Tag Archives: Family

To my future daughter-in-laws

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Now I’m a pretty open person, and it’s not often I meet someone that I don’t really like. I have a fairly large repertoire of friends, because if I like you… I like you. Period. I don’t care if you’re white, black or blue (that goes for hair AND skin colour). I don’t care if you’re gay, straight or twisted. I don’t care if you’re Muslim, Jewish, Catholic or nothing in particular. I don’t care if you’re a granola crunching vegetarian or a blood sucking carnivor. I don’t care if you have a degree from Harvard or the School of Hard Knocks. I don’t care if you prefer red over white, beer over vodka, or just a mean green tea. If you are Good People and have a sense of humour, I’m gonna like you.  Even if you don’t have a great sense of humour, I’m still probably going to like you… just don’t come a callin’ on a Friday night, kapeesh?

So here I am thinking I’m a lover of everyone and anyone, until I see some jackass wearing this shirt.

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And a few days later, I come across this on my FB news’ feed.

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I realized that maybe I actually can’t tolerate everyone, after all. Because, I just want to punch these types of parents in the throat. They are bullies. Plain and simple.

But it did get me thinking… Before I know it, my boys will be teens venturing into the dating world. (If you want to read my views of how I’ll parent the teen years, click here.) And from there, I will eventually become a mother-in-law… three times over. So I decided to pen an open letter to my three future daughter-in-laws… or son-in-laws, cause, well, you just never know.

Using the above FB post as my guideline, here are my 10 Commandments for my future daughter-in-laws:

1. GET A JOB. KEEP IT.
If you love your job, great. Keep it. If you don’t, find another. If you’re in between jobs, it happens. If you chose not to work, that’s between you and my son. If you’re trying to find your passion, more power to you. Life is short. We can hang out. Figure out your next move over a coffee… with Bailey’s. I also have plenty of chores to keep you busy and motivated. Just kidding, or not.

2. UNDERSTAND I DON’T LIKE YOU AND NEVER WILL
Well, well, well, ain’t this a bitchy thing to say…  nevertheless so true. As mentioned, I befriend those from all walks of life. UNLESS… you have skin that tans like sweet caramel toffee sans les freckles. You have a chiseled body like Gisele’s without the gym. Or you can stuff your face with Cheetos à la Fromage Fondant, and still look like, well, Gisele. You see, envy is a terrible thing. So there IS a chance I may not like you, but only because I want to be you.

3. I’M EVERYWHERE
This is true. I am. I’m everywhere. I’m all over the map. I’m up. I’m down. I’m going. I’m staying. I can. I can’t. I will. I won’t. Not to say I’m unpredictable or unstable…. ’cause Whoa Nelly who needs an unstable mother-in-law?!? I’m just a colourful, at times tipsy, soul… but not in a “drive you crazy” kinda way. Unless you ask my husband, but what do they know, right daughter-in-law? Ha! See? We’ll have fun together, us.

4. YOU HURT HIM. I HURT YOU.
“He hit me. No he did. No he did. Did not. Did too.”… “Give it back. No. It’s mine. No mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”  Childish shit, right? That’s how I feel about this statement. ‘Cause really unless you’re a mosquito or a fruit fly, I have no desire to crush you. Here’s the deal… You and my son will have your ups and downs. You’ll want to kill him at times (trust me, I’ve lived with him too. I know!). You may even break his heart. It happens.  My job raising my son is to instill in him the tools to cope. We’ve all had to… it’s part of life.

5. IF YOU AREN’T AFRAID OF THE DARK, BECOME AFRAID.
Yup, for your sake I hope you are afraid of the dark. And if you’re not, pretend to be. This will help get you out of nightime feedings. You’re welcome.

6. DON’T LIE TO HIM. OR TO ME.
Listen, I just told your future husband that if he eats enough broccoli it eventually starts to taste like chocolate. He fell for it. No seriously, he did! So who am I to judge? Trust me, nothing wrong with a little white lie… or a little white wine, but now I’m just being greedy! As for lying to him or to me… there’s really no need. And same applies to you, it’s a two-way street. Anyways, I’m your MIL, just omit when necessary.

7. MORE CLOTHES SCORE POINTS
As long as you’re not hopping into bed naked with me… I could care less what you choose to wear, or not. Here’s the thing, we “older” women have worked fucking hard to ensure you lovely young women get the respect you deserve… no matter your fashion choices. Also, my son will be raised to NEVER make assumptions about a woman based on what she’s wearing, or not wearing, so why would I? Be yourself. Wear whatever you want and don’t let anyone make you feel less than who you are for it.

8. HE WILL ALWAYS LOVE ME MORE.
Nope. He won’t. He may have entered this life from my vagina, but he will exit with yours. So, from my vagina to yours, I’m here to tell you that he will love you more. He SHOULD love you more. I’m Ok with that.

9. I DON’T MIND GOING BACK TO JAIL.
Ya. You read that right… BACK to jail. I too made some questionable decisions in my younger wild days. (Stupid really… I got caught peeing in a parking lot, and happened to be, errrr, a wee bit intoxicated, and well, under age. Triple whammy!). Point is, I’ve definitely “Been there. Done that.” I have a few good stories up my sleeve. They make for some good laughs. Join me.

10. WHATEVER YOU DO TO HIM, I WILL DO TO YOU
Ummm… no. For his sake, your sake, my sake and every therapist in the world’s sake… whatever you’re doing to him, don’t involve ‘dis Mama. But seriously, as I mentioned in #4, it’s your relationship. There are good days, and not so good days. It’s for you two to figure out. But it can make for some good reality TV type shit. So you’ll just find me on the sidelines sippin’ on gin n’ juice… laid back!

You see future daughter-in-law, if he chooses you, then I choose you. For better or for worse. So rather than intimidate you with shotguns and threats, or assume the worst of you, I will welcome you with open arms.

You will eventually be the one to kiss him goodnight. To hold his hand. To enjoy his laughter. To share his dreams. And I’m ok with that. Until then, I will do my very best to raise a strong, creative, loving and respectful human being. A boy who will grow into a beautiful young man. Your man. And you? You will be his heart, his life, his wife.  And me? Well, I’ll finally have my girl.

(Or, if my son marries a man, and “you” happen to be a son-in-law, well what’s another set of balls at this point?)

Until then, I’ll savour every little kiss and bedtime snuggle with my boys. That said, I look forward to many beverages and years of laughter between just us girls.

And so, from my vagina to yours… we got this, girl!

Cheers,

Red Whino

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Shit Happens… Oh Yes It Does!

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Today, I’m in a generous mood. So much so that I’m going to let you in on a little Red Whine Diaries’ story… one from the Vault Of Shame. I’ll probably regret sharing this one, but what the hell,  here goes nothing…

Be warned though, ’cause it could happen to you too! In fact, I bet it already has…

So not so very long ago, I was lucky enough to waste three precious hours of my sacred life in bumper-to-bumper Toronto traffic. The upside was that My 3 Beasts were sleeping peacefully in the back… it was a beautiful day out, so I was able to lower the windows and enjoy a nice, smoggy, nitrogen oxide-induced breeze… Tunes were blazin’. Really, it wasn’t all that bad. That is, until…

Rumble, rumble! An enchilada-induced bubble made its way across my lower abdomen.  I straighten my spine… OMG! OMG! OMG! No! No! No! Shit! Shit! Shit! (Literally!) Please do not let this happen to me… again! Think of something else! Anything else!

– 99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer!!!… Didn’t help!

– Kegel ass exercise… Didn’t help!

– Shove random pieces of gum in my mouth (not sure why, but seemed like the logical thing to do)… Didn’t help!

– Meditate! That’s right! I tried build a mental dam and block the flow of Mr. Poo… Didn’t help!

– Maybe it’s just a fart? I was too scared to find out.

No, this was the real deal… Coming at me like a freight train!  Keep in mind, I’m stuck in traffic… on a higway!!! There was no way to make a quick turn or exit anytime soon . I was stuck between a rock and a hard poo. My head was spinning around like the Exorcist, scouting out the neighbouring cars. Do they know what’s happening? Are they aware there is a 40 year old mother in the minivan next to them who is about to shit her pants?

Well, that time I was spared. Mr Poo retracted his head like a turtle in distress. I was able to effectively do my kegel ass clenches just in time to pull into a gas station at Mock 10.

However, there was another time, also not so very long ago, that I ended up having to frantically resort to a Glad Tupperware container… in my car. Yes, that’s right,  I am a grown woman and I took a shit… in Tupperware… in my car! Sigh…

They do advertise it as "TO GO"... Just sayin'...

Do they advertise it as “TO GO” for people like me? Or is it just a coincidental pun?

A humbling experience to say the least! One that has cost me hours of therapy.

You’re probably wondering why I feel the need to share this with you? Well, here’s the thing… My Little Orange Crush is fully shitter trained, although to my surprise, he too shit his pants the other day (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!). You see, he was playing a game of hockey, the score was tied, and he needed to score the winning goal… so naturally, one cannot call a time-out, but would rather drop a grenade in their pants. Naturally! Also My Agent Orange has been showing interest in torturing me with potty bootcamp.

So, seeing that I too shit myself in public… who am I to tell my sons to use the toilet? Or teach them any etiquette for that matter? Seriously, the Mom who succumbed to dropping a load into her LUNCH Glad Tupperware, in the car no less?!?

I’m thinking the whole potty training thing is so overrated anyways. I mean, there IS something to be said about wearing diapers! God only knows I wish I had been sporting them that fateful day… Plus, you only end up back in them later in life anyway, right? So why even bother?

With the exception of a lobotomy, the only way to get through life after an incident like that is to look at it from the bright side. What I do know is this… My incident has made me a better, more understanding mother. ‘Cause when My Beasts do have “accidents” in their tighty-whities, or Tupperware for that matter, I understand better than anyone that, yes oh yes indeed, shit does happen!

Cheers,

A Humble Red Whino

There’s no Wine in Patience… or is there?

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When it came to writing this week’s blog post, my brain was giving me the silent treatment. Generally, my ideas on what to write about stem from the asshole things my kids (or husband) have done, or from fake news I see on my social media feeds… both usually recipes for some good laughs.

Only this week, some serendipitous shit happened at my house. Normally, on any given day that ends in ‘y’, my house is like a game of War-Craft.  Only this week, my Beasts were actually quite civilized. Like, there were no patches of hair missing from any given scalp. No one took a direct shit on the floor and walked through it. No one poured maple syrup over their head. No one shoved cat food down our vents. It was a good week. So yes, what I’m saying is that I secretly hope my kids give me just a wee snippet of their true asshole colours, because otherwise I don’t have a blog to piss on.

As for social media, with the recent events brought on by that 70 year old DicToddler, social media has now become a platform for the world to voice their political fears. Fine. But because I try to steer clear of politics on this blog, social media has given me no lemons from which to make proverbial lemonade.

Until finally, what should appear in my inbox?! An article about *cough * “How to be more patient with your kids”.  No really… I couldn’t even make this shit up if I tried! Et Voilà, a blog post was born.

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So here are the tips on how to be more patient with your kids. And, of course, my deep thoughts on them.

Treat your kids like house guests

Would you yell at your guest to put their shoes away? By treating your kids like house guests, this will keep the peace and everyone will be more likely to get along.

OK.  So here’s the thing… if my house guests behaved anything like my children, I’d throw their asses out at “Hello”. That said, I expect very little when it comes to house guests. Because, like us, they tend to be grief-stricken parents in need of a lobotomy. I must say though, I am quite the hostess with the mostess when it comes to entertaining. Upon arrival, I graciously offer our house guests an iWarned U Package. Inside, our house guests will find a Hazmat suit to protect against the toxicity of my house, plastic grocery bags to wear over their feet as booties, cotton balls to shove up their nostrils to mask the smell, earplugs, 2 Valium and an unlimited supply of wine to render them into a much-needed coma.

Get enough rest

“If you aren’t getting enough sleep, you will be crabby.  Try getting 7 hours of sleep tonight and see what a difference it makes.  (Maybe even aim for 8 hours!)”

In theory, this sounds like sage advice… only in practice it’s fluffy BS.  Because sleep and children are about as compatible as wine and decision-making. I’m three kids deep, and still haven’t found the Holy Grail of Sleep. Until I do, it’s a whine for a wine. Big J and I enjoy a couple of romantic shots of wine, and we’re off to bed like two drunk peas in a pod. Now that’s compatibility for ya’!

Don’t argue with your children

“Make a rule and stick to it and there will be no arguing necessary because it won’t get them anywhere.  Instead, try being empathetic towards them.”

I too try not to argue with my kids. Instead, I simply ignore them. You see, I’m no child psychologist, but the evidence is pretty clear that children lack in the brain department. Since having kids, I believe “blow your brains out” has a whole new meaning to it. Here’s my theory: basically kids have runny noses from birth. And when they sneeze, a massive thick yellow worm of mucus exits from their nose, sticking to their lips, and dangles mid-air from their chin. They then promptly smear it horizontally across their face with their Neanderthal hands.  I am now convinced that when they sneeze, they are literally blowing their brains out, cell by cell. It’s the only explanation! So I agree, it’s not fair to argue with someone who has the IQ of a squirrel.

Be prepared

“The root of impatient behavior is always the same: you are unprepared… Causing you to lose your temper. Being prepared stops this.”

News flash!!! You can organize yourself until the cows come home, but that doesn’t guarantee the kids will go along with the plan. Simply putting socks on a toddler requires a PhD in Fuckery. So just STOP!  Really,  just stop. Stop wasting your imaginary time preparing for your imaginary well-behaved children. It’s a little game I play with myself called “Who F’ing Cares? Not Me”. Seriously, if you can’t beat ’em… join ’em!

Drink more water and eat better

“Yes, it is true.  You are what you eat. Also if you don’t drink water,  you aren’t going to be as happy.”

Well, when I’m not hiding in the pantry shoving Oreo’s down my throat, I tend to eat the leftovers that I scraped off the floor. So if I am what I eat, that makes me the family dog.  But I do agree with her about the importance of drinking more to stay happy. She means water, I mean wine. Po-tay-to… Po-tah-to!

Take a break

“After you lose your temper, it can take 1/2 an hour to calm back down. Have your whole family spend time reading in their bedrooms for 30 minutes until everyone feels better.”

Really, it just get better and better, non? If I were to shut my Beasts in their bedrooms alone for more than one minute, it’d turn into a scene from Lord of the Flies. And I’m almost positive they’d make me Roger! Pray/Prey!  I know I keep going back to the Valium and wine, but it really is like taking a break… a long, well-deserved cognitive brain-numbing break. Plus, the kids love it… they call it the “Mommy Is a Rock” game.

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Listen. Reality is, there is no shortage of tips and resources when it comes to parenting. But at the end of the day, it comes down to parenting the way that works best for YOU. Kids are little people who are simply doing the best they can… You’re all they have. Remember, you don’t want rush something that you want to last forever. So yes, try to be patient. Be kind. Be understanding. Parenting is one of the hardest and least rewarding jobs ever. So if you do lose your patience (and you will!), forgive yourself for being, well, human. And rather than wanting to blow your own brains out, take a minute and go stand outside… ’cause you are outstanding. You really really are, Mamas!

Cheers,

Red Whino

P.S. If you don’t want to take my asshole parenting advice (I beg you, please don’t!), here’s the article.

How to be Patient

The March Against Madness

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They say it’s the little things in life that count… which naturally got me thinking of the Women’s March! You know… THAT little thing? That little thing that was the biggest protest in US history? That little thing was awesome.  And it was necessary. And it was time!

As I watched with giddy exitement as this historic event unfolded, something kept nagging at me. It was like Dèja Vu. It all seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on what. That is until dinner time that same night…

You see, dinner time with my 3 Beasts is like involuntarily being thrown into a MMA cage fight. Because toddlers are little tyrannical dictators… or, as I like to call them, Dictoddlers. They have a false sense of entitlement and no ethical morals. They lack the ability to differentiate between reality and Lala fucking Land.  They govern without consequence or fear. They are ruthless, but at the same time a donkey could outsmart them. Sound like *cough* someone else who’s recently… Oh, I don’t know… become President?

If you think about it, these little unstable 2-foot DicToddlers have been marching all over us since Adam and Eve.  For centuries, we strong-ass, nasty mothers have been silently protesting against these little shits in hopes of regaining our sanity, our basic human rights, and our ability to have a SOLO shower from time to time.

Everyday I mentally march against my DicToddlers. But the Women’s March gave me the courage and motivation to act. I’m ready! I’ve made up my Mommy Madness March signs. As of tomorrow, I’m gonna hike up my maternity leggings, throw on a vomit-free sweater, and I’m gonna march around my goddamn house chanting ” Keep Your Tiny Hands Off My Junk!”

 

BODILY RIGHTS
As your mother, I just want to pee… ALONE!  And I want to walk without a screaming parasite attached to my leg. I want to go a day without being asked why “Mommy’s arms flap like a flag”, or if “Mommy really IS Santa Claus” (as you gently stroke my stomach).
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IMMIGRATION RIGHTS
Well, to be honest, I too want to build a wall. Difference being that Mexicans, Muslims, and anyone with 2 legs and a heart beat are welcome on my side of the wall. On the other side of the wall, during the hours of 8pm to 8am, reside the DicToddlers. Really, it’s just a baby gate on steroids. But trust me, they will remain a threat, because If You Build It, THEY Will Come! My kids would have that wall crashing all around me in a nanosecond.
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ENVIRONMENTAL RIGHTS
Like Trump, my children have waged war on the environment… The environment being our house, or really anything they come into contact with. Nothing says collaborative teamwork like three DicToddlers armed with a wooden spatula, a hockey stick and plate of spaghetti… ‘Cause THESE are the true weapons of mass destruction.
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GENDER INEQUALITY
When it comes to DicToddlers, gender inequality is rampant… particularly towards Dear Ole’ Mom. And I’m not just saying this as the mother of boys. Girl or boy, DicToddlers all see their mothers as their Bitch. They reek havoc on our body, tear us apart to make their grand entrance, and then proceed to thank us by making demands, 24/7. And I’m not sure if they are simply not aware, or if they couldn’t care less, that they also have a father who is very capable… but noooo it has to be Mommy!
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WAGE INEQUALITY
Not only do women get paid less in general, but mothers get paid in kisses and venomous love! I once read about some jackass financier who said if mothers were paid for, well… mothering, that their salary would average an annual $170K. When in reality, instead of being paid… WE pay! And oh, do we pay dearly! With a side dish of F-U!
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HEALTH CARE
My kids have a comprehensive health care plan of their own. It’s called the Mommy Mommy Mommy Vomit Plan. And it ensures they get sick… anytime… anywhere… all the time… all 3 at the same time. And the only guaranteeing provision is when, in turn, Mommy suffers from their cold, flu and plague, none of them will give a shit.
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RACE, RELIGION AND LGBTQ INEQUALITY

To be quite fair, these DicToddlers do not throw shade when it comes to race, religion or sexual orientation. ‘Cause really, they don’t give a rats’ ass if you are white, black, green or blue… gay, bi, Trans, straight, crooked or zigzag’ed… Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, circumcised, not circumcised, pierced, tattooed, inked, Crayola’ed or Sharpie’ed… They will come for you! They will sniff you out. They will find you. And they will suffocate you with their irrational  demands. They will spit their venom at you. They will squeeze the life out of you, slooowly and with great pleasure. There are no prejudices when it comes to toddlers. They are very accepting of us all… until they turn on you. Hail hath no fury like a scorned toddler!  To a toddler, we are one…we are ALL victims!

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But at the end of the day there are two fundamental difference between my Mommy Madness March and the Women’s March that we just witnessed. One, as much as Trump himself behaves like a toddler, real toddlers… our toddlers… have hearts of gold. They ooze out innocence and genuine love. So really, there is no comparison.  Secondly, and more importantly, this post was written with good-intentioned humour. I would never want to diminish the power of what took place on Jan 21st.

So, is it the little things in life that matter? ‘Cause sometimes it’s the little things in life that make me think of Trump’s penis… Oops, I meant Pence. All of whom are lacking in the “mighty” department. Toddlers are little, but they are mighty. The Women’s March… THAT little thing?!? It too was mighty. Because sometimes it’s about taking a mighty stand to make change. Whether it’s a parent to a child, a woman to a man, or a nation to a leader. We all need to unite and stay strong in the face of adversity, be it a DicToddler or otherwise.  And THAT, my Whinos, ain’t no “alternative fact”.

Cheers,
Red Whino

Monkey see. Monkey say.

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Being the responsible mother I am, I diligently drag my three kids to their swim lessons every week… regardless of the ironic fact that I would like to drown myself in the process. That is until…

I realized the gossip that happens in the change room is good… actually, better than good. Like, highschool-locker room kinda good.  So, after I’ve learned those who are having affairs and polishing off bottles of wine by 9am, and allowing their kids to watch more than 23.4 minutes of screentime a day, I also overhear the “cute” gossip.

Anonymous Mom: Jacob, when you’re finished getting dressed, we’ll go get some lunch. Are you hungry, Honey? Mommy is very hungry.

Totally normal, right? Waaaait for it…

Jacob: Is that why you were eating Daddy’s penis last night, Mommy?

OH-NO-HE-DIDN’T!!!! (Snap! Snap!)

I tried so hard to pretend I didn’t hear. I really did! But I was right next to them. Like, right next to them. I frantically tried to appear too busy to have noticed… diapering then re-diapering, diapering then re-diapering my child’s dry, clean diaper.  But I ain’t no Academy Award winning actress! I couldn’t help but burst into a hyena-like laughter.

Only Anonymous Mom wasn’t really as amused by it all as I was. In fact, she was quickly turning a deep shade of purple. This (for obvious reasons) made me laugh even more. Seriously, this mom could write her own 50 Shades of Embarrassed.

I mean, what do you say in that situation? Seriously?

“Sucks to be you?” Pun TOTALLY intended!

She clearly wasn’t impressed by her son’s unfiltered verbatim. But wouldn’t you just laugh if off? I mean, woman to woman, we can joke about these things, non?

Anyways, she wasn’t having any of it. So I just shrugged and said “Ha! Kids will say the darndest things, eh?”

But it did get me thinking… Big J and I have a little intruders of our own who roam the house at night. So we, as responsible and horny parents, must take the necessary precautions to prevent such run-ins.

But when I told Big J about it, we had different perspectives on how best to handle such a run-in. His thinking was we simply invest in some child-proof door handles. Me? Well, I was thinking it’d be safer if Mama simply goes on a “hunger strike”. I even tried to convince him that it might result in a slimmer, sexier me… Right?

So the question I put forth to you is: how does one keep the fire burnin’ when the little rug rats have descended from the womb?

Cheers, Red Whino

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