I am a bit of a lull after only two posts. Awesome I know, but I have something I want to write that I can’t share here yet and it’s taking up all the brain matter that is not currently covered with melted chocolate, unpaid bills, and smutty books. Mainly because it’s about sex, and only my family reads this so far, so it would just become awkward at family functions, so I’ll wait a bit. But, I might submit it in secret somewhere and fingers crossed, just might get published writing embarrassing things about myself. I’ll keep you posted, if there’s anything to post, which most likely there won’t, so you’ll all be saved the embarrassment of picturing me naked. Shudder. If you do, picture it 10 years and 40 pounds ago please.
Anywho, I thought I’d give you some parenting confessions to entertain you and make you feel just a little bit better about your life.
At 2 years old, Will dropped the F-bomb completely in context. He comes running up to me and says, “MOM! Michael’s fuckin around.” Like I should do something about it. NOW. Let’s just say I freaked the fuck out and made him repeat it at least five more times to verify he did in fact say what he said. Then I got angry. What horrible bastards are saying this shit around my kids??? The daycare? My in-laws? My sister? WHO?? Then, I realized. Shit, it was me. Driving to daycare that morning, I realized I had yelled, with my children in the backseat, to the driver beside me who was slowly merging into traffic to “Quit fucking around already.” Yep. Pretty epic parenting fail.
BTW, I haven’t quite learned my lesson, as this Sunday at the breakfast table, I told Mark to “Quit being a douche,” which apparently is just as funny to them as it is to me, and no, I will not explain what a douche is, other than their father was being one at the moment.
Likewise, my kids recently “made” up a word that they think it hilarious. The word? Twat. Yep, now, I admit, I tend to swear like a sailor at times, but frankly, this just isn’t a word I choose to use on a regular basis. They seriously put the constants and vowel together and made up what they thought was a funny word and then proceeded to sing-song it all the way down the aisle at Target.
I worry that Gracie might be a stripper. She really likes to dance and take her clothes off. Scares the bejeesus out of me.
I am secretly overjoyed that Will and Gracie both know the Single Ladies dance by Beyonce. Honestly, it’s adorable. Next up, vogueing.
This is a confession from Mark. I know you hide in the bathroom to play video games. No one can poop that much in one day. Seriously. I’m on to you honey.
I used to hate the grocery store. Now, if alone, I will stay there for hours. Pick the longest line to wait in. Watch the fish like some crazy lady by myself. Walk the organization aisles like I am actually going to organize my house one day. Maybe read a chapter of my book in the car before I even go in. The longer the better.
I know I am not the only one who does this, but I hide the good food from my kids. Oreos? Mine. Good ice cream? Mine. Brownies? Hidden until they fall asleep. Sometimes, when I can’t wait for them to go to sleep, I hide in the corner of the kitchen with the lights off and shovel Oreos into my mouth at what I am sure is a world record pace. Wait, that sounds sad. Nevermind. I don’t do that.
Mark and I play this game with a vengeance. It’s called pretend you’re sleeping until the other person gets tired of hearing the kid scream and gets up. Oh don’t get all judgy, you all do it. Not the blood curdling, something’s wrong scream…the scream that says, I peed/pooped/threw up all over the room and need you to clean it up, or I want to play at 3 a.m. with no intention of going back to sleep for the rest of the day scream. I’d say we are equally good at it.
OK – enough confessions for today. Got any to make me feel better? Please don’t call Child Services. I do love my kids and they are well fed, not neglected and honestly turning into pretty decent human beings. I promise.