I Wanna Quit the Newspaper!

Photo by helloyou, stock.xchng

I generally can’t say ‘no’ to anything. I’ve been really trying to work on it, but I still suck badly. So when someone knocked on our door a few weeks ago and asked if we could please buy a weekend newspaper subscription for eight weeks at an incredibly low price of only $10, which would help him attend college and ultimately lead to a better life, there was no possible way I could refuse.

Fast forward to last week. I receive a letter from the newspaper, including an invoice for the renewal of our subscription. Huh??? I didn’t renew it. I don’t even want the bloody newspaper! After reading the letter carefully, I find fine print that informs me of their convenient automatic renewal service. If we don’t want the paper anymore, all we have to do is call their special cancellation hotline.

Beads of sweat start forming as I panic at the thought of speaking to the cancellation professionals. I immediately start remembering one of my favorite episodes of Friends- The One with the Ballroom Dancing- in which Chandler is trying to quit the gym. I wanna quit the newspaper!!!

I call the number and start speaking to a very friendly woman. When she hears of my wish to cancel the subscription, she sounds terribly upset, as if I have hurt her feelings, and says: “I’m so sorry to hear that! Is there anything we could do to change your mind?” All I can think is I wanna quit the newspaper; I wanna quit the newspaper. “No, thank you, we really don’t read the paper.”

Of course, this woman is a pro. She’s a lioness going straight for my sucker-esque throat: “You know, you could change your subscription to only receive the Sunday paper. That way, you still receive all the wonderful coupons that can save you hundreds of dollars every week.” I wanna quit the newspaper; I wanna quit the newspaper. “No, thank you. Really, we aren’t able to use any of the coupons, so it’s just not worth it.” She gives it her best shot yet: “You know, this is the lowest offer we’ve ever had for our customers and I doubt we’ll have such a great price again. You wouldn’t want to miss such an opportunity.” I’m thinking: She’s right. What an awesome price! And really, I should be reading the paper. I picture myself at an imaginarily quiet house without interruptions in which I leasurely read the whole Sunday paper after having had a nice sleep in. No, wait- that’s not how my life is. Children jump on me and animals want to be fed and the house is a disaster and anyway, the local paper is really not a good publication. I WANNA QUIT THE NEWSPAPER!!! Out loud, I say: “I know it’s a wonderful offer, but it would really be a waste at this time.”

That’s it. She gives up! I’ve done it. I have managed to quit the newspaper. I am so proud of myself for staying strong and following through. That will really come in handy the next time I have to cancel my subscription after not being able to say ‘no’…

Feminist Fairytales: Little Red Riding Hood

Fairytales irritate me terribly. Most of the classics portray women as naïve idiots, not worth mentioning unless they are beautiful or evil. I would love my daughter to grow up with stories that feature powerful, intelligent women, so she can have role models that have actually achieved something besides looking pretty.

My goal is to re-write some of the classics and change the story around to what it would be if the heroines were smart and strong. Unfortunately, a lot of the stories would be incredibly short, but I’ll do my best to make them a little humorous. And if you feel like writing your own little feminist fairytale, please join me for my Monthly Writing Challenge!

Photo by jkettn, stock.xchng

Once upon a time, there was a sweet little girl who lived with her mother on the edge of a forest. Her name was Little Red Riding Hood. Hood’s grandmother was very ill, so she and her mother decided to bake a cake for the poor granny. After they finished the cake, they gathered some other treats together- wine, chocolate, and some sandwiches- so Hood could deliver them to her granny who lived a couple of miles away in the woods.

“Now, sweetie, don’t forget to stay on the path. You never want to get off the path when you’re in the forest! And watch out for the Big Bad Wolf. Remember what I told you about him- he’s a tricky one with big ears and a big nose, etc. Just overall big with lots of hair. If he bothers you, you know what to do.”

“Mother, I wish you didn’t worry so much. I will go straight to granny’s house.”

Off went Little Hood into the deep, dark forest. She was enjoying the exercise, singing to herself and admiring the scenery. Suddenly, she saw the shape of someone up ahead on the path. She prepared herself.

“Hello, little girl! Where are you going to all by yourself?”

“I am going to visit my grandmother to bring her some goodies. She hasn’t been feeling well.”

“Ah, how interesting. Where exactly does your grandmother live?”

“She lives right down this path in the clearing.”

“Little girl, I think you should take your time on this beautiful day and enjoy the forest. Look down there, off the path: there are so many beautiful flowers to pick. Maybe you could even make a bouquet for your grandmother”, suggested the wolf, who was coming up with a plan that would allow him to eat the grandmother as well as Little Hood.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolf, but I have no time to lose. I do not wish to go off the path and really must continue my journey now.”

The wolf sneered at her: “Well, in that case, I’m just going to have to gobble you up!”

Little Red Riding Hood, without batting an eye, put down the basket of goodies, pulled out her sword and chopped the wolf’s head off. Hood’s mother had taught her how to defend herself from an early age.

She continued down the path to her granny’s house, who was overjoyed to see her lovely granddaughter. They enjoyed cake together while they chatted. After granny had had some wine and chocolate, she felt much better and went out to find the wolf’s corpse. She skinned him and made a nice rug for her sitting room.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

The Crazy Winking Lady

Winking is an acquired ‘skill’. It’s actually hilarious watching little children try to shut only one eye- it’s hard for them and takes a lot of practice. Here are some questions: Why did humans ever start winking? Is there a certain purpose to the wink?

The reason I ask myself these questions is because I have a winking problem. It’s not that I am unable to wink- I wish that were the case. It’s that I wink uncontrollably when I find myself in socially tense situations.

Let me give you an example. I’m sitting in a room with other job applicants, waiting to be interviewed. You can feel the tension and people are visibly nervous. I feel bad for the others and want to give off reassuring vibes. One of the people smiles at me. Suddenly, it happens: I smile and wink as a gesture of encouragement. I immediately feel like an idiot. Who winks at strangers?!? I start to panic. What if the other person thinks I was hitting on him/her. I try to look in another direction, hiding my flushing cheeks. Why, oh why, did I have to wink?

Another example. We’re having a breastfeeding support meeting. One of the mothers is really upset and I want to make her feel better. Again, I have some sort of anxiety arise within that is urging me to act in some way. As soon as I make eye contact with her, there it is: I do the weird smile/ wink. I immediately feel like an idiot once more. I’m embarrassed and want her to know that I’m a normal person, so I make it a point to speak to her as soon as the meeting is over. Of course, I’m not completely sure what to say to make me look less like a crazy lady and the conversation is just awkward, until the other mother makes up some excuse to leave. She does so quickly.

The worst of the compulsive winking happens in public places. E.g. when I see a homeless person on the subway. I feel sorry for him/ her and wish there was something I could do to help. I’m studying him/ her discreetly, but I get caught looking, so I panic and bam! There’s the wink. Naturally, the homeless person sees this as an invitation to come over and talk to me. For a long time. It’s uncomfortable and awkward and all kinds of levels of strange.

On a happy note, I told my husband I was going to write about this and he has never witnessed it. Naturally, he thinks I’m a bit of a weirdo now (which is probably quite accurate), but I think he still loves me. At least I’ve had lots of subway conversations this way…

The Cat Lady Review

Before I purchase pretty much any product, I research it and read reviews. It’s actually become somewhat of an annoying habit, since it still doesn’t help me make a decision quickly and it makes my head spin. However, occasionally I stumble upon a rare comedic gem, which does make it all worth while.

Of course, I don’t just read the positive reviews. The negative ones are actually more important, since they highlight all the flaws the product has. In this particular case, I was interested in purchasing a stick vacuum for hard floors that promised to be great at removing pet hair, as our new house doesn’t have any carpets and we have lots of animals. Out of the 182 reviews for this particular vacuum, only two people gave the product the lowest rating of one star. Before I even got a chance to read them, my husband called out: “You know they’re going to be cat ladies, right?” And, indeed, he was not mistaken.

I love cats! We have two of them here and I have volunteered at a local rescue organization to help cats in need. However, cat ladies still amuse me. In this case, the first cat lady complained about the air flow out of the vacuum. The second one- well, read for yourself:

I purchased this in April, 2010 because I have a sanctuary for special needs cats and I am tired of using the vacuum I have that uses bags.

Totally immature, but I already cannot contain my laughter. I am picturing a post-war type scene in which cats are sitting around with bandages and walking on crutches.

 I use this 95% in my litter box room because I cannot stand the floor being dirty.

Oh wow, a room just with litter boxes. First of all, I’m sure it smells lovely in there. Secondly, if these special needs cats are anything like my healthy ones, half their litter is catapulted from the boxes each day in the process of digging/ scratching/ covering stuff up (ok, my cats actually never manage to cover anything up, but they must be trying…)

 I clean the vacuum out every two weeks so that all the filters, etc. are cleaned, and still I have no more suction. I can vacuum over and over on a single piece of floor and it just moves the litter around.

At this point, I am shocked! Does this lady mean to say that this lovely machine for under $50 is not able to function anymore after being clogged up with clay litter on a daily basis?!? Ludicrous! What a piece of garbage! I hope she sues these criminals for producing such a useless machine.

It is a flimsy machine, so it doesn't do well on edges. I called Bissell last week and the only thing they could suggest was that I drive 45 minutes to their authorized shop to bring it in.

What? Bissell isn’t sending out their special unit that takes care of household emergencies like this one? I was under the impression that this would be part of their service when buying the vacuum.

I've purchased a lot of Bissell products over the years, but this was the last. I now use a rubber broom and a dust pan - that does a much better job than this vacuum.

And there you have it. So, if you expect a cheap household product to be highly efficient in an area it is not made to be used in, you may be disappointed. If you are and you write a review, please be sure to let me know so I can have a good laugh.

Confession: I Listen to Inappropriate Music

I love driving. I love listening to music. The ultimate joy for me is driving while listening to good music. This is probably really selfish of me, but I refuse to give this pleasure up. I hardly do anything just for me, so I just can’t let this one go.

And so I’m Rollin’ down the street, smokin’ endo, Sippin’ on gin and juice- Laid back with two kids in the back of my SUV. I actually really don’t care if people find this ridiculous, this is how I roll. R sings along to Hip Hop Hooray and tells me I Need a Dollar. Sometimes this throws me off a little, but then I convince myself that I’m doing her a huge favor by giving her the best musical education possible…

Let’s be honest: I can’t take kiddie bop. It makes me want to stab myself in the ear repeatedly. Since I already have a bit of a road anger problem, music that makes me hate life is just not a good idea. Sometimes, R gets to listen to some Jack Johnson (whom she calls Curious George) but that’s only because I bought that album years ago and it’s pretty good.

Judge all you want- when we’re all in the car together we have a super fun time. A and I don’t mind singing along to Baby Got Back while making whipping motions and dancing around in our seats (ok, maybe that’s just me… But Ross and Rachel did it on Friends, so it must fine) R and E both know that sometimes, you just have to bring Sexy Back.

For those of you who are shocked and horrified, I assure you that I don’t listen to the really inappropriate stuff with the kids. A song like Nine Inch Nails’ Closer (please only read the lyrics if profanity and such don’t make you cry) makes even me a little uncomfortable around young ears. However, overall, I am doing something slightly inappropriate and a lot of you will be shaking your heads at me now. I’m fine with that- after all, nobody’s perfect (or so I tell myself…)


Disclaimer: Contrary to what some people have gathered from this post, I do not literally drive while drinking gin and juice with the kids in the car. It's just the lyrics of an awesome song. Thank you!

Diaper Surpises

If you are a regular diaper changer, you have experienced it at least once: the surprise poop. That sneaky little mess in your child’s pants that didn’t even give you a warning.

You decide to change your baby’s diaper because it’s been a few hours. You grab a fresh diaper and one wipe and chase down your running baby, who has no intention of cooperating with you. However, you feel confident because it’s nothing big to change, just a little pee.

You wrestle the baby to the ground and give him something entertaining to keep him still for 30 seconds. You open the diaper and gasp- what is that?!? That wasn’t supposed to be there! There was no smell! This cannot be!

Since you have wrestled your child down in the dining room, you have no access to additional wipes. The clock is ticking- you must act quickly. You utilize the lone wipe as best you can before the child loses interest in the distractive object you gave him. In despair, you ask your preschooler to help- more wipes! A different toy! Anything that will contain the mess!

Of course, the children have no interest in making this easier. In a ninja-type roll, your baby escapes your clutches and waddles off, while your other child has realized that she can destroy the house because you are way too busy dealing with the diaper situation to intervene in any way.

You quickly gather up the diaper off the floor and try to hurry to get additional wipes before the baby sits down anywhere. While you are striding towards the wipes, you see something falling out of the corner of your eye. You have lost some of the diaper contents, which immediately takes priority over all other matters. The escapee must be retrieved at once to avoid it being stepped on, picked up, eaten, or misused in any other fashion.

Trying to keep calm, you clean up the mess from the floor. Armed with more wipes than are now necessary, you find your baby and finish the job. In the kindest of tones, you try to convince your toddler/preschooler that helping mummy is actually a great thing. And you vow to never make the same mistake again- never open a diaper without checking for surprises.

My Poopy Job

Some days, I really feel as though my life revolves around excrement just a little too much. I understand that every creature has to poop, but I really wish they could do it somewhere where I am not present and where I am not responsible for cleaning it up.

We have two children in diapers, two dogs, and two cats. You can imagine what this means for me. My day usually starts out cleaning the litter box. On a good day, they have done all their business in the box. On a not-so-good day, I look in the bathtub and find that they have pooped in there, just for the fun of it. My dogs are not much better. They poop all over the yard and we have to go out in the heat and pick up the stinky piles. My stupid dog Amy sometimes starts running away with poop still stuck to her, then sits in it or steps in it or does something else fun to make herself disgustingly messy and my day miserable.

As the day goes on, my children usually take care of their stinkies. R is in disposable diapers (she refuses to wear cloth- so fun…) so it’s mostly relatively easy to change her. However, I always somehow end up with poop on my hand… E is in cloth diapers. Most days, the diaper changes are even easier than with R and I don’t mind them at all. But on very rare and special occasions, the mess is a little harder to deal with and I have to get creative. Let’s just say that I spent the last ten minutes with my hand in the toilet, swishing a diaper around…

I should really be used to it by now. I feel like I shouldn’t even mind anymore. But I do! I really, really do! Though I much prefer poop to certain other bodily excretions, e.g. vomit, I would much rather not have to deal with it anymore. It’s not what I thought I was signing up for. 

I’m a bit of a germaphobe. And sometimes, when there is poop coming out of the top of one of the children’s diaper and it’s on their clothes and on the floor and on their hands and on the toy they just touched and on my hands and just everywhere, I have a little anxiety attack and feel like crying. Not sure if this is normal, but it happens to me occasionally.

Thankfully, then there are days where you just have to laugh about it. Like when my daughter was a baby and I gave her some prunes to help her digestion. She was playing happily in her Excersaucer when I looked over and saw something running down her legs. At first, I didn’t even understand what it was. When I did, I just had to take a picture and have a good laugh



If you like laughing at stories about poop, check out this fabulously funny page: http://nakedpoop.com/

The Ass Bucket List

I asked the lovely Marianna Annadanna to write a little guest post for me. Because she is awesome, she was more than happy to oblige and wrote a funny post for your Sunday evening entertainment. If you’re on Twitter, please follow her @snappysurprise. Please check out her hilarious blog Snappy Surprise!

When Vivi put it out on the twitter that she was looking for a guest poster, I jumped all over it. 
I love Vivi (although I haven't asked if I can call her that - she might hate it, but it's too late now), and I love her blog, and I also relish the idea of posting something somewhere on the interwebs that might not be read by my entire real life social circle.
But because y'all might not already know me, I'd like to tell you today about my wonderful adoring Hubby. 
Hubby's been the light of my life since I was 16 years old (even 10 years old, if you really think about it).  He's clever, relaxed, funny, and he has a cute butt.  And he's remarkably handy around the house.  Several must-haves in any hubby, I think. 
But what an efffing ASS BUCKET. 

Seriously.  He knows I love him dearly, but FRIG that guy is gonna be the death of me.

So.  Behold my list of annoying Hubby habits that have been really PISSING ME OFF lately. 
First, he's been playing a stupid game on his iPhone. 

It's some sort of obnoxious paper airplane game.  Problem is, Hubby is an addictive gamer.  And this game fits his addictive personality perfectly - it has shooting and fighting, and the worst part?  He can TALK to the idiots on the other side.  And they can HEAR him.  Ugh.  Makes me sick.  I have to REMIND HIM to turn off the mic so my words aren't heard by strangers over the internet.  And then he has the nerve to compare it to twitter, WHICH IT IS SO CLEARLY NOT. 
Second, whenever I ask him to do anything, he almost always instantly refuses. 

He doesn't even think about it.  He just jumps right to the NO.  Can you empty the dishwasher? NO.  Can you strip the sheets?  NO.  Can you clean up the kitchen?  NO.  Can you stop being an ASS BUCKET?  No.  He doesn't mean to.  It's just a weird habit.  His usually excuses it by reciting some other recent chore that required a comparable level of time and effort... entirely ignoring the fact that the whole time he's been chilling on the couch prior to my request, I've been cleaning the bathroom, or doing the laundry, or making the breakfast.  Not to mention that he's never once pulled out the vacuum voluntarily. 

Finally -- and this one just came to me this exact effing minute when he walked in with his sushi takeout) -- he eats at the living room coffee table. 

That part doesn't bother me.  I do it too.  It's that he INSISTS on pulling the coffee table as close as possible to his godforsaken knees so he can shovel food into his mouth directly over top of his plate, block my view of the tv, bunch up the rug underneath, "forget" to put it back, and then leave it for me to fix every damn night before we go to bed. 

Forgive me.  I love Hubby more than anything, and I wouldn't trade him for a billion dollars...
But goddess almighty I might ring his damn neck. 
So when Vivien gave me the opportunity to write something on a new corner of the interwebs, and then she even knew me well enough to suggest I write about my complaints? I soooo could not resist. 

Tell me I'm not alone.  Lie if you have to.  Just tell me you can't stand your husband either. I cannot be the only one. 

The Brilliancy of Scam Emails

I would like to share with you an email I received recently because 1. I find it hilarious and 2. I want to expose schemes like this so kind, innocent minded people don’t somehow get scammed. The email came from a certain Mark Nelson, email address marknelson2471@aol.com – just in case you feel as though this is a valid employment offer you cannot refuse.

This is the email. There was no greeting:

Got your email through the google employment database.I am looking for someone who can handle my personal and business errands during his or her spare time.I need your service because I am constantly traveling abroad on business. I own an Art Gallery that specializes in international art.

At this point, I am second guessing my sanity and wondering if I ever entered my email address in any databases while I was too tired to know what I was doing. It continues:

Your Responsibilities are.

1. Receive my mail and Drop them off at the post office or shipping center.

2. Pay my bills on my behalf and sit for delivery at home.

3. Pick up my items at your nearby post office at your convenience.

4. When you get my mail or package, you would mail all items to where I want them shipped. .All expenses and shipping charges will be covered by me.

Of course, now I know that it is a scam. However, these shady job responsibilities make me curious as to what compensation will be promised. After all, even if this were a true job offer, the questionable duties sound as though I would be somehow involved in smuggling drugs or worse- might as well get paid handsomely for it. It goes on:

The contents of the packages are mostly art materials and paintings. In addition, there will be clothing I need for business and personal letters. No heavy packages are ever delivered!

Is cocaine heavy? I don’t know… Some more interesting info:

I am currently away on business in China. If you decide to accept the position, please read the employment requirements listed below.

1. Honest and trustworthy citizen.

2. You will be required to work between 15 and 20hrs a month

3 You need to be able to check your EMAIL 3 to 5 times daily.

Sweet! So I totally qualify, as do both of my toddler children and possibly my dogs and cats. Finally, the compensation is discussed:

THE PAY IS $500 WEEKLY and you are entitle to a brand new car after 1month if you are hardworking and honest with me, WHICH IS NOT A BAD OFFER.

OMG, I’m going to make a killing doing nothing AND I’m getting a free car?!? Even if this is a scam, I should go for it! This really is not a bad offer. I mean, what do I have to lose, right? Let’s see what else Mark needs from me:

In closing, I have a couple of questions for you.

First, If I were to mail you money to do my shopping plus an upfront payment for your service, where would you want it mailed to?

Sure, I’ll just email you my mailing address. After all, who would turn down being sent money?

Second, how would you like for your name appear on the money or check?

Of course, I would like my name to by printed on said money. How else would I possibly want it?

Maybe you can provide me with the following details below

Name:

Address:

City:

State:

Zip:

CELL OR PHONE:

Occupation:

What is your bank Name:

And that’s the end of the email. What a fabulous opportunity! Maybe I’ll just send him that info as well as my account and routing number. Hell, I should just post it to the blog so you’ll all be able to send me money more easily!

Just to be clear: there are lots of schemes like this around- some are obvious like this one, some are really professional scam artists. They must have people who fall for them or else they wouldn’t bother sending emails like this around. Please, dear readers, always use your common sense and be careful. If something is too good to be true, it usually is. Nobody gives away free money.

The Truth About Being a Mother

This is for mothers-to-be and mothers who already are. Nothing can possibly prepare you for motherhood. Until you have that little baby in your arms, you have no earthly idea of what you are in for. Because I am such a nice person, I am going to give you future mothers a little sneak peek of the things you get to look forward to. This is a typical morning in my house.

It is 6 am. I am desperately trying to nurse the baby back to sleep. The bedroom door opens and my daughter comes in, then climbs into our bed. I think that if I just lie still enough, maybe everyone will go back to sleep. My son, who was ALMOST asleep, pops his head up and looks for his sister. The two siblings start playing on top of me and even though I am being hit by multiple elbows, knees, feet, and other body parts, I am still clinging to the idea that I might be able to sleep some more if I just lie there pretending to sleep. My daughter sees right through this and screams: “Mummy, it’s morning time!!!” right in my ear.

Alright, I’m up. I go to the bathroom, accompanied by two little voyeurs. I attempt to get dressed. It takes me forever because the closet has a huge pile of shoes in the middle of it (my children were making a mountain), my daughter keeps urging me to ‘try her birthday cake’ which is in actual fact a tube of toothpaste, and my son is taking used tissues out of the trash and either eating pieces of them or tearing them up, leaving a trail of tissues bits all across our carpet.

After I have successfully thrown on something that makes me look halfway decent, it’s time to find clothes for the kids. Then comes the task of getting everyone down the stairs safely while carrying a huge pile of items that will be needed throughout the day. One of the dogs refuses to come with us, as usual, and my daughter is calling her repeatedly in hopes that today the dog will actually come downstairs like any other sane animal would.

We have made it to the lower level of our house without anyone hurting themselves. I enter the kitchen and find cat vomit all over the floor. I must now get it cleaned up without either of the children coming to inspect the mess. At this point, my daughter decides to try climbing over the stair gate (which is leaned against the stairs because we just got downstairs) which falls on top of her. The world is now ending and she cries inconsolably. Not only was she hurt, but she also wants to put her clothes on, get cuddles, have apple juice, and eat breakfast. It is a major tragedy, but I must step away to clean up the cat puke before my son eats it.

The kitchen floor is restored to its semi-clean state and the daughter-calming can begin. Of course, my son starts wailing because I am completely neglecting him while trying to comfort R. Both children are screaming and the cats are meowing for their food. I somehow maneuver them into the living room and get them dressed. This is a long process because the boy keeps running off naked and the girl hates every article of clothing she owns. After multiple meltdowns and three different shirt attempts, both children are somehow dressed and ready to be fed.

Finally, after what seems like a marathon run, everyone is sitting down, eating breakfast somewhat quietly. The children are happy, smiling, singing little songs, and all is good again in the world.

Basically, having children is like living with schizophrenic anarchists. It is absolute chaos, their emotions are all over the place, they are completely different people from one moment to the next, etc. And then, they give you a hug and a kiss. Unprovoked, just because they love you. It’s the best thing in the world- it cannot be bought, it cannot be forced. Receiving a child’s unconditional love is the best thing you’ll ever experience. This is why mothers get up in the morning and deal with the same madness all over again. Mothers-to-be, you’re going to love it!

Minding My Business

We went shopping for a few things today and I noticed once again how people will just blurt out anything to you without thinking twice about it. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about- the kind of people who say something to you without you having addressed them and without them knowing you at all.

First thing this morning, we went to buy a nursing bra. My son fell asleep in the car, so my husband stayed there with him while my daughter and I went into the store. We were the first customers of the day and the lady working there unlocked the door for us. She was around sixty years old and continued to eat her breakfast (yes, these are two completely unrelated facts) The lady asked what I was looking for. I told her, upon which she asked: “Have you had the baby yet?” Um, what?!? I realize you work in a maternity store, but really? If I may so myself, I DO NOT look pregnant! I informed her that I had in fact had the baby already, so she asks me how old the baby is. I tell her that he is eleven months. Her response to this is: “Oh…” What on earth does that mean? Either she thinks that I am too fat to have had my baby so many months ago OR she disapproves of my breastfeeding him for such a long (?!?) time.

At this point, I was still in a pretty good mood. I picked out a few bras to try on and went into the changing room with R. While I was in there, I wondered if I should tell the sales lady that I also still nursed my toddler (which is unfortunately not true), just to see how she would react. I decided not to say anything and just put the bra on the counter to pay for it. Of course she suggested I buy two more bras, so that I could get a fourth one free, but I declined. I did, however, have a look at their nursing tops that were on sale and found one in a size S that I really liked (take that, lady! I can fit into a size SMALL! I may have bought it just to demonstrate my non-fatness…) I took it over to the check out, where my bra laid waiting for me. My eyes wandered around my soon-to-be-purchases and were caught by some specks on my new bra that had not been there before. I touched them with my finger and immediately regretted it- I found a moist, creamy substance. I gave it a sniff: cream cheese and bagel. Not only had the lady not stopped eating her breakfast in front of a customer, she also drooled part of her food onto my new bra. Gluten food on top of everything! I thoroughly sanitized my hands after. I know I should have asked for a different bra, but I think it was the only one left in my size, so I didn’t say anything...

The more I think about my experience at the store this morning, the less I want to go back. I was considering telling some of the ladies I know about the sales deals that they have going on at the moment, but with the extremely odd ‘service’ I got there this morning I really rather feel like telling everyone to stay away.

Afterwards, we went to buy some art supplies for a project my husband and I are attempting this evening. We were looking at the art supplies and I noticed a line of paints that had a man’s picture on them. I asked A who the man was because the name didn’t seem familiar. He told me that the man was Bob Ross, upon which I told him that I had no idea who Bob Ross is. A says: “You don’t know who Bob Ross is?” A lady (again, around sixty years old) who is also shopping in the same aisle, turns to us and, in a very rude tone, says: “You’re too young to know who Bob Ross is.” A replies, very politely: “Oh, I know who Bob Ross is. I used to watch him on television all the time when I was a kid.” The woman says: “Well, those must have been reruns.” and walks a little further on.

Now, my husband took no offense to this. I, however, was angry. First of all because she was being rude- her tone of voice and manner were condescending. Secondly because we hadn’t been speaking to her and she butted into our conversation. Lastly because I hate it when someone tells me that I am too young for anything- I am always thought to be a lot younger than I actually am (you can read more about this here)

Of course, I didn’t say anything to her. Later in the car, I googled Bob Ross. When I saw his actual picture, I did recognize him. Then I read up on the TV show he had- it ran from 1983 to 1994. How young did this woman think we were?!? Stupid old bat! I should have told her that I was going to look him up on what we call ‘the Internet’, something she wouldn’t know about because she’s too old! Hmpf...

The point of my little anecdotes here is: why the hell can people not mind their own business? Why do we all have to be subjected to strangers who feel the need to comment on our affairs? I have no answer to this question, unfortunately. While I wouldn’t even dream of butting in when two people I don’t know are having a conversation, unfortunately, there are plenty of people who do not feel the same. To all of the past and future busy bodies, I say: “I am not pregnant, I know what I’m doing with my children, and I am a lot older than I look. Now piss off and leave me alone!” (Yes, you are more than welcome to quote me)

Elephants in Outer Space

When we brought our baby boy home from the hospital, I didn’t think twice about the fact that his private parts were different than his sister’s. I also did not anticipate that she would notice this difference immediately. The first time R watched me give my little man a bath, the following scenario took place:

After a long, hard stare at E’s privates, R looked at me and said: “Mummy, E has an elephant on his butt!” I almost died laughing! Of course, I had to pull myself together and react appropriately to my daughter’s assumption. For a moment I panicked- we hadn’t discussed what we would call the kids’ privates in the future. So, I told it like it is: “No, honey, that’s not an elephant. That’s a penis.” R thought about this for a moment. “Do I have a penis?” Again, I couldn’t help but snicker: “No, sweetheart, you don’t have a penis. Only boys have penises.”

For a few weeks, R was fascinated by the idea of penises. She would randomly ask me if certain people had a penis. It was really funny, and I tried my best to not get uncomfortable with these questions.

As I suspected, the questions soon went away and it became just another normal fact of life to R that boys had penises. She now calls them weenies because my husband referred to them as that sometimes. Every now and again she will inform me that E has a weenie.

I wasn’t quite prepared for the dialogue that took place yesterday. I had just come out of the shower and R was playing in the bathroom. I dried myself off and put my towel away. R always finds it very interesting when I am naked and looked me over intently. She asked: “Do you have a weenie, mummy?” I said: “No, silly goose, only boys have weenies.” She thought for a second and suddenly exclaimed: “Mummy, you have grass on your butt!” I again laughed really hard, then explained that it was in fact hair, not grass. (To those of you who are confused- she was not looking at my actual butt, and the hair I have is not green)

As you see, explaining genitalia to our children can be really fun. Don’t get uncomfortable- it’s completely normal for them to be interested and intrigued. Our private parts look nothing like the rest of our bodies and it’s only natural for our children to have questions. After all, as a German singer once noted, genitalia look very much like ‘radioactive vegetables from outer space’.