Category Archives: The Little Monkey
Several years ago I had a client who would drive three hours each way to see me. It was always a big event for him. He would take the day off work and spend the night afterwards in a hotel down the street. Because of the distance he wasn’t able to see me as often as he liked, so we devised a system involving colorful rocks. Every time he would come to see me, I would give him one. He could take it home and place it on his dresser where he already had a photo of me, as well as other trinkets saved from our time together in a sort of alter.
Actually it was a full on alter and sweet and a touch disturbing all at once.
Gender neutral parenting is all fun and games until you send you kid to school in his new shoes and spend the day worrying that he’s going to be bullied.
I talked to the teachers, and they embrace a gender neutral environment, but people? Other parents are ass holes. He’s already come home and proclaimed that ‘pink is for girls.’
This obviously did not change his love of the color. And people? These shoes are pink AND sparkly AND have princesses on them AND bows. He physically and audibly swooned when he saw them. He said they would help him ride faster on his new scooter.
Stay tuned. I’ll post this afternoon and let you know if he seems to have changed his mind or if there were any incidents. This isn’t the first time he’s worn pink shoes to school, but his pink rain boots that he loved into oblivion were not nearly as…. They didn’t make as much of a statement.
Everything was going just fucking fine, until I said those magic words.
“Everyone I know has been super sick this winter, and I’ve been fine!”
Karma laughed so hard she peed her pants a little. Then she gave me that “I think I have a cold, although it could just be bad allergies.
For a week.
Then I felt like I was getting better for two days. I was almost back to my previously smug “I’m too healthy to get sick” when I suddenly felt like I’d been hit by a big fucking Karma delivery truck hauling an over sized load of Bitch Slap.
The Mr was working late, so when I put Monkey to bed, I dosed myself with vitamin C, Theraflu, melatonin and, just to make sure I slept long and hard, a small sip of NyQuil.
I crawled in bed with Monkey at 8:30, piling on an extra couple couple of blankets to see if I could sweat out the cold in the night. Monkey and I read a book and sang a song and I passed out by 9pm – probably before he did.
Quick question here.
So, we are sitting down to dinner, and Monkey takes off down the hall towards the bathroom and insists one of us come along. The Mr goes with, leaving me to eat in peace.
The Mr is instructed by his 4yo dictator to wait outside the bathroom because he needs privacy.
Because those who can’t give, demand.
And soon I hear the adorable command of “WIPE MY BUTT” coming down the hall…. mutter mutter mutter… handwashing.
Apparently, the Mr decided to take this time to also use the facilities because the next thing I hear is “Wow! That’s a big pee-pee! Can I touch it?”
I know this is a fairly common situation. My Mr heard pretty much the same conversation once in a public bathroom stall. We had a good laugh over that.
We are not laughing now.
Monkey just turned four.
My husband and I used to have an amazing sex life. Truly. We would wake in the morning, take a look at the carnage of sex toys and such around us and say SUCK IT CHARLIE SHEEN, who’s winning now?! We had that sex life for eleven years.
Then we had Monkey.
Monkey co-sleeps. We didn’t plan on co-sleeping. We didn’t plan on NOT co-sleeping. It just came to the point where I could get up every 20 minutes and breast feed him for an hour, or I could just pass the fuck out in bed with him attached to my boob. I fought it for a while, but dude, sleep rocks!
Then I had to have some nasty dental work and take tetracycline for an entire month, so at 15 months we did sleep training and weening at the same time. My husband wisely choose that week to have business trip. I’m thinking the neighbors wish they had been offered that same option.
One of the things I miss most when going gluten free is fried foods. How, dear lord, is a girl supposed to make it through PMSville without fried foods? We can not live on chocolate alone.
So yesterday, while standing in the door of the fridge, staring in and wondering what to cook for dinner, I spotted a tub of cheese that was nearing the end of it’s usability. You know what’s better then fried chicken? Fried cheese.
So I pulled some chicken breasts out of the freezer to defrost in some warm water in the sink just like every one tells you not to.
I mixed some milk, an egg and and two large spoonfuls of mustard in a large pan.
Then I pulled Monkey off the kitchen counter where he was certain he could cut up an apple for a snack since I was busy. And actually, I didn’t say I was busy. I said NO. I’m fixing dinner.
Only think more fun the being stuck in a horrible traffic jam? Being stuck in a horrible traffic jam with a 3yo in the back seat screaming TELL THEM TO GET OUT OF THE WAY! Push the button! PUSH THE BUTTON ON THE WHEEL!
For 45 minutes.
Because obviously, I’m too much of an idiot to know that honking your horn will make 5 bazillions cars clear the way for you.
If he thinks I’m a horrible driver when he’s three, what is he going to think when he’s fifteen?
The Mr and I decided early on that we wouldn’t do the traditional gender roll thing. I think boys and girls do have differences, boys tend to be more aggressive, more active, potty train later… but I’ve had friends with girls who have been way more active, aggressive etc, and boys who have been quiet, gentle and studious from day one, so that’s all it is. A leaning.
We are going to let Monkey decide who he is without judgement or prejudice.
And never have I felt so rewarded as I was last night. I brought out the box of costumes so we could decide what to wear out Trick Or Treating, dragon, Tigger, Space Man, Spiderman and lots of other props for home theater, this is what Monkey selected. Buzz Lightyear wings, and a Princess Ariel Skirt and essencially creating the best new Disney Pixar character ever.
Princess Buzz Lightyear.
Years ago a client contacted me. He was a novice interested in pretty basic S&M, very respectful and enthusiastic. Once at my feet, he admitted that his real fetish was … having women fart in his face.
Only problem? I would rather bloat up like the Good Year Blimp then fart in public, let alone in a strange man’s face. I also don’t do ANY kind of scat play in the dungeon. I’ll issue an enema, but Hell No, I will not stick around and watch you release it. Once doing some glycerin play a client crapped his diaper and I made him leave the dungeon wearing it. Seriously. No. Poop. Hard limit.
And it’s not just strangers poop I refuse to deal with. I once spent 5 days in Mexico on vacation and couldn’t poop until I came home to the privacy of my own bathroom. As far as the world is concerned, my ass is entry only.