4 BAD MOMMIES

Holiday Breakdown…by Jennifer Probst

November 30, 2012

I’ve missed posting on the 4badmommy blog and thought it would be fun to link up my current bad mommy story currently highlighted at Elisabeth Barrett’s blog. Here’s the link if you want to enter to win a free copy of my holiday short romance, The Holiday Hoax. I hope everyone is enjoying their holiday season!

Ah, motherhood.

Aint’ it grand? Most of the time. There are special times around the holidays that I savor and make me feel incredibly lucky to be a mom. My two young boys adore the festive season of Thanksgiving through Christmas. They love feasting on turkey and spending time with their cousins. Look forward to putting up the tree, scrambling through boxes and re-discovering their handmade ornaments and favorite decorations. Adore marking up the huge Toys R Us catalogue with their lists for Santa. Long lists. Really, really long lists.

But let’s be honest. The holidays are also a time for major breakdowns. Can’t even blame the poor kids – there’s too much going on and their poor little brains misfire. Sparkling lights, endless commercials toting the latest gadgets, desserts cramming space in their bellies. The result?

Meltdown.

The other day, I had to drag my kids into the store – which I try not to do around this time of year – and sure enough my older son caught sight of a large box with a glittery sign screaming Slushie Magic.

Oh. My. God.

“Slushie Magic!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He hugged the box and lifted his beautiful face to mine. I looked into the melty brown eyes. “Mommy, please! I NEED to have this.”

“OK, I’ll get it for you.” He shook like in a convulsion. “For Christmas,” I said firmly.

NOT the right answer.

He dragged in a tearful breath. “No! I can’t wait for Christmas – that’s years away!”

I wheeled the cart past the box and tried to jolly him along. “Let’s go, sweetie. Christmas is only a few weeks away and I promise you will have it under the tree.”

He didn’t budge. Pulled himself to full height. And said: “I want it NOW.”

My head scissored like the Exorcist. My kids know one thing about me. I am a huge pushover and get them way too much stuff. But the moment they act like a spoiled brat, I lose it. “Enough,” I snapped. “I told you before – no gifts till Christmas. Now stop acting badly or Santa won’t come at all.”

Thank goodness for threats of the big guy. But this time it didn’t work. My poor son just lost it.

He burst into tears and started screaming: “I want Slushie Magic! I want Slushie Magic.”

And so it began. I ended up dragging him down the aisle, while he cried with snot dripping from his nose. My little one stuck up for him and began crying too. I pushed the frikkin cart back down the aisle to the checkout, ignoring him completely while other moms shook their head in judgment AND sympathy. Let’s be honest, there’s nothing like a bratty kid that’s not ours to make us feel like a hell of a better mother. The cashier eyeballed us in horror, and I did the walk of shame to the parking lot while my usually sweet boy demanded his damn slushy.

So, let me pose the question to you my dear fellow mothers. What is YOUR breakdown story this holiday season? Hell, if you don’t have one for this year, I’ll let you comment on a previous one to be fair.

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Summer Vacations…Oh My! by Jennifer Probst

July 23, 2012

Ah, those summer vacations.

The lazy river with children screaming in your ear and clinging to your neck.

The beach with a bunch of clutter, umbrellas, towels, snacks, coolers, changes of clothes, while you watch the real adults bronze their tans and go in the water for fun, not for supervision.

The lines at the amusement park at Sesame Place and Hershey Park and Great Adventure, in the stifling heat, paying tons of money to get on a two minute ride only to hear from your child, “I want to ride it again!”

You gotta love summer and every crazy detail with children. But there’s good stuff:

The squeal of delight when you pack them in the car in their pj’s and go off to a drive in movie.

The delight in their eyes when they first learn to trust the floaties in the pool, and proudly swim around with a big ass grin and your heart swells.

The laughter when they spot Elmo or the Count or even a frikkin dancing KitKat bar, and dance for fun, and you’re reminded how quickly the time goes by, and soon they will scoff at you and dump you to go off with their friends.

The late nights at the ice cream stand, when everything is suddenly quiet and perfect, as you eat your desserts in perfect harmony.

Hope eveyrone is enjoying their summer! The 4badmommies are still here, and will resume a more regular schedule in the Fall!

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The Glamour of Motherhood…by Jennifer Probst

April 30, 2012

Just a quick note to our loyal followers…the 4 bad mommies have been crazy busy – in a good way. Writing schedules and family demands have to come first. There may be more time between blogs but we are still here, and you can drop by anytime to comment. Stay tuned for more bad mommy moments and guest blogs in upcoming installments.

Ah, motherhood. The glamour and glitz of such an occupation is a continuous amazement.
Like food shopping. There’s nothing I enjoy more than when my two boys go running to the biggest cart ever invented with the squeaky wheel. They cram in together and beep the horn while I careen around corners and desperately try to keep from ramming into other humans. Last week, my son caught a cereal he had to have, launched himself out of the passenger door, and as I tried to slam on the brakes, I crashed into one of the displays and watched as boxes toppled all around us. Yeah. You gotta love it.

Then there’s the cooking. My boys have been obsessed with the Dr. Seuss Green Eggs and Ham cookbook. Cute, you think, right? NOT. As they mark endless pages and beg me to try new recipes, I shop for strange ingredients while concocting some bizarre meal and hope they like it. So far, we are a big fat 0 for five. Five whole recipes not eaten.
They insisted I make them a Ink shake. I agreed, it’s healthy. Blackberries on the bottom, a strawberry bananna shake on top. With some other stuff. So, I drag out the dusty blender and put it all together, pour them into two large cups and hand them over. The boys gaze at each other, slightly afraid. Finally, the older one takes a gulp, his eyes widen, and he literally spits the shake out of his mouth.
THe little one gulps in terror and backs away. The glass slips out of his fingers and crashes to the floor while I watch the ink shake seep into my wood floor. Needless to say, I lost my temper and vowed not one more recipe from that book would be tried. And they actually looked at me like I was the mean one.

Then there’s the usual public humiliations. My little one played t-ball and as he ran around the bases, he pulled at his crotch, and lo and behold, his pants went sliding down over his nonexistent hips and butt until he was half naked in a field.
The older one is quite verbal. When we went to dinner, one of our friends lost a leg in an injury a while ago, and we don’t even think about it anymore. I forgot how long it’s been since my oldest one saw him. Of course, he pointed and shouted in a crowded restaruant – “Mommy, where is his foot? Is he teasing us and playing hide and go seek?”

Oh. God.

or “Mommy I hate church!” in a hushed Sunday session. I grit my teeth and hiss “Don’t say that!” “Why not?” he peeps up. “You said never to lie and be honest. And I really hate it!”

Ah, well, I was never one to be glamorous anyway.

Stop by and keep me company. Any glamorous moments you’d like to share? Hit the number at the top and comment away!!

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You Might Feel Like A Bad Mommy If . . .

April 3, 2012

by Aimee Carson

It’s the first Tuesday of the month, and you know what that means. Time for “You might feel like a bad mommy if…” Guilt is the reason for the game, so feel free to join in! This week most of my bad mommy moments aren’t fit to share (I’ll let your imagination run free here), so one of them involves the dog. And probably isn’t fit to share either. My apologies in advance . . .

You might feel like a bad mommy if you send your annoying dog with major ‘tude back to the pound and tell your kids you gave her away to deaf retired couple so she can satisfy her need to bark incessantly at all hours of the night when she feels the least bit slighted.

*The above is clearly a dream of mine. One I will never act upon but will pull out from time to time during particularly stressful, bad-doggy days.

You might feel like a bad mommy if your daughters, the ones who have been waiting TEN DAYS for you to return home so you call all see The Hunger Games together, tell you that you need to be at the movie theatre early to get a seat. You drag your tired shiny hiney around only to arrive just in time to be told the movie is sold out until the next day . . .

Do you have any bad mommy moment’s to share? Just click on the number by the title to leave a comment!

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Oh, Balls! by Jennifer Probst

March 29, 2012

OK, everyone who has ever known me or read a blog post knows about my terrible experience with soccer.

My older son begged to play, I spent a million dollars and cleared my schedule, and got tortured every week while he either cried he didn’t want to play, or spent the hour running up and down the field with the sole intention of never getting near the ball.
This went on for three seasons, because I always believed my boys would be involved in sports. My little one always told me he would play t-ball, but he needed to be five in order to play.

He turned five.

I signed him up for t-ball.

Already I know this will be an interesting experience.

We were very excited to go to the first practice. Now, I’m a big Mets fan, so there is always a baseball game on during the season. Somehow, I guess I thought that would be enough for my son to know the game.

The coach rounded up ten little boys and one girl and did a run around the bases for a warm up. I took my older son with me, who was delighted to crunch on Lucky Charms cereal and stay safely on the bleachers. As soon as they began running, my older son stood up and began screaming at the top of his lungs:
“Go, Joshie, go, go, you can do it, you can win this – yay Joshie, yay!!!!!!!!!!!”

Embarrassed, I pulled him back down on the seat and explained it was a warm up and there was no need to cheer his brother on. Cute, but every time Josh even moved in the field, my older one began screaming again.

Practice has been a disaster – but absolutely hysterical. When the coach told them all the run to first base, they split up in ten different directions, and my son ended up in centerfield. Then there’s the matter of his best friend from pre-k. They’re like two little girls, giggling, talking about superheroes, and not paying attention to anything around them.

My son can throw but can’t catch. He can’t even squeeze his mitt together. I see a long line of lengthy games in my future, on Saturday afternoons while my older son gleefully relaxes and lets his brother take center stage.

And what’s worse? This is only the beginning. Who knows what will stretch ahead: football, music, wrestling, basketball?

Do you children play sports? Do you have any funny sport stories to share? Click on the number above and come share!

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SKIMMING THE SURFACE…by Jennifer Probst

March 20, 2012

I’m a big proponent on living in the moment, and seizing each opportunity to fully appreciate the event taking place. Lately, as life has exploded on a pleasant scale, I realized I am skimming past instead of delving deep in many ways with my kids.

Lately, work has been pulling at me in a good way. I’m driven to write and create, but find the hours few and far between when I can delve into my projects without many interruptions. I’m craving hours on end of peace to satisfy the inner voices.

Yeah, right. I have two kids.

So, instead I grab moments but found there is always a sacrifice. I’m fortunate to finally be at home with my children, and viewed this as an opportunity to do more quality things with them. Instead, I find our time gained more quantity but lessened the quality! I am on beck and call throughout the hours for lunch, drinks, playtime, questions, and changing the channel. I rush back and forth for pick ups and drop offs. I clean up after them, cook, and yell more, in between wrestling time for my work.

By the end of the day, I’m disappointed I did not get to read to them for a full hour nonstop, or put more thought into their homework, or linger on conversations. Almost as if they sense the worst times in the world, I collapse on the chair after a long day, and my older one crawls on my lap and asks me to read him a story.

“Now?” I whine. “I don’t want to! I’m tired!” – yes, that was me, not him.

Yesterday, with the sun shining and spring dancing in the air, I pushed my little one in the swing and took a few moments to breathe. How wonderful! The sound of children playing, the low hum of the swing rushing back and forth, the screams of laughter echoing in the air as they ran around in glee, everything fell back around me and I remembered this was one of the best parts of being a mother. Grabbing that tiny moment of joy with our kids.

But it’s fleeting. More fleeting than I remember, especially as they grow. I’m beginning to learn that it’s also ok. We can’t be fully engaged and happily present each moment – it’s impossible. Instead, I praise myself for the minutes I enjoy a conversation with my kids, or a book, or a push in the swing. Like my work, I may crave long uninterrupted quality time we both enjoy, but I will be grateful for just a few minutes.

Skimming the surface is acceptable to breathe, as long as we occasionally dive deep and unearth the mysteries below.

How do you feel about grabbing moments with your children? Is it a struggle for quality time? Come by and share your thoughts – hit the number at the top of the post to comment!

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The Dreaded Science Project

March 15, 2012

by Aimee Carson

Because I couldn’t get my act together and put up Whine Wednesday on the right day, I hereby rename this slot as Whine Week—which is probably more appropriate anyway. Because who wants only one day to whine?

This week’s whine revolves around school again, a tale that begins when my son’s science class was required to participate in their school’s science fair. Now, this is to be expected, and I’m happy (mostly) to participate in the furthering of my son’s education. But…some school obligations are just more painful than others.

For those of you with kids old enough to be required to create a project for the science fair, well, you know the drill. First you have to research cool ideas because your kid refuses to do anything “lame”—which, unfortunately, every one of your ideas was labeled. After finally deciding on an experiment that wouldn’t break the bank and could actually be done in the allotted time AND didn’t get the dreaded that-sucks response from your thirteen-year-old son, you battle the Super Walmart crowd for the appropriate materials.

And the next thing you know you’re in the meat department, having a conversation with the meat man behind the counter about which package will provide you with the most amount of blood. Because you’re son’s experiment requires blood and you refuse to give any more beyond the figurative kind.

You go with the liver.

And it really is all downhill from there.

After battling with the crowd—did I mention that I HATE crowds?—the next thing you know you’re in the clothing department, selecting the white T-shirt where the really gross liver blood will be applied. And your dear husband, the one that loves to shop, proceeds to spend twenty minutes examining every possible package looking for… well, you’re not sure. Because you only need a few freakin’ white T-shirts. After another five minutes, you grow impatient and slap a Hanes packet of three, sized medium, into the cart. Yes, it might not be the best deal. But at this point, who cares!

After a few more items, and the tortuous wait in the checkout line, now you actually get to go home and play with liver blood. Dear husband redeems himself for sucking up twenty-five minutes of your life in the clothing department by volunteering to rub the liver on the shirts. After drying overnight the stained pieces of shirt are placed into a cup, each with a different kind of soda, all in the name of seeing which one removes the spot the best.

Oh, and just for the record, a fizzling soft drink bubbling with liver blood is really gross.

To make matters worse, dear husband loses his liver-blood-points when he secretly pours himself a cup of soda and then proceeds to pretend he’s drinking from one of the liver-blood-soaked cups. Your husband smirks. You’re son laughs. And you retch.

Finally, when the results are all in, it’s time to help your son produce a report on the whole process…

And just so you know, the Sprite worked better than the Club Soda.

Do you have a whine to share? We’d love to hear from you! Just click on the number beside the title to leave your tale of woe.

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You Might Feel Like A Bad Mommy If . . .

March 7, 2012

By Aimee Carson

Just two days ago I spent the afternoon soaking up the sun on my porch, which only means one thing. Spring is on its way! And if that’s not reason enough to celebrate, how about a game of “You Might Feel Like A Bad Mommy If . . .”? This past month my life has graciously provided me with a plethora of these moments.

Lucky me.

Now, it’s time to get started. As usual, guilt is the name of the game. Feel free to play along.

You might feel like a bad mommy if, in an attempt to limit your kids online time, you install the hour restrictions on your internet access. And…promptly screw up the system, so NO ONE has access—including the parents *sob*—for a full three hours.

You might feel like a bad mommy if, while waiting for you son’s band concert to start and fighting off a pending migraine, you choose to wait outside the auditorium until it’s your son’s turn to play. All in an effort to spare yourself the pain of twenty beginner versions of Hot Cross Buns.

Do YOU have any bad mommy moment’s to share? Just click on the number by the title to leave a comment.

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THE DEPTHS OF DISNEY…by Jennifer Probst

February 27, 2012

Most of you know from twitter and blogs and facebook that I surprised my two boys with a trip to Disneyworld for their birthdays. Now, first off, the trip was wonderful. There is no way Disney cannot be wonderful. But the first day we arrived was a bit of a challenge, and drove home the lesson I should never, ever forget as a mother.
Expect. The. Unexpected.
Our flight was early so we were up at 4:30am. Of course, no one went to bed at a reasonable hour because we were so excited, and the boys slept in my bed, which I allowed for this special occasion. With two boys and a dog, well, needless to say no sleep for me.
First the plane, then the bus, then on to the hotel. No one had eaten except for a bag of animal crackers on the plane. So, when we finally got to our hotel, and waited in line for almost an hour to check in, everyone was a bit cranky. Cranky and Disney don’t mix, but don’t blame us too much. I was not well prepared and forgot to pack the lone banana or snacks more organized moms pack. I just grabbed my Kindle, my suit, and took off with the kids.
Now, my husband is a bit of a drill sergeant when it comes to vacation. He doesn’t want to miss anything, so he times us on our events, and his plan for the first day was to hit SeaWorld. We clashed a bit when I told him we needed to sit and eat and go to our hotel room, because that would take up precious time at Sea World. Of course, when my son cried because I wouldn’t buy him the very first toy he saw in the very first aisle, he finally agreed. They were having breakdowns from overexcitement and no food.
We got our disney dining plan, sat at the restaurant and fed ourselves. Then walked

to the hotel, which was miles away from the lobby because I wanted to save $9.99 per night. Stupid, now I know that. Note to self for future. Of course, we did something terrible on the way.
We walked past the pool.
I have learned from family vacations that the pool surpasses everything else. Everything. Mickey Mouse, incredible rides, celebrities, food, toys, games and prizes. They just want the frikkin pool. Even if there’s nothing by it, just a simple round circle of water. They want it.
My husband urged them forward, barking orders that there will not be any pool until we properly see the amazing wonderful Sea World. I promised the kids when we got back they could go swimming, and we changed, then walked miles back to the lobby to take a half hour taxi ride to Sea World.
By then, we noticed it was hot. Too hot. We weren’t in shorts, and we waited in line forever for SeaWorld. By the time we got to the counter, my husband showed an ID to get in for a big discount, and they asked for my ID.
Well, I had my tiny walking purse with no id. The guy at the desk said without my ID, I would have to pay an extra $100.
This caused a problem. With my husband. As he yelled at me and waved his arms, my boys started begging about the pool, and we all had mini meltdowns at the gate. After about fifteen minutes of chaos, the man at the gate let me in because honestly, he couldn’t take our crap any longer. We had asked to talk to a manager, and I wanted him to log onto my facebook page so he could verify who I was. My suggestion to use social media seemed to disgust him further, and we were holding up the line, so he waved us in with a good riddance.
OK, onward to wonderful SeaWorld.
As we walked through the gate, my contact lens popped out. I have dailies, so when I searched my purse for my spare, I realized my little walking one did not have any. I was therefore half blind and could hardly see, but then my husband freaked out some more about me going back and being unprepared, so I decided to just go with it and divorce him later. I closed one eye and made my way around the park for the rest of the day looking like an idiot and not really focusing on anything.
We wanted to see a dolphin show, which my boys dragged their feet on, but we forced them. Then we fed the sea otters, which was my favorite experiment. Now, at this point, we made our way around the park but the boys kept chattering about going home to the pool, and they didn’t want to see the big whale show, and the rest of the day ended in a bad blur of time.
We walked for hours and didn’t see anything.
I know this sounds stupid, but if you ever went with your family to a big park, this sometimes happens. Bathroom breaks, water breaks, ice cream breaks, wrong turns, long lines, and after many hours, you realize you saw only two things.
We got out, took the cab back to the hotel, and collapsed by the pool.
Of course, by this time the temperature had dropped so we were all a bit cold and the only thing that saved me was the pool bar where I quickly spent a million dollars for two beers and anything that could deaden the pain.
As I said, it got better. We had a wonderful time, but on the final day, my four year old said the following words to me:
“Mommy, I’m so tired of fireworks and parades. When are we going home?”
Oh. My. God. He wanted to go home. Blase and tired at the age of four. What have we done?
My older son agree and they were happy to fly away from Disney on our final day.
My husband and I decided to look at it differently. Somehow, we must be doing our job right. They rather be in their own home, with their family, rather than Disneyworld. Does it get any better than that?
Nope. Not really. Home is a wonderful thing, and we officially tired them out from vacation.
But next time, I swear I’m spending the first day by the pool and skipping the whole mess.
Come share with me. Don’t leave me alone. Tell me about your family vacations. Disasters? Expectations not met? Click on the number at the top!

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Whine Wednesday

February 22, 2012

Whine of the Month Wednesday has become my new favorite day. It’s a special time set aside for all of you moms (and dads) to share your whine of the month. So come on, go ahead and get your complaint off of your chest! You know you want to! No whine is too big or too small.

This Wednesday my complaint isn’t even directed toward my family but toward my son’s school and the way they handle their parent-teacher night. There is only one way to describe it: a time-sucking nightmare.

Now, I love my son. I want to be the dutiful parent and be well informed about how he is doing in school, which is more than just the letters on his report card. But with all of the parents descending upon the school within the same four hour time frame, and with each kid having six different teachers, as you can imagine parent-teacher night is rather chaotic. But there is no process in place, we are simply told to line up outside each teacher’s room and wait our turn. I waited for an HOUR to speak with my son’s English teacher. Eventually it’s a bit like waiting in line for concert tickets, the parent ahead of you and the one behind you becoming your new BFF’s forever. I felt like I needed an “I survived” T-shirt, and that was only after the first line! I still had five more teachers to go.

*sigh*

PS And if my son’s band teacher is reading this blog, I’d like to apologize for not meeting with you. After the fifth line I was tired and hungry and cranky, much like a toddler. I suspect you’re probably pretty happy I gave up and went home.

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