Sale of the Century

This past weekend “we” decided to have a garage sale. We have tons of junk. We have an old house with almost zero storage space. Therefore, our basement has become our giant closet; it’s a mess. And, since we are not moving out of here anytime soon (our plan was five years), due to the fact that our home is worth a fraction of what we paid for it, we have to make do. I say purge, purge, purge, thus, the sale.

Bread likes to keep things. He is very disorganized. I have to constantly remind him (nag) to throw things out. He keeps piles of junk everywhere-the kitchen counter, his dresser, in drawers and in his pockets. I’ve actually found boxes in the basement from when we moved out of our apartment, over five years ago, full of receipts and such from his dresser. I’ve since put the kibosh on that. I force him to clean it. But, in case you can’t tell, it’s a major source of contention for us. Clutter at home equals clutter in my brain and we all know I don’t need any more of that. Ohhellno.

So, after some coercing (translation: idle threats), I convinced him to have a garage sale. I was finally going to get rid of the last of my pre-Bird clothing. If I ever have a job again, these clothes are already out of style, not to mention they don’t fit so well. So, that was my major contribution to the sale, along with various other junk (er, treasures), such as books and gifts we never used from our wedding (sorry if you’re reading and are a person who dared stray from the registry-ungrateful bastards that we are).

Bead was holding out. I posted our sale on Craigslist and someone emailed asking if we happened to have a Nintendo. I told Bread, as sort of an oh-too-bad and he says, “Well, actually we do.” WTF? I’m getting rid of my crap. Where is this Nintendo? So, just like that, we have a Nintendo and add $30 to our profits.

The day of the sale, Saturday, started out pouring. We didn’t know what to do and consulted several weather sources, who all had different forecasts, of course. It stopped raining and cleared up so we hauled our crap out. Now, let me tell you, having a garage sale is much like airing all your dirty laundry for your neighbors to examine. The neighbors were flocking to the sale. I could see their wheels turning. Where in the hell do these people keep all this crap! That’s what they were thinking, I can guarantee it. Also, having a sale is, apparently, a great way to actually meet your neighbors and to get the gossip on everyone. Who knew?

The first person to stop by was some alternative-type dude who, it turns out, has given up his car, only to ride a bicycle. He was looking for records. As I open my mouth to say, no we don’t have any, Bread pipes up with, yes, I do. Again, WTF? He heads to his secret cavern of all things in demand at a garage sale and returns with a giant stack of records. This time I am smart! I watch where he goes! To the garage! He is hoarding things in his garage! In the attic of the garage, nonetheless, where he knows I won’t go! I don’t like bugs or the rickety ladder you have to climb to get to said garage attic! Score one for Bread!

Alternative-type dude bought several records, complimented us on our fab taste in music (we also had lots of CDs) and went on his way. He was one of the less-exciting shoppers of our two-day sale. Let me tell you, a garage sale brings out all the crazies. One lady resembled Little Richard, complete with moustache. She wanted to buy a purse, asked how much and when told a couple dollars, promptly stomped off. Sorry. We could have made a deal. I’d have taken $1. Shit. There was a guy with an extra large belly in a size small sweatshirt, a guy who checked out my mom (disturbing), a neighbor who refused to pay $1 for a book, actually became offended, and, a kid who wanted to buy an abused dollhouse to paint black for his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Lair.

My favorite crazy, was another moustache-sporting woman. She was wearing a rather ratty sweatshirt; she had jet black hair, but her ‘stache was blond, and black leggings with a large rip in the back, exposing her white underwear. Now, I’m not judging her outfit, aside from the rip. Maybe she was cleaning and just happened to run out of supplies? She happened by our sale and stopped in. I’m totally not judging. BUT, wear a shirt to cover the rip! Nobody wants to see that shit. She looked at the clothes I was selling. I was thinking, yes, yes, buy some! Nope. Alas, she decided on a CD! She could have gotten pants for the same price! I wanted to tell her! I should have said, “Oh my, you’re in luck! We’re having a sale! Buy one CD; get a pair of pants for free!”

We also sold some of Bird’s toys. I know. We’re horrible parents. But, the number of toys she has far outnumbers anything else in this house. Some of the toys were garage sale finds, some she’s outgrown/sucked to begin with. We prepared her for this as much as you can prepare an almost three year-old for such a traumatic experience. We really wanted to sell her play kitchen, for as you know, I’ve bought her a new one for her birthday. We discussed this with her. She was okay with it. That is, until it actually happened. She was napping when the sale occurred. We packed up and, later in the house, the first thing she wanted to do with Grandma, who was helping with the sale and staying to babysit so we could go out, was “ play kitchen.” Poor Bird, ran to her play food and pots, gathered up a few things and turned to use her stove, only to discover the stove was gone! Where is my kitchen she asked? We explained again that we had to get rid of some of her toys in order to make room for the new ones coming in a few weeks for her birthday. She had a look of devastation, ran to the couch and buried her face in the cushions. I caved. At that moment, I totally gave in. We have to give her the kitchen now, I proclaimed, but Bread was dead-set against it. We let it pass.

Another day of her being devastated by the loss of her favorite toy passes. Again, there is more playing with pots, pans and play food sans the kitchen. She inquires several times as to where her kitchen has gone and whether or not we’re going to sell more of her toys when she’s asleep. Crap. We have scarred her for life. Finally, Bread caves. It’s nearly 8:30 on Sunday night, bedtime. And, he decides we must give her the kitchen now. Sucker! I knew it! This was supposed to be her great birthday surprise! We did it. We gave it to her! She was ecstatic! She also asked, before bed, if we were going to sell it while she was asleep. She also asked if we were going to sell the couch! I guess both of these items are precious to her. I feel her on the couch! What would we do without our couch? We have officially messed up our child! She’ll probably be talking about this in therapy 20 years from now! Great! Parents of the Year! I guess we need to find a birthday gift for our three year-old…

The Way We Are

Back in the day when I was richer and thinner, I used to constantly buy new clothes. I read tons of magazines specifically for the fashion advice and loved any reason to dress up. I never really had a specific style icon; I tried lots of different looks. When I look back on it, I don’t know that I was ever really as fashionable as I believed I was. I have had many “what were you thinking” moments. I suppose we all have. I still love all that stuff. My current style resembles Jennifer Garner’s (and I don’t mean the red carpet Jennifer Garner-I’m talking the jeans and t-shirt version), if any celebrity. I’m okay with this because it’s comfortable and the older I get the more comfortable I want to be. Sigh.

My tot has become quite the little fashionista. I don’t believe I forced this on her. She has to have a choice from her wardrobe every day. This means: she has to approve of what I’ve selected for her. She always has to pick out her own panties. This is a huge deal. She likes me to polish her nails. She believes she puts make up on daily. She must have the final say in what shoes she’ll wear (did I mention she has nearly as many shoes as I do). She loves her sparkly Converse Mary Jane’s. I find it to be fascinating that, while she has many items she loves, she does not wish to only wear the beloved things. She isn’t demanding to wear the same shirt each day; it’s as if she knows that would be too much of a good thing.

She has her own style icons already. Until last week, when she got her first haircut, her hair was down the middle of her back. Her favorite hairstyle was twin braids ala Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz, or Rainbow, as Bird calls her. She’s also a fan of every Disney Princess but specifically Belle, Cinderella and Tiana. There are many days when she requests a “beautiful gown and dress” like Belle or Cinderella or Tiana…

As I’ve mentioned before it’s great to see a little piece of yourself in your child. Raising children brings out the vanity in us all, I suppose. Like many women, I always wanted to have a little girl to do girlie things with. Now I do. This is one of the great parts of parenthood; the part you dream about before you have a kid. The type of thing you can envision when you think about what your life will be like once (if) you have children. What they don’t tell you is that the little fashion lover/hunter/sports fanatic you once dreamed of, may climb into your bed at 6 AM, on a Monday morning, proceed to throw up all over your bed and you won’t mind on little bit. Good morning!

Practical Is My Middle Name

Last year, a bunch of us in my circle of friends turned 30. In celebration, our men planned us a nice little trip to Biloxi, Mississippi. Bread may have had a lot to do with this; this is where, nine years ago, we decided that we did not, in fact, dislike each other and began dating. You see, we started out not really being big fans of each other. Obviously, that has changed.  Ah, the memories!

I love the South. I feel like I was supposed to be a Southerner. What's not to love? There is charm, the warmer weather, the deep fried, spicy foods, casinos, the music, the old homes, a place where chivalry is not dead, culture and so much history…

This was our first trip together as parents. The other two couples we traveled with were both (and still are) childless. It was nice to get away and revisit the people we were prior to becoming real, honest to goodness adults with a child. Apparently, the person I was prior to that was a drunk. Because I believe I spent at least two or three days of this trip intoxicated.

I've never been much of a drinker; I don't just sit on my couch and enjoy a glass of wine. In fact, I never enjoy a glass of wine because I just plain do not like it. A classy broad I am not. I enjoy beer, the darker the better. I also enjoy mixed drinks that don't actually taste like alcohol. Such drinks as margaritas or, if you're in the south, hurricanes. Usually, if I drink, I'm probably going to get drunk. My name is Jessie Domestic and I am a binge drinker. Amen. Er, whatever.

Biloxi is about an hour and a half (if I recall correctly) from New Orleans. If you've never been, by all means GO. I love it there so much. I want a house in the Garden District. I want to eat beignets at Cafe Du Monde while listening to jazz. I just love the city and the culture. It's definitely one of my favorite places.

Our group spent some time in New Orleans. We had a lovely steak dinner and hit Rue Bourbon. And, what does one do when in the Big Easy? Easily get drunk, from hurricanes, at Lafitte's. I think everyone in our group would agree that they had the best hurricanes there. And we did sample a plethora of hurricanes that week.

Again, keep in mind this is my first vacation sans the child. I was with friends. We were celebrating on Bourbon Street. The drinks were flowing. At some point, I kind of forgot some things. Bread has enjoyed reminding of these things for the past year. He has especially enjoyed reminding me that I did, indeed, run up and down Bourbon Street, taping people on the shoulder, throwing my arms in the air and yelling, "Woo, I'm some body's mother!" Were you there? Have we met before? Yes, that was me. I also sat on the Styrofoam cooler and broke it. I was the asshole who broke the cooler. But, I had a great time! Even if I didn't realize what a great time I had until Bread reminded me. The next day, I did not feel so great. Consuming mass quantities of alcohol will do that to you. Hey, at least I wasn't pushing my baby around in a stroller while I was getting wasted. We saw someone doing that. And, it was cold! But, I'm not judging.

What a great trip we had! We returned home (obviously). Bread went back to work and I resumed my duties as Domestic Diva. We missed our little Bird but it sure was great to revisit the part of ourselves with not so much responsibility.

It has been a year since we took that trip so I've been feeling some nostalgia lately. It was definitely a good time. You know what is also a good time? Having your child throw up all over you! This happened a little over two weeks ago. It was my first time. Obviously, when she was a baby, she spit up. I’m not talking about this. I’m going to be graphic-there were chunks. I started to gag. I'm sure if you're a mother, you've been there. If not yet, soon. Let me tell you, it was all I could do not to join her in the puke fest. It was disgusting. But, I had a little pep talk with myself. I repeated, "I'm some body's mother," over and over. A practical usage! It's not just for declaration on Bourbon Street. It has much, much more useful of an application. Thank God. "Woo, I'm some body's mother!"

This Post Does Not Vibrate.

As you know, I put on a few pounds over the winter. I also have been in desperate need of new running shoes. Because, along with everything else, I believe my feet got fatter. So when my mom called and said she had a 30 percent coupon for Kohls, I was in.

We decided to make this a Monday afternoon activity. This is after my mom has been awake since 4 AM and I’ve been alone with Bird all day. Bird skipped her nap so we could meet at 4 o’clock.

If you have ever tried to shop with a toddler, you know this was not an ideal situation. If you’ve never shopped with a toddler, try it. I guarantee you’ll have a whole new lease on life afterwards. Borrow one from a friend if you don’t have your own. Heck, borrow mine.

Anyway, in preparation for this big event, I packed all kinds of goodies. We had: water for her, a new Barbie that we have been saving for such an occasion since Christmas, snacks, sun glasses and a book. This is in addition to all the other things I have to bring as a mom: diapers, wipes, the changing pad, an EpiPen, because you never know where nuts might be hiding, and then all my crap, which, since I am no longer fashionable and no longer feel the need to reapply my lip gloss, is decidedly less than BC (Before Child). I dressed her in layers because she likes to remove her clothing as we shop. I allowed her to wear her rain boots since she also feels the need to remove her shoes while shopping and the boots are easy. We were ready. If shopping with a tot was an Olympic sport we would have taken gold. I was also armed with the new tactic we’ve been using: telling her whatever it is we have that she wants is only for adults. It works. You should try it.

Of course when you go to Kohls, and you have a 30 percent coupon, you don’t just look at what you came in for. You have to look at everything. Because that is a significant discount on things that are marked up to make you feel like you are saving a ton.

Shoes were our second to last stop. It’s now 5:45. I have no idea how we’ve been in this store for nearly two hours. I have no idea how we were able to get Bird to behave for that long. It always takes me forever to find shoes. I have to try them all on. Walk around. Try to jump a little bit. Today I tried actual jumping jacks. Yes, that was me. I saw you looking at my boobs…

I measured my foot with one of those handy dandy foot measurers (technical term). I pushed it aside while I tried on the 14 pairs of shoes I selected. I jumped. I bounced. I jogged. Intermittently, Bird kept asking for the handy dandy foot measurer. My mom was helpful, distracting her by telling her it was yucky and had germs. Bird decided to try a new tactic: repeating her request over and over. “I want that. I want that. I want that. I want that. I want that. I want that.” Until, exasperated, I was no longer able to block it out and I shouted, for all Kohls’ patrons to hear, “No, Bird you can’t have that it’s an adult toy!”

It Takes Two to Tantrum

If my child’s fits were a movie they would be an epic. At first it was tolerable but as time has passed they’ve gotten worse. I am at the end of my rope. I told Bread I believe she is premenstrual. This has been going on for about six months. Some days are worse than others.

Today has been especially bad. I was near a breakdown. I am still in my pajamas. It is past one o’clock in the afternoon. I have officially lost the desire to participate in this day. I’m sitting on the couch listening to HGTV, wearing the hood of my sweatshirt. I feel this will protect me from the elements of my child. I am over this. The sooner it ends; the better. It all began at 5 AM. Who gets up at that hour if they don’t have to?

People keep telling me, “she’s only two and this will pass.” When? Can you give me a time frame? If I had a time frame I could handle this better. Are you thinking tomorrow? Next week? Is it a year? God help me if it’s a year. I will not survive.

I know you all think I’m exaggerating. I’m not. It’s bad. If I ask her to do anything it’s a fit. Let’s change your diaper. Fit. Now it’s time to brush your teeth. Fit. How about some breakfast/lunch/dinner? Fit. Get your shoes so we can go have a play date. Fit. Our relationship has become volatile.

I have tried counting. I’ve tried timeout. I have tried making her stand in the corner. I have tried all out balls-to-the-wall screaming. I don’t know what to do. Today I did some internet research and requested some parenting books from the library. I am number 14 on the list for the book I chose! I could be dead by the time it’s my turn. Why don’t they have multiple copies of this book? Don’t they know there are desperate parents out there?

And desperate I am. WTF am I doing wrong? Why does this keep happening? I quit my job to be with her to make her life easier and this is how she repays me? I am terrified to leave my home. I have been embarrassed by public tantrums more times than I could count. The librarians give each other looks when they see me coming. I have to run through retail stores. I did some research looking for suggestions on how to handle these episodes. Most things said that I should leave. Obviously the person who wrote that has no clue. My cart is full. I just spent 45 minutes selecting all the things I need for the week. I should leave? As in I’d have to come back and try again. Screw that. Plus doesn’t she win that way? She obviously does not want to be there…

The reality is I know this will eventually pass. But it has become depressing and consuming; this is my life. I am afraid to leave the house. I feel like I’m a horrible parent with absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Perhaps I am not alone. I suppose I’m not since 13 other people wanted the same book as me. All I can say is, she better make a lot of money someday so I can live the life of luxury. I’m talking millions. For now I'm going to tiptoe around the house so as not to disrupt the demon's nap.