Some of my "advice for moms" after it's been run through many different languages with Google Translate [Any comments I make about the translation will be in brackets and in blue]:
1. Original Version:
It is perfectly acceptable to start crying over seemingly small things because you are so sleep-deprived that you can’t think straight. If you have to change the baby’s outfit again because they got some kind of body fluid on it again, go ahead and cry. If you just dropped the paper towel for the third time because you are too tired and weak to keep a grip on it, let the tears roll. Or if all of your children have taken up the tribal chant of “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom” at the same time, but no one can hear your small, pathetic plea to stop talking because your head is about to explode, then curl up the fetal position in the corner of the room and sob. That’s not being too emotional; that’s being smart! If we didn’t let it out in a cry sometimes, we might explode in a fit of rage!
Translated Version:
I refused something that I couldn't think of clearly and began to accept things that didn't help me. If you need to change your baby again because there is still liquid in it, go ahead and keep crying. The third paper towel is too tired and will be damaged if dropped. Or even if all the children in the family tree are playing "mother, mother, mother, mother", the voice of the girl who does not want to ask any questions about the conversation causes her head to explode and the fetus appears in the corner of the room and trembles. If you can't hear Not very emotional. Christie! Get angry if you don't cry!
[Wow, that first sentence is so philosophical. And, yeah, I think there should always be liquid in babies. If there wasn't, they'd be called "mummies." And the fetus that appears in the corner and trembles? Too creepy! And just where did "Christie" come from?]
2. Original Version:
Never - and I repeat, never - pick up a pair of scissors and impulsively start hacking away at your hair while you are home alone with a little one. I don’t know, but there’s something about having a baby that makes you want to cut your hair. Call it the “Steel Magnolias syndrome”. Well, one day when D. was a baby, I looked in the mirror and realized that I hated my hair and wanted it cut shorter. I’m one of those that won’t think or care about something for so long, but then as soon as I decide that I don’t like it and want a change, I have to do it NOW!
And that’s what happened with my hair. I couldn’t wait for an appointment. And so despite the fussy baby at my feet, I picked up a pair of scissors and began to cut. Well, I don’t know exactly how it happened, but somewhere in my tunnel-vision-frenzy to make sure my hair was even (and because of the feverish anxiety that comes with letting a child whine at your feet), I began to lose all perspective of what I was doing.
And when I finally put the scissors down and stepped back, my eyes were opened ... and I gasped in horror. My hair, which had been about shoulder-length, had now mysteriously been shortened to about an inch long. No joke! I went from a bob to a crew cut. And I seriously didn’t see it happening as I tried to even out “this little piece, and that quarter-inch, and hurry because D. is getting more upset.”
Well, when the shock wore off, there was nothing left to do but grab the hair gel and spike it up into a sassy, little style. And then I waited for my husband to come home from work. And when he walked in the door, I was waiting there to meet him, giggling in embarrassment. The “Who is this young man and what have you done with my wife?” look on his face was priceless.
If I could have hidden for months, I would have. But a few days later, we had to go to my nephew’s birthday party. As I walked around the corner and came into view of Jason’s relatives, his sister let out a shocked “yelp” at the sight of my hair. But you know what's funny is that I had actually forgotten that I now looked like an adolescent boy. And I began to look all around me, like, “What is it? What are looking at? What made you gasp?” And then I realized that it was me! And so I say once again: Never, ever, cut your own hair on impulse while you’re home alone with a baby.
Later that day ...
Translated Version:
No, I repeat, you do not dare to cut and trim yourself as soon as you are at home with your child. I do not know, but there is something in the child that wants you to cut yourself. We call this "ferrous magnolia syndrome." One day in D., where the girl looked at me and saw my mirror hated his hair and cut it wanted to. I was one of those people who did not like or love me for a very long time [well, that's sad and pathetic!] but when I decided that I did not like it and wanted to change, I have to do it now!
What happened to the hair. I can not wait to see the child envy his feet, take the scissors and start cutting. [That's just creepy!] Well, I do not know exactly what happened, but there is a place in the anger in my eyes to make sure my hair is smooth (and because of the heat that makes the baby cry when you turn your legs) and you lose everything you has done.
When he got up, and have done abominable officers ... and spoke eyes scared me. Her hair grew in a slit made by a miracle shoulder to shoulder. [And I say 'huh!?!'] This is ridiculous! He went on, Bob haircut. Heat And I never saw him when "I tried to hold this little book together for three months and ran because D. was so angry."
When the effect disappears, all we have to do is rub our hair and touch it proudly. Then came the need to wait. When he entered the house, waited for him cast sidelong ivory. [Once again ... "huh!?!"] Then he asked: "Who is this Guy and what did you married?" His face was precious.
If I could hide for months, I would. A few days later, we had to go to Grandpa and Grandma's birthday party. When I turned the corner and saw Jason's family members, his sister burst into tears when he saw my hair. [So the sister is a "he", huh?] But the funny thing is, I never forgot I was that young now. I looked around and said, "What is this? What are you looking for? Cicero [Cicero?], why are you crying?" And then I know it's me! So I repeat: Do not cut off your head when you are alone with the baby when they are at home. [Yeah, I'd say that's pretty wise advice.]
[I think Google Translate was smoking something when it translated this one!]
#3: Original Version:
One time, when D. was two years old, he came to me with a messy diaper. In a flash of genius, the jar of chocolate pudding in the fridge came to my mind. I secretly got the jar, stuck my finger into the pudding and brought out a big glob of it. Then acting like I was checking his diaper, I pretended to dip my finger into the mess. I held my pudding finger up in the air, showed my son and went, “Oh, eewww, poopy diaper.” Then I stuck my finger in my mouth and licked it off with dramatic flair.
My sweet, innocent two-year-old (who probably thought the world of his mother) screamed in horror and clawed his way backward across the couch, yelling, “No, poopies! OH, NO! POOPIES!” I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t finish the joke.
Oh, the things we do for our own amusement sometimes. Of course, then I had to give him a little speech about how it was really just pudding, and we don’t eat real poopies, just in case. (I’m twisted, I know! But he loves hearing that story to this day! Laughs so hard that he cries.)
Translated Version:
Once when D. was two years old, he came to see me in a tangled diaper. With technical skills, I got to refrigerate a bucket of chocolate pudding. I secretly steal the pot, dip my finger in the pudding, and leave behind a big roll. We must now look at the napkin to simulate it and make a pretense to stick my finger in it. I raised my finger on screen, my baby finger and said, "Oh, ewwww, put on diapers." Then I put my finger in my mouth and lick it with my fingers. [I licked my finger with my fingers? How on earth!?!]
My innocent son two years ago (which is probably what I think of his mother's world) screams in horror and scratches on the couch and cries out loud "No, Daddy! Oh no! Poetry!" I laughed holding back unable to end the game.
Things sometimes we have to do, so happy. [Sounds like something Yoda would say.] Of course, all I have to do is tell him it’s just a pudding, and other than that, we rarely eat sh*t. [We rarely eat it!?!] (I know I'm stupid! But he still likes to hear this story! He laughs a lot and cries.)
#4 Original Version:
If there is one thing that I know for certain, it’s that, with children, there will be spots. Get comfortable with spots on your clothes. When you have young children, you can expect spots of all kinds, from coffee to spaghetti sauce to spit-up to snot. (Body fluids don’t scare you as much after having children!)
And how is it that when I’m mixing batter and one drop flies out of a bowl, it lands square on my shirt in a spot that I don’t really want people staring at? Despite the fact that it had about 270 other degrees it could have gone? That, or it will hit me right in the eye, going around the glasses that I’m wearing. That always amazes me!
I am not kidding, the other night during dinner, R. was sitting three feet away from me. Three feet! When he said something, a large piece of food shot out of his mouth, flew around my glasses, and hit me right in the inside corner of my eye, where it proceeded to bother me for an hour. How in the world?
Translated Version:
When I know something, kids are wrong. Make your clothes better. If you have children, bring some noodles and otters that smell like dishes. (The body is not at risk at birth!)
It is. How do I mix flour from a bowl and find my clothes with people who do not want to? Choose though 270 other items? Something else pulled my heart out and brought with me the cup I had. It is often surprising. [I'll say!] The day before I went for a walk, R. sat down with me for another day. Three feet! I talk, a big meal comes out of my mouth, I pick up the window, point to the corner and see myself for an hour. What is the world?
[I'm not sure where to get otters that smell like dishes, but whatever.]
#5 Original Version:
Oh, and one more piece of advice for the women out there who have given birth to children: Cross your legs when you sneeze!
Translated version:
Oh, but the money of the mother who gave birth: check your legs when you buy!
