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stuff best described as not safe for parents

stuff best described as not safe for parents, unqualified parenting tips

Clothes are not legitimate mucus wipers. Really, I shouldn’t have to clarify this.

October 6, 2010

It all started when Tru had a bit of the sniffles a while back. He had all this mucus streaming down his nose non-stop all day and I had to keep running back and forth to get more tissue, wipe his nose, throw it away, get a fresh piece, and then another and another.

I tried to conserve the tissue by reusing them but those that got stuffed into my pocket got all scrunched and clumpy and I ended up with this huge ball of soggy grossness which was way too gross to reuse. So then I tried leaving half-used pieces lying everywhere so I could grab one to reuse and the husband started yelling at me for living like a hobo and he didn’t listen when I told him that I was trying to save the earth so that was the end of that. I also tried using a hanky but they got soaked up too fast and I quickly ran out of dry corners to wipe his nose with.

So one time, when I got tired of hauling my ass up and down the house for more tissue, I grabbed the front of Tru’s tshirt and used it to wipe his dripping mucus. Just once. Which I now regret deeply because thanks to that one dumbass move, my son now thinks that clothes are legitimate mucus wipers. Which they are not.

Plus, I can’t even get all disgusted like “EWWWWW, where did you learn that filthy move from?” without being implicated in the process.

It doesn’t help that recently, his nose has been a little runny every time he wakes up from a nap. So his new routine involves running to me, grabbing my top and using it to wipe his nose. He also uses daddy’s shorts, grandma’s tops, Kirsten’s rompers and get this, FRESHLY FOLDED LAUNDRY to clean his mucus with.

I’ve been trying to re-indoctrinate him by making him use tissues instead but he’s all like “I’m not going to go ALL THE WAY to get a tissue when I can just use my shirt or this pretty tablecloth right here.”

You think as a parent, you can get away with stuff but kids are brutal. They magnify your flaws and take it to the next level so there’s not running away from it and you can’t even pretend like it’s not there.  It’s starting to get very embarrassing because I’m going to be known as the parent without a sense of personal hygiene.

I hope he hasn’t done it to anyone in school yet but let’s just say that I’m prepared for a chat with his teachers anytime now. If this continues, I’m going to have to go Clockwork Orange on him very soon. Relax, I’m only kidding.

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how i pretend to be a cool mum, lists you should paste on your fridge, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Life is nothing like riding a bike.

October 5, 2010

With a photo like this, you’d think I’m going to write a motivational piece on how life is like riding a bike and something about getting up when we fall, which is remotely related to how winners are those who never quit. Stuff like that.

But then you probably came to the wrong blog because there is no such lesson to be learnt here.

This is a story about a girl who wanted to ride a bike but her legs were too short and she was grunting away, with beads of sweat trickling down her face, trying to muster all the energy from her little calfs but that bike wouldn’t even budge an inch. I was about to launch into one of my life lessons about not giving up but then she started shrieking because MOMMA WHY IS MY BIKE NOT MOVING? SOMEBODY PUSH ME AROUND NOW!!

So as I pushed her around while she pretended to pedal, I realized that it was I who had something to learn. The sort of secret lessons you only get to learn when you’re a parent.

1. Screaming does get you what you want.

Most of the time anyway. Even parents who start out thinking that they are not going to give in to their kid’s screams usually cave after 2 days with a newborn who does nothing but scream. After that, kids learn very quickly that every time they scream, there’s an 8% chance they will get ignored, 13% chance they will get the naughty corner and for the rest of the 79%, they get exactly what they want.

2. Even if you can’t do something, at least look like you can.

It’s called wayang, another important lesson we all need to learn. We’ll never be able to know how to do everything, but the key is to first look like we can. Then go ask someone to teach you, or better still, shout orders at them and make them do it for you. Bam, problem solved.

If you have difficulty making people do what you want, refer to lesson 1.

3. Life is nothing like riding a bike.

Not even close. Some days life is more like pulling a rickshaw barefoot on hot coals while getting beaten with a stick. But you can always hope that one day you’ll be the dude cruising along in your Maserati with the top down and the wind in your hair. The bad news is that you may not end up getting your Maserati dream but the good news is that you’re not going to be pulling the rickshaw forever so at some point we all just got to learn to chill and enjoy the ride.

It’s really not as profound as it sounds.

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stuff best described as not safe for parents

How about you pick on someone your own size?

September 9, 2010

Tru had his first encounter with a bully a couple of days ago. He was at a playgroup with a bunch of other kids his age, running around and doing his kid thing while I was busy fiddling with my iPhone. I heard him crying so I ran over just in time to see him with this other boy who was almost a whole head taller than him grabbing both his hands real tight and making a nasty face at him.

In situations like these, I try not to overreact because a mother’s first instinct is to go kungfu ballistic on anyone that tried to hurt my kid. Also, all I saw was the goliath of a 2-year-old boy grabbing Tru’s hands and making a rude face, which in the grand scheme of things is not the same as giving Tru a sucker punch in the nose. So I guess that doesn’t warrant me having the boy quartered and hung. And eaten by horses.

I carried Tru to a corner to calm him down. He looked like he was in shock and the whole time, he just grabbed my top and wouldn’t stop crying. I tried asking him to tell me what the boy did but he refused to. He was obviously still visibly shaken so I didn’t want to push it.

From experience, the length of his crying time usually correlates with how badly affected he is. Like a mild stub on the toe warrants 10 seconds max and a bleeding mouth about 5 minutes. I can’t say for sure because I didn’t see it but I’m fairly certain that the other kid did a lot more than stick his tongue out at Tru. But of course, I’ve got no proof of that so I had to find some.

For the rest of the hour, I shadowed the big brattish bully to see him shoving other kids, snatching toys, pulling another kid’s hair and smacking a boy on the side of his head. He was smart, though. Barely 3-years-old and he’s got the instinct of a predator. He only made his move on the isolated kids, the stragglers who left the pack and the runts of the group. He would sneak up on a kid who was holding a toy he wanted, yank it out of his hands and push him away, all in 3 seconds. The poor kid would be left crying and he would skip off happily to find another kid to terrorize. One boy tried to grab his toy back only to have his head smacked like a rag doll.

I knew this day would come but I didn’t think it’d be this soon so I just didn’t know how to react. By the end of my little investigative exercise, I was down to three options.

1. Flog the living crap out of the kid and burn him with a cigarette but I didn’t have a cigarette so he got lucky and I had to go with..

2. Talk to his parents. If it turned out that his parents were every bit as obnoxious as he was, then I would have to resort to..

3. Force feed him enough laxatives to have him make the toilet all day, every day for the next month.

Good thing for him, his mom seemed genuinely appalled that her kid was such a bully and she apologized profusely. Apparently, she claims that her kid is not like that at all at home so I’m guessing he’s either got multiple personalities or she’s not spending enough time with the kid. Either way, at least she knows now.

Have you ever had to deal with your kid getting bullied? Any tips on how to handle it?

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stuff best described as not safe for parents, yet another pregnancy scare

I really really really want more babies

September 3, 2010

Yes, you heard right. I want another (few more) of those snuggly little humans that scream all night and poop all the time. I am fully aware of the fact that it’s a severe case of the momnesia kicking in but BABIES! All sweet and cuddly and warm and cute and nice-smelling. I really want some more. Soon.

Over dinner today, I casually dropped the question on the husband.

Me: Hows your noodles?

Kel: Pretty good. Want some?

Me: I was thinking that 5 kids would be nice. All the kids running around the house, so awesome, right?

Kel: Very awesome. Sure, we can do 5.

Me: Like soon?

*This is the point he starts turning a bit pale.

Kel: Soon… like in another 3 years, just like we discussed, remember?

Me: Mmm, how about a little earlier, like 1 and a half?

*At which point he stops eating his noodles completely. By now, his color is best described as ashen.

Kel: Haha, you’re kidding right? Good one.

Me: Actually I’m serious. I think we can handle it. 2 more babies back to back, we’ve done it before, no problem.

Kel: I think you should read your own archives from July last year. You need to get rid of this momnesia before it escalates out of control.

Me: I was totally overreacting last year, all that postpartum hormones. And just think of 5 kids! We’ve even got names already.

Kel: I’m going home to print out the archives and paste them on the wall.

The rest of that conversation went something like 5 KIDS SO FUN! blah blah blah THEY WILL PLAY TOGETHER! blah blah blah THEY CAN ALL BE BEST FRIENDS! blah blah blah ECONOMIES OF SCALE! blah blah blah BABY SMELL! TINY BOOTIES! DISNEYLAND! I WANT BABIES!!!

I obviously drowned out the part about “SWOLLEN ANKLES, GINORMOUS ASS, OMG 27 HOURS OF LABOR, EPISIOTOMY, POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION, SCREAMING BABY, SORE NIPPLES…”

Finally, Kel was all like “you do realize we’ll have even less of a life than we have now, and I’m not even sure if that’s possible. I’ll have to take on 3 more jobs and come back just in time for the middle-of-the-night feed while you shuffle around like a bad-tempered zombie. Postpartum, you’ll be crabby and upset and stressed out and we’ll never have another moment of peace and quiet for the next 5 years. Or sleep, for that matter.”

I nodded. “But sure babe, if you think we’re ready, then let’s make another baby. *boom-chica-wow-wow* But we’ll have to give it another year and a half before we start trying ok. You know we’re not going to need a lot of time to try.”

And that is why I’m so in love with this man.

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i embarrass myself sometimes, stuff best described as not safe for parents, yet another pregnancy scare

Hormones

August 10, 2010

Hormones are one of those things I don’t understand, alongside nuclear fusion and quantum physics. I just tried reading the wikipedia definition on hormones and I haven’t got the slightest idea what the entire page is talking about. It’s filled with words that have more syllables than I can pronounce. Heck, I’m not even sure it’s written in English. Sometimes I swear wikipedia is just trying to make me feel like a moron. Thanks for the help, wikipedia.

Here’s my definition: A hormone is a great big pain in the ass. When you have too much or too little, it causes mood swings, pimples, weight gain, nausea, headaches, backaches and depression, among other things. It can occasionally give you bigger boobs but for the side effects that come with it, not even worth it.

Remember my contraceptive dilemma? A couple of days ago, I finally went on the pill because I had a feeling that if we keep taking our chances, I’m going to get myself knocked up before the year is out. Now that the kids are getting more manageable and I can fit into my old jeans again, another baby is so not on the cards right now. The last time I went on the pill, it wasn’t pretty because you see, my hormones do not like to be messed with. It was like my baby-making machine knew something was wrong and started going stark raving mad. I was sick, pukey and moody for a couple of weeks until I realized it was caused by the pill. I know because the moment I stopped, it all magically went away. This time, I asked the doctor for something that wouldn’t cause all the side effects and he introduced me this pill called Yasmin. Besides, I have this friend called Yasmin who’s a perfectly nice person and yes, that’s the kind of advanced decision-making skills I have.

Anyway, turns out that Yasmin hates me. Or my hormones. The day I started, I could feel all the symptoms coming back with a vengeance. At first, I thought it was all in my head like that Inception movie but by the second day, I was as edgy and irritable and nauseous and depressed as I had been during the first round. I checked the list of symptoms in the box and what do you know, I had most of them. Then as I read on, the list just got worse, right until I got to the point where I saw weight gain. Talk about crushing irony.

Now why anyone would want to take a pill that makes them gain weight is beyond me. I mean, the whole point of not having another baby is so that I don’t gain another 30 pounds in my ass so I’m certainly not about to help myself retain more fats. I can do that by eating a double quarter pounder with supersized fries and at least, I would have enjoyed the process.

I’m off the pill now and back to Russian Roulette. Seriously, don’t wish me luck.

I got to ask, what contraceptives do you use? If you’re not comfortable leaving a comment, just drop me an email. Help a girl out here.

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side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

The return of Chucky

August 9, 2010

One of the great parenting lessons that books don’t teach you is how to deal with your kids’ terrible taste in stuff. You ever look back at old photos with horror and wonder why your parents would allow you to wear that fugly horned-rimmed specs to school for 2 years? Or cringe at the sight of your bad hair that was plastered to your head with enough oil to make roti prata? Lucky for me, I did.

I was a walking fashion disaster as a kid but hey, I’m allowed to look like a a cross between Mick Jagger and Cyndi Lauper at the age of 9. Ok, so I insisted on picking the godawful glasses myself but there should be some parenting guideline on how to stop your kids from making choices they will regret. Moments like these, you’re entitled to play the “I know best because I’m your mother” card, even if they throw the biggest hissy fit of all time.

I was hoping my kids wouldn’t inherit my questionable taste but alas, it seems like I’m going to have to exercise my veto power more than I was prepared to. So I figured, until the kids turn 21 or have good taste (whichever comes later), I’m responsible for helping them make good choices.

This morning, we brought baby girl to Toys R’ Us to pick out a new toy and she was real excited about the whole process. She was busy browsing all the toys, looking at each one intently before tossing them away. Daddy was all like “you can choose whatever you want, sweetie” so that’s exactly what she did. When we got to the doll aisle (she’s really into dolls recently), she started bouncing on the spot in her stroller, a sign that we were getting close to finding what she wanted.

Which was this.

I don’t think it can get any worse. Of all the toys in all the world, this is probably the worst possible choice. We were like “NOOOOOOOO, don’t touch it!” but she started hugging it and kissing it and patting its face so lovingly (the kid obviously haven’t watched Chucky). We tried offering her a whole bunch of other dolls that were so much less likely to stab us in the middle of the night but she found what she wanted and she wasn’t going to budge.

At that point, I think I knew why my parents indulged my awful choices – because it was what I wanted and for what it’s worth, it made me happy, which was (arguably) more important than not looking like an alien life form for the better part of my adolescent years.

If you must know, we didn’t get the doll eventually. She’s probably not going to remember wanting the doll when she grows up, but she will sure as hell remember if she gets attacked by a psycho doll in her sleep. Call me paranoid but this is the kind of risk I don’t take.

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kids inc, motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Please, pretty please, please, please…

July 14, 2010

Having been a stay-home mom for almost 2 years, I sometimes forget why I wanted to do it so badly in the first place. I mean, you do something long enough and the grass starts to look greener on the other side. I start to think of how nice it would be to dress up and have power lunches (do people still call it that or am I that outdated) with other non-babies. To not have to start work at 10 at night, after a whole day of manual labor.

I know it is a privilege to be able to work from home and take care of the babies at the same time and I’m not complaining.

Well, maybe just a little bit.

Ok, maybe a lot.

But the point is, at times like these, we all just need a little reminder of why we are doing it in the first place.

Everyone, meet my reminder.

So a couple of days ago, I had one of my nights off to attend an event organized by Pat Law from Goodstuph (more on that later), who as I found out, is a former colleague from my short-lived advertising days at Publicis. 6 years later, she’s now a bad-ass social media guru (I think that means she invented the Internet or something, I’m not very sure), and me, I’ve got two babies. Also, I can make a killer aglio olio, which is like the parenting equivalent of inventing the Internet, obviously.

Anyway, I was getting ready to go out when Tru starts to smell a rat because momma never puts on makeup at 630 in the evening, and that means only one thing – a night out without him. My preemptive strike involved explaining that mommy has to go to work. (which at that time sounded far more credible than mommy had to go chill out over mini sandwiches)

Next thing I knew, he flung his body onto my calfs and proceeded to attach himself surgically to my legs while shrieking “NOOOOOOOO, mommy don’t go work! Don’t like mommy to go work, mommy stay home” about 20,000 times. At which point I switched strategy and tried to explain that mommy had to go for an event, because I figured I might as well confuse him with words he doesn’t know, hoping that it would distract him from the issue at hand.

Except that my kid apparently knows what an event is, and he was all like “Not work, mommy go e-ben.” He ponders for a moment, then goes “NOOOOOOOO, mommy don’t go e-ben! Don’t like mommy to go e-ben, mommy stay home.”

When he realizes that it’s not working, he suddenly remembers that he is more likely to get his way when he asks nicely. “Mommy, can stay home please, please, please?” Now that always gets me, because 3 pleases is a big deal.

I was close to ditching the event because my little boy needed me to tuck him into bed but the husband told me that I needed a breather and he had everything under control, so I went. I was glad to be out for a while but that night, it all came back to me – the reason why I left my job in the first place. Because if I had to hear that many pleases every morning while I left them with a bunch of strangers and went on my merry way, I would be crying all the way to work every day. And honestly, I wouldn’t have lasted a week.

On retrospect, manual labor and a couple of late nights don’t seem so bad after all.

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