One of the pleasures and pains of parenting is re-living your childhood through your kids. On one hand, you get to do awesome things like watch cartoons and go to the playground — both of which are somewhat creepy if you do them as an adult sans child. Yes, yes, I know, you are connected to your inner child and have an adorable innocence about you. I’m just saying that if you are 35 and have to get off the swings so you can rush home to catch an episode of Pinky Dinky Doo, you might want to sit down with a friend who won’t lie to you.

On the other hand, you get to experience the embarrassment and tears involved in childhood friendships all over again. And I don’t know about you, but making and maintaining friendships has never been my strong suit. Some of the experiences I had as a child were so very bad that I think I have developed an over-sensitive radar when it comes to my kids and how they get along with others. At the parent teacher meetings at my children’s preschool, the teacher wants to talk about how well the kids know their numbers and letters, and the only question I have is, “How do they get along with the other kids? Who do they play with?” I have this panicky fear that my child is sitting in the corner playing by themselves all day. That would rip my heart to pieces. Luckily, this does not seem to be the case so far. But whenever we are out at the playground or  the community center, and I see my kids talking to a child they don’t know, I hold my breath. I say a silent prayer — “Please, please let them be nice to my child. Please let them play together.”

The twins are at the age where those slights are going to start happening and they are going to understand that they are being rejected. And it is going to hurt. The thought of someone (even if it is another 4-year-old) making my child feel unwanted is awful. I was the target of mass hatred twice in my younger days. Not once, TWICE. Because I just couldn’t get enough of the feeling of being ostracized the first time around, I suppose. In both situations, people who I lived with — about 10-15 people — all apparently had some kind of board meeting and decided that I suuuuuuuuuuuuuucked. It was hell. And it is really hard to recover your self-esteem after the people you share a bathroom with decide that there is no one in this world that they dislike more than you. Huh……….you don’t think the two things are related, do you? “Yeah, we thought Meredith was cool at first too, but have you ever shared a bathroom with her? Then you don’t know, man. You don’t know.” Whatever. I’m sure it is just a coincidence.

I know that I can’t protect my children from that kind of pain, and I wouldn’t necessarily want to. A certain degree of social misery is important from time to time. I hate to use the cliché that it “builds character”, but you know what? It does. I just don’t know how I am going to respond when they come to me and say that Sally or Bobby didn’t want to play with them or made fun of them. What I am going to want to do is burst into tears and clutch them to my chest yelling, “OH MY BABY! MY BABY!” I am no child psychologist, but I have a feeling that would be considered a misstep. Do I encourage them to try to make friends with Sally/Bobby another day? Kill them with kindness? My first reaction to that is, “Fuck no! Fuck ‘em! You don’t need them!” So then what? I certainly would not encourage them to be mean to the other child in return. Even if the little fucker is begging for it.

Maybe a revised version of the “fuck ‘em” statement would be best? Maybe if I tell them that this is just a snapshot in their life and 10 years from now they probably won’t even remember these kids’ names, let alone what they said. That they are more than what one person — or 15 people — say about them?

As long as I can clutch them to me and say, ”Oh my baby……my baby……..”, I think we’ll both get through it.

Mom: “Guess what I did while you guys were in school? I went to the store and ordered the cupcakes for your birthday party!”

Meg: “I want to see my cupcakes!!!”

Mom: “Well, you can’t see them yet, honey. I just ordered them today.”

Meg: “No, Mom. I mean I want to SEE them with my EYEBALLS.”

Mom: “Yeah, Meg, but the problem is that they don’t exist yet. We don’t pick them up till the day of your party.”

Meg: “FINE. If YOU don’t let me see my cupcakes, then I won’t eat ANY cupcakes!!”

Mom: “……….uh…………what?”

Meg: “I’m not gonna eat ANY cupcakes EVER!”

Mom: “Um…….Ok? I mean, I guess if you don’t want to eat any cupcakes then you can certainly make that choice.”

Meg: “FINE!”

She totally doesn’t get it.

Ben is no better at this.

Ben: “If you don’t come downstairs with me right now, then I am NEVER going downstairs AGAIN.”

Mom: “Er. Alright then. I just…….you know, that’s fine.”

Or just yesterday, when he was punished with not getting to play Lego Indiana Jones that night:

Ben: “If YOU don’t let me play Indiana Jones, then I won’t play it for the rest of the entire DAY!!”

Mom: “You seem to have a firm grasp of the situation Ben.”

Ben: “Nooooooooooooooo!”

Sad stuff. I actually can’t think of a threat they could make that would make me nervous. NO WAIT! I just did. If they threatened not to sleep. This is what is happening on the inside of my head when I think of them not sleeping when my strong preference would be for them to be asleep:

That’s probably the one thing they could say that would bend me to their will. Please don’t tell them I said that. Nobody likes a snitch.

The kids don’t really have an adult to model themselves after when it comes to quality threats. Threatening is probably one of my top three parenting tools (I AM AN EXCELLENT MOTHER!) but I am not particularly skilled at it. Ask Mike. He will tell you at length how terrible I am at threats. It is one of the few things that he really gets on me about (that’s what she said). The kids will do something rotten, and I will go, “If you do that again………….no more (whatever it is) for the rest of the week!!!!” Mike will just stop and look at me and go, “Really? REALLY? Can you do something a little more immediate? Do you really think that 5 days from now they are even going to remember this conversation?” He has a good point. Time is not my children’s strong point. They routinely wake up from a one hour nap and ask what we are going to do on this brand new day.

Mike is consistent in his threats. He sticks with the tried and true, “Do it again, and you’re going in time out!!” Some might say he is a one-trick pony, but that person would certainly not be me. My first instinct when I am about to make a threat is to say whatever is going to make them cut whatever they are doing the fuck out. My reasoning is — if it’s a good enough threat, then I won’t have to enforce it. If I just pick the right one, those guys will fucking Riverdance right into line. See? Here’s Ben and Megan after I threatened to take the cookies out of their school lunches:

You have to admit, this is solid reasoning. The one flaw in my plan is that one of these days they will call my bluff. I will say, “If you guys don’t stop, then we are NOT going to go on our play date!!” And then they will do it again. And I will be faced with the idea of canceling a play date and staying home for the next three hours with two angry children who I now have to entertain. Or……OR………I could act like I am feeling incredibly benevolent that day and give them “just one……more……chance!” Yeah, that’s it. If I weren’t in such a charitable mood, we’d be sitting at home playing Jail for the 50th time today. But because I am such a sensitive, forgiving mother, I will give you another chance and we will go play with some other children while their mother and I drink coffee and bitch about all of you.

I AM AN EXCELLENT MOTHER!

By the way, in case the word “jail” caught your attention, let me explain. It is a game the children quite enjoy. I am Sheriff Mommy, and Ben is Bazooka Ben, and Megan is the terrible criminal that keeps escaping from jail. Ben and I then have to chase her down and put her back in jail. We can do this FOREVER. I really get into my role. I walk with that wide-legged, just-got-off-a-horse stride, I call Megan a varmint, I am quite the little Yosemite Sam. And Ben pretends to shoot her with a bazooka. I don’t know. It keeps them busy.

Today’s post: “Should dads ditch the word ‘bitch’?”
Meredith’s response: “It depends. Is someone being a bitch?”

I swear someone is going to tell me to knock it off any day now.

This first one came from NPR.

State Bill Outlaws Use Of Fetuses In Food Industry

Uh, wha-thu-fuh-whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa? The bill states: ”No person or entity shall manufacture or knowingly sell food or any other product intended for human consumption which contains aborted human fetuses in the ingredients or which used aborted human fetuses in the research or development of any of the ingredients.”

This bill was introduced by Senator Ralph Shortey, a Republican from Oklahoma City, OK. There are not many parts of that previous sentence that shock and/or surprise me. What does surprise me is this quote from Senator Shortey (note to self: good name for a racehorse):

“I don’t know if it is happening in Oklahoma, it may be, it may not be. What I am saying is that if it does happen then we are not going to allow it to manufacture here.”

Right. And I would like to add an amendment to Senator Shortey’s bill. “No person or entity shall knowingly or unknowingly wear afterbirth as a hat. I don’t know if this is happening or not happening, but if it does happen then I frown upon it.”

The second story was this one from the BBC, about a woman from Afghanistan who — in her first pregnancy, with no fertility drugs, and thinking she was only carrying one baby — delivered SEXTUPLETS.

Sextuplet shock for Afghan woman

In the middle of the article, they had this photo of the woman after the delivery.

I’m trying to think of the right thing to say about the look on her face, but I just…….my eyes are WATERING from trying to hold back the laughter that would confirm that I am, in fact, the worst person ever. I mean……….COME ON. Have you ever seen such total shock and horror on a person’s face before? It’s just……..I can’t. I CAN’T.

2. My twins always manage to run straight into each other. We will be at Community Center gym, there will be a million kids running around, and yet my two, from opposite sides of the room, will be drawn to each others’ soft little heads like magnets. How does this happen?? And why can I never get it on video??

3. Having my daughter as a script reader.
Meg: “Mom! I have an idea! First, I’ll say, ‘Oh I wish I had a banana, and then you’ll say ‘No! You can’t have a banana!’ Ok?”
Mom: “Ok. No! You can’t have a banana!”
Meg: “NO MOM! Wait till I say, ‘Oh, I wish I had a banana” FIRST, and then you say, ‘No! You can’t have a banana!’”
Mom: “Ok. I got it this time. Sorry.”
Meg: “Ok. Oh, I wish I had a banana!”
Mom: “No! You can NOT have a banana!”
Meg: “NO MOM!!! You’re supposed to say ‘CAN’T’ not ‘CAN NOT’!!!!”
Mom: “Okay — CUT. I need to speak to the director. I can’t work like this.”

4. For the love of god, please make them stop going #2 on the plastic potty chair. Use the goddamn toilet so I can stop trying to knock their shit out of the little bucket and trying to rinse it all off in the sink. Sometimes we have people over and I have to worry that they are in there gagging at Mommy’s half-assed potty cleaning job. So do us all a favor and cut it the fuck out. And no, I can’t just get rid of the little potty. They frequently need to expel things at the same time, and I don’t want them using my bathroom all the time. Let me have one room. Just one.

5. They need to stop messing with the interior lights on the car. You know why? Because mommy is not good at attention to detail. And one of these days I am going to leave a light on. And then it will drain the car’s battery. And then I will get them all bundled up and into the car and it won’t start. And then I may have an aneurysm.

6. Elbows. God DAMN those elbows. They go in my boobs, they dig into my thighs. I’ve been asking them to watch their elbows for well over a year now. I am starting to think these injuries are more than accidental. “Oh, a time out, eh Mother? Well, not for nothing, but I’d put on your most padded bra before I get out of here. There might be a whoopsie.”

What makes your eye twitch? Just the one eye. Two eyes twitching is called squinting.

“What’s the fiercest look you rocked while pregnant?”

Honestly, now. Do you think I could pass this opportunity up? They used the words “fierce” and “pregnant” in the same sentence.

Women were posting back about bikinis they wore, form-fitting cocktail dresses,  and then an argument broke out about whether or not high heels can cause miscarriages (for reals, people. Unless you are in a kung fu fight and one of your shoes gets taken off and used as a weapon against you, I think you’re gonna be fine.)

I helpfully added this to the thread:

“My husband’s 10-year-old grey sweatshirt, yoga pants, and my extra sexy maternity underpants. I rocked that hot look for a solid month.”

I am only sorry I could not attach a photo.

Fierce.

Fiercer.

On Saturday, there was this one about a woman with two uteruses who gave birth to twins, one from each uterus (bad news, lady, they already don’t know how to share). I used this particular link because it used the word “uteri”, which I really love but sadly is not used often enough. Whatever. Tell it to my handi.
I got my own uterus, bro.

But my favorite was the first one that came earlier in the week about the woman who happily and willingly shared with the world that she has two fully functioning vaginas.

Woman with two Vagini

So I have a couple of questions about this. First off, she didn’t find out until her BOYFRIEND told her something looked “different” down there? Uh, Mom? Whoever was responsible for changing this girl’s diaper and bathing her as a child? No one wanted to give her a heads up? For the love of foresight, people!

Secondly, what on earth prompted her to say to herself, “You know? I’ve got a special vagina. And the world must know about her.” It’s not that she has anything to be ashamed of, but I knew immediately that this could only lead to the headline I saw the next day: “Woman with two vaginas offered $1 million to star in porn film.” Yeah. OF COURSE SHE WAS. It’d be like me going on the Today Show and letting everyone know where I hide my Mallomars. Someone is going to offer me a million dollars to know where they are. And why wouldn’t they? Because Mallomars are fucking delicious. What I’m trying to say, people, is that if your job is porn, a woman with two vaginas is like a Mallomar. This metaphor is starting to make me uncomfortable. I apologize.

To be honest, this whole situation is causing me some concern. Two uteruses? Two vaginas? What kind of crazy game of chicken are we playing here, ladies? And where will it end? Quadruple labias! Baker’s dozen of fallopian tubes! We have got to rein this one in or soon we’ll need to redesign our pants. And I already have a tough enough time finding a comfortable pair of Levis.

George (first name basis, bitches) just made a movie called Red Tails about the Tuskegee Airmen. The Airmen are something I knew so little about that I had to look up how to spell Tuskegee and still misspelled it about 4 times. I got myself edu-macted here: Get schooled by Wikipedia.

George comes on the show looking like the manager of your local Ace Hardware.  But don’t be fooled. This man spent almost $100 million dollars financing this movie HIMSELF. So he can pretty much buy and sell you and every one of your hopes and dreams. And when he talks to Jon Stewart about this movie, he gets right into the drama like that girlfriend whose calls you “just keep missing”.

This man spent 23 years and a bajillion dollars making this movie. Why? Because all the studios he showed it to were like, “Wow, that’s a super movie George. But we are going to go ahead and take a pass.” And George was like, “Why?” and Jon Stewart is like, “Why?” And I am like, “Yeah why?” And George says, ” Because it is an all black movie. There’s no major white roles in it at all.” At this point I half expected Brad Pitt to appear from off-camera and say “George Lucas does not care about white people.”

George went on to say that the studios also weren’t interested because this all-black movie was so expensive, and they didn’t see a foreign market for it. Because one thing people around the world don’t want to see is a movie about war heroes. Keep that shit to yourself, George. If there isn’t at least one Kardashian in it, then we’re not interested.

Come on, World! Let’s get it together and make this movie a hit! I encourage everyone to go see it. I myself have added it to my Netflix list. Because apparently my activism stops at my front door. But bring the activism to me in a small red envelope, and let the marches begin! And by marches I mean to the fridge for a beverage and then down to the tv for a viewing.

Red Tails opened this weekend, and the good news is that according to the Hollywood Reporter (who took time off from buying roofies and more Axe Body Spray to write about the weekend box office), “Red Tails grossed a better than expected $6 million on Friday for a projected $16 million weekend. Fox is distributing the movie, which came in No. 2 behind Awakening.”

Nicely done, America. Even if the fourth installment of the sexy vampire movie came in first, I’m still pretty proud of you for making Red Tails a strong number two. Now let’s keep it up. Here’s your Good Effort ribbon.

“Mom, look at all of that stuff that we need that we cannot do.”

This is what you do to children, toy manufacturers. This is the kind of thing that leads to purchases like these:

That’s a $7200 rocking tiger. Plus $655 shipping. Hurry! There’s only one left in stock! No seriously. Amazon says there is only one left. Time to sell that kidney! It’s for the children.

Quality Foam Magnetic Letters for $10,001.00? No thanks. My mother-in-law gets these at the dollar store.

But where shall the servants sleep? Well, after you supply your own “….roof shingles (approximately 9 bundles), Dripedge (roof edging) (approximately (9) 10-foot pieces), Paint (in the colors of your choice!), 2 pressure-treated 4 x 4 x 16-foot pieces of wood, 3 pressure-treated 4 x 4 x 13-foot pieces of wood”, perhaps you can build them some servant quarters. It’s only $7499.99, so you can afford to buy the extra paint and lumber.

I think the kids and I will go back to TiVo.

(Ignore this: MHKEQWJ26EXF)

Mike has taken a bunch of days off recently, however. Between Christmas and New Years, Mike took a whole week off. A whole……..week. And then he took yesterday off due to Snow-mageddon 2012. And here’s the thing. I love my husband. I am sickeningly happily married. And he is the best Dad ever. But I am nothing if not a creature of habit. I like my schedules. I like my plans. And when Mike is home on a weekday it throws everything out of whack. Because — and here is the truth of the matter — other people make me lazy.

I am so lazy that I cannot even take responsibility for my own laziness. But when Mike is around for me to lean on, I lean on him with all my weight. I’m like, “Oh whatevs. Mike is here! I am going to sit the fuck down!” Now don’t get me wrong — when it is just me and the kids, we are busy. I can’t stay in the house. We get out. We have adventures. We play Penguin and Baby like nobody’s business. But for some reason the presence of just one other person increases the gravitational pull of my ass towards the couch by 100%.

Mike says that he has his own issues with being home on a weekday. Namely, the division of responsibilities is confusing. Are watching them now? Am I watching them now? Whose turn is it? Can you take them now so I can go do some fun shit and then we’ll switch? For some families (I am guessing the Duggars, the Patridges) any time with two parents at home is time for the whole family to be together. Time to chop firewood or split up into teams for softball or who knows what. Of course, we do often do activities together as a family. But a lot of times, having an extra parent feels superfluous. Which may seem odd coming from a parent of twins. You’d think we’d love for there to be one adult per child. But most of us are so used to it being two-on-one that having another person around feels like a waste of personnel.

It doesn’t help Mike that when he is around all the kids want is him. Well, it doesn’t help HIM in terms on getting anything done. The kids are all, “No! I want DADA to get me my socks! I want DADA to get me my milk! I want DADA to wipe me!” And really, who am I to prevent the kids from spending time with their father? That would just be selfish. Besides, he will soon go back to work and I will have all the butts to myself again. Just the way I like it.