PARENTING ADVICE: F**K IT

A couple years ago, I wrote a post when I worked at Momlogic about Parenting from the Gut. I had decided that my all things Westside and Neurotic was getting out of control and I'd try to listen to my instincts instead of flocking to the gurus that I had (still am) been paying good money to, to tell me what kind of pajamas my toddler should wear in mid October.

Sure... that "laissez faire," whatever works mentality works sometimes, but there is one area in particular that my own "here's how I'm going to handle this" strategy has been failing big time: Potty Talk with a capital Shit. My 4 year old has been swearing like a truck driver and literally nothing I do or don't do works. Last year, it was all Poop and Pee all the time. J's teacher suggested every time he says Poop or Pee out of context like he has Turret's that I quickly swoop him up and take him to the bathroom as if to say (and actually say), "Oh, you're saying Poop. That must mean you need to go...." Yup. That worked for a week. Then there was the "next time you say that, time out/toy taken away/done playing/no TV blah blah blah" phase. Then there was the "do nothing" phase.... which maaaaaaay have lead to bigger words being spewed like "Stupid. Dammit. Asshole. Shit." And his number one favorite, which he actually will only whisper because he knows just how bad it is: "Fuckit" (Said as one word).

Now before you go judging me and wondering where this angel gets this foul and massively inappropriate vocabulary, allow me to assure you that if, I repeat IF it comes from me it would never be on purpose and only during moments, at least for me, when I'm driving and people don't know how to signal or stop short or drive. really. at all. (Yes, I'm working on my road rage). And it's certainly not from watching Real Housewives or any of that garbage. In fact, if it comes from his exposure to media at all, then the fucking Backyardigans are really the ones to blame... But I digress...

Though his language has been a little extreme, I can say proudly (er, um... as proudly as a mother of a child with this problem should be) that this is language he DOESN'T use at school, but DOES use in proper context. Case in point, the other day: I had to return something to Zara. The manager and sales associate were being complete biatches and extraordinarily rude. When I walked away from the counter in a huff (with J in tow), he asked me why we had to go, I said, out loud, so the two B's could hear me: "Because they're NOT being very helpful."

J: Mommy, were they mean?

Me: Yes.

J: Mommy, should we call them assholes?

I laughed. Yes. I laughed. And in my opinion, the fact that he was able to identify the store manager as an asshole means he is good at reading people. That will save him years of bad relationships. I mean, he was a little off on wanting to call her "Dammit" a few minutes later, but I totally caught his drift. AND yes, I know this is not okay to encourage this behavior which is WHY, I pulled his preschool director aside the other day and told her about my little fouled mouth friend and asked her what in the fuck I should do...

So, her advice: Tell him that we have a new plan. From now on, when he needs to say not nice words, he must go into his bedroom or bathroom, shut the door, and say them to himself. It's private and those words are hurtful and not acceptable, especially not acceptable when you're saying them to your mommy. He must not use this language only in private.

Well, when I picked him up from school and he called me a stupid poop head, I seized the opportunity and told him the new plan. You have never seen a child so excited to get home and close the door by himself. For about 30 seconds I heard, "stupid. shit. dammit. asshole. fuckit. awful. poo poo. pee pee. throw up." Then he came out, took a deep breath and said he was all done. Not ONE bad word has been uttered outside his room since and I swear he has been in a great mood for like 2 days straight. This may have been the best parenting advice I've gotten yet.

We'll see how it fucking goes...

Speaking of parenting advice, here's some of my favorite nuggets of advice I pulled together for Momversation & YouTube. Enjoy ;-)

CAR-KHARMA-GEDDON

I don't know what it is, but I have the world's worst luck when it comes to cars. While I consider myself a fantastic driver (all of you that have driven with me, shut up), and frankly the most competent and skilled parallel parker you will ever meet (it's true, I could win medals), when it comes to... how do I say this delicately, damaging cars if you will, I suck. Let me take you through a little chronology of said luck:

1993. It all started when I got my driver's license (Aced it to be clear) and was given the lovely gift of borrowing my grandfather's 1980 Camaro. While there may have been many boys in high school that found this giant white tank to be cool, as a 16 year old in Beverly Hills, I can assure my girlfriends and I found it to be embarrassing and hideous. It was like a low riding jalopy and had AM only radio. Yah. Not cool. After spinning out in a major intersection just for turning left in the rain, I knew it was time for this beast to be returned to my grandfather and was happy to go back to having to call Shotgun.

1999. Luckily after high school I moved to New York and therefore didn't need a car, or frankly really drive a car. But when I moved back to Los Angeles and was ready for my first car-- my first adult lease, in my name and all, I settled into a nice little Ford Escort. Very first day, first hour really, of having my first adult car. I pulled away from the dealer. Decided I'm an adult, in my adult car and well, I'm gonna have a cigarette (I was fresh out of NYU theater. Smoking was the thing). I light up, feeling fantastic and free and adult in my adult car. Roll down the window more... ZAP. The cigarette goes FLYING in to the back seat of my car... as I'm driving Coldwater Canyon (a curvy, windy, no light, two lane, canyon). Of course, I couldn't reach the cigarette but was able to watch slowly as it burned a nice big hole in the seat.

2005. I'm married. A true adult by now. The escort is long gone and now, and it's literally the day I'm turning in my leased Jetta. Moving on to an Infiniti. A real grown up. My Jetta had just come from the shop and gotten some work done (you didn't think I got a way with a car that was scratch/bashed/missing parts-less did you?). Now it was in perfect condition. An inspector comes to see the car, give me the "ok" to turn it in and move on to my fancy new Infiniti without fees or issues. He gives me the stamp of approval. Two hours later, I take my Jetta for it's last hurrah (to the bank or an errand or something). I "roll" through a stop sign and BOOM. Am hit by a foreign exchange student with an invalid license and no car insurance. My fault but he's actually in bigger trouble. $2000 more dollars later, I return my Jetta and move on to the Infiniti.

2007. Infiniti goes to my (ex) husband. I have a mommy car. A Nissan Murano. I love it more than words. My newborn baby is home from the hospital and I feel great in this car.... Until out of nowhere, I'm driving and a rock flies into my window, shattering the windshield as I drive with my baby alone on the 101. No biggie. Glass guys come, replace car. Just a pain.

2007. and a Month. I hit a woman's car in Target. Don't remember the details, just remember I did it. Insurance handles it, we get it fixed. I need to be more careful. And maybe only go to Target during off peak hours. And not 15 times a week. (Hello, motherhood).

2010. Murano still alive and kicking. Lease is up in just a month when SLAM. I tap, okay, REAR END an older gentleman and his wife at a stop sign. Bumper very crunched and will need work. Lots of work. It wasn't necessary to check Facebook at that time. I've learned my lesson. For REAL.

2011. Lease has been extended but bumper hasn't been fixed. Good thing though because as I'm gently reversing/ parallel parking into a spot, a guy opens his door into my car. DING. Right on the passenger side. No problem, insurance insurance insurance. Blah blah blah.

2011. Last week. Murano returned about 2 months ago. I'm now in my brand new car. Only issue with it is you can't program multiple seat settings and blue tooth sort of sucks. Other than that, happy as a clam. UNTIL... I'm just about to get out of the car, I reach for my purse and take one last look at work email so I can go into the house and focus one hundred and percent on Jonah, and WHACK! A Range Rover comes barreling down the street and virtually takes off my door. The car, with a door that won't close, remains on the street that evening, draped with a sheet and a rope saved from a lovely gift I was given and a lame sign. Just perfect, the night before the weekend in the land of Carmageddon...

Fortunately, Carmageddon was overhyped and the streets were amazingly calm and empty. AND my rental car is lovely.... Though I did just realize the hubcap is missing. I swear I didn't do it. I didn't. I think... Wait... Um...

MANNERS MONDAY: ROAD RAGE!

Manners Monday: Road Rage! from lisagache on Vimeo.

Many months ago, I was driving with Jonah and running late (as usual). We pulled up at a stop light and though the light was green, the car in front of me decided to slow down and virtually stop. I laid on my horn and without thinking said, "GO! DOUCHE!" Sure enough, not two seconds later, a little gold fished crusted mouth, as if he were driving himself, blurted "Gooooo. Douuuuuuuuuuuuuuche!"

Oops.

There's no doubt about it. When it comes to setting a good example of manners for Jonah, I have two unfortunate things working for me: I swear like a truck driver, and I drive like a truck driver. The combination of the two makes for some gnarly road rage.

Though I'd like to blame Los Angeles drivers for their poor driving skills and bad manners (um, I'm signaling! Let me IN!), I realize that I need to take it down a notch, especially when little J is in the car with me. Well today Lisa Gache and I decided to talk about how easy it is to let your manners get run over by road rage... especially during carpool drop-off... (Oh, yeah. You know the rude moms I'm talking about. Are you one???)

Want to tame your road rage, Lisa suggests:

Ø Give yourself plenty of time to arrive at your destination

Ø Refrain from cell phone conversations when entering the parking lot so that you can be present to the situation at hand

Ø Don’t sweat the small stuff, if someone’s driving is bothering you, take a breath and count to ten

Ø Lay off the horn and the profanity, especially if children are in the car, you don’t want to set a bad example

Ø Never give someone the “finger.” It is just plain rude!

BACKSEAT DRIVER

As we sat in traffic en route to Lucy's 2nd Birthday party, I nearly bit my tongue off trying to stifle my urge to tell T-Ko to change lanes. He has a habit of staying in the right lane forever, and effing EVER, and it makes me insane in the membrane.  Trying to avoid a fight, and trying to challenge myself to my own little game of "who can be quiet the longest," I didn't say anything.  (Okay, well maybe I said one thing. But it was only because he really could have gone faster. It's true that you can actually get a ticket for driving like my grandma. Seriously).  But once we made it to the big indoor play area and got to "partying", "parking lot T-Ko," as he is affectionately referred to in our house, was forgotten. 

Aside from the giant bouncy slide (that made me realize I could use a more supportive bra), the highlight was definitely watching Baby-Ko scoot around in the Little Tikes Cozy Coupe Car.  He looked so cool behind the wheel.  First he stopped, to pick up Lucy....

Such a gentleman.

Then she climbed in (on top of him really) and literally took control of the wheel...

 

Unlike his mommy, Baby-Ko was not a back seat driver and was happy to slowly cruise the play area... Until they announced it was time for pizza. Then he was all about the fast lane...

HANDS-FREE. YEAH, RIGHT.

As if I wasn't disheveled enough, now I have to obide by the new HANDS-FREE LAW that became effective in the state of California TODAY. This law prohibits all drivers from using handheld wireless telephones while operating a motor vehicle. AWESOME. So instead of simply answering my phone, reaching back to give Baby-Ko a pacifier AND honk at the idiot who could have made ten left turns by now, (a sequence of events that I have so gracefully mastered in the past 9 months), NOW I have to find the EAR PIECE somewhere in the abyss that is my purse, answer the phone, reach back to give Baby-Ko the pacifier AND honk at the idiot who still hasn't turned left because SHE TOO is looking for her fucking ear piece.

Look, I realize the point of an ear piece is to have it in your ear always, BEFORE you actually need the phone, so you're not fishing around for it frantically WHILE you drive. But a) I think those people that walk around with their blue tooth in all the time look like douches and b) I have a hard enough time wearing small earrings without Baby-Ko trying to yank them out. AND YES, I realize that this law was designed to protect people and is probably going to save many lives, especially since it prohibits minors from texting (which I'm sure they are not "LOL"ing about). But for me personally, it's going to make life just a little more complicated... It's going to make me feel even more unorganized and unkempt than I already do.

So from now on, if any of you call me (mom), and I don't answer, do not take it personally. This time I'm not actually screening your call...

**
In other news, I am re-committing to working out again and dragged my fat ass to the gym this afternoon. Earlier in the day though, Brian Austin Green (a.k.a. David from the OG "90210") was in line behind me today at Koo-Koo Roo. He was with this really cute girl who Baby-Ko was of course smiling at and flirting with. When we both got up to the register she leaned in and said "Ooh! So Squshy!" I can assume she meant Baby-Ko and not my ass right???