Mom blogs are huge right now.  In fact, some of my favorite mommy blogs are frequented by thousands of visitors daily with 100+ comments on each post.  Perhaps this just pisses me off because I have yet to receive my first comment.  And I'm no where near thousands of visitors a day, but I think that a surplus of 550 hits in the first month isn't too shabby.  I follow blogs of SAHMs as well as working moms.  And I've come to the conclusion that over half of the moms that claim to be SAHMs are full of shit.  They are knee deep in bs and not the knee deep shit that I'm experiencing with a noro-infested tot on my hands right now. 

I'm not a SAHM by design.  I lost my job almost exactly 1 year ago and apparently a Master's degree with 10+ years of experience isn't enough in this economy.  So, I've started looking into the 'making-money-online' notion that you hear tweple chirping about all the time.  I'm an above average writer, but more importantly (I've realized), I'm a really smart dumbass.  AND, I'm confident enough to put my dirty laundry out to dry, wrinkle, soil, and mold, which is really what people want.  I recently told a friend that a really good writer must be self-aware/confident and vulnerable at the same time.  So, I've got the tools in my rusty toolbox complete with ancient gold fish crackers, used tissues, and moldy sippy cups. 

I finally got this damn website up and running, which took FORever...8 months to be precise.  Keeping up with the trends means following a lot of mom/dad blogs, working mom blogs, and other female blogs.  Posting just 1 blog per day, promoting it on fb and twitter, and reading my favorite bloggers daily would take at least 8 hours, easy.  Here I must point out that the antecedent to my writing is Fischer.  I have offspring.  I am a mom, and by design or not, I'm a SAHM.  And Fish is a toddler with SPD.  He runs my ass ragged all day long.  So, I can't spend 8 hours writing and reading.  I also have to squeeze in applying for "real jobs" every day, which is a full-time job in-and-of itself.  Then you throw in ridiculous necessities like laundry, dishes, cleaning (or mere tidying up in my world), cooking, paying bills, getting groceries, and errands. 

I used to clean-up quite well and dress in chic clothing with stellar shoes.  I suppose I could have just ended that statement with clean-up and dress and it would have been adequate.  My living space was immaculate.  I've mopped my current floor 3 times over the past 12 months, and right now, I'm looking down at some sort of sticky, gooey, gunk that slightly resembles something that should only be seen while swirling down the toilet.  I pay bills late, and I never clean my car.  I play tractors, trucks, Captain Hook, tag, hide-and-seek, bike ride, and do activities each and every day, but i know that it isn't enough.  This stuff takes TIME.  I have several friends who are also SAHMs.  They have similar complaints about lack of time, mental stability, and a trashy living space- qualities of a true SAHM- and most of them are not also trying to write and find a job.  So, the conclusion that I've arrived at is this: a shit-ton (which is a lot) of the moms who claim to be SAHMs and write...total bollocks. 

I read blogs from SAHMs who complain about similar things, yet they have time to post 3 or 4 posts per day, plus freelance, and contribute to other blogs.  I say bullshit.  I've only got 1 living, breathing little person to raise and it's difficult for me to write 1 blog per day.  I read blogs of parents with 4+ offspring, many of which include major special-needs children.  What the hell?  Have they discovered some coffee with supernatural powers?  Do they smuggle ativan and xanax on the side?  Can they actually function with a bottle of wine running through their system everyday?  Do they only require 4 hours of shut-eye for full-functioning capacity?  Or, do they have an offspring remote equipped with stop, pause, and play features?  Pretty sure the answer is not any of the fore mentioned.  They are just full of shit. SAHMs who blog, freelance, guest contribute and write books must either parent make-believe offspring or they covet the secret N-word (nanny).  This conclusion makes me feel liberated.  I can talk myself into and out-of almost anything, which is really quite the attribute when you fail on a daily basis.  Self-validation is so underrated.   

If you are easily offended and you procreate, you might need to find foster care for your child during the toddler years; especially if your young is of the male species.  Boys are fearless cannibals who devour you with their ruthless toddler talk.  Over the past few days, the offspring has spout off multiple opinions and phrases that I hope and pray he never repeats to anyone other than myself.  My feathers are not easily ruffled.  I can typically deal with most of his neanderthal bents, not that I have a choice.  This week, I'm reaching a boiling point.

Today, Fischer told me that his supper tasked like "rotten chicken poop."  Seriously kid, I might fail in the supermom race on a daily basis, but I can cook.  Now, you're telling me that my culinary skills are lacking as well?  Many times, his sensory issues with taste cause issues based on the type of day he's had.  I asked what the problem was because he'd eaten the same thing at my mother's house earlier in the week.  (Responds) "It's just gross mom."  I'd ask him how he knew what chicken poop tasted like, but I'm pretty sure that his answer might make me gag. 

Last night, he kept putting his bottom in my face and asking me to smell his butt.  Really?  Then came the gas.  Offspring says, "mom, how's that smell", then laughs.  What is the deal with boys and gas?  I have always taught him that gas is not something to laugh about; we should just say excuse me.  I suppose i shouldn't be surprised, because many of the men I surround myself with are unabashed about their bodily functions; even grown men think gas is funny. 

Similarly, a few days ago, he kept putting his feet in my face and asking me if they stunk.  I asked him to get his feet out of my face and the little shit responds with, "oh, sorry mom, I thought that was dad's face."  I'm pretty sure I sound like I'm raising a houligan.  I'm really not; he's actually quite a thoughtful, sweet, polite kid.- when he's not with me.  Unfortunately, that is 95% of the time. 

These antics pissed me off.  Hey... I can actually vent AND curse because he can't hear me.  I can no longer utilize many of my favorite words for fear that he will repeat.  And he WILL repeat.  Apparently, 'dammit' is a pleasing word for a toddler to regurgitate.. Daddy's friend says the "F-word".  Fischer knows that the "F-word" is naughty.  Technically, he doesn't say it.  And he chooses the most inopportune moments to tell me that he doesn't say the "F-word", like when we are in public...with old people around...and other kids.  As you have probably already guessed, he uses the actual word when telling me it isn't appropriate to say it.  One of our biggest struggles is impulse control and his utter lack of a filter.  Fischer's SPD causes impulse control issues.  He cannot control his impulses to grab and repeat what he hears.  But, thanks to OT and his coping mechanisms, strangers have no idea that I'm not just a horrible, white-trash mom who thinks it's funny when her kid curses.  But, I've accepted that "I'm that mom"; there are far worse tragedies in life than being the trashy lady in the store with the unruly kid.

I'm that mom.  You know...the mom you say you'll never become.  You find yourself behind a woman and her kid at the grocery checkout.  The kid is obnoxious.  He throws the entire box of Trident.  Mom reaches down to pick up the gum packets blanketing the tile just in time to meet a direct smack in the face.  You silently curse yourself because dude who chose the longest lane is checking out..  Now the little monster is trying to crawl out of the cart.  Plummet go the eggs and then he drops the "F-bomb."  You think that this mom needs some serious lessons on disciplinary techniques and say to yourself, "when I have kids, they will never behave like that."  When I was in my 20's, before I had Fischer, I had those thoughts. 

Even my friends who parent a "normal" toddler struggle at the grocery store.  I don't feel so bad when I hear about their toddlers' meltdowns or mishaps while shopping.   After we leave the store, Fischer becomes deregulated, seeks strong physical contact (like head-butting), and purposefully engages in inappropriate behavior.  SO not worth it.

Toddlers are constantly soaking in their surroundings; they are sensory seekers by nature.  Think about all the temptations the grocery store elicits;  the different colors, objects, textures, and sweet stuff.  Grocery shopping is time consuming and it's too much to expect a toddler to be patient.  Hell, I have a hard time being patient.

If I have no choice but to take Fischer, I engage him in some sensory play just before I leave.  (I prefer to self-medicate, but I need to be coherent when selecting fruit snacks.).  I digress; we play outside in the snow or sandbox to help curb the need to grab.   Since he's a big oral motor kid, I give him a sucker or make sure I bring along his chewelry to comfort him.  Saving Fischer the anxiety far outweighs getting whatever it is that I need.  So we're out of toilet paper, no big deal.  He hates the vaulted ceilings, the lighting, and the crowds at the grocery store.  I'm sure there are other sensory triggers that I have yet to pinpoint.  I can't stand half the people at the grocery store, so I prefer not to subject Fish.

I knew that something was "off" at 18 months.  Fischer used to remove his dirty diaper, soil himself in his feces, smell it, taste it, and paint it on his crib and the wall.  Kevin gagged and vomited (he works with animals, so really, what's the big deal?)  I called Pinot and she came to the rescue.  These incidents happened more than I care to discuss.  This among other issues warranted a trip to Fischer's primary care doctor where we were told, "he's just a boy."  Really? 

Age two rolled around and Fischer was in overdrive, nonstop.  And I mean nonstop.  We continued to have "incidents".  While I cleaned up one mess, he went to work on the next debacle, which usually involved breaking something cool.  His body craved sensations.  He sought out sharp and dangerous objects.  He was fast and destructive.  He put everything in his mouth; toilet paper, potting soil, deer poop, sticks, yellow snow.   When he was two and a half, he drank rubbing alcohol.  This time the doc said, "it's the terrible twos."  Things continued to escalate and traditional means of punishment did nothing for Fischer.  When Fischer turned 3, I still had to watch him like a hawk.  I had to carry him everywhere because he would run away as soon as his feet hit the ground.  He flailed and fought getting in and out of his car seat.  'No' meant absolutely nothing to Fischer.  We couldn't go visit anyone unless their home was completely child proof, and even those homes were not really "Fischer-proof". 

Breaking point...age 3.  It was the middle of winter and the ground was completely snow covered.  Fischer slipped outside without my knowledge and I couldn't find him.  I've never be so scared.  I found him in my car, barefoot, keys in hand, trying to start the car.  I brought him inside and ran warm water on his feet.  He didn't even notice that his feet were cold until we'd been in the house for five minutes, and he had frostbite.   Doc referred him to a behavioral specialist.  His under-reponse was more than strange behavior; he had a delayed reaction to pain.  I took him to an OT instead.  We discovered that he had sensory processing disorder and finally, a lot of things made sense.  No need to enter the lousy parent contest...at least, not yet..  It doesn't make it any easier, but it feels a hell of a lot better to know that I don't totally suck.