PITA - It's a Type of Flatbread, I Swear!

Until September when I got laid off, I worked for a mortgage broker as a loan processor. Which basically means I processed the paperwork to find out if potential homeowners qualified for a mortgage. As we often say, "When you're dealing with people's money, you're dealing with their emotions." Which is basically a really nice way of saying people are assholes when it comes to signing their life away for 30+ years. Believe me, I understand. That's a huge commitment. Understanding, however, does not mean it didn't piss me off when clients would ride my ass or be rude to me just because they were stressed out.

As a way to combat our frustration, we would occasionally threaten to charge a PITA fee to the worst offenders. We wouldn't have actually done this except that one time..or ten, of course, since it's completely unethical, but the idea of it made us feel much better.

PITA = Pain In The Ass

Since then, I often use the word PITA in that context. "Running all these errands is a PITA.", "MM is being a PITA.", etc. I think it's a nice alternative to actually saying the curse word. Not that I have a problem saying Ass or anything, but I can't exactly say naughty words in front of my children, right? Perfect solution.

Until the other day. Because that's when I broke the cardinal rule of parenthood and called my son a PITA. In my defense, he was being one.

He had a field trip on Thursday and was getting his stuff ready the night before. Because he was so excited, he was almost literally bouncing off the walls. He was running around the house, jumping on the furniture, laughing hysterically over nothing and generally driving me batshit crazy.

Around 8:30 (his bedtime is 9) I asked him if he had his clothes set out and his lunch made. Naturally he did not. I told him to get started and I'd be along to help him shortly. After much more running around, jumping and being a general PAIN IN MY ASS he finally brought me his clothes for the next day. A pair of jeans that he grew out of months ago and a tank top I think he wore when he was 5 (as an aside: I have no idea where he finds these too small clothes. Every few months I go through their clothes and get rid of the ones that no longer fit. And yet inevitably he shows up with something that's so small a toddler could wear it. WTF?) and socks with holes in them. Argh.

I sent him back to get new clothes and he came back with two t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Why two t-shirts? Because I told him he needed to layer. *headdesk* At this point I was beyond frustrated and finally said, "Dude, you're a total PITA, did you know that?"

Uh..oops?

He says, "Mom, what's a PITA?" and I say, without missing a beat, "It's a type of bread" and he gets all skeptical and says, "No seriously, what is it."

Crap, I'm a horrible mother.

I explained that a PITA is a type of flatbread and that it's actually what MM uses when he makes mini-pizzas (another aside: Which is actually something he saw on the Rachel Ray show and is really great for a quick meal. The kids love them and they're easy to make.). I was rather proud of myself for coming up with such a wonderful response until he said, "Mom, that's not what you meant!" My child is not as dumb as I expect him to be. I said, "Really, I just meant that you're stuffed full of it!" and he gave me that look like, "yeah right".

So I did what any good, self-respecting mother would do. I said, "No really, ask MM" and then fled the room.

Did you hear that? That was the sound of my Mother of the Year nomination being flushed down the toilet.

Again.