(Remember: OCTOBER is Sensory Processing Disorder Month. I know that I haven’t done anything to contribute to SPD awareness so far this month, but I will. Really, I will. )
For reals, babes! I’m here. Typing on my laptop, in my kitchen, thanks to some compu-nerd replacing the fan and sucking out some 3 pounds of dust. Wahooey for IBM warranties. The daggers have gone from my throat and I’m back to feeling shitty only because I’m fat and lazy, not sick. Woot woot.
I have to thank you all for being so patient. I love that you all found my honesty and candidness so wonderful in that last post. Well, those of you who commented saidthat you liked my honesty and candidness. I’m guessing those who didn’t comment just found it all annoying and (yaaawwnnnn) boring.
Life has returned to normal around here. Little Man has been melting down all over the place. Today it was because there was a frog on our driveway. For some reason, he remembered the frog -which he had seen FOUR FECKING HOURS PREVIOUSLY - just as he was about to eat his first bite of chicken buddy, then couldn’t possibly continue eating his dinner because he couldn’t get that nasty frog out of his head. He cried, as if terrified, all through dinner hour and never did eat. The dramz and the bee-ess continues, friends. What I wouldn’t give for a dull fecking moment…
Yes, life is exciting around here. I wake up in the morning, wagering with myself, wondering how long it will be until the first melt down. How long the melt down will last. Where in our house it will take place. How many cusses will escape my mouth before I can get. a. fecking. grip.
Hubby goes to work bug-eyed from being awake since 5am with Little Man every day and returns from work bug-eyed from, well, working. Poor guy. Between the bug eyes and the lack of The Sex, he should probably be bordering on suicidal. I’m truly glad that he isn’t. Suicidal. I think if he were I’d have to kill myself first so that he’d feel guilty and not want to leave Little Man orphaned, thus deciding to live. Please, though, don’t anyone call 9-1-1. I jest. I just jest.
It appears I jest a little too much. I doth jest too much. According to Little Man, anyway. He told me yesterday to stop making jokes ’cause it “embarrasses me, Mommy.” What the feck? He’s four, for the love of God. Four.
Little Man also informed me today that he likes his new school now. Not too shabby. I think we’re about 3 full weeks into the regular schedule now. I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank those of you who are praying that his Really Old Teacher (whom I LOVE) doesn’t die while she’s teaching my son. I still haven’t taught him about 9-1-1. She’s looking pretty good, though; she’s got good colour, she doesn’t speak with a slur, and I don’t even smell any alcohol on her breath. I don’t know how she does it. I do know exactly how old she is now, though. She’s seventy-seven. Holy fecking shat, really?
Dooooods, I found something that I have to give away! It’s a Hot Wheels car and it’s called Bad Mudder. Get it? Bad Mudder. Mother. Bad. Mother. BAD MOTHER. I’m pretty sure that when I was searching through the Hot Wheels at Toys R Us last week to see if they had any that I haven’t already bought and used for bribes with Little Man to see what was new, it was fate. I mean, what other explanation could work?
Let’s think back a little, shall we? I was convinced that I was a bad mother, I had written a post about being a bad mother, and I had even inspired a few of you to write posts about what bad mothers you are (see the links at the bottom of this post). Then I found this Hot Wheels called Bad Mudder. Fate, I tell you. Fate! Divine confirmation that I do indeed suck big hairy donkey balls when it comes to my (insert finger quotes here) flair for parenting. I’m pretty sure that, seeing as how they had two (one for you and one for me), it was also divine confirmation that at least one of you sucks pretty big furry balls, too!
So here’s your homework: In the comments of this post, tell me what your first car (like ever!) was, and tell me why you need this NEW CAR and why you, a Bad Mudder, deserve to drive it. Convince me that you are the Baddest Mudder of them all. One reason. Be creative. Don’t tell me something I already know. Make it b-b-b-b-b-b-b Bad!
Kia
P.S. My first car was a Retirement Blue 1987 Pontiac Acadian. My mom bought it for me when I was sixteen. It had been “driven by a little old lady for about a year when it was new, then parked in a garage ’cause she was senile and her family hid the keys,” so it was in really good shape and I was thrilled to havemyowncar!!!
Darcy, of What We Need, has done a post about what makes her a Bad Mudder.
Bonnie, of Let It Be Autism, has written a lovely tribute to her favourite Bad Mudder, MOI!!
Well, the first car I really drove, where I didn’t have to be asking a parental unit for keys, was a 1977 Honda Accord with over 200,000 miles on it. And it was a stick, so it was constantly popping out of 4th gear. It got me around, though!
The first car I actually had the title for was a 1989 Ford Mustang, and within a year the air conditioning went out and the muffler began to drag on the ground behind me until I tied it up with some twine.
As far as being a bad mother, well. I’ve already confessed ONE of my deepest, darkest secrets to you… are you trying to get enough info to black mail me, or WHAT? So here goes: Sometimes, when I see someone playing really well with my kids, I compare them to myself and decide whether or not they’d do a better job at parenting my kids than me. A lot of times? I kinda think they would. For those that are REALLY good with them, I contemplate putting them down as guardians in my will, and think, if ever I get up the courage to fake my own death, at least they’ll be in good hands while I’m off sipping drinks out of coconuts on a beach somewhere. I’ve gone so far as to pick my husband’s next wife, based on how good she is with my kids. Too bad for her husband, he’ll get over it.
Now, before you go thinking I hate my kids (or my husband, ’cause I don’t, he’s awesome) – these fantasies come only on the worst of days, in my darkest hours. And funny enough, they give me enough of a glimmer of happiness that they allow me to wipe my tears, and carry on with life.
By: Andrea's Sweet Life on October 9, 2008
at 10:00 pm
I had a Mazda Protege which I bought from the husband while we were dating. It was a stick-shift. The Husband bought – in its place – a brand-new Honda CRV (the first year they came out). We got engaged less than a year later. And I hurt my knee pretty badly — couldn’t drive the stick. The poor husband had to trade with me again – BEFORE the wedding – so he got stuck with his old car again. What a guy!
By: Tonggu Momma on October 9, 2008
at 10:43 pm
Kia, I can’t believe I hadn’t discovered your blog, yet. I’m cracking up. I added you to my blog roll for quicker access, but I’m totally paranoid that you’re funnier than me.
My first car was a white (real practical) Toyota SR3 sports car, that my parents bought me before I drove down to North Carolina to live with my husband, who they hate. How does that make any sense?
I’m a bad mom for a multitude of reasons. When my kids complain about there being no food in the house, I tell them to “eat dirt”. When my son just asked me if his English essay sucked, I said, “Only if you were of normal intelligence”. When my other son was feeling cute and chatty after school today, (I happened to be home from work. Damn.), instead of enjoying the charming mother/son interaction, all I could think was, “Could you shut the f- up?”
I could go on. Just send me the damn car, and get it over with.
By: robinaltman on October 9, 2008
at 11:09 pm
My first real car was a 1987 Buick Regal. I got it my senior year of high school and we dubbed it the illegal regal. I could go into detail about it but it would likely tarnish my squeaky clean mommy image. My father gave it to me as a making amends gift cause he wasn’t around much and I used it to cut class and things of that nature. I once accidentally caught a boys head in the window as I was rolling it up, he was fine. It also got stolen once, then found. Then given to my sister who ended up giving it away to her skuzzy boyfriend when she bought herself a real car.
Deep down, I’m a bad mudda, just ask my husband.
By: mrsbear on October 9, 2008
at 11:13 pm
I got my first car as a gift — no, an apology — no, a bribe — no, a deal with the devil.
See if you can follow THIS one, and if you can, maybe I should give YOU a prize: My mother dated an alcoholic jackass exactly halfway between her age and mine, and due to his abusiveness, the jackass’ father, a bookie, felt very guilty (for passing on the alcoholic gene genetically and the bad attitude behaviorally), so when my would-be-gramps was going to trade in his old car, he instead just gave it to me. I was sixteen (and mom was 42, if you want a math problem to solve. He couldn’t give it to his jackass son, my mom’s boyfriend, because that guy had too many DUIs to have a license and no job anyway). It was, I shit you not, a black Trans Am with the bird on the hood. Suddenly, boys realized I existed.
Mom said I couldn’t accept the car because we couldn’t afford the insurance. Right around that time the old guy, jackass’ dad, was scheduled for a senior citizen trip to Vegas, but one of the two old ladies got sick and couldn’t go. He gave me her plane ticket and I roomed with a geriatric vixen with gray hair and extra chips in her bra. The seniors then dolled me up in fancy clothes, snuck me in the casino, and helped me play craps with their money, to the tune of $1100 in winnings in ten minutes. I bought a dress for the prom with matching polka dotted pumps (hey, it was the 80s), a large pizza (to share with the cute boy I met), and a year’s worth of car insurance.
A year later I got hit from behind stopping at a stale yellow light and that was the end of the Trans Am, and downscaling to a Chevy Nova.
Feel free to send me my new car. I need it. Sure, my husband and I have two cars already, but the newest one is 13 years old, and social services will be after me if anyone sees the inside of it.
How trashy DO I sound?
And then there is this, to top it all off: My bad mommy factoid. My daughter is scared of squirrels. Once, a squirrel in our yard tried to eat off her brother’s plate, and she hasn’t been the same since. Tonight when she didn’t want to go to bed, I threatened to put her outside in the dark with the squirrels.
I will send you my address. I hope the car does NOT have the LATCH system. This was easier to win than craps. I don’t even know the rules for craps, except to play it with hustlers staking you and whispering in your ear.
Sorry if my comment is too long. Sometimes I miss blogging.
By: Gayle on October 9, 2008
at 11:50 pm
I got my first car as a gift — no, an apology — no, a bribe — no, a deal with the devil.
See if you can follow THIS one, and if you can, maybe I should give YOU a prize: My mother dated an alcoholic jackass exactly halfway between her age and mine, and due to his abusiveness, the jackass’ father, a bookie, felt very guilty (for passing on the alcoholic gene genetically and the bad attitude behaviorally), so when my would-be-gramps was going to trade in his old car, he instead just gave it to me. I was sixteen (and mom was 42, if you want a math problem to solve. He couldn’t give it to his jackass son, my mom’s boyfriend, because that guy had too many DUIs to have a license and no job anyway). It was, I shit you not, a black Trans Am with the bird on the hood. Suddenly, boys realized I existed.
Mom said I couldn’t accept the car because we couldn’t afford the insurance. Right around that time the old guy, jackass’ dad, was scheduled for a senior citizen trip to Vegas, but one of the two old ladies got sick and couldn’t go. He gave me her plane ticket and I roomed with a geriatric vixen with gray hair and extra chips in her bra. The seniors then dolled me up in fancy clothes, snuck me in the casino, and helped me play craps with their money, to the tune of $1100 in winnings in ten minutes. I bought a dress for the prom with matching polka dotted pumps (hey, it was the 80s), a large pizza (to share with the cute boy I met), and a year’s worth of car insurance.
A year later I got hit from behind stopping at a stale yellow light and that was the end of the Trans Am, and downscaling to a Chevy Nova.
Feel free to send me my new car. I need it. Sure, my husband and I have two cars already, but the newest one is 13 years old, and social services will be after me if anyone sees the inside of it.
How trashy DO I sound?
And then there is this, to top it all off: My bad mommy factoid. My daughter is scared of squirrels. Once, a squirrel in our yard tried to eat off her brother’s plate, and she hasn’t been the same since. Tonight when she didn’t want to go to bed, I threatened to put her outside in the dark with the squirrels.
I will send you my address. I hope the car does NOT have the LATCH system. This was easier to win than craps. I don’t even know the rules for craps, except to play it with hustlers staking you and whispering in your ear.
Sorry if my comment is too long. Sometimes I miss blogging…
By: Gayle on October 9, 2008
at 11:58 pm
Okay, my first car was a rabbit convertible. Dang was that car CUTE, and I was CUTE IN IT! That was the first car I sort of took over from my parents when I was a junior in college. The first car I ever bought for myself was a jeep wrangler. That car was cute too and I was even cuter in it! Now, fast forward a zillion years, and I no longer feel very cute, and to match that, I drive a volvo station wagon. Seriously.
Since I take BAD in BAD MUDDER to mean BAD as in REALLY REALLY AWESOME LADY IN A HOT CAR, I just can’t compete. I give up. I even tried to convince Husband today that I’m still a wild woman, just not in the sense I was when we met.
But, I did post something about being a bad Mommy today and linked back to you. It doesn’t even compare to yours (simply because I’m just not as brave or honest as you are), but I finally found something I felt comfortable enough to admit doing.
By: asdmommy on October 10, 2008
at 12:02 am
Okay, the first car I ever had was a Toyota Corona (not made anymore) it was so old and awful that when I went out I couldn’t (wouldn’t) turn off my engine b/c there was no guarantee it would turn on again. So there I’d be running errands and when I say “running” I mean RUNNING to do my errand and RUNNING back out to my car that was left RUNNING. No stress there huh?
By: Jessica Bern on October 10, 2008
at 12:09 am
My first car was a silver 1980 Pontiac Phoenix with an ashtray big enough to hold at least 30 packs before it needed to be emptied, ah, high school memories.
Today I am the worst mother because when Evan told me about visiting a regular ed school this morning, I laughed at him and couldn’t stop. I almost had an accident on the highway and killed the both of us when he got to the part about there being too many bacteria and viruses in the public school and he could feel them in his throat when he breathed. He then came home and blogged about it for the whole world to see that I am the worst mother ever.
By: Osh on October 10, 2008
at 12:32 am
red toyota corolla. No idea what year…maybe 84?
And I paid my children to shut up. They were talking to me. They were not even loud. But I was sick of their voices. So I said, “I’ll give you each a dollar if you could just shut up. NO talking until we get home.”
The best $3 I ever spent.
By: laura phelps on October 10, 2008
at 2:34 am
red toyota corolla…maybe 84?
And I paid my children to shut up. They were talking to me. A lot. And I was sick of their voices. So I said, “I will pay you each one dollar if you could just shut up. NO talking until we get home.”
Best $3 I ever spent.
By: laura phelps on October 10, 2008
at 2:39 am
Wait, wait, wait, wait, back it up. YOUR joking embarassed him yet our kids have meltdowns the size of Mt. Vesuvius in the middle of the store because the corn was turned the wrong way on a shelf we passed 10 minutes ago? Irony, thy name is…. OUR KIDS!
By: Kari on October 10, 2008
at 8:35 am
My first car came when I was 19 and living on my own. It was a 70’s model Opel. Ever heard of one of those? No? There’s a reason. They are uuuuuuuuggggggglyyyyyy! But oh, she was my baby. If you sat in the back, the springs that came out of the seats would pinch your thighs so bad you would scream. She had radiator issues. She had a horrible paint job and a dent the size of Texas in her door. But her radio was loud, the speakers were great and I loved her.
Why am I the worst mother? Dude, do you have a week? My son is sick AGAIN!!!!!!! So instead of the chicken noodle soup, loving hugs and yummy kisses, I plopped him on the couch all day with movies, hung on by my fingernails during his screaming and as soon as my husband walked in said, “he’s all yours” and walked out of the room. I had to get out so that he would live to be sick another day.
By: Kari on October 10, 2008
at 8:38 am
A red car…no idea what year. Think it was a toyota. I drove it in a mini skirt and cowboy boots.
I paid my children to shut up. A dollar a piece. Best $4 ever spent
By: laura phelps on October 10, 2008
at 11:47 am
I got my first car as a gift — no, an apology — no, a bribe — no, a deal with the devil.
If you can follow THIS, maybe I should give YOU a prize: My mother dated an alcoholic jackass exactly halfway between her age and mine, and due to his abusiveness, the jackass’ father, a bookie, felt very guilty (for passing on the alcoholic gene genetically and the bad attitude behaviorally), so when my would-be-gramps was going to trade in his old car, he instead just gave it to me. I was newly sixteen (and mom was 42, if you want a math problem to solve. He couldn’t give it to his jackass son, my mom’s boyfriend, because that guy had too many DUIs and no job anyway). It was, I shit you not, a black 1979 Trans Am with the bird on the hood. Suddenly, boys realized I existed.
Mom said I couldn’t accept the car because we couldn’t afford the insurance. Right around that time the old guy, jackass’ dad, was scheduled for a senior citizen trip to Vegas, but one of the two old ladies got sick and couldn’t go. He gave me her plane ticket and I roomed with a geriatric vixen with gray hair and extra chips in her bra. The seniors then dolled me up, snuck me in the casino, and helped me play craps with their money, to the tune of $1100 in winnings in 10 minutes. I bought a dress for the prom with matching polka dotted pumps (hey, it was the 80s), a large pizza (to share with the cute college boy I met), and a year’s worth of car insurance.
A year later I got hit from behind stopping at a stale yellow light and that was the end of the Trans Am, and downscaling to a Chevy Nova.
Feel free to send me my new car. I need it. Sure, my husband and I have two cars already, but the newest one is 13 years old, and social services will be after me if anyone sees the inside of it.
How trashy DO I sound?
And then there is this, to top it all off: My bad muddah factoid. My daughter is scared of squirrels. Once, a squirrel in our yard tried to eat off her brother’s plate, and she hasn’t been the same since. Tonight when she didn’t want to go to bed, I threatened to put her outside in the dark with the squirrels. She is two.
I will send you my address. I hope this car moves fast and lacks car seats.
This contest feels easier to win than craps. I don’t even know the rules for craps, except to play it with hustlers staking you and whispering in your ear.
Sorry if my comment is too long. Sometimes I miss blogging.
By: gayle on October 10, 2008
at 12:29 pm
Ok soooo peed my pants between the blog and the comments!
First car a 1981 Plymouth Reliant K Car. My identical twin had the same one. It had hit me written on it in Spanish cause it got hit 4 times. Everytime I got the me no English crap. But it ws the early 90’s nd we cruised for hot guys!
I am Bad Mudder cause I lose it and start screaming at my 3 year old with autism to stop freaking biting me hitting me kicking me! I also contemplate telling my husband I m going for diapers and holing up in a hotel for a few days(weeks) so I can sleep and not be woken up by kids or someone wanting The SEX! Oh I think the last one makes me bad wife. Like I give a rat’s ass!
By: Jenn on October 10, 2008
at 2:16 pm
My first car was a 1988 Chevy Spectrum. It was a total POS. It was my brother-in-law’s car (and the first car I drove, since BIL gave me my first driving lesson… my mom had learned from trying to teach my older sis that no parent should give her own child driving lessons). When BIL’s car and sister’s car broke down at the same time, leaving them with two jobs and no transportation, my parents paid to repair both cars… and kept one for me.
So when my dad brought me home for the summer, after freshman year in college, there it was in the garage with a big white bow on it. That car lasted until September, when I totaled it. Oops. My parents response? To buy me a nicer, more expensive car.
Why am I a bad mudder? Some of my worst parenting moments happen when I’m stuck in the car with my two-year-old refusing to STFU. One day I told her I was going to put a muzzle on her. Another day I told her I was going to stop in the middle of the freeway and let her walk home. Yeah, nice going mom.
By: Quirky Mom on October 10, 2008
at 2:29 pm
I think I love all of you
By: Osh on October 10, 2008
at 4:40 pm
Rats. Gayle is looking good with the squirrel thing. I’m in Boston right now visiting my parents, so I have no more opportunity to be a bad mother this weekend, just a bad daughter.
Once, when my 2 year old was bugging me with a Pop Tart (yes I want it, no I don’t want it) I screamed, “Take the f-ing Pop Tart!” as loud as I could. He looked sort of shell shocked.
By: robinaltman on October 10, 2008
at 5:23 pm
I want a t shirt that says “take the f-ing pop tart!”
By: laura phelps on October 10, 2008
at 6:55 pm
Yes, I must say that Gayle is definitely in the lead with the squirrel thing. Can anybody top that? Speak now or be attacked by a rabid squirrel….
By: goodmum on October 10, 2008
at 11:45 pm
[...] Gone Awry that October is Sensory Processing Disorder Awareness Month. She, and several other bloggers, including yours truly, are going to blog about their experiences with SPD and at some point I [...]
By: Sensory Processing Disorder Awareness Month « goodfountain on October 11, 2008
at 10:16 pm
I don’t remember what kind of car it was, as in make and model and year, but it was a powder blue station wagon that my parents let me and my twin brother drive.
As for the Bad Mudder, everyone who knows me apparently is really concerned about me as a mother being able to handle my life, especially now that baby #3 is coming in 4.5 months. So, I mean if my own mother thinks I suck, it has to be true, right? Seriously, all I get now are looks of concern, pity and alarm on people’s faces. I want to kill them all.
We have had a bad sensory week/month/year…..
By: Patty on October 12, 2008
at 3:28 pm
I have two first cars.. One was a big black van that I used to truck around all of my friends, in the back, where there was a matress, as this was an old cargo van, it was 8 cylinders, and I could get it to go 110 on the highway getting me from brandon to temple terrace in 8 minutes…..
Then I killed it, I think it was pushing the engine too hard, this was in like 90 and it was old old old then, so maybe from the early 80’s it was my parents old work/cargo van.
So then my first real car was a laser, sports car, it would say, your door is ajar when you opened the door and had a fancy dash, and was just hot. So this one also went 100 easy, and it is sad to say that it took me not 2 months to total it when I was going less then 5 miles an hour in a parkinglot, and a 50 year old in a SUV rammed into me, and blamed the 16 year old in the sports car.
By: Holly's Mom on October 13, 2008
at 1:11 pm
Hope you didn’t give the car away yet. Its mine, ladies. It is soooo mine
Let me take you back to 1978. My big sweet sixteen party in the condo clubhouse with a DJ and hired help and catered hot food! (Lame by today’s standards, but a major event back when no one had such parties). My mom was Alexis Carrington: elegance personified and quite the party planner and hostess. My dad, however, was like the dad from the Waltons. Mr. Practical in his flannel shirts and no-name jeans. I was an only child. (Yeah, I’m old…46)
So the big night came and when, in the middle of the party, my parents called me outside “for a minute”, I knew I was about to get the suspected car. They were beaming as they handed me a box with keys in it and pointed me to the entrance to the clubhouse…where my car (their big secret gift) sat waiting.
To this day, I don’t know how the voice in my head didn’t scream out “Is this a f#cking joke?”
There sat a long, green boat on wheels: a 4 door 1960-something Ford Galaxie. This baby was complete with a big ol’ CB antenna on the trunk, black wall tires with missing hubcaps, and the truly unique smattering of freakin BULLET HOLES along the side! Yep, Mr. Practical “stole” that baby right out of a government auction. Seized in a drug bust. And when he sneakily wrote “No tranny” in wax pencil on the windshield before the bidding began, my fate was sealed.
Ya know it took me over a year to kill that thing by intentionally depriving it of oil. Which did not go over well with Mr. Practical, who made me sit through a 2-hour “training course” on the mechanics of the thing, which started with “Ya know, a car is a weapon…”
As for being a bad mommy, that’s tough to narrow down. Of course, I actually starred in that TV commercial for back-to-school supplies where the mom is dancing in the aisles to the tune “It’s the most wondeful time of the year”. And by 4:05 pm each Friday, I’m usually bellowing to the kids “Is it F*cking Monday morning yet?!” What about the time my son was making annoying, rambling “autism” noises for about an hour instead of using his words and I turned and made the same noises back at him? Or when my daughter asked how long my son has to eat this special diet food (that keeps us from ordering take-out or going to restaurants) and I shouted: “Just til I die, cause no one else is F*cking stupid enough to do this!”
Ok. Hand over the car. My son would like to turn it over and spin its wheels…
By: hopeauthority on October 14, 2008
at 2:23 pm
[...] I’ve decided that Gayle is the winner of the Bad Mudder Hot Wheels car. If you haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, just admit it and sit down with me. [...]
By: Ten (Point Five) Things On Tuesday « Good Enough Mama on October 14, 2008
at 7:38 pm
[...] Here’s the skinny: I just happened to have found another Bad Mudder Hot Wheels car. It’s up for grabs. The reader who (in the comments) writes me the Baddest Mudder Nature [...]
By: My Love-Hate Relationship with Mother Nature, Take 2 « Good Enough Mama on October 21, 2008
at 8:12 pm