Why We Will Not Be Watching "The Regular Show" Anymore

First of all, as you may know, I suck as a mother.  I don't really monitor what my children watch on T.V.  I figure as long as it's some cartoon channel, it must be okay for children to watch.  In addition, our television is on one of said cartoon channels from the time we wake in the morning until we go to bed.  Except during homework time.  I'm not a serial killer, for crying out loud!  Even I have my limits.

Today, I'm taking a stand as a mother, and I'm setting some new limits.  No more of "The Regular Show" at my house.  Period.  If you aren't familiar, it's one of those goofy, boy-type shows on Cartoon Network.  To be honest, I've never watched it for more than a minute or so.  I'm just not interested.  Weird animal-like people in weird situations making underwear jokes just doesn't appeal to me.  Sorry, I should have been more concerned with my kid's well-being than myself.  My bad.

Anyshutyourdamnmouth, why the ban against "The Regular Show," you ask??  Well, today I took my kids to our local pottery painting establishment.  I figured, it's raining, they are making me nuts with all the fighting, hey...let's go out in public and let them drive someone else crazy for awhile!  Sounds like a plan!

As is typical, my kids grab several pieces of the more outrageously expensive junk pottery.  Christmas gifts for Mom and Dad.  Yippee, honey!  You're getting a black football helmet bank, and I'm getting an orange and yellow squirrel!!  Oh, and our Christmas tree will be adorned with their newest additions - an orange and red star and a purple and black peace sign.  Exquisite!

My son, being the first born perfectionist, when all out...at first.  He grabbed 47 different paint pots and 4 brushes.  He had a plan, and he was ready to roll.  However, Messy Marvin got some blue paint where he meant to put orange.  He went apeshit.  "I'm screwed; I'm screwed!"

Did I hear myself correctly??  He's six.  "Um, E.  What was that?  What's the matter?"

"Mom, I got the blue all over the orange and now I'm totally screwed."


*blink blink*

"E, do you know what that means?"

"No, I just heard it on 'The Regular Show'!"

And that, my dear friends, is why the LB home is boycotting "The Regular Show."  My kids will be getting their potty mouths from me, thank you very much!

I Think I'm Losing My Effn' Mind!

This week, I'm pretty sure I surpassed all my "I-suck-at-this-mothering-thing" expectations.  On Wednesdays, I usually bring my daughter to dance class after school.  This past Wednesday, though, I had a faculty meeting.  Mr. OCD and I swapped duties; he'd escort the princess to dance lessons.

Since the meeting didn't last as long as usual, I figured I'd spend a little time at the gym.  After all, I hadn't been for nearly a month.  Instead, I'd been eating Halloween candy and fried chicken.  I thought I'd do my jelly-belly a favor, and sweat a little.  I went to the gym, tanned, and then had a good work out. 

After that, I went home, started supper, a load of laundry (no GTL is complete without it), and decorating a cute little pumpkin for the contest at baby girl's preschool.  At around 5:20 p.m., G and Mr. OCD get home from dance.  Mr. OCD was pleasantly surprised to see me in the midst of domestication.  It's a rare sight these days.  Any way, he walked into the kitchen and asked about my day.  Then he asked, "Where's E?  Did he have a good day, too?"

My heart sank, my draw dropped, and my stomach did a freakin' flip.  I wanted to puke.  "E??  I thought you..."  Holy crap!  I left my damn son at after-school camp.  It was 5:30 p.m. and his ass was still at school.  Of course, all the Leave It to Beaver moments that we were previously experiencing vanished.

Mr. OCD slammed his keys and pounded his fist on the table.  "You left our son?!?!"

I felt like a complete moron.  It's bad enough to be a failure at motherhood, it's even worse to be reminded of your ineptness by Mr. Perfect (aka Mr. OCD).  I wanted to slit my wrists and offer myself as a sacrifice.  I'm fairly certain, at that moment, anything less would be a disappointment to my husband.  It's not enough to accept your mistakes, apologize, and move on.  No, he wants to rehash it over and over again.  He wants me to offer a kidney or my right hand as retribution.

I really did feel bad about it.  When my son got home, I apologized no less than 150 times.  Of course, he could have cared less.  That was just an extra hour and a half of play time with his friend, Skyler.

Do you think this is a sign of Alzheimer's?  Could I be in the early stages?  I've heard that the signs, though subtle, can appear in your 40s.

Lord, I hope I can remember to turn off my flat iron in the morning!

My Little Apple

In the summer, I am always reminded of what a flop I am at parenting, wifery, and housekeeping.  In my last post, you saw my pathetic house and it's mounds of clutter.  Yep, we are one Sheriff Woody away from your classic family of psychologically impaired hoarders.

Today, my crazy-yelling-lady style of parenting reared its ugly head.  I hate that I'm a yeller.  My mom was a yeller, and I always hated her yelling at me.  I know my own kids feel the same way.  It seems, though, that I lose my mind with frustration and just go with what I know. 

STOP!  No Yelling! (Just shut up.)  When we get home, you are SO going to get it, young lady!

G, my mean-as-hell stubborn mini-me precious four-year-old, has recently developed a bad case of the smart mouth.  I honestly thought I had a good five years before having to deal with that behavior.  Apparently, she's quite "mature" for her age.  Anydrivemeuptheeff'nwall, her mouth has become my nemesis.  And I'm losing the battle.

Though a novice, G's got her smart-ass perfected!  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, ya know.  G starts off with mockery.  She says everything that comes out of my mouth with one hand on her hip and her head just a-bobbin'.  That's just a little appetizer to get my blood boiling.  By the time our little "discussion" is over, she's smirking at me and I'm screaming my head off!

I'm tired of your smart mouth, G!

"Mama, you are a big Smarty Butt!"

She's right, but that's beside the point.  This house ain't big enough for two smart asses.  And seeing as she is incredibly adorable, I'm afraid I'll have to concede.  Either that or get her butt in check! 

The Pocket Parent says I should just ignore her.  Nowhere in the book, however, says I should yell at her, or threaten a spanking that will never come to fruition.  The book goes on to explain that she's just trying to test me.  She knows my buttons and enjoys pushing them.  I am the parent and the adult so I need to stay calm.  FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. 

A friend of mine suggested that she actually washes her kids' mouths out with soap.  The concentrated liquid kind.  She's batting a 100% effective thus far, though.  Maybe I should give it a try?? 

Time outs with G are unbearable.  She refuses to stay, goes into hysterics, and the whole process lasts so long I forget why I actually put her there.  If I try to spank her, she turns around and tells me that it didn't hurt forcing me to spank her again.  I don't like that approach either.  God, I wish someone would write a book for the lazy parent.  How to Transform Your Child into a Wonderfully Charming Genius in Four Hours.  My kind of book.  Heck, I can do anything for four hours. 

In the meantime, though, how do you stop the kids from getting to best of you?  What works at your house?  To Soap or Not to Soap?  That is the question.