So it’s almost Mother’s Day. And I can’t F’ing wait. Nahhh, that’s a total lie because really it’s no different than any other day. I think all kids should have to hold in their poop on Mother’s Day because that would make it special, right? Just this morning I told my husband he’s not allowed to buy me anything that says As Seen on TV this year. Do you know what his response was?
Oh shit, it’s Mother’s Day?
Anyways, I started thinking about it and wondering what kind of gift I deserve. I mean, seriously, sure I hug my kids a bunch and chauffeur their asses all over the place, but I also do a lot of shit wrong. So just to see how I’m doing, I did a little online search for “How to be a good mother,” and I found this WikiHow article. Hmmm, let’s see if I’m a good mother or not, shall we?
Sayyy WHAT???! NEVER laugh at your kid’s hobbies?! How am I supposed to keep a straight face when my kid’s hobby is collecting unicorn-pegasuses (pegasae??). Yo Zoey, THAT DOESN’T EVEN EXIST! There is no such thing as a horse with wings AND a horn. Which is hysterical since you know what else doesn’t exist? An F’ing unicorn. Or a Pegasus.
And I don’t know what this kid wants to be in this picture. A limo driver? Well, woop de doo, I could totally support that. Because do you know what my rug rat plans on being? A princess. WTF? How do I support that?
ME: Honey, you know I wanted you to be a Supreme Court Justice or the president but here’s a ticket to London so you can go track down Prince Harry and see if he wants to marry you instead. If that doesn’t work out, maybe Disney has openings.
And what the hell am I supposed to do if my kid gets older and wants to be a penis piercer or an asshole bleacher? Say go for it? Oooh, honey, what a lovely Prince Albert you just did (FYI, if you don’t know what the F that is, neither did I. I looked it up and it seems to be the most common kind of penis piercing. DO NOT GOOGLE IT!!! I totally know a bunch of you are googling it right now so don’t come crying to me after your eyeballs are scarred and you throw up and need centuries of therapy)
So here’s how I am when my rug rat won’t get her shoes on:
ME: OMG, AGGGGGGH!!!! WHAT WERE YOU A DEAF SNAIL IN A PAST LIFE?! DID YOU NOT HEAR ME???!!! PUT ON YOUR SHOES NOWWWW YOUNG LADY AND IF I HAVE TO SAY IT ONE MORE TIME YOU ARE GOING TO BE SO SORRY AND I AM NEVER TAKING YOU TO DISNEYWORLD OR ANYWHERE FUN EVER!!!
But here’s how I’m supposed to be:
ME: Now Zoey dear, please put on your shoes right away or we will be late to school and I wouldn’t want you to get behind in your studies.
Ahhh yes, I can totally tell why this calm, rational way of speaking to my child might work. IF WE WERE ON LEAVE IT TO BEAVER! There is only one thing that works when she won’t put on her shoes. Putting the fear of God in her with my Cujo voice.
Here’s the shit, uhhh, I mean important stuff my kid is interested in:
The color pink
The color purple (and not like the awesome movie Oprah made, like the actual color)
Jasmine (but a little less than the others because she wears pants)
(Pocahontas and Mulan are not on this list because she has no F’ing idea who they are)
I can just see the conversation now.
ZOEY: Pink is my favorite color.
ME: Ooooh, what kind of pink?
ZOEY: All of them.
ME: Like hot pink?
ME: Pale pink?
ME: Fluorescent pink?
Okay, this is like the stupidest conversation I’ve ever had.
ME: How about we talk about Rapunzel?
ZOEY: She’s so pretty.
ME: Remember how we talked about how beauty is on the inside.
ZOEY: Yeah, like the inside of her hair is so pretty.
WTF? (FYI, I didn’t actually say that out loud. I just thought it in my head. Like 9,000 times during this conversation.)
Nooo, of course not. And then in fifteen years when she gets into Harvard (or some other crappy school) I can be like, sorry, I bought you like all the stupid toys you wanted and now we’re out of money. WTF kind of list is this?! How to be a good mother—buy your kid lots of shit. The only thing I can say about this is advice is hells yeah, I’m doing something right ‘cause I spend like a fortune on her.
I agree with this 100%. My kids can come talk to me about anything. Sex? As long as she’s not having it, yes. I can’t promise I won’t laugh at words like vagina and penis, but she can definitely come to me. Boys? Of course. Unless he’s some total a-hole, in which case keep that shit to yourself unless you’re going to marry him. Being gay? By all means. Your dad and I will be over the moon ‘cause all guys are dickwads (except your dad and your brother). Drugs? Duhhh, how else am I supposed to know to confiscate them? (pause) Uhhh, and turn them in to the police.
I’m sorry I threw your shoes at you the other day after asking you no fewer than 9 million times to put them on. I’m sorry I gave that woman the finger but you can’t make a left from the right lane. I’m sorry you found your artwork in the trashcan, but it was like four dots on a page and you get an F+ for effort and I tried to bury it really deep. I’m sorry you heard me tell your brother I love him more, but there are plenty of times I love you more, so act better and I’ll love you more the next time.
Are you F’ing kidding me?! I can’t believe this even has to be said. I’m like LOVE HIM. Go to him. Get the F off me, child. How else would I ever take a poop by myself? Like just the other day I was carrying my toddler and at the same time he was crying, “Hold my hand!” WTF? Man do I wish they loved their dad more than me.
More than chocolate and wine? Now you’re just talkin’ crazy.