Raisin' Hell in Home Depot

courtesy of yours truly

I almost killed a kid in Home Depot yesterday. On purpose. There to select my wood (HA!) for the FUH-looores-UH ( I swear, you guys have the dirtiest minds.....) that we are putting in, Freddy and Dora were doing the normal kid thing that you do when you a KID in Home Depot. You know. Pretend that you live in each of the “imaginary kitchens that my kitchen will never look like because I have living, breathing, messy, dirty people in my house” displays set up for your viewing pleasure. I believe they became separated around my personal fav, the rustic Italian model. As I attempted to corral them back to Leo and myself, Freddy peeks around the corner of a stainless steel side by side fridge. It was lovely and I was just about to compliment his fabulous taste when I caught the look in his eye of a boy disturbed. Lower lip poked out, mute, eyes cast downward, he points to his crotch. It seems that my boy couldn’t make his way out of pretend kitchen land to find me, or the loo, in time. He was embarrassed and none too happy about wearing wet shorts for any period of time. I immediately kick it into “save my baby’s pride” mode, notify Leonidas that I am exiting hardwoods, and make my way to the john. Of course Dora will not allow any of this hot action to take place without her, so she comes with. As we are walking all mushed up together(because you know that people don’t see pee pee if you’re stuck to your mother) through carpets, halfway there, we are passed by two greasy faced pre-teen little shits who seem to be lost without a tube of Oxy in one hand and a video game controller supported by a bag of Doritos in the other. I hear one of the little shits say the following:

Little Shit: YO! LOOK! THAT LITTLE KID DONE PISSED ALL OVER HISSELF!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH! (The little voice reading this in your head should be really teen mean and maniacal.)

I know I could’ve kept quiet, and maybe, had he just thought it, maybe had he not said it loud enough for my little man and everyone browsing Berber to hear, I might have. But he didn’t and I have a nasty temper.

Me, Mommy the Big Ass Bitch: You should really shut your mouth or turn your volume down.

Little Shit: Who you talkin’ to, lady?

Me, MBAB: I am speaking to you. If you don’t feel the need to use manners and common sense in public, especially when you’re teasing children 5 and under, you should really make sure that their mothers are normal.

Little Shit: Yo lady. Don’t get no attitude with me. (Please note that he is saying this to his friends earlobe, not DIRECTLY to me.)

Me, MBAB: I don’t have an attitude. I am simply making sure my children know that it’s okay to not be afraid of or intimidated by little punks (I know, I know...I should’ve used a nicer word. I explained the concept of anger and losing control of one’s mouth after it was all over) like you and that sometimes they will need to help others locate their decorum. You DO understand decorum, don’t you?

Little Shit: Whatever. That is my FAVORITE non-comeback. This means that you have no idea what to say next. I have used it myself on occasion. Yesterday.

It was at this point that Freddy asked me what the kid said, probably knowing that it was about him and his pee pee pants. I told him that they were jealous that they couldn’t twirl and tap dance like Dora. Yep, I lied. I don’t feel bad about it, just in case you were wondering. I am positive that life, at some point, will inject their beautiful carefree existence with all the crap humans must deal with. By the way, Dora was THRILLED that they found her twirls to be envy-inducing.

THE GARDEN REPORT

The sexperiment continues. We were tired last night after a day spent with the in-laws. Last night WOULD have been the night, under normal conditions, when we would’ve pecked each other on the cheek, snuggled for a minute, then rolled around (NOT stuck together) until our bodies found the comfy spot on our respective sides of the bed. But it happens that I am a persistent little cuss, and forced him to participate. In the end, it was quite um....how would you say, cardio-friendly?! I’ll go with that. Cardio-friendly. Good, good times. It has been a WEEK already, as of today. Time seems to fly when you’re.....nevermind.

Rain Rain Go Away

in a minute....

There was a storm at our house last night. No, that isn’t code for family squabble or mommy erupting at spawn. There was thunder, lightning, water from clouds... the whole business. See, I like a storm, especially when I’m inside and there are no tornadoes or flying rabbit parts involved. I like night storms. I thought I always had. Until last night. I put the kiddos to bed a little later than usual, partly out of my desire to NOT unfold myself from my husbands lap, and also because they were being normal and I like them more that way. Anyway, as usual, I digress. Approximately 3 minutes after tucking said wee ones in, the house was rocked by thunder and some really cool blue lightning. The sound of sheets of rain washing the house soon followed. I turned the last of the lights off in order to enjoy the display for a moment, as I find peace in nature doing what she does so well. The rolling thunder was soon overtaken by the sounds of whimpering from the staircase. Dora was crying. Dora was afraid. I walked over to find her huddled on the stairs, blankie of life wrapped around her head. I picked her up and she twisted her arms and legs around me in a grip that would rival an anaconda’s. Asking her what was wrong (yes, I knew, but I like to allow her to communicate her feelings), she told me, with tears streaming down her face, that the thunder “scared her ears.” She doesn’t like loud noises of any kind, and I found myself wishing I had put her to bed 20 minutes earlier. But had I done that, I would’ve missed the chance to walk her over to the big bay window in the “diamond room” and dance with her to the sounds of the storm. I would’ve missed the chance to tell her the story of raindrops and what life there is in their arrival. Most importantly, I wouldn’t have been able to explain to her, that when I was a small girl afraid of storms, I would pretend to be a blue fairy with see-through wings, and that my house was a giant but delicate flower that protected me from all that raged outside.

I am happy that I remembered. It seems that all we go through in our journey to “here” is what is needed so desperately from others (sometimes family, sometimes not) in order to make this life ride a little less bumpy.

Lost My Little Girl

I Need a Drink

Ok. So before we panic, I found her. This should be painfully obvious, because had I not, you would be seeing this particular fat chick I know (me, dummy) on the evening news right about now, ripping out my hair and pulling a vocal cord left and right. My 5 year old son, who, from this point on, and due to his secret government job, will be known as "Freddy", has soccer practice every Friday around 6. I say "around" simply because parents of 5 year olds are incapable of being on time, in a designated place, at the same time. Freddy plays for a church team, at a church we do not attend. In this particular league, all kids get game time, and learn the importance of teamwork. They also give them a little "God-lesson" which I'm hoping will counteract all the damage my liberal ass does during the week. At the practice field, there is a slide/play area for the children who regularly attend this church, and those (like mine) whose parents are attempting to squash their own guilt by involving their babies in church-centered activities. Even better, this "slide" is shaped like Noah's Ark. I don't know if this is intentional. I had assumed, since I am so good at it, that it was on purpose. I mean, it IS a church. Even better than that, on top of said play area, are two swingy bars that seem to be hanging from what looks like a cross. I am not being blasphemous. I do fear God, as I was raised Pentecostal, South Carolina-style, meaning I don't really have a choice in the matter. Before you all freak, I haven't been to a camp meeting on purpose in close to 15 years. So, to look up during soccer practice, and see my baby swinging from the cross had already put me in a state of something close to panic. I was watching Freddy practice and "Dora" (her nom de jour), play on the boat of the Lord at the same time. This is not an easy task, except that I am gifted with what my husband refers to as "lizard eyes", enabling me to see things that normal people cannot. When Freddy takes one to the head, I busy myself with coddling for a moment, looking away from the ark. Damn it. It was the end of practice, which calls for a round of parents vs. children, or what I like to call, "fat, lazy moms and dads making themselves feel better by cheating in a game of soccer against 5-year-olds." Great fun. I ask Freddy to fetch Dora from the ark, so that she could piggyback during this romp. He promptly returns and informs me that she is no where to be found. Being an unaccomplished hide-n-seek player, who promptly gives out her whereabouts if you ask, I knew she wasn't doing this on purpose. Suddenly, in my demented, twisted, watch too much "The First 48" brain, I envisioned all of the things that had just happened to her in the last 30 seconds while I wasn't looking. I charge, drill-sergeant style, up to the ark, screaming "Dora!" "Dora!" Freddy is trailing behind me. Every male I see is one step away from pulling out his privates and molesting children in front of all of North Carolina (this is no laughing matter, I'm just trying to explain the panic that has turned these soccer dads, in my mind, into the next dude with a "Sick Sex Offender" sign in his front yard). I begin to walk toward the bathrooms, when I hear, "Mommy! Mommy! I went pee pee! I pee peed in the paaahhhhtttyyy!!!" Yeah for Dora!" After puking in my mouth, I grabbed Dora, squeezed her until she pulled my nose to make me stop, and told her three things: 1. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER go anywhere without mommy knowing where you are. 2. Mommy isn't angry with her, just scared because I would shrivel and die without her in my face on a minute by minute basis. 3. Way to go, girl! You pee peed in the paaahhhhhtttty!!!!