Womb and Bored

Womb and Bored

Monday, October 19, 2015

That's Pinteresting...

I have a love/hate relationship with Pinterest.

I love it because I can be a total voyeur.  There's no pressure to be witty or beautiful.  And if someone doesn't like my post, it's okay, because it wasn't mine to begin with.  That's kinda nice.


I also love that in my "Oh, shit!" moments, I have a place I can go to aid in my complete and utter love of procrastination.


However, I hate that it has turned our world into a fucking Stepford society.


Case in point, when is the last time you attended a child's birthday party where there wasn't something inspired (plagiarized) from Pinterest?  I mean, really...think about it.  From the over-the-top invites to the 3-dimensional cake to the overly ambitions favors, all of these things were likely pilfered straight from the the virtual one-upping bulletin board.


And while the intentions are amazing, the execution has taken away the need for any creative thought and/or genuine intentions.  What the fuck happened to store bought invitations, hot dogs from the skating rink, and cookie cake with red icing?  These things have been replaced with themed bullshit and lots and lots of craft glue.  And why?  You really think your kids give a shit about the amazing snack stand you created at midnight in coordinating hand-blown glass bowls?  No.  It's not for them.  Admit it.  It's for us.  It's so when we post pictures on social media, people think we've got our shit together.


There are some things craft glue just can't fix.


Most recently I went with one of my girlfriends to a winery.  While there, every single female had the same plaid shirt with the same puffer vest with the same jeans and the same boots.  It was so fucking boring.  And, where do you think this inspiration came from?  Pinterest.  I've seen it 1,000 times myself.  It's fucked up.  It's like we can't even dress ourselves.  All the sudden, we need someone else's ideas for putting a shirt and pants together...I mean, how did we ever survive without this?  It's amazing more people weren't arrested for public indecency in the early 2000s...before we had a website that told us what to wear.


I know I sound bitter.  I totally am.


I spend most of my time trying to keep my head above water and simply survive, and meanwhile, other people have time to mold rice-crispy treats into statues of David while creating birthday cakes that actually talk.


I fear that Pinterest is creating the long for a reality that distracts from what's important.  Life shouldn't be all about what is esthetically beautiful, but rather what happens behind the scenes.  The chances...the failures...these are the things we ultimately learn from.  Not the step-by-step manual to building your own garden gnome out of real humans.


Fuck.  Yes.  I saw that amazing tutorial on the waterfall braid.  However, my daughter won't even sit still for fucking pigtails.  That's why they're crooked.  And I don't give a fuck.  Because, ultimately, she just wanted to watch Umizoomi before school, and she didn't give a crap about her hair, and that's okay.  If you are going to judge who I am as a parent based on my child's hair...you may as well slap a "Mommy-Dearest" sticker on my dirt-encrusted mini-van.


Did you know that the average Pinterest user spends 98 minutes per month pinning?  It's true.  98 minutes per month pinning other people's shit onto their own shit so they can feel disappointed that someone else's reality is only a fantasy.  Because truth be told, you can't possibly have enough time to carry out the work behind those 98 minutes of pinning.  You can't.  And if you do, well, you need to find something to do.  Like get a job.  Or find a hobby.  Of your own.  Not from someone else's pin-board.


I'm not trying to throw shade or hate on you if you're one of those people who see Pinterest as life's bible.  I get it.  There's some cool shit out there.  What I'm saying is...it doesn't have to be that way.  We put way too much pressure on ourselves to be Martha Stewart in Everyday Living and not enough pressure to be Martha Stewart in prison.  Seriously.  Do you think Martha grew more from her crafts or from her mistakes?


I love the internet, but sometimes I wish it didn't exist.  Because I know there's a lot of other moms like me who would feel better about showing up to a birthday party with a child with one shoe on if the birthday party didn't look like it was being thrown by one of the Real Housewives.


I miss the world of store bought invitations.  When I get one, I ultimately like the mom a lot better because she's relatable.


I miss the world of roller-skating parties, because without them, I feel the need to clean my house.


I miss cookie cake.


I wish you all could have seen me preparing for my last party.  I was up making cake balls at 11:00 pm.  I was literally melting the chocolate and crafting the balls (yes...I giggled as I typed that), and all of the sudden I looked around and thought...who the fuck am I trying to be?  And...WHY?  So, after I licked the bowl, I threw away my creations.  Because, let's be real, I more of a Zebra Cake kinda girl.


And I went to bed.


And, that's when I promised to never compare my reality to someone else's fantasy.


And, you know what, that was 98 minutes I had to concentrate on the things that really matter.





Monday, October 12, 2015

Go the F to Sleep...

If you're a parent, I don't have to tell you what I go through each night when that 8:00 time-frame rolls around.  You already know.

Part of sex education should be a field trip to a family's house where young children reside during the bedtime routine.  Let me tell you...all those young kids would be keeping it in their pants.

No one realizes how hard it is to get kids to sleep.  Our parents don't even realize, because back then it wasn't completely out of the question to rub a little booze on our pacifiers.  Now, if we did that, DFS would be knocking on the door before we ever even got the bottle cap unscrewed.  Fucking childproof bottle.    

The smarmiest of lawyers can't compete with the manipulation and negotiation of a 4-year-old at bedtime.  In fact, I'm surprised The Firm hasn't come to recruit my little varmints.  Because even though the routine is the same.  Every fucking night, there's a new guerrilla tactic for bedtime avoidance.

Being a teacher has taught me the love and appreciation of reading.  However, somehow, that love exits the second I ask my kids to pull out a book and it is anything by Dr. Suess.  Don't get me wrong, the man was a lyrical genius and the original Eminem, however, his books have a lot of words I can't pronounce, and if not pronounced correctly, the words don't rhyme, and if the words don't rhyme, my children get pissed, and I'm forced to go back and read it again, and those fucking books are so long.  They are so long.  And my kids are getting old enough to know when I skip pages.  And then they accuse me of skipping pages, and then they say I ruined the story and I have to read another book.  Which is even longer.  And I know you're sitting there thinking I should have better management, however, I just want to be done, and I want them to go the F to sleep, so I will do WHATEVER it takes.  

And then there is the brushing of teeth.  None of them can tolerate the same flavored toothpaste.  So, there are multiple tubes of toothpaste laying around, and once I remember which toothbrush/toothpaste belongs to which child (yes, I always fuck this up), there's the water temperature debate.  One likes it lukewarm, one likes it cold.  It's fucking bizarre.  So, they have to take turns.  Is it a big deal?  No.  But does it eat into my alone time?  Yes.  

So, it's time to go to bed.  And all of the sudden they are ready to talk about their day.  Earlier when I asked how preschool was they were glued to Jake and the Neverland Pirates, but now, they are the Stephan Fucking King of storytelling going into every ebb and flow of the day from breakfast until dinner.  I do care, however, not as much as I did two hours ago.

So, it's hugs, kisses, high-fives, knuckles, blow-it-up, elbows...

And I'm crossing the threshold to my room..  And...

The dehydration kicks in.  "Mom, I'm so thirsty."  I mean, this has happened so many times I actually took them in to the doctor sure they had diabetes.  Nope.  Turns out they're just assholes.  Thirsty assholes.  Thirsty assholes who won't drink the bathroom water because it tastes funny.  So, my fat ass has to waddle down the stairs to get fresh new water.  I don't even get fresh new water for myself.  I take my Xanax with whatever filth is in the cup from the night before the night before that.  But, Erin Fucking Brockovich, who was supposed to be in bed 30 minutes ago, only has a hankering for the finest combination of Hydrogen and Oxygen.

Then...finally...it's quiet.  For about 5 minutes.  Until the nightmares.  And they are always the stupidest nightmares.  Like, can't you all make up nightmares about snakes or spiders?  Instead, it's the Cavity King.  Or the Giant.  Or Donald Trump.

I know I'm not alone.  I know other kids suck just as bad as mine at going to sleep.  I think it's time we live in the real world and admit that Goodnight Moon doesn't send every child into a blissful state of REM.

And I'm sure there are tons of things that I could do better, more consistently, and efficiently.  However, this non-routine has become part of our own routine.

And I know one day I will miss reading those long-ass books.

And I will long for the long-ass trips down the stairs.

And I will wish I could hear the tale of the Cavity King.

However, in the present, I'm wishing we could bring the whiskey back.  

And that I paid more attention to word-study so I could read those damn Seuss books.  

And that my kids, though I love them, would just go the fuck to sleep, so that I could get back to reading all of the articles about all of the ways I'm fucking up the bedtime routine whilst drinking just enough wine to not feel guilty about it.

I love my kids.

But I hate bedtime.