Move Your Car, Now! (Please?)

Scenario A- We live on an incredibly skinny street. It's illegal, in our town, to park on the street unless you notify the police department in advance of any social gathering you're throwing. Then, it's kosher. With that said, I like my neighbors. The neighbors across from us have a long driveway. Their walkway to the front door is located at the front of their house so they park at the end of their driveway to save the effort it would take to walk the extra nine steps to the front door had they parked near their garage. I hope you're getting the picture in your head. Now, because they park at the end of their driveway, when they have company, there is no where in their driveway to park, hence, they park directly behind their driveway, which, coincidentally, is right behind our driveway. In conclusion, because they have company on a daily basis, I rarely can get out of my driveway without backing my car up slowly and carefully, as if I'm playing a real-life game of operation and I have to have a steady hand to maneuver the funny bone (my car) out of its claustrophobic home slot (my driveway). With all of that said, again, I like my neighbors.

Scenario B- I worked until 2:30am last night, and Digby, my five-month-old, was up 3 times looking to eat with the bonus prize of completely waking at 6am. I rolled with the punches and decided I would attempt to start my day. My two year old woke up in an incredibly awful mood because he's had cold for about a month that just refuses to quit. Kylan threw a tantrum about wanting a lollipop for a good 1/2 hour directly upon waking. I stayed calm. I ignored him, made him pancakes and all was forgotten. Next, we went shopping and Ky single-handedly destroyed the department store and threw a tantrum for refusing to take his shoes off at the mall play area. I removed him from the play area, with Digby getting fussier every second. Then I realize why Digby was fussy when I smell the all too familiar aroma of his poo. Brad changes Digby, Kylan continues to scream because he wants to go back to the play area, and then Brad hands me the dirty diaper- because apparently this is my job- to dispose of the dirty diaper. We buy what ever it is we bought, oh yeah, curtains, and they were on sale, but in the midst of the mayhem, I buy the wrong size panels. The panels are nonreturnable because they were on sale. We get home and Brad wants to leave to buy a hook to hang up the flower basket that fell down yesterday that was apparently my fault because I installed the first flower basket hook. I want to put the curtains up. I ask him to stay and help with Digby (Ky fell asleep). Brad's idea of help is to let Digby scream his head off while he eats a bowl of Wheaties while watching the Steelers on TV extra, EXTRA, loud in hopes to drown out the scream of our son. Brad then realizes the curtains are the wrong size and asks me why I didn't make sure the length was correct. Then, Kylan wakes up from Digby screaming and the extra loud volume of the t.v. and throws ANOTHER tantrum about wanting an Elmo sticker. I tell Brad I'm leaving with Digby, on the verge of breakdown.

As I go to leave, I finally confront the neighbors aforementioned in scenario A- BECAUSE I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY FRIGGIN' DRIVEWAY.

I do, however, still like my neighbors, but fear they no longer like me.

But at least I'll be able to back out of my driveway. Anyone need curtains?

Not "Soul-ed" On My Soul Mate

In 2004, I met the man that would become my husband. I wouldn't call him my soul mate or my dream man now, but by some twist of fate, we ended up together. We bicker over who's right and who's wrong. We ignore the other when one of us is absorbed by some shallow t.v. show, like American Idol or Celebrity Fit Club. Sometimes, we are the couple that you stare at wondering, "Wow, do they even like each other?"

And, yes, we do. We love each other. We've had a rocky road to genuinely respecting each other, but we're finally getting it, and respecting each other is SO very important. I'd have to say 9 out of 10 fights are about respect, whether it's the tone in which we speak to each other or a general nasty comment aimed to injure the other's ego, like, "Are you ever going to throw that shirt out?," when, of course, no, I will never throw away my favorite shirt. I'm not sure what the 10th fight is usually about. Probably household chores?

As far as the who is right/wrong argument, I'm learning that it doesn't matter. I think I now get more gratification out of Brad discovering he's been wrong on his own rather than telling him he's wrong. So, scratch that, I guess it still kinda matters, or else I wouldn't be so smug about it. I'm working on it shouldn't matter who's right- as long as I'm not the one who's wrong. Is that so wrong?

The t.v. thing is an issue we both share. I cherish my t.v. time because I so rarely watch anything other than Go, Diego, Go, and Wow, Wow, Wubzy. My husband likes to bring up important issues to discuss, like how little we have left in our checking account, and that we may end up overdrawn by $400 this month, while I like hold him accountable to remember significant details about how annoying my mother is while he's in the middle of the intervention part of Intervention. Like I said, we both need to work on a better time to concentrate on one another because we both end up irritated.

Now, just because he's not my soul mate doesn't mean he's not the one for me. I'm just not sold on the whole soul mate idea. I've met men that could fall into that category, however, but heck, we never had any responsibilities to complicate the relationship. It was all so easy! No joint bank account, no arguments over when our son should be disciplined, no overdue or over limit fees to complain about- I could go on and on about how having children and being married is an everyday challenge. And that's just what it is. A CHALLENGE. It's not a struggle, or a constant state of disaster. I've realize that marriage is work, and once you accept the challenge of making it work, you can get through anything.

I will tell the couples out there that have yet to spawn offspring that having children will change your relationship with your spouse permanently. You have to work to make it work! Ultimately, that work translates into respecting each other. The more you respect each other, the easier it becomes to love each other, even when one of you parks the car all sorts of crooked in the driveway so that it makes it impossible for the other to get into the driveway with your car crammed with groceries so that you now have to lug eight bags which include milk, a case of water, and two cases of diapers up the driveway into the house :)

Moms Itching to Get Rid of Their Children

The day my son, Kylan, was born was the best day of my life. I was instinctively protective, and the thought of even letting anyone else hold him was uncomfortable for me. Although the doctors told me to get some sleep when the baby slept, I would just stare at him while he had his eyes closed, just wanting to admire the miracle that my husband and I created.

I still cannot get enough of my sons. I teach fitness classes, and during the times that I teach, I leave my boys in the day care facility of the gym. I have that hour to myself while I'm teaching, but I always feel a pull toward my sons immediately following class- like I can't get back to them quick enough.

Although being a parent isn't always sunshine and smiles, I'd imagine most moms naturally miss their children while they're separated from them. Unfortunately, I'd imagine WRONG. In fact, there are actually moms out their that itch to drop their children off at day care or to let someone else take care of their babies.

It would kill me to know that my boys would rather stay with Brenda the daycare lady then to come home with their own flesh and blood. Every second that I'm separated from my boys, whether I'm working or just quickly doing an errand, I'm instinctively hurrying to get back to supervise and take care of my own children. I understand that everyone can't stay home with their kids, but the moms I know that work daily still count the minutes to when their children are back in their care. Then there are the moms that I don't know and don't CARE to know.

These are the moms that can just hand their children over to anyone. They are the moms that stay out all night long, sometimes for days. They are mothers who are annoyed by their children, who loathe to have to dress them and feed them. They are the moms that put having drinks at a local dive bar until 2am is of greater importance than reading Click, Clack, Moo before their little ones drift off to sleep. They are the mothers that leave their children home alone while they do their own thing. These moms feel that they are letting the excitement of their own unfulfilled lives outweigh the importance of paying attention and LOVING their children. And these children suffer from this neglect for years and years.

Recently there was an article in the paper about a woman who dropped her four-month-old off on a doorstep. When the police tracked her down and asked her why she left her son on the porch of a stranger's house, she replied, "Because I didn't want him anymore." I hope that little boy never has to be around that woman again for the rest of his life, because he deserves a mom to love every inch of him, for every second of every day, because that's what every child deserves. Unfortunately, a baby has no say in who becomes his or her mother.

Are you there God? It's me, Ky and Digby's Mom.

I always lay down beside my two-year-old son, Kylan, for about twenty minutes until he drifts off to sleep, although there are nights where he falls off to sleep by himself. I enjoy our quiet time together, and especially the conversations we have just before he nods off.


The other night, I slithered toward the door because I thought he had fallen asleep, and was startled by his little voice.


"Mommy, can we say prayers?"


I told him that we could, of course, as I'd forgotten to say them that night! We usually ask God to watch over our family, and I go through the list of family, and then of close friends. I always ask Kylan if he can think of anyone else he wants to say a prayer for. Then, I always end the prayer with, "Always be kind and love one another."


At the end of our prayers that night, Ky asked, "Mom, who's God?"



Holy Heck! What a question from a two year old. I tried to keep my explanation short and to the point, but I wasn't really sure of the answer myself, so my answer was probably more confusing to Kylan than anything else.



"Well, God is this, uh, being who watches over all of us on earth. Earth is the planet we live on. See, there are these things called planets- we'll talk about that later. So God loves us more than you can ever imagine and wants us to be loving, too, just like him... or her."


Ky responded with, "He's a man."


I said, "He could be."


He came back with, "He lives in heaven."


Surprised, I replied, "Yes, he does."


I don't remember telling Ky about heaven, although maybe I've read a story about heaven or mentioned it before. It just goes to show how absorbent our children are, and although I'm open to Kylan choosing his own faith, I think it's important to introduce our little ones to some kind of faith. I know that having my faith and some spirituality has helped me find direction, and it always shines it's search light bright when I start to lose course. I want to teach my children to know to look for that light when they need it, for any reason at all- that God is always there to talk to, and if you listen carefully, he'll answer you.

Misguided Credit Score

I am a misguided mama because I have made mistakes-a-plenty. The mistake of the day is my poorly managed credit of my early twenties. Oh, how I thought credit cards were such blessings! In reality, these evil slabs of plastic can ruin your chances for buying your own house, or even simply renting in a nice complex. They can act like your best friend when you don't have the cash to buy another drink at Roland's, but become your worst enemy when you realize you just bought a round of red-headed sluts for the whole bar. You will be paying off these shots in small eight dollar increments for the next 50 years- keep that in mind. Hidden amongst the fine print when applying for these faux-friends are the hefty late fees, the over-limit fees, and the dreaded yearly maintenance fee... because we all know what a pain in the ass it is for our credit card company to maintain our accounts. In fact, I'd like to see a breakdown of the hundred bucks I spend yearly to maintain my account. Does my account at least get a hot stone massage and lavish spa treatment?



When I married my husband, we both had screwed up credit, and it was this screwed up credit that helped us realize how valuable good credit is. We longed for a good credit score. Hell, at least one of us! So we worked on my husbands credit first.



For my husband's Christmas present that year, I paid off one of his accounts that had been in collections. My Christmas card to him went a little something like this:



Dearest Husband,



Should you ever see you ex-girl friend again, please tell her she needs to thank me for the diamond earrings I purchased her back in 2000. I talked the collection agency down to $500 to mark the account paid-in-full. You are now one paid debt closer to a semi-decent credit score.



Thankfully, we both have been able to rehabilitate our credit ratings. The book that helped me and hubby get through all of this chaos is called Managing Debt for Dummies, by John Ventura and Mary Reed. I am a professed Dummy Book and Guide for Idiots reader. I'm not quite sure what that says about me, but if there's a Handbook for the Helpless out there, I'll add my name to the presale list at the local Barnes and Noble, too.

Not Afraid to Admit It- I Have Children!

There is an unspoken phenomenon where a great deal of moms are hiding their true identities. They pretend like they don't have children. I don't understand these women. I get that these moms have their own lives, their own ambitions, and their own dreams, however, what I don't get is why they don't factor their children into their aspirations, or even act like they exist!

I was speaking to a fellow blogger about her blog. I told her my favorite part of her blog is where she wrote about her children. She responded with, "I don't like to write about my kids much, because then it becomes just one of those pathetic mom blogs.

Hi, my name is Misguided Mama, and I am a pathetic mom.

My kids have taught me more about myself that I have been able to learn about myself in the past 30 years. They are a reflection of who I am, and you can believe me, they most definitely are included in my life long goals. After all, having them here on this planet is an accomplishment in itself.

This blog doesn't exist to help boost my ego to see how many responses I can get, or to go on endlessly about what and who annoys me. I honestly just want to encourage myself (since no one actually reads this much) and others to be the best moms we can be, regardless of the many mistakes we've made in the past.

I'm not going to pretend to be perfect... but I must say that my kids make me feel like I am sometimes. So yes, I will write about my children in this blog. Whether or not you think that's pathetic might sum up your own definition of motherhood. And lastly, let's hope my fellow blogger's children never find out how she truly feels about suppressing her motherly pride. Apparently writing about her top ten favorite make-up products and whether or not to pay a personal trainer for private sessions are more self-defining.

Vacation Tips for the Misguided Trip Planner

I will be on vacation for the next week, so my blogging may be limited. It's not like I have a mass audience, anyways, or that anyone comments for that matter, however, it makes me feel better to inform the few who DO read this.

I wanted to list some websites that may help you keep your sanity and help you truly relax while on a family vacation.

1. How to pack? Check out whether to roll the clothes or lay them flat.

2. What to pack for a beach vacation? This site will give you the must-haves.

3. Need a checklist to ensure a successful beach visit? See this link.

4. Can't stand your father-in-law's wife? Yes, you know, the lady he married after your mother-in-law who has sworn off all carbs and other foods with actual flavor and never had children but insists on correcting yours ? Check out how to deal with difficult people to shrug off an argument before you blow up.

The Love You Live For

Before I had children, I wasn't complete. I didn't realize how very selfish I was the majority of the time. I think it's hard not to be selfish when all that exists in your world are issues that pertain to you- like what you need to get accomplished, or what lies in your future, or what your favorite flavor of ice cream is (Girl Scout Samoa Ice Cream by Edy's or Dreyer's is mine!).

I never expected having children to be as enriching and self-transforming as it has been. The amount of love that you have for your child is inexplicable. It's a love so great, that you would without hesitation, give your life to spare theirs.

My son Kylan, has an obsession with my hair. Some children may cry for their blankies, or maybe a teddy bear. My son, yes, he cries, "Hair!" I love it. I love that he needs me, and that somehow, he associates safety in my tangled tresses. You can't make up the stuff your children cling to. They develop their own habits, their own fears, and their own personalities. You're obligation is to help guide them and keep them safe.

Getting back to the love you have for your kids- I can't imagine, now that I know what this love feel like, not wanting to find out what that feels like. I don't quite understand the people who select a life void of having children. I'll tell you right now, if you're bothered by someone else's kids, you always will be. I still want to kick some fiesty bullies in the shins when they taunt my baby. I'm sure my kids bother the bejeezus out of other people, but you smile at their rambunctiousness rather than roll your eyes at it when the kids are your own. You also start to understand the tantrums of other people's children a hell of a lot better when your dealing with the tantrums of your own children.

All in all, having children has made me whole. I get it now. It was a learning process, and still is every day as far as being a parent is concerned, but I would never have completely matured, or lost a majority of my selfishness had I not had Kylan and Digby. They are gifts from God, and he has helped show me what true love really is. And my husband is not all that bad either.

I am human. Nice to meet you.

Today I started a new job teaching indoor cycling at L.A. Fitness. It's a brand new facility, great amenities, and so far, there's nothing that compares to it in the Pittsburgh area. It's simply the best gym day care I've seen around, and I'm comparing that to Heathtrax, Alexander's Athletic Club, Bally's, and Xtreme Fitness Centers. Left is a sample picture of the Kids Klub at another L.A. Fitness, but the one in Pleasant Hills is similar.

I showed up 15 minutes early, thinking that would be enough time to get everyone set up on their bikes, but I had a hell of a time with the stereo system. Also, I'm used to having a remote with me to adjust the volume level if someone has a question or to skip a song if I don't feel it's suitable for the class' fitness level.

So, some lady, who I eventually find out is my boss, barges in and fiddles with the stereo equipment in the middle of my class, saying, "Go ahead, keep teaching." Because my class is primarily all beginner cyclers, I get off my bike to help adjust some of my students. I want to make sure everyone's equipment is safe, that they feel comfortable asking me questions, and I get everyone's name.

The class ends up being a great first class, despite all the interruptions and getting the bugs worked out of the new equipment. But then my-boss-lady-person, who told me her name but it escapes me now because she rattled me so badly, finds me after class to tell me she has a few suggestions.

a) That I have my music prepared so that I don't have a need to get off the bike.
b) That I instruct the class as a whole as to how to operate the bikes safely, rather than visit them individually.

This is where I get defensive. I don't mean to, but when you're nervous enough to hold your first class in a new place with new bosses, you really don't want the first reviews of your performance to be 100% negative. I nodded my head yes and said thank you, but I really wanted to address a couple of issues with her.

First of all, I am human. Here's what I mean: This lady could've asked me how long I've been teaching or if I've toured the majority of the new facility. Secondly, now that I have children, I find it so hard to understand how after I mentioned that I needed to pick them up at the Kids Klub, that she declined to comment on their existence. All I'm asking for is a little, "Oh, you have kids? How old are they?" or, "What are their names?" or maybe even just a simple, "Children are nice." Well, maybe not that- because then I would genuinely suspect that she really could be a robot.

Oh, and lastly, the fact that you're mean and dressed completely in black really does make you extremely witch-like, so I would suggest nixing the mean part.

I could never be the type of person to completely neglect anyone's feelings. It's just not in my blood, and if that's the type of blood you need to be a supervisor, then I'm just fine with my measly instructor job. Please, a little kindness would be really refreshing.

Dropping the "F" Bomb

To keep our family afloat financially, I bartend on Saturday nights. Even if we had enough money to pay the bills, which never seems to be the case, I would still bartend one day a week. Not only do I make some green, I get to meet some pretty interesting folks and make new friends. It's my one night a week, although I am working, that I get to have some good ol' fashioned fun for myself and converse with (gasp) ACTUAL ADULTS.

I love to talk about my children to the guests that visit the bar, especially to those that have children because I feel they can relate to- and tolerate- my stories better. To one friendly couple in their late-forties-possibly-early-fifties, I explained that Kylan is really starting to take off in the English language department. I guess my story should have come with a disclaimer: WARNING- What I am about to tell you does contain profanity.

Me: So my son, Ky, was in the backseat of his Gigi's car (his grandma's car) and says, "Gigi, I'm sorry." Gigi says, "It's okay honey, you didn't do anything wrong." Kylan apologizes again, "Gigi, I'm sorry," and concludes with, "Fuck, it's a bad word."

Mrs. Couple Lady: Oh My Word! Now where would he have learned that word?!

She says this with utter disgust. She's now looking at me like she needs to call child protective services. I keep an eye on how her hand seems to be subconsciously moving toward her cell phone. This phenomenon in itself demonstrates how a Ouija board actually works.

Me: Uh, well, I think, um, that he may have picked it up while I was driving. I say some pretty awful things sometimes, uh, but I'm a good mom, and I don't condone that type of language.

Meanwhile, I'm not going to lie to ya, I thought Kylan's use of the word was both very honest and hilarious. Of course, inappropriate on every level, but it just goes to show how attentive our children are. They are like little sponges, absorbing our every reaction and every word. I will say, that although I do not swear like a sailor, the occasional "F" bomb does make an appearance when I am fucking upset. See?

I guess I read my Mr. and Mrs. Bar Couple incorrectly. I expected a hearty chuckle from the story, so I highly doubt they'll be coming in on my Saturday night shift any longer. I'm not G rated enough for their liking. F them.

My Husband's Romance Tactics

I will tell you, that before I had children, I was an extremely sexual being. My sex drive was higher than my husband's (then boyfriend), and I actually got angry when he was too tired to please my sexual demands. Our days consisted of getting up at a lazy 11am, going out to lunch, and then pawing all over each other for the remainder of the day. Dinner was squeezed in amongst seductive suggestions, and before you know it, we were destroying a neatly made bed by attempting new and exciting positions.


Then, only a couple of years later, I now look forward to a couple of hours uninterrupted sleep far more than a couple of hours of uninterrupted sex. I yearn for sleep. I know that if I can fit in a mere three hours, continuously, that I can function properly the next day.

Now, to be fair, I know that a happy marriage must have a healthy dose of happy sex. I'm down for that- or up, or on all fours, or whatever. However, I still need to be wooed. I want to be appreciated and loved, not insulted. Here is my example of an insult from my husband.

"Kylan just told me he heard a woodpecker outside. Would you like to see mine."

No, I wouldn't. In fact, never again after that comment.

Another example would be Hubby coming into the bedroom stark naked, after I've been asleep for several hours, waking me up with a harsh, "Hey, I've got something for you to suck on."

Really? Because I was just dreaming about how after an exhausting day with the kids, there isn't anything I'd like to do more! Hooray for the taste of penis!

My actual response is completely the opposite. I would much rather sever his member than than become a member of his Insensitivity Club. Please, any help with how I can bring my husband back to the land of romance and foreplay will be greatly appreciated.

4th of July at the Pittsburgh Zoo

My little boys are my life. I never lose sight of this fact, and on a day like today, July 4th, I am once again reminded that childhood is sacred. My husband and I took Ky and Baby Diggs to the Pittsburgh Zoo along with their Gigi (my mother-in-law), and the whole experience gave us all so much to laugh at, thus creating lasting memories for me and my family.

Never underestimate what small children can learn. Kylan knows the difference between a two-toed sloth and a colobus. To me, anything that swings from a tree in a tropical environment is a monkey.

"Look at the monkey, Ky!"

"No, Mama, that's not a monkey. That a lemur."

My bad.

Digby just took everything in from the convenient view of his Baby Bjorn. I admit, it kills my back, but any over-the-shoulder contraption that keeps baby quiet for hours at a time is worth the agony. Judging from Digby's coos and eyebrow raising, I believe the jellyfish exhibit was his fav.

Later we figured Ky, age two, would really dig the fireworks, as he did at age one. He response to the very first beautiful burst of light was, "Wanna go NIGHT, NIGHT! Hold me tight."

So I did. And he went to bed. Now it's my turn.

Brutal Honesty Final Gets My Attention

So obviously, I've skipped describing a huge chunk of my life. Like how I screwed up college, or how I ended up in jail more than once, and how I slept with more guys than I'd like to admit (or count). And to be honest, those events are meaty blogs to post for the future. Oddly enough, without all of the terrible, awful, no-good, very bad things that happened to me, or that I brought upon myself, I wouldn't be the loving mama I am today. I was truly blessed to have been a walking disaster because I can now give an accurate account of what happens when someone habitually makes the wrong decisions, and good things don't happen. I eventually started to learn from those experiences, but it wasn't until years later, after I made enough wrong choices to fill a baseball stadium, that I realized I had no audience to perform for. The only one applauding my bad behavior was me.



But someone said the right thing to me, at the right time, to piss me off enough to change my life. It wasn't even anyone who really mattered all that much to me. Her name was Kelly, and she worked with me at a bar. A group of the girls that worked there were talking about work in general, and Kelly blurted out, "Yeah [Misguided Mama], you're definitely a LIFER."

Now, a lifer is someone who ends up doing something for the rest of their days on this planet. Kelly just told me she whole-heartedly believed that I would die sliding a Bud Light down to Bus Driver Ed during happy hour. Although I had been there for four years, and I greatly enjoyed bar tending, Kelly's statement made it clear to me, and everyone else, that I really had no ambition to do anything else. I'm telling you right now, you don't want to be a bartender forever. It's quick money, but you have to be nice to everyone, even when they're rude and demeaning. The lifestyle is draining. I would sleep my days away, work until 3am, then end up drunk at an after hours bar or partying at someone else's house until 4am. Most mornings I'd end up next to someone I knew vaguely, and some mornings next to someone I didn't know at all. Rinse and repeat. This was my life. Not very rewarding to say the least.

I was 26 when Kelly dropped this bomb on me. Hell, she didn't know she said anything wrong, but I'm sure the scowl on my face said it all. I did NOT want to be a lifer. I wanted better things for myself. So the next day, I got myself back into school- a very prestigious community college. Kelly, with her random act of bluntness, helped Reality to fire a signal flare into my realm of vision, and with just enough light to get my attention.