The Prince of Cake

Tonight at dinner, Child 2 was being very argumentative. This is not an unusual occurrence. He didn't like what I had made (macaroni and cheese, of all things) and he complained about every bite. "I don't like macaroni and cheese." I replied, as usual, "well, that's your dinner...." Child 1 loves macaroni and cheese, he was gobbling it down during the discussion.

Dinner is over and they both run off. Hubs is home, so I tell him he's in charge and I go downstairs to watch the Boston coverage.

Later, I go upstairs to get something and I find Child 2 in the bathroom crying. Also not an unusual occurrence. "Tell her what you told me," Hubs says to him. Uh oh...

"Mama, I have two things to tell you but you're going to be really really mad at me about both of them." (This is how he talks, he gives me lists. He's so much like me. Soon he'll be communicating entirely in Excel spreadsheets. My boy!!) "Okay," I answer cautiously, because by this time I was watching The Voice and Hubs was in charge of bedtime so I didn't really want to get involved in whatever the hell was going on here.

"Number one, I just found out that you really love the chocolate peanut butter dips." He says. He's talking about granola bars. "That's true, I do." I say, because who doesn't love chocolate and peanut butter? "Number two," he continues "I ate, like, six of them and now I think I'm going to throw up." He dissolves into sobs. Apparently as I sat and watched MSNBC he had stolen and eaten all of my granola bars because he was still hungry. "I FEEL SO GUILTY!" he cried. "OH." I say. "Well, I don't really care that much about that first one, but the second one? Yeah, you're kind of in big trouble. Okay, bye!" I say and run out of the room, leaving Hubs in charge of punishment.

Later Hubs comes down to report that "Child 2 is in his room and he's on lockdown. He's only allowed to come out to pee." Usually he comes out up to 10 times after he's gone to bed. One time I actually paid him $5 to stay in there all night. "Also I read him that cake post from Hyperbole and a Half."

"The God of Cake?" I say, because I know her stuff like the back of my hand. "You read him the God of Cake?"

"Yeah, that's what it's called, The God of Cake. Except I don't think it had the impact I was hoping for, because even while she's throwing up cake all over the place, she's not sorry at ALL. She's just a hyperactive, sugar-filled, throwing up, remorseless nightmare."

Because that's how we roll in this house: Allie Brosh is our go-to for cautionary tales. But, on the plus side, it's been over an hour now, he's still in his room and he hasn't thrown up at ALL.

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Pokemon is destroying my confidence as a parent

I'm fucking cool; I'm a cool parent, I swear to god. First of all, I say things like "I'm fucking cool," which, right there solidifies my status as "cool parent." I'm extremely tech savvy, I'm up on the latest tech trends, I can figure out how to make things work without the help of my kids: I'M COOL, GODDAMMIT.

I've always been determined not to be one of those "lame" parents who doesn't understand the little neurotypical games that their neurotypical little boy plays with his neurotypical little friends. I play video games with him, even if I suck at it. I listen while he explains, in excruciating detail, how he beat Koopa by throwing that turtle just at the right time. I get it. I may not care, but at least I understand; I can speak his language. I'm. Fucking. Cool.

Enter Pokemon.

I don't know what it is about those stupid things that just makes my brain completely shut down. I didn't even understand what they were for a long time; I had to ask somebody on Twitter (everybody say thank you to GoodNghtIrene), and even now it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. They're pocket monsters, they have unique skills, they fight each other. When they talk, they only use words that are variations of their own names, for some reason. (I find that very annoying).

You collect them. You play a card game. You watch the TV show. You talk about them incessantly. These are all relatively simple things, right? I'm fucking smart; I should be able to understand this, but NO! I just don't get it.

Over the weekend Child 2 tried to teach me how to play, and I sat there at the kitchen table, trying very very hard to understand, but it was like he was speaking a different language. Hubs tried to help, too, but it just wasn't sinking in.

Eventually I just threw up my hands and said "NO! I'M NOT DOING THIS! I DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS I CAN'T DO THIS!" while Child 2 is still insisting, "It's easy. I'll teach you." NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!

And then earlier today I'm in Target, and my mission is to purchase some new cards that got ruined yesterday during a game (OMG don't ask), and I'm staring at this display and... what? What am I supposed....? I don't underst-..... So, I call hubs (because Child 2 doesn't have a phone and I can't call him) and say "What am I getting?" and he starts rattling off my various options and I'm looking at this display and I am unable to make the connection between what I'm seeing and what he's saying. Dragon Exalted? I don't see any dragons. Which one is exalted? Where does it even say that? Which one of these packages should I be looking at? OH MY GOD I don't know what I'm doing.

What is that.... I don't even....

I'm not a cool mom, after all. I'm a lame mom.

Goddammit, I'm a fucking lame mom.

I HATE YOU, POKEMON!!

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How I get my kids to cooperate when personal hygiene is involved

Earlier I was messing around with Child 2 and I noticed that his fingernails were really gross. I mean.... GROSS. They were long and fucking disgusting. They needed trimming.

(Here is where there should be a drawing of really gross, dirty fingernails, except I was completely unable to make that happen. I even traced my own hand on the wacom and no matter what I tried it just ended up looking like a bunch of mangled, dying finger puppets.)

So I grabbed the clipper thingies and grabbed his hand and he freaked out. He doesn't like getting his nails clipped. He always makes a big fuss and pretends that it hurts him, when clearly it really doesn't; the truth is that he's just kind of a pussy about things like this.

We argued about it for a while, I tried to reason with him about the importance of good hygiene and not being gross, but he just wasn't having it. Eventually I made him an offer he just couldn't refuse. That's what we do in this house, we make deals; we constantly barter. Do this for me and I'll do this for you, etc. I'm not sure what kind of future this is preparing him for, but... whatever. Hopefully not as a stock broker or a politician or anything. As long as I get what I want in the end is really what's important here.

So I say "I'll make you a deal: while I'm clipping your nails, you get to curse as much as you want." He was very intrigued by this, because usually these foul, foul words come out of his sweet, innocent face and I get kind of upset about it, because a 6 year old shouldn't be swearing!! And as long as we're being sincere, which I am, the truth is that I don't actually curse around him and I always yell at hubs when he does it. So, I guess it's hubs' fault. I hope he doesn't read this, and if he says anything to the contrary, he's a damn dirty liar!!

Anyway...... I gave him permission to curse like a drunken sailor the whole time I was clipping his nails and ultimately.... of course.... he agreed, because what 6 year old wouldn't want that??

It was painful to listen to, though. I clipped fast.

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And no information was actually imparted

When I told hubs this story, his response, after laughing at me and face-palming, was the title of this post.

It was Sunday morning, it was early, I hadn't had any coffee or even gotten out of bed yet, and Child 2 randomly asks me "Mama, are you pregnant?"

I probably could have been offended by that, but I was pretty sure he didn't actually know what that means. So I said "No. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," he said. "But it's hard to explain." That means he had no idea.

I didn't realize how right he was, though, and suddenly I'm faced with having to explain something that's really hard to explain to a 6 year old. Sunday morning. Early. Before coffee.

And so I say "It's, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............ it's where babies come from. It's how you make new people. A baby grows in a Mama's tummy for 9 months and then it comes out and it's a baby."

Damn I'm good. I should win parenting awards. People should write books about me. Instructional manuals!

"Do you understand?" I asked, hoping this was the end of it.

"I think so," he said.

PHEW.

"But how do you know when it starts?" He asks.

Shit.

"It, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............ You, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.................. "

Shit.

.............. long pause ...........

uncomfortable laugh

.............. long pause ...........

"You go to your doctor and she tells you."

He looks confused. I pray for hubs to enter the room and save me. He doesn't.

"We'll talk about it some more later," I say, officially putting an end to the torture.

That seemed to do the trick. I'll have hubs fill in some of the blanks.....

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Homework: An Infographic

Hey! It's just like college!!!

Click to embiggen

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PenisGate

Edit: This was the book that was suggested

Remember how I told you that my kid whipped out his dick on the Kindergarten yard? And that I was thinking about sending an email with subject line of "Penises" ? Well, the other moms got to it first and today I received 3 emails on the subject of said penises. Apparently the 2 other boys were asked about The Penis Incident and, like any politician, they both denied the whole thing. The moms were embarrassed and hoped to put a stop to this behavior immediately. I replied that not only did my kid tell me all about it, he actually demonstrated to me his penis showing technique (that was a proud moment, lemme tell ya).

I'm totally not at all bothered by this. Am I supposed to be? Then again, I'm the mom who sat there and watched the same exact kids play this tag game where you had to show your underwear if you were tagged (I was base) until another mom came along and put a stop to it. I didn't see anything wrong with that, either. Was I supposed to see something wrong with that?

I mean, we've had the "private parts are private" talk and in theory he knows the concept, but he's fucking 5! Of COURSE he's going to show his willy if his little friends are doing it, too (he's a follower, my kid; not a leader); especially if it's part of some crazy 5 year old game they're playing.

I think I'm supposed to be upset about this, and I think I'm supposed to really want to put a stop to it (the other moms had book suggestions). Except I just think it's normal kid behavior, there's no need to shame them for it, right? As long as we teach them to respect themselves and respect each other, shouldn't that be it? On the other hand, my kid was the only one who didn't lie about it later, so I must be doing something right. Right???? (Seriously, if any of you reading this have, like, a degree in Developmental Psychology or something, feel free to chime in here.)

Fucking NT kids and their complicated social issues. I swear, I'm totally fucking clueless most of the time. If this was an issue with my autie kid I would know exactly what to do, how to do it, who to talk to, etc. But with the typical kid I feel like I'm just making shit up as I go (because I am).

Hubs and I were discussing this issue and he says he thinks the kid's preschool spoiled him by not making him ashamed enough of his nakedness. I had actually completely forgotten about it. (I'm dumb). Related.

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This post will definitely bring CFS to my house

I have no idea how or why but for some reason Child 2's favorite song is Bodies by Drowning Pool. I've mentioned that fact once before; in an awesome way.

I've also mentioned before that hubs and I play a lot of Rock Band on the weekends. The Child is usually our dancer/roadie; he boogies his little tushie off in the most adorable way. It was just a matter of time that he insist that he play, too, and.... of course.... there was only one song he wanted to do.

It's really just too awesome not to share, I have to say, despite the fact that Child and Family Services will probably be paying us a visit later, due to the extreme inappropriateness of a 5 year old singing this song (lyrics here). He did the whole thing but this is just a snippet:





And how did he do, you wonder?

86%. On fucking expert. That's better than I do on some songs.

Today is Friday so we'll be doing it again tonight. I'll let you know if his score improves. (It probably will).

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Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play ball in the house???

Child 2 has requested that he write this blog entry (not like last time). I am just the portal through which his art flows:

We were playing ball. Child 2 kicked the ball. It broke the lamp. The end.

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I am at a loss (Relatively Serious Post)

Okay, I'll be honest with you guys: Sometimes... okay.... most of the time.... I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this parenting thing. It constantly amazes me that I'M responsible for keeping these little people alive and making sure they don't turn out to be serial killers. How the fuck did that happen? It's too much pressure sometimes, like I'll say or do one thing wrong and that will fuck them up for the rest of their lives. Whose idea was it to put me in charge??? Because I have no idea what I'm doing!!

Case in point: It seems like all Child 2 and I do these days is argue and bicker like an old married couple. But NOT like an old married couple because hubs and I ARE an old married couple and WE don't argue and bicker like this.

This morning he (Child 2, not hubs) tripped over my foot. It was simple: he was walking, did not see my foot, he tripped and fell on his ass. He then started screaming "You tripped me! Why did you move your foot on purpose so that I would fall down?" and the fucking tantrum just continued on and on with me trying to calmly explain that I did NOT trip him, that it was an accident, etc. etc. etc. It happened 2 minutes before we needed to leave for school, which is when all of these fucking things seem to happen, so I had to drag him out of the house and into the car, with him screaming and crying about how I tripped him and why do I hate him so much??

We got to school and, I fucking swear to god, it turned into "Why are you trying to kill me? You want to make me be dead!"

Seriously? What the fuck, kid? You think I want to fucking kill you? Dramatic much?????

He's hysterical and it's impossible to talk to him when he's like that because he won't stop screaming and yelling at me and no matter what I say he says he doesn't believe me ("I don't want to kill you" "YES YOU DO YOU WANT TO MAKE ME DEAD") and he can't hear me over his own screaming, anyway.

So, I manage somehow to get him out of the car and onto the school yard where he sees his friends and instantly becomes happy and starts playing and running around with them. When I see that he's calmed down I crouch down (OW MY KNEES) so we can have a conversation about it face to face. I explain that I'm sorry he fell down, I'm sorry he got hurt, I understand how frustrating that is, but it was an accident. He tripped over my foot and I was NOT trying to kill him.

He didn't fucking believe me! He started screaming and crying all over again!!

WTF????

Other than the paranoia he apparently now has about his inevitable murder at my hands, this is pretty typical for the kinds of interactions we've been having lately. 1. He fucking freaks out, 2. I try to remain calm and explain, 3. He doesn't believe me 4. I fucking freak out (#4 is sometimes optional).

Then I pick him up this afternoon and he immediately starts crying and screaming at me again. Why? WHY? So I emailed his teacher and asked if maybe he had been crying and screaming all day? Maybe something else is going on with him? Maybe he's getting sick or something? Maybe?

No. She responded that he "was fine all day today, he didn't seem sad or withdrawn at all. He didn't cry either." I knew she was going to say that.

I guess it's personal.  

Thanks

Can anybody recommend a book or something I can read? I feel like I'm totally at a loss here.

If only he had autism... THEN I would know what to do....

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When the snark catches up with me

Earlier, Child 2 comes into the room crying. Between sobs he manages to choke out the following: "I wanted cake but you didn't bring me any. I thought you could read my mind!" sob.

Oooohhhhhhh. Right. See, at some point in the past 5 1/2 years I may have told him, jokingly, that I can read his mind. And while he's an excellent snark protege so far, he's still only 5. And, unlike that time when I told him I had eyes in the back of my head, and then he pulled up my hair and checked, and was able to confirm for himself that I was lying, there's really no confirmation test for telepathy that he could do. Sorry, dude.

I gave him cake.

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I think there's something wrong with my thought processes

Our next door neighbors have a 3 year old and a 1 year old. This morning the 3 year old stopped by for a jaunt on our giant play structure; I guess he's been peering longingly at it over the fence for a while now and today he finally got the chance. Wouldn't you, though, if you were 3? Check this fucker out:

Please don't ask me how much this puppy set me back. Just.... don't ask....

Anyway, I stood there in the doorway and I watched this little boy run around our back yard playing with my kids' toys, as Child 2 tells him "That's my mom standing in the doorway, she just got back from the store" and I thought: How nice that Child 2 is making friends with his next door neighbor; they could be friends for life. And it's a good thing Child 2 is a few years older, that way he can buy the beer when they sneak out of the house at night when they're in high school.

HUH?? THIS is what I think when I watch my child with a younger neighbor friend? There's definitely something wrong with me. It's a good thing my neighbors don't read my blog.

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Sometimes you just have to admit defeat

Today I was bested by a helmet.

There's actually a law in California that kids are required to wear helmets and 15-point restraints and be completely covered from head to toe in bubble wrap if they're going to be riding anything with 25 wheels or less. Or something like that, I'm vague on the specifics. Whatever it says, though, we broke that law today. Not because I'm such a rebel that I think my kids should be able to risk a head injury if they want to, but because... I was too dumb to figure out how the helmet worked.

First there was the helmet. Which end of the helmet should go at which end of the head? Did you put it on so that the straps go under the chin or behind the head? And then there were the straps. Were they too loose? Were they too tight? And there was this weird circular thing on the inside that was supposed to adjust the whole deal for smaller heads or something (at least, that's how my 5 year old explained it to me). How did that work? Which part of the head does it attach to? Why did it have a dial on it? Am I supposed to turn the dial? If so, which way was I supposed to turn it?  Am I pulling your hair out of your head? Should I turn it around? Is this too loose? Oh, it just fell off, let me tighten it. Wait, is this thing supposed to just come out like this? How do I put it back in? Is it backwards now? Is it poking you in the eye? Is it not supposed to poke you in the eye?

"It's too bad Daddy's not here," says Child 2. "Daddy could fix the helmet."

"Fuck it," I say. To which Child 2, naturally, responds "fuck it? Fuck what? What does 'fuck' mean?"

"We're going without the helmet," I say. "Try not to get hit by a car."

And off we went, the block and a half to the park, without helmets. And surely I would have been arrested or cited or ticketed or hauled off to CFS jail if we had gotten caught. And we went back that way, too. Fuck it; I lost. Well played, helmet. Well played.

It looks so innocent, just sitting there on the counter like that.

THIS thing. What the fuck IS this thing? Where does it go, how did I get it out and, most importantly, how do I put it back???

At this point I am almost completely certain that this is supposed to be attached to something.

Make a note for future reference: It doesn't work when you just place it on the top of their head without strapping it on. I KNOW, right?? You're totally surprised, too!!

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Click here for some very important safety information about helmets in California. As far as you know.

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Before I had kids.....

You know it's true that the only time in your entire life when you know absolutely everything there is to know about parenting is before you have kids. That's when you feel supremely confident in your parenting abilities and have no problem informing those who actually have kids exactly what they're doing wrong and what you would do if you were them. Then, of course, the kids come along and you realize what a fucking idiot you've been. Not only do you realize that you were actually completely clueless before the kids came, but now that they're here, you're STILL totally fucking clueless. It's amazing any of them manage to live past their first few weeks.  I remember once being at Safeway and watching a mom pull a container of formula off the shelf and silently judging the fuck out of her. "I would NEVER feed my kids formula. EWWW! GROSS!" I thought. One of these days I'll tell you guys about my double breastfeeding failures.

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SHAMEFUL PARENTING STORIES INTERLUDE

Child 1: Once when he was around 18 months I was holding him on my arms which were outstretched, he was on his back looking up at me, and I was swinging him around by turning myself in circles. He was having a blast until I jiggled him the wrong way or something and he rolled right off my arms and onto the ground.

Child 2: In the very first hour that he was home from the hospital I had him on the changing table and I was cutting off the ankle bracelet the hospital put on him. I was using giant office scissors and cutting the band with the tip of the scissors and I didn't realize that one of his little toes was stuck in the other end of the blades. I snipped that band right off his ankle and the top layer of skin on his little toe right along with it.

END OF SHAMEFUL PARENTING STORIES INTERLUDE

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Anyway, my actual point in all of this is to relay this lovely incident that happened the other day:

I stepped on something on the rug in the bedroom with my bare feet; it was cold and squishy. And BROWN. It was stuck between my toes and I reached down to get it out and I say to the hubs "Holy shit I hope this is a raisin" and I smelled it to make sure. I fucking smelled it. To make sure it was a raisin. And not a piece of poop.

Hubs started laughing at me. "Can you imagine ever doing that before you had kids?" I hadn't even thought about it, really; I just wanted to know what it was so I smelled it. But no fucking way in hell would I have ever done that before I had kids! Before kids I would have scraped my foot onto the trashcan so I didn't even have to touch it, much less pluck it out of my toes with my hands and bring it to my face. Now, I guess, it's just second nature for me to smell every cold, squishy brown thing that gets stuck between my toes. Just to be sure.

It was a raisin. Good thing I smelled it.

Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the time I hit my kid over the head with a frying pan? Good times.

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I still laugh at the fact that somebody let me be a parent

This afternoon the boys and I were getting home from school. We're climbing out of the car and, as usual, I'm yelling at them about something or other. I'm saying "Child 2, don't forget your backpack!" as he's walking up the stairs to the front door, empty handed.

"Go back to the car and get your backpack!" I insist.

"NO!" he answers, "YOU get it."

I say "seriously?" Because, I mean... seriously? Do you enjoy your freedom, child? Because I have a roll of duct tape and I'm not afraid to use it. "Seriously," he says. "You have my backpack."

Yeah, I was holding it; it was in my hands. I had carried it into the house, all on my own, and I didn't even realize it.

I'm sure there's a picture or something I could put here as a symbol of my parental greatness, but I don't feel like looking for one.

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So tired. So very very tired.

Before I begin this post, please go read this and then come back.

I'll wait.



Okay, you're back? Great.

So, I've been trying to figure out a way out of this horrible sleep cycle I've gotten myself into. It must end. I've started by talking to Child 1 about it. Have to start somewhere, why not start there. At bedtime we've been discussing the issue of "what happens when you wake up in the night" and "how you should stay in your bed and not come into mine" and "Mama just might die of fatigue one of these days." Okay, not that last part. Anyway, tonight we were discussing it again and I was being very clear that you should stay in the bed that you fell asleep in until it's morning, and this is what he tells me:

"No. I go to sleep in my bed and then I wake up when it's still not morning yet and I come into your bed. That's how it works."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because that's just how it works," he says.

He's right, you know. That IS how it works. I couldn't do anything but agree with him. And I only have myself to blame for this being the way it works in this house. And, again, I have no idea how to make this better.

Gotta love how well he explained that, though, right? He was very clear, very concise, and, of course, very correct.

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The Z word

So, we're all aware of the controversy surrounding The R Word. Romance. No, I'm kidding, I mean retard or retarded. I know a lot of people who have lots of differing opinions about it: some people are incredibly offended by its use and want it banned, because it's offensive, and it is, really. Others take the Lenny Bruce approach: it's just a word, and words by themselves have no power, it's the intent in which it's used, and then taken, that gives it its power, so we should use them often, because making them commonplace will make them lose their power.

I understand and sympathize with both of these opinions. Myself, I'm torn on the issue. On the one hand, I'm uncomfortable by it, not because I think it's offensive, but because I think it's unoriginal. As a sarcastic zinger (a topic in which I am well versed) it's not really very funny, and as a harsh cut down (another topic I know something about) I think it's just unoriginal. In my opinion, if you're a person who uses the word retard or retarded on a regular basis, you're probably pretty low class, and I don't think you're funny or interesting. On the other hand, I do believe in the Lenny Bruce school of thought, that words, themselves, are meaningless, etc. etc. and people take things too seriously these days. On the other hand, however, if anybody ever says it to my kid with autism, I'll flatten your ass to the ground in 2 seconds flat. I assure you that if I ever learn about the word being used about my kid at the school, we will all be forced into general assemblies and workshops so we can learn about alternative ways to express ourselves.

So, I'm torn. This morning, though, we're standing on the sidewalk in front of school and Child 2 asks me to zip up his sweatshirt because he's cold. I was having some trouble jamming the little pointy metal thingy into the little metal zippy thingy and he says "what's taking so long, I'm freezing!" and I said "I'm sorry! I guess I'm ziptarded."

So, I guess I'm perfectly okay with its use as long as it's self-deprecating. Oy.

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Oh, boy, SLEEP! That's where I'm a viking!!

It's such a cliche, the tired mom thing. We never get enough sleep, we're always on the move, the kids wake us up wanting stupid things like water and blankets and love; I feel silly sometimes, complaining about how tired I am, but MAN am I tired. I remember when I was pregnant with Child 1, I read the book Operating Instructions, and it started this three month long panic attack about how tired I was going to be and what a nightmare that would be, because I'm one of those people who need a lot of sleep, and I used to get it, before the children, and the image of this exhausted new mom in this book just completely put me over the edge.

So, how it works here is that we all go to bed in our own beds, and then during the night Child 1 will come in and climb into bed with us. But I can't sleep when he's there, so then I get up and go into his bed. This doesn't sound really all that bad, because I always go right back to sleep, except he always 1. LANDS really hard on the back of my legs or something thus jolting me awake in a total fucking panic and 2. always seems to come in the middle of a deep REM cycle, which is the worst time you could get woken up. This has been happening every night for 5 1/2 years now.

In the beginning, I was a total sleep nazi and he was the best sleeper EVER. He slept through the night at 3 weeks old, he was that good a sleeper. And I wish so much that I could play the autism card here, because kids with autism are notoriously bad sleepers, and even though I sometimes do when I explain this to people, the real problem here is bad parenting. Yeah, I pretty much did this to myself. So, he was the greatest sleeper ever, and my fears about being like whatsherface in the book never actually happened ... until we moved him out of the crib and into the big bed, when he was 3 and I was pregnant with Child 2. I was already not getting enough sleep, being ginormously pregnant, but once he got into the big bed, and realized he didn't actually have to stay in his bed if he didn't want to, is when he started coming into the room with us. At this point is where I should have taken control of the situation and trained him to go back into his room, but... no. I fucked that up, I guess, because now he's conditioned to climb out of his bed and come into ours the minute he first stirs. And I have no idea how to make this better, except just wait until he's older and doesn't want to come in anymore. I figure I only have about another 1 1/2 years, maybe 2, right? I mean, I've "lasted" this long, what's another couple of years....

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Parenting fail LOLZ!

When you have more than one kid, particularly if they're the same gender, you're constantly mixing up their names. I don't care who you are or how perfect a parent you think you are (you're not) you're still doing it.

I have never said their names here before, and I won't now, but let's just say that just a minute ago I yelled the following to just the one child:

"BAKE!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING????"

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Some parenting advice from me to you

When your child is having a tantrum about whatever the subject, no matter how adorable he is: DO NOT LAUGH! It will only make things worse!

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The kid called my bluff

I hate it when they do that

Me: Child 2, go brush your teeth.

Child 2: But I'm too tired (repeat ~5 times)

Me: Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?

Child 2: Yes!

Me: Then you'd better go brush your teeth.

Child 2: Why? What would happen?

Me (I'm not the one taking them to the beach tomorrow, and I won't even be around when they go, and he damn well knows this): UHHHhhhhhhhhh.....  then, um.... you.... uh.... can't? go to the beach?

Child 2: Actually I will go to the beach tomorrow, but I'll go brush my teeth, anyway, or they'll get all rotten and fall out. Except these two (points). Because they're healthy and in the shade.

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