Monthly Archives: February 2012

I Fucking Heart Valentine’s Day

Listen up, I’m sick of everybody whining about Valentine’s Day.  I don’t know about you, but any holiday that entitles me to an Enya induced back rub, a fancy dinner that I don’t have to cook, and a big ass box of chocolates is AOKay in my book.  I don’t give a shit if you call it “St. Suck A Turd Day”, if I get to stuff my face with chocolate while my man serenades me in a candlelit bubble bath, count me the hell IN.  


There’s a lot of holidays that are “Hallmark Holidays”.  In fact, I can’t think of too many that aren’t. Why on earth would I snub one that happens to benefit ME for a damn change?  All things considered, I’m entitled to a lot more than a stupid dinner just for being a mother.  Shit, you’re lucky I’m not demanding a trip to Cabo, BY MYSELF

 
YES, YES, AND YES!!!

I don’t really give a hoot about couples without kids and whether or not it’s fair that the man should bear the brunt of the gift giving, although, just the fact that men are given the gift of pussy kinda makes that argument a no-brainer 

Ahh, another story, another blog….and as far as woman who never “give it up” for their man…. yet an even longer discussion. 

Anyway, I’m talking about MYSELF here, a mother, and how this “Holiday of Love” is just one of the few ways I get a shred of thanks for the daily bullshit I endure.

“Everyday should be a day of loving and appreciating one another.  No one day should be designated to show admiration and respect… blah blah BLAH!!”   

Well guess what tree hugger?! IT ‘AINT THAT WAY, so get over it.  Yeah, and everyfuckingday should be a day without child abuse, and murder, and my mother-in-law not being a fucking cunt BUT IT’S NOT NOW, IS IT???  

Take that bleeding heart shit and put it on a gold chain, wrap it in a fancy fucking box and give it to me with the glass of champaign I sooo deserve that is sooo overdue, and I might just consider it. Otherwise, tack it right up there with “Saving the Rainforest” and all the other crap you’ll never change by whining about it.  

At least I care about the rainforest.

Being a mother is the most under appreciated, over looked, underpaid, underrated, shit upon, taken for granted job in THE GODDAMN WORLD.  

Fuck, if I were the president of Hallmark, there’s be a Mother’s Day once a month!  Once a week even!!  But alas…. since I’m not the CEO of Hallmark, and Mother’s Day is only once a year, I’m gonna go ahead and count Valentine’s Day as a second fucking Mother’s Day, mmmk??  

Good, I’m glad we agree.

Soo, unless you want to sit around covered with shit and puke, play servant to some whiny ass tyrants, make a billion casseroles for people who don’t even eat ’em, and gain 75 pounds, stretch marks and saggy tits, shut the fuck up, rub my feet, and don’t forget…. nut clusters are my favorite.

I love you sweetie.




Like Me!

Destiny. 

Isn’t it funny how we notice little idiosyncrasies in our babies/children and try to peg their personalities as close to our own? Everyone has their own interpretation too. 


Dad, Grandma, Mommy — we all want our children to reflect at least SOME part (if not all) of our personality, even if it’s bad.


“Oh, see how mad he gets ’cause he can’t get his finger in his mouth? I was like that too, short tempered..”


 “Look at how she walks on her toes! Haha, a little dancer, just like me.” 


Why the fuck do we do this? 

Clearly they are our children, they came out of our bodies, they possess physical qualities that resemble our own… 

Isn’t that enough?! 


We do it as long as possible too, and then — it happens. 


He doesn’t care if you loved sweet potato as a kid or not, 

it’s going on the fucking floor. 


A young artist were you? 

Well, shove your crayons up your ass because she’d much rather toss a ball. 


You’re in shock, disbelief! 

Disappointment sullies your face (as well as the sweet potato he chucked at you). But you’re still holding on… 


“Well, okay, she wants to play with a ball, I was pretty athletic in fact I’ve been told I could catch a ball by 3 years old!” 


Guess what, she only wants to THROW it. 


So POW, there it is. Your kid isn’t like you. He or she LOOKS 

(kind of) like you but that’s about it.

 

At first we feel confused, even somewhat betrayed by our own blood. What is that about?? Do we think that by making this child we are entitled to stamp our own interests in to their genetic make up? 


Or are we hoping they exhibit something familiar, some injection of predictability in to the vast and intimidating unknown thing that is PaRANThood (lil plug there…. chill, it’s not like I made it bold)? 


The answer is, IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER. 


Be grateful they’re not like us. So many times I have tried to shake them from my pant leg and push them to explore THEIR world, see what THEY are in to. 

Let THEM bring something new to the table for once! 

YOU might even learn something new


Remember, the more we try to convince them to like the ‘cool’ stuff WE liked, the more they’ll HATE it. 


And besides, they’ll leave you alone a lot longer if they’re doing something THEY like. 

Your child’s destiny is made by YOUR CHILD. 


Your only job is to give them the tools they need to seek it out.


Good Night.