The Playdate Diaries

Trying to stay sane in my 2-kid world…

Ok, don’t hate me because I have a LIFE… November 20, 2007

Well, well, well… look at what the cat dragged in! Oh, and you too? Anyway, I know I’ve been M.I.A. – can you blame me? Seriously…

Well, I’ve been a bad, bad girl. I’ve been to about 2 playdates without posting anything afterwards. Shame on me… I did visit this site afterwards. I was just too lazy to click the “post now” button.

To do a quick recap of the playdates, I went to two different parks in the same week. I had an awesome experience at the first one, even though there was sand all over the place. If someone wants to play a sweet, sadistic joke on the “fat mom”, that would be it. Trudging through sand after your hyper toddler is just wrong. You can just imagine me ‘running’ through it. Well, I didn’t actually run – to anywhere – but still. The thought alone makes me want to grab another donut. Not to mention the great fun I experienced when I had to bang my sons shoes against the pavement to get all the dirt out. YAY!!!

The second park was also a lot of fun – for the three seconds we were actually there. See, that’s the funny thing about maps and directions. You spend about 30 minutes looking up the location, you click on the conveniently-placed “map to this direction” button, you spend another 15 minutes ogling over the screen… *click* – *click* – *click*…. PERFECT! You print the colored map with its turn-by-turn directions and hit the road like a pro.

Then you get lost.

Where the hell are you? WHY isn’t that little off-road on your map? In fact, where is the main road on your map? SO, needless to say, I got lost. Then I call my husband. What a lapse of judgement on my part. One would figure that a man who spends his workdays on the road would know how to read a map and instruct me on where to go – especially since I backtracked and waited, ever so patient with a 2 year old in the backseat. But no. I had to call a friend from the playgroup who had more knowledgeable sense (aka. NO technical software whatsoever) than my husband with the $1,200 laptop sitting in front of his face and a Google map. Oh yea, I had a BLAST going in the opposite direction everytime I asked my husband where to go! He got the added thrill of hearing me shout ludicrously at him before hearing the dial tone when I hung up on him to call my friend back – three times.

*sigh* …the joys of motherhood. That’s why tonight I’m going solo. Yes, the highly sought-after “parent downtime”, or in my case, the MNO (mom’s night out). I’ll write a post about that later on… I’m sure it’ll be WILD! Anything that requires me looking after a bunch of drunken peers (hee hee hee – you guys know I love you) instead of my own child is sure to be trouble. But oh, what fun! *wink*


Thoughts on being sick… October 30, 2007

I cannot for the life of me explain how the whole process of getting sick works. I mean, not when I’m a stay at home mom. I don’t leave the four walls of my white padded room and get sickenly ill as soon as there’s a really cool playdate to attend. *sniffle-cough-cringe*

So it is with a saddened heart that I sit here on my bed, stuffing my face of the candy I was supposed to take to the playgroup Halloween Party. And I was going to be a sexy witch, too… oh well, I guess the playdate mommies will just have to miss my squeezed, tightly contained flab in my painstakingly searched for costume. Yes, I know, I know… how will they manage without me? 

Ugh… who are you again? What were we talking about? Just leave me be to wallow drowsily in my very existence. I banish you from my sight… be gone with you.


You want to read MY book? October 16, 2007

I’ve been getting a lot of messages from people telling me I should write a book. Apparently I’m a literary genius – right up there in between the world encylopedia and the infamous little black book I’m sure…

Who wants to actually pay for something that comes out of my mouth? Can you imagine all the people I’m going to offend? Hm. Perhaps that will be the attracting factor.

My poor mother-in-law, otherwise known as ‘Mother-Theresa-of-drug-addicts-and-prostitutes’ would be the main target. What? I’m not being offensive… I’m only talking about her children. They, of course, would subsequently also be offended – and probably jailed.

I guess I’d have to take on a literary name of sorts. How exciting! What should my literary name be? They always have initials…

I can already see the skeptical reviews talking about how I’m just completely crazy – a ranting lunatic? *smirk*

“We fear for the lives of this self-absorbed mother’s children. A stay at home mom who is ultimately bored and looking for attention…” Ha ha ha! Well, I guess it’s true what they say – expect the worst but hope for the best. *wink*


If you’re one of the childless few…

Filed under: ranting lunatic — L.Gonzalez @ 10:16 am
Tags: , , , ,

…you may have noticed that every single mom has a secret code language – a creative form of communication specifically tailored to their individual child(ren). Even within the same parental structure, the secret language is special, unique, and varied amongst siblings. Don’t believe me?

Let’s look at the word “baba” for example. Some parent-child structures would use this term to mean “milk” or “bottle”. But, you will find that “baba” can also mean “pacifier”, “baby”, a sound a sheep makes, or whatever else the child might want to dub the term of “baba”.

Why the quick lesson? Well, because it leads me to my main point of today’s post…

I have NO clue what the hell most kids are talking about half the time. I would love to know what they’re talking about, might even understand half of what they’re saying, but that’s only because I’m a mother now. Let me tell you that when I was single and presented with a human of the little kind, I had absolutely NO clue what to do with “it”. I understand various words in the german and french language. I can decipher anything italian if it’s said slowly enough… hell, I can even understand my dog barking better than a child with the “secret language”.

So anyway, since you were all single at one point or another in your life, maybe you understand this whole phenomena as much as I do. I mean, what the hell is little Billy Bob talking about “I want dinty!”. Or Mary Sue asking for her “weeble-wop”. WHAT?! This is why the ‘mother’ is the world’s best known spectacle. Isn’t that why everyone seems to stare at us like we beat our children whenever they open their mouths to scream or throw a tantrum? It’s the same when our child speaks.

The truth of the matter is that most childless people have NO clue what your child is talking about – or why they are talking to them for that matter. It’s always so amazing to see a mom say… “Oh, you want your diaper changed, a bottle, and a nap?” after their child comments it’s time for “dinty”.

So anyway single people… contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t always this care-free and nonchalant about having children. I mean, I’ve always wanted children – ever since I was a little girl playing with dolls I knew one day I’d have my own sweet, wonderful, perfect little angels. That didn’t mean I knew what to do with a little human in front of me screaming bloody murder for “dinty”. I’d get all panicked and start naming the only 3 things I knew a child could possibly want out of life… “You want food? You hungry? Diaper? Are you dirty? Where’s your mom?”

I was the single person who never knew what to say to your child. I quite literally felt the same as if I had been standing at a middle school dance with the guys all standing on one side and the girls across the room. You shuffle your feet… look blankly across the room… wonder when and if someone’s going to come claim you (or in this case, the child in front of you)… you’re nervous… you don’t know what to say… you’re basically a big pile of mush just waiting to be herded off to another corner of the room.

So yes, I emphatize with you childless few who have to listen to my toddler screaming bloody murder for his “yoyo” and you have no clue that he’s not actually talking about a toy. All I can say is that one day you’ll just know. For now, you have to put up with these secret languages only a mother can understand.

By the way, I was also known as “Mrs. Get your Child away from me”, “Mrs. What in the world is he talking about?”, “Mrs. Talk to all kids 5 and under like if they were idiots because there’s NO possible way a little person like that can really comprehend what I’m saying”, and most important of all… “Mrs. If you’ve got kids there’s NO chance I’m dating you”. *sigh* Oh, how ignorant I was…


“Mother” – The 8th Wonder of the World October 3, 2007

First of all, SHHHHHHHHHHHH… I’m hiding from the kids and husband right now – don’t you dare tell them where I am!

…so tell me, do you have kids? Do you enjoy the self-mutilation as much as I do? Sometimes I wonder what happened to me. Was I somehow demoted for bad behaviour? Why does my new title of “mom” all of a sudden come with no pay, over-extended work hours, manual labor, and an almost endless supply of cleaning products? I feel like a mix between a janitor and ‘that crazy bag lady’. Ok, leaning more towards the crazy bag lady, but whatever…

I wonder… am I a bad mother for letting my nearly 3-months old “cry it out” while I sneak into the bathroom for a 2-minute personal potty break and cold-water splash all over my face? Why do both my sons always notice I’m either about to change or feed the other son and take that as cue to start crying bloody-murder? And you know the cry I’m referring to. The one they’d probably do if you accidentally left them on top of your car and were about to enter a 100-mile per hour freeway. 

So anyway, I always feel like if I’m pleasing one of my kids, the other one is either crying or potentially at risk of killing himself because he’s alone and unattended. Does anyone else feel this way? Is it officially time to call social services on me?

For the past two days I’ve been in stay-at-home-mom HELL. Who knew an almost 3-foot tall toddler and a baby the size of a large sack of potatoes could leave me feeling like if I’ve just been beat up – and then run over by a bus. By the time 5pm comes around, I’m ready to curl up into a fetal position, stick my thumb in my mouth, and start rocking back and forth like a lunatic. Incoherent mumbling and spaced-out stare included.

Sometimes I wonder if I should just ‘order in’ a babysitter for the day… and then reality hits and I can imagine one of my two sons tied up to a chair with duct tape or something when I get home. I wouldn’t blame the sitter… I’d praise her for being so smart. How come I didn’t think of that? And is there any more duct tape left or do I have to run out to walmart real quick? But seriously. I don’t know if I can trust just any ol’ babysitter. From personal experience, I know for a fact you have to be in at least a runner’s physical condition in order to take care of a kid. It’s true… forget the babysitter training and personal references, you put down that you’re a runner by profession and I’ll hire ya’. I mean, who else will be better able to chase down my kids in a moment’s notice right?

So yea, I kid you not, staying at home and taking care of these two lil’ men every single day is serious business. I feel like I’ve been selected for the next casting of ‘survivor’, only I’m the only one who’s actually playing. Vote me off, vote me off, OMG, will someone vote me off please?

And another thing… does this “job” come with a clause that says I am, in fact, allowed to turn on the tv and/or vcr without having to officially watch my son’s favorite movie, ‘Disney Cars’, for the billionth time that day? I mean, I’m past the point of annoyance. I’ve actually started to enjoy watching this movie over and over again with my toddler. I’ve begun to ponder the mysteries of life by watching this movie. I mean, seriously, does McQueen notice he would have won the Piston Cup had he gone into the pit for tires during the movie intro? Why doesn’t Mack notice when he loses McQueen? How do ‘Cars’ make babies? Did any other parent notice the bad language from ‘Peterbilt’ – and the little “cute” poem from McQueen’s sponsors? (Winter is a grand ol’ time. Of this there are no ‘if’s’ or ‘buts’ – but remember – all that salt & grime can rust your bolts & freeze your —) What about the “my brother’s always lit” innuendo? Why is it that during half the movie, you can see reflections off windshields, but throughout the other half, you can’t? Why do ‘Cars’ have tongues? How do they hold items if they only have tires as hands? What is the actual ending… and how come I always miss it no matter how many times I play the movie? And for God’s sake, WHY does that darn minivan have a mattress on top if ‘Cars’ don’t sleep on mattresses? Is that some sort of movie-error I’ve uncovered?

So yea, mothers are the 8th Wonder of the World… I mean, who else can do all this stuff and not lose their mind to mush? Sometimes I’m so incoherent that other people look at me like I’m either ditzy or officially nuts. The simple truth is that there are a billion thoughts running through my mind at any given moment of the day and you just think I have ADD since my attention span is that of a peanut.

Did I turn off the stove? Did I feed the dogs? Where are my red earrings? Where’s that darn pacifier? Do I have an appointment tommorrow or is it next week? Did I pay the light bill? What size is baby #2 again? Does my husband work tommorrow? Am I forgetting something? Buy milk – write that down or you’ll forget… *blank stare* What did this person in front of me just ask me? Do I know this person? Oh, it’s Sally from the playdate group. Hi Sally… or did I already say hi? What was the question again? Where did I leave my child?

*sigh* …a mother’s job is never done… there’s my toddler pounding at the door. I guess it’s time to come out from hiding… *whispers* …if I’m not back in two days or less, call the cops…


The “In-Between” Days September 30, 2007

Want to know what I do in between all those playdate days? Not much really. I run after my 2 year old toddler half the time (you try carrying a 15.5lb 2-month old with one arm while feeding him a bottle with the other, all the while chasing an “angelic” 2 year old – at a jogger’s pace). The other half the time, the baby’s asleep and I’m crashed on the couch watching my 2 year toddler running amuck throughout the house. My theory is that if the object he’s playing with won’t make a mess I have to clean up (eventually) – or kill him – then we’re both happy. So what if he runs rampant with DVDs? So what if he spills those two sips of water somewhere? I have to pick my battles carefully.

I have made it a habit to teach him his “letter of the day” during lunch-time when he’s actually sitting down at the table and paying attention to me. Then we go over different terms such as ‘pool’, ‘table’, ‘fan’, ‘cup’, ‘bowl’… all the stuff that’s nearby which he can see from his seat. Then he starts a conversation which only he can understand – jokes and bousts of laughter included. I play along and ask him how his day has gone so far… what he did yesterday… what stuff he’s going to tell daddy when he gets home… about the movie we just finished watching… all the usual stuff. *sigh* What a peaceful bonding moment between mother and child…

Then the worst happens. This can only be described as ‘that part in the movie where everything starts to go terribly wrong’. The rest of the movie goes downhill from there, until the plot is so thick with suspense, action, and drama, that you’re about to throw yourself out of your seat with anticipation of ‘the next move’. Will Billy draw his gun first? …or will Mark make the move quicker and kill Billy? Who will be standing when the gunsmoke clears? I’ll tell you who – and it’s definitely NOT me.

Of course, the plot thickens when my toddler decides he’s had enough lunch and throws it on the floor on purpose. Flying bowl and cup quickly ensue. I grab the paper towel I had previously fetched in anticipation of this moment and place it on the floor over the mess. “No! We don’t throw things on the floor. We say ‘I don’t want anymore’ and leave the table. If you’re going to throw things, you’re also going to clean them up”. Of course, he only hears the “No!” part and starts bawling, throwing a huge, over-dramatized tantrum like if someone were trying to torture all the secrets out of him. My little actor starts yelling for his grandparents, his father, the dog, the neighbor – whoever will come to his rescue and allow him to escape mommies wrath – and the ‘clean-up’ duty.

From there everything goes downhill – by the time 5pm comes around I’m ready to scream and start calling my husband every 5 minutes to see how much longer he’s going to be…

I’m like the morning-coffee drinker who must get their dosage of caffeine before turning into a coherent, functioning human-being… except my fix is a nice, long shower. It’s scary to think that I have to wait all day to get my ‘fix’. After this  point, I’m usually re-energized and can finish the current day, as well as start the next one like a properly functioning, well-oiled machine.

Onto round two! Victor: 5,346 and Mommy: 0 (When exactly does my turn to win the battle start?)


Requested: “Mom’s Weekend Out…” September 26, 2007

Today the playgroup had an MNO. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s a Mom’s Night Out. Yes, I know, most of you won’t know what even those words mean. At least not until your child is old enough not to burn the house down or get into any other trouble when left alone. What age is that… when they move out of your house?

I didn’t go of course. It was too expensive for me tonight. I could spend a whole day at Disney (by myself mind you) for the price of one plate at that place… anyway, don’t mind me, I’m just jealous because I wish I could dish out the money that easily. Not that I’d feel guilty spending it… but I wouldn’t have that money for the other important stuff. You know… gas, bills, diapers, and the second pair of brand new $30 boots I bought off eBay.

Anyway, talk about being tired, overworked, and never paid. My daily “job” shift is usually, oh, I’d say 7am to 12midnite, with the usual (& expected) 2-4 times of night duty thrown into the blender and pureed into a crazy concoction called my life.

I have never felt so abused in my life. I have bruises in places I didn’t even know I could bruise. (Thanks to the toddler standing on my back as I type… LITERALLY).

To top off my day, my “lovely” mother-in-law is a certified NUT CASE and my husband is apparently the only child out of three who can ever go be with her. I mean, she only had three children, raised them, paid for all their clothes, food, education, kept them out of harm’s way (for the most part)… is now currently funding my brother-in-law’s drug addiction and my sister-in-law’s ‘open-legs’ policy, but why should they take time out of their busy schedules to be with her right? I’m just a selfish, raving lunatic I guess… why would I get mad at my husband for visiting the only mother he has who won’t even give him money for a gallon of milk? Shame on me.

I’m in PAIN and PISSED. But not to worry because Super Mommy will have revenge!

Can anyone repeat after me and say “Moms Weekend Out”?