Peegate

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Peegate. If you are thinking that I’m talking about urine. Human waste. Pee. Pee pee. Wee wee. A scandal about wee wee of Watergate proportions.

You would be correct.

Today we had tennis lessons in the morning for the kids. After getting them there, my husband and I decided to run home and throw dinner in the oven. When we left home to go pick the kids up from tennis, my husband happened to notice something shocking happening outside our home.

A mother had pulled over, taken her kid out of the car, and was letting the kid (5 or 6 years old) pee all over the bushes and sidewalk. Private property bushes and public sidewalk. Where children play.

I, frankly, was at first shocked. In fact, I double-taked a few times. I mean really, who does something like this?

Then I considered my obligations. As the coordinator of my neighborhood watch group, and after hearing about incidences like this happening through out the community in the past, I figured it was time to mention it. So I posted in the community Facebook group, as well as the neighborhood watch group.

But before I could even have an opportunity to extend the posts to our other affiliated sites, the mommies started commenting.

They thought it OK. In fact, they thought that if a family is out for a stroll, they should be able to drop their drawers and pop a whiz wherever and whenever they want.

They defended the mom’s choice. In spite of the fact that less than two blocks away – a 1 minute drive – there are a host of stores with bathrooms available. And that less than one mile away – a 3 minute drive – there is a public park with public restrooms.

They still erred on the side of the mother.

One person even went so far as to say that if a child has the stomach flu – the norovirus – that they should be able to pull over and have the child take a shit in a person’s bushes and lawn. When I went to highlight the fact that this would actually be a public health emergency, that commenter seemed to recognize the absurdity of this statement, and deleted her comment.

Just…let that…sink in a moment…

And then the personal attacks started. People told me I should stop nagging. They told me I should relinquish my neighborhood watch coordinator duties to someone else. They said I needed to “get a life” and one person emailed me and told me to go to hell.

It all got out of hand, and all over a little wee wee.

The bottom line of the situation is this: public urination, even of a minor child, is illegal. If a police officer had seen that, the mother could have been fined, or worse – if she became belligerent – arrested. Moreover, urinating on someone else’s lawn is a no brainer: there is never a scenario in which that is OK. This isn’t like the fucking sticks either. We live in the suburbs. A townhouse community in which houses are stacked atop each other. You whiz on someone’s bushes, you whiz on their patio, neighboring plants, and side walk too. By posting about this, I was simply highlighting as neighborhood watch coordinator a safety and legality issue.

But even when I tried to quell the situation with a level-headed comment, things just continued to spiral out of control.

I recognized at that point the issue:

We live in an entitlement culture. An entitlement culture so hellbent on what they are owed that they seriously believe it is justifiable to excrete human waste on another person’s personal property.

If it sounds absurd to you, you are in the right. If you understand the reasons behind the law, you get the hygiene reasons behind it.

If you think it’s OK to let your kid piss in somebody’s yard, please move along.

The end result of Peegate is that there are a lot of changes that will need to be made to the way our neighborhood watch group shares issues in the community. That’s a positive, in my opinion – no matter how much drama it took to get there. We actually lost two block captains over the issue, to which I say: good riddance. We gained a new one in a key area, and she promises her street as been pee-free for ten years.

I want to know what you guys think. Do you think that there are some laws that were made to be broken? And if so, is Peegate one of them? Would you ever urinate in someone’s yard? Or is this the most uncouth, redneck thing you could ever imagine to come out of the the suburbs?

I’m thinking of making yard signs that people can post saying things like “Peegate: it’s cool to make a wee wee if you need need.” Or, for the flip side: “This lawn accepts strange dumps.”

Sounds absurd, right?

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Dear Biological Parents,

I don’t blog on this topic very often, mostly because it is far too personal and complicated, and more importantly the thought of some numb nuts commenting in a way that offends me is too much for me to worry about to actually put it out there.

Today is different, though.

Without getting into all the sordid details of my life and those of my little chitlins, I will just say this: for a few years, now, I have been trying to foster some sort of a relationship between my Pookie and her biological father for her own sake, and because he seemed to want to – at the very least – know her. He has not had her in his life much since she was a little baby, and quite frankly this is a good thing. He is very irresponsible, he does not have financial security, and he did not really want to have kids. He lives with his parents, has a wife, and loves his hobbies. I am fine with all of that, really – I am happy to try and facilitate some kind of relationship with her, since he actually indicates he wants to (which is more than I can say for a lot of other people that have been involved in her sweet, little life).

But there comes a time when I have to look at the situation and say exactly what the courts say: is this really in the best interest of the child?

This weekend we let her go to her biological father’s house for a couple of days, at which time she was exposed to cigarette smoke, things they are aware she is allergic to, and fed nothing but crap. When I asked him what she ate because she had an allergic reaction to something that caused her to break out in hives yesterday (upon getting home), he said: spaghetti, cocoa puffs, lucky charms, frozen pizza bites. What a diet, right?

Today I took her to the doctor because hydrocortisone cream and her regular allergy pills didn’t cut it on the hives. The culprit was that it’s apparently a fucking zoo over at their house. Not only does grandma smoke regularly, but they have two cats, two dogs, some wild rat in the back, and a shit-ton of fish. At the very least, she is allergic to the cats. The doctor’s bill, in the end, came to way more than we had budgeted or intended on – of which we will see not one bit from him – and which she admitted was because they let one of their cats bother her repeatedly through the entire visit, despite the fact that she is terribly allergic and they know.

Then this evening, Pookie informed me that they told her over the weekend that her biological father and his wife have decided to have a baby. This boggles my mind in ways you faithful blog followers could never understand. Boggles my fucking mind.

So I’m a little mad. And tipsy, because I allowed myself more than the standard “glass of wine with dinner” tonight. If I were to write a letter to biological parents that aren’t really parents, it would look something like this:

Dear Biological Parents,

Just because you can’t keep your dick in your pants or you spread your legs so wide people think you might be in the circus (with that flexibility and all), does not mean you are a parent. There is much more to being a parent than just creating a zygote. There is much more to being a parent than squeezing that thing through your chachi, or standing by while it all takes place and calling out “I’m a dad!”

If you don’t pay your child support, you are not a parent. If you believe a steady diet of Cocoa Puffs and chocolate chip cookies is adequate, you are not a parent. If you do not know the difference between toxic and non-toxic, clean and unclean, safe and unsafe, you are not a parent.

If you think it’s okay for your kid to have cigarette smoke blown in her face, you are not a parent. If your kid has a very serious allergy and you just blow it off because you are too busy or lazy or tired or stupid to limit their exposure, you are not a parent.

Being a parent is so much more than sticking your dick in some ho and calling it a day. Being a parent is staying up all night because your child had a nightmare and can’t get back to sleep. Being a parent is sacrificing your trip to Sephora for makeup so that your kid can have her allergy medicine. Being a parent is never making a food again that your kid is allergic to, unless they aren’t home. Being a parent is ensuring your child eats healthy and has a fruit or vegetable first every, single fucking goddamned time they have a snack. Being a parent is doing homework with your kid, and sitting with them while they read for a minimum of 15 minutes a day – because you know that’s what they need to succeed in life. Being a parent is sacrificing day fucking in and day fucking out.

Being a parent has nothing to do with your dick or your hoo ha, or a zygote that happens to have the same DNA as you. Being a parent is everything that happens afterwards – from the first time your kid wakes up and says “mommy, I had a nightmare,” to the minute they tell you “momma, he asked me to marry him.”

I am so fucking sick and tired of these worthless scumbags that don’t have the slightest idea of taking responsibility for the actions they choose to make. I’m tired of it in every walk of life, but today I am especially tired of this. Biology has nothing to do with being a parent. All this other shit does. As I slather cream all over my sweetheart’s hives, sit up with her all night because she is upset about feeling sick, and then wake up tomorrow to no make up because I had to spend all my make up money on this unintended visit to the doctor.

I sometimes wonder why  some people don’t take on their responsibilities as parents, though. Because despite how upset I am about it now, and how much I complain, it’s so worth it.