Me? A liberal mom?!

5.31.2012

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I think we all know where I stand on the political side. I don't try to hide the fact that I'm a conservative Republican, that I think hard work should be rewarded and that those who stand in the way of that should be, well, poof!

But this isn't about politics. This is about parenting.

Gunner loves me to paint his nails. He doesn't care what color, he just sees me doing it and wants the same. Fortunately, I have convinced him that black is "badass" so it's his first choice. I don't care one bit that he wants his nails painted. I don't see it as feminine, I see it as, well, badass.

The other day I was at the pool, and Gunz was talking to a lady and she noticed his nails. We are semi-acquantances, and as she oohed and ahhed over the black (she liked it) she turned to me and said all innocent like, "I never knew you were so liberal."

Sca-reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!

Say what? Oh no no. You are mistaken. Me? Liberal? I drive a gas guzzling SUV (safety reasons, don't try to argue with me), I have a NObama bumper sticker in plain sight and oh yeah, I have a boob job.

Liberals don't get boob jobs.

Some bs about "being happy with who you are."

psssshhhhhhh.

There was nothing happy about my double a's.

Anyway.

I guess when people see a little boy with black nails and a fauxhawk, they just assume the mom is some tree-hugging gypsy with a kumbaya swagger. And double a's.

(Side note: please understand. I am not judging tree-huggers. To each their own. I just am not one. I also am not judging little teats. #biggerisbetter End side note.)

But even though I believe boys should be boys, that they should get down and dirty and jump out of tree houses, and as much as I hope and pray that they grow up to be republicans, I realized that in some ways, I am kinda...liberal...ish.

Exhibit A: black nails on boys. Apparently that's "out there" a bit.

Exhibit B: My boys are almost always naked. No clothes, no problem is my mantra. I take them to the store barefoot. I can't wait for my youngest' hair to grow long again so I can put it in a ponytail. If they pick out a pink sippy cup instead of the superman one? Who cares. I don't have those stereotype ideas in my head.

Exhibit C: I believe in letting kids imaginations run wild. Giving them the space and freedom to choose what they want to do. Just sitting back and watching them evolve, grow, learn. Trial and error, I'm a big believer in. Letting them make mistakes so they can choose better next time.

And then there's the flip side.

Exhibit A: I am a super strict parent. My kids will obey me, they will obey authority and they will suffer the consequences if they don't do so. They don't get a vote, I am the boss. I will not raise a spoiled brat. My kids will know the value of a dollar, they will know that in order to get something, they must work hard for it. There are no hand-outs over here at the Smith household.

Exhibit B: When it comes to kids' sports, I don't believe that "everything should be fair." That everyone should get a fair amount of play time. I believe that the best should play the most because guess what, it is about winning. I don't think that second or god forbid third place should get a trophy. Second place is the first loser in my book. If they want to play bad enough, hopefully this gives them the incentive to practice their ass off and work harder.

Exhibit B-a: With that same mentality, my kids will always know what it means to be a graceful loser. You throw a fit because you lost? Bad move buddy, bad move.

Exhibit C: Grow a pair. Be a man. Take care of your woman. Be the provider, protector and knight in shining armor. (Alas, we are talking years into the future here.)

So what am I? Liberal parent? Conservative?

I guess it just comes down to doing what you feel is right for your kids.

And for me, black nails and fauxhawks that eventually turn into mohawks is where it's at.

Peace.

Just another example of how I screw up my kids

5.10.2012

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what? he wanted to be in there...

It's no secret that we live in the boons. So when those people go door-to-door selling God knows what, I often try to act like I'm not home. Especially if the hubs is out. Unfortunately, on this certain day, I was eagerly waiting for something from UPS, so when the doorbell rang, I sprung it open and there he was, Edgar, in all his shining glory, holding a vacuum cleaner, wanting to "clean a stain in my home for free. No obligation to buy anything, no pressure, no nothing." 

No pressure my ass.

I know better. I knew that if I let him clean my carpet, it would be all, "see how well that stain came out? This is the most magical formula in the world, it's like, top secret. It usually sells for $250 but I am going to give it to you for the bargain basement price of $49.99!"

no.

Ok, so will that be check or credit card?

I said no.

Well, I guess I can make an exception this time and accept cash.

I said no you moron.

No? NO?! Why not? Why you gotta be so rude? I see two nice cars out in the driveway, you're saying you can't even afford $49.99 to help out the less fortunate?

I swear to you, that above statement? Totally happened to me in real life. Dimwit actually tried to guilt me into buying his crap by pointing out that I had a nice car sitting in front of my house. And then he called me rude! A salesman at his finest.

Anyway. Back to my story. Edgar did indeed want to clean my carpet (hey now) but since I am older and wiser, I wasn't letting him inside my house. But here's something about myself that you may not know. I tend to be a people-pleaser (gasp! shock! I know...) and instead of telling Edgar to just flip off and go get a real job, I nicely said "actually, now isn't a good time. My husband is gone (crap Raven! Crap! Why would you say that?!) and the kids are in the bath (really?!) so I'm kind of busy."

But you know Edgar. He wasn't giving up that easy. And so it began...  

"Are you sure? It won't take me long, just a few minutes, and then you'll have clean carpets! Ok, so if now isn't a good time, can I come back later today? What time works for you? You just let me know, I can come back whenever."

And since I'm so brilliant (and a people-pleaser, remember?) I said, "fine. How about 4 pm?"

Four? If you say 4, I'll be back here then. You sure you're gonna be here and you aren't just telling me this to get me to go away, and then when I show back up no one will be home?"

You're a f#@cking genius.

"Nope! I'll be here at 4. Swear."

You all know I planned to be long gone by then. Would have worked out perfect, right?

That darn Edgar. He came back at 3:30 pm sharp. Right as I was starting to get the kids together to walk out the front door. Gunner looks out our floor-to-ceiling front window, spots him and says, "hey! Who is that man out there?"

And right then and there, it happened.

My defining moment. 

Time where I had to choose: sink or swim.

I knew he had seen us through the window, but I didn't care. I grabbed both kids by their shirts, ran into the master closet, turned off the lights and said in my most scary mom voice ever, "we have to be very, very quiet. There is a very bad man outside and we need to stay here and not move until he goes away."

Of course, inquiring minds want to know, so little Gunner asks, "why is he here at our house? What does he want, momma?"

"He wants to vacuum our carpets. But daddy isn't here so we can't let him in, because something bad could happen to us if we do. He might hurt us real bad."

"Oh..... Ok."

And we sat there, in that closet, while Edgar rang the doorbell, over and over, yelling, "Hello! I saw you in the window! Why you gotta do this to me? I had to drive a long ways to get out here! Are you kidding me right now?"


All the while, I'm constantly reminding my boys, "don't say a word! Don't make a peep! I'm serious. You know those monsters you are scared of in your closet at night? This is way worse."

Thank the good Lord above that the door was locked, because I honestly was thinking he might just walk inside and force himself on my carpet, demand that I let him get out a stain and never leave until I paid him for the magical formula.

Sidenote: That whole entire above sentence could totally be taken the wrong way.
End sidenote.

Finally, after about five minutes, Edgar gave up and went away. I slowly peaked out the window just to make sure, and sure enough, I saw his van pulling out of the driveway.

I would love to say that this was the end of the story, and all was well from then on.

But I said this was another example of how I screw up my kids. 

How, exactly, did I manage that?

Well, for weeks after this incident, Gunner would wake up in the middle of the night, crying, because he "had a nightmare that the bad man with the vacuum was coming to get him."

Eff. I totally sunk that one.