Three In the Bed

I Hired The Hot Babysitter, But Maybe You Shouldn't

 
In my heroic retelling of my heart wrenching ordeal with "moth babies" in my daughter’s  bed, I mentioned that I had recently hired a rather attractive babysitter. This raised some eyebrows and concerns as to whether this was a good decision. Am I remarkably attractive? Am I unaware of the tendency of men of a certain age, worn down by diaper duty and mid-life muffin-top to take their testosterone for a test drive?  Yes, I am fully aware of all these tendencies and unfortunately, I am no beauty queen.  So why would I take such a gamble? Well, a few reasons which I will outline here so you too can decide if you want to hire the hot babysitter.

Let me start with my own rationale. My husband is from a tiny island in the Caribbean. What it lacks in geographical size, it more than makes up for in spirit and beauty, including a Miss Universe title. So culturally, my husband has grown up around beautiful women in bikinis.  My own mother-in-law puts me to shame in a bikini and not because she is a plastic surgery addict, it is because she was genetically predisposed to beauty.  My new sitter simply could not help her beauty; she was culturally predisposed to it. Ladies, it's a tough pill to swallow, but it's true. Some cultures have the beauty gene. American women are beautiful, but are more widely known for their predisposition to seasonal cupcake creations than say, topless sunbathing. I was born and raised in Canada, making me predisposed to diversity and politeness, so basically she was hired as soon as she walked in the door and thanked me for taking the time to interview her.

Hotness is nothing new to my husband. Now, why he chose to marry someone who is so unsexy it is at times - awkward (who knew there was a wrong way to wear a thong? ) is something we can continue to explore in future posts. For now, let's talk about my new hot-sitter and more importantly, whether it is something you should consider. Here are what I think should be your three main deciding factors.

1. Is She Trying To Be Hot? If there is a distracting amount of cleavage at the interview or she laughs at your husband's golf jokes, take a pass. (There is no such thing as a funny golf joke) No mom needs the stress of someone trying to be hot or the awkward stare when the above-arse tattoo rears its ugly head as she bends over in the low-rise jeans to pick up little Johnny. So "No" on the trying to be hot baby sitter. Next.

2. Are You Hot? This is an important question. You can't have two hotties in the same household or things are going to get crazy. You will spend each day trying to one-up the hot-sitter until one day you find yourself leaving for work wearing a tube top and 4" heels. So just, let it go. Your reign of hotness can continue uncontested, at least in your own household (but if you find yourself staring into the bathroom vanity saying "mirror mirror on the wall who is the fairest mom of all..." I suggest you get therapy.) And most importantly...

3. Are You Secure? Okay, she is not trying to be hot and you are not particularly hot, fine. But, are you truly secure about yourself? Do you scour Oprah magazine for the latest "True Self” quiz? Then maybe take a pass on the hot-sitter. Trust me, it's not easy to handle great beauty at close range, it gives off a glow that can bring on a depression that you weren't aware lay just below the surface. You may spontaneously  burst into tears when she shows up wearing a white dress and tells you how much fun they are going to have finger painting. You may go fetal with her ability to carelessly sweep her tresses up into a sexy tussle using only a crayon to keep it in place. So be sure. Be sure of yourself and ability to handle hotness, because well, it's hot to handle...

So take my advice for what's it is worth.  Hot is not for everybody. But if it’s unaffected and if she is sweet and lovely and  laughs when you tell her that her buns should be bronzed for the world to see, then I think you found a keeper.

Forget Bed Bugs - Ever Heard of Bed Worms?

 
Bed worms? Oh, I bet that got your attention. Let me set the scene because I am sure you are trying to figure out if this is the blog of an animal hoarder who is about to launch into a rambling defense of goats sleeping on the bed.  I maintain what I consider to be an average home.  I have a laundry schedule and an ample supply of disinfecting wipes and floor cleaning devices.  We are your typical family with children and work and dogs and OMG - bed worms.  

Let me start at the beginning. We have a lovely baby sitter who cares for our ten month old son. She recently became a new mother and is the type of unaffected, twenty something beauty that almost certainly went home from the hospital wearing her skinny jeans and a thong.  Yesterday afternoon she greeted me at the door holding a baggie with what appeared to be a tissue inside. “Hi! Did you have a great day? I want to give you this before I forget. I found them on your daughter’s bed.”  Handing me the baggie, she turned and walked away to the living room where a rousing game of peek-a-boo was underway with my son.

Inside the baggie on a tissue were two tiny wriggly worms. I went dizzy with confusion. All I could do was spit out “whu” sounding words:  What? Where? When?” Wuwuwu… “Yes. In-her-bed” she confirmed and carried on about her business as calmly as if she had found crayons on the coffee table. 

Without proper support to balance my reaction level, I did what I most typically do – go straight to panic mode. If I am around you in any crisis situation, you needn’t worry. I have already dialed 911, grabbed a fire extinguisher and started CPR while simultaneously screaming for assistance.

With 911 off the table of options, I do the next best thing by texting my husband and mother-in-law (who is a science/lab person). Both immediately call the house because, well, I texted them 911. (Oh, like you wouldn’t?)

While I am waiting for them I go ahead and get the gasoline can out of the garage because basically I figure we are going to burn the bed and possibly the house and just, like, start over.

My mother in law is the first on the scene because there is nothing a scientific person likes more than a good hypothesis. My husband is a close second because there is nothing he likes more than a good excuse to criticize my housekeeping skills. He would probably also like a good excuse to run away with the babysitter. (Worms your honor, in our daughter’s bed!)

Anyway, looking at the wrigglies they immediately rule out bed bugs, because they are definitely worm-like. So while they are Google image searching away, I continue gathering up sheets and bedding for the big burn and start spray disinfecting anything that is not moving.

About thirty minutes and a microscopic examination later (I swear she has one in the glove box) a scientific conclusion is reached- “Moth Babies.”

 Okay, so the scientific term is not “babies” - it's larvae, but when they first said it,I completely blacked out and fell head first into a bucket of bleach.  They roused me with room deodorizer and decided it was best to simply refer to the larvae as “babies.”

You see, we have had a lot of moths lately. I switched our porch light to one of those energy efficient florescent bulbs and well, they have been to it like a moth to a... well you know. This coupled with my daughter’s desire to open and close the front door, oh, one thousand times a night allowed a few of them to sneak in.

Marry this up with me recently pulling out a wool blanket for the chilly nights and you get moth-babies in the bed. Sigh.

Denied my bed burning, I chose to burn through a half dozen loads of laundry and, after an unmerciful moth culling, all has returned to normal.

No, that is a lie. I am not okay. I have post traumatic crawly thing in the bed disorder and share this with you as a warning – moths are bad news. They breed like rabbits but have much less attractive offspring. Offspring that could end up in your daughter’s bed and cause household upheaval that for one shining moment lets your husband think he finally has cause to turn you over to the authorities and run off with the babysitter. So trust me, wash those wool blankets before you put them on the bed this season.

 

Open Letter to Mom Bloggers

 

Dear Mom Bloggers, 

I hope this letter finds you well and that your family leaves you alone long enough to read this - so go ahead and lock yourself in the bathroom now.

It was a little over a month ago that I set foot in the world of Mom Blogging. I came with no prior knowledge except that it was better than banging out my thoughts on a typewriter and locking them in the attic for the kids to find years after my death.  I can imagine them finding the hidden posts and then sobbing when confronted by the awe-inspiring poetic talent that lived in their midst. They would then languish in the guilt that perhaps if they hadn't been so selfish (feed me) and demanding (clothe me) they may have gotten to know their mother better. Grief stricken, they would turn to their father (who is still living because that's his punishment) and insist that a large shrine be built in my honor where all will come to hear my inspiring essays. My husband is then forced to take all the life insurance money (suck it, new wife) and build said shrine, where he too will weep (no one wants an old broke widower) and wish he had been more supportive so I could have published my thoughts while still living (instead of leaving me with the kids three nights a week to go to soccer). 

Oh I am so sorry, this isn't about me, this letter is all about YOU. I have been reading your posts, following your Tweets and I have so many thoughts they couldn't possibly all fit in your little comment box, so I have written you this letter and I hope you enjoy it. Fair warning, it's a bit cheeky - but also fun,  like getting a Brazilian wax from Betty White.

First of all, your blog site looks amazing. You clearly spend a lot of time and energy on it and it shows. You also make me wonder if we couldn't help unemployment simply by having Microsoft use Mom Bloggers for its help lines. Of course you already know you are a Word Press wizard and your site looks great, which leads me to my next point.

You push people to your site like a drunken carnie at the ball toss. Now come on - let's be honest. I haven't seen this much fighting for a pole position since open auditions for Dancing With The Strippers. (Snookie is voted off first episode) It's understandable, if my site looked like yours I would want it featured in the next issue of Cookie magazine. Of course it's not just how great your site looks it's your posts that keep moms coming back.

You really like to test products. I am starting to think we could do away with animal testing labs given your willingness to try the range of products the marketing gurus send your way. I'll admit that I am a tad jealous. I would be a product whore too if someone would send something to my house other than coupons for duct cleaning.

You also love give aways. It brings out your inner Oprah. “I am giving away VVVIIIBRRAATORS LAAADIES” **Wild Cheering Applause** Don't take offense,  I am just jealous because I am too disorganized to hand out prizes. You would have to come to my house to pick up your prize where it would be waiting out front in a plastic bag. (Unless my husband threw the bag away and then you would stand on my porch feeling awkward while I scream profanities at him).

But this is all an oversimplification of what you do and it  is a lot more than test vibrators and give away skin cream.

You are brave. You share your life stories to help moms through everything from colic to special needs to autism. That is amazing. You are an unsung hero and I am sure there are no shortage of mothers, marriages and ultimately children who have benefited from your candid testimonials. You exemplify the power of the personal.

You are funny. Oh My God, you are funny! I don't know the acronym for "Off My Zoloft Thanks to You" but that sums it up. I want us to hang out and play drinking games.

Which reminds me - you are a lush. Honestly, why your blog isn’t sponsored by Grey Goose or Jackson Triggs is beyond me.

By now there is probably banging on your bathroom door, so I will wrap up.

You are genuinely interesting and creative and have set the bar high. I hope I can keep up.

 Yours truly,

Tina aka Three In The Bed 

Nancy Grace Profiles "Three In The Bed"

 
Nancy Grace is my guilty pleasure. I love to see her all fired up, interrupting her guests, berating her field producers and flashing fuzzy photos of her beloved twins. (psst Nancy, get an iphone) She is John Walsh meets Ann Richards. The trouble is I usually fall asleep watching her and consequently, Nancy haunts my dreams.  The other night I dreamt she did an entire episode from outside my home and I still can't get it out of my head.

Nancy: Tonight, I have my producer outside the home of one Miss Three In The Bed. Kendra, do we have the mother's name yet or just this "screen identity?" 

Kendra: No Nancy, just the screen name so far. We have been asking neighbors all day if anyone here knows the real name of this mother but most have simply replied she seems too "frazzled" to talk much.  Another commented that she often appears "confused" or "disoriented" and makes several trips from the house to the car before actually leaving - coming back out with her purse, sippy cups, backpacks or assorted pieces of clothing.  Several others commented she usually takes the  garbage out in her pajamas and one went so far as to speculate that she doesn't appear to own a bra.

Nancy: I see. What can you observe about the home?

Kendra: Well Nancy,  we can't actually go on the property but we are fortunate enough to be here on garbage day. The recycling bin is full of what appear to be empty frosting containers, wine bottles,  crumpled up to-do lists and a Victoria Secret catalogue with the words "skinny bitches" scribbled across the pages. There are, and again, I am speculating as to what exactly this is, but it appears to be several boxes piled up by the  front door labeled "Goodwill", "I Warned You" and "Skinny Clothes." There is also an "I brake for cookies" bumpersticker on the back of a minivan. 

Nancy: Look - my concern are the children, what have we learned about them? 

Kendra: Again Nancy, not too much. According to neighbors, the children spend a lot of time outdoors, unsupervised and unclothed. When asked one neighbor asked the little girl where her shoes were, she  simply replied "Yo Gabba Gabba."

Nancy: "Yo Gabba Gabba?" What the heck does that mean?

Kendra: We don't know yet Nancy. The youngest boy isn't even a year old but is often seen pushing his own stroller down the street while Three In The Bed tags along behind, eating Skittles and reading The New Yorker.  Another neighbor commented  that the children appear to sustain themselves on Fig Newtons and juice boxes.

Nancy: You know, I want to say I have heard enough, but dare I ask if you have found out anything else? 

Kendra: Unfortunately, yes.  I pulled up a few 911 calls from the residence. There was a fire truck here in the summer when their BBQ caught fire, apparently the result of a Bobby Flay throw down gone terribly wrong. The other was an ambulance call for her husband  whose injuries were not fully disclosed but the notes suggest it was a domestic incident involving the season finale of Mad Men being tivo'd over with Man versus Wild.

Nancy: Excellent work Kendra. You know, I have heard enough. I just want to take those precious babies home, bathe them in buttermilk and dress 'em in gingham. Whoever this Three In The Bed is, she makes me sick. Dr. LoveJoy, author of "First Comes Love,"  tell me I am right, this woman is a narcissist with hoarding tendencies?

Dr. LoveJoy: Well, we don't know much, but I suppose there is a chance, she could possibly be.

Nancy: Exactly. Why these moms don't just hang up the internet is beyond me. Kendra, thank you. Next up, Grandma caught Sexting - in church!