denied

Memba that post I did about how all the SAHM's made me feel like one big piece of steaming cow's shit because of all their insane craftiness and over the top smushy mushies for their husbands?

Yeah. About that.

I was determined to make my son see sparkles and sunshine coming out of my ass this weekend. I was going to be the most bad ass mommy in the world and he was going to remember my creativity forever. And he would go to school and tell all his friends that his mama did some crazy ass shit and it would make all the other ankle biters jealous. This mama was going to rock the mama game.

And it went over like a lead balloon.

Boyfriend could have cared less about the hours (*cough, minutes, *cough) that I spent taping those godforsaken ziploc bags to the sliding glass doors. He didn't bat an eyelash at the gorgeous electric blue messless finger paint right in front of his own eyes. He definitely didn't marvel at the awesomeness that was ME!

You know what struck his fancy? What he kept repeating? What he insisted was the greatest thing on the planet next to "jaba joooosh" (Jamba Juice)?

Poop.

Dog poop.

On his mat outside.

So, kid... as you're reading this when you're older, just know that your mama tried. But apparently steaming piles of dog shit make you smile way more than your mama getting her Pinterest inspired goodness on. I will not win any mother of the year awards, but my dear, if poop makes you laugh, then poop it is.

In unrelated news... look at this gem...


don't be jealous...



Mama's Boy Syndrome

Secretly, I love having a mama’s boy. I love that when he wakes in the morning, he yells out “mommy” on repeat like its 1988 and he just bought the new NKOTB cassette. Step by step, baby!

I love that he hugs me and says “yai yuh yooo”. I love that he hands me a book and wants me to read to him. I love that he lets me sneak in kisses and tummy tickles.

But forgodfuckinsakekidifyoudontletmeshowerbymyselfimightlosemyshit …

I feel bad for Husband. He’s definitely feeling the wrath of unapologetic Mama’s Boy Syndrome happening in our house. Husband looks completely defeated every time Smith reaches for me or refuses to eat oatmeal unless Mommy is within spitting distance. The tantrums are epic. And god forbid anyone other than Mommy reads him a book.

I know there will come a day that he prefers balls (husband’s and soccer ones) over his squishy, kissy face mama. The time will come when he’d rather go for a walk and kick rocks with daddy than bake cookies with mommy (who am I kidding? I buy mine at Publix… this aint no Leave It To Beaver shit). Smith will prefer watching baseball with dad than helping mom wash dishes.

I know this time will pass. And probably far too quickly for my taste, just as quickly as everything else has in the 19 months I have been a parent. But sometimes in the midst of a particularly stressful mama boy moment, I just want to say "dude, your oatmeal is going to taste exactly the same if daddy feeds it to you. I don't have magical mommy dust coming out of my ass that makes everything taste like rainbows."

Instead, I just say FUCK under my breath. To which Smith repeats with perfect pronunciation in his tiniest little voice. I giggle quietly, change topics and go about my business so he doesn't suspect how amazingly awesome, yet completely terrible it is that he said that word.

Only to make him repeat it at bathtime for daddy just so he can hear how silly it sounds.

I wish I were kidding.

MOM FAIL.

 

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