Category: Children

Okay, so I’ll admit it.  I love kids.  But I hate the little bastards too.  Not mine, of course.  Mine are always little angels.  It’s those other people’s kids who make me want to become a front page headline.  Does anyone else know what I’m talking about?  My children would never make fun of other kids.  They always make sure to include everyone else when playing.  And most important of all, they always say please, thank you, and cook me breakfast in bed each and every day. And we ride unicorns to school and blow bubbles through rainbows every day before breakfast after watching the sun rise as a family and talk about our feelings.

Yeah, right.

Don’t you love those parents?  Parents who think that their kiddos are God’s greatest gift but everyone else has a child who is the otherwise flawed make me fucking crazy!  Usually these are the parents you see who are running the PTA and talking shit behind other parents backs.  Yes, if you are this parent I am talking to you!  Don’t get me wrong…my kids are great.  But not all the time.  They can drive me (and I’m sure other people) bat-shit crazy!!  They do wrong, each and every day.  My little girl sings off key to every song that she loves on the radio, not to mention all of the songs that she makes up on the spot.  It drives me nuts.  It’s cute, but seriously…ALL THE TIME.  She also has a tendency to overreact to, well, just about anything.  My son, little darling that he is, back talks me more than I care to remember.  And seriously, the swearing is getting out of hand.  I don’t know where the fuck he gets it from.   And there are plenty more flaws where those came from.

Our children live in a society of overparenting.  These “helicopter parents” are well-meaning, to be sure, but what sort of good is it doing their kids?  Now, before you get mad, let me tell you, I’ve had my moments. I bought the restaurant high chair cover to keep my kid from getting germs.  I rubber padded the sharp corners on my fireplace when my first child was learning to walk.  But in the last few weeks I’ve been seeing that my own helicoptering is preventing my kids from getting their own experiences without me being there to pad the sharp corners of life for them.  I don’t want my kids to think that they are always perfect, protected, and infallible.  Who the hell does?  Nobody likes that kid in school!  That kid is the asshole!  And if you don’t remember who that asshole was in your class…chances are it was you.  These days kids don’t even play outside anymore, or even know the kids in the neighborhood.  Hell, when I was a kid, we would go and ROAM the neighborhood, but be home before dark.  What happened in the last 20 years that made kids no longer able to withstand the quite normal and healthy sufferings of childhood?

Perhaps this was you!

I believe that a key to good parenting comes in telling your kids that they have flaws.  IT’S OKAY PEOPLE!  You’re not going to harm your kid if you tell him honestly he’s not quarterback material!  Hell, you might make him realize that he has a real knack for acting, or violin, or some other talent he might not have looked at because you’ve been too busy telling him that he is the next Joe Montana.  I believe that my daughter is amazing, but Taylor Swift she is not.  At least not yet.  Practice makes perfect.  I believe that my mouth of a son is funny, but he’s not Jeff Foxworthy.  Not yet anyway.  Comic, yes.  Professional, no.

Am I the only one who has noticed the overflow of all the entitled, I’m better than you are, little monster children out there?  Our children are miniature versions of us.  So if your little princess is walking around acting like a serious diva, you should probably check your mirror to see if you tend to do the same thing.  (That’s definitely my problem)  Swear, I do the singing thing too…poor hubby.

Look, don’t do your kids (or us) a disservice any more.  Praise them when they honestly do well.  Be happy when they try their best.  But make sure that you let them know that it’s okay to fail.  It’s okay to fuck up every once in awhile.  And tell them that if they’re not good at something, it’s okay.  Let them know that it’s okay to grow up to be a janitor.  Or a pot farmer (only in California).  Or maybe a manager at McDonald’s.  Let’s be clear here, there can’t possibly be millions of future presidents of the United States.  Tell your kids the TRUTH!!  Or you might just end up being the parent who watches your child get booed off the stage on America’s Got Talent.  And that just really hurts us all, doesn’t it?

Be a patriot.  Go ahead.  Tell your kid they suck.  Better yet, let them fall off their bikes without a helmet.  Or maybe even let them play down the block without you watching with a pair of binoculars.   Sit back, pour yourself a drink, and realize that, unlike me, you are not supermom.  Just trust me when I say, my drink has already been poured.

Holy Shit!

So, the weather got kinda crazy today here in my windy city of Lubbock that I call home for two more months.  It was like a scene described in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book, A Shit Ton of Dust on the Prairie.  The kids were fine, playing outside with one of their friends, when all of a sudden I looked out the kitchen window and realized that the sky was red.  That’s right. RED.

Check this out…

That is dirt people.

Here’s another one. this 1935?

The kids stared out the back door as my daughter asked me, “Is it a tornado?”

I told her no, it was just dirt, to which she replied, “Oh!  It’s a dirtnado!”

That’s when this happened.

Yes, that is a huge branch that crashed into my house.

Winds that were going 40-50 miles per hour decided to take out an innocent tree branch, causing childhood INSANITY in my home.  My daughter almost had a panic attack, until I reminded her that panicking doesn’t make things any better.  She took that to mean that if she acted crazy the dirt and wind would get worse, so I let her continue to think that.   Was that wrong?  My bad.  Meanwhile, I’m watching the tree that the branch fell off of, wondering if any other branches are going to do a backflip with a double twist into my house.

I remain the ever-calm presence of a mom that I am, steering the kids away from the tree’s target area and into the bedroom to play as I continue to make some delicious homemade stroganoff.  (Click here for my yummy recipe!) DELICIOUS!!  Does stroganoff go with red or white wine?  Nevermind…vodka goes with anything. 

That’s right.  Winds are taking down my yard and I’m still cooking dinner for the family.  Fuck you Martha Stewart…I’m hardcore!

Well, I am.  Okay, maybe not go to prison hardcore, but kick your dusty ass with some delicious stroganoff hardcore.  I’ll take mine with that aforementioned shot of vodka.

Ok.  So this morning I woke up with a slight headache and a really dry mouth.  I wondered why, and then I remembered that my husband and I decided to consume an entire bottle of pinot noir last night at around midnight.  Oh yeah….not the best idea on a Sunday night.  But at the time, it was fantastic.  And when do we get to have a bottle of wine to ourselves??

I buttoned my daughter’s pants for her sleepily as I realized that yes, I did have to get out of bed.  My compliant husband stumbled to the kitchen to make my demanding self coffee.  What a sweet love.  I rolled out of bed and decided that I was not showering today.  It was a decision based on two things…

1.  I did not have time if we were going to get the truck into the shop at it’s appointed time.

2.  I did not give a shit.

Ugh.  I thought about my to do list for the day, which includes several things (one of which is writing this blog).  I had to feed the dog, dress the boy, make a grocery list, go to the grocery store (maybe), do at least 5 loads of laundry, write an outline for an abnormal psych paper, do my homework for my online class, sweep the floor, mop it if I have time, go running, shower (by this point it will be an absolute necessity), work on my grad school application, take the dog for a walk, go to class at 3, make dinner, which I should really pull out of the freezer right now, get the kids to clean their rooms, help the girl with her homework….this list is growing as I type.  I think I’ll stop now.

Anyway, about 5 minutes before my kindergartener had to be in class I had to declothe her.  Why?  Well, she was wearing the same pants that she has been wearing for approximately a week now.  I still can’t understand why she chooses the same clothes over and over and over again.  She’s my little hobo in training.  Gotta love it.

Em finally finishes getting dressed and I pull on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and brush the foul odor out of my mouth.  I wash my face and contemplate how to attack the day.  I hear a squeal from my son as I scrub away, trying to erase the years that are adding exponentially onto my face.  He is climbing into the refrigerator and has two yogurts in hand.

“Bubba, Daddy is gonna take us out to breakfast.”

“I want to eat!”

“Okay, but Daddy is going to take us out to eat.”

“I want waffles!”

The yogurt finally gets relinquished as my son contemplates the idea of waffles, eggs, and orange juice.  I look at his chubby face and laugh to myself as I realize that there might just be another bottle of wine in store for us tonight.

My goodness…it seems I never make the time to get on here and blog anymore, but due to insomnia (a by-product of working as a bartender) here I am, giving all of you the fantastic opportunity to get another little piece of me.  I really
should be in bed right now, considering I have class in less than 7 hours, and yet…something tells me that I need to write.

How are the kiddos? you may be wondering.  Well, they are fantastic.  Today was picture day, which started off at about 6:30 A.M.  Emily (my brand new kindergartener), decided
that she was going to begin the day with an argument about what to wear for pictures.

Fan-fucking-tastic.  I was still wiping the crust out of my eyes as she began to cry when I told her that she could absolutely not wear the 2 year old capri pants from a thrift store with a hole in the knees and a faded green and yellow flower print in combination with the same thrift store striped purple
and white .50 cent t-shirt.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all about letting your kids express themselves.  She loves those pants.  And if I think that
anything is cute, or nice, or pretty, or fun, it is her absolute rule that it is, in actuality, none of those things.  I get it.  It’s the mother-daughter dynamic.  Trust me…if anyone gets fighting with your mother, it’s me.  And I typically am pretty lenient about letting her express her own sense of
individuality.  Picking my battles and all.  But today was picture day.  I want a cleaned-up-Emily picture.  She seemed to think that picture day was about her, but whoaaaaaa….was she wrong.  Picture day is for me to store you into my
memory as that 5 year old little girl with two missing front teeth.  Damn it.

That was the beginning.  After about 3 meltdowns trying to get her off to school I had to physically push my husband out of bed to take her there and then get his own ass to work.  By this time I am exhausted.  That’s what staying up until 3 in the morning playing Fruit Ninja will get me.  Of course my
handsome baby boy is awake now, all strapped into his tennis shoes and batman underwear, ready to take on the world!  If only Mommy had her batman underwear on…….

Needless to say, Ethan had a
fantastic morning watching PBS while Mommy dozed on the couch, only to be
awakened to my son feeling the size of his apparently amazing turdball through
his batman underwear.  Now I’m awake.  I sit up and command him into the
bathroom to finish off his newly begun underwear art project in peace.  I look
around and realize that it’s going to be a long day.  Especially since we’re out
of coffee.  But even more especially since we are out of Bailey’s to go into the
coffee.  Yup.  Gonna be a long day.