they don't tell you that

hello, fine people of tumblrland.  i can hear you gathering in crowds, being all like “wtf betch? you haven’t updated that super hilarious blog in like, forever.” 

first of all, who are you? my mother? all i wanted was a pepsi. (+2 if you get that reference)

basically i’m busy, you guys.  i am in school full time, taking five classes, and trying to raise a toddler, you know. for fun.  on top of that i’m trying to function like a normal human being who pays bills, has friends, eats meals, plays ‘lion and the gazelle’ with her husband, etc. so, needless to say, i’m really, super busy.

did i mention i’m raising a fucking toddler? she’s two. and in essence this means that i am trying to feed, bathe, clothe, teach, love, cuddle, and reason with a tornado. 

most interactions involve an argument. like so:

me: “maggie, let’s get dressed for school!”

her: “NO.”

or 

me: “maggie, how about a cookie?”

her: “i don’t WANT a cookie!”

me: “what do you want?”

her: “AHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

and even:

me: “maggie, do you want to go to DISNEYLAND today?!?!” (she KNOWS disneyland and loves it. fucking LOVES it.)

her: “NO! I NOT WANT TO GO TO DISNEYLAND!”

 

yes, i understand that toddlers are “rebellious” but come the fuck on. it’s disneyland. you’re telling me you’d rather stay at home and play “let’s lay down for a nap” one more time?

speaking of naps, she’s declared full on hari-kari on nap time. in fact, today was day two of no naps.  but there’s no way i believe she’s ready for a world without naps.  she’s not ready because i’m not ready.  i still need at least an hour of midday silence to not go all “snapped” on my life. and what’s more is today she fucking peed on me. she’s 2. this isn’t an infant, whose pee consists of magic giggles and fairy dust. my kid eats dirt and farts like a grown man. and she peed on me.  

it was 6:30 and she was losing her mind. i was getting her dressed and i laid her down to put a diaper on (we’re mid-potty training and haven’t gotten to the nighttime pee pees yet - what am i doing? i don’t owe you an explanation.) anyway, as i was getting her diaper on, and she’s wailing because she just saw a booboo she got earlier at school (seriously, she’s had this booboo since 11:30am and when i took her shirt off, she saw it and wouldn’t you know it, in that exact moment the pain became excruciating), she let out a great big scream and simultaneously peed all over the both of us. 

needless to say, we wrapped her bedtime up real fast.

 

so that’s where i’ve been.  but wait, where the hell have you been? my daughter peed on me today. where were you on that one? jerk.

Husbo gets three days off a week. You might think we’d call that the weekend. But in our home we refer to it as “the three days when my husband takes orders from a 2 year old.”

my husband and I went on a trip to Hawaii last month.  our precious spawn stayed home with my in-laws and we took off on what turned out to be one of the best trips of my life (could be tied with our honeymoon, in fact.)

anyway, at the airport before we left for Hawaii, there was this adorable young family much like ours (mexican/brown mama, hip white daddy, adorable, feisty toddler girl.) while waiting for the plane, the little girl began to raise a stink and that’s when the parents showed us what’s up.  that’s when the parents taught me how to discipline (read: threaten) a toddler.

up until this point i’ve been a bit baffled as to how to discipline our 2-year-old.  i mean, yes, i’m a mexican mom, but i don’t think i’m ready to introduce my kid to traditional latino-discipline — aka mi mano y mi chancla (HOLLER IF YOU HEAR ME!) so while i was eavesdropping on the father i heard him tell her, VERY ominously, “DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL THE COO-COO-EE?” that’s how he said it. COO.COO.EE.

i nearly died. not just because his pronunciation was so awesomely awful, but because, oh my god, this guy referred to the boogie man i knew as a kid. and his daughter responded by knocking it the fuck off. it was awesome. so i noted that my kid needed a lesson in the cucuy.

when we got back home (after a blissful week in Oahu), my kid began hearing threatening references of the cucuy. and she responded almost immediately. she just heard the scared tone in our voice and shaped the fuck up. 

example - it’s dusk, getting dark, and i am trying to talk my kid into coming inside for a bath. since i don’t want to grab her and haul her ass in, kicking and screaming, in front of the neighbors (because, parenting rule 17: appearances are everything), i lean in close and say “maggie, if we don’t get inside before it gets dark, the cucuy will come looking for you…” and she stands up, grabs my hand, and hauls her little diapered ass inside. 

that’s what i’m talking about.

so now we’re in business. my kid can respect the (empty, but not in her mind) threat of the cucuy, and i can parent without negotiating with the terrorist that is my 2-year-old.

and then today happened.

while i was washing the dishes (side note: my best blogs come after doing the dishes because i muse about the crazy shit going on around me while scraping melted cheese off of dora’s face.)  right.  while i was washing the dishes my daughter runs into the kitchen with a big smile on her face and says “cucuy!” then she takes a few steps back and says “HIIIIII CUCUY!”

i repeat what she said to make sure i wasn’t hearing shit, and she nods and laughs. like it’s a fucking joke. 

the following is my thought process:

“hold on. does she think I’M the cucuy?! no. no fucking way. i’m mama. what? wait. no. oh my god is this some sixth sense shit going on? does my kid see the fucking cucuy? OH. MY. GOD. IS THE CUCUY HERE?!”

then i realize this cucuy shit has officially backfired. it’s essentially my kid saying, “checkmate, mom. check. MATE.”

but what she doesn’t know is that what i’m about to say is, “MEET. MY. CHANCLA.”

so i’ve had a number of people in the last few months barking at me to blog some more (christ, people. not like i’m in school, and being a mom, and getting my nails did)

that being said, i’ve been stressing about what anecdote i could succinctly share with you. today, while i was telling myself stories and rolling my eyes at all of them, my daughter was in the back seat, bopping along to my ipod (which was on shuffle all songs mode at the time). then she screamed “AGAIN!” - i realized at that moment that she wanted me to go back to the last song. i didn’t know what it was but went back anyway. to my shock/delight/horror/confusion, the song she wanted me to play again was “bangarang” by skrillex. 

that’s when i thought back to the only other few songs my daughter has ever requested in such a demanding manner. they are as follows (i’ve also explained why these songs are on my ipod, because they may or may not warrant an explanation):

“Bangarang” by Skrillex (she is why it’s on my ipod BTW.)

“Blow” by ke$ha (shut up.)

“Till the World Ends” by Britney Spears (i told you long ago that this shit was my jam. don’t go judging me now.)

“Bulimic” by The Used (i used to be very emotional and mad. if i were still emotional and mad this wold be a livejournal and not a tumblr. FYI)

“Off to the Races” by Lana Del Rey (that’s my girl.)

“Country Shit” by Big K.R.I.T (okay. so this song - yes, the “explicit” version - came on my ipod while i was pumping gas. didn’t even realize it was on until my kid screamed “AGAIN” and i went back… whoops.)

“What You Know” by T.I. (but really, what YOU know about my boyfriend TI?)

so there’s that….

(Source: Spotify)

I go in for a kiss and she wipes chalk on my face. #burn (Taken with Instagram)

I love balloons but I’m not sure about clowns. #99problems (Taken with Instagram)

She’s gonna be 2 next month. #iwanttodie (Taken with Instagram)

Indoor bounce house playdate. Ready… GO! (Taken with Instagram)

#daylatefathersday (Taken with Instagram)

Begs to play in the water. Total emotional melt down when she gets wet. (Taken with Instagram)