Tag Archives: bribery

Dear Whine and Cheese

22 Apr

Whine: Today I made the mistake of buying the sisters each a butterfly net. Then, once I got the nets off their heads (and mine, once) I spent the better part of my afternoon bug hunting with the girls. And by “with the girls” I mean me digging through the dirt with a stick and picking up worms with my bare hands while they called out encouragingly from the safety of the swingset. 

Cheese: I got a “Bravo!” and a “Take a bow!” and even a “You’re an expert, Mom!” Man, if I’d known worms would make me so popular, I would have bought a worm farm a long time ago.

So NOT my idea.

Many of you out there are wondering just exactly what it takes to survive as a multi-child mom. I’m no octo-mom, but being home alone all day with three little urchins requires some creativity, and I’m happy to answer your burning questions. (Actually, if they’re burning, you should probably see your doctor.)

Dear Whine and Cheese,

Since having my baby a month ago I haven’t figured out how moms actually eat. Doesn’t my baby realize that if I don’t eat, neither does he?

Sincerely,

About to Eat my Own Arm

Dear, um, Hungry,

You’ve asked the central question of motherhood. Whether you are struggling to eat because your jelly-bean-sized fetus is rejecting all nourishment or because every time you get some food multiple someones are a)crying, yelling and hollering or b)climbing on top of you trying to get a bite, you’ve got to figure out how to eat, lest the very underpinnings of our civilization (i.e., happy mommas) crumble and fall apart.

That being said, here are a few tips for avoiding the low blood sugar meltdown:

1) While you sit in your car to nurse the baby who screamed through all twenty-four aisles of the grocery store to the pitying (judgmental?) glances of midday shoppers, scrounge around through the jumble of bags until you stumble upon something edible, like a bagel or a candy bar or a few of both. Wash them down with a warm Diet Coke or the cup of day-old water that has hints of dog hair floating around in it. I’d go with the Diet Coke if I were you.

2) When a lovely, kind and compassionate person brings dinner for your family, immediately serve yourself a plate, shoot your husband and kids The Death Look and run to your bedroom. Enjoy your feast while you sit on the floor and watch the reruns of Hoarders on A&E, because at least someone’s living room looks worse than yours.

3)  Two words: Drive Thru. Because they can’t get to you — or your food — if they’re strapped into their car seats.

I hope this helps you retain all your appendages, for this week at least.

Yours Truly,

Whine and Cheese

Dear Whine and Cheese,

I’m now a mother of three. How on earth am I supposed to leave the house, let alone grocery shop?

Sincerely,

Old Mother Hubbard

Dear Mother Hubbard,

When grocery shopping it is important to remember a few things: your grocery list, your coupons (all expired, of course), and a few giant lollipops. Don’t hesitate to utilize the XXL-sized Racecar shopping cart. Just be warned that you will need to complete a driver safety course in order to maneuver the cart without knocking over the cardboard display filled with sample-sized bottles of Irish Spring bodywash that not one of those pitying midday shoppers will help you pick up. Also know that despite the ungainly size of the cart, no actual groceries will fit inside without a delicate house-of-cards-like arrangement. By the time you reach the check-out your chips will be totally crumbled and the labels will be ripped off all your boxes of cereal, but at least you’ll have food to rummage through when you’re stranded in a parking lot feeding The Hungriest Baby Who Ever Lived.

Yours Truly,

Whine and Cheese

Dear Whine and Cheese,

I’m thinking of having children. Should I have noise-reducing headphones surgically attached to my ears?

Sincerely,

La, La, La, I Can’t Hear You

Dear La La,

You pose a fascinating question. Certainly the sounds of early childhood can be overwhelming. The crying in the night when you just barely just fell asleep. The shouts of “she’stouchingmeWAAAHH” from the back seat. The disturbingly loud and metallic crinkle of the new biodegradable chip bag (seriously, SO loud!). The dollar store cd of kids’ songs whose squeaky fast-forward sound makes you wonder if when recording a cd for the dollar store you pay for the recording studio by the minute.

But if you were to muffle all the cries, shouts, crinkles and squeaks, you’d also be muffling the sound of the tiny sweet baby stretching and yawning next to you. And you might miss out on hearing your six favorite words: “Mom, I have to go potty.” (Even if it is a false alarm.) And when you’re up to your wrists in worm slime, you might need your ears free to hear the encouragement of your biggest fan.

So, La La, I wouldn’t attach the headphones, but I’d sure keep ’em handy for roadtrips. Or trips to the grocery store. It’s hard to push a huge grocery cart with your fingers stuffed in your ears.  

Yours Truly,

Whine and Cheese

Quick Hits

18 Feb

Whine: Six, count them, six basketfuls of clean laundry balance precariously on my love seat waiting to be folded.

Cheese: At least I have clean underwear now.

 

So, it comes down this choice, dear readers. Either I can post now, a rambling heap of the last week or so, or I can wait until I have time to to package it neatly and place a nice bow on top. We both know that time is not coming any time soon, don’t we? So, I’ve decided a few quick hits are in order.

 

In the last week I’ve . . .

 

. . . taken my kids to a doctor’s appointment at 8 o’clock at night. Both had ear infections.

 

. . . cleaned out my fridge and discovered that I could’ve treated the girls’ ear infections with what I found in there.

 

. . . woken up to find Big Sis watching Diego and eating a stick of butter-flavored Crisco like a candy bar. (Where was her father??)

 

. . . fished a pacifier out of a toilet, courtesy of Lil’ Sis and her newest hobby: Bobbing for Paci.

 

. . . came to pick up Big Sis from Sunday School. Found her sans shirt and huddled in her blankie. Apparently the toilet (that she was not using, of course) “overflowed.” Except that her shirt was completely wet, front and back, top to bottom. I was like, um, did she swim in it or what? I guess it didn’t technically overflow, it’s more like it sprung a major leak and sprayed everywhere. Except she was the only one who got wet at all.  I suspect the Toilet Trolls have a bounty out on her.

 

. . . witnessed Big Sis make some impressive potty-ing strides (complete with lunatic-Mommy-dancing-celebration and candy bribes) only to have her decide that was enough success and start holding everything in again. But she doesn’t eat much when she gets like this, so at least I’ll save some $$ on groceries. (Settle down, I’m just kidding. I’m not that callous. Yet. She is still my firstborn.)

 

. . . noticed that toilets are a major theme in my life. I’m not sure what to make of that, but it can’t be good.

 

But enough about me and my toilet fixation. I want to hear what you guys have been doing. So, I’m asking you to go to the comments section and finish this sentence with the craziest (publicly admittable and semi-true) thing you can.

“In the last week I’ve . . .”  

No Deal!

30 Oct

Whine: Potty training stinks. Literally.

Cheese: Ave the Brave is home from the hospital and doing great!

 

I’d like to start this post with a disclaimer: I believe in disciplining children. In our house offenses such as hitting, biting, spitting and ripping out sister’s hair do not go uncorrected. I have learned in my very short stint as a parent, however, that there are some things you cannot make a child do. Specifically: eat, sleep or go potty. In these cases, your best bets are trickery, bribery and flat out begging.

Fast forward to this morning. Big Sis knows how to use the potty to, how do I put this delicately, um, go “Number One.” But she has thusfar refused to even consider using the potty to do the other thing. This means that I can either leave her in a pull-up all day and have her regress on the skills she already knows. (Because why would you use the potty to tinkle when you have a convenient system already in place?) Or I can put her in her princess panties with the full knowledge that I will be cleaning out some very un-princess-like substances several times each day. It’s a rock and a hard place, people, let me tell you.

Between the clean up and the astronomical cost of pull-ups, you can see why it behooves me to potty train this kid of mine. So I spend all morning watching and waiting. At the first sign of, well, you know, activity, I leap into action. Faster than Superman on Redbull, I grab Big Sis, run to the bathroom and place her on the potty. She takes umbrage at being interrupted and procedes to wail and howl. After approximately two to four time outs (for the unnecessary screaming, flailing and kicking) we are finally ready to begin negotiations. 

I do my best Howie Mandel and start with a low offer, keeping it very casual. “You know, Big Sis, if you go Number Two on the potty, Mommy will give you some candy.” Unimpressed, she yawns. No deal.

So I sweeten the deal a little bit and offer a cookie, or two, or three. The offer registers without even a twitch. No deal.

I’m getting desperate now, it’s time to pull out the big guns. I try to put on my best “breezy” voice and mention that if she were, in fact, to happen to maybe go on the potty, just this once, we could go get that new Veggie Tales movie she’s been wanting. To which she replies, “I don’t want that movie; it’s too scary.” No deal. Well played, Big Sis, well played.

The game ends with an empty potty and a full pull-up. I’ve lost and she’s won. Although I’m not sure exactly what she’s won, except the ability to work Mommy like a marionette. By the time this is over I’ll be offering a pony and a trip to Disneyworld. But at what I save on pull-ups, I might just come out even.