Thursday, July 19, 2012

It's a real pisser~

I’m a lucky gal.  I know quite a few people, who do quite a few nice things for me, because they are good people, but mainly because business is business and some folks are still smart enough to realize that what goes around comes around.

One of the many perks I get from my side job managing rental homes is that whenever someone moves out of our neighborhood, like the most recent departure of our Sister Wife/Husband, Soul mates, Once in a Lifetime Besties, the neighbor who you could literally borrow their last roll of toilet paper (or at least poop at their house if need be) – this will eventually be an entire blog in itself, departs, is that when the carpet cleaning company comes by to clean the vacant home, the awesome carpet cleaner dude always stops by my place and cleans my carpets as well.  Fan freaking tastic!

As many of you know, G was lucky enough to get a new boxer puppy for his birthday.  Well, in all honesty, G was lucky enough to have his super duper wife bring home a $500 puppy that he had no desire to have, during the 2nd week of June, so technically for his birthday.  Our agreement had been that once everyone was out of diapers we could discuss bringing something else that thought it was perfectly appropriate to defecate on the floor into the house.  Big baby had just dropped her 1st deuce in the toilet instead of one of her $0.45/ea Huggies, so I figured what better time?

Priscilla is a lovely, very calm, beautiful pup, and for the most part great with the minions.  She isn’t much of a barker (yet), doesn’t really jump up on people, and sleeps thru the God Damn night, which apparently in the Mongrain household is enough to qualify you for life long amnesty.  She even holds it all night long.  Daytime, however, is a totally different story.  Miss Priss pretty much treats the main floor of the house as urine utopia, feeling free to let it rip (and drip) whenever and wherever her pretty little heart desires.

So, needless to say we were VERY excited for the carpet cleaners to come by and rid us of the stench that is starting to become the signature Mongrain Baby Farm scent.

One of the worst spots in the house is our master bedroom, which after having the luxury of being the upstairs room that hosted the diaper genie for over a year, and being Prissy's toilet of choice, is really, really due for some “fresh air”.  Being the stellar mouth breather/sleeper that I am, combined with the steam from the en suite bathroom shower, and having the side of the bed located dangerously close to the master toilet, this Mama was oh so eager to have those carpets restored to their original state of only harboring mold and mites.

Even though I am pretty sure we all realize how this blog will end, it’s important to realize the frame of mind that a 34 yr old working Mama is in on a daily basis.  Nobody is whining, or looking for sympathy.  Trust me when I tell you that NO ONE wants to hear that “You shouldn’t have had kids if you weren’t prepared to be a mother to them” because as any Mama knows, people who say stuff like that are just Bitches.  Bitch please, do you think that when I signed up to have kids (and really, I could argue the fact that my family dynamics are not really what I “signed up” for, but bygones) that some lovely, experienced mother type sat me down and had a heart to heart to prepare me on how much my life was going to change and that my young, still somewhat firm, late twenty something ass really had a decent grasp on what I was going to get myself into?  Seriously, the hospitals should take their videos about the “purple cry” and shove them where the sun don’t shine and send new moms home with a video series about What to Expect When a 20-40lb Creature Rules Your Universe.  The intermediate series can be Bringing Home a Sibling That Your #1 Child Could Give 2 Shits About; and the grand finale Child #3, Now That You’ve Gone & Outnumbered Yourselves.

As a mom who works, and let me stop you, the last thing I need to hear is a lecture about moms who choose their careers over staying at home, my frame of mind is probably a little more skewed then most.  Hell, as a total nut job, my frame of mind is likely more skewed then most.  I know that normal kids grew up with normal parents, they were taught how to swim, that graduating high school is important, and so on and so forth, but I wasn’t.  No time for tears & tissues, but my point is that I am doing the best I can with a limited amount of role modeling.

Anywoo, back to the working Mama dribble.  I work.  Not because I am dying to be on the cover of the local business section one day, but because I am broke.  And I like to shop.  One of these probably feeds into the other.  And I have issues.  I want my kids to have stuff that I never did, and I want them to appreciate that I work my ass off for them.  I pride myself on reminding them of that on a daily basis.  Joking aside, I also have 3 girls, and I want them to realize, hopefully from my stellar example, that they have the capabilities of taking care of themselves and not being dependent on a man/woman/partner or whatever the hell they choose to shack up with one day. 

Because of choices I have made, my career options are limited.  After years in the Casino industry, I have worked in the construction industry for years.  It works for me, I get a long with men better then women, likely because I can’t filter the shit that comes out of my mouth most of the time, and also because most women are snatches.  Whatever.  The thing about being the only female in an office full of men & construction workers, and the one primarily running the show, is that the frame of mind I have to keep in the office is not necessarily the best one to have at home.  Tears will get you nowhere in the world of framing, rough plumbing and construction to perm loans.  Do not drop the ball and let someone make a mistake on a home that will take weeks to fix when you are paying hundreds of dollars in daily interest.   Do not let anyone call you sweetheart, unless of course he isn’t too gross, and also happens to have a corporate expense account. 

The point to this babble is that often I have trouble transitioning from the world that I spend 7am – 5pm and sometimes more in to the world that is waiting for me between 6pm- often 12am and on weekends and holidays.   The approximate 10 seconds I get between the car and front door to readjust myself is usually not adequate.  I struggle daily with needing a break from work and a break from kids, often in the same evening, and unfortunately or fortunately depending on your perspective, it’s usually the kids that stay with a sitter so that mommy can have some alone time or time with Daddy.

If you are neurotic like I am, you can torture yourself over these things.  You can lay awake at night, promising to be a better mom the next day because you were short tempered and yelled at #1 to get back in bed after telling her to go to bed 7 times.   You can play back work scenes over and over in your head, realizing what the better, wittier thing to say would have been.  You can feel guilty for locking yourself in the bathroom and reading 50 Shades of Grey while your 2yr old banged on the door demanding to be let in and help you wipe.

If you are a “fixer” like I am, you will also find ways to make yourself feel better about your shortcomings.  Yes, I hate play dough, stickers and socks totally gross me out.    I can’t teach my girls to swim, but I can pay for the lessons.  I will never be able to ride a bike with them, but I will make sure they know how to, and they will have helmets while doing so.  They might have to sit and endure episodes of Diners, Drive Ins & Drives or Say Yes to the Dress while Mama has a glass of wine in order to log some quality mommy time, but it’s time, and lately that is in short supply around the Baby Farm.

Being a “fixer” or just plain getting old, you also learn to compromise about a lot of stuff.  Shit that would normally send you over the edge.  Like a carpet cleaner completely forgetting to shampoo the master bedroom.  You know, pretty much the most important room in the house.  The one that you sleep in.  The room where the magic happens(ie one parent argues with the other about who is going to be the one going to jail for giving the baby Nyquil that is clearly labeled “for children 6 and older”).  The one that smells so bad you can taste the dog piss every time you roll over to see the dark, beady eyes of your 43lb 2 yr old staring at you @ 1:36am.  Because you know what, the dude was doing you a favor.  And the piss happy puppy makes your kids happy.  Really, really happy.   And when you are a Mama doing the best you can, sometimes you take what you can get.  Even if it means that most of the hubby’s Christmas bonus is going to have to be used replacing the carpet.   

Sometimes life is just a real pisser ~