It seems like every parenting blog I’ve read in the last few months is either folks crying about how little sleep they get, and poking fun at mothering, or throwing shade at the people who can’t sleep and have stuff to poke fun at. Guys, the trick to this parenting thing, is solidarity. It’s us against the small people, and while the specifics may vary the fundamental thing is that we are the parents and them to kids.
It was just this thought, or at least one of the thoughts, that occurred to me while I tried to pee in peace, while someone shouted at me through the bathroom door.
It’s actually a victory that they now stay on the other side of the door. Took a lot of threatening and a few hours of punishment, but it’s worth it to be the only on in the room when the event occurs.
But the peeing, at least, was not the prompt for my revelation. It was the topic of the ongoing debate that began just before nature called: the issue of Logan’s cell phone privileges. A cell phone, I feel obligated to add, which goes against one of these rules things I mentioned.
You see we the council of the tribe feel that children of a certain age, given the societal depravity, should have only a certain amount, if any access to things like the internet and communication devices. Further that theses devices be under strict parental controls.
The elders, i.e. grandparents, specifically one grandparent who shall remain nameless, did not agree, and of their own volition gifted an 11 year old with all access to everything. Thanks for that. Said child, knowing the stance of the aforementioned parents.i.e. arbiters of his upbringing, chose to not bother with the fact that having the thing in the first place was a breach of law, but that his privacy as it applies to that thing is something I as his mother should respect.
The first thing that occurred to me is that when I was 14, my mother would not let me be alone with a landline. Insisting that “if the conversation is one I’m not supposed to hear then it’s one you should not be having”. In the 90’s! In the Caribbean!! Let alone now in the age of sexting, meme porn and pay to play gaming.
My kid had used said device to:
- Get a girlfriend, apparently worthy of discarding rules like bedtimes and study time for. Who apparently, despite being only a few months older has parental approval in requesting a more ‘physical relationship’. Like really? I mean physical at 12? Aren’t you supposed to be still obsessed with Frozen?
- Acquiring music that is way over his age range, complete with profanity and lyrics that would have Susan B. Anthony rolling in her grave.
- And setting up excursions which have had him go missing for hours at a time while in said grandparents care.
Again elder/financier this is doesn’t seem like a plan that was well thought out.
It also occurred in those moments, as he asserted how it’s his business and I really ought not to be bothered, that I as a child would not have dared to defy my parents by accepting such a gift or even to request my privacy from them for fear of decapitation by both words and the force of a slap. Come to think of it, they had bathroom time, bedroom time, kitchen time, hell even riding in the car time all to themselves, as it was made clear that they were not to be bothered.
Does it mean that maybe I should revise this new constructivist/democratic approach to conflict resolution?
As he told me the girl was a good person somewhere on the inside, I remembered that: My parents would simply have taken the thing, and punished me to death and given their parents a good chuck of their minds.
The epiphany hit me, really hit me, like the feeling that comes after you’ve been holding it a really long time and get to the throne in a nick of time. That I was listening to the argument of someone who had discarded the right to any kind of privacy at all due to his wrongdoing, as I was deprived of mine. I think that I should be entitled, with kids at that age and a husband somewhere in the vicinity, the right to pee alone.
Indeed it occurs to me that I’ve instilled a sense of entitlement in my kid. The evidence being that he is even willing to make this argument at all, the fact that his is arguing for that matter. More than that, I was alone in the realization, and would be relatively alone in the solution.
It is truly depressing to come to these conclusions while trying to pee. I know I’m not the only one for whom potty time is time to contemplate, or read, or just not think.
So for a resolution, the infractions must be paid. In a way that is both memorable, a deterrent to further transgression and not necessarily cruel and unusual. What do you suggest? The device will be cleaned and since the Chief and I are at a stalemate when it comes to exile, is currently in closet limbo, and the kid, well the kid is getting used to the idea of a Momtatorship for the near future anyhow, with the first decree being that me and the commode are to be left alone. Period. Unless someone needs CPR or something. Punishment pending review, and possible addition to the conditions of punishment. Would you add anything?
What, fellow Moms and Dads, do you think of this situation? Am I too free with the autonomy stuff? What would you have done? Does anyone else have these problems with their kids? Or should I just retire and leave the Chief to run the show? Is peeing alone a privilege we give up when we have kids, or is it a right? Is peeing alone part of the Mom-na carta? Is there a Mom-na carta? Should there be?
I wanna hear from you, Please and Thank you.
Bad Moms. I mean what’s there to say? I was gonna see this the moment I saw the trailer. I saw it and shared it with my girlfriends and we immediately agreed to go see it together. So said and so done, we saw it, just as planned, with one addition. One of the girls brought her Honey bunny, and boy, did he just make the thing all the better. With one of the most expressive faces I’ve seen in a while, watching him react to us was hilarious.
At first the poor fella had no clue. Poor thing. I pause here for the obligatory Spoiler Alert.
Bad moms is a movie to which anyone with children, or anyone who knows anyone raising children, in the internet age can understand. The premise is pretty simple. An average, well in my estimation more than average mom, finds herself overworked, over stressed, under appreciated, and judged. By her husband, if you can call it that, and the ‘Perfect moms’ as they like to think of themselves.
She gets fed up of the man-child, the ‘adult’ children, the job and the ‘perfect’ folks who use the PTA as their own feudal kingdom of mommy shaming and piousness. Needless to say the movie quickly escalated into a quest to take the regime down, with the help of her friends, the risque mom and the recluse stay at home slave mom. At this point hijinks ensue.
This is the point where my good buddy started getting more than he bargained for. As we, heckled at the bad husbandry and rude kids, danced in our seats, laughed, agreed, disagreed and oohed over the sexy widower. He often looked over at us with a look of astonished amusement. He tried hard to keep his composure. Not sure he was successful, but he gets points for trying.
Oh, did I mention the momologues? There are at least three in this movie that had me there like…
Because we do love our kids despite how much we nag and complain. We love them to death and we would kill or die for them.
While this is so we do spoil them. You see, especially with all this pressure for them to be perfect so we can feel validated by all the new social rules, we do way too much. In doing so we have made our children and even some of our siblings rather entitled and it’s time we took our sanity back dammit. Our kids need, more than the stuff we didn’t have, the stuff we did.i.e. resourcefulness and independence.
And lastly, we deserve some credit dammit. Working all day, helping with homework, housework, wife-ing, we deserve at least a bit of gratitude and respect, which no matter where you are in the world is a thing people seem to forget that Childrearers deserve.
Oh yes. we made our delight known. At one point, shhhh don’t tell anyone, when the contraband came out of hiding I imagine he looked over and saw an only slightly milder version of…
…for which we got….
See what I mean about that expressive face? Isn’t he just adorable?
At the end of it, slightly tipsy, or at least I was, and after the touching credit scenes, which you absolutely should wait for. With my ribs and cheeks hurting. I give this movie a 10. No complaints to speak of, I was thoroughly entertained both on screen and company wise.
To the ladies of the Staggering Ink, I hope we can do it again soon. For the next 50 shades maybe? With the same Significant other in tow? I’ll end here, with this image of his face when he reads this, as I collapse again with laughter.
Now I don’t know if it happens to anyone else, well that’s a lie, I do. It happens a lot. You don’t need to be single of childless either. You can be married and childless, single and child-ful, married and child-ful or simply alive. Some folks want to dictate, strong arm, and wheedle about the number and timing of when we have kids. They are bold enough to ask, then to pry, and even in extreme cases to threaten. What really can go so?
I have it on good authority that many men are under the stress of other folks thinking that them wild oats need sewing. Again relationship status not withstanding.
These people, these champions of procreation, tend not to know, or maybe choose to ignore, a few things about this baby making thing.
- We all say it all the time. “Kids are expensive.”It’s like the biggest deterrent we use to dissuade folks. The first excuse we come up with for not having any or anymore. Not that we should have to make excuses at all, but… Pampers, wipes, bottles, breast pump, formula, bath, soap, laundry detergent, diapers, clothes every other month etc etc etc. Dem tings cost money. If you know not my pocket or wish not to donate to the effort the take a seat.
- Time is precious, and so is sanity,especially with kids. Kids are a time suck, no matter how you look at it. They take it all, with the crying and the feeding and the diapers. Then with the homework and the raising and the punishing and the boundary pushing and the growing up and all that ish. Not only is it an investment of time, but a psycho-emotional one, ever think along those terms? All this time often means a drastic reduction in the available time for other things, like being sane and spending time with people who are interested in more than Disney channel, which is not nearly as fun as one would think it is. If you are not willing to baby sit then take a seat.
- Labor. It hurts like a mofo. No matter what the other people tell you, it’s traumatic as hell and you never forget. I can vouch for the fact that when I have to employ my vengeful, righteous Mommy rage, I dig into the very vivid memory of that pain. Well that and the morning sickness, and the back pain, and the swollen feet, the inability to navigate any space at all, etc. It’s that present in my poor poor mind. If you can’t go through the pain and discomfort for me then take a damn seat.
- I have a plan, having kids definitely requires a plan. I may not have shared it with you, I may not have put it out over the media, but I got one. It may not fit into the time frame you have for me, it may not fit into the deep insight you think you have into my life, love or otherwise, it may not even seem right to your sense of self as it applies to myself who is not yourself. But I got one, more rather we got one. So unless you put a ring on it, plan to, or are the person who I choose who may or may not have or have to, take a damn seat.
- And this is the most important one of all. It’s none of your damn business. Me and you are not in a relationship, that alone should zip ya lip. If we need to be more graffic then please be reminded that I as a woman and he has a man, were born with our own set of genitalia. Our reproductive systems work and nobody is renting one from you. Thus please keep thy nose out of my panties or his boxers. What I choose to do with them is between me and my bed mate. If you do not fit into that category, take the damn seat, bond with it, make love to it, and shut up.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke, it doesn’t matter that you are well meaning, none of the things in your mind that justify asking someone when they are going to, or implying that they should have kids mean a damn thing. What matters is if you feel so strongly about child bearing, by all means bear away. As for me, mine, the girl down the road, anyone really, is none of ya damn business, take a seat and stop it.
The only exception to this I think would be our mothers, who while annoying are mothers, they want to see their blood lines continue. Like the commercial says, it’s what they do, and we have to be respectful of them.
This iAntihero post was inspired by my Facebook feed, and is dedicated to all my friends and acquaintances. Married, single, dating, child less, or child ful. I stand with you, and hope you have the strength to tell those who would see your womb full for their own selfish reasons to take a damn seat.