Your Toddler is a Tyrant

Your Toddler is a Tyrant

The mind of a 3 year old child is like the diapered version of Mordor in Lord of the Rings – one does not simply walk in and make him do anything. As a veteran mother, I often amuse myself in public places by watching, with no small amount of glee the younger Moms with their infants and toddlers. Sometimes I laugh so hard my saggy old boobs jiggle in my sensible bra. I think it is so cute when little Caiden or Caylen or Raven or whatever their names are now starts to melt down. Mom gently and patiently pulls out the manual, gets down on one passive knee and starts to talk junior through it. The screaming carries on, and her flipping of pages in the child rearing instruction book gets more frantic. Her carefully coiffed burb-mom hairdo starts to get frizzy like a stress measurement device. As she tries to keep the raging child still, her yoga pants creep down revealing a regrettable tramp stamp and a practical thong, and yet she perseveres. Junior is now screaming at the decibel level of an 80’s hair band and Mom has gone through her entire repertoire of verbal warnings. The rest of us stand around and smirk. Isn’t it so cute in her happy pretend universe where toddlers suddenly become reasonable? Here are some facts for you yoga pants mommy: Three year olds are savages with slowly developing little emotional regulation systems. The only thing they react to is hunger, tiredness or frustration. None of those things can be handled on the spot. Do it later when you no longer feel the rage. Yes, everybody is judging you if you let your child cry and ignore them. Children will test you constantly to see when you draw the line. Public meltdowns need to be that line. Kid starts to get crabby? Do they need a nutritious snack? Then feed them, it might work. If it is an issue of tired or frustrated, you have no hope. Pick up the child, and I mean pick. up. the. child. Take their ground out from under them. It is a bit jarring and sometimes can distract them enough to reset the path they are on. Especially if you do it by their ankle. No just kidding, unless they are wearing overalls, that is what those are for… they have toddler management handles. Don’t actually hurt them of course, but tell them you have had enough, and remove them physically. Once outside or in a new setting, put them down and ask them if they are done. If not, it is time for a nap. Then deliver. It is a dog eat dog...
How To Make Friends When You Are a Mom

How To Make Friends When You Are a Mom

If your life follows the Motherhood trajectory, you find a partner and push out tiny humans, or adopt them or whatever. Either way – you are now in the Mom Zone. You need friends, sister. You need them bad. In order to help you in your friend hunting strategy, I am going to give you some clear Do and Don’ts. Shun my advice at your own risk: Prenatal classes: Do Not – repeat Do Not seek out friendships with these people. None of you have actually had your babies yet. These friendships are potentially destined for the scrap heap because you can’t tell from how they do breathing exercises what kind of parents they will be. Conflicting parenting styles are slow deaths for friendships. However, if you are bound and determined to ignore my advice, at bare minimum, ask prospective friends if they have a hippy dippy birth plan and a recipe for fried placenta. If the answer is yes, waddle your ass out of there. Baby socializing groups: same as above. Babies haven’t had time to be ruined little assholes yet, so you won’t know the parenting styles unless you create a real time scientific test of what kind of parent you are talking to. If you have picked out one with potential, you might have to take extreme measures to get them to show their true colours. Sit yourself on down, pull out a bottle for your baby and a martini for yourself. This will separate the wheat from the chaff. The first woman who comes up to you looking relieved because she didn’t have enough mix in her diaper bag for her own drink is your new bestie. Toddler Playgroups: This is primo Mom-friend stalking grounds. Pick cool classes and watch the minivans as they arrive. If the Moms look frazzled and they roll out of their fishy cracker leaking sliding doors carrying a squiggling toddler by his overall straps, she is ripe for some friendly adult conversation. That is your prime target right there, so bring her a handy wipe and some chocolate. Pre-School hallway parties: Technically this is the beginning of the “drive and drop” years of school. But mostly when the kids are in their preschool years, Moms still hang out in the hall waiting for precious to go in or come out. This is prime time to make your move. Ask your kid who the nice children are, who has vegetables in their lunch, and who the teachers like. Then find out who their moms are. Just don’t be too creepy and wide eyed when you start the conversation. Desperation has a smell that cool moms pick up with their aquiline noses. Elementary...
Why Can’t I Master Woman Stuff?

Why Can’t I Master Woman Stuff?

I was never a tomboy as a kid. I couldn’t throw a ball with any accuracy, wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference between the infield and a forward guard, and am relatively sure I am mixing up sports here. I accept my ineptitude in all things sporty butch. But I am even more useless in areas that are usually the domain of women. In fact, with all this chatter about “identifying as something other than what you appear” I might be a new iteration of human that is a bit of both genders. That concept justifies my shortfalls and makes them seem a little less inglorious. For instance – fake eyelashes. I have failed at the installation of those little creeps my whole adult life. It was evident that I should give up trying to wear them when I found a “spider” in my fancy gala plated dinner. It was quickly pointed out that it was in fact my eyelash and it had dropped into the chevre and cranberry salad. Ya, winner. Purses confound me as well. I have a friend who has  different one to fit her mood and the season. I just gawp at her ability to “switch purses” in a blink. How the hell does she do that?? Do you know how long it takes me to move all my crap from one purse to the other if the pockets are in different places in the bag??! If the zipper pockets are different sizes entirely, I come undone. My criteria for purchasing a new purse is a pretty short checklist of two questions…. can I find my damned keys in it when I blindly reach? Next priority: does it fit my Ipad and my giant camera? Somewhere down my list is the minor issue of fabric and aesthetic. Chick cars also leave me cold. I know that if I see a white Volkswagen Beetle with a sunflower in the cup holder, I could probably describe the driver pretty accurately. Pony tail, yoga pants, no kids, Pumpkin Spice Latte in hand and open mouthed gum chewing. Follow me? I drive a German car as well, but a cool one and I make that gas pedal my bastard servant. I drive it like I mean it, and there are no flowers in the space where my double expresso cup sits. BooYA baby. Cruising at the $189 level gives me a rush. On the topic of flowers, I can’t stand them. If the smell of funerals and old ladies through the whole house isn’t bad enough , the rotting petals and even the slimy vase water make me heave. Just gross. Why buy somebody flowers when there is...