The Final Slice of “I’ll Never” Pie

The gals from MommyLand and I teamed up the grand finale of the “l’ll Nevers”. It’s like the final episode of Seinfeld without the suck.
. . . . . . . . .

“Because I SAID so!’ I used to hear mothers say this and think never. It seemed completely disrespectful. How much effort does it really take to explain X, Y, or Z to a small child? It turns out it takes a lot.”

It’s easier to stop a out of control speeding freight train careening to impact a bus full of hymn singing children with the power of my own thoughts than it is to explain anything beyond “NO!” to the IHPs*. Why? Because I freakin’ taught them the word “Why?”

Kid: Can we go to the park?
Me: No, not right now.
Kid: Why?
Me: Because it’s really hot outside.
Kid: Why?
Me: Umm, because it’s noon in August.
Kid: Why?
Me: Seriously, are you talking to me about orbital rotation? I said no.
Kid: Why?

Following closely behind “Because I said so” — the mommy-proverbial “If all your friends jumped off a bridge…??” Yeah, they love that one too.

*For newbies, IHP’s are Kate’s children, the Indoor Homeless People. Lydia’s are the Little Terror Suspects. (Kate)

. . . . . . . . .

“I would never, ever give up my job and be a stay at home mom. No way, Jose. Not this lady.”

I tried this. Here’s the thing. My kids need me to work. They go off to school and do their thing, they get to call me on the telephone and – let’s be honest – their nanny is WAY more fun than I am. They need me up in their business 24 hours a day like they need a cherry spritzer colonic. Why? Because I’m not good at the room mom thing, I don’t play well with others and I have a wardrobe of decidedly non-child-friendly footwear. When I’m home for more than a week straight, everyone starts getting a little twitchy. The last time it happened, I opened Happy’s door one morning to “Ewwww, where’s Nanny?” (Kate)

. . . . . . . . .

“I swore that I would never be The Enforcer, you know – the tough mom who busts everybody’s chops.  Now I’m know throughout the neighborhood for being ‘hardcore.'”

My way of thinking has progressed so far into group parenting, that the way I see it, if your kid is in the vicinity of my voice, I have parenting rights. Telling other people’s children to sit down, hush it, eat their food properly or watch their mouths or I’m gonna shove a bar of soap in it has become standard practice. I can do a two-fingered whistle so loud and so high that the IHPs stop dead in their tracks when they hear it. Upside, other kids do too.

Yesterday at the pool, two boys decided it would be fun to swing kickboards at each other and pretend they were Jackie Chan. I let it go on for about 4 seconds before THE WHISTLE came piercing out of my mouth. The pool stopped. Including the parents and lifeguards. And the IHPs, thinking “What?! We weren’t doing anything!” I pointed at the two boys and yelled, “Cut it out before I thump your skull for ya!” Didn’t really need to yell. There was no other sound but me. For probably 3 minutes. When the mob comes calling, I wanna be known as Katie Two Fingers, know-wha-I’m-tawkin’-bout? (Kate)

. . . . . . . . .

“I swore I’d never use my spit-dampened finger to clean my kids’ faces. I wanted to square up on my mom every time she did it to me…and now, I’ll be damned if there is EVER anything handy around to wipe their faces. Especially as we’re going into church/school/grocery store/wherever. It never fails.”

Not only do I do this one, I routinely stick my two-year old’s entire hand in my mouth to suck off whatever he’s been eating as a “pre-wash” before wiping his hand to save a little time. I’ve also eaten food stuck on their clothes that I hadn’t noticed until we were ringing someone’s doorbell. If you answer the door and I’m standing there chewing, there’s a good chance it’s a dried Cheerio off my kid’s collar. (Amy)

. . . . . . . . .

“I swore that my child would never use a pacifier. I would rock her and shush her and feed her and swaddle her and no pacifier would be needed.”

I was strongly anti-binky before I became a mom.  But she had colic.  And she refused to sleep for more than two consecutive hours.  And she would SCREAM bloody murder every single night between the hours of 6 and 9:30pm.  I would have gladly sold my soul to the devil himself or played a midnight fiddle battle against him or whatever I had to do to get the baby to please stop crying, for the love of all that’s holy.  Instead, I gave her a NukNuk and got myself fifteen minutes of peace and quiet. I used the time to rock back and forth holding myself chanting: “It’s all going to be OK.  It’s all going to be OK.” (Lydia)

. . . . . . . . .

“I said my cats/pets would never play second fiddle to the baby. I looked at people who shut shedding cats out of the nursery or had “no time left” to play and cuddle with fido as heartless. What, I imagined in my extreme naivete, could matter more than Fluffy? I was also known to (shamefully to me now) proclaim things along the lines of, “Why should a child’s life/happiness matter more than a dog’s? Why didn’t someone just shoot me? What an absolute moron I was. The first time my beloved cat woke the baby meowing and demanding to be petted, he became well acquainted with the basement.”

Before I had kids, my two cats that were lovingly fed in separate bowls with carefully measured food, they were indoor cats because “I couldn’t handle it if something happened to one of them” and I cried when I took them into the have their teeth cleaned because they would be so frightened and they wouldn’t understand what was going on. Now that I have kids, they’re only fed if one of them follows me around the house meowing and only after my 15th “what the fruck is your problem?” do I figure out “oh, you have no food or water”. They are both allowed outside because they are 14 and I think they’ve earned the right to live out their twilight years in grass-eating, bug-chasing, sun lounging joy, plus, the boys try to draw on them. As for the vet and the teeth cleaning? “Hey cat, tell me if you’re not feeling well, okay? *silence* “Carry on then.” (Amy)

. . . . . . . . .

“I’ll never let my kid get hooked on TV.” Not having cable was no help in this situation. She is hooked on Blue’s Clues DVDs. It’s the first thing she asks for nearly every day. Oh well, could be worse … We have NO Dora or Elmo DVDs!”

If I ask my two-year old, “What should we do?” he’ll scream “Tom-ah!” “Tom-ah!” Thomas the Tank Engine makes my bum itch: The island of Sodor is clearly run on caste system and I think the troublesome trucks should rise up and overthrow Sir Topham Hatt who is clearly a dick and plays on the fear and low-self esteem of all his trains. It’s on about 400 times a day in this house. Wrong, yes? Changing? Nope. I’m avoiding “confusion and delay”. (Amy)

. . . . . . . . .

“I’ll never let me kid play with my purse”…

Not only do I let my kids play with my purse, but I let them play with my jewelry, my car, my cell phone and my hair. There is an intricate mathematic equation that figures out replacement cost ratio to chaos avoidance but only me and Steven Hawkins know the exact formula. (Amy)

. . . . . . . . .

“When I go back to work full time (BWAA HAA HAAA), I will just find an awesome daycare.  I mean, how hard can that be?”

It took longer for me to find a decent daycare provider than it did for me to find a damn job.  It’s not that I was picky, either.  It’s that after interviewing and visiting literally 75 people and centers, I found one person that I could:

A) Afford without selling a vital organ to scary Hungarian surgeon, which somewhat defeated the purpose of working.
B) Didn’t give me the willies, scabies, or lice.
C) Didn’t have an ex-convict sibling living in their basement.

The one person I found?  Had a waiting list.  Got off the waiting list, then 6 months later she retired.  Lucked into a replacement who turned out to be childcare perfection and all was well.  Three months later that selfish b*tch decided she wanted to accept a scholarship and go to college.  After that I just gave up and got pregnant again. (Lydia)

. . . . . . . . .

“My husband and I promised each other we would NEVER be one of those couples who called each other “Mommy” and “Daddy”.  Now we do it all the time and we disgust ourselves.”

We used to live in Alabama where everyone, including the Governor, calls their parents “Mama’n’Daddy”.  Then I noticed adult couples calling each other Mama and Daddy.  Being from NJ, I thought that was a little odd.  Then I had kids and realized that if we didn’t call each other Mommy and Daddy or some nauseating variation thereof, my kids would be like: “LYYYYDIIIA! WIPE MY BOTTOM!” while shopping at Target.  At least when they call me mom and scream at me to wipe them, strangers understand that I am obligated to do so because they are my ill-behaved offspring. (Lydia)

. . . . . . . . .

“I will never compromise my house or my decor to accommodate the children.  I will just tell them “NO” and they will leave all my lovely knick knacks alone.”

I have one room in the house. We call it the Living Room, even though no one is allowed to live, sit, breathe, walk-through or stop there. Basically it’s the No Room. It might as well be encased in the furniture plastic that stuck to the back of your thighs when you went to your Gramma’s friend’s house that smelled a little too much like fabricated jasmine and stale cigarettes from 1965. And have red velvet covered ropes. Hell, for that matter, it might as well have an open casket in it.

The rest of the house has succumbed to kid chaos like sorority girls at a kegger. The Family Room is an exploded Toys R Us, my bathroom has Legos in the shower – whuck? – and last night I found a rubber snake at the bottom of the bed. Under the sheets. Though, I suspect McLovin. I retaliated with fake puke on his pillow. (Kate)

. . . . . . . . .

And that concludes our series of posts on “Before I was parent, I swore I’d never…”  If you missed any of them, start here, then move onto my second post, then click back to the kick-ass post that Kate and Lydia did yesterday.

If we were ice-dancers, this would be the moment where the three of us would skate forward holding each others hands above our heads and take a bow. The corrupt Russian judge would give us shit marks but hopefully you’ve loved us.

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  • I am a momma & a (well, I was) a teacher. I correct other people's kids all the time. I think it embarrasses my hubby a bit. Oh & what part of AL did you live? I lived there 27 years until I moved to Louisiana.

  • I just discovered this site and I have had to ration the reading because I keeping PEEING MYSELF while reading it!!! It is the best thing I've read on parenting in a very long time. Make that ever. LOVE IT!!!

  • I am absolutely terrified of correcting other peoples children lol. Mommas get so offended, even if they KNOW they are wrong. I wish I had it in me though!

  • I think if more mothers corrected other people’s children’s inappropriate behavior in public that we would have a better behaved society in general. Although I was mortified whenever anyone felt the need to correct any of my children (and I admit it I resented it, too) I was amazed at how quickly they shaped up. And I wish I could whistle loudly with my two fingers. But I can appreciate other people’s talents, too.

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