I’ve kind of seen enough of people talking shit about kids. I’m over it. Enough already. ENOUGH. For real. Everyone should stop doing observational humor about kids. Now, don’t get me wrong. I laugh right along with everyone else…where kids can’t see me, and I’ll tell you why.
Kids can fucking read, and have ears.
Not the babies..I mean, they have ears, but they can’t read. Not like the bigger ones, and more and more kids are on the internet and they see that shit. They see the stand up comics roasting their tiny asses. They see the snarky Youtubers doing their bits, and they aren’t amused.
I get it. Kids are easy targets. They are always doing dumb and adorably funny shit that gets an easy laugh, but honestly cut it out, or you will regret it. Not any time soon, but one day. When you are old, and pooping in your pants without your permission . You will regret it.
Why? One very simple reason. Your kids will have power over your old wrinkled ass. They will not forget that set about them shitting on the floor like the dog when they were two and it “KILLED”, or the time you outed them for liking that one girl in their English class on your blog in your adorably funny story.
Kiss that nice old folks home goodbye. You’re going to Neglectful Acres down the street where they beat you with socks full of bars of soap. Your kid will pay extra for the cheap soap because they hear it hurts more.
Just some food for thought, guys.
Also, if you’re any good at your shit you shouldn’t rely on your kids as content. I’m done. (drops cereal box and kicks that shit across the room)
I figured that since I didn’t do very many on Tuesday I would continue this theme to Thursday. If you know me personally you probably know these stories already. Sorry for the repeat, but for everyone else, enjoy. I’m only doing one photo today since my stories are sort of long.
Look at that perm! That stupid face that almost seems like I’m high! Almost diverts your attention from that ugly ass sweatshirt I’m wearing. Almost. You can’t make it out, but I have a koolaid stache. Yeah, I was one of those kids. I’ve said it many times before, but I was a gorgeous child. GORGEOUS. I illuminated the world with my overbite smile.
This photo has my cousins so that everyone can see for themselves just what we’re dealing with here. Normal children smile like civilized people. They don’t do whatever it is I’m doing in this picture. I was trying to give my much taller cousin William rabbit ears. It was my attempt was unsuccessful as the ears were nowhere near his head. At all. My tiny adorable cousin Eric was safe from me on the other side of his older brother. Way to take one for the team William.
Embarrassing Story #1:
I was in the grocery store with the kids. We had a basket, laden with food and sundries. Reading between the lines:
I hadn’t shopped in two weeks and my husband’s socks were in danger of being used as a toilet paper replacement in the near future.
As I strolled down the aisle I saw what I assumed was a friend of mine in the distance and waved. Okay, I need you to understand what kind of waving I’m talking about here. Not the miss America polite wave, or the timid “please don’t stonewall me” finger flutter. This was the full on, total body convulsing that you only save for people you know really well and have no problems looking stupid for. We are talking full stadium wave like people do during sporting events. You know, the kind of wave you reserve for people you know won’t leave you hanging in the “do we or don’t we acknowledge each other” dance we all do in public.
Here I am, full body waving and my friend looks confused. I’m thinking what the hell, friend? Wave back you ungrateful bitch. I get closer and realize too late that this is NOT my bro, but a complete and total stranger. A total stranger who was almost turning circles trying to figure out who I was flailing at. Of course, in my panic I continued to wave. I mean, I still had a few feet before I was actually face to face with this person. How often do you get a chance to embarrass yourself completely and lose all sense of what it’s like to be a human being? There is a sort of freedom in having nothing to lose. One of my New Year’s resolutions this year was to go outside of my comfort zone. I couldn’t possibly let this chance go by me without savoring it. Mmm, so much savoring.
I hate myself sometimes.
Then Thomas chimes in just as I’m almost consumed by all the self loathing by asking “mom, do you know that lady?”
I had spiraled so far down the shame hole that I was incapable of anything above a whisper and hissed “NO, I have no idea who that is!”
Swiveling to face me, Molly quipped in a monotone voice, “then why are you waving at her”?
Why indeed you little traitor? Obviously, I’m reveling in this moment of unparalleled dread and humiliation. Duh.
As this soon-to-be new acquaintance got closer I had a clear decision to make. I could be an adult and stop waving, smile, and admit my mistake. OR, I could pretend like it never happened. It wasn’t a choice really. Screw maturity. I scraped up what little bit of self esteem I could and, in an ever so natural looking way, pretended like my eyes were following an imaginary friend as if they had quickly gone down another aisle and slowly put my hand down. Of course I wouldn’t still be waving if “my friend” that so clearly wasn’t this stranger, had walked down an aisle without seeing me. I mean, with all that flailing I had done that was totally possible. I pantomimed the desire to follow my friend and smooth sailed like a villain passed the confused stranger like I had never made direct eye contact with her. She must have been mistaken. I was so clearly chasing my phantom friend down. I was full of purpose. I was a concerned friend. I gave my make believe friend a great back story too. It was dramatic and she needed me. Why else would she dramatically turn down an aisle so fast no one else in the store saw her?
I zoomed down an aisle and stood still until I was sure my ruse had worked. No one came back to accuse me of giving everyone in the store second hand embarrassment so….SCORE! I was the best actor on the planet. My method acting game was just too strong for that store. I deserved an Oscar. A fucking Oscar. Before I got too far ahead of myself both children began questioning why we went down an aisle we’d already visited, and just what happened to that friend?
I did a little razzle dazzle, mentioned candy, and got out of that store as quickly as possible.
Embarrassing Story #2:
One time when I was dropping my daughter off at Montessori school, and I took her into the building. She was tiny and wanted me to walk her to the lunch room. When I came out I got in my car and went to stick my keys in the ignition only to discover there were already keys in the ignition, and the car was running…and I was in someone else’s car entirely. For the first time since I sat down, I looked around and realized that this was a plush Lincoln town car. I drove a Nissan Xterra at the time. How I thought it was my car is still a mystery.
Very quickly understanding that if the owner of this car came out and saw me sitting in the driver’s seat they would assume I was doing burglary. NOT just being an idiot. Which I was. I was frozen in place for a full three seconds with my hands in the air trying to not get my finger prints on anything. Then I jumped out and crawled along the ground as quickly as panic would move my body back to my car, which was parked directly behind this car.
I’m not saying it was their fault, but I was the only one in the parking lot when I took my daughter into the building. So, you know if that doesn’t say whose fault it was then I don’t know what else to say. Yes, I realize it was my fault for being too stupid to not get into a Lincoln town car instead of my own car which was up off the ground while the Lincoln town car basically scrapes along the ground. Don’t even get me started on those seats either. I felt like I was sitting on pillows. I would have taken a nap if I wasn’t about to catch a case for robbery.
Well, that was fun. I have so many more stories and enough horrible photos to fill a dumpster. Maybe I’ll do this again. Who knows.
Today my oldest child got in my car after school with a little less pep in his step. I understood and we discussed all of the things bothering him.
Jr. high is tough as balls, man.
When I look back, it was tougher than high school. Every morning when he gets out of my car I sit in awe of him a little bit. He gets out like it’s no big deal. I cringed every morning when I was in Jr. high, and sometimes tried to talk my mom into letting me stay home. Sometimes I cried. On my braver days I took a deep breath while unbuckling my seat belt, just hoping a few people would be absent that day.
My son and I talked circles around his day until he felt better, but it wasn’t me that he really needed. He needed his father. I tried, but I couldn’t understand some of the things he was having problems with, and I was having a hard time giving any advice that was worth receiving. Thankfully, his grandfather was home and he wanted to spend the afternoon with him until his dad got home from work, so I drove the short distance to his grandparents home. I’m so grateful my kids have such an awesome support system. Later, my husband brought him home…in a better mood. It was like both men had worked some kind of magic. A magic I’m glad they have. Tomorrow’s another day, and he’ll get up like it’s no big deal. I’ll be amazed that he has more fortitude than I ever had.
I’m sure we’ll face many more days like this, but it’s nice to know that even if I can’t help, there are others in our family that can, and will.
You see this shit? DO YOU SEE IT?! Cute, huh? Now, I saw the stylish shoes he was wearing and I pinned that shit. Yes, I was slumming it on Pinterest one evening while wearing my sweatpants with the hole in the crotch (for ventilation purposes) and food stains, and saw these shoes. These shoes were perfect! They would go with friggin’ EVERYTHING! I pinned them.
Fast forward a few weeks when it was time to actually go school clothes shopping, and it was time to try to find these shoes. Pinterest had not prepared me for reality.
I shopped a few weeks early and enjoyed having the stores almost to myself, and finding things in my children’s sizes, but I couldn’t find those damn shoes. I thought, oh it’s no big deal. I’ve still got a few places I can go. I’ll go later and just pick them up when I find them. AH HAHAHHAHAHAHA! I would like to go back in time and punch myself in the face. Several times. Today I went to a ton of places, after going to a billion stores yesterday in search of said shoes. I finally settled on a pair that were nowhere near the same, but were good enough after leaving the store and promising to come back if we could find nothing better. Guess what? We came back.
The store clerk definitely needs a shout out here. He was an angel. After I came back he had to tell me and my bedraggled children that they did NOT have the shoe that we were settling on in my son’s size, and that he would have to order it. Now, I could have been a monster, and thrown a fit. I saw this as a chance to get exactly what we wanted and have it show up at our house, and thanked him like the prince he was. I’m sure he had to deal with a ton of moms and dads with kids and their stinky feet for weeks, and mine were no different. I would have kissed him if it wouldn’t have caused me to catch a case.
Today wasn’t all bad. We saw a fat Jeff Bridges look-a-like, and my daughter saw a dude with a rat tail and when walked by her, she whispered “nope, not today rat tail. Not today”. Nothing further. No explanation. Just that. I don’t know if she thought the rat tail hair cut was contagious, or what, but it was seriously appreciated in the midst of our ridiculous shoe crusade.
I don’t know where all those Pinterest moms of stylish kids are getting all of these clothes, but I kind of feel like they’re cheating if they are going to post pictures without giving a detailed list of the whole damn outfit and where they got it instead of just,
“Oh, hey here is my cute kid. Be jealous of how Uh-mazeeeing I am at dressing my toddler”.
I’m not saying these women dress their toddlers better than me. It just should be obvious at this point since it’s this hard for to just find a pair of shoes. I’m not going to beat myself up over a toddler that is more put together than me. They shit in their pants.
**Also, this is only for fun. I love all of the work that those moms put into dressing their kids, and seeing their pictures. Don’t send me hate mail about how awful I am. I will just think you’re insane and can’t take a joke.
I had a fantastic post planned for today, but I’m not going to write it now. I can say it was fantastic because you won’t see it today. It could be utter crap, and you will never know. Well, you will when I post it, but you just won’t know if it’s the thing I was talking about today or not. It will just be this golden post full of promise, instead of the garbage that was most likely going to grace my blog.
I’m not posting it because I’m in a horrible mood. I won’t do it justice. I will reword it to death, and it won’t be funny, and I will get even angrier. Then I will blame you. Yes, even you will catch the hell that has been my garbage attitude for the past two days. Maybe it’s the fact that I looked at the calendar and I realized that we only have seven weeks of summer left that started it, or the fact that everywhere I look bitches are selling back to school stuff.
Just let us enjoy our DAMN SUMMER, ASSHOLE!
Gah, I just want to eat ice pops until the corners of my mouth bleed, and watch cartoons with my kids until our brains turn to goo right up until the very last second. Is that too much to ask for? IS IT?! Then there’s my house that won’t just stop. It’s obsessed with me I think.
Every time I turn around it’s dirtier, stickier, and there seem to be clothes and dishes that I didn’t know we even owned that need to be washed. Who bought this crap? Yesterday was the breaking point for me. I had to run errands, which I didn’t want to do. I wanted to sit and wallow in the fact that summer is slipping through my fingers, and Netflix won’t send my muthafuckin’ movies, even though it’s obviously an emergency. My kids NEED to see those old ass movies from my childhood so they don’t grow up weird, or become murderers. Why does Netflix want my kids to be weird and murder people?
I left my house anyway. I just got grouchier as the day progressed. I mean, I had to put on underwear. I was already in violation of, like, five of my summer rules. By the time I had the pants I had convinced myself that maybe I would find all of the things I needed, Netflix would rain down upon my mailbox, and my kids would be super sweet all day.
None of that shit happened.
Now, my kids tried. When I say tried, I mean they were aware that I am in charge of punishments, and can ruin their lives. That doesn’t mean they didn’t try everything within their power to wiggle as close to my damn nerves as humanly possible without trying to get me put on youtube as one of those, “Look At This Horrible Mom Shaking her Child In The Store Video”. As a paranoid mom, that’s something I worry about. I worry about horrible camera angles catching something that isn’t bad, and turning into something bad. “Oh, you don’t want to finish your candy? Let mommy have a bite.”
Crazy lady posts video with tagline:
“See Monster Mom Eat Daughter’s Arm in Store As Horrified Shoppers Watch” gets three billion hits, CPS takes child, and gets charged with two counts of cannibalism.
Somehow, we made it home. I’m not sure how, but it happened. No one was left behind. I didn’t get the things I needed because I couldn’t find them, but I was capable of doing some deep breaths, and focusing on not driving us right through the Chili’s. You know, the youtube videos.
Once we got home I walked into a dumpster. I wanted to leave, or set it on fire, pack my whole family up, and move into a hotel somewhere. My vacuum cleaner broke, and there are these tiny little centipede bastards that come into my house. They don’t hurt anything, but they are creepy looking. They just come into the house to die, spread their little corpses around and be gross. I refused to cook dinner after that. I was done for the day. I was just done. DONE.
I went to get dinner and picked up some milk candy for myself to keep me from imploding. It erased everything. I was better by the time I got home. I apologized to everyone when I got there for my crappy attitude. I was ashamed of myself for my behavior, but not for eating the candy for just me.
Fast forward to today, and it was great until the cat dropped a giant potato in the crock pot, and then slunk out the front door when my son was taking the trash out this morning. We haven’t seen that furry pile of crap since. My son blames himself, and that is just the worst feeling of all time as a mom. I’ve tried telling him that the cat’s just an asshole, but he’s convinced he did something wrong.
Then there’s my daughter, who is convinced that someone has stolen our worthless cat, and the police MUST be called, and lawyers should be involved. She has been walking up and down the halls of our house screaming about suing since the cat didn’t show up on his own after an hour. I assured her that no one stole the cat. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t trust our shifty neighbors, and that we needed to sue everyone.
I took them to get ice cream. To help the boy cheer up, and to calm her down litigation happy brain. It kind of worked.
But, now the dog has noticed that the cat is missing.
I think my whole family needs a redo day, and I need some more candy.
As I sit here staring at this completely blank computer screen, there are a billion things going through my mind. Summer hasn’t been kind to my motivation. I’m lucky I’m even sitting here in front of the computer, and not somewhere in my house eating. My brain just won’t shut up so I can concentrate.
“How can I get my cat to shit in the toilet”? “I would save so much money in kitty litter”. “I bet I could make a youtube video of Stinky Cat pushing one out over the toilet, and it would get a million views”. “Then he’d be famous, but I doubt he’d want to be famous for taking a shit”.
“God, is it Christmas yet”? “I have to RSVP to that birthday party. No one ever RSVPs to my things. Why doesn’t anyone RSVP to my things? They show up. Do they just think I love surprises because I don’t. Did someone spread that rumor. I need to kill whoever spread that rumor about me loving surprises and hating RSVPs even though I specifically ask for them on invitations”. “Did I get fatter”? “Man, that friggin’ sessy bikini body just gets further and further out of reach”. “Damn, these chips are amazing”! “I friggin’ LOVE chili cheese fritos, oh, I really need to start typing something soon”.
“Reminds me of high school, and how I used to eat the crap out them”. “I bet they made my breath stink like fart, and that’s why I never had any boyfriends”. “Yeeaah, that’s why”. “Okay, it can’t be this hard to come up with something. JUST START TYPING WORDS, STUPID”!! “That’s it! I bet if I just start randomly typing something will come to me. Damn, I’m a genius”.
I’m a genius. I came up with a great idea. Kittys doing a push on the toilet and chili cheese fritos! I wonder if I could eat my way to a bikini body? Is that a thing? I bet I could make it a thing! I could, and then I could make a youtube video about how I ate my way into a sexy bikini! It’d get a million views. Me and the cat would be youtube famous! Me for the food, and him doing a push! Still, he would object to being filmed while hovering over the commode. I’d have to be stealthy. Would that make me a pervert? I mean, I wouldn’t get any enjoyment out of it. I mean, I might laugh, but that’s about it. But, who wouldn’t laugh at a cat pushing a brick over the toilet? I defy anyone to not laugh! Wait, did that sentence make sense? Nope, not going back. Too late. It’s already happened. Screw that sentence. We don’t go back for the weak here. ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE!!!! What the hell am I even talking about? I’m going to stop, read it, and see if I have any ideas yet………….
That was utter and complete trash. I’m trash. My hands typed trash. My cat should be ashamed to even be apart of that paragraph. I think I might just go eat myself into a fat coma and die. Whose idea was this blog anyway? It couldn’t have been mine. Why won’t my dog stop peeing in the house? Does she hate me? That’s why she does it, isn’t it? She hates living with me just like the last two dogs that wouldn’t come to me when I called when we were at my in-laws. Just hid behind the house like two jerks. They just waited there until I got in the car, and then came out. They liked my in-laws better than me.
My mother in-law called me to tell me I forgot my dogs. I just sat there weeping quietly over the phone and said, “no, they’ve made their choice, and must live with it. God be with them now”. She made me come get them anyway, and had to help me catch them because they didn’t want to leave. Once they saw my car they ran away again. I never wanted to jump off a bridge more in my life than when my shitty little dogs that I took such great care of kept running away from me and my mother in-law had to catch them and bring them to me.
They had claimed her, and marked her as their new mother.
Ugh, I’m just gonna give up now. I don’t have anything, and sitting here with this insane crap typed out is making me want to turn into a human Popple, and roll under the couch. Maybe I’ll watch a whole season of Doctor Who and then binge read a bunch of juicy fanfiction, not that I do that…because I don’t.
Maybe I’ll get one of my kids to type something. They’re funny. Maybe they’ll knock one out of the park for me today. God, that would be awesome. Let me just go ask……
“I don’t want to, mom. I’m playing Minecraft….can you shut the door?”
I hate you, kid. I just hate your face.
Okay, I got a joke. Once upon a time there was a little boy named Johhny, and he went to an ice cream stand. He asked the lady for a vanilla cone, and make it split. The lady said, “would you like some chocolate with that?” he said “yeah, sure”. Would you like some sprinkles with that? “yeah sure”. Would you like some nuts with that? “Yeah, sure”. Would you like those nuts crushed? “HELL no lady! Would you like your titties shot off”?!
Welp, I did ask for help. I guess that was more help than I got from the other one.
I might try again on Friday. Yeah, Friday. That sounds good. I will probably have lots of ideas by then. (muffled sobbing noises) I’m sure of it.