Remember that movie “Titanic”? Well, even if you were doing something more important with your life in the year 1997, like mourning the death of Biggie Smalls, or perfecting the art of collar poppin’, and you missed the boat on that movie, I’m sure, at the very least, you’re familiar with that famous scene.
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.
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.
So I was redecorating this house last night, and by “redecorating” I mean eating…
Let’s face it, little kids are some cranky ass motherfuckers. I know, I know, they’re growing, feeling shit out, testing boundaries, figuring out where they fit in in this crazy world — and I’m cool with that. That’s the way it should be, but it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re some cranky ass motherfuckers.
other words, to be HIGH. This is particularly true for toddlers because although they’ve never been wasted they know what fun feels like and are gonna go for that shit even at the risk of breaking their fucking heads open. Sounds like me, and Mr. Jameson on a goddamn Saturday night, but that’s another blog…. Anyhoo, back to “Helicopter”. Unlike the Tickle Torture Game, Helicopter is best played in a wide open space, preferably outdoors. A wide girth is needed otherwise you risk smashing your child in to a wall or piece of furniture albeit destroying any and all potential fun from happening. This is a pretty easy game. Just grab two limbs of your child. It can be both arms, both legs or even one of each and then, proceed to spin. The more momentum you gain in your spinning, the more your child will slowly begin to lift up in to the air, and therefore, resembling a Helicopter propellor. Be sure to halt all spinning before you get too dizzy. Falling while trying to spin your child in circles may look fucking hilarious to others, and it might even land you a cameo on a Funny Home Video show but for you… matching bloody noses for mommy and child… not cute. It IS hilarious however, once you stop, watching your child stumble around in a drunken dizziness, not being able to take more then two steps without falling on their ass. And when they gather themselves up enough to finally pass a fucking field sobriety test…?
I don’t blog a lot.
When you first have a kid there’s about a billion things you’re totally unprepared for. In fact, fuck that, I don’t recall being prepared for any goddamn thing at all. It’s all one big fucking surprise, from weird ass baby toenails that just peel off (blech), to bloody nipples, many of these surprises are unpleasant. But we power on because the pleasant surprises are waaay more then pleasant. Can someone say ecstasy? Can someone say life-changing? THAT’S why we do this shit. They’re so goddamn beautiful, these moments, that for some of us, we do it again, and for a few more of you crazy bitches out there, (and by crazy, I mean fucking fearless) again and again and even again.
se that makes all this magic bullshit worth it.
You know what’s the hottest gift for kids that’s NOT flying off the shelves this holiday season??
A few days ago I tried to break up with my period. Maybe it was stupid to do it via email (and a little tacky too) but I had just HAD it!!! ‘Cept, now I don’t know what the fuck to do… here’s our correspondence, tell me what you think….