Tell me a TRUE story

Spawn wants to be inspired. He told me that this week. I don’t doubt that he is seeking stimulation. School’s out for summer and my kid is always looking for an exciting escapade, but I know he’s repeating a phrase that is constantly escaping my flapping yap; “I just looking for inspiration.”

When I’m sitting on the kitchen floor with my head in my hands, exhausted from whatever has knocking me down on any particular day and my kids ask what I’m doing, I tell them, “I’m looking for inspiration.”

Who are these parents who don’t yell, lose their tempers, forget to sign important permission slips, drop F-bombs, or get so behind on the laundry that they are up well past the point of collapse so that the specifically requested clothes are clean and ready to wear?

Now I’ve never met one of these people, but I’ve heard that they exist. Like the Loch Ness Monster or the elusive Yeti, these inspiring parents lurk somewhere between fantasy and reality. I mean, nobody has actually SEEN these people, but stories of their existence can be found in every culture’s folklore.

Well, I’m looking for one of them, just one, because I need to be inspired. With the first week of summer vacation behind me and a string of shameful profanity and impatient, smart ass responses to the victims of my loins, I am in dire need of a muse.

I had heard through the grapevine (and no less than 100 emails from MWDAS fans) about a man named Adam Mansbach. I checked into this bit of what seemed to be folklore and found that he is a real person, and NOT a Gogmagog!

Of course I didn’t think he was from the mighty clan of giants from Albion, but how else could I visualize a man so aggressive and horrible that would even think to utter such vulgarity at innocent children at bedtime?

Who the FUCK was this mindreading master who was spinning such literary gold?

Only my inspiration, Adam! I’ve been in the spotlight as the foul mouthed Mom who tells it like it is for a few years, riding the wave of love when people understand and feel supported, and then sucked into the undertow by the criticism of mean spirited and non-freaky folks.

I see the celebration of his wonderful book and of course, I have also read some of the criticisms. I’m stoked for Adam to be rolling in cash. Any parent who doesn’t see the absolute GENIUS in this heartfelt and hilarious masterpiece has a broken funny bone stuck up their ass.

“Fuck you stuffed bear; I’m not getting you shit. Close your eyes cut the crap. Sleep,” is so much more inspiring to me than the 500 different suggestions by experts, specialists, doctors, grandparents, neighbors, etc. about getting the ankle biters to stop stalling and GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!

So there! I AM INSPIRED BY ADAM and I wish him tons of high quality sleep; the awesome kind of sleep where you dream about hot sex and chocolate and free beer and piles of unmarked money that magically appear in your mailbox and jet-skis and ………

School is out for summer, bitches. Hang in there.

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  • The perfect parents you mentioned exist in sitcoms and in staunchly religious communities.

    And all their kids are in rehab.

  • Yes, yes we do sink to the floor! I lost my marbles this weekend over spilled nailpolish and REMOVER (for the SECOND time) in day.. akl over my dining room table, hardwoods and carpet. After everyone recovered from my tirade, they mocked me in a mommy dearest voice "NO. MORE. NAILPOLISH!".

    and.. if this has not happened to you yet, it will.. wait until you are having an epic parenting moment and someone recognizes you from MWDAS. Awesome.

  • and sometimes I sink to the floor by 10AM. Who can wait until the end of the day.....

  • I have been on both sides of the coin. I was a stay at home mom. Loved almost everything about it. Summertime was great and challenging. What to do with all that time on your hands? It did depend on how old the kids were at the time.

    Now I work full time because I have to. Now I take full advantage of what our park district has to offer. Wonderful summer camp programs!

    There are some moms who do stay at home that sign their kids up for a week at a time just a couple of times just ot get the kids out of the house and doing something fun. There are different things going on for different age groups. You just have to look.

    I use it for my childcare for the summer months but my son looks forward to it and has a lot of friends that attend. It's what you make of it.

    To Savvy, when my oldest was little, he got hold of my hot pick polish. God only knows what the hell he was planning! Nothing like a HUGE blob shape of hot pink nail polish in the middle of the bedroom carpet. I had to remove the entire room of carpet. No way to get it out. All you can do is keep your stuff put away, up high and if bad things do happen, remember to breathe. I know I went off and he was probably scared out of his little scooby doo underware! I'm sure I felt horrible afterward. He is almost 16 now. LIfe goes on and now I have a whole new set of worries on my mind...

  • In reply to Deanne:

    Those parents don't exist, Nikki. And if they did and you or I met them, they'd really piss us off and probably end up getting punched in the face. :-)

    I blogged this here if anyone wants a good laugh...

  • In reply to jdmannato:

    OMG, I read your blog and it's hilarious. You are soooooo to blame for the whole freakin thing! But you know what, in a couple of years she will grow out of that and you and your wife will remember and you will be happy that you have that memory. It's sweet! Ridiculous but sweet! Have the fun while you can. :)

  • In reply to jdmannato:

    I have worked next to two people who fit the bill for the past six years. They might be off by one or two points, but mostly they are "those parents". It could be a facade, but for as much time as I have spent with them, I really don't think it is. I find it fucking nauseating. Most mornings I have to hold back the vomit. Thankfully, there are bloggers like you who snap me back to reality. At home, I have often reached my boiling point by exploding. Which some times involves me throwing things and usually ends by me going to my bedroom and locking the door. I may need to try your method, falling to floor with my head in my hands. I think the kids might be less scarred from that versus my enormous tantrums. Dear Lord, how people can parent without drinking and swearing is beyond my comprehension.

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