Confessions of a Bad Parent

Chuck's been gone for two weeks. We had a great time visiting him in the City of Angels last weekend (I'll cover vacation highlights later) but I've basically been a single parent for the past two weeks and we're all suffering. Trying to juggle the meals, bills, licensing the car, Ben, bath time, and working is too much for me.

So, here are two recent (read daily) shortfalls. Confession is good for the soul, right?

1. Jacking Benny's Tunes: Ben falls asleep to Baby Einstein's classical lullabies every night. He loves his tunes and even makes the same noises during certain songs (my mom swears he sings along to Ave Maria). We have two CDs, but I left one in California and one at Evie's house. So, I was trying to find his 18 songs in an iTunes list containing literally thousands of songs. I could find the first song, but the library was set on shuffle. As soon as the last melodic notes of "Piano Sonata No. 7" faded away, Busta Rhyme's "Gimme Some More" scared both of us. Hearing Busta shout, "Yeah," was definitely not what we were expecting. Thankfully, SG set me straight on how to manage iTunes and we were in business.

2. Letting Ben Play on the Stove: By the time it's bedtime, our household is starting to unravel. Ben is fussy, dishes are stacked in the sink, food stuck to the table (and elsewhere) and for some reason, Ben insists on being held while I heat up his pre-bedtime milk. If I put him on the floor, he rolls around crying. Holding him is inconvenient so I usually put him on the stove. He scoots around up there, sets the oven to "Clean" mode and stacks my spices in candle holders, stores his pacifier in the tea pot. He loves it and I get 45 seconds to make a bottle. I think we can all agree that the oven is not an appropriate toy for a 15-month-old, but at that time of day, all of the appropriate toys are old news.

I have a myriad of other shortcomings that involve letting Ben eat chips or a cinnamon roll so I can finish dinner. I also let him play on the washer when I'm folding clothes and the vanity when I'm getting ready. For variety, sometimes I put him Chuck's dirty clothes hamper for folding and the hot tub for getting ready. Usually Gary joins him and they look like they're having the adventure of their lives so I only feel a little guilty basically locking my baby up so I can put on some mascara or find clean underwear.

My mom always says, "I know I ruined you kids," and I think about these things and wonder how I'm currently ruining Ben. I can imagine him solemnly telling his therapist, "No, I didn't have any toys as a child; my mother used to put me in a basket of dirty clothes to play." Or worse, "My mother made me listen to Busta Rhymes."