It's a TRAP!!!

Back when I was in my teens and early 20s, I remember being regularly annoyed by my brother's inability to do simple tasks. Actually, that's inaccurate. It was his inability to do "woman" tasks. The best example I can give of this was the time he asked me to make him a hot dog. Seeing as how he was a dick to me like 95% of the time, obviously I told him to make his own fucking hot dog. "But I don't know how", he said. And so I gave him a simple explanation for a simple task- "Put them in some water and boil them for a few minutes". But as it is with men, he put a fantastic amount of effort into trying to convince me that he literally could not figure out how to boil water. First, he poured water into a frying pan. Then, when I showed him which pot to use, he turned the faucet as high as it would go and held it under the water and let it overflow for several minutes before I finally snapped "what the hell are you doing?". "I don't know how much water to use", he told me. "Enough to cover the hot dog", I explained. And so he turned the water to barely a drip and held the pot there for 5 solid minutes, asking every few drops "is this enough?". It went this way with every step of the excruciatingly simple task of boiling a hot dog, until my sister gave up and made it for him.

At the time I refused to cave because of course you know how to fucking boil water, you imbecile. And then I got married and realized that my brother was a) simply not a good enough an actor to pull off "too dumb to boil water" and b) carrying on a long standing tradition of men making the task of ASKING THEM TO DO A TASK so infuriating, that you really would rather just do it yourself.

Caitlyn's last day of preschool was yesterday. Rodolfo is bringing his parents from Peru to spend the summer with us while she is out of school. In preparation of that, I've been toiling away, cleaning and organizing the house to be ready for their arrival this Thursday. And so last night when April told me she wanted to bring Caitlyn to a water park with her today, I asked Rodolfo to get her bag ready for the morning, while I organized some things in the kitchen.

I'm a seasoned veteran now when it comes to dealing with feigned stupidity, so I didn't dare simply tell him where she would be going and expect him to figure out what that meant in terms of "get a bag ready". I gave him a short list of what to include- a bathing suit, a change of clothes- including socks and underwear-, a towel, flip-flops, sunscreen, her waterpark pass, and money for lunch.

First he assured me that she did not have any clean clothes. Since I organized her closet 2 days ago, I knew this was bullshit. Still, I had to explicitly tell him what she should wear TO A WATER PARK and practically give him the longitudinal coordinates in her closet to find "any one of the 10 summer dresses hanging up in there". Then, he could not find her bathing suit. This led to a heated argument in which he complained that I had left a basket of clean laundry in her room that has not been put away, and maybe if I had done that, her bathing suit would have been easy to find. He then spent 5 minutes rifling through the DIRTY laundry, all the while complaining that this bathing suit was simply impossible to find. In case you were wondering, there wasn't ONE, but TWO clean bathing suits in that one basket of laundry that he would not check under protest of my not having put it into her drawers.

He managed to find the towel himself, completely forgot the sunscreen and water park pass, and then launched into another rant when he could not track down her flip-flops. I told him to check under the couch. They were not there. I told him to check under her bed. Not there either. Apparently they had evaporated into thin air. He decided she would instead wear sneakers. To a water park.

This entire process (during which I ended up finding literally every single thing besides the towel myself) took him around 40 minutes. To put a few things in a bag. Next time I think I'll just do it myself.

Shit My Dad Says... About Welfare

We've established that I was really poor as a kid. Welfare poor. The major reason for this was my dad. My useless, transient hobo with a gambling problem dad. It took my mom quite a few years to come to the realization that being on her own with 4 kids would actually be significantly easier than staying with him and trying to take care of us.

That said, we were still really poor. Except that single mothers of 4 kids can get help from the government instead of just living in a van and eating dinner out of vending machines like we did when we lived with my dad. And so we were on welfare, and food stamps, and eventually we were able to get into subsidized housing. You know, the projects. My mom still worked- mostly for our landlord to pay off our rent in the many years while we waited to get into housing we could afford. And then cleaning bars and homes and stuffing envelopes for our (by then) ex-landlord and a handful of her colleagues for 2 cents per envelope. Guys? Doing anything for 2 cents a piece is basically slave labor. I remember my mom staying up 24, 48 hours straight- sometimes longer- and making a whopping $25 for 2 straight days of work.

My point is that my mom busted her ass. Because she had to and because she would do anything for us. Because my dad didn't pay a single dime in child support, basically ever (the occasions he managed to collect unemployment where child support was taken out- much to his dismay- automatically, were like bonus time in our family). Because she couldn't afford child care and so she had to work odd jobs for next to nothing just so we could survive. I've always respected how hard she worked for us. As a parent myself now, it's really jarring to look back on it and see it from her perspective. As a kid, I knew we didn't have much money. I knew a lot of times I couldn't have something I wanted because we couldn't afford it. Hand-me-down clothes were the usual. Nothing about it seemed particularly hard for me as a child because it was all I ever knew. But now, as a parent? I look at how much I stress about making sure I can afford things that are luxuries- DVR and Christmas photo shoots- how I don't want Caitlyn to miss out on those things that aren't really going to hurt her in the long run- and I can't help but imagine what it must have been like for my mom to not be able to afford food and milk and diapers. Because, as the poet Eminem once said "these goddamn food stamps don't buy diapers". Preach, brother.

None of this is really the point though. We've already established that I hold my mother in the same regard as saints. Probably higher, actually. My point is that, through all of this- through quite literally nearly killing herself because she was taking care of 4 kids alone- my father always judged our lifestyle. On the occasions he came around (it was much less so when we were kids- I'm assuming because none of us had couches he could crash on yet), he always had rude comments about what my mom wasn't giving to us. Nevermind the fact that he hadn't contributed anything of value for the entirety of our childhood. He couldn't believe my mom had us living in the projects (apparently sleazy motels were much better)! He looked down at his nose at her for feeding us with food stamps (Oh, how she enjoyed those 1st of the month, 3 mile walks to and from the grocery store!). He particularly hated the fact that she was on welfare. He always thought himself far too good for welfare. Or maybe it just especially annoyed him because he was more likely to end up with an arrest warrant for not paying his child support when the money was owed to welfare. My point is that he would show up, and he would judge us. He would promise to get us out of such horrible conditions (and back into the shitty motels/homeless shelters we deserved!). He treated my mom as though all she was doing wasn't enough for his standards. Ironic.

Anyway. My dad stopped by for a visit a couple of weekends ago. I could tell he had some money in his pockets, because he wasn't using what I like to refer to as his "kill yourself" tone of voice for everything he said. I didn't even have to ask before he started telling me why. You guys? He's on welfare. And food stamps. And he is inexplicably getting rental assistance which has been approved through AUGUST. He is a 60 year old man who has never held a steady job, has pissed away every dime he's ever earned through his gambling addiction, has abused the kindness and asked favors of every single person he has ever known (his own children included), and passionately HATES "the system" for ever pursuing him for his obligations to his 4 children. And yet, he is happily abusing it now (and trust me, abusing is the right word. He openly admitted to winning $2000 on the lottery- he spent his WELFARE money on fucking lottery tickets!).

The worst part isn't even that he's abusing a service that he frequently judged my mom for needing while he contributed nothing during my childhood. The worst part is that he bitched about how inconvenient receiving welfare has been for him. You guys? Welfare asks questions. Like whether or not you are looking for a job. So RUDE! Also, he didn't even WANT welfare. He just wanted food stamps and rental assistance but they totally insisted on giving him welfare too. Ugh. And then, omg he totally had to sit in the welfare office for TWO STRAIGHT DAYS- he was even the LAST person they took on his second day of waiting- before they gave him a fucking free ride for the forseeable future. Tacky, welfare. So tacky. The customer is always right, you know. And the customer shouldn't have to wait 2 whole days that they definitely weren't going to spend at work, waiting around for your free money. And food. And housing.

Anyway. I digress. It's just that sometimes you are going through your own personal struggles. Real struggles, scary struggles, and you find you have to pull yourself up and realize that, well, you got yourself into this mess and you're just going to have to deal with it now. You'll be okay eventually. And then some jackass who is just begging to be dead to you comes to your house and bitches about how inconvenient he found his trip to the welfare office, and you have to hold yourself back from punching him in the face. On the upside, he did give me a red plastic Solo cup full of change though. Totally makes up for that whole "absentee father" thing.

Near Death Experience

Of a character. On a TV show. That I find infuriating.

Oh, I'm sorry, did you think this was going to be about me? Of course not. I do, in fact, have an announcement to make, but things have been crazy and busy and stressful, and I want to have the time to really sit down and write it out the way I want it. Now is not that time. Now is the time I'm typing this in the smallest window possible so my coworkers don't see that I'm not actually doing work.

Anyway. Spoiler Alert, obviously.

Can we talk for a moment about Grey's Anatomy? Or The Anatomy, as I prefer to call it. Specifically, I want to talk about Meredith and how much I want to watch her die.

I get it. The show has been on for quite some time. You can only really rework a character's storyline so many times. But the fact is, this shit is getting ridiculous. How many near-death experiences can one fictional character have before the show has to acknowledge the fucking absurdity of it and ACTUALLY kill her off? It's like watching fucking Final Destination. I can't even tell you how much I was rooting for her to really die this time.

Do you understand the lengths of absurdity and obnoxiousness this show had to go to, to get me rooting for the TITLE CHARACTER's death? KILL THAT BITCH NOW. I can't even anymore with her. She's not even likeable to begin with, and I'm really sick of the fact that she has the fucking grim reaper on her back at every single season finale.

I mean, I suppose, if they did decide to try to stretch it across a few more seasons, they could find a few more ways for her to almost-die. Maybe in the series finale, the world will end with a Day After Tomorrow-style flood and ice age.  But I fucking swear the last scene would be her doing voice-over about death, and you would see her hand reach out from under a mountain of snow and then they would just cut to black.

Is Meredith Grey the devil? Is she, at the very least, some kind of witch?  Because, bitch, please die already. Nobody even likes you.

Catholic Guilt Only Works If You Are Catholic

Every time I'm about to post something that I think will be offensive to a lot of people, I like to preface it with a warning. It would seem, though, that those are always the posts my readers like best. Also, I suppose "a lot of people" is relative. Even if 50% of my readers were incredibly offended and started some shit in the comments, that would only be like 6 people, and that's closer to a bar brawl than the sort of viral, internet,  hate-filled shitstorm I keep imagining. Anyway. This is one such occasion. Consider yourself warned.

In my last post, I told you guys that I'm moving. Without my husband. The thing of it is, we have actually been separated for almost 3 months now, but as I also mentioned, he had refused to move out, so I went out and found a place on my own.

You would think after being separated for months, with him asking for a reconciliation more than once and me refusing each time during that period, that Rodolfo would not have been shocked when I told him I'd found a new place to live. But of course, he was shocked. It was a little over a week ago that I told him I'd be moving at the end of the month, which gave him a solid 2 and a half weeks until I left. It isn't a ton of time, I realize, but again, I'd like to reiterate how he should have not only been expecting this, but also preparing for it.

Rodolfo's immediate reaction was to tell me how much I'd screwed him over, and to heap on serving after serving of guilt about the financial and logistical ruin our break-up would cause him. He decided in less than 5 minutes that he would also need to move, because, despite making more money than I do, somehow he simply can't afford a 1 bedroom apartment. He informed our landlord the very next day that we would be leaving on August 1st.

Yesterday afternoon, Rodolfo called me to let me know that he had spoken to our landlord, who informed him that we would be losing 1 month of our 1 and a half months security deposit, because we did not give "enough" notice before our move. Now, I could absolutely go off on a tangent here about the fact that we signed a one year lease that did not have an automatic renewal clause 3 years ago and were never asked to sign a new one after it expired, which would make our current situation month-to-month. I could point out that even if we were basing it off the old lease, there is not a single word in that lease that specifies what our landlord considers "enough" notice. I could rant about the fact that he just arbitrarily decided to keep our security for reasons he made up right there on the spot. But you know, that isn't what this post is even about. I simply brought it up because I think I know the real reason he decided to keep our security, and it's definitely not about notice:

So. Last night comes and I'm making dinner. Actually, I had just finished making dinner. The dog was in his cage and our food was on our plates (our = mine and Caitlyn's. Rodolfo was at work), sitting on my kitchen counter. I had just set out to wrangle Caitlyn into her high chair so we could eat, when I heard a knock at my door. I ignored it. A minute later there was a second knock and I knew she wouldn't go away until I talked to her.

It was our downstairs neighbor. I should mention that our landlord is her son. She and her husband live in the apartment downstairs and their son owns the house. I opened the door and she asked if she could come in. I told her that I had been packing and my house was a ridiculous mess. "Don't worry", she told me. "I'm not here to look at your apartment, I want to talk to you". Ugh. Backed into a corner, I let her in. I should also point out that while I was distracted talking to her at the door, Caitlyn had let the dog out of his cage and so I spent the entirety of the ensuing conversation swatting him away from our dinner. I think it's important for you to have that as a part of this visual as a whole. This woman saw that our dinner was sitting on the kitchen counter, uneaten, and did not even offer to come back at another time. Nope. Saving a person is something you need to do right away, I guess.

Apparently, Rodolfo had mentioned to her that the reason we were moving is because I had decided to leave him. And when I say she was there trying to "save" me, let me assure you that I do not mean she came there with the intent of helping me get out of my marriage. There were no questions about my safety or finances or emotional well being. No. She had a different agenda. She was there to intervene on behalf of Jesus.

Her first words after she walked through my door, were to tell me how upset she was. "Feel my heart- it's racing", she insisted. At first, I thought she was upset because we had been friendly tenants, on good terms with them, and they always took the time to play with Caitlyn and Joey when they saw them. I thought, when she told me she was upset, that she was expressing some sort of sadness because we would be leaving.

Her next words, though, cleared that misunderstanding right up. "You know, 2 of my sons are divorced and it really hurts me. What religion are you- Catholic or Protestant?". Oh. None of the above, thank you very much, but I did make the unfortunate distinction that "well, my father is Catholic, but I'm not religious". "Well," she said, "if your father is Catholic, he's really going to suffer if you get divorced".

She then proceeded to ask me if Rodolfo and I had sought out the counsel of a priest to help deal with our marital issues, and when I made it clear that that would never happen, she suggested a non-religious counselor. I thanked her for her suggestions and even gave her a little hope so that maybe she would leave me the fuck alone "well, we aren't technically getting divorced yet. We are simply spending some time apart to see what our next step is". That was a mistake. She latched on to her mission to get me to stay with my husband, despite never having asked a single question about WHY I left (maybe he was beating me, lady. What if that were the case? Oh, that's right, Jesus still wouldn't approve of a divorce).

Once she thought there was a chance, she spent the next 5 minutes or so telling me how bad it will be for Caitlyn when Rodolfo and I split up. "Children who live with both parents are much better off- it's bad for them when the parents aren't together. Those children aren't as well-adjusted". That right there? The fact that I responded with a polite "well, my mother was a single mother, so I don't agree with that"- that might have actually proven to me the existence of a god. Because maintaining my decorum in that moment and NOT telling her to go fuck herself? That was patently miraculous.

After that she spent a few more minutes Catholic-guilting me. She explained to me how much easier it would be to fix this problem if I were religious, because "then you could just pray and God would help you". She told me that, when her son split with his wife, he wanted to go to counseling but she said no. Then, when she decided she wanted to go, he had already found another woman. Another woman who interacts with his children, even! Tragic, really. I mean, what kind of family values are those?

After each argument she made, she would stop talking for a moment and look at me expectantly, as if she was waiting for the moment when I would realize she was right and thank her for saving my soul from eternal damnation. About 10 minutes in, after repeatedly making it clear that she did not approve of my choice, no matter the reason or my own personal belief structure, she realized that, alas, she would not be able to get me into heaven, and finally left, obviously dejected.

I'm going to try to not turn these last few paragraphs into religion-specific hate. That being said, this is why I hate organized religion (Yup. Contradictory like a motherfucker). I managed to maintain my composure because she's a nice woman and I know she meant well, but in my head, I spend the entire time screaming "who the FUCK do you think you are?" at her.

Okay. And really, WHO THE FUCK DOES SHE THINK SHE IS???? She's not my fucking grandmother or my best friend or a trusted confidante. She didn't give a flying fuck about my reasons for leaving or my well-being. All she cared about was her own personal belief system, and cramming it down my throat as hard and guilt-riddled as possible.

And then it occurred to me. Is this why I'm getting screwed out of my security deposit? If my husband and I had found a house like we had originally planned, would it have been all sunshine and puppies and rainbows and prompt return of my fucking money then? I sort of think maybe it would have been.

I really wish I hadn't taken the high road during that conversation and instead shown her the exact same level of respect she showed me. You know, none. Nadine seems to think I should have told her I was a bisexual Muslim and I was leaving Rodolfo for another woman that I had been cheating on him with for the entirety of our marriage. God, that would have been so fantastic.

In a completely unrelated note, why did I spend half my train ride today thinking about "The Human Centipede", a movie which I have never seen and never ever ever want to see? I'm going to put it right out there and say I blame Jesus.

Gymmy Buffet

I've been trying to lose weight. I believe I've mentioned it before. I've gone back and forth with it, losing and regaining the same 10lbs or so for years, but when I realized that I was just weeks away from my 30th birthday, it occurred to me that I couldn't keep fucking around like that.

I gave myself an extremely short-term goal- I wanted to lose 8 pounds in the 3 weeks I had until I turned 30, so I've been going to the gym a lot. Mostly it's been fine, but I almost stabbed some bitches the other day. Let me set the scene for you:

I showed up on my lunch break, like usual. This means I only had 20 or so minutes to work out. Twenty minutes, when you are working with what I've got, really isn't much time to make an impact. It's certainly not enough time to deal with the level of bullshit I dealt with that day.

I was feeling pretty tired, because I had my shot the night before and it's been wiping me out. Still, I felt the need to do at least a little cardio, so I jumped on a treadmill and figured I could spend 10 minutes there and 10 minutes using a few of the weight machines.

While I walked on the treadmill, I noticed a couple of things. First, there was a small group of girls wandering around with one of the trainers. They giggled and chatted and had him take pictures of them while the stood on the windowsill near the treadmills in yoga poses. It was strange, but they were young and bimbo-y enough that I didn't think much of it. I also noticed that all the girls were wearing nametags, but I didn't care enough to actually look and see where they were from. I assumed it was some sort of women's college or something doing a pathetic excuse for a field trip.

The next thing I noticed was much weirder. The layout of my gym... it isn't exactly cramped, but it's certainly not a large space either. Half the space is the mirrored, lady-gym exercise class area and the other half is evenly split between cardio equipment and weight machines.

There was a class going on and I glanced toward the back of the class while I walked. Sometimes I do this. Sometimes I want to see how the other people like me, the ones who hide in the back of the class, are doing. Back when I was young, I was somehow more insecure but simultaneously more game to try out a class. Now? Not so much. I've tried two classes. One was a toning class that I really enjoyed but never went back to because I don't usually have anyone to watch Caitlyn during that time. The other one was a cardio class. I made it less than 10 minutes into that one and gave up (though this was about a week before I went into the hospital in January, so maybe it wasn't just that I couldn't handle it).

And everyone keeps saying to try Zumba. How Zumba is SO. MUCH. FUN. Lady Gym likes to play infomercials for Zumba during the Zumba classes. When I first signed up, I really wanted to check it out. My white girl, rhythm-deficient insecurities, however, would not allow me do it alone. So I recruited Nadine to go to Zumba class with me. Well, true to form, I was running late and showed up 10 minutes into the class. Nadine spotted me from across the room and immediately stopped Zumba-ing and walked over to me. "I'm done, Jaclyn. I look like the Pillsbury Doughboy doing Zumba". And that was all I needed to hear. No one wanted to see TWO Pillsbury Doughboys embarrassing themselves like that. Zumba was now dead to me.

I'm off track here. Way off track. My point certainly isn't about the Pillsbury Doughboy, though, now that I think of it, this segue is kind of genius (thank you, Nadine). Because at the back of the class area, where there was a class going on at that very moment, were two tables full of catering trays.

Yes. You read that right. At my gym. Where I go to lose weight. Was a fucking BUFFET LINE.

I'm insecure. I have very little willpower. Did there really need to be a buffet at the gym? It was worse, probably, for the girls like me at the back of the class, struggling to keep up while the smell of food wafted up their noses. I don't know. Maybe I was just overreacting because I've been sticking to a fairly strict diet and feeling a little sensitive? Actually, no. No fucking buffet at the gym. That should be a fucking rule. If they want to put up signs about the fact that they will ABSOLUTELY NOT make an exception for you if you forget your card, then I think they should have a no fucking buffet rule.

Anyway. My ten treadmill minutes were up. The treadmills face the window, so I didn't notice the chaos that had filtered in behind me. I stepped off and turned to face 40 nametag clad women just milling around, using the weight machines, the elliptical, the spot on the floor directly in front of the locker room, as their hang out space.

I found a machine that wasn't being used as a chair and sat down. As I worked out, I started feeling really fucking annoyed. Who were these bitches? Didn't anyone teach them any manners? Also, did they know what a bunch of assholes they all looked like, clad in yoga pants and tank tops, lazing around like they were at their high school gym, sitting in the bleachers hoping not to get a 0 for the day because, hey, at least they changed? I was not there because I had to be, and they were fucking up my shit.

Hostility breeds curiosity sometimes for me. The question of "who are these bitches" was getting to me. I imagined then that this MUST be some sort of bullshit college trip, because grown women don't act like they are still in high school.

That's when I noticed it. The nametags. They all had the name of my gym on them. And the name of the person. And their titles. "Manager", "Trainer", etc. These were EMPLOYEES of the gym, sent from other locations, apparently to have some sort of meeting and a fucking buffet lunch.

Dear Lady Gym,
    You are one gentle misstep away from dead-to-me status. Do not pull some shit like that again.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I DID reach my goal. I'm down 10 pounds in 4 weeks. I mostly attribute it to there not being buffets most days at the gym.

Judgy Playground Moms Can Lick My Scrotum. Yes. Scrotum.

My parenting was judged by a complete stranger.

I know. You've all been there too. No pity party for Jaclyn today. Let me start with what happened earlier in the week:

Rodolfo and I needed a new mattress. We've been putting it off... oh, let's say 3 years, and so when we saw Sears was having a sale, we decided to finally suck it up and spend the money so we could stop waking up with backaches every morning.

We were in the store, setting up delivery for our new bed when Caitlyn just full-on melted down. I've said it before, she has her asshole moments, but nothing like this. This wasn't a minute or two of whining over a toy or because I wouldn't let her ride the escalator for the 10th time or because I made her wear shoes; this was a full-blown, middle of a store where we were in the middle of a large transaction and therefore javascript:void(0)could not just walk out, hissy fit.

The funniest part is that there was no real catalyst for it. I think she may be getting another set of molars, because she hasn't been eating or sleeping much, so I can only attribute it to that. She simply decided after 20 minutes or so of wandering around, riding the escalator and carrying around the Dora purse I was planning to buy her, that she was done with Sears. DONE. She melted first into sobs, then angry, irrational rage when I tried to pick her up off the floor (because obviously you don't stand up for a meltdown. You must be face down on the floor).

I tried, you guys. I tried to calm her down, to distract her. I went so far as to try to get her to jump on the beds because she loves to do that at home. No. A resounding and resentful no (followed by another dramatic, face-down flop onto the ground). When she reached for the last trick in her bag, full-blown screaming, I told Rodolfo I'd wait for him in the mall. At least then people would only be passing by as they gave me dirty looks.

To my utter relief, as I walked out of Sears, I noticed the mall had installed one of those indoor, toddler playgrounds right at the Sears entrance. Yes. I could sit, she could play and shut the fuck up and stop screaming in my face. Except, of course, it didn't quite go down like that.

Caitlyn was still mad. I coaxed her onto the slide once, and then she gave up. She collapsed onto the rug of the play area and sobbed for no reason in particular. And you know what? I let her. A few times I made the obligatory amount of effort by asking if she was ready to play yet. She scowled and answered NO each time. So I let her cry it out for the next 15 minutes or so.

You are probably thinking this is where the judgment happened, but actually the other moms and dads were fucking fantastic. This particular play area was very clearly intended for toddlers, so I'm sure they all felt my pain. And not a single one of them gave me the "control your asshole kid" glare that I was expecting. In fact, they joked around with me about Caitlyn's tantrum. Commiserated.

A funny thing happened after that. Caitlyn realized that I wasn't responding to her shitty attitude. It took a while, but eventually she picked herself up off the floor, ran over and gave me a hug. Then she started playing with another little girl until Rodolfo showed up. She started to melt down again when it was time to leave, which only got worse when we refused to reward her bad behavior and walked right past the carousel that she loves and rides every time we visit the mall. Still, I felt like I won that night.

In any case, it's kind of funny how that worked out. I was completely expecting judgment and dirty looks because my kid was flat-out acting like a dick, but I got nothing but sympathy. I guess I was feeling a certain solidarity with other moms this week because of it, so it definitely threw me off when I was told about the random stranger who judged me to my babysitter today at the park.

My babysitter has a 3 year old son and when she took our kids to the park, another mom asked her if they were both her children. She clarified that the boy was hers, but that she is Caitlyn's babysitter.

The other, random stranger mom who has never even met me, decided that I was a shitty mom right then and there. "Oh", she said "How sad. You have her all day?". Then she went on to ask if I "really have to work" and said that "people should plan if they want to have kids". Plan to marry a rich man, apparently.

My babysitter, being the fantastic badass that she is, responded with something along the lines of "you're right. Only rich people should be allowed to have kids, so they can stay home and let their nannies raise them". The woman went on to say that her husband doesn't let her work, to which my new hero very effectively ended the conversation by saying she had "to go to work. And besides, you probably have to go home and wash your husband's feet or something".

Have I mentioned how much I love this woman? She told me she thinks the woman was trying to pay her some sort of backwards compliment for being a stay-at-home mom, without having even a drop of actual information about her life and circumstances. Which led to a whole other conversation about the assumptions people make.

You see, my babysitter is biracial. It's something I immediately loved about her because our family is also biracial and so I knew there were certain things she would get about us right away. The conflicts of culture when raising a child by parents of different races can be really annoying. With Rodolfo and I in particular, we are both extremely stubborn. Extremely. So, while we usually do just fine sorting out the little stuff, when we have a major conflict of ideals about an aspect of child-rearing, neither of us is particularly inclined to fold.

Our babysitter gets this. She realizes that sometimes I'm going to tell her one thing and Rodolfo is going to tell her the complete opposite. She knows how to find the right balance, to respect both of our wishes and find a middle ground. Come to think of it, should we ever need the services of a marriage counselor, we might do well to ask her opinion first.

In any case, when we were talking about the fact that this random, judgy bitch at the park felt like she had some sort of solidarity with her because they were both at home with their children, it made me think of something else. White people.

I'm curious if it's just me. You see, it's happened to me on MANY occasions. It would seem that some of the other white people, the ones who don't particularly like blacks and Hispanics, seem to think we are on the same team in that respect (or lack thereof). They think they can whisper in my ear about "all the blacks" or how "no one in this store speaks English- they should go back to their country!", simply because we are both white.

My favorite response is always to mention the fact that English isn't my husband's first language, that some of his family members living in this country don't speak English at all (before you get all annoyed about that one, I'd like to point out that they live in a primarily Hispanic community and get along just fine without it. I suppose though, you could also react the way my dad does and point out that "we" are "catering to them" and that "the Italians had to learn English!". I know I've mentioned that he's an asshole. Let me just reiterate that now.) and that our daughter, despite appearing to be white, is both biracial and bilingual.

Does this happen to you other white people? Can we get the word out that not all of us (despite our frequent inappropriate jokes on our blog) are racist?

Anyway, that was all very off-topic. In any case, my babysitter is the fucking shit and defended me to some random, bitchy stranger and put her in her place. It's always frustrating to think someone is judging you because you have to go to work. I don't think it's quite the "mommy wars" situation it can get made out to be. I just think some people are assholes.

In any case, its nice to know the person watching my kid has my back, understands why I'm leaving my kid with her and respects that choice and expects anyone who thinks they are allowed to assert their opinion on it respects it too. If ever I questioned my choice to go back to work after Caitlyn was born, this made me sure I made the right choice. Because I'm not the only one teaching Caitlyn to be a super awesome badass who stands up for herself.

Peace Out, Girl Scouts. Did I Say Peace Out? I Meant Fuck You

Alright. So it shouldn't be news to any of you that I'm a bit of a fatty. You've seen my pictures. There is no need for lies.

I've been working on it though. I joined a gym and Weight Watchers and it's been slow progress, but I've lost about 25 lbs in the last year and a half or so. I could have done better. I could have lost more. But I've managed to drop a couple of pants sizes, a bra size (around, don't worry, the ladies aren't going anywhere) and a whole lot of fat shame.

I've kept it off, despite many lapses in judgment. It seems as if my body had a set point and I've managed to create a new one that is 20 lbs lower. What that has meant for me is that I don't have to be perfect in my choices. I haven't seen any real loss in a couple of months, but I'd been pretty consistent with going to the gym and my time at Weight Watchers really reprogrammed my brain into making better choices, even when I'm making shitty ones.

And then I went into the hospital. Did you know that you can get dessert with every meal if you are on an unrestricted diet in the hospital? And really, I was sick and feeling bad enough for myself that I absolutely ordered dessert. Every. Single. Time (Ok. With the exception of breakfast. Which was bacon, eggs and home fries every day for me, so it's kind of a moot point, isn't it? Bacon is breakfast's dessert).

Besides the cheesecake I regularly ordered, Nadine brought me daily snacks. The first day it was a bag of chocolate candies. Then hot chocolate from Dunkin Donuts. Then assorted pastries and soy hot chocolate from Starbucks so I wouldn't get diarrhea, then a dozen cupcakes from the fancy cupcake place near the hospital. It was all delicious and appreciated, but man, I fell into some bad habits with all those snacks.

When I got out of the hospital and switched over to oral Prednisone, it came to my attention that everything tasted awful. Everything was bitter and disgusting and tasted like it was covered in dirt. Except cookies. Add to that the fact that I was taking the pills every 4 hours and they gave me ridiculous heartburn if I didn't eat with them, and you can understand why I ate approxiametly 4 bags of Chips Ahoy in less than a week. I may be underestimating with 4 actually, but I have too much fat shame to admit to any more than that. Let's just say I ate a lot of fucking cookies.

The cookies spiraled into anything sweet. I started drinking hot chocolate every day, multiple times a day. I had to! Everything else tasted like shit! But it was getting ridiculous, so I finally sucked it up last week and went back to Weight Watchers to face the damage. To my utter shock, I had only gained 3 lbs. I was fully expecting 10. My body had not forsaken me.

Which brings me to those fucking whorebag Girl Scouts. I'm trying to get back on track. Trying to make better decisions and stop eating anything that crosses my path. And I keep getting reminders that soon I will have to not buy their cookies.

Every year in February and March, I get mauled almost daily in the train station by pushy Girl Scouts trying to whore out their product. And it's a good product. Hard to say no to. It's certainly better than that time the Cub Scouts were camped out trying to sell $18 bags of fucking popcorn (
Really Cub Scouts? Who does your fucking marketing?). But Girl Scouts? I don't need it this year. And what I especially don't need is to be reminded a month in advance that I'd better have cash at the ready or I'll miss out on your annual deliciousness.

You see, I work with people who have Girl Scout aged daughters. And those fuckers keep sending out "BUY MY KID'S GIRL SCOUT COOKIES" emails to everyone in the office. And I find myself resisting the urge to sign myself up for some Thin Mints. Those little bastards are like crack. MINT-FLAVORED CRACK. And, I mean, if I'm going to buy Thin Mints, I might as well get a box of Samoas too. Those are some unique cookies right there. You can't just find something similar in the grocery store. And actually, the Tag-Alongs are pretty good too. What's that? There is a new lemon cookie? I LOVE lemon!

And then I spiral into despair because I'll always be fat because of the Girl Scouts.

(Deadbeat) Daddy Dearest

We've been over it a few times now: My dad is the fucking definition of a deadbeat dad. Wait. Let me offer a correction: He was a deadbeat dad. I'm an adult now. His current role is as passive-aggressive, homeless man-child and constant burden. Because I don't fucking need him anymore. Wait. Let me offer another correction: I NEVER needed him. My mom was enough of a parent to make him completely obsolete.

The problem is that, for my mother, taking on both roles took its toll and she certainly paid the price for it. Specifically, she had her first of several heart attacks at the ripe old age of 38. Fucking 38, man. That is goddamn ridiculous. But it's a price she happily paid. A price I know she would pay again, not only for her children but for her grandchildren as well. Because as I've learned during the last couple of years, as a parent, you do ANYTHING for your children.

Childless people think we are smug. They get annoyed when we tell them they don't really understand because they aren't parents themselves. And I get how that is annoying. But as a child, teenager, adult and married adult, my first instinct had always been self-preservation. It's not that I've ever been selfish, in fact, I've always thought of myself as a very unselfish person. It's the difference between wanting the people you love to have everything, loving them and enjoying their company and literally being willing to throw yourself in front of a bus for someone.

Childless people? Take a moment. Really imagine the scenario. Would you be able to do it? Even for the person you love most in the world? I wouldn't do that shit for my husband or my sisters or anyone else. But I would really and truly die for Caitlyn, without hesitation. I would give myself a heart attack working 4 jobs for 10 years straight if it was all we could do to scrape by.

I don't think I'm different than any other parent in this way. Everyone would die for their kids, but for me it goes a bit deeper than that. Because one of my kids did die. So maybe everyone doesn't actually imagine it. They don't actually think about what they would do to have their child back. They don't visualize the sacrifices they would be willing to make. But I do. Sadly, I always fucking do.

My point is kind of getting lost here. This morning I received an email from a coworker. In my company email account. From hers. And it honestly took everything I had not to completely lose my shit on her. It was about child support. Specifically, the email was several paragraphs of her thoughts on the child support system, followed by a link to a petition to change child support laws.

Okay. I am the child of a deadbeat dad. I get it, I'm biased, but this shit was ridiculous. Let me give you the highlights:

"I hope this email finds you well!"

This just seems like an odd intro to an email about corruption and evil mothers. Is it just me?

"I know several Fathers who are good dads that continue to be slaughtered by the courts & conniving mothers, who are well aware of their leverage with our court systems."

This is the sentence that nearly gave me a stroke. "Conniving mothers" in particular. I'm not about to say that all mothers are great and that none of them take advantage. I'm sure it happens. But frankly, demonizing moms is NOT going to win any points with me. Also? "I know several fathers" makes me think she fucks a lot of guys with kids. Also? WHY THE FUCK DOES SHE CAPITALIZE FATHERS? Mothers are conniving and somehow fathers are being deified? DON'T EVEN.

"We want to make a difference to stop the corruption that this madness has turned into."

I'd love to know what is corrupt about expecting a man to pay child support.

"We need to keep the court systems fair and just. Bad Fathers need to be punished! Good Fathers need to be rewarded!"

I'd like to know who is judging the "bad" and "good" fathers. A man can refuse to support his children, but as long as he shows up on weekends with enough cash to take the kids to McDonalds, then he is a great dad? School clothes, food, a roof over your head? Who needs them! Daddy of the year needs to save his cash for the chick he's banging.

I hope you make a difference today!~

You know what would have made a difference in my childhood? Not having to visit my mother in the hospital at 14 years old because she could afford to pay our rent without doing our landlord's landscaping for approximately $3 per hour.

"Good Dads shouldn't be forced to pay unfair percentages in child support and have minimal visitation of their children".

Okay. If this had simply said "dads shouldn't be forced to pay child support while only having minimal visitation of their children", I would have agreed. But "unfair percentages"? The percentage quoted in this email, for the record, is 17%. Which is admittedly rough on any one's paycheck. But you know what else is rough on a paycheck? SUPPORTING AND CARING FOR A CHILD. You know what is relatively inexpensive? CONDOMS. I'm just saying.

My point is simply that my mother spent 100% of her income on providing for her children. For at least 15 years. In fact, a lot of the work she did for our landlord was simply deducted off of our rent, so I'd say it was actually more than 100%. What is 17% compared to every dime (no, really. Literally every dime) you make? And in case you think I'm exaggerating, the story me and my siblings always tell is about the pair of sneakers my mom had for 8 years. And I don't mean one of many pairs. I mean she owned one pair of shoes and wore them every day for 8 years without ever buying a new pair. Because she couldn't afford it, even if they did have huge holes in the bottoms.

The thing that bugs me more than anything is the implication that these moms are pissing away their child support money on themselves. This was something I had to clarify for my own deadbeat dad. You see, in my family we are huge Yankees fans. Huge. And back in the 90s, you could get UPCs off of bottled water and get tickets buy one get one free. And it was only about $25 per ticket at the time. My sister and I would save up our babysitting money and buy tickets to games to go to with our mother. Then we would stand behind the stadium (back then, you actually COULD) and wait for the players to come and sign autographs. In fact, we ended up with quite a few autographs (good ones too).

One day a few years ago my dad mentioned this to me. He commented how my mom always claimed to be so broke yet she could buy Yankees tickets and autographed memorabilia. I had to explain to him that she never actually bought any of the tickets, and that, if he really looked, he would have noticed that our autographs were ALWAYS on sheets of white paper. My mom would then cut a picture of that player out of a newspaper or magazine and put it next to their autograph. Glad we cleared that up, dumbass? Yeah. Me too.

I'm not trying to say that all dads who are put on child support are assholes. But they do all deserve to support their kids to every extent they possibly can. And maybe this is another biased thing to say, but I personally think you shouldn't need a court order to tell you to give money to the person caring for your child. I went through a "maybe I should leave my husband" phase a few months ago so child support is something I seriously thought about. What I realized is that I wouldn't need a court order. Being irresponsible is not one of Rodolfo's flaws.

Lezzie McGuire

I think my babysitter is trying to make sure Caitlyn doesn't end up being a lesbian. Do I need to tell you how such a thing is accomplished? Obviously, by doing girly shit with her. Because those lesbians, the only thing they hate more than Jesus is looking like a girl. Let's backtrack a bit, shall we?

So since before Caitlyn was even born, she has had a lot of clothes. I mean a LOT of clothes. I love to find cute things for her to wear. The problem lies in the execution. I'll find something I love, then I save it for a 'special occasion'. Which obviously never comes. It was especially true when she was an infant because mostly she wore onesies or pajamas... the two piece kind, in case you were wondering, because she's been kicking her way out of the feety ones since she was 5 months old. So most of her cute outfits were saved for when we were going to visit someone or going out somewhere- which didn't happen much until she got a little older and it was a bit less stressful.

Then there's her hair. You've seen it. It started off very straight, just like mine. When we went on vacation, the humidity decided that Caitlyn's hair was now curly. And I have no fucking clue what to do with it any more. Truth time? Sometimes I don't even brush it. Ok, usually I don't even brush it. My mom managed to manuever some adorable pigtails when she had her a few weekends ago. ALLEGEDLY, Caitlyn sat there like a perfect little angel while she got her hair did. She does not do this for me. And IF I manage to get in some half-assed version of a ponytail, she rips it out in 4 seconds. Explain to me how this kid still had pigtails in her hair when my mom dropped her off after a 2 hour car ride. EXPLAIN IT TO ME. Because I just do not have the patience to do her hair. Ever.

Finally, there is the issue of ear piercing. I just don't get it. I mean, not that I don't get it ever. But I certainly don't understand why people decorate infants like Christmas trees. Babies don't need bling or sparkle. They are plenty cute enough on their own. Culturally, ear piercing is VERY common with hispanic babies. The brown side of the family was horrified when I refused to pierce Caitlyn's ears. "How will people know she's a girl?" they asked, aghast. Ummm... maybe the pink outfits and the vagina? That's how I usually know. And really, who gives a shit if you can't tell the sex of a young baby? They are supposed to be ambiguous, you know? Because they aren't sexually matured. Am I really supposed to be upset if someone thinks my infant is a boy? Because I don't give a shit at all actually.

What I'm saying here is that Caitlyn isn't fancy. Her hair is usually (always?) a mess, and lots of times I just throw on the first tee shirt and pants I find when we go out. I don't think it's a big deal, and it sort of goes along with her personality. She's a toddler, which means she's always coated in a layer of goo and a good majority of the time that goo has migrated to her clothes and hair. And she's too busy being a badass who isn't afraid of anything to think about being dainty. She's not really a girly girl at all.

Fast forward to this week. The other day, the babysitter informed me that Caitlyn wanted her ears pierced. She said Caitlyn was playing with her earrings and she asked her if she wanted earrings and she said "yeah". Babysitter isn't a moron and she knows I'm not either, so I definitely don't think she meant "you should listen to your one year old about this", but I wonder if she wants to know why I haven't pierced Caitlyn's ears.

Then yesterday. I pick Caitlyn up and her toenails are painted pink. It's cute and all... but I found myself wondering if she's telling me I don't know how to make her look like a proper girl or something. Also, I wondered how long it would be till Caitlyn tried to eat the polish off her toes, but that's a whole separate issue. Babysitter has a little boy and maybe she's just playing out her baby girl fantasies with Caitlyn.

Or maybe I'm feeling like  I should be doing more and I'm not. Not budging on the earring thing, but maybe I should start brushing Caitlyn's hair or some shit.

Facebook Lies about Donald Trump

Yesterday I got on my train home and, as I went to sit down, I noticed a very accusatory message scrolled across the seat in marker. It said "Jerry has feline AIDS". Yes, very accusatory indeed. Obviously I needed to share this important health information, so I posted it as my status on Facebook.

So you know how Facebook does that thing? That thing where you accidentally use the wrong word in your status and Facebook makes all kinds of assumptions about what you might "Like" and your sidebar is all crowded with ridiculousness?

What kinds of things would Facebook assume I like, you might wonder, after posting a status about feline AIDS? Perhaps they would suggest I like Petco... or... antiretrovirals? As it turns out, Facebook doesn't discriminate based on species. Facebook suggested, quite simply, that I might "Like" AIDS.

Ok. Am I the only one? Is it just me or is weird to "Like" AIDS? Not "AIDS research". Not "find a cure for AIDS". Nope. Just AIDS. Like. AIDS.

I followed up the first status about feline AIDS with another stating how odd it was that Facebook wanted me to "Like" AIDS. At that point, Facebook really started to understand who I am as a person. Did I "Like" Medicine? How about Africa? I mean, I did say AIDS twice, after all. Interestingly enough, 10 times as many people "Like" medicine as do AIDS. And, in case you are wondering, you can actually "Like" Xanax. That's way more specific than just "medicine". I mean, I can get behind a Xanax liker, but I don't want to be lumped in with 183,000 people who are liking diarrhea medicine or whatever.

So thank you Facebook. I've been waiting all my life for someone to make blind assumptions about my personality and preferences based on one or two words taken completely out of context.

And now, for your amusement, here is a conversation I had with Nadine on Facebook about Donald Trump.

Michael: It's not really that Donald Trump said the shit he said. That man will say anything to make people pay attention to him. It's that people hang on his every word and believe it, that's the problem.

Jaclyn: I wonder if that will work in reverse. Let's see how many things we can get people to believe about Donald Trump.
April 27 at 9:41pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump was an original member of the Rat Pack.
April 27 at 9:41pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump makes cologne out of $100 bills and calls it "Eau de Douche".
April 27 at 9:42pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump wears a toupee not because of male pattern baldness, but because he was in a terrible accident as a child and and a piece of his brian is exposed.
April 27 at 9:43pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump cured Magic Johnson's AIDS.
April 27 at 9:43pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump is Mel Gibson's real father.
April 27 at 9:44pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump got "Trump Tower" tattooed on his dick.
April 27 at 9:44pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump's first job was as a taxidermist's apprentice. It's where he got the idea for his show.
April 27 at 9:47pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump is the inspiration behind the Dumbledore character in the Harry Potter books.
April 27 at 9:48pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump was the first to coin the phrase "Adonis DNA" and he currently has a copyright infringement lawsuit pending against Charlie Sheen.
April 27 at 9:51pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump discovered rapper Ludacris.
April 27 at 9:56pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump uses a particle accelerator to mix his drinks.
April 27 at 10:00pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: MORE! I'M LOVING ALL OF THESE.
April 27 at 10:07pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: You are supposed to add your own! You know how this game works!
April 27 at 10:08pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump is an advertising genius and was the brains behind "looks like a pump, feels like a sneaker" circa 1992.
April 27 at 10:09pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump is flamboyantly gay.
April 27 at 10:10pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: His first gay experience? George Steinbrenner.
April 27 at 10:10pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: Donald Trump is going to be the next Spiderman in "Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark".
April 27 at 10:10pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump was originally cast in the Richard Gere role in "Pretty Woman".
April 27 at 10:12pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump is a novelist. His pen name? Stephenie Meyer.
April 27 at 10:13pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: Donald Trump can run a 3-minute mile .... backwards.
April 27 at 10:14pm · UnlikeLike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump has gills on his neck that allow him to breathe under water.
April 27 at 10:14pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: Donald Trump menstruates.
April 27 at 10:15pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: That isn't coming out of his vagina. He has really bad hemorhoids is all.
April 27 at 10:16pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Sacajawea was just Donald Trump in drag.
April 27 at 10:17pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: Donald Trump can eat at White Castle and not get diarhhea.
April 27 at 10:18pm · UnlikeLike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump has 99 problems but a bitch ain't one.
April 27 at 10:19pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: Donald Trump's hair is made out of sea whip coral.
April 27 at 10:21pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump discovered the lost city of Atlantis.
April 27 at 10:21pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: Actually, Donald Trump was BORN in the lost city of Atlantis, disqualifying him from American presidency.
April 27 at 10:22pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump can hit the highest note of Mariah Carey's "Emotions".
April 27 at 10:22pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Donald Trump started his fortune after slaughtering all the leprechauns and stealing their gold.
April 27 at 10:24pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: ‎....NAZI gold.
April 27 at 10:26pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: You out? Cause that means I win.
April 27 at 10:27pm · LikeUnlike

Nadine: You win. I'm going to bed. Donald Trump invented the tempurpedic mattress, btw.
April 27 at 10:28pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Duh. That's because he was working for NASA at the time.
April 27 at 10:31pm · LikeUnlike

Jaclyn: Last one: Donald Trump's sperm are shaped like seahorses.
April 27 at 10:35pm · Like

Why do I always have babysitter drama?

So I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing me bitch about my sister and brother-in-law. If you can't stand to hear it anymore, you should probably skip this post.

When I picked Caitlyn up on Friday, T., my brother-in-law, mentioned that he wanted to talk to me. My dad was at their house and he's notorious for putting his ill-informed 2 cents in on absolutely everything, so T. said he would give me a call because he didn't want to talk in front of my dad.

I thought I knew what it would be about. My sister tends to be overly sensitive about everything. She's all about playing the victim and for some reason, she is completely convinced that I'm out to get her. I can say the most harmless thing and she gets totally defensive and tells me I'm being condescending. Just so you don't think I'm exaggerating, let me give you an example:

I had spoken to A., my sister, several times about changing Caitlyn's schedule so she would go to sleep before midnight because I have to get up at 6am. The way it had been going, Caitlyn would sleep from 7am when I dropped her off, till around 10am, then she would nap for 2-3 hours in the afternoon. I simply asked that A. wake her up earlier from her naps. The inital answer I got was "well, if she's cranky I'm going to let her sleep as much as she wants- I HAVE TO DO WHAT'S EASIEST FOR ME". But she assured me she was willing to try. And try she did. For TWO WHOLE DAYS!

A. informed me that Caitlyn had been really fussy with less nap time and that it was simply too difficult for her to keep Caitlyn awake. Two days isn't what I would call a transition period, but it occurred to me that my lovely daughter was teething pretty hard at the time. I told A. that we would postpone the transition until her teeth cut through.

When Caitlyn's teeth cut and she was sleeping through the night again, I had the second conversation with A. about cutting an hour from Caitlyn's nap time. At that point she told me that, once again, this was a bad time. Her own son was teething now and was keeping her awake every night and she was absolutely exhausted and nap time was the only break she got from the kids. "Fine", I said. "Let me know when he cuts his molars and we will give it another shot then".
A few weeks later came the final conversation regarding what I felt was best for my child and my family. It went down like this:


Me: So, has S. cut his molars yet? I'd really like to get Caitlyn on that new schedule.

A: Well, he's sleeping through the night again.

Me: Great, so as we talked about before, let's just cut an hour off of Caitlyn's nap time in the afternoons.

A: I don't know. She was really fussy when I tried it before.

Me: If you remember, she hadn't been sleeping through the night because she was teething. And you only did it for 2 days so she didn't really have a chance to adjust.

A: Well I just think that's not enough nap time for her. She's gonna be cranky all the time and I have 2 kids to take care of and it's gonna be really hard for me if she's always cranky.

Me: Well I want to give it a try. I'm not expecting you to continue it no matter what. If she's cranky all the time then we will let her sleep more. But she needs a couple of weeks to adjust her sleeping schedule.

A: ......

Me: Well what about cutting the time down gradually. We can start by cutting out a half hour and see how that works. Then after another week or two of that, we can try the hour if she still isn't going to bed any earlier.

A: .....

Me: Ok, I'm trying really hard here to accommodate you.

A: I'm really tired and it's really hard for me to watch 2 kids- you have NO IDEA.

Me: So you are saying.....what, exactly?

A: When the kids are asleep is the only time I have to myself and I NEED that time.

Me: So this isn't about Caitlyn being cranky at all? You're just telling me you won't do what I want and need for my child and my family because you want more free time?

A: I just wish you would listen to me when I say something. You can never just accept what I say (I SWEAR these exact words came out of her mouth). You always have to question me.

Me: Well, I'm PAYING you to provide a service. You aren't doing this as a favor to me. When I went looking for another babysitter, you told me you "don't want Caitlyn with a stranger" and asked me for more money, which I GAVE you to continue to watch Caitlyn. And I don't think it's unreasonable for me to expect you to follow my instructions for my daughter. I shouldn't have to just "accept" what you say when my life and family are directly affected. You can't just say you aren't going to do something. If you were at any other job, you wouldn't just tell your boss "sorry, I don't agree with that and it's going to make my life difficult, so I'm just not going to do it".

A: (this part is paraphrased- but you get the idea) You aren't the boss of me! I can do whatever I want! You are being condescending like ALWAYS! You think I'm stupid and you never let me do what I want to do. Watching 2 kids is super hard and even though I allegedly feel overwhelmed, a month after we have this conversation I'm going to start watching my friend's kid FOR FREE because I need everyone to love me and think I'm the most giving person on the planet, except to my sister who I squeeze for cash at every opportunity.

Me: ::throws up hands in frustration and walks out::

SCENE

Ok, so I went off on a little tangent. My point is that she is unbearably dramatic and all she cares about are her own interests and there was a similar incident where she completed disregarded my feelings that just happened last week:

Caitlyn is very close to taking her first steps. She can stand on her own for several seconds and you can just see her building up the nerve to take a step. I recognized this and remembered when I missed the first time she crawled. It happened while my sister was babysitting and I felt really sad about missing a milestone. So as she nears walking, I asked my sister to keep me in the dark if I missed anything. I quite literally said "even if I ask you, please don't tell me because it will just make me sad that I missed it". She told me not to ask her if I didn't want to know, because she's a bad liar.

So I go to pick up Caitlyn early last week and the first words out of A.'s mouth are "I really want to tell you something, but you specifically asked me not to". Well, dumbass, that's just as good as telling me, now isn't it? She justified her complete defiance of any simple thing I ask of her by saying "well, I thought it was one of those things where you said you didn't want to know but you really did". Sometimes it hurts to talk to someone so stupid. I was upset and yelled at her a little for having no consideration and left. So when I got that call from T., I figured he was calling to tell me I hurt his wife's precious little feelings or some bullshit like that. Clearly, that was not the case.

The conversation that followed was T. explaining to me all the reasons they could not babysit anymore. Which would have been significantly less infuriating if we hadn't had this very conversation 2 months ago end when I found a suitable replacement and A. decided that she DID want to babysit and that our personal issues were at the heart of her deciding she didn't want to do it anymore. "Caitlyn is such an easy baby and it was never about her. We just weren't getting along and I didn't want to watch her because of that, but actually it's become very easy to watch them both now. I'm so used to it, it doesn't bother me anymore. But hey, since you were planning to pay someone else more, would you mind matching that for me? (in all reality, she actually asked for MORE than I would have paid the new babysitter, but we settled on matching it- how fucking audacious is she? SERIOUSLY!)". So, as she explained it then, it had nothing to do with it being too much work for her, it was simply a personal issue, which we addressed and resolved at that time. Until I got that phone call from T, listing all the reasons they couldn't do it anymore.

In case you are wondering what the reasons were, here they are for you, along with my commentary in red.

1. It's about S. We want to give him as much of our time as we can. You understand that, right? Yeah, I guess. Until you got to point #2.
2. We are planning to have another baby in the next year. So, what you are saying is that you want your kid to get used to being the only child again so you can pull the rug out from under him in a year when he has a new sibling? Yeah, that makes perfect sense!
3. S. comes out of his shell at night when the other kids aren't around. I just think it's overwhelming for him and he's not getting enough attention. Aaaaaand again. You think your kid doesn't enjoy being around other children and feels desperate for Mom and Dad's one-on-one attention, yet you plan to give him a sibling when he's barely 2 years old?
4. I want to do things with S. that I just can't do when I have both kids, because the age difference really is HUGE in terms of what you can do with them and where you can bring them. Yeah, I mean S. is totally ready for go-karting and strip clubs and bars. And most bars have a strictly enforced 'only one kid under the age of 2' rule. And with strip clubs, you can't have 2 kids on your lap. How would you get lap dances?
5. A. and I have been fighting all the time because the housework is falling by the wayside. I bust my ass at work then I have to come home and do dishes (Seriously, these exact words) because she just can't keep up now that she's watching 3 kids (remember that friend's kid who they are watching for free?). Ok, for the record, this guy is a math teacher, not a construction worker. Ever since he said this I keep imagining him wearing a sweatband with his shirt and tie. The theme music from "Rocky" is playing in the background and he downs a glass of raw eggs before working up a sweat writing equations on the blackboard. Hardcore.
6. This will be the first summer where I'm not planning to work and I'm really looking forward to the time off. Whatever, I guess he's entitled to time off. But I'm still annoyed about this one for a couple of reasons. First, they have no common sense about money. He's a teacher and instead of stretching his paychecks out throughout the entire year, he takes a little more each check then gets nothing for 3 months while on summer vacation. Then they spend the entire summer crying about how broke they are. Even before, during and after the weeklong vacation they take to Florida every single year. And second, remember what I said about them gouging me for more money despite babysitting their friend's kid for free? Maybe he should work at his summer waiter job like he always does. I get 2 weeks vacation a year and I go to work every other day. No other job gets 3 months off. Even working just part time for the summer would be like a vacation for me. And HELLO- you have a child now! Stop bitching about your debt and how hard and expensive it is to have a kid while simultaneously planning to spend 3 months not working and to have another kid within a year.

I think I hit most of his bullshit points. Wow, did this post get long. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can respect that they are trying to make the right choices for their family and if babysitting for Caitlyn isn't the right choice, I can respect that too. But it's hard to feel anything other than disbelief when I'm constantly getting conflicting stories from the both of them. It's also frustrating because they always talk about how much they need the money they get from me until they can't be bothered anymore. It makes me feel a little manipulated about how hard they pushed the agenda that they would NEVER ask me for more money (or any money at all!)except that they REALLY needed it. I'm also exceptionally annoyed that I keep hearing the phrase "what's best for my family" when what's best for MY family has been consistently and continually ignored. Alright. I think I made my point.

Judgement

I've always been close with my mom. We talk about everything, and I absolutely always felt like I would model my parenting style after hers. But now, as a parent myself, I realize that you can't be exactly like anyone else. You have to do what's best for you and your kid. It also occurs to me that my mom was a single mom, so she didn't really have to run things by my father and compromise on anything. She did everything exactly how she wanted to do it and didn't have to answer to anyone, including her own mother, who died when I was only a few months old.


I'm not saying I've had a huge shift in my ideas about parenting and I still agree with my mom on the big stuff, but I find myself increasingly annoyed by the little things she judges me for. This all came to a head a few days ago, on Facebook.

My sister had a few people over on New Year's Day. I wouldn't call it a party necessarily, just an impromptu get-together with beers. Ok, that probably sounds like a party. My point is that there was beer. I wasn't drinking, and neither was my husband, but some others did drink a little. Nadine was there too, and she snapped a picture on her phone of Caitlyn in my nephew's high chair. She thought it would be funny to put her beer in the cup holder and snap the shot.

I thought the picture was funny, and that Caitlyn looked exceptionally adorable, so I asked Nadine to post it on Facebook so I could save it when I got home. So that's what she did. This is apparently what my mother saw:
Besides the annoyed comments she left on Nadine's Facebook, she sent me multiple text messages about how I should ask her to immediately remove such a troublesome photo. Someone could see it! And think I'm a bad mother! And call the police! What if my husband and I ever break up? He could use it against me in court! Apparently it's irrelevant that he was there when the picture was taken. Obviously dads are supposed to get drunk and moms are supposed to tend to the kids!

It seems when you become a parent absolutely everyone feels justified in throwing in their 2 cents about how you should raise your kids. I guess I could understand the hoopla if Caitlyn had been DRINKING A BEER in this picture. And it's not as though there's a cocaine-lined mirror and razor blade resting on the high chair in front of her.

If it was just my mom I could just chalk it up to her being opinionated. But everyone loves to tell me everything I'm doing wrong. In fact, my sister and fought today over some stupid shit like this.

Maybe you remember a few months back when I mentioned how my sister and her husband kept commenting how my daughter "should be on a schedule". At the time I worked in retail and with a constantly changing schedule for both me and my husband, it was impossible. And it wasn't only that. I don't necessarily agree with their point of view on schedules. They are so rigid with their son. The way I do things, I just live my life and add my baby to my regular stuff. They do everything around the strict schedule they have my nephew on. "Want to go to lunch?". "Can't, it's nap time- talk to me in 2 hours!". My mom lives a couple of hours away and if they are making a trip they ABSOLUTELY CAN NOT leave before or after a certain time because it will be time for him to eat or sleep or whatever. So if they are running 20 minutes late, they have to push their plans back by 2 hours. Maybe our differences in the way we live our lives is why I feel so fulfilled by my daughter and they seem burdened and exhausted all the time. But whatever, just a theory.

I was going somewhere with this. So now that I'm working a regular schedule, I am trying to get Caitlyn to go to bed a little earlier (meaning before midnight). That means less nap time during the day so she's tired and wants to go to sleep at night. I told this to my sister and she told me she would "try it for a week, but if she's fussy, I'm going to let her sleep as long as she wants". She "tried it" for 2 days and today she decided that she "has to do what is easiest" for her so she will be letting Caitlyn take 2 hour naps as opposed to the 1 hour I talked to her about.

I won't get into all the details of why it's absolutely infuriating, but the thing that pisses me off the most is how hard she pushed on the schedule bullshit early on. Today she actually said to me "well, you didn't want to put her on a schedule when it was inconvenient for me, but now that you are inconvenienced, you want me to make it harder for me". When we argued about schedules the first time around, she was adamant that it wasn't for her benefit, that she simply thought it was "the best thing for Caitlyn". Bitch.

I can't say I've never judged someone's parenting. I've judged my sister. When I told her I would be breastfeeding, she told me it was GROSS and how she would never do that. When I struggled with infertility, she whined about how she wanted a baby way longer then I did because her husband refused to get her pregnant when she was 19, unwed and living with 4 roommates. So when she comments on my parenting, I definitely take a moment and think "wow, I'm a way better parent then you". What I DON'T do is say that shit out loud. She still hasn't learned that lesson, apparently.

I guess I just think people should back the fuck off. I'm a good mom! Caitlyn is happy and lovely and sweet. She loves people and animals and is the most good-natured kid I've ever encountered. Is it possible that I'm doing something right? Mom's of whiny kids (my siiiiiissssster!) take note.