Dirty Girl

My five year old daughter, Klepto, announced a few days ago that she needed new tennis shoes. Great. Good Lord, kids are such money-pits, aren’t they?

So, wanting to be a good mother, and suspecting that the ancient art of foot-binding probably doesn’t fit with that notion in the U-S-of-A,  I loaded up the minivan and took the whole brood to the outlet mall after school. Not my favorite thing to do during happy hour.  Personally, I would rather donate a cornea than go shopping with children.  

Well, being that Klepto is indeed my mini-me, I immediately realized why I had procrastinated for so long about getting her some new shoes.  Somewhere between the second and the third shoe store, I suddenly had flashbacks of shoe shopping as a child.  I remember it so clearly now!  My Dad would take me on a Saturday and I would be sitting there on the bench, about 20 boxes of shoes forming a semi-circle around me, and one very exasperated looking shoe salesman waiting for a decision.  My Dad, never a very patient man, was giving me the stink-eye; silently willing me to hurry-up-and-just-fucking-pick-one, because if I didn’t choose something RIGHT NOW, there would be no new shoes. My Mom probably delegated the shoe shopping chore to Dad because she had a low pain threshold and knew that if anyone could frighten me out of my indecisiveness, it would be my Dad.  Hmmmm, indecisiveness, major symptom of ADD.  See, even then.  

Fast forward thirty-some years and there we were, Klepto, Nature Boy, Bucket Head, and me.  And we were in our fourth shoe store at the outlet mall. Bucket Head (the toddler) was getting restless. “The Witching Hour” was upon us, and me without an Elmo’s World video and my cocktail. I was losing steam quickly. Don’t you just hate when store clerks glare at you just because your kids are touching every single item in the store with their boogery fingers and your baby is smashing and throwing Goldfish crackers on the floor? So rude. Mothers are customers too, ya know. I have money to spend, people. Don’t fuck with the Mommy…I’ll take my husband’s credit cards elsewhere.  

My poor daughter.  She was not being difficult on purpose. She just knows what she wants and knows how to get it. I admire her so much for her free spirit, and fashion sense, and fortitude.  She finally found the pair she liked….they were cute AND comfy.  Cha-ching.  Here is what they looked like the next morning on her way out the door for school:

Cute, right?  And look how sassy she is pairing them with a big floral printed dress! Totally her idea.

So I thought we were in the clear. New shoes? Check. Happy child? Check. Twenty five dollars gone from my wallet? Check. Oh, not so fast, Grasshoppah.  

Klepto got home from school 8 hours later. Her new shoes were a huge hit with the other kindergarteners and she felt like a rock star. Plus, they made her run SO FAST, that she wanted to keep them on for our trip to a new park to meet some friends that afternoon. Sure honey. Sounds great.

Only one problem…I didn’t realize this park had a pond.

DAMMIT. Less than 24 hours after we bought them.  Look how smart I was, to have her change into play pants too. Even when I think I am on it, I am so clearly not.

Well that is ok. Deep breath. I am nothing if not a highly skilled stain remover. All I need is my handy-dandy Oxy Clean.  Now where is that?…

Wash out your ego every once in a while, as cleanliness is next to godliness
not just in body but in humility as well.  ~Abbe Yeux-verdi

Just the Tip

Many of my readers have been asking me for parenting and housekeeping tips, since I clearly know a thing or two about both.  So to keep ya’ll happy, I am instituting a new regular feature here at The Bearded Iris called “Just the Tip Tuesday.”  From now on, every Tuesday, unless there is some kind of family or political emergency that needs to be addressed ‘a-sap,’ you can check here for some practical advice on everything from spouse management, to wrangling your nekkid toddler,  to do-it-yourself-exterminating.  I do it all. And usually in heels and a Wonder Bra.  

 

And since playing “Just the Tip” is probably how my sweet baby, Bucket Head, came to be, it is only fitting that my first “Just the Tip Tuesday” post be all about how I am managing his antibiotic schedule for the Double Ear Infection from Hell.  Have you ever been around an 18 month old with a double ear infection?  I believe I can best sum it up for you with a limerick (and thank you to Bernie B. for the inspiration!).  

There once was a baby in pain.
From shrieking he could not refrain.
His fever — extreme.
Now where’s my Jim Beam?
Vomiting sure leaves a stain.   

So yeah, I’m pretty sleep deprived right about now.  Hung over too.  

Alright.  Enough of my caterwaulin’.  Here is my hot parenting tip of the week: the key to antibiotics is consistency.  Lord knows I am not a fan of antibiotics.  They totally fuck with your digestive track, and everyone knows that a good daily dump is the secret to lifelong happiness.  But there are times, like when your sweet baby has a DOUBLE GOD DAMN EAR INFECTION, that you just don’t have a choice.  I don’t want this angel to suffer any more than he already does having me for a mama.  

Now, most of my life is just a hot, steamy mess.  I am not very organized.  (Who has time to tidy up when there is all this blogging to do?)  But I found out the hard way that if I don’t have a system in place to record medicine doses, I will forget to medicate my baby and then he won’t get better.  And that is how I came to invent my handy dandy Antibiotic Sticker Chart!  Here is what it looks like, for you visual people:

You will notice in my chart that there are 10 rows, one for each of the 10 days the little sicko will need to be medicated.  Each day has an AM and a PM sticker box.  Alls you do is give the child his dose of medication and then give yourself a sticker for being such a good parent!  Wooo-hooo!  It is that simple, honey.  Because I am such a giver, I’m gonna give you a copy for your own damn self.  Be right back. 

Shoot ya’ll, I don’t know a PDF from a PDQ.  Just make your own damn chart.  It is not that hard.  Truly.  

Look closely at this photo.  In addition to my kick-ass checklist, you’ll also notice a few alcoholic beverages. Please note, these are for the parent, not the sick child.  Trust me, a few libations can do wonders for pain management (again, for the pain of the adult, having to comfort the shrieking toddler all hours of the night, not for the pain of the infirm minor).  

In conclusion, keep lots of booze on hand, some stickers, and a medicine chart the next time you have a sick baby.  And remember, this too shall pass.  See you next week for another installment of “Just the Tip Tuesday!”  Please be sure to let me know if there are any particular topics you’d like to have covered in the upcoming weeks.  Thanks, ya’ll.  

ApocaLIPS

I apologize in advance, but it appears to be Vagina Week here at The Bearded Iris.  Maybe it is because I’ve gone off my meds and my libido is inching its way back up to sea level, or perhaps it is a result of watching Senator McCain be interviewed by those pussies on The View that has put va-jay-jays on my brain. (Joy Behar and Whoopie Goldberg…shame on you!  You were way too easy on that loose cannon.)  If you are just joining us and want to get caught up on all the shop talk, check out my recent vagi-centric posts:

Shiny (9/17/08) – all about my Brazilian Bikini Wax from hell

Show Me the Money (9/16/08) – a sexy money saving primer

Sweaty Bitch (9/14/08) – my adventure with Bikram Yoga, in spite of my frequently noisy hoo-hoo

Sticky Situation (9/8/08) – a detailed account of my five year old daughter’s riveting journey into the land of “I have gum stuck to my vagina” land. 

Are you up to speed then?  OK, good.  Moving on.  

Truly, I’m not obsessed with my va-jay-jay, all evidence to the contrary.  But just when I thought I knew everything there was to know about my anatomy, I discover that there is a whole (hole) ‘nother world of muffin maintenance that I know nothing about.  Ya’ll are never gonna believe this.  Did you know there is a new thing called the Wonder Woman Makeover™?  No kidding. It is not what you think, though.  If you go to a plastic surgeon and ask for a Wonder Woman, you will not walk out looking like Linda Carter. In fact, you probably won’t be able to walk at all for a while.  ’Cause get this: the Wonder Woman Makeover™ is a makeover for your goodie basket!  And by goodie basket, I mean ALL the fun parts immediately above and below where you hang your Lasso of Truth.  And by Makeover, I don’t mean makeup and a fashion update, although that is always nice.  No, we are talking Nip/Tuck, people. Apparently you can get your tuna noodle casserole tightened back up as if you never even popped out a puppy or two.  My good friend Cassie believes this disturbing trend is surely a sign of the apocalypse.  When women spend this much time, money, and energy on their vaginas, especially given the current state of the world, it is probably a good time for all of us to get right with God and prepare for the hereafter.  

So let’s talk specifics.  Here is the basic definition of the Wonder Woman Makeover™: multiple consecutive surgeries that include laser vaginal rejuvenation, laser reduction labioplasty, liposculpturing with Brazilian Butt Augmentation, and breast augmentation. “Huh,” you say?  Let me say it in American for ya, honey: this is a tuna-tightening, rear-raising, cellulite-sucking, boob-building smorgasbord.  Everything from your pits to your knees will be made “good as new” with this dealy.  Just don’t expect it to be covered by health insurance…this kind of thing is rarely deemed medically necessary.  Of course, if men requested this sort of work, doctors would be offering it at the drive thru window, with nary a co-pay, but that is a different story.    

Now, for my female readers who are either not mothers or who have had the benefit of a scheduled C-Section and are still as tight as a drum down there, you might be wondering, what’s all this emphasis on vaginal rejuvenation?  I can answer this best with a Haiku:

My babies were big,

and now so is my pussy.

Is it in yet, Hon? 

Sigh….so tragic.  Look, here is my point.  My husband is not complaining.  Even if sex with me is like tossing a baseball bat into the garage, The Mister is usually just grateful that he’s getting a chance to put the recreational equipment away once in a while, if you know what I mean.  But truth be told, sure, it could be better.  A study conducted by the famous Masters and Johnson research team revealed that sexual pleasure is heightened by an increase in friction.  Well, that can be a bit of a problem for us natural Wonder Women. Once you’ve pushed out three nearly-ten-pound babies the old fashioned way, sex feels more like a Teflon-coated Olympic luge event than squeezing a camel through the eye of a needle. (man, is it ever fun to quote from the Bible when I’m talking about sex!) 

According to the surgeons who specialize in it, Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation® (LVR®) enhances vaginal muscle tone, strength, and control.  It decreases the internal and external vaginal diameters as well as builds up and strengthens the perineal body (the area immediately outside the vagina and above the anus). Well, isn’t that nice.  So something like this could help me stop peeing when I laugh? Hmmm. Very interesting. Go on.  

Yes, vaginal rejuvenation can improve bodily functions.  But for some women, going this route is purely an aesthetic thing.  They simply want a pretty one.  Well, excuse me for saying, but that sounds a little oxymoronic to me.  Like Jumbo Shrimp. Nondairy Creamer. Holy War. Wireless Cable. The Patriot Act.  Since I’ve never spent a lot of time gazing longingly at this part of my body, I wasn’t quite sure what a “pretty one” looks like.  But yowza!  Look what I found!  Thank you Al Gore for inventing the Internet. 

Ladies, feel free to print this diagram out and use it as a teaching tool for those men in your life who don’t quite grasp the traffic patterns down there. Never pleasant. So anyhooo, THAT is a pretty one, eh?  Shoot. My poor husband!  He could SO do better than me.  What?  Don’t believe me? Here is what MY hot pocket looks like:

 

And in certain light:

 

And when I’m not shouting from the rooftops to remind the American public that
McCain was a member of the infamous Keating Five in the nefarious savings and loan scandal that cost taxpayers hundreds of billions of dollars, 
my pussy looks exactly like this:

 

 

Hey, don’t judge.  Remember, I’ve had three, count them THREE, very large babies.  My SMALLEST one was 8 lbs. 5 ounces and 22 inches long.  And I had an episiotomy with the first sack of potatoes that somewhat resembled the gutting of a fish.  Bygones.

OK, I get it.  This is a free country.  Whatever floats your boat, people.  Fine. Maybe you are all Loosey-Goosey and afraid your man is going to leave you for greener (tighter) pastures.  Fair enough.  But instead of going under the knife, I’m just suggesting you consider all the options.  How about asking HIM to get a penis enlargement instead?  Why not?  THAT is probably covered by insurance.  Or, if you are self conscious about the fact that your knockers hang to your knees and your stomach looks more like a Shar-Pei, then do what I do and simply turn off the lights…save your dignity AND electricity!   

My girlfriends and I joke around all the time about what stretched out old hags we are.  Good times.  I have one friend who swears she can tie a bow with her labia. Now that, I would like to see.  But if we all ran out and got vaginoplasty and tummy tucks and boob jobs and butt lifts, what in the world would we have to joke about?  

Oh, I suspect we’d find something….

Show Me the Money

If yesterday’s Wall Street blood bath has your panties all in a wad, don’t panic.  This does is not a “run on the Savings and Loan.”  Please leave George Bailey and his new bride alone.  They deserve that honeymoon and should not be harangued by you and your general anxiety disorder.  Just sit back and relax, honey. Iris has some unconventional financial tips that can bring your blood pressure down and please your partner all in one fell swoop.  

1.  Take it from me (and Suze Orman) that a coffee can is NOT the place to stick your money.  Yes, it is always a good idea to have a wad of small bills around in case of emergencies, or for playing “stripper” with your man on special occasions…like Tuesdays, but the majority of your money should remain in FDIC insured accounts.  Don’t be a Chicken Little.  This is not the time to lose your head and do stupid things.  In fact…I’m no expert on this, but I’m thinking now would probably be a good time to BUY BUY BUY.  It is like a fire sale on Wall Street today.  Have at it!

2.  Quit your gym membership.  Have more sex.  It is fun and mostly free.  If you do it correctly and often enough, you can improve flexibility and burn lots of fat.  Plus, you can do it in the privacy of your own home (although outside of the home can be fun too) and you don’t need any special apparatus or matchy-matchy outfits.  Wait, I take that last part back.

3.  Stop buying and wearing panties.  You’ll never have those pesky VPLs (Visible Panty Lines) and you’ll cut down on your laundry, which is also a very hip and “green” thing right now.  Let it breathe…it will thank you later.  See also: tip # 2 above.  No panties = easy access.  

4.  Don’t eat so much.  Think of all the cashola you’ll save at the grocery store!  Plus, you’ll have fewer calories to burn so you won’t need to work out so much.  Once you lose some weight, you’ll feel better about yourself too and can stop spending all that money on therapy and antidepressants.  And you’ll feel sexier, which will make you want to shag even more.  It is a self-perpetuating cycle of thriftiness.  This is a win-win-win solution, people, and it goes hand in hand with tip # 2.  Try it.  

5.  Save money on prescription drugs by stealing them from your friends.  

6.  Set up as many automatic payments as possible with your online banking service.  You’ll save oodles of green on late payment fees and imagine all the extra time you’ll have for things like, oh I don’t know, sex and illegally obtained prescription drugs.  

7.  Don’t pay for things you can get for free like movies, music, cable TV, and sex.  Be creative.    

8.  Get rid of your phones.  Everyone has a cell phone these days…just borrow one from a friend when you need it.  Borrowing a phone today is the equivalent to asking for the time, or bumming a smoke, or using someone else’s toothbrush on a one night stand…no big deal.  People really don’t mind.  

9.  Cut back on the number of extra-curricular activities you force on your over-scheduled children.  In addition to the monthly tuition payments you won’t have to shell out for music lessons, sports teams, tutoring, foreign language immersion classes, and horseback riding clinics, you’ll save on gas and the future psychiatric treatment that your children are most certainly going to require.  

10.  Quit contributing when they pass the basket at church.  If you are embarrassed, do what I do and just stick an empty envelope in there every week.  That way, the judgmental holy rollers in your pew will still think you’re a big spender, but you can use that money toward something more practical, like organic milk or push up bras.  

11.  Be open minded.  A box of wine is economical and better for the environment.  And after the first couple of glasses, the taste really grows on you.  

In conclusion, you don’t have to be a financial wizard to save a little money, just a teensy bit of creativity and a pathological lack of shame.  Oh, and don’t forget to vote Obama.  Who do you think got us into this mess?  Hmmm, let’s see, could it be?  The Republicans?  Oh yes, that is ringing a bell.  Just say no to 4 more years of this shit.  Please.  I beg of you.  Now put your computer away and go shag someone.  Listen to Iris, sugar, and make love, not war.

 

Thrift is not an affair of the pocket, but an affair of character. ~S.W. Straus

Stop the Madness

Just when you think you know your kids, they go all haywire and switch bodies in the middle of the night. Do the Santa Ana winds reach North Georgia?  It is windy and hot here today and my children are acting very strangely. Cue the creepy music…something wicked this way comes.    

The other day we found a bizillion caterpillars devouring one of our oak trees.  No joke.  They were hanging from every leaf, defoliating entire branches at a time.  It was like a Hitchcock film.  You could literally hear the munching.  They are scary looking too….black and furry with horns (horns!) and when you knock one to the ground they thrash around violently.  These are not the sweet furry brown and black striped caterpillars I remember slowly inching across my driveway as a child in Pennsylvania.  These fuckers look like devil larvae.  They are clearly some form of pestilence and I’m hoping they’re not a punishment from God for writing that bitchy post about the homeschooling über-mom in my neighborhood.

 

As if the swarm of ravenous caterpillars wasn’t scary enough, the way my children reacted to finding them was even more bizarre.  

Normally, I would expect the first born kind and gentle 8 year old son to be all “Oh Mom, look!  Cool!  Can we keep a few?  Let’s study them!”  and my fierce and furious violence-prone kleptomaniac middle girl child to start plucking their antennae off and squishing them by the fist-full, but what went down was totally the opposite.  My boy grabbed the biggest rock he could lift with one hand and started smashing caterpillars and eggs like Godzilla on crack.  My girl, in response, began shrieking “STOP IT!  YOU’RE KILLING THEM! MOM, HE’S KILLING NATURE!”  She was literally in hysterics — huge tears rolled down her face as she begged for me to stop the madness.  ”But Mom, they are pests!  They are eating the trees!  The trees are nature too!” my son calmly countered.  

He had a point.  And I love it when he defends his actions with such intelligence and fortitude.  But my 5 year old daughter was beside herself witnessing the violent holocaust of the “calerpitters.”  And given her proclivity toward random acts of violence, I wanted to reward her compassion and newfound morality.  What is a mother to do?  They were both right.  Killing nature is not good.  But standing by and letting an unwelcome pest destroy our trees is also not good.  Think, dammit, think!  

So I did what every semi-sane Mom on the spot does.  I lied.  ”Guys – I think I just heard the Ice Cream Man!  Come on!  Let’s go get some ice cream!!!”  

Crisis averted.  Of course there was no Ice Cream Man, but I always keep an extra quart of rocky road on hand for emergencies.  

Later that night I scoured the Internet for information and discovered that they are called “Orange-Striped Oak Worms.”  They are indeed pests, but they are also good food for the birds and are not a big deal on a large tree that will lose its leaves in the fall anyway.  So, interestingly enough, the “do nothing” approach actually works in this case.  Sweet!  My favorite philosophy!  Do nothing.  Kind of like my current approach to house cleaning and skin care.