karma, threenagers, and juice

A letter to my mother, if she could have read it 30 years ago.

Dear Mom,

Fear not, karma soooo has this under control.  I know right now you are looking at that precious child you birthed and thinking "dear gawd she is a demon" but I assure you, what goes around comes around.

You see, I am that demon ... er, I am your daughter.  I am all grown up now nearly 30 years later with a child the exact age as I was when you first really started debating "can I sell her?"

You didn't sell me, and I am grateful, but I doubt you could have if you tried.  While I was cute, I was apparently an absolute mutant of a child.

You have told me that I would scream or shriek when I threw a tantrum so badly you were just sure someone would overhear and call the police convinced I was in the process of being boiled to death.  Reality being what it is, I was merely pissed you had dared utter the word "no" to me.  But for all those times you shared those stories and I rolled my eyes convinced you were exaggerating, even after my first child was born for he failed to have meltdowns of that level, I assure you I am now eating a feast of crow.

The Beans is cute, but oh. My. Goodness.  Hereforward for the sake of clarity we will call him Dr. Banner or Hulk.

It all started with Captain America.  No joke, it really did.

He loves these juice bottles with heads of characters on them, and most of all he loves Captain America.

I was out of Dr. Pepper and decided to splurge before we picked Meatball up from school.  We were going to get me 44 ounces of my drug of choice and him an apple juice with Captain America's head on it.  The whole way into the gas station he babbled about getting his hero and how he hoped they had one.  Well they did, but they also had Muck.  He is a stupid truck from Bob the Builder, a show Beans has watched ONCE.  But he was CERTAIN he needed Muck.  Had to have him.

But Muck is smaller than the Cap I said.  I showed him.  He saw that it was smaller and NOT Captain America.  He heard me tell him that I think he should get the Cap'n.

Yes, he hears all of it and knew, he wanted Muck the scoopy truck.

So after about a minute of my "are you sure"ing him he convinced me.  We bought Muck and my beloved Dr. Pepper.  We walked outside, buckled him into the car seat and then I pealed the seal off the Muck apple juice that we had already been discussing for about 3 minutes at least.  I handed it to him with a smile, certain he got the ridiculously expensive juice of his dreams.

"No, Mommy, I need my Captain America."  said Dr. Banner, the still reasonable big-blue-eyed angel in my car.

"Sweetie, you picked the truck one, we didn't get Captain America."

Then he did this.

Figuratively of course.  Well mostly, it did kinda look like that but he was less green and muscley.

I closed my door and took one sip of my 44 ounces of heaven.  I hadn't had a Dr. Pepper in 2 days and that caffeine flew to the pleasure receptors of my brain promising that we could handle this melt down.  He's usually a reasonable kid.  We will have maybe 5 minutes of yelling and whining, then he will be fine.

Oh how wrong I was.

I start to pull out of the parking lot, and this is when the Hulk realized the shmit was getting serious.  He started kicking the back of my passenger seat with everything he had.  The seat organizer that hung over the back was a casualty that he flipped up and started pummeling.

Unfortunately, as a driver, the sight of something suddenly flying like that startled me.  So I jerked the wheel.  Did I mention that the cup holders of a 2001 Corolla are really not equipped to hold a dixie cup much less 44 ounces of peace and deliciousness?

So 44 ounces (minus ONE sip) of Dr. Pepper dumps down on my feet, all over the pedals and floor.  Any moment now Noah will come floating along in the deluge I tell you.

I turn around and pull back into the gas station as it is the easiest place to go.  Hulk is now really screaming "GO INSIDE.  I NEED CAPTAIN AMERICA APPLE JUICE!!!"

If I had been on fire and Captain America apple juice was the only means with which to douse the flames ... well, burn baby burn.

So I scoop the ice out of my car into the parking lot.  I use my discarded sweatshirt to absorb what I can.  All to the tune of:

"I NEED CAPTAIN AMERICA APPLE JUICE NOW!!!! MOMMY, GO GET IT!"

I try to calmly say no and reason with IT.  Nope.  I try the mom voice.  Nope.  I try the little-devil-that-was-my-last-$3-and-my-Dr.-Pepper-is-gone voice.  Still nope.

So I drive.  Realizing there is no way we can go to the grocery store with him like this I just decide to take the long way to Meatball's school to pick him up.  Maybe we will be there early, but hey the kid will likely fall asleep and I will have a quiet moment to crush some candy like a junkie needing some kind of fix since I am without caffeine now in the parking lot.

Yeah, I still was underestimating the sheer power of karma and the Hulk.

Over an hour later he was exhausted.  The Hulk fell asleep.  Thank goodness.  I privately swore to myself I'd kill anything that woke him -- see this is why we know where he gets his anger issues from.

Then he starts again.  In. His. Sleep.

Seriously, how is that even possible?!

I tried to soothe him.  I was even kind about it.  It was hard, but I did it.

He wakes up.

"NO YOU BE QUIET MOMMY!!!!!!'

Okay, kid.  Sheesh.  I say nothing.

"YOU NEED TO BE QUIET MOMMY!!!"

But I am being quiet!  I desperately point out.

"BE QUIET NOW MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Okay, he had me there, I had spoken.  So I stayed quiet.  But he kept screaming how I needed to be quiet NOW.  Then Meatball got in the car.

"MOMMY BE QUIET LIKE MEATBALL! BE QUIET NOW MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!"

Dude, seriously, I am not talking!!!!

He started to go hoarse.  Then he shrieked until he gagged.  Each time I asked what was wrong (before the command to be silent of course) I was told "I DON'T KNOW!!!"

He kicked one shoe off at some point in this ridiculous mess and when we got home and I pried him out of the car and set him down he screamed anew at me for that. We got inside ... well after Paul Bunyan ran after him when he tried to run down the street screaming "I NEED MY SPIDERMAN SHOE!!!!" then carried the kicking screaming mutant inside.  He continued for a little bit and I sat on the ground.

"NO SITTING ON THE GROUND MOMMY!!!!!!"

I am waiting.  I said.  I think you need a hug, I told him.

"I NO NEED HUG.  YOU NO HUG ME!!"

I made the best sympathetic grimace I could, sure my ears were bleeding and the neighbors -- who had to have seen the screaming child try to flea in desperation -- had to be assessing if it was 911 worthy yet.  I held out my arms and said "I think my Beansie needs a mama hug."

Then he ran at me and threw himself in my arms.  We sat quiet for about 5 minutes with him just hiccup breathing and me regaining my hearing.  

I learned a new term today, mom.  It is "threenager" and I am hoping that it is a short lived phase because he isn't even actually three yet!

So, mother of mine, rest assured that I will some day get every ounce of what I have given.  I too will have friends smile and say "oh surely he didn't scream for the whole hour" while my left eye twitches.  I too will want to snap and scream and go as crazy as you probably did.  But I too will hug that little a-hole and tell him how much I love him, making him know he is incredibly special and safe and loved in spite of the monster he is being.  Just like you did.

And I will pray that he will grow out of this, just like I did.  Only sooner, please.

With love, respect, and wine,

Me

more on Tom and Vitamixes

Dear Tom,

This is in no way a Dear-John letter.  Say the word and I will pour your tea for life honey.  (Please note if you read this and you are my actual husband that I love you and will pour your tea too.)

Its just that previously I went on the record with the assertion that it was either you OR the Vitamix I have desperately wanted for about three years.  Well, I got the blender.  Words like "awesome!" or "in-freaking-credible!" don't even come close to describing it or the size of my guilt stricken panic attacks at the cash register.  I knew what it would cost, we have been planning for it for a long time because we knew that our families dietary needs were not the norm.  We knew we'd have to jump the gun on this one eventually, so we did.

In no way does it lessen my devotion to you, however.

I swear I could blend a brick down to pudding, and it is officially the only dang thing in my house that isn't me AND cleans up after itself.  I have had it for a few days now and used it at least three to four times each day and I get a little excited each time.

I remember when I read the whole Twilight saga (don't judge) that there was a part where Bella was bemoaning the pain she didn't even knew she felt when she wasn't in the presence of the sparkly dude who suddenly gave her talent-less-klutzy-ass value and meaning.  I remember the scene was with him coming to the door or something and she was like all relieved, that being in his presence alleviated something for her.  I also remember rolling my eyes a little here -- even though I know I feel infinitely happier in the presence of my husband, the whole needy desperate tone was just too much to not have to look at the inside/back of my skull for a moment.  I judged.

I no longer judge, because the Vitamix does this to me too now.  It is my sparkly, emo, vampire with fabulous hair and questionable hygiene.

Don't get me wrong, I am sure that you would be too if I ever had the pleasure of actually meeting you.

Did you know that ice can actually be creamy?  Like if you blend it fast enough... no, wait, even more "OMG" moment for me: do you know where powdered sugar comes from?

Not something I ever gave any thought too.  Back when my children and my genetics had not yet betrayed me and I could buy cake mixes and boxed brownies I would splurge and buy powdered sugar to make my thirty minutes and three ingredients concoctions look fancier and more home-made-ish.  I always marveled at how it was more expensive than normal sugar and assumed this was because it was like a special cane or something.  Like it had to be harvested on a full moon by elves riding unicorns or something.

Nope.  They just take regular ol' granulated sugar and blend the shat out of it.  Am I the only person who didn't know that?!

I tried to make mashed potatoes yesterday.  It was just soup when I was done, but I proudly presented my mistake to my family, whom thought it was the most delicious potato soup they'd ever had.  Seriously, as a family with a million dietary restrictions and *finger quotes here* issues *end finger quotes* I don't know how we could live without it anymore!

We named it.  I name all my appliances and other stuff too.  It is Gandalf the Grey.  Because it is actually grey ... and it can do magic.

Anyway, my beloved, it has been said by many poets and other smart people that love is infinite and stuff.  So, like, I take that to mean that while my love for you has not lessened my heart is capable of even more love and devotion now with Vitamix in the house.  I'm like the Grinch, y'all.  My heart grew three sizes the other day.

In closing I would like to reaffirm my love and devotion to your hotness, and point out that this is in no way one of those affiliate blogpost type things where I get a kickback or was paid to wax poetic about the awesome beauty that is my high powered blender.  However, if you are either Tom Hiddleston (call me!) or a representative of Vitamix interested in showering me with more Vita-love ... well either way, call me!

With love, respect and all that other stuff,

Me

P.S. I really hope all my gifs work!!

An Open Letter to Netflix

Dear Netflix,

We have a complicated relationship, and I blame you entirely for it.

We started off fine, with you sending me the DVDs I wanted more or less when I wanted them.  Then the whole streaming thing started, and I was like "man, that is bad ass! Thank you!" and loved you even more.

Somewhere in there, my ability to function became entirely dependent on you.

Oh yeah, I know where it happened.

Parenthood.

Don't get me wrong, I will be honest that I was swearing at you under my breath when I had discovered Glee, like a year after everyone else on the planet, and obsessively watched up to the end of what you offered only to discover that an additional like 17 seasons have happened that you haven't loaded.  The freaking Glee club kids I was watching should be heading back for their ten year reunions and I have NO idea what is happening?!

I could get over that.  I had a much, much harder time with Downton Abbey and wound up having to find out when the hell PBS was airing that because I would still be back in frigging 1914 and not have known about *spoilers, highlight to see it if you are even further behind than I was* Mary and Matthew finally getting married, Sybil dying and what they did to my beloved Matthew! I am still in mourning!!!*end spoiler*

But now?  Now you screwed with Nick Jr.

Pardon my french, but you deserve an f-bomb or two and I have muttered them countless times in the last week or so when Beans is asking for Diego and Wonder Pets ...  but they are GONE.

GONE!

We purposely bought some of his faves from Disney on DVD because, let's be frank here, Disney is all about magic and whatever, but whoever is in charge of marketing and product distribution is one greedy bastard.  It takes me ten years just to bypass the previews and get to mother effing "fast play" and then they go vaulting crap so you cannot buy it and have to splurge now or Peter Pan may DIE!!!  So when I looked at the list of things available on Netflix and saw very very little of Disney I figured it was just that Disney was good and controlling their product and whoring for as much money as possible.  So, no, I assumed I would not have access to Disney shows for $8.69 a month.

So we bought a couple Jake and the Neverland Pirates videos.  A holy butt ton of Little Einsteins, the cost of which seems to be equal to whatever the disc's weight is in platinum, and figured between a couple DVDs  and Netflix all would be well.

Then you screwed me.

I know it is all contract BS and maybe it isn't exclusively your fault that you no longer have Nick Jr. shows, but know that I am hating you for it all the same.  You let the whole Viacom deal expire.  You are the asshole to blame.

Apart from the wicked pissed two year old that I would unleash upon you if I didn't think I would somehow get sued for the damages he'd cause, I have a ticked 11 year old who loved some occasional Jimmy Neutron and I am terrified you will take away the shows *I* want to watch before I have cleared the que.  As if I needed something else to distract me from getting things done now I have YEARS of television to cram into my life?!

Seriously, can you just tell me if you are going to rip Weeds, Once Upon a Time, Mad Men, How I Met Your Mother or Dr. Who out of my life to so I can totally sink into the madness?

Did I mention we are in the process of canceling our cable for you?  You two-timing-witch.

Oh and did you really keep Calluou?  Seriously, I would rather soak in honey and lay on a mountain of fire ants for hours than listen to ONE episode of that whiny little turd.

In closing, I forgot to mention that I have friends who's kids are completely obsessed with Dora and Yo Gabba Gabba (I was scared of that show and have never allowed my children to watch it because it is like Sesame Street on acid) who are equally ready to riot against you.  I am sure you are fielding LOTS of calls from parents annoyed with this and I am sure you have some very nice prepared statement about it all too.  I also know that I have been told that between Hulu and Amazon Prime I may be able to bring peace to our house again.  You may have gotten awfully comfy being the best for a while, but you have to stay competitive in order to stay on top.

Keeping that whiny brat Calluou but ditching the Wonder Pets was an exceptionally shitty plan to try to actually please customers.

Sincerely,
One Frazzled Mom