte. Maybe she owned that virtue once upon a time, but the woman had 3 children in 4 years. She could have been grappling with insanity and none of us would have noticed because she always put us first. I, on the other hand, am ordinarily very patient with Monsoon. It's not easy, but I can almost always keep my cool, or at the very least laugh it off (it helps that I have a better support system than she did, and that I only have one child).

Last fall, my sister and I took Monsoon and Prissy (my niece) to a festival. The husbands were busy cutting down a tree or some such business, and after they nearly dropped a limb on our neighbor's classic corvette, my nerves were burning on end. We finally scurried out of the house, kids in tow, and headed for the big ta-do a half hour away.

Twenty minutes into the drive, Monsoon has to pee. Did I mention this festival was in the middle of nowhere? I might also tell you that Monsoon has an irritating habit of waiting until the very last minute to tell me he has to go. There are no stores, no restaurants, not even a freaking McDonalds on the way to this place, and the road was too busy to pull over.

I told him he'd have to wait, and I wasn't nice about it. We made it to the line of cars outside the gate. We could smell the funnel cakes, we were so close. That's when I heard, "oops," and I should have just smothered myself in a plastic bag right then and there.

Instead, I screeched into the parking lot, growling and yelling and looking back every few words to give him the stink eye. He told me, "It's okay, Mommy." No! No it is most definitely NOT okay! "Take your deep breafs, Mommy," he sniffled. I was heartless. I threatened to go straight home and he could just keep sitting in his pee all the way back and if he had to pee again, he could just pee right there and warm himself back up again! I got out of the car and stomped around until my feet were numb, yelling and berating him some more. He cried, he was ashamed, he didn't know how to handle this mommy with no patience. I completely lost it. It. Was. Bad.

When I got back into the car, the look on my sister's face was indescribable. All she said was, "Whoooaaaa....." and I knew what she was thinking. Mom.

We ended up driving another ten minutes down the road to K-mart and picking up something for him to wear to the festival. He apologized all day, and so did I. The last time I peed my pants was in my mom's van. I was 14 years old. She was right to be pissed. I was out of line with Monsoon. Bad, bad mommy.

What's your bad mommy story? If it's a real doozy, write a post and leave your link in the comment section.

The Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 6; Boink!

A little back story, and more information about potty learning you never think of until you're right in the middle of it:

It's a lot easier to keep dry in the daytime. I remember my mom limiting my liquids before bedtime. Granted, my bladder is the size of a pea (pun intended), and I'm sure it was necessary. But this isn't about me (or rather, it isn't about me as a child - it's about me as a bad mommy).

I let Monsoon drink as much water as he wants, just about anytime - including at night. When he stopped using diapers, I stopped buying them. Completely. This meant no nighty-night diapers, either. Unfortunately, at the time, he consumed most of his daily liquid with dinner. To solve the problem, before we went to bed - which was still a couple hours after he went to sleep - we got him up to pee. It worked. He always went right back to sleep. No problem. Perfect. Now he's 4, not 2 anymore, and we still do this. Not great, but at least he doesn't wet the bed.

The other night, I hauled his little sleepy butt over to the potty, let him finish his business, and stood him up to pull up his pajamas. Too bad he wasn't awake enough to hold his head up. I was trying to pull up his pants when I heard a loud "boink!" as his head hit the corner of the cabinet. Then he was awake. Bumped, bruised and screaming, and awake.

Are you a Bad Mommy Weekly? Unload your guilt and make me feel better about my own parenting faults! Link up below with Mcklinky and feel free to snag my button from the top of this post (the old fashioned way, because I haven't made an official button yet).

The Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 5; Not a butt-wiper

It's been two years since I stopped buying diapers, but we've been struggling for the last year with something else. Monsoon had a free pass for a while - he couldn't reach back there - but he's bigger now. So why, for the love of all that is mommy's sanity, will he not wipe his own butt?

I'll admit, as a recovering germ-a-phobe, the thought of what's underneath those fingernails when a kid does finally attempt the streak-free shine, well that just about does me in. For this purpose, we introduced "the scrubby brush." I taught Monsoon how to scrub underneath his fingernails and he knew it was a must-do after every... ahem... attempt.

The whole "wiping" thing quickly overshadowed any slight interest in the the scrubby brush, though, and somehow the little tool has disappeared. I fished it out of the trash once, but I'm pretty sure he's thrown it away again. He figures if there's no scrubby, there can't be any wiping himself. Smart, eh?

The other day while I was on the treadmill, he went to the potty. I saw him go in, and I heard him yelling for me a few minutes later. Ugh. "You'll have to wipe yourself, Monsoon. I still have twenty minutes of runninnnnggggg!" Twenty minutes later, he was still sitting, quite patiently, on the toilet. Are you kidding me?

Yesterday, I let him sit in there for half an hour. Nothing. He knew I wasn't doing anything (like running) when he went in, so he continued yelling for me at the top his lungs. For 30 minutes. "I need you, Mommeeeeeeeeee." He actually cried. I thought he was faking, but when I went in, it took several minutes for him to calm down. Plus, his legs had gone numb. (Can continuous leg numbness cause permanent damage? Just curious. I'm not saying it happens a lot, but....). Bad Mommy.

He just won't do it. It's not like I can let him go wipe-less - that causes rashes, not to mention the stink-butt. Ewww. I'm not that bad... yet.

Are you a Bad Mommy Weekly? Vent here (or at your own blog and link up), ease your guilt! Feel free to copy my BMW button at the top of this post - the old fashioned way because I haven't bothered to make an official button - and use it on your Bad Mommy Weekly post.

The Bad Mommy Weekly: issue 4: Just 10 minutes

Right now, Monsoon is in his room. I told him had to spend ten minutes in there this morning for jumping on me when it wasn't wake-up time yet. It was actually past wake-up time, but I wanted just one cup of coffee in peace. He's been in there for a half hour. He's hollering for me, and I'm not answering him. He hasn't had breakfast, it's past time for his allergy medicine and he mentioned something about having to potty around minute 20. I've had two cups of coffee and now I'm writing this post. He's still yelling for me....

"One more minute, honey pot!"

When he starts to tell time, I'm thinking of hiding all our clocks.

UPDATE: When I finally went in to get him, he was stuck in his tent, which was somehow twisted around so the opening was at the top.

Are you a Bad Mommy Weekly, too? Link up with MckLinky!

The Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 3: party pooper

When I was a kid, birthdays were big. My parents planned extravagant parties every year for all three of us kids. We had everything from a haunted trail in the woods behind our house, surprise parties that were actually a surprise, dinner at a fancy french restaurant... they were always big, always special, always made us feel like we were the most important person on the planet, at least for that day. In fact, some of my most recent birthdays involved a Cinderella birthday cake and steak dinner at one of Cincinnati's premier restaurants.

So why does all this make me a bad mommy? Well, here's how Monsoon's birthday went down:

Thursday (yes last Thursday): I sent out a mass e-mail informing family about his party on Sunday (yes this past Sunday).

Saturday: I took Monsoon to pick out his own plates/napkins, a pinata (one of his few requests), even his own birthday cake. Oh yes, for his surprise party.

Sunday: Despite trying to convince him he wasn't having a party that day, I continued cleaning the house, blowing up balloons, and putting out the colorful table clothes he had chosen. Instead of being diligent, planning ahead and keeping a surprise - or just planning enough to make it an awesome party without trying to surprise him - I practically lied to him when he guessed what I was doing, so then he was confused to come home later and find a party going on without him (hence, the surprise) and looked at me like I had totally tricked him (not in a good way).

Monday (actual birthday) : Because I had lied to him the day before about not having a party, he kept waiting - all day - for his "real" birthday party on his actual birthday. What a disappointment to find out I was telling the truth on that particular day. We did take him to the toy store and let him pick out his own toys... then I wrapped them when we got home. I also reused wrapping paper from the day before. Yes, yes I did. Because I had forgotten to get that, too.

Granted, he had a fun time at his party and he did enjoy spending the day with Mommy and Daddy on Monday... at least, until I had to leave for exercise class...

I'm going to have to step it up next year.


Are you a Bad Mommy Weekly? Unload your guilt in the comment section or in your own post. If you'd like to link up, you may also use the Bad Mommy Weekly button at the top of this post (only I don't know how to make a button, so you'll have to do it the old-fashioned way).

Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 2

Yep, I was a bad mommy again this week. Only this week, my son's preschool teacher was privy to my horrendous un-motherly skillzzz. She called me for a reference, we chatted, and I got distracted for a brief moment before noticing how wild Monsoon was getting with the "activity" to which I had left him.

"Honey Pot, if you continue to wave it around like that, I'm going to have to take away your knife."

I would have explained about it being a butter knife and, quite frankly, the only thing keeping him busy while I made fresh salsa and prepared for our camping trip was him spending an hour "chopping" tomatoes, but she pretended not to hear me.

Fingers crossed that she assumed it was a toy. Then again, thinking I allow him to be a pretend gansta... that might actually be worse. I'm sure she's looking forward to the upcoming school year.

Upon suggestion from Julia (who also lets her kids play with knives), you can link up if you so choose to publicly display your Bad Mommy status on a weekly basis. C'mon, free yourself!

p.s./update: if you want to participate, don't worry about what day it is - I probably won't be diligent enough to put Bad Mommy Weekly up on the same day every week (because I'm bad) but I will also not put up another post for 2 or 3 days (because I'm bad).

The Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 1

There are times since I've had my son that I just do stupid things. (oh fine, I always did stupid things, but never before was I accountable for permanently damaging another person with said stupid things).

The time I was doing laundry and heard my barely-two-year-old wake up from his nap screaming and thought, eh, he can wait 'til I finish loading the dryer... only to find him still screaming and panic-stricken a couple minutes later and somehow OUT of his crib. His poor little head still has an odd shape on the top...

Slide that one into the BAD MOMMY file.

So most of the time it isn't all that bad. Most of the time it's stuff we all do on occasion like grab the camera and take pictures of our children playing in the toilet instead of relocating them immediately.

The point is, every day is bound to bring on one sort of guilt trip or another, be it something minor and non-life-threatening or something that makes you wonder if your kids would be better off if you traded them for a fish bowl or a cactus. I don't think I'm alone here, but I'm tired of that naggy crappy feeling in the back of my head about myself and my parenting skills.

Instead of dwelling on those "files" in my head, I'm putting them here. Yes, I know I already do that, but this is more. This is brutal honesty. Naked humility. Guilt... stripped. I'm going to try and be consistent with this on a weekly basis, as per the name. It probably won't run on any particular day, but I have no doubt that there's enough guilt lingering in the cheerios stuck to the bottom of my kitchen table to write a weekly newsletter post and unload myself of that towering pile of guilt.

Anyone care to join me? Put in the comments section or write your own newsletter post!