Put a leash on her!

     I could say that I have one HUGE pet peeve about how other parents raise their children, but I'd be lying. I have this mindset that I know everything, and I'm always right. How I got this way, I have no idea. My husband certainly hasn't gotten the message yet and wouldn't dream of indulging the thought in me. As pet peeves and other parents go, I have many!


     Still, for this posts's purposes, we'll just say I have narrowed it down to one.


    Pet Peeve of the Day:  Child Safety Leashes Harnesses


     Leashes are for dogs, not children. A big pet peeve I have is with parents who put leashes on their children. I can understand if you have two year old triplets prone to wandering or if god-forbid you have 8 children you aren't currently using as a paycheck, but most parents I see using leashes -- I mean, child safety harnesses -- have a single child. They have somehow convinced themselves that their interest is in making it impossible for their child to be lost or kidnapped when in reality, they are simply too lazy to keep an eye on their child to prevent this from happening on their own. 


     I guess it boils down to one thing, though. Lazy parents bother me! Maybe a tad bit beyond a pet peeve. 

Have a parenting pet peeve to share?

Computers and Kids

     What do computers and kids have in common?

     Well, I'm actually not really sure, but when something is broken with either one, I have found that I am very good at pretending I know how to fix things as I frantically panic inside! Take, for instance, last night's computer fiasco.

     My daughter and her daddy-- my dear, sweet, amazing husband-- went on a weekend trip to  the beach to visit his relatives. I had to work and stay home all alone... in this house of silence... with the bed all to myself... not having to sleep on the pee pee side (see pee pee post)... using the bathroom in private... taking showers without Barbie... 

     I was seriously beat up about it, okay!

     Anyway, I'm getting a ton of writing work done (because I'm the awesome-est freelancer, chyeah) and over the top proud of myself for finishing so many projects. I see my glass of coke is getting low. I refill said glass and one  tiny  HUGE  drop of water falls on the letter "I" on my laptop keyboard. I wipe said droplet whose size will remain anonymous off the keyboard and continue writing.

     15 minutes later...

     On the phone, "Baby, the letter "I" has stopped working all of a sudden. Isn't that weird?"

     Alright, alright, I confessed my sins to the master of the household this afternoon! But, I'll have you know that the confession came after I frantically disabled the poor letter's cover, dried the underside with a q-tip, replaced the letter, and had a minor freak out when I thought I'd broken it.

     I tried to google how to fix the keyboard, but I couldn't type the "i" in "fix." 

I got a lot of great info on FX makeup, though.

     I finally fixed the letter "I" only to have it seek revenge on me by typing "iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii" into every text box on my computer and opening up a countless number of programs beginning with that foul letter!

     So, "I," obviously you're working once more, but I will never forget your attempt to bring down this computer and have my husband remind me not-so-subtly that this is technically his gaming slash entertainment laptop I just spilled dropped water on. Never.

     Hey, at least it wasn't the coke.

Hubby Power!

My husband is like a nosy old woman sometimes, and I can't stand it. I mean, I really can't stand it. How is he like a nosy old woman??


He doesn't know when to NOT give unwarranted advice and constantly compares our daughter's progress to our friends' kids.


Haylen is 6 months younger than Lilybug, and he can already use a computer mouse. You need to start working with her on that.


Reaghan can dance rhythmically, and she is the same age as Lilybug. You should start teaching her how to move to the beat.


I babysat a little girl during the day for a few months who was not even 2 yet and could name all the planets. What do I hear from the hubby? Guess! Morgan, who can barely speak intelligibly, knows all the names of the planets in our solar system. So, I tell him matter-of-factly, "Any kid can memorize the name of planets. Its memorizing the picture and name just like when they memorize their favorite characters or toys."


You should make her a genius like that!


What?! I seriously could kill him sometimes! Not only is the phrase YOU SHOULD thrown around way too much here, but Lilybug is 3 and already speaks like an adult, has crazy good manners, knows her colors and numbers, can do basic addition and subtraction, can write her own name, and is working on learning her letters by sight and sound.


When exactly should I be focusing on computer games and mouse usage? Why does it matter if she spins around to music like she's having a seizure? She has fun.

I Could Learn Something from HIM??

This week I'm participating in Mama Kat's Writing Prompt. It's pretty much world famous, you know.

Anyway, I suppose there are a few things I could learn from the hubby. I don't like to dwell on them overmuch because in some weird way it makes me feel like I'm not right anymore-- and I'm always right! Right?! Still, I do admire the way he can punch the hell out of an air-filled bag and feel so much better. I mean, you'd think he'd gone skiing with Prince Valium on the Mountain of Insta-Therapy!


I tried it once, but all I got out of it was a set of prettily bruised knuckles (who doesn't love permanently wearing the colors blue, purple, and that drop-dead shade of faded green), and I was more pissed than before. Not to mention the explanation I had to give my 3 year old daughter.


"Why are you yelling, Momma?"


"Um..."  I got nothin.' How do you explain that to a 3 year old?


My hubby says I bruised because I wasn't hitting it correctly which is really code for: "Honey, you're just a wuss." I tell him I was just trying to stay fashionable all summer sporting these great new wearable colors.

I just want my bed back!

I decided to start a parenting blog after my freelance work starting looking oddly, categorically similar... All my articles were geared toward parenting advice, tips, and humor. The more parenting articles I wrote, the more ideas for more bounced around in my brain. I realized that it was probably time to put that childcare and education background to work!


A little about me...


Well, I'm a freelance writer-- obviously-- with a sarcastic sense of humor that only my husband seems to really get. Everyone else think I'm just being mean for some really weird reason. Seriously, I have no clue. Honestly.


Anyway, I'm a mom to a soon-to-be preschooler, and I'm absolutely terrified of school buses now. Strange, right? My husband somehow still functions in our household when I get on a writing kick, though with no counter space because of all the dirty dishes, no dining room table under all my notes, and no dinner because I lost track of time... erhm... you get the gist of it. He's the bomb.

Do people still say that?

I'm not even twenty-five yet and already so very, very far behind the current slang of coolness. My husband jokes that he married a woman ten years younger than he and really twenty years older. 

So, I've decided to create this blog, which you will LOVE in case you were wondering, and I'm wracking my brain for a beginning post when it dawns on me. My daughter's summer visit with out of state grandparents is over tomorrow. I miss her, but I've really loved sleeping alone in my bed. Except for the bear snoring next to me. He doesn't count.

It's not that I don't love snuggling with my little girl. She really can be the sweetest, but when I wake up waaaayyy too early in the morning to, "Momma, there's pee in your bed," it kind of ruins the whole affect. I'd almost say I'm counting down to the day when the pull-up can go away for good (gone at naptime), but I can't even imagine what waking up to that much pee would do to my psyche.

I just want my bed back.. you know, the one without the pee.