So, my son has been up since the ass crack of dawn, my husband is deathly ill and I managed to rub some unknown goober in my eye (could it be...hair gel?) that has been causing it to burn since pre ass crack of dawn; in short, I have gotten no sleep. This leads me to be a bad, bad mommy; even worse than usual. Take for instance: to quel the screeching while trying to watch the Dharma and Greg marathon this morning, I gave the boy pizza for breakfast. Unheated. The horrors! In my defense, I expect my son to go to college; training for college lasts a lifetime, you know, until 18 when he gets out of my house. The first lesson in surviving college: Left over cold pizza.
Let us look at the list of transgressions that will strip away the good mommy badge that I never had to begin with. My daughter, though I love her to bits, is a dramaqueen. I do not mean this lightly; the girl is destined to be some sort of dramatic interpreter; soap opera actress, motivational speaker, that chick who used to work down at the DMV. Every morning is a battle with her; she HATES getting up in the morning. To make my life and hers easier I have her set out her clothes the night before, including back pack, socks, underwear, coat, etc. That way there's no decisions to be made in the morning, I just have to micromanage the hell out of her to get her dressed; if we get through a morning with only one meltdown, we're good. Anyway, one morning after many meltdowns and her still not being dressed, I remembered my friend telling me about taking her kid to school in pjs because he wouldn't get dressed. Well, I did the same. That's right; I got tired of fighting her and took her to school in her pjs with a change of clothes in her backpack when she decided to get dressed.
My child will be traumatized; let us take a look at the list of bad mommy things I've done just to her:
She wanted to wear flip flops. It was snowing out. I told her it was cold and her feet would freeze. She really wanted to wear the damn flip flops. Fine. I know the henmeeting moms were horrified, but you know what? She hasn't worn flip flops when it's snowing out since.
Let me get this straight kid: you want to wear pink tights, with a black and blue plaid skirt, and a polka dot shirt? With 3 pigtails? And tennis shoes? MMkay, well, express yourself away smallfrye. And I, I shall tell the raised eyebrow people with a shrug of the shoulders and say, "I work, her dad stays home with her. Isn't it funny how you can always tell when the dads get the kids dressed?" with a chuckle as I look down at my embroidered wrap skirt, fishnets, fuckme boots, buddha top and sweater. Um, yeah, not so sure they're buying it.
When she was about 4, she threw the stark ravingist mad temper tantrum at the supermarket. Now, generally I would abandon shopping cart, load her in the car and go home. This night, however, I was having a dinner party; specifically my husband's grandmother and her brother and his wife, my friend and her husband who was on leave from the army, her sister and brother in law, and a friend of my husband that he worked with. I did not have time to deal with this because I had to get home and cook, so I stepped over her and said, "Wow, that is a LOUD scream. Where's your mother at? Scream a little louder, maybe she'll find you." and continued on to the produce department to try to find some fresh feta for the greek salad. Fortunately she simmered down, thoroughly confused.
And as if traumatizing my daughter to the point where some have college funds, my kids have therapy funds, I now have my son to torture. My son, who, no matter how hard I try to explain no matter how hard he tries he will never have a go go gadget penis that will stretch over his head, is proving to more traumatize me than I can him. Boys are a lesson in patience and gray hair; god bless hair dye. But I will triumph!
Last night, he slept in a cardboard box. That's right, you heard me. After months of waiting for our aircompressor to arrive, we got a shiny new compressor to decorate the garage and a giant box. The box immediately got thrown to the children; the boychild promptly dragged his pillows, his blanket, and his cup, crawled in and promptly shut the lid. This morning, he had his cold pizza in that box too. Rather than materialistic toys and such, I think perhaps people should just give my kids boxes.
With the holiday season, I've been getting many requests for the kids "christmas lists". Enter bad mommy again. Christmas drives me nuts; the season of giving has become the season of assholes using thier credit cards as penis extensions. The latest toy is a status symbol and this should be the season of giving to others, others not inclusive of credit card companies. So, I give my standard, "They don't need anything; anything that allows them to use their brains and explore creativity is good. Art sets, books, boardgames, educational stuff, clothes etc. The biggest thing banned in my house: bratz dolls. Those scare me, and frankly if I wanted my daughter to dress like a skank, I'd let her watch the 24 hour Britney Spears channel. Bratz dolls are the in thing this season, as are mindless video games; I'd just as soon leave those at the store for other people to push, shove and fight over.
My kids are going to think I'm the biggest asshole ever until they have kids of their own.
No comments:
Post a Comment