Whoever Said There are No Dumb Questions. . . .

Well, interwebs and my ones of readers, I am with child again. Yep. It's true. AND it makes me bitchy. I wish I were one of those glowy, dewy complexioned, grateful, graceful pregnant ladies, but mainly I'm just more pudgy, more acne-ridden and grouchy. Big Ol' Bitch. That's me.

After seeing my OB (whom I had seen in a delivery room a scant 8 months prior) and getting the pregnancy confirmed (because 3 home tests weren't enough), my husband called up his crazy-ass parents. Later that day, I got a text from his mom that was just a smiley face icon. Like a 14-year-old girl.

Me: Thanks. We are working over the shock to be excited.

Crazy-ass mother-in-law: Yes. . .we bet you are! Are you feeling well? Morning/evening sickness? Able to work still?


Wha???? Back that train up. Able to work still? Um, yeah. Because unlike you, I want to contribute to my household budget. AND because I'm 6 effing weeks pregnant. How would that memo go to my boss?

Dear Sirs,
Due to my pregnancy, I will be unable to work for the next 34 weeks and then will require the following 12 weeks for maternity leave. I expect that my paychecks will continue during this time period. You may contact me via cell phone with questions, but not during naptime, please. I need my rest.
Sincerely,
Big Ol' Bitch

If her question wasn't the most ridiculous question of all time, then I don't know what is. I have worked through both of my previous pregnancies through 39 weeks. How the hell could I possibly stop at 6 weeks pregnant this time? Effffff. She's stoopid.

Neediness Makes Me Effing Crazy

So my wee Monkey is turning three next week. I have hand-delivered a large majority of the invites. I need to get to the Post Office to get stamps for the remainder. I know I'm late. I'm royally inept with the US Postal System--it's why my Christmas cards are still sitting on the counter. Yep.

My needy sister-in-law needily sent needy text messages to my husband this eve.

What time is Monkey's party next Saturday? Do you have plans for your birthday?

Fortunately, her husband is a pilot and she is going to try and come for the party. Yay. My husband then sent her a picture of the invite (still waiting to be sent). Her response?

I didn't get that in the mail :(

My husband totally anted up this time. His response has done more to make me glad he's all mine than anything in a long time.

Because they haven't been sent out. No one is forgetting about you, Sarah.

This is also the woman who called last year to ask if we had already sent her Christmas gift, because she hadn't received it yet.

Effing. Irritating.

Common Sense?

My husband decided today was his day to be an asshat. At one point, he told me, "Come on, use your common sense."

WHA??? Um. Yeah. Because my little Monkey was still awake and swinging from the trees around us, I kept my cool. I think this makes me pretty amazing in the realm of temper-control. I used to be not-good at this. I've worked at it. I try to apologize when I realize I'm being a bitch, and then spend most of our 'discussions' trying not to lose my schmidt and get Hubby to work toward a resolution instead of being stuck in fight mode. It.is.exhausting. I need him to effing step up and stop being nasty. I mean, we are in our mid-30s and it's time to get past being hateful. Really.

After I nicely refused to speak to him for a couple of hours, he apologized for being mean. BUT (there's always a 'but') he said he was upset because I was mean to him. Wahhh-wahhh. Curious about my nastiness? Ready? This is how it went down:

Me: I made dinner, so you're on clean-up duty.

Him: Huff. Stomp. Pout.

Uh-huh. It was because I asked him to.clean.the.dishes. Mean, aren't I? Bossy, too. The thing is, I own my bossiness, but this time I wasn't being mean or bossy, he was being a big ol' baby.

I told him as kindly as possible to suck it the eff up and get the chip off his shoulder. Surprisingly, this didn't go over so well. Turns out I'm tired of being the bigger person. . . oops.

Learn my name. . . Bitch.

My uncle died. It sucked. He got dealt a crap hand when it came to his heart and eventually his luck ran out. That, however, is not the subject of this post. The subject of this post is that my mother-in-law sent a sympathy card. Cue audience "awww." Yeah. Not so much. You see, the card was addressed to Carie Huffenstuff--my MAIDEN NAME. Certainly she just got mixed-up, had a 'blonde moment' (the hubs and I are convinced this is what she'll say) and forgot that I'm MARRIED TO HER DAMN SON? Yeah, I don't buy that, either. The card actually read "Carie Huffenstuff & Family." Uh. . . like she isn't sure of the 'family.' I mean she also sent a card to my mom, so who else is included in that term? I'm fairly certain the real message is:

Dear Daughter-in-Law, I want to make it abundantly clear that you aren't actually a Martini, and what better time than to kick you when you are down? I know you might think you are actually part of our dysfunctional, destructive family unit, but you would be wrong. I want to send this insult in conjunction with a thoughtful gesture, so that it can easily be written off as a mistake.
Love,
Mama Martini

If I were to get this message, my response might go something like this:

Dear Monster Martini,
While I am proud to be the wife of your son, I am a-okay with not being apart of your furked-up family unit. As a matter of fact, I much prefer it that way. The use of my maiden name reminds me of how great my parents are and how appreciative I am that you are half a continent away.
Sincerely,
Monkey's Mommy, Wife to Hubby, and still using the last name Martini, no matter how much you hate it.

What would your response be to such a slight?

What's that you said?

I've neglected my bitterness. Time to correct that error:

I have a friend who is getting married. Yep, the same one who earlier this year was up in her boyfriend's shizz at the ripe old age of 51 years. You may remember this irritation from this post. This is the same friend who stressed to me, time and time again, that weddings these days are too over the top--there's no need for a full dinner at the reception, no need for numerous wedding showers, no need for an elaborate honeymoon, blah. blah. blah. Well, I hope she likes the taste of irony. From the moment that the down-on-one-knee picture showed up on Facebook, life is all about the perfect engagement party, the perfect ring, the perfect outfit, the perfect cake, the perfect wedding date. Le sigh.

In the more compassionate compartments of my heart, I am thankful that she is excited, thankful she is marrying someone she loves, and thankful she has involved in planning an exciting series of events. As a matter of fact, this thoughtful, giddy friend has invited me to a wedding cake tasting at our favorite local bakery this Sunday afternoon. So thoughtful. Have a moment to think, "Awwwww."

Now move on to the wording of the actual invitation email:

Okay, this Sunday is cake tasting at Ye Local Bakery from 1 – 3 p.m. Either or both of you want to go? Monkey's Mom– the website says no children – sorry. Don’t know if Monkey's Dad will be home or not.

Anyway, thought it would be fun. Just let me know if you can go.

Are you fucking kidding me? I have told Aging Bride no less than 10 times that Monkey's Dad works every freaking Saturday and Sunday. Every.One. In addition, he works everyday until 3pm, not home until 4pm. I would like to think that she has paid one iota of attention to my day-to-day life. This truly makes me insane, and I couldn't figure out how the hell to respond without being a bitch, so I've yet to respond. If I did remove my filter, this is what I would say:

I'm sure you just forgot that Monkey's Dad works every weekend. Every one. Without fail. Remember when I told you that he would have to request time off for your perfect, every-detail-planned-out Engagement Party? Yep. Well, turns out that he is working this Sunday, too. Surprising, isn't it? While I appreciate you wanting me to be involved in planning your big day, a little bit of attention to my effing life would go a long way toward me thinking that I'm not just an adoring placeholder in your sea of friends.

Try paying attention to someone else's life and maybe it'd be worth getting a babysitter for the Monkey for cake tasting, because, you know, Monkey's dad works on Sundays. I mention this again due tot the high probability that you have already forgotten this teensy detail of my life.
Thanks for the invite,
Monkey's Mom

Too harsh?

Vanilla or Rocky Road?

So my husband and I have these friends. . . well he has the friend, and I have the wife. Lucky me. Early in our relationship I learned that she and I have nothing in common. Zero. Zilch. (except both working in child-focused careers) I like to refer to her as "Vanilla," which translates to "Boring-as-Hell." After the first few awkward social gatherings (my own personal hell), Hubby was threatened to never again go off and do "boy things" in the garage, leaving me and Vanilla to do "girl things" by ourselves. Fortunately, with life moving the way it does, we rarely see this couple, and with kids around it is far more likely that Hubby sees Husband-of-Vanilla by himself. I am okay with that. Soooo okay.

Vanilla ended up on the reading list of my nicey-blog. I think I felt bad for being such a bitch when she is truly a kind person and wakes up shitting rainbows and stuff. I try not to read it because it's all about how great life is and how great God is to bless her in her all-white, prosperity doctrine, subservient woman, gay-bashing Bible church world. Gag.

Naturally my attention was snagged today when her post read "First Day of Homeschool" and was complete with first-day pictures in front of their house, pictures of ABC snacks, and stories of calendar time on the front porch. She "can't wait to do it all again tomorrow!" Really? Why is it that the Bible-churchers feel the need to home-school? Call me crazy, but isn't the purpose of theirevangelical denomination? So that they can send their privileged, lily-white children to school with the heathens and general brown kids and show them how if they believe God will give them money, a house in suburbia, a mommy who stays home while daddy goes to work, and playgroups galore with other lily-whites and desperate housewives? Oh, and the security of knowing that the real world means everyone gets a ribbon, all kids are that smart and that if you believe in God and follow all prescribed rules you get to lead the same charmed life of your parents.

My questions are these: What is so threatening about the dirty kid, picking his nose at Circle Time? You know, the one who lives in (gasp!) an apartment? How do you pick teaching as a profession, go to work in an under-privileged area for years and then decide what you did for a living isn't good enough for your own kid?

I.don't.get.it

Interview Oops

Part of my job is to interview potential employees(who all hold advanced degrees and will be working with children), which over time I've learned is a fine art. After seeing several new hires go down the drain rather quickly, I've learned some real nuggets of wisdom. For anyone who might be interviewing soon, I hope these tips help you out.

1. Be on time (I'm fairly certain all know this one, but just in case).

2. When asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to tell us about yourself?," don't say, "Well, I got into 3 car accidents last year" and then launch into details. Turns out we were looking for accomplishments of which you might feel proud.

3. Don't call the interviewer "girlfriend" within the first three minutes of conversation. Awkward. We aren't friends and you don't have this in the bag.

4. Referring to your direct reports as "divas" is not the impression you want to give when interviewing for a management position.

5. It is suspicious to report never having a conflict with a co-worker in a 25 year job history. Really, no one is that likable. No one.

6. On the same topic, admitting that you quit a job because someone didn't agree with you might leave the interviewers suspicious of your staying power.

7. Glittery fingernails do not convey the image of responsibility, dependability or maturity. In fact, that's all the interviewer could stare at during the interview. It was that or the adjustable Hello Kitty ring on your finger that was directly out of the 50 cent gumball machine.

8. It might be a mistake to readily admit lying to parents who ask if you have kids of your own. It is a TINY bit funny that you answer "three" when really referring to your pets, but eventually the families with which you work might catch on and know you LIED.

9. Mentioning your dad (who sounds like an over-bearing asshole) about 50 times in the interview. You are a big girl now and we honestly will not tell your dad that you didn't pass that test. . . mainly because you won't be working here. But if you did, we still wouldn't tell him. .. interestingly enough, that's illegal.

10. If you hide your crazies long enough to make through the interview all the way to being hired, coming to work late everyday of the first week is a bad idea. And then when you are out watching other employees work with children, sleeping instead of observing and not washing your hands upon exiting the restroom are sure-fire ways to be lead straight out the door. When told your day is done at the job, putting your head in your hands and saying, "Why can't I ever make a job work?" doesn't make us feel sorry for you. It really only confirms a correct decision was made.

And this my friends, is gold standard advice. Turns out that the things I took for granted that everyone knew was totally, utterly wrong.