This blog has no title because it's a hot mess of random emotional weirdness

Sheesh, yesterday it felt like an invisible elf was pounding my head in with a hammer and I was crying over a picture of Steve Dahl walking with his grandson in Walgreens while I was sweating out a fever and wishing I had a nice servant boy named Wren who could look and dance like Kevin Bacon did in “Footloose,” when this Tweet came up on the Twitster (that’s what I calls it) and cheered me right up!

Anyhooo…since a Wren doppelganger was not magically appearing in my kitchen and I still haven’t found an Oompa Loompa on Craig’s List that is willing to work for minimum wage, I had to make dinner. You might ask why I even attempted to cook dinner when I have two kids who are perfectly content with cereal or frozen waffles, but I would have to have those things on hand in order for them to be eaten, right?

Feeling shitty made grocery shopping seem about as leisurely as a hike up Mt. Everest, so I didn’t get around to it. There were slim pickings available for dinner and I was wavering between feeding the kids pasta or just giving them both a can of Pringles and a glass of water.

They both suggested ordering pizza and I suggested that they pay for it with their own money since we don’t exactly have extra cash on hand with all the bills to pay and Christmas coming. Yeah, all of a sudden pasta sounded good to them since Halloween candy and ice cream wasn’t an option, because I'd been there and done that and learned my lesson the hard way. I'll tell you about THAT asshattery in a sec.

So, because I was droopy and feeling floaty and distracted, I over cooked the pasta. I looked at the pile of mush and wanted to punch it thinking that the lump of slime looked as bad as I felt. I dumped it in the trash and started over. Both kids were yapping and groping me and I was thisclose to tears. I was feeling all emooooooshiiiionallllll!

My husband came home as I was draining the second batch pasta. I was leaning over the sink, steaming up my glasses and he said, “Holy shit, Sugar Tits, you look bad. Go sit down, I got this.”

And he whipped up some shrimp and tomato garlic sauce to go with the only slightly overcooked noodles.

Sometimes I want to hug him and other times I want to punch him. Last night I wanted to do something dirty to him. Dirty in the good way, you know, because he swooped in and saved the dinner after he'd worked all day and spent over an hour in traffic to get home. I told him to remind me to dirty him all up when I can breath through my nose again. I’m sure he’ll remind me before that happens.

So let me get back to the funny tweet that I was reading while dinner turned into pasta-snot. I mean, for the love of GOD we can’t seem to catch a break here this fall at Casa de Knepper. Lice, mono, ear infections, colds, sore throats and brain blasting headaches are a plenty, and so in order to get a giggle, I decided to read the funny blog that was linked in the tweet. It was just what I needed. So stinking funny!

Read it. I’ll wait. Detachment Parenting by Pinteresting Mammas.

I laughed, I cried, and started to have flashbacks. The post reminded me of a time when I had one of those “unconditional parenting” moments that convinced me once and for all that I'd should definitely NOT allow my toddler to be his own boss. It was a long time ago, and I was dog butt sick and exhausted after a long day. Not only did I not want to cook dinner, I didn’t want to be awake at all.

I was just DONE.

It was 2002, and my kid was into Rolie Polie Olie. I loved me some Rolie too! I especially liked the sprongy noises he made when he walked. SPRONG SPRONG SPRONG! Just about every day he wanted to listen to a CD with songs from the Playhouse Disney shows and his favorite one was called “Totally Chocolate Dinner,” from the show Rolie Polie Olie. The song goes like this –

“A totally chocolate dinner, cakes and cookies and cream! A totally chocolate dinner, eating it is just a dream. Brownies, pudding, all the works! What we will eat is just dessert! A totally chocolate dinner, chocolate up and down! A totally chocolate dinner with sprinkles all around – YEAH!”

So when he asked for “a totally chocolate dinner,” I thought, what the hell? I was feeling like hot garbage and so I gave the idea of my still pooping in his pants toddler two thumbs up and he had free reign over his dinner that night.

(Just looking at this image I hear SPRONG SPRONG SPRONG noises. I loved that sound and not just because it wasn’t Dora yelling or Steve acting like a dumb shit on Blue’s Clues. SPRONG SPRONG SPRONG! Awesomeness. But I digress….or digressed or whatever. I got distracted by sprongy sound effects, sorry)

A totally chocolate dinner” was requested and served.

Pudding? Check.

Oreos? Check.

Chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup? Check.

M & M’s? Check.

Chocolate milk? Check.

A toddler with ass blasting, explosive diarrhea who could have set a world record for distance in projectile vomiting between the bouts of blowing runny shit out his diapers ALL NIGHT LONG?

CHECK.

Sometimes I miss having little ones around. I miss the way both my children danced and sang around for hours, creating instruments out of whatever was handy; sticks, rocks, pots, pans, or real instruments that Grandma and Grandpa bought like harmonicas, recorders, drums and cymbals (read Grandparent's Manifesto by Janet Dahl - it's like she's channeling my dead father). Yeah, I even miss the racket of the mini drum set sometimes.

Feeling sick, reading that funny blog and then seeing that picture of Steve Dahl with his grandson provoked some powerful emotions yesterday. My father used to cherish every moment with my son. He was such a proud grandpa and claimed that the best club he'd ever been in was The Grandparent's Club. It's unreal that he's been dead for almost 10 years. How he would have loved to have kept on walking with his grandchildren the way Steve does with his little guy.

I know I do. I love walking with both my kids and much prefer the non-toddler stage, but sometimes I miss the smell of a baby fresh from the bath. Sometimes I miss folding their little bodies up into my lap, protecting them from the wide, weird world while whispering sweet lullabies to them as we rocked for hours.

SOMETIMES.

But reading the blog post by Pinteresting Mamma Jersey Diva reminded me that having little ones is really hard, especially when …..especially when…..

WHAT THE HELL – IT’S ALWAYS HARD WHEN YOU HAVE LITTLE ONES!

And it’s even harder when you are sick or tired or your little one is one of those strong willed types who makes you feel like you are a big, fat, wimpy failure because everything the experts say doesn’t work with him/her.

And so I say to Pinteresting Mom Jersey Diva, I LOVE YOU. Go on with your bad self, baby! Drink that wine and hang in there. Soon those balls on your stubborn little guy will grow hair and the monkey attached to them will want to tell you all about it. My wish for you is that you remember the squishy bath bacon brat Brandon and know that the only right way to do this is the way that feels right for you.

Good Luck to Pinteresting Mammas with your new blog. Looking forward to walking in monkey shoes with you. xo

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