Then Again I Don't Seem *That* F-ed Up

Lately you hear a lot fist clenching and concerned look-making over the topic of just how badly the children of mommy bloggers will need therapy. The theory goes that once 4 year old Blog Fodder Jr. grows into 14 year old Googling Alldaylong he will find mommy's little online journal where his every goo and poo was documented and commented on by the mothers of half the population of his freshman class and the mere thought that Ms. Nextdoor has heard about the stinky green turds he layed down from ages 1-3 will cause our good teenager's head to explode. The end.

I have never been capable of taking this tsk-tsking very seriously since I choose to document my own goo-ing and poo-ing for all to read and look! I'm totally fine! (seriously.). But today as I tried to make sense of this story over on The Sneeze where his kid runs around "drive-by anusing" his parents I finally felt a little sympathy for our perhaps over loved tots because for some reason this story reminded me of a little story of my own....

*cue wavey screen effect signalling blast from the past*

When I was really young -- probably from age 2-4 we had a family, we'll call them The Yothers, living in the house located pretty much in our backyard. I have little recollection of these years which is unfortunate because the older sister of the Yother clan turned out to be much more popular than me in high school and if only I'd had some good blackmail material ages 15-18 may have been smoother. But alas.

Periodically throughout my later child years (say 8-18) my family would run into Mr. Yothers, the dad of the family, and he would of course take every opportunity to reminisce about when they lived in our back yard. This might not have been so terrible except for that fact that his only memory from that time period if of me at age 3ish coming out of the house to tell my dad that I had pooped my pants. For Alex this is the best and most hilarious story ever told. For Brianna not so much. In fact I distinctly remember dying on at least 47 different occasions, death by poop story embarrassment is not pleasant.

A horrible tale, no? Now picture that little nightmare repeated over and over only this time everyone you know can access the play by play of your greatest pooping hits. They can print out a poop score card and plaster the school with it. They can do dramatic readings at open mike nights. Frankly I doubt these kids will live past age 12.

A Short Play About Being Almost 3

Cast
Kurt: Father (despite being Brianna's baby brother -- How did this happen?), turning 28 in 8 months (see? A BABY I TELL YOU)
Delanie: Cutest Little Girl in the World (despite being a bit of a diva in this particular play), turning 3 in 2 weeks.
Brianna: Doting Aunt (despite being treated like crap), encroaching on 31...

Scene: bicostal phone call/The evil domain of Verizon

Kurt: Did you want to talk to the bug?
Brianna: Why else would I ever call you?
K: Hey Delanie, wanna talk to Brianna on the phone?
Delanie: (yelling from the background) NO!
K: Ha, she said no.
B: I heard, I guess someone doesn't really want any birthday presents.
K: Hey Delanie, Brianna says that if you don't want to talk to her she might not buy you any birthday presents!
D: I. DON'T. CARE!

Brianna and Kurt chit chat for five minutes about the weather, family drama and if their mom will be openly mean to Brianna's boyfriend at an upcoming family event (probably not....). Delanie continues her coloring trying to concentrate while quietly pondering the possibility of no birthday presents....

D (Tugging on her dad's arm): I want to talk now.
B: Hi! How are you?
D: I was doing some coloring. I wanted you to talk to my dad.
B: I did talk to your dad -- what are you coloring?
D: I'm using blue.
B: cool! What kind of things are blue?
D: I like pink. And I like purple
B (laughing) ok...
D: BYE!

Is everyone feeling the love?

I Think My Ovaries Just Fell Out*

I love my cousin and open bars and sponge cake but for me last weekend’s wedding was really just a convenient excuse to spend some quality time with my favorite niece. Miss D easily held onto her “cutest little girl in the world” status via the following impressive performances.

• Following being chastised during dinner for using the naughty word “stupid” with the pre cake cutting announcement, “Cake! That’s not a bad word!”
• Refusing to believe that people have parties (and cake!) for reasons other than birthdays and breaking out into a chorus of “Happy Birthday to You!” during dessert.
• Getting over her tendency to deny the world the enjoyment of checking out her ass. She now encourages adoration by often bending over, lifting up her dress and demanding “Hey! Look at my butt!” She also spent much of the wedding crouched over in a duck-like waddle (see above photo) asking everyone around to join her and “shake a booty!!”
• Being somewhat obsessed with people other than her getting into trouble and telling me at least 3 different accounts of her friend Juliana getting a time out for biting another kid at daycare. When real trouble fails to present itself she is not above making up a story or two including claims that Mommy is in big trouble for hitting me (which she did not do). God help my poor brother and (soon to be!) sister.
• Making clear where her support lies in the taste vs. beauty war by constantly asking women at the wedding if their necklaces were made of candy.
• Spending the ceremony on my lap and whispering in my ear, “I love you Brianna!” every time the officiate mentioned the L word.

  

*Title thanks to Gillian

Mommy Blogging

When my friend Alia asked me to babysit her three year old son Sam I thought, “sweet I can finally cash in on the Mommy blogging.” I think everyone on the internet knows that the easiest job in town is writing about children for the owners and operators of other children. This parent blogging niche is the fastest path to blog stardom mostly because a lot of stay at home parents are so starved for adult interaction that they’ll willingly listen to other parents blather on endlessly about the size of little Timmy’s morning doodie. I have a job where I talk to other adults for hours everyday but I read mommy blogs anyway – sometimes you just can’t beat a good doodie story.

ANYWAY -- babysitting. As we all know children can teach us revealing life lessons so I came ready to learn. More importantly I came ready to blog. I figure I hang out for a few hours waiting for Sam to say something profound/hilarious so I can write it down verbatim and be done with the day’s blog post. Wham Bam Thank You Sam (wow, that last sentence might be wildly inappropriate).

The evening started with a debate over which activity would be more fun: dinner or watching some cartoons. I was a staunch advocate of the dinner route and since I was the only person in the house tall enough to reach the portable DVD player I won. So “we” cooked dinner. To be honest I did all of the work while Sam provided dinner entertainment in the form of 5-8000 renditions of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,” despite not hearing this song in at least 15 years I remembered all of the words – clearly my brain has made some interesting prioritization choices when it comes to memory usage.

While eating our macaroni and cheese Sam spontaneously asked me if he could “smell the sugar,” turns out even toddlers are partying harder than me. Ever the enabler I handed over the sugar bowl and he took a big whiff and then announced “it smells like sugar!” I think he was high. He returned to eating dinner without further comment until mid macing on a dish known as “the cheesiest” Sam requested a piece of cheese proving that he is a toddler of discerning culinary taste since everyone knows that dairy is the most delicious of the food groups. Either that or he had a bad case of the munchies. I followed his lead and punctuated my mouthfuls of cheese coated pasta with bites of Munster. I felt satisfied if a little phlegmy.

The rest of the evening was devoted to worshipping The Bear in The Big Blue House. The ritual bouncing on the couch and singing along with the theme song was punctuated only by the call of nature (the answering of which required the removal of ALL clothing) and one request that I literally KISS HIS FEET. Sam caged this request under the auspices of injury but I don’t think the symbolism was unintentional. As he toddled back to his cartoon evangelism there was the jaunt in his step usually only seen in the walks of cult leaders and dictators (Baby Doc?).

As expected this was the simplest blog post I’ve ever written. Children: The Easy Mac of the blogging world. Heat and serve baby.