Our kids are spoiled beyond belief. I know I've blogged about this before but it really annoys me that my kids think I'm abusing them when I declare a "no-tv" night. So, I decided to make a list of things my generation never had as children, along with a list of what we had instead. And we are still alive to blog/talk about it:
1. School lunch "choices."
1a. Listen kid, the school cafeteria is not a restaurant. People who work in restaurants don't wear hair nets, and you aren't made to stand in line and give Jimmy Walters cutsies everyday, because if you don't? He'll punch you in the breadbasket later during recess.
Whatever the school gave you, you ate. Or not. What's that? You say you can't eat the school's beef and noodles ever since Kathy Durst threw up right next to you the last time the school served them? What do you mean "everytime I think of beef and noodles I feel nauseous and think of the janitor's pink sawdust"? Tough shit.
2. Car seats.
2a. A special seat? For the kid? Strapped securely in the car? Ha! You're joking, right? I regularly laid in the back window area, or hid in the wheel-well. And whenever the car came to a stop, I'd roll out of the back window onto the seats.
In fact, we never even used our seat belts, since my dad stuffed them in between the seats every time we got a new car. Because they got in the way, and anyway, who wants to sit on those things? Not us. Too uncomfortable.
3. "Safe" or "age appropriate" toys.
3a. Every Christmas, I was the gleeful recipient of toys made out of glass, tin and things with sharp parts, along with candy or gum cigarettes. Those things were awesome, because when you blew through them, a puff of powdered sugar "smoke" would appear.
When I was 8, I got a "Nurse's kit" for Christmas. It came complete with 3 glass bottles of tiny candy pills. I can clearly recall carrying it around the trailer and saying things like, Looks like it's time for me to take my medicine!, before downing half the bottle.
4. Go-gurt, fruit snacks, probiotics, or almond butter.
4a. Ho-Ho's, Twinkies, Zingers and Ding-Dongs. Those were our snacks. In fact, I clearly recall a time in my young life when my breakfast consisted of nothing but Ding-Dong's and Tang.
.
5. Finally seeing the Trix Rabbit getting to eat Trix.
5a. Ha! No way could the Trix Rabbit be allowed to taste the fruity goodness that was in every bowl of Trix cereal. Oh, sure, he tried. But he was smacked down Every. Single. Time. And kids LOVED that crazy rabbit. We rooted for him during each commercial, even though we knew how it would turn out.
In fact, the Trix Rabbit represented everything that defined childhood in the 1960's/70's. You don't get something just because you want it, kid. If the Trix Rabbit had ever been allowed to eat Trix, I imagine that would have pitted child against parent in a rebellion not unlike the French Revolution. Viva le Lapin de Trix!
6. Child-specific clothing stores such as: Justice, Aeropostale, Abercrombie & Fitch, American Eagle, Gap Kids or The Children's Place.
6a. Special stores that catered just to kids? HA! We had JC Penney's, Sears and Bergner's (for the rich kids). Didn't like what they had to offer? Tough shit. Now put on your Toughskins and shut the fuck up.
7. Computers, passwords, cellphones, the internet, cable tv, daytime cartoons or video games.
7a. Uh, wtf? We had books, Barbies, GI Joe, Magic 8 Balls, marbles, jacks, crayons and phones with curly cords that got tangled when we played with them as we made crank phone calls.
8. Caller ID.
8a. We could make crank phone calls because nobody had caller id. Conversly, when someone called us, we just....answered it. Without knowing who it was. Every. Single. Time.
9. Build-A-Fucking-Bear.
9a. If we had ever told our parents we wanted anything resembling this item, they would have said, You want me to pay an exorbitant price for a teddy bear that isn't even STUFFED? And I should pay extra so it sounds like a dinosaur whenever you pinch it's left paw? Then you want me to buy it a fucking cheerleader outfit? Fuck that, get your mom to take you to the fabric store and she'll make one for you.
Know what little kids and drunk college boys have in common? THEY ARE LYING LIARS. Also, they sometimes pee their pants when they drink too much.
Today, I thought I'd dedicate this post to an issue that has bothered me, and others like me, for some time now.
Our kids lie about us.* Usually in public. And often quite loudly.
Do you know those people who say, "Oh, children are just so refreshingly honest!" or, "Young children don't know how to lie at this age. That's how you know they aren't lying when they say their parents are beating them!"
Bullshit. I bet they don't even have kids.**
Or how about this one?
"Children and drunks. They always tell the truth."
No. NO THEY DO NOT.
Do you know how many drunken college boys have slung an arm around my shoulder and slurred wetly into my ear, "buh ah love you bayhbeeee!", only to never be heard from again?
Equally duplicitous, if only slightly less obnoxious, is the species known as Toddlerus Americanus, or, in layman's terms, any American child who still has not fully committed to the concept of dry underwear, drinking from an open cup or remaining fully clothed when in the public arena. I expect that toddlers of other nationalities are little liars as well, but as my experience has only been with the children of my country, I will leave the foreign toddler-liar issue to my bloggy-peers in Asia, Australia, South America and Africa.
Case in point. When my son was 2, I took him to the local Walmart Supercenter for some groceries and various sundries. As I lovingly stroked his cap of angelic blond curls and kissed his cherubic cheeks, he looked up at me adoringly with big blue eyes framed by long curly lashes. Then he widened those baby blues and loudly asked:
"MAMA? WHY YOU SAY YOU NO LOVE ME??"***
This is him, at age 2, in "Lord of the Flies" mode:
So you can see why the Walmart ladies were so aghast, right?
Everybody in that aisle turned toward us in shock. That's right. Every white-trash (I call trailer trash! I grew up in a trailer court, so I can say that!), toothless, wrinkled and scraggly-haired woman turned a judgemental eye towards me.
Even women who looked like this:
My most immediate thought was, Oh HELL no! You did NOT just say that, you lying little shit! You are SO LUCKY we're in public where I can't give you the beating you so richly deserve! DON'T YOU KNOW I F*CKING LOVE YOU!??
But of course if I'd said any of those things, I would have been chased out of Walmart by an angry group of scraggly-haired women carrying pitchforks, Yoo-hoo Chocolate Drink® and porkrinds.
So, ever opting for the truth, I sweetly said (in a voice sure to carry to the farthest corners of the liquor aisle that we just happened to be in), "What are you talking about? I love you! I've never said I don't love you!" (This is true. Shut up.)
My young son, oblivious to the drama, but somehow convinced that he was right, decided to argue this fine point.
"Yes you do! You say it ALL THE TIME! You say, 'Zachie, I NO LOVE YOU!" (collective gasp, myself included).
Let me point out a minor problem in my son's claim. How many adults do you think tell their children, "(insert name here), I no love you!" No matter how stupid the parent, or how poor their grasp of the basic rules of English grammar, not once have I ever heard a parent utter that particular phrase. And I have come across my fair share of stupid parents, let's just make that crystal clear.
I don't recall how this story ends, but suffice it to say that I was traumatized that day. This is why I advocate the use ofball gags alternative childcare arrangements when you need to do your weekly shopping.****
And just so you know, I'm not the only parent whose child lies about them. I have a friend who taught her three-year-old daughter to scream, "This is not my real mommy!", just in case she was kidnapped and people were around.
Her child decided to test out her newfound powers. At Walmart. As my friend was in, you guessed it, the liquor aisle*****, her child loudly proclaimed, "THIS IS NOT MY REAL MOMMY!!!"
_______________________________________________________
*Of course, kids don't lie all the time.
** Do I really have to say this? *sigh* My attorney says I do. Fine. If a child evidences any abuse done to them, by all means call the police and/or DCFS. For serious. In fact, if this is news to you, you are to stupid to be allowed to read my blog. Go away now. You make me feel stabby.
***That? Oh, that was a big, fat lie.
****This blog in no way is meant to be indicative of the way you should actually deal with other human beings in real life.
***** HAHAHAHA!!!!! Ok, she was in the card aisle. But that's not nearly as funny.
Our kids lie about us.* Usually in public. And often quite loudly.
Do you know those people who say, "Oh, children are just so refreshingly honest!" or, "Young children don't know how to lie at this age. That's how you know they aren't lying when they say their parents are beating them!"
Bullshit. I bet they don't even have kids.**
Or how about this one?
"Children and drunks. They always tell the truth."
No. NO THEY DO NOT.
Do you know how many drunken college boys have slung an arm around my shoulder and slurred wetly into my ear, "buh ah love you bayhbeeee!", only to never be heard from again?
 |
| Eleven. The answer is always eleven. |
Equally duplicitous, if only slightly less obnoxious, is the species known as Toddlerus Americanus, or, in layman's terms, any American child who still has not fully committed to the concept of dry underwear, drinking from an open cup or remaining fully clothed when in the public arena. I expect that toddlers of other nationalities are little liars as well, but as my experience has only been with the children of my country, I will leave the foreign toddler-liar issue to my bloggy-peers in Asia, Australia, South America and Africa.
Case in point. When my son was 2, I took him to the local Walmart Supercenter for some groceries and various sundries. As I lovingly stroked his cap of angelic blond curls and kissed his cherubic cheeks, he looked up at me adoringly with big blue eyes framed by long curly lashes. Then he widened those baby blues and loudly asked:
"MAMA? WHY YOU SAY YOU NO LOVE ME??"***
This is him, at age 2, in "Lord of the Flies" mode:
 |
| I take no prisoners |
So you can see why the Walmart ladies were so aghast, right?
Everybody in that aisle turned toward us in shock. That's right. Every white-trash (I call trailer trash! I grew up in a trailer court, so I can say that!), toothless, wrinkled and scraggly-haired woman turned a judgemental eye towards me.
Even women who looked like this:
 |
| Ah judge you, an' ah have found you wantin' |
My most immediate thought was, Oh HELL no! You did NOT just say that, you lying little shit! You are SO LUCKY we're in public where I can't give you the beating you so richly deserve! DON'T YOU KNOW I F*CKING LOVE YOU!??
But of course if I'd said any of those things, I would have been chased out of Walmart by an angry group of scraggly-haired women carrying pitchforks, Yoo-hoo Chocolate Drink® and porkrinds.
So, ever opting for the truth, I sweetly said (in a voice sure to carry to the farthest corners of the liquor aisle that we just happened to be in), "What are you talking about? I love you! I've never said I don't love you!" (This is true. Shut up.)
My young son, oblivious to the drama, but somehow convinced that he was right, decided to argue this fine point.
"Yes you do! You say it ALL THE TIME! You say, 'Zachie, I NO LOVE YOU!" (collective gasp, myself included).
Let me point out a minor problem in my son's claim. How many adults do you think tell their children, "(insert name here), I no love you!" No matter how stupid the parent, or how poor their grasp of the basic rules of English grammar, not once have I ever heard a parent utter that particular phrase. And I have come across my fair share of stupid parents, let's just make that crystal clear.
I don't recall how this story ends, but suffice it to say that I was traumatized that day. This is why I advocate the use of
And just so you know, I'm not the only parent whose child lies about them. I have a friend who taught her three-year-old daughter to scream, "This is not my real mommy!", just in case she was kidnapped and people were around.
Her child decided to test out her newfound powers. At Walmart. As my friend was in, you guessed it, the liquor aisle*****, her child loudly proclaimed, "THIS IS NOT MY REAL MOMMY!!!"
_______________________________________________________
*Of course, kids don't lie all the time.
** Do I really have to say this? *sigh* My attorney says I do. Fine. If a child evidences any abuse done to them, by all means call the police and/or DCFS. For serious. In fact, if this is news to you, you are to stupid to be allowed to read my blog. Go away now. You make me feel stabby.
***That? Oh, that was a big, fat lie.
****This blog in no way is meant to be indicative of the way you should actually deal with other human beings in real life.
***** HAHAHAHA!!!!! Ok, she was in the card aisle. But that's not nearly as funny.
Who says love and trauma are mutually exclusive?; or "Santa's Little Narc."
Tonight, I got a text from my friend Shirley, telling me about some dumbass craze that's sweeping the country. Elf on the Shelf.
Have you heard of it? If so, you probably have one in your home. If not, it's basically like subjecting your children to McCarthyism for a month. Only Joe is wearing an elf hat. And ladies underwear (but only if you believe that rumor, of course.)
Anyway, I googled this elf/shelf thing and that's when I realized something.
Elves are assholes.
I decided to put my deductive reasoning skills to the test, and I came up with the following:
1. If some parents buy these elves.
2. And the elves are assholes.
3. Then some parents just might be assholes.
Not sure if you'rean obsessive a loving parent, an asshole parent or somewhere in between? Then take my quiz!
1. If I owned an Elf-on-the-shelf I would:
A. Read the Elf story to my child every night before bestowing Eskimo/butterfly kisses on his/her face, and quietly tiptoeing out of the bedroom.
B. Thoughtfully position the Elf on an easily accessible piece of furniture, take a photo of it for my child's scrapbook, and then make sure I'm in bed by 10pm sharp.
C. Have afew lot of glasses of wine before deciding to make snow angels on the kitchen counter with the elf and a handful of flour. Then post the pix on twitter before passing out in a drunken stupor on my bathroom floor:
2. My personal mantra is:
A. My child is a precious gift, and my duty as a parent is to protect his/her sacred innocence. At any cost. Also? My child has a Spirit Animal.
B. Yeah, I love my kid. But who says love and emotional trauma are mutually exclusive? Besides, if I mess with my kid, it toughens them up for the real world.
C. Back off! My parents locked me in a box every night for 8 years and I turned out JUST FINE!!!
3. Something I think about often is:
A. Knowing I would DIE for my child. Several times in a row, if I could.
B. Sure, I love my kids. But I need some me time too, you know?
C. If you mix up the letters in "Santa's Elf", it spells "Satan Self."
You know the drill, mostly A's? You're a living saint. A martyr. And your child will probably have Mommy Issues. Let's just hope he doesn't turn out like Norman Bates.
Mostly B's? You're somewhat sadistic, but in a grounded sort of way.
Mostly C's? Hahahaha!!!
Have you heard of it? If so, you probably have one in your home. If not, it's basically like subjecting your children to McCarthyism for a month. Only Joe is wearing an elf hat. And ladies underwear (but only if you believe that rumor, of course.)
 |
| What's Victoria's Secret? ME. And I'm STILL watching you. |
Anyway, I googled this elf/shelf thing and that's when I realized something.
Elves are assholes.
I decided to put my deductive reasoning skills to the test, and I came up with the following:
1. If some parents buy these elves.
2. And the elves are assholes.
3. Then some parents just might be assholes.
Not sure if you're
1. If I owned an Elf-on-the-shelf I would:
A. Read the Elf story to my child every night before bestowing Eskimo/butterfly kisses on his/her face, and quietly tiptoeing out of the bedroom.
B. Thoughtfully position the Elf on an easily accessible piece of furniture, take a photo of it for my child's scrapbook, and then make sure I'm in bed by 10pm sharp.
C. Have a
 |
| What do you mean, I have to "hold it" until morning??? |
2. My personal mantra is:
A. My child is a precious gift, and my duty as a parent is to protect his/her sacred innocence. At any cost. Also? My child has a Spirit Animal.
B. Yeah, I love my kid. But who says love and emotional trauma are mutually exclusive? Besides, if I mess with my kid, it toughens them up for the real world.
C. Back off! My parents locked me in a box every night for 8 years and I turned out JUST FINE!!!
3. Something I think about often is:
A. Knowing I would DIE for my child. Several times in a row, if I could.
B. Sure, I love my kids. But I need some me time too, you know?
C. If you mix up the letters in "Santa's Elf", it spells "Satan Self."
You know the drill, mostly A's? You're a living saint. A martyr. And your child will probably have Mommy Issues. Let's just hope he doesn't turn out like Norman Bates.
 |
| "A boys best friend is his mother" |
Mostly B's? You're somewhat sadistic, but in a grounded sort of way.
Mostly C's? Hahahaha!!!
 |
| Santa's Little Narcs |
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