Filed under: General Peevery, Parenting | Tags: annoying, budget, children, cleaning lady, drive me up the wall, glee, gleek, grating, housecleaning, kidney for sale, nervous breakdown, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, vent, why does the dentist give you your teeth
It’s not that I don’t like cleaning. It’s that I loathe it. I have texture issues that prevent me from wanting to touch anything that has been sitting in the sink longer than 30 seconds. I’m deathly allergic to dust. I have a not-so-mild case of ADD mixed with OCD. So, I will start cleaning the living room and three hours later, my DVDs will be arranged categorically and alphabetically and the rest of the house will still look like a bomb went off.
Every night when I see the first star in the sky, I close my eyes tight and whisper, “star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight… I wish for… a cleaning lady.”
Well, Princess Tiana, I’m not.
I’m left winded and disappointed every time.
With no fairy godmothers showing up to my parties, my adventures in housekeeping leave me pleading to my husband to let someone else come over and do the work. My husband is the type that works more than full-time and still wanted to build the backyard playset for the children from scratch. You can guess what his response was.
Then, there is the issue of budget. Nowadays, everyone is on a budget. Cutting back, getting out of debt, preparing for the future… In order to justify the expense of a cleaning lady, I would need to to some serious cutting back in other areas. Hmm… TV/Cable? No way. Glee just had it’s premiere tonight. And, Survivor: Nicaragua is pretty rockin’ so far. Cell phone? Dream on. That iphone is my woobie. I literally sleep with it in my hand. Don’t even mention the word that starts with “sh” and ends with “oes.” So, what would I give up in order to get a cleaning lady?
1. THE DVD COLLECTION: Let’s start there. Because, really, how many times can my husband make me watch Gladiator and Braveheart? Unless it’s Grease or Dirty Dancing, it’s not worth watching over and over. And, those two are on TBS at least twice a month. So, we’re good.
2. MY FIRST BORN CHILD: What? You spend just thirty minutes in a mall with her and then we’ll talk. Besides, she’s the one making most of the messes.
3. MY PINKY TOES: What are they good for anyway? It’s not like the big toes that we need for balance. Sure, they wouldn’t fetch as much as a kidney, but a family like mine will drive you to drink. I’m going to need all the internal organs I can get later in life.
4. TEETH: I have 20 baby teeth and two adult molars I could hock. Baby teeth fetch a pretty penny these days. Come to think of it, Smalls will be losing hers soon anyway… we could make that 40. And, I have to assume that molars are worth something. Why else would the dentist give them to you after he yanks them out of your mouth?
5. SOCKS. I have at least 10 socks. They could be re-knitted into a sweater or something. So what if none of them match? I’m sure I’ll find the mates as soon as I get rid of them.
6. FOOD. Tons of it. All stuffed in my kitchen cabinets. I have no use for it. I can replace it all with Ramen Noodles and Birdseye Steamers because, really, that’s all I know how to cook.
No? Okay! Fine! I’ll sell the kidney. If I need one when I’m old, well, that’s what kids are for, right?
Filed under: General Peevery, Uncategorized | Tags: annoying, ant bite, camping, children, department of torture, drive me up the wall, family vacation, grating, meltdown, mother, nervous breakdown, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, smores, vent
1. Ants bite.
Upon our arrival to the campground, Mr. Peeved set about getting a fire started, Biggie grabbed her chair and fishing pole (coordinating colors, of course) and headed to the “beach,” Smalls found the nearest downed tree and started to climb all over it, and I set about unloading the car and hauling all our stuff 50 feet down a 45 degree slope covered in loose rocks. Just as I was taking my third slide down the hill with provisions, I hear an ear-piercing screech. Smalls, who was playing nicely by herself (this should have been the first warning sign something bad would happen) had been bitten by ants.
Peeved: Okay, Smalls, let me see. It can’t be that bad. It will be fine, I’ll kiss it.
Mr. Peeved: It’s an ant bite. Those are the worst. They hurt like hell.
Peeved: It’s okay. It will be fine. That’s not an ant bite – it’s not a little white bubble. It looks just like a mosquito bite.
Mr. Peeved: It’s not a red ant bite, it’s a regular ant bite. Those are worse.
Smalls: EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I got bit by an ant!! EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! It hurts worse than a red ant bite!!!
Peeved: Maybe that’s not helping, Mr. Peeved. Smalls, mommy has lotion, let me put some lotion on it.
Mr. Peeved: That’s not going to work. Do you have that after-bite stuff?
Peeved: No, I have bug spray, sunblock and lotion.
Smalls: EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I need the bite stuff!
Mr. Peeved: We are going to have to cancel the trip if you don’t fix it. Don’t bother putting up the tent yet. Can you go to the store and see if they have that stuff?
Smalls: EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I want to go home! I hate camping! EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Well, something tells me this has happened before because the campsite store was fully stocked with after bite lotion. A few dabs of that, an hour of coddling and a Coca-Cola later, Smalls was off fishing with her sister. I put up the tents, inflated the air mattresses, put out the chairs and lost 3 pounds of water weight while Mr. Peeved made the most perfect camp fire, ever (or at least, that’s what I’m told).
2. It’s all fun and games until you run out of clean clothes and marshmallows.
Around 7:30 pm on the day of our arrival, we were almost out of marshmallows and, aside from pajamas, almost completely out of clean clothes. Apparently, after bite and Coca-Cola don’t do much to improve a nap-missing 4-year-old’s disposition. Smalls spent most of the afternoon throwing rocks at the ducks and stomping off into the woods when we tried to talk to her. Finally, when the first signs of dusk started settling in, we decided it was time for the kiddo to hit the air mattress for the night. Smalls melted down faster than a marshmallow hit by a blow torch.
Smalls: I don’t want a smores pie! I don’t like graham crackers! I don’t want just marshmallows! I just want marshmallows and chocolate! No, not like that! I want marshmallows and melted chocolate, but no bread or crackers! Mommy! Biggie is eating my smores pie!!!! WaaaaaaaaawaaaaaaaWaaaaawaaaa!
Squirrels scurried off like roaches when you turn on the light. Nature wants nothing to do with a whiny, screaming preschooler and neither do I. So, I do what any resourceful mother would do – fling her over my shoulder, strap her in the car and try to drive around until she falls asleep.
Smalls: You left Biggie and Daddy! They’re all alone! Turn around! Turn around! You can’t leave them!
Peeved: I wonder if the campsite store has Benadryll…
Smalls: Hey, maybe they have marshmallow and chocolate ice cream.
3. Tents were invented by the Department of Torture.
4. The ability to fish is not genetic.
The only time I ever caught a fish growing up was when I was sitting on the dock and got up to move farther down the way. Completely coincidentally, just as I stood up, a fish bit my line and I “caught” it. Yes, we can add fishing to the long list of things I’m not good at – right after cooking and just before passing driving tests. Biggie did not inherit this gene. She caught six fish. Granted, they were all slightly larger than minnows, but still it was quite an accomplishment given her DNA.
One would think that the children would want to throw the poor little fishes that were too small to eat back into the lake. Not my kids.
Mr. Peeved: Okay, we have to let them go now.
Biggie: No! You said we could eat what we caught!
Mr. Peeved: There is no meat on this fish, Biggie.
Smalls: Daddy! You said we could eat them! I wanted to cut its head off!
Biggie: Yeah, and I was going to gut it!
Guess you could say the kids like to eat. That, they may have gotten from their mother.
5. Everything tastes better with white bread.
Smores pies, ham & cheese pies, salami & cheese pies, steak & egg pies, cherry pies, pizza pies…. I could go on in the spirit of Bubba Gump all day.
6. It’s okay to ban technology for two days.
I turned off my iphone for two whole days. Guess what? No one suffered except my ego. Apparently, I’m NOT that important.
7. The firmness of an air mattress is directly proportional to the heftiness of your bed mate.
What this picture doesn’t show is the way the poor lady gets catapulted to the other side of the tent when her husband climbs on to the air mattress. What it also fails to capture is the way her ass goes slamming into the ground in the morning when he gets up to pee.
8. Children who can’t read also have trouble listening.
There were “no swimming” signs posted all along the shore of the lake. This, of course, meant nothing to Smalls because unlike those phonetics phenoms you see on the TV at 6 in the morning, she can’t read. Apparently, reading and listening go hand in hand. I told Smalls she was not allowed to go in the lake unless she wore her water shoes, rolled up her pants and stayed on the opposite side from where her sister was fishing. I may as well have written it on a sign for all that she paid attention to me.
Smalls: [skipping barefoot in the “fishing section” of the lake with her pants soaked up to her underwear] What, mommy? I didn’t hear you.
Peeved: Smalls, I said it five times. Put your listening ears on.
Smalls: Oh, sorry. What did you say? la la la…. [skipping barefoot in the “fishing section” of the lake with her pants soaked up to her underwear]
9. Nothing makes a 12-year-old happy.
Peeved: C’mon Biggie, we’re going exploring.
Biggie: Ugh, I don’t want to go. I’m busy. I’m fishing here, mom.
Peeved: Okay, stay here. We’re going to the campsite store. Smalls, you want to see if they have ice cream?
Smalls: Let’s go!
Biggie: Gosh, you guys can’t even wait for me to get my shoes on? You’re so rude!
Biggie: Is that a pool? Is it open?
Peeved: Yes, but I didn’t know it was here, so you don’t have a bathing suit.
Biggie: I can’t believe you forgot our bathing suits.
Biggie: Oh my gosh! They have slushies. Mom, can I have a slushie?
Peeved: Sure, but that’s it. One treat. Either ice cream or slushie.
Biggie: Okay, thanks mom.
Peeved: You’re welcome.
Biggie: [sipping on slushie at check out stand] Oh! Mom! They have sour straws! Please, please, please?
Peeved: No, Biggie. You got your treat.
Biggie: Come on! You are so mean!
[pout, moan, whine, repeat x5]
[checking out at the campsite store later that night]
Peeved: Mr. Peeved, can you get those sour straws for the girls for the ride home, please?
Mr. Peeved: Sure.
Biggie: Yay! Sour straws.
Smalls: Sour straws!
Biggie: I am not sharing with her.
Peeved: Yes, you are.
[chomp, chomp, gobble, gobble for all of about 5 seconds]
Peeved: Are you done with those already?
Biggie: Yes, because I had to share them. And, I can’t believe you didn’t bring our bathing suits!
10. You should always unpack your camping gear immediately after arriving home.
This was on the ceiling of my car this morning. Good thing I’m not a complete arachnaphobe! I have a good friend that’s probably doing the heeby-jeeby dance just looking at it (hey – you made the blog!). Smalls thought it was “cute” and wanted to name her Charlotte. I guess it’s better than a gerbil or a dog…
Filed under: General Peevery, Parenting | Tags: annoying, ass hits the chair, bat signal, bookmarks magazine, children, drive me up the wall, grating, me time, mommy's law, mother, murphy's law, nervous breakdown, parenthood, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, vent
There’s this thing that happens when you become a mother. This magical, torturous transformation that turns your butt (or, what’s left of it), into something akin to the bat signal. Somehow, the nanosecond my ass hits a seat, a phone starts ringing in my family’s brains. Ring… ring… ring… time to need something from Peeved.
The other night, after a long day at work, a long drive home, a long getting the kids to eat dinner process, an even longer checking the homework and getting them to bed process, I finally got a chance to sit down. Deciding not to get too ambitious (you can’t really relax until they’ve been down for a good 30 minutes), I reached past my book and picked up a magazine.
This is not just any magazine. This is the best magazine ever. A dear friend renews my subscription every year for Christmas and it’s my favorite present. It only comes once every two months (or, at least it feels that long between issues). Bookmarks magazine is to book lovers what Cosmo is to trashy 20-year-olds. I have picked up some killer reads based on their recommendations that I ordinarily would not have even looked twice at. As you can tell, I was writhing with anticipation to get my hands on it.
I tiptoed out of the bedroom, down the hall, quickly past the kitchen (where my husband was cooking up some yums) and quietly as I could, sat down on the couch.
[Ring, ring, ring…]
Mr. Peeved: Hey, Peeved, come here for a second.
Mr. Peeved: I need to talk to you.
Peeved: What do you want to talk about?
Mr. Peeved: I can’t talk to you from the other room.
Peeved: [then why are you trying? Maybe if I pretend I don’t hear him.]
Mr. Peeved: I know you can hear me. I also know you just sat down. Now, stop being lazy and get in here.
Other Mommy’s Laws?
- They never volunteer to go to the bathroom until right after you say you have to go. Then they are racing to get there first.
- The baby always wakes up right as you’re about to put the first bite of food in your mouth.
- If you order them a kid,s meal, they won’t eat it. If you don’t order them a kid’s meal, they’ll eat all your food (usually while perched atop your head and rubbing BBQ sauce into your shirt).
- They’ll never remember they need three bottles of dishwashing liquid, a can of coke and a squeegee for science class until 10:00pm the night before and after you’ve already had 3 beers.
- The second the opening credits for your show are over, WWIII will break out in the next room and you’ll have to play Switzerland.
- If you try to close the door to the office and play around on the internet, the child will stop whatever game she was happily playing and demand that you play with her. If you stop and go play with her, she will inevitably tell you that you aren’t doing it right and proceed to play on her own without you.
Please, just bury me with my Bookmarks magazines and a Kindle. Looks like that will be the only “me” time I see in my (hopefully, distant) future.
Filed under: Anti-Peeves | Tags: annoying, anti-peeve, children, drive me up the wall, grating, my 4 year old is awesome, nervous breakdown, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, vent, what
At the age of four, Smalls has to be the smartest person I know. One of my favorite things in life are the conversations we have on our daily commute. While my pocketbook is excited that she starts kindergarten next year, part of me is really sad that we won’t have our quality time anymore. So, for now, I’m going to enjoy it while I can. Here are five things I’ve learned from my four-year-old.
1 — IT DOESN’T TAKE A LOT TO SHOW SOMEONE YOU LOVE THEM.
Smalls: I love Connor.
Peeved: Who is Connor?
Smalls: The boy in my class. In the brown shirt.
Peeved: Oh, well, why do you love him?
Smalls: Because, he is nice to me and he plays with me all the time.
Peeved: Don’t you love the rest of your friends?
Smalls: Yes, but I love Connor the most. He makes mud pies with me and plays Scooby-Doo with me.
Peeved: That’s why you love him the most?
Smalls: Yep. Mommy, do you want to know how much I love Connor?
Peeved: Sure, honey, how much?
Peeved: Wow, Smalls, that sure is a lot.
Smalls: I know.
Peeved: Well, does Connor love you back?
Peeved: How do you know?
Smalls: I already told you. He plays with me. He sits next to me. He gets messy with me. And, he gives me hugs before I leave every day.
Peeved: Sounds a lot like love to me, peanut.
2 — YOU SHOULD ALWAYS USE ALL THE RESOURCES AVAILABLE TO YOU.
Peeved: Yes, Smalls.
Peeved: Yes, Smalls.
Peeved: I hear you! What?
Smalls: Can you get my froggy?
Smalls: Can you get my little cute red froggy? It fell on the floor. There. Behind your seat.
Peeved: Well, I can’t right now, I’m helping your sister with her bag.
Smalls: Well, you got two hands!
3 — EVERYONE CAN USE A SLICE OF HUMBLE PIE.
Mr. Peeved: Smalls, who’s the prettiest girl in the whole wide world?
Mr. Peeved: Mommy is? Not you?
Smalls: Me, too.
Peeved: Smalls, who’s the handsomest boy in the whole wide world?
Smalls: Uncle Mike.
Peeved: Don’t you mean Daddy?
Smalls: No, Uncle Mike.
4 — NEVER GIVE UP.
Smalls: Mommy, can I have a dog?
Smalls: Why not? ‘Cause your allergic?
Peeved: Um, yes, I’m allergic.
Smalls: But, you could just stay in your room all day long. You could watch TV and read books and Daddy and I can bring you food.
Peeved: Tempting, but, no. We have cats, those are your pets.
Smalls: Mommy, what would happen if the cats died?
Peeved: Well, Smalls, they would go to cat heaven.
Smalls: And, then we could get a dog?
Peeved: No, then we wouldn’t have any pets and we would be sad.
Smalls: I wouldn’t be sad. I don’t even like those cats.
Smalls: Oh, mommy, look at that doggie.
Peeved: It’s so cute, Smalls.
Smalls: Yep, I want one just like it.
Peeved: Black and white?
Smalls: Yes, but small and fluffy like Aunt Banana’s dog. You know Aunt Banana is not allergic to dogs. I could live at her house.
5 — YOU SHOULD ALWAYS SING LIKE NO ONE ELSE IS LISTENING. (And, you may want to lay off the RockBand!)
*Click on the photo – it should take you to a Flickr video. It’s too late in the day and I don’t have patience with WP to try and figure out why it’s not embedding properly.*
Filed under: General Peevery, Parenting | Tags: addiction, annoying, bad parenting, book of excuses, children, department of torture, dina lohan, drive me up the wall, enabler, excuses, grating, intervention, lindsay lohan, mother, nervous breakdown, parenthood, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, pre-teen, sarcastic, vent
Peeved: Biggie, I need you to put away those [completely inappropriate] clothes Granny just bought you and lay out your outfit for school tomorrow.
Biggie: Ugh. God, Mom, I KNOW. [eye roll, drawer slam, foot stomp – she is only this coordinated when pouting]
Peeved: A simple, ‘yes, Mom’ will suffice. The receipt for those clothes is still in the bag. Talk to me like that again and I will have no problem returning them.
Biggie: I am! I’m doing it! Gosh, Mom! [throws hands up in air, gives look of death, stomps foot again]
Granny: Oh, give her a break, she’s tired.
Peeved: I’m sure she is. I’m tired too, it’s no excuse for talking to me that way.
Granny: Oh, come on, she’s medicated.
Peeved: Mom, it’s Tylenol Sinus! [eye roll, foot stomp, look of death]
If Lindsay Lohan didn’t have Dina doing such a bang-up job of coming up with excuses, I’d have to recommend my mother for the position. I don’t know if you’ve seen the Matt Lauer interview with Dina Lohan, but she pretty much blames everyone else for Lindsay’s problems. It’s the judge’s fault. The judge was “coming down hard” on her. This, of course, is true because the Judge is currently being recused. What? Lindsay is on her fourth stint in rehab and still, we can’t admit there may be a problem that has nothing to do with external forces? The biggest mistake that judge made was not also ordering Dina to the Betty Ford Clinic for families of addicts.
Every Monday, I grab a beer, sit down and put on one of my favorite shows – Intervention on A&E. (Yes, I realize how wrong that is.) It’s so compelling to watch these people and their real-life struggle with addiction. I love that the show actually keeps it real and portrays what happens when addicts face an intervention and go to rehab. What happens is, about half or more relapse. I used to try to guess which ones would make it and which ones would not. However, that game got too easy to be any fun. You can tell who was going to make it by their families. If there was one – it only takes one – enabler in the group, they were done-zo. I don’t understand this. I literally yell at my TV. It’s like watching a horror flick when the girl goes towards the weird sound instead of hiding in the closet and calling 911.
Addict: I don’t even have a problem. I’m not even going.
Good Family Member: If you don’t go, then I will no longer let you stay at my house. I will no longer let you borrow my car. I will refuse to give you more money.
Addict: That’s fine. I’ll just ask Mommy.
[Peeved: Don’t do it Mom. Stay strong. Remember what Candi said, you will no longer let them kill themselves in front of you. You are only helping her die.]
Bad Mommy: We love you, we just want you to get better.
Addict: Are you going to cut me off, too?
Bad Mommy: [crying, showing weakness]
[Peeved: No! Bad Mommy! No! Well, dammit, I give her about 10 days before she starts drinking the mouthwash.]
Parents need to stop giving kids excuses for why nothing is their fault. Hollywood or not, there is no such thing as consequences anymore. For my kids, I want life to be something they live, not just a series of things that happen to them. The Dina Lohan’s of the world need to put on their big girl panties and start doing the difficult job of parenting. No excuses.
Filed under: General Peevery, Parenting, Road Peeves | Tags: annoying, children, drive me up the wall, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, road trip, sarcasti, traveling with children
(coming to you from somewhere in the endless state of North Carolina whose state motto, I’m pretty certain, is “get me the hell out of this car – I can’t feel my legs and am about to beat down the next person who asks ‘how much longer?'” For those not aware, I am road-tripping it to NY with Hubby, Smalls, sister (aJENda), her kids: Eight and Ten, and a masochistic 17 year old that volunteered to babysit in exchange for a week of real pizza.)
I understand that the economy has lead to depressed sales lately and concerns over the environment and rising gas prices have especially affected SUV purchases. I know some car companies are offering employee pricing, no interest or even buy one get one free deals. However, I have an idea for a deal no one would be able to refuse. I propose the Honda PAQ.
The Honda PAQ would have the same accoutrements as the Honda Pilot, with a few bonus “extras” to seal the deal.
1- a privacy screen between the driver avd the rest of the vehicle. You may or may not have seen these in limos. The driver and front passenger do not have to hear or see anything they don’t want to.
2- an intercom system between the driver and the back that is set to not transmit any sounds above a certain frequency (read: whining) and any sounds above a certain decibal (read: shouting). It would also have a built in question response identifier: Are We there yet? No, but thank you for asking. How much longer? We will be arriving at our destination in 6 hours, 7 minutes, thank you for your question. Where are we? We are still in the car, thank you for your question.
3- outlets next to each seat in the back so that Leapsters, DS’ and the like stay perpetually charged.
4- shock absorbing seat backs.
5- massaging seats for driver and front passenger.
6- “side” dividers / partitions between the rear seats that eliminate any confusion over where the “line” is.
7- a drain, with hose and funnel.
8- a built in coffee cup warmer.
9- an alarm that sounds any time the front seat passenger falls asleep.
10- a fully stocked bar for the poor adult that has to ride in the rear of privacy screen (again, see limo).
This, like all things named last in the Mastercard commercials, would be priceless. I am sure it would increase sales triple-fold. No rapping minivan families or other marketing ploys. Just “Honda, how much would you pay for some Peace and Quiet?”
Filed under: Anti-Peeves | Tags: annoying, camera, canon, children, drive me up the wall, food, graduation, grating, little italy, nervous breakdown, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, vent
This Friday’s anti-peeve will be a pictorial. Seeing as I posted a list of seven things that peeve me, here is a picture list of seven things that make me happy.
And, I know this will make eight, but it’s a three-day weekend here in the U.S. and I’d be remiss not to mention food: