Vacation: The True Story of a Tired Mom and Her Very Feral Child.

Oh no. This can’t be happening. I had thought the day was turning around, especially considering how badly it had started. For the third year in a row I took Squishy to Sesame Place in Pennsylvania. I was a little sad as Squish is now five and I was pretty certain this would most likely be my last year taking him. Of course nothing could compare to the first year I took him, my little three year old who loved his Mommy unconditionally. We spent most of that first year riding Grover’s Vapor Trail and just enjoying our time together. Now I was pretty sure I was in hell. Upon arriving at the park my usually fearless five year old informed me he was “too scared” to go on any rides, even the carousel appeared threatening to him (which he only discovered after we had waited in line). He asked me if he could get a soda and then wanted to leave, which wasn’t an option after spending the money on the tickets, the parking, the locker rental, and the hotel room. Squish ended up finding refuge in a bouncy house type apparatus there, and tried his hand at some games. After spending hours melting at the park on one of the hottest days of the year, Squish and I relented, changed into our bathing suits and headed for the splash park. And for about 90 minutes it was glorious. Squish was having fun going down the small water slides they had, and I was no longer sweating profusely. I was also proud of Squish for telling me he had to use the bathroom even though he had a swim diaper on. So there we were, using the bathroom and preparing ourselves to go back into the splash pad when disaster struck, every female’s worst nightmare. I got my period. To make matters worse I had no supplies with me as I wasn’t expecting it and I had locked all of my money up in a locker at the front end of the park. But then I thought to myself, it’s ok, it’s only the first day, it should be pretty light and usually my period stops when I’m submerged in water so I should be fine. Wrong and wrong. As Squish and I headed back to the splash park and got in the line again for the slide, I kept trying to discreetly check myself to make sure I wasn’t re-enacting the shower scene from Carrie while at Count’s Splash Castle surrounded by small children. I debated asking some of the mothers around if perhaps they had an extra tampon but I didn’t know the proper etiquette for that, does one approach a total stranger to ask about feminine hygiene products? For this I still don’t have an answer. After awhile I told Squish it was time to go and he didn’t object. However now I’m presented with a new problem as I still don’t have anything and there are no bathrooms in the changing area. I look through my bag and discover some baby wipes and I think “this will do.” Did I mention I had decided to wear light purple shorts that day? After changing, we headed into a blissfully air-conditioned gift shop. As I’m chasing my feral child through the gift store, picking up toys he had picked up and then put down, and repacking a lunch box he had torn the tissue paper out of, I noticed the baby wipe was seeping through my shorts. Time to go. Exhausted, sweaty, bloated and crampy, I carried myself, my little guy, and our three bags full of crap to the car. As I started loading my stuff I hear a voice call out, “Miss.” At first I’m confused because I became a very clear member of the “Ma’am” category almost 10 years ago, dude can’t possibly be talking to me. But he proceeds to tell me Squish slammed his car door into this gentleman’s car and I feel horrible. Luckily, there was no damage done to the gentleman’s car, and even though he was disgruntled (which I don’t blame him) he drove off without calling the police. Squish fell asleep in the car almost immediately once it started moving and I was able to enjoy my 30 minutes of peace. Then I was faced with a new problem, I have to wake the child up to bring him into the store. But I think to myself, we will just run in and out, it will be quick. And like so many things that day, I was wrong once again. As I stand in the entrance to the store, hemorrhaging and hoping it’s not terribly noticeable, I’m faced with a red-faced, screaming little bastard who is insistent we need to get the gigantic shopping cart he can ride in even though I only need two things. It’s moments like those where I am tempted to leave the little douche in the store. But finally , FINALLY, I have my supplies and we can leave. Once we get to the hotel room, we are able to eat and Squish is content to watch TV and play with his toys in the room and I am able to relax. As I lay in bed, reflecting on the day, I am still sad this will probably be the last year I take my little baby to Sesame. But I remind myself of how lucky I am to have this child, even if he is incredibly exhausting, and what a privilege it is to be able to watch him grow up.

New Year, New Me? F that Noise.

We are more then half way into January and I haven’t made any resolutions. Quite honestly I don’t plan to. This is probably because for me, it just feels like I’m doing the same shit on a different day. Don’t misunderstand me I have hope for the future, enormous hope, but as 2021 starts up I’m still doing the same things. I’m still taking care of patients, I’m still trying to finalize a divorce and refinance my house, and I’m still trying to get my life in order. But then again I feel like most of us are. If parenthood has taught me anything it’s that none of us have the answers and every day presents new challenges. Recently I was fortunate to have 11 days off from work which was glorious. I decided to pour my energy into trying to get my house organized and clean. In retrospect I should have poured myself some drinks instead. The majority of my Christmas decorations are still up and my house is probably in a worse state then when I started, which is mostly thanks to my adorable, highly energetic and feral four year-old Squishy. I ended my second day home by balling my eyes out because this kid had decided to go into my dresser drawers, take a pair of glasses out and hide them away on me. This meant they could literally be anywhere in the house. Literally. Fucking. Anywhere. I was convinced I would find them by accidentally stepping on them, obstructed from my view because of the mountain of clothes/toys/shit on top of them. You’ll all be very happy to know I found them in my laundry basket, along with the television remote that had recently gone missing, completely intact. Towards the end of the week my soon to be ex-husband reflected on how I had spent so much time on the house and I had nothing to show for it. Well thank you Captain Obvious for pointing that out because it was completely lost on me. I wanted to tell him it’s because I don’t have any help. If the ex and I lived apart then there would be nights where the mess at least wouldn’t get any bigger because the kids would be in a completely different location. Most days while I was cleaning one room, Squishy was in another room practically ripping it to shreds while the ex-hubs was upstairs having some alone time. The funny thing is I don’t really need him to help me clean, it would just be helpful if he could watch the little guy and prevent him from destroying everything he touches. But it often feels like to me whenever I’m home that I’m expected to watch the children, do all the zoom sessions with the children, and try to keep the house clean without completely losing my marbles. And on a side note those zoom sessions with the four year old are fantastic, I’d rather lick my toilet bowl clean then have to do those shits ever again. I think if I could wish for anything in 2021 it would be to feel less pressured, less stressed. Or maybe it would be better if Squish just got into less shit. As I stated earlier, I am hopeful for the future, no matter what it should bring, I’ll just make sure I have a crapload of cleaning supplies and band-aids on hand. But for now I will put on a brave face, pour myself a big ass mimosa, and go clean up the pot of glue Squishy finger painted my living room with.

The Adventures of Meatball and Squish

Hello there, my name is Delia and welcome to the shit show. I am a registered nurse who survived round one of this pandemic, who is about to finalize a divorce, and the mother to two boys, Meatball and Squish. Let me start by giving you a description of my babies.

My oldest son, who I’ll refer to as Meatball, is seven, autistic, and non-verbal. This kid was so content in the womb he didn’t come out until he was two weeks overdue and a lovely nine pounds, ten ounces (yay c-section!), hence the name Meatball. As you can imagine, this presents its own set of challenges. He is a very smart little boy but incredibly self-motivated, choosing to do a multitude of things on his own terms, terms which I sometimes struggle to understand. For example, why does the toilet paper have to be taken off the holder and placed on the floor? Why does the left shoe have to go on before the right? What is about shorts that is so unappealing? The list goes on.

My youngest son, who I’ll refer to as Squish since he was the fattest little bastard when he was a baby, is four and feral. That’s right, there is such a thing as having a feral child and this kid is the definition of it. He has gotten into so many things in my house I have lost count. I promise to share his adventures as I’ve been told they are fairly entertaining.

I work in a hospital as a floor nurse in New York State and even though we did not see the number of Covid patients that New York City has seen, it was still pretty fucking awful. Watching this disease take its toll on so many patients in various ways was hard, really hard. That coupled with home life made things pretty interesting for a few months there. I am really hoping to keep that in my past and not see it come to fruition in a few months.

To sum it up I decided to start this for all the parents out there who are flying by the seat of their pants just like I am. We all have those friends on Facebook who post the beautiful pictures of their family and seem as though their life is straight out of a Hallmark movie. I’m here to tell the truth behind the fairytale picture. At times I curse like a sailor, I’ve read that people who curse tend to be more honest, and perhaps that’s true but sometimes nothing but a good F bomb is appropriate. My husband and I separated a couple of years ago and I will love to fill you all in on the characters I have met in that time because that is some entertainment. Lastly I promise not to discuss politics. At this rate I feel like it is getting jammed down our throats in every single direction and I for one need a non-political outlet. So sit back, grab a beer or a nice big piece of chocolate cake, and enjoy! #zerotohero #boymom #datingsucks #zoomsessionswithtoddlerssuck