Hate My Kid | Vent about your family, spouse, or even your kid guilt-free!

Yikes! Anything but little girls!

At four years old, my son is already a ladies' man.

As my babies grew into children, I prepared myself for awkward moments when they'd say too much or pick flowers from the neighbor's garden. I didn't, however, think I'd have to worry about little girls stopping by just yet.

I was wrong.

On Tuesday night I heard a light wrap-a-tap-tapping at the door. The sun was setting, so I thought it was strange when I opened the door to find two giggly little girls in spring dresses. At first, I thought they were there to peddle some sort of fundraiser goodies, which was bad enough, but when the curly-locked brunette batted her eyelashes and asked if my son was home while the little blonde one stood there smiling like the Cheshire cat, I just about had a coronary.

My four-year-old son? Really? Already? Is that normal? And what were they going to be doing after dark on a school night? Did they make some hot date to go grab a soda at the gas station down the street when they were riding the bus home from preschool that morning? And who and where were their parents? Did they have any idea their daughters were out on the prowl?

Needless to say, I had to break their little hearts and send them home. My son was already bathed and ready for bed, so no impromptu date with random girls I'd never met before for him. When I asked him about the girls in question, he beamed when he asked, “Both of them?” Men.

When did this start for your children? Please tell me this was a fluke, or I'll have no choice but to get bars put on the windows.

Have a heart: When moms criticize each other in public

Crying babies happen, but some moms seem to forget they've been there, too.

I was at the store today, when a little girl started wailing, and I mean out of her mind wailing, a couple aisles away. Ahh...the screams of a toddler at dinner time. Every parent knows the sound all too well. Unfortunately, some have seemed to block the memories from their minds.

The crying, while unpleasant, didn't get under my skin. As the mom of three former toddlers, I've totally been there and unfortunately have had to take the walk of shame out the door, leaving a full cart behind for clerks to put back. After all, the other patrons don't want to hear it, and allowing my sons to unsettle every nerve in shop for a piece of candy or plastic toy isn't my style. That's a hard precedent to to unset.

What did rub me the wrong way was the mom a little further down my aisle who made a nasty comment about “people controlling their 'bratty' children.” And to who did she say it? Her teenage daughter. That's right. She was a mom.

Now, I can understand a heavy sigh, and maybe even a side eye, had the mother of the screaming child not immediately taken her 18-month-old daughter out of the store. But seriously, was a loud comment on bad parenting warranted? Not really. Especially for someone who had to have been in the poor woman's shoes at one time or another.

I've been annoyed by parents who've let their kids run rampant around a store screaming, grabbing things and throwing them around and talking back to their moms. These few incidents made me shake my head, not so much because the kids were misbehaving, but because their parents were wordlessly allowing it to happen. There's a difference.

On this particular occasion, the child was still clearly a baby, and she was tired and ready to go home. The mom's reaction was patient, but appropriate. She walked out the door with her daughter while her husband finished shopping. She didn't deserve an ugly remark.

If anyone should be ashamed in this situation, it's the mom who made the comment. You couldn't convince me that she's never been in a similar situation, unless she A) never took her kid out in public or B) had the world's first and only perfect child. I hope that the stink-eye I threw her way gave her something to think about after she left. If not, I hope her grandchildren remind her that every kid has a rough shopping trip some day. Paybacks.

Mom's Best Frenemy: On-Demand Programming

It's all fun and games until the kids find out.

If ever a mom had a true frenemy, it was on-demand programming. Sure, it plays nicely at first. It seduces you with the ability to watch shows you missed while the kids were up without having to set the DVR or wait for seasons to be released on DVD. But then, just like an old bait and switch con, it lowers the boom on you. It's not just grownup shows that can be viewed at any time, but kids' shows as well.

The kids, of course, wouldn't ever know about this wonder of modern entertainment if there wasn't that inevitable moment of weakness when Junior is crying because he wants to watch "Diego" at some bizarre time of day. That's when the “mom can fix anything” gene kicks in and, with a few clicks of the remote...BAM...it's "Diego" time. That on-demand programming seems heaven-sent until the little cherub sees the bigger picture and realizes what this means. Every time is "Diego" time.

That one little “EUREKA!” moment then quickly snowballs into an ugly reality. You no longer have the option to say, “Sorry, baby, 'Power Rangers' isn't on right now.” They know too much. Kids are smart like that. It's like Pandora's box; once that instant visual gratification monster is released, there's no takesies backsies.

I've often wondered how parents were able to raise children without all the conveniences and entertainment options that we have today. Then when something like the on demand frenemy rears its ugly head, I totally envy them. Just because we have the ability to give them what they want with ease, doesn't mean we should indulge in the convenience, because seriously, no good can come of it. Unless, of course, you consider a never-ending "Barney" marathon a good thing.

Hey, thanks for breaking that!

My kids are naturals at destroying my electronics.

When people said kids were expensive, I imagined they were talking about the progression from diapers and formula to designer clothes and three gallons of milk a week. Nobody, and I mean nobody, told me about the destruction factor.

I knew there would be a fair amount of wasted toilet paper and an occasional dropped drinking glass, but the heads-up on my kids' seemingly innate destructive prowess would have been a tip much appreciated. Judging by the sheer number of electronics we've had to have repaired or just plain replaced over the past six years, I'd have to say that they're actually working toward some some sort of record.

At first, keeping our valuable toys safe was easy enough. We simply put them out of our children's reach. Setting things up on top of dressers and tables was hardly a big deal, and what few things had to be put down lower were just gated off. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

But then they learned to climb...everything. And, because they can do it so quickly when I'm occupied elsewhere, I'm pretty convinced they're part primate. My kids can absolutely climb anything if the prize is worthy of the effort. It doesn't matter what it is: shelving, furniture or sheer wall, they're little spidey features seem to defy gravity.

You might think that child locks are the answer, and it was when they were 2-year-olds. But, now that my evil geniuses are 4- and 5-year-olds, working around the child safety devices seems to be nothing more than a challenge they have to conquer before they claim their rewards. My children have either figured out the locking mechanisms or simply ripped them off with displays of Hulk-like strength.

Many a printer and tablet has gone the way of the dodo, thanks to my clever little demo crew. They lie quietly and wait until I'm in the bathroom or washing dishes and then they strike, fast and hard. I'm hoping that this destruction phase doesn't last forever, or I'll just have to sell the few things we have left, pad the walls and call it a day.

Do your kids have an appetite for destruction or am I just the lucky one?

Standing up against the intolerance virus

"Intolerance isn't genetic, it's a virus."

As the product of an interracial marriage, intolerance has always been a pet peeve of mine. In fact, nothing gets under my Mexican-Hungarian skin like folks hating on each other for no other reason than that they have different skin tones, languages, religions, interests or any other number of qualities that make individuals, well, individuals.

What outrages me the most about intolerance is that it's such a widespread problem, yet not a single person on this planet was born with it. When we enter the world, we're clean slates with the innate ability to love, accept and embrace everyone else for who they are, without question. If you observe a group of toddlers playing together, they don't pay one bit of attention to the color of each others' skin. It doesn't matter. Friends are friends.

Intolerance isn't genetic, it's a virus. If we're not teaching our children the dangers of that virus, it will continue to spread from generation to generation. And that virus can be lethal. Children suffering from intolerant peers are hurting themselves, and sometimes each other.

As parents, we have a duty to protect our children, and if we're not teaching them that hurting others—for whatever reason—is wrong, then we're not doing our jobs. Intolerance and bullying can lead to alienation, loneliness, resentment, pain, anger and aggression. Where is the good in it? What is the benefit to pointing and laughing at the heavy kid...or the child that needs extra help learning to read...or the one whose parents can't afford to buy him new shoes?

Kids are losing their lives and parents are losing their children every day. And for what? Senseless hate. When will we stand up and say enough is enough? When will parents protect their children by teaching them to love and accept one another?

Intolerance is a virus, and only parents can stop it from spreading.

The not-so-appreciated holiday blues

Do your efforts seem to go unnoticed? You're not alone.

Do you ever get super excited about a holiday or event, and then your kids wind up twisting it into something totally different—and not in a good way? The skirt you spent two days hunting down was the wrong color? The turkey you'd been laboring over all day was too dry? The Easter Bunny didn't squeeze any bubble gum into the overly stuffed basket of candy and gifts? Been there. Done that.

I can count on one hand the number of holidays, birthdays or special occasions that have actually turned out as wonderfully as I'd hoped. The ones that didn't go so hot always left me feeling more than a touch deflated, and often hurt.

It's sad when you feel that your hard work and planning didn't seem to mean much. Pulling off a great holiday takes a lot of energy, strategizing and money, and it's frustrating when tantrums, pouting or ridiculous behavior makes it seem as though the most important people in your world didn't appreciate your efforts at all.

The thing that you—and I—have to remember is that while the short-term results may be a bit disappointing, our kids really do appreciate it, and someday, they will realize just how much everything we've done for them really meant...and cost. The fact of the matter is that whether our kids are 5 or 15, they're still kids and there's a lack of maturity that they're still slugging around with them. They're just not wired to look far beyond themselves yet.

Take heart. It won't last forever. There will come a day—probably when they're dealing with the same issues with their kids—that they'll be at your door with a hug and a long overdue “Thanks, Mom. You're the best.”

Five tips for ruining your daughter's sleepover

Sometimes going the extra mile is necessary...

Ahhh...sleepovers. Those goofy, girly get-togethers that every young lady looks forward to and enjoys. They invite all of their closest friends, don some cupcake jammies and laugh the night away...at the expense of your precious few hours of sleep and grocery budget.

Unless, of course, you work your mojo and sabotage the evening. It's a surefire way to keep your house from being the site of another sleepover, and your daughter will definitely be the most pitied girl in junior high.

If you want to completely wreck your little lady's sleepover and ensure no future overnight giggle gaggles in your home, read on.

Dress for success. Being outdated is as humiliating for you as it is for your daughter. Instead, be hip and trendy with whatever it is your daughter is wearing these days. In the daytime, wear something cute and sparkly, complete with “Mrs. Bieber” tee. At night, feel free to go a little more retro. Sleepwear plays by different rules. Two words: footie pajamas.

Serve up snacks. If your daughter requests chips and pizza, ignore her. She's a kid and doesn't know what's best for her anyway. If you want to go simple, think tofu bar. With a little work, you can mold tofu into just about anything. Or, if you're looking for a touch of class: escargot, calamari, caviar and cuisses de grenouille. Mark each platter accordingly: snails, squid, fish eggs and frog legs. It's an expensive move, but one that is guaranteed results.

Join in the fun. Go ahead, get in there, mama. Be sure to both participate in all their activities and suggest your own. If they're sharing music—bust out some Barry Manilow. If they're giggling about cute boys—giggle about your “cute” husband (sincerity need not apply). If they're watching scary movies—be the loudest shrieker in the room. If they seem bored, whip out some crochet books or teach them how to balance a checkbook. They'll thank you later. Or something.

Invite some friends, too. The more the merrier, right? What's a shindig without the freshly divorced lady from work, the hypochondriac from church and that friend of yours that's always showing you pictures of her cousin's adorable pet schnoodle? Wild times.

Rise and shine. If there is any fight left in them, a 6 a.m. wake up call should seal the deal. Not only will a pot-banging welcome to the morning start the day out with groans, but following it with some Zumba wherever they're sacked out will have them ready to head out by 7 a.m. Nobody wants to watch a mom shake her groove thing to “Sexy and I Know It.” Kids. So judgmental.

If you follow my tips, you're sure to make a lasting impression that will keep your home sleepover-free for years to come. Just think of all the money and beauty sleep you'll save in exchange for one good night of over-the-top humiliation. Sometimes motherhood requires a little sacrifice, right?

Prank Them on April Fools' Day—They Deserve It

April Fools' Day is next Sunday—are you ready to prank your kids? Before you say no, cast your memory back to the literally thousands of diapers you've changed, meals you've prepared and humiliating moments in public you've endured. Don't they have it coming—just a little? Yes? Good.

The key to a great April Fools' Day is being the first to pull off a good gag. And since the humorous holiday falls on a weekend this year, it's the perfect opportunity for a harmless prank that will give you the upper hand. In fact, you're going to strike at the very beginning of their day.

The name of the game is urgency. When you start your prank as they're just waking, they don't have time to realize that it's April Fools' Day, because they'll be, well, panicking. Insert maniacal mom laugh here.

To begin, you'll need to make a few signs. Make one for each of the doors leading out of the house and to hang on their bookbags or on something they have to grab before they leave. On the sign write: What are you doing up? It's Sunday. Happy April Fools' Day! Tape up the signs where they'll see them and head to their rooms.

Before they have a chance to wake up on their own, you have to put on your game face. When you're prepared, run into their rooms like a complete lunatic, sounding the alarm that you overslept and they're late for school. Sure, it's Sunday, but their sleepy brains won't know it, especially if you act genuinely crazy. You know—like you would if it were really the case.

Run into their rooms. Bang on the door. Rip the sheets from their beds. Play it up. Really get their adrenaline pumping. Then, when you've really whipped them into a frenzy—go back to bed. Yep, that's right. Go ahead, it's the weekend and you deserve the rest. A truly happy April Fools' Day to everyone.

Neighborhood Kids: Are they all so inconsiderate, or am I just lucky?

Is the lack of neighborly courtesy commonplace?

I always wondered what turned people into the stodgy, old cliched folks that yell at kids who trespass on their lawns or lose Frisbee on their roofs. That was until I moved into our current neighborhood. I don't know if my husband and I just happened to be sucked into some sort of courtesy-free vortex or kids just aren't being taught basic neighborly etiquette anymore.

When I was a kid, my folks were firm about appropriate behavior, especially when we were around someone else's property. It was very well understood that we were to stay on the sidewalks, keep our litter to ourselves and pick up after our pets. It never crossed my mind to pick my neighbor's flowers or scream at the top of my lungs in front of their houses at 7:30 in the morning.

Apparently, all parents aren't like my parents. I know this because for some crazy reason, the kids in my neighborhood find my yard and everything in it to be public property. I often feel like privacy is a luxury we forfeited when we moved in.

Now, as a parent myself, I completely understand kids will be kids, and that they're only partially responsible for less than courteous behavior. If they aren't taught better, how would they know they were crossing the line? Yeah, neighborhood parents...I'm looking at you.

The thing that blows my mind is that these kids are usually in the presence of their parents when these inconsiderate actions are taking place. I've literally watched kids walking by, hand-in-hand with their parent's and drop things in my lawn. They've even trampled through my flowerbed while I was in my yard playing with my own kids.

What gives? When did it become okay to just let your kids run amok with a complete disregard for the other people in the neighborhood? Is this the norm or am I living smack-dab in the center of an etiquette void?

The Brag Book Incident of '97

When my brother and I were in college, my mom scored us summer jobs at the regional insurance office where she worked. My brother had been working there every summer since he graduated high school, so he had worked his way up to the third floor and more hourly pay. Being that it was my first rodeo, I was low-man on the insurance totem pole, only emerging from the basement a couple times a day to deliver mail to the folks with the windows.

My mom, who'd grown a touch jealous that I was lunching with my brother rather than her, decided to pull a little trick on us. One that has lived on in infamy for years as the Brag Book Incident of '97.

One afternoon as I was doing my rounds, I was delivering mail to my mom's department. I stopped by her desk and grabbed her paperwork, only to be met with what appeared to be a guilty, goofy grin. I wasn't sure what she was up to until a few rows of pencil pushers later. There, sitting on some random old lady's desk, was a parent's "Brag Book" with an all to familiar photo from my youth openly displayed on the front cover. Now, had the picture been a cute image of me cuddling a kitten or sitting on my grandpa's knee, my cheeks may have been a little rosy, but what I saw left me nothing short of mortified.

On the cover of my mom's Brag Book, which had been passed all over the department of ladies my brother and I saw every single day at work, was a picture of us as little kids, taking a bath. Our bodies were only shown from the chest up, and we were very, very young, so it wasn't weird, it was just freaking humiliating. I snatched the book off the giggling woman's desk and thumbed through it on the way up to my brothers cubicle.

Every single picture in there was an embarrasing moment in our personal histories, from my brother's 80s mullet to the Christmas morning when I received my first training bra. It was absolutely horrifying. Needless to say, my brother, who'd shared coffee breaks with those women every summer for four years was even less pleased with mom's shenanigans than I was.

When we confronted her after work, she played it cool, like she couldn't possibly fathom why we'd be upset. She also couldn't stop laughing hysterically, maniacally. It was an icy, cold drive home that hot summer day, and we have yet to pay her back, 15 years later. Luckily, revenge is a dish best served cold.

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