And the Oscar goes to…

I don’t know how I managed it, but I actually ended up with less spare time than usual during the last two long-break weekends. At the end, I was so tired, I looked forward to going to work on Tuesday. But then again, no wonder, because work is where I go to relax: my two little freeloading moochers ride me harder than any paying employer ever has.

The last holiday weekend was especially taxing. My boys were amusing themselves with a riveting game of tag-pooping.


A game in which babies take turn filling their diapers with the stinkiest, most stomach-turning mush they can produce. Points are based on volume of content, stench, and they get bonus points for frequency per hour.

We went about 6 rounds…in 2 hours…I wanted to sever my nose. I was so done with all the kaka, I blurted out:

O.k., by matriarchal decree, I hereby order a cease-poop for the next 24 hours.

I’d like to say they understood and complied, but I think they just ran out of ammunition.

I’d also like to say that that is the silliest thing I’ve ever said or done, but it isn’t. I’ve tried reasoning with them on why I need to take a toilet break, saying:

Mommy doesn’t wear diapers like you, so every now and then mommy has to go to the toilet. Preferably alone.

I can count the amount of times I’ve managed to go to the toilet without an audience – or subsequent incident for having left them by themselves for 10 seconds – on one hand. And I am now an expert in speed-peeing. If that were an Olympic sport, I’d win the gold medal. (No pun intended).

And in the category of most childish things I’ve done, imagine this scenario:

Thing 2, my telenovela king, is crying at the top of his lungs: Weeeeeh, weh, weeeh.


Why, mama!! Why won’t you let me eat the bread I found in the folds of the couch!! I much prefer it to the fresh and delicious sandwhich that you have placed before me.

But I can’t read the subtitles because my eyes are closed since my head hurts as a result of him screaming so loudly. I’ve tried everything to sooth him, but he seems determined to deafen me. So what do I do? I chime in, a few decibels louder: WEEEEH, WEEEH, WEEEEH!

(And the Oscar goes to…Mommy! Translation omitted due to adult content.)

My Oscar’s in the mail.

At which point, he stops crying, probably because he’s trying to figure out whether I’m being serious or whether I’ve just lost it. (It’s a little of both.)

I’ve done and said loads of stupid things since becoming a mom. I just can’t remember it all, mostly due to lack of sleep. So, if I’m still blogging in ten years (by which time I hope I will have regained something resembling a healthy sleep pattern), I’ll be sure to post them.

Until then, my mantra is “sleep is for the weak”.

Tie my tubes already!

*If you enjoyed this post, check out more nonfiction here.*

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