Future Homemakers Society Rejects

When I entered the second grade, my mother dutifully signed me up for Brownies, which is sort of the baby version of The Girl Scouts. I don’t know if I battled her for it or not, but I’m going to guess that I did, because that’s the kind of person I was am was back then. Always a sucker for a uniform, I proudly ran home from school after getting my poo-brown uniform and put it on.

Even at 7, I knew it looked bad. The color was just…off.

But I looked official, and that’s what mattered to me. I strutted proudly around the house for awhile while my mother rolled her eyes at me. A couple of days later, she announced that I had to go to my first meeting.

Bwaaa?

Excuse me? I didn’t sign up for anything that required WORK.

I trekked to the meeting and joined a bunch of girls and their mothers who sat around in a semi-circle (something I would later be very, very afraid of) and they all excitedly discussed how we could earn PATCHES!!! for our SASHES!!!! by doing THINGS!!!!

My own eyes began to roll back in my head as the meeting wore on and on. Sisterhood was discussed, as were things like overnight field trips and selling cookies. I was beginning to feel like the whole uniform thing really wasn’t worth the bullshit.

At the next meeting, which my mother dragged me to, even after I faked the stomach flu and a fever of 109 degrees, it was time to make a “kneeling pad.” We had to sandwich two large pieces of vinyl between a piece of Styrofoam and stitch it up with green yarn. I wanted to actively kill myself.

What the fuck was I going to do with this besides try and smother my older brother with it?

My mother snickered when she saw me trudging back to the car with my creation.

“What IS that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “We’re supposed to KNEEL on it or something.”

I’m pretty sure you could hear her laughter for blocks.

My abysmal failure at selling any cookies when it came time to “FUNDRAISE, GIRLS!!!” and my inability to earn a single patch, finally convinced her to allow me to quit. She’d never insisted I stick with anything I didn’t really like, and I’m sure she was tired of me bringing home my pathetic attempts at craft projects.

I mean, who could blame her? One of the cats started using the “kneeling pad” as a peeing pad and ruined one of the carpets and my older brother had actually broken a tooth on one of my attempts at making a ceramic cup. It was time to admit that I was never, ever going to cut it as a housewife.

Ha. If they could only see me now…

Wait a minute.

Is it too late to become a heiress?

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I’m over at Toy With Me talking about The Birds and the Bees. It’s a shockingly safe for work post.

You Might Want To Demand A Recount, Internet

Most of the essays went out last night for signing up for Das Book. If you haven’t gotten yours, shoot an email to dave@copyontherocks.com and you can tell The Daver your woes (or offer him a marriage proposal. Whatever.). If you haven’t Pledged Your Allegiance to the Book, you should! FREE! ESSAY!

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Somehow, I managed to score the nomination AND won the pick for the Hot Blogger Calendar, Pranksters. Now. I have no doubt that this will be pretty hilarious, because I’m hoping to be dressed like a gigantic Uncrustables for the shoot. Really, there’s nothing hotter than a chick dressed as a peanut butter sandwich, am I right?

(please don’t answer that)

Anyway, as I was looking for a different, yet equally humiliating picture to share with you, I came across another stash of ridiculous shots. I thought today would be a perfect day to share with you some more shameful pictures. Pretty sure you can’t take back your vote now.

*rubs hands together evilly*

I’ll even throw down a Mr. Linky for those of you who want to play along on your own blogs, because Your Aunt Becky is a giver of all kinds of wonderful things. Like headaches! And VD! But that is neither here nor there.

First, we’ll start here. This is my brother and I (you can call him Uncle Aunt Becky) when I was in college. While I know my hardcore-ness might be freaking you out THROUGH THE COMPUTER and causing you to perhaps pee in your pants, I assure you that I am safe around children.

And for the record, we were leaving to go on a motorcycle ride.

Oh, shut up.

Fresh from listening to Mambo #5 for the 804,746 time in a row while short Mexican men poured gaily colored tequila down my throat from industrial sized plastic jugs, I stopped to take a breather. This picture was snapped before I had to go do the motherfucking Macarena AGAIN.

And while that appears to be a pair of Tighty-Whities next to me, I genuinely have no idea what the hell it is. Knowing me, it probably is.

I liked this picture for 2 reasons.

a) it looked like I was either going to have sex with the camera or punch it (which is how I take most pictures)(watch out, BlogHer).

2)It shows off what a gigantic fucking nerd I am.

This is a shot of me in college taken from behind the bar where I worked. I don’t know if I was working or not, but clearly I was studying my balls off while drinking MILK. Lest anyone think I was exaggerating what an overachieving freak I was, there is the proof.

Also, if you look closely, my hair is highlighted pink! WHIMSICAL!

This is the best picture ever, and not just because you can clearly see my hot pink bra through the white shirt (what did I say about looking like I either want to have sex with the camera or beat the shit out of it?).

Okay, let me back up a second for anyone who doesn’t know the story behind this. When nurses graduate nursing school, they’re pinned (and no, sadly, not like in WWE Smackdown or like a porno) and there’s this big ceremony. A couple of days before, they get their pictures taken.

Except, I wasn’t all that excited, you see, so I was blowing off the whole thing. Really, I didn’t give a shit about it, so I showed up the day of the picture shoot looking like cat shit in a bag. I mean, who the hell was I gonna send my nursing school picture to? I don’t exactly have the sort of family that would happily display my picture on their wall.

My friends didn’t approve so they hijacked me, sat me down with some crusty old makeup they found lying around and made me take the picture. Wasn’t even my shirt, yo. And I was pissed because I couldn’t see a fucking thing because I didn’t have my glasses (or contacts) on.

So, I took the damn picture, paid roughly $500 for it, and still have the entire set of them in my room. I mean, really, who the hell wants a reminder that I was a nurse for like .005 seconds? I guess I could send them out as gag gifts to people or something. “Remember when I thought I was gonna be a nurse? PSYCH!!”

Now that I think about it, maybe it should be my Christmas Card pictures this year. It beats the one of the inside of my colon I was going to send.

Also, I don’t think that even based on these pictures, you can recant your vote for the hot blogger calendar. SORRY.

Alright, pranksters, for anyone who wants to play along with humiliating pictures on your OWN blog, here’s Mr. Linky:

Go Ask Aunt Statia

So today, Pranksters, I have a fill-in for Your Aunt Becky. May I introduce my friend Stacia from Failure To Nap. You can call her Aunt Statia because OBVIOUSLY.

Also? My friend Kate could use a hand bringing her daughters Bethany and Laura home. If you don’t know her, you should. She’s a good friend of mine, has been for a long time, and has supported me for ages, through thick and thin. I love her dearly and she’s working to adopt two children with Down’s Syndrome from the Ukraine. She’s good people. CLEARLY.

Without further tongue wagging from Your Aunt Becky, I give you Aunt Statia!

My five year old may get a male teacher next year. I have nothing against this guy. He seems lovely… but I have a bad abuse history which has left me very very wary of men when it comes to kids. Also, one of my own teachers was convicted of abusing children (boys) and recently another teacher from my area has been charged with over 40 offenses. I haven’t got any good reason to request my son be moved but I hate that I have to give a man the benefit of the doubt. I also don’t want to get a reputation as the nutcase mum.

Do I say anything? I have gently asked other mums whose children have been in his class and have had variable results as to how he is.

First of all, I’m really sorry that you had to go through such a trauma. No one should ever have to go through the hell that is abuse. Ever. I think it’s one of the meanest things anyone could ever do to another human being.

And let me ask you, have you sought therapy for your pain? I say this because therapy has saved my life. I’ve been in therapy for various reasons over the years, but after having two kids close in age, I was suffering badly and it took a lot for me to ask for help and if it weren’t for having someone that I could confide my deepest darkest secrets to, knowing they were bound by HIPAA laws, I might have been a lot worse off. So please, first and foremost, it’s OK to take care of yourself.

Secondly, I know it’s really really hard to trust people with your children. Especially in the age of media and technology being so in your face about predators and Bad Things. Not to nullify your fears, but it’s a lot less common than you think. But I hear you. It’s one of my biggest fears too. I lay awake at night worrying about stuff like this, and this is what people don’t tell you when you have kids. That you worry a lot about people hurting your babies. Here’s what I would do:

1. Ask yourself. Do you have a bad feeling about this guy? And if so, is it because of your past history, or does he truly give you a creepy vibe?

2. Ask some of his past students (if you have friend’s whose kids have had him in the past), if they’ve liked him. Asking parents can be helpful, but also tricky, as it’s easy to get mixed results, given that not everyone is going to jive in personality. Kids might be a better gauge of how the teacher really is.

3. Find out more about him. How long has he been a teacher? Does he have a family? Don’t be afraid to ask him questions about him, if it makes you feel at ease.

4. Just be your mama bear self. There should be no reason for him to be alone with your child or any student. And teach your child the basic rules of body awareness and that it’s never ok for anyone to touch them for any reason. And that if anyone should hurt them or touch them inappropriately, to tell you immediately, and never be afraid.

I wish you all the best.

Dear Aunt Becky Stacia,

PLEASE HELP!!!!!!! My ignorant in-laws are constantly ruining the Christmas season for me! I want to appreciate the season, but all I find is that it brings me stress, anger and exhaustion.

We have three wonderful, beautiful children (11, 9, 2). They have one SPOILED, 8 year old husky that is their “child”. The problem – if the children go near something the dog likes, or touch him/brush against him in the wrong way, he GROWLS AT THEM!

Because of this, we RARELY see them. But every Christmas my husband wants to do the obligatory visit (they rarely come our way, and we only live 1 1/2 hours apart).

Despite my best efforts, the dog growled at the baby when he was walking by us on the way to the backyard. I scooped her right up, but then had to listen to them tell me how he would NEVER EVER actually bite. That when he growls he doesn’t mean anything by it, he can just be “vocal”. OH MY GOD THOSE IGNORANT FOOLS.

The holiday visiting has turned me into a big scrooge.I have to be the one to demand that the dog is always kept in another room, and I am still on high alert the WHOLE time (as the dog does need to be let out to use the restroom, etc…)!!!! My husband doesn’t say much, preferring me to look like the bitch so he can keep some semblance of a relationship with his father (and step mother).

My hubby is very upset by this, but he does not want to completely cut his father out of his life. He feels that by limiting our visits to once per year, and allowing me to be the dog police is the best we can do.

Oh Aunt Becky, how do I survive stomaching these ignorant, foolish idiots?

Signed,

Doggone Tired

Oh sister, I FEEL your pain. I think next to money problems, this is the second biggest source of tension in a marriage. And I know of few people that actually get along with their in-laws. I myself have had my fair share of in-law troubles. My husband has a tendency to be very diplomatic.

When I was pregnant with my son, my mother-in-law gave me a whole heap of trouble and my husband didn’t want to rock the boat. It took me finally being outright in his face in terms of what I expected from him as a husband. This is such a tricky issue, because men generally don’t want to rock the boat when it comes to their parents, and that gives the in-laws free reign to walk all over you, and that is just not OK in my book.

If your husband really wants to keep the peace and help keep you happy in the process (because my thought is, if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t no one happy, and I realize that’s just bad grammar, but sometimes life just calls for bad grammar), he would at least have them come visit you.

I realize that in-laws also tend to be stubborn, but let him know that you’re truly afraid of the dog hurting the children and rather than have to stress yourself out over the thought of a possible accident, it might be best to at least have them over your house at least until the kids are old enough to understand that they have to leave the dog alone.

If all else fails, you can always feign illness and stay home with the kids, and then as a treat, you can all have ice cream for dinner. Because you deserve it.

3) How do you get revenge on the snarky, obnoxious, superior critic of your success as a mother when it’s you?

How do make the bitch SHUT UP!

Ok, here’s the deal. Sometimes, it’s OK to be smug as mother. Sometimes, you have to toot your own horn from time to time. Because let’s face it, being a mother is a thankless job and sometimes the only appreciation is going to come from you.

However, there is a time and a place for it. When you’ve successfully bribed your child with broccoli and they ate the whole plate? Pat yourself on the back.

You can be smug. And if you want to share that with your friends, you can say something like “Oh my god, I can’t believe it, but I totally got my child to eat BROCCOLI, oh glorious day, maybe I should play the lottery!” Make it seem as if you’re so proud of yourself because stuff like this NEVER happens.

You may think that you’re a better mother than everyone else. You may think you’re super mom, but you know what? We’re all trying to do the best job we can, so being smug around other parents is just not cool. No one likes a one upping, judgey mom.

Because you know what? At some point, your kids are going to do things that will pull that perfectly clean sparkling rug out from underneath you and make you question every single thing you ever did as a parent.

Case in point? My son was an angel baby. Never questioned a thing I said, never got into trouble (I could leave oily rags and a lighter out and he wouldn’t even so much as glance at them, seriously). Now? He’s a HELLION.

Just remember. What goes around, comes around, and at some point, it’s going to come back to you.