Category Archives: Mischief & Shenanigans

Polite At All Costs

Politeatallcosts

Southern women are taught to be polite at all costs. Southern mommas are expected to raise polite offspring.

One blistering day, I was driving with my two and a half year old son in the backseat, and I was feeling quite smug that I was going to be early for an appointment. So smug that I thought to myself, ‘You know, I have just enough time to run into the dollar store and pick up a few items.’

I pulled into the concrete strip mall and hustled my son into the store. I was still on schedule, until I got into the checkout line.

I waited. And then waited some more. And even though I was wearing a dress like a good Southern girl does, the sweat from the muggy day started to cause my thighs to stick together. My mostly silent child up until this point started to whimper.

I tried to ignore the noises. I tried to ignore my sticky thighs and the impatient sighs from the patrons behind me.

The line would not move. My smugness turned into panic as I realized that I not only might no longer be early, nor on time, but late.

As it finally became my turn to put my items onto the belt, my son started to cross his legs and cry.

‘Ma’am, can we use your bathroom? We’re potty training and he doesn’t have on a diaper.’

Disdainfully, she looked at me. ‘No. All of outside is a bathroom for boys.’

I stood there, both dumbfounded and livid, as I slowly reached up and clutched my pearls. I felt my fingernails cutting into the palm of my hand as my fingers wrapped around my necklace.

‘Of course. You’re right.’

Crimson shame spread across my cheeks as the long line behind us began to whisper.

I shuffled my son out of the store and looked around frantically. There was nowhere for him to go to the bathroom. I directed him to the nearest corner.

Instead, he walked straight over to the window of the store, pulled his smocked shorts down, and began to urinate on the window, in full view of the register and line we just walked away from. Everyone, including the cashier, stopped in their tracks as this child made the window his personal bathroom. I just stood there and did nothing, with my own jaw hanging open in surprise.

He pulled his shorts up and started leading me to the car as if nothing happened and I followed, speechless.

I waited a year to shop there again. When I finally had the nerve to go back, there was now a posted sign: ‘Bathrooms for pregnant women and potty-training children ONLY.’

Internet Troll Successful in Bullying Writer into Submission

mockmom

This post was originally published on July 27, 2015 on Mockmom.com.

Today, in Utopia, Somewhere, an Internet troll successfully tracked down a writer to bully and threaten her after he disagreed with her take on potty-training her child.

When interviewed from his mother’s basement, the troll, 32 year-old Chester the Child Molester, refused to put on clothes, wearing only his tighty-whities. He also refused to wash his cheese-flavored chip stained hands, saying ‘it is my American right to keep my fingers cheese colored.’

He tracked down the writer Suzy Q Mommy Blogger after reading her blog post about her struggle to potty train her child before preschool started. He started out by commenting on her blog posts and grew increasingly agitated when she began to delete his comments.

“She shouldn’t get to delete my comments. She acts like she’s entitled to her own opinion since it’s her own website. Just because I don’t have kids doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about. She needs to listen to me. I’m right. And if it takes me being an asshole for her to listen, then so be it.”

Once she began to delete his comments, she also banned his from her website. That just sent him to track her work down on other sites.

“My mom didn’t potty train me on time, and I’m totally normal. I live in her basement and read the Internet all day long. I’m a testament to being a free thinker.”

When asked for comment, Suzy Q Mommy Blogger tearfully replied, “He’s right. I shouldn’t be entitled to my own opinion. Even though I have kids and these trolls don’t. Clearly, they know more about parenting than I do, and I will seek their advice on parenting before making an opinion from now on for myself.”

*Clearly, this is in jest, and a nod to all of those trolls out there who think they know better than you do, specifically, the people out there that continuously tell me I am a terrible parent and start their emails out with ‘I do not have children, but…..’ Please know that I take your opinion very seriously.

 

 

The Key to Successful Potty Training

pottyjar

Our kids are definitely past the potty training stage.  I’ve had a ton of friends recently who have shared their struggles with potty training.  This post is for them.

Just because our kids are now potty trained, does not mean it was easy, when, in reality, even though it was a long time ago, it was almost traumatic.  You know what I’m talking about.  You are freaking tied to your house while you unsuccessfully try to potty train your kids, in my case, two boys.

Our first child potty trained very easily.  Naively, I thought it would be that easy with the second one.

Man, sometimes, I even laugh at my stupidity.

We tried for FOUR DAMN MONTHS with the second one.  He was three, and couldn’t start Mother’s Day Out without being potty trained and I was DESPERATE.  I wanted to reward him if he pottied in the potty, while my husband disagreed.

I am married to an Internal Medicine doctor, which in most cases, helps me not one damn bit with the kids, because he has no pediatric training.  However, one of his partners is a dual board certified in Medicine and Pediatrics.

Jackpot.

Desperate, I called Amy (his partner) one night.  This was our conversation:

 Me:  Listen, you know I never call you about pediatric stuff, but I’m desperate.  Radcliffe         won’t go in the potty.

Amy:  Oh, that’s easy.  You pay him.

LET ME JUST POINT OUT THAT I WAS RIGHT AND MY HUSBAND WAS WRONG.  Moving on.

Me:  I need more information than that.

Amy:  Get a jar, and label it ‘the potty jar’.  Put it somewhere where he can see it.  Every time he goes in the potty, give him a dollar and he has to put the dollar in the jar himself.  Then, if he has an accident in his pants, he has to physically go get a dollar out of the jar and pay you a dollar to clean him up.

Me:  Really?

Amy:  Yep.  He’ll be potty trained in twenty -four hours.

So, I went to the store, and bought a jar.  I painted it with ‘Potty Jar’.  Radcliffe had been wanting a specific toy from the toy store, so I explained the rules to him, and told him that when he got ten dollars in his jar, I would take him to the store and buy him the toy.

Right off the bat, he used the potty and he got a dollar.  I caught him staring at the jar obsessively.  Then, he had an accident in his pants.  I made him go get the jar off the mantel and he had to physically pay me to change his pants.  This was the last accident he ever had.

He was devastated.  Later that afternoon, I heard grunting from the bathroom.  I walked back there, and he was sitting on the toilet, trying to squeeze anything out that would get him his dollar back.

And just like that, 24 hours later, our youngest child was potty trained.