Things I wish I could say to My Kids Some Days

19 Sep

img_2587First things first…there are rules for this blog post.  Do not read any further if you are one of the following:

  1. A Judgey Judge-erton
  2. Someone with no sense of humor
  3. Someone who is against bad words
  4. Anyone without kids who think they can do a better job
  5. Anyone who is a total asshole, assholes need not apply here

Ok, now that we have that cleared up.

I was raised in a house where mouths run free. My mom said what she wanted and we were not to repeat bad words.  But now I’m an adult… and I have to say I try to watch my mouth. These are some of the recent happenings in my house and what I really wanted to say…

My daughter is 9 and pretty damn sassy. Not many know this because she’s shy around others but sometimes I really do get the urge to slap that pretty little mouth to Mars.  I enjoy a drink or two.  I don’t drink myself into a coma every night…or ever (at least since the last time before kids). The other day we were looking for restaurant options while riding  in the car and I looked over and suggested a pizza place that just so happened to have an outdoor bar. So Rae McSassypants says “Mother (she calls me that when she wants to be a total shit), we know you only want that pizza place because of the bar.”  so deep breath… Reagan, having a drink at dinner or occasionally going out with my friends for a drink does not mean I’m choosing restaurants because of the bar. A little respect with that mouth…please.” You know what I really wanted to say?

“Are you kidding me? I drink because you little shits make me crazy sometimes! And because I have to tell you 10 fucking times to brush your teeth at night, which I shouldn’t even have to do at your age.  I drink because sometimes you whine and it grates on my nerves like nails on a chalk board. And you just fucking called me Mother.  You get allowance and minor chores. Why the hell are you calling me Mother?  Do I look like Joan Crawford to you? Sometimes, I just need to decompress because you make me feel like the worst mother ever. So excuse my french if I need a glass of wine.”

The other day I took something away from my son.  He looked at me and said with the most contempt I’ve ever seen in his eyes. “You are the worst mom, ever!”  So like a good mom, I just walked away. But what did I really want to say?

“Well, I sure as shit don’t like you some days, either.  Parenting is hard as hell and when you tell me I’m the worst mom ever, I really just want to tell you to go find a better one. But you won’t find a better one because even though there’s a lot of Facebook perfection out there, none of us are perfect. We all suck sometimes.”  I heard him talking to his sister and she asked him why he said it. He told her he didn’t mean it and that he loves me so much.  This morning he snuck into my room crawled on top of me, kissed my forehead and whispered over and over that he loved me so much.  My little man, he sure knows how to make up for his mouth.

We read a book about the birth of Jesus Christ the other day before bed. Randomly my son starts a dialogue: Him: Boys have Penises and girls have bah-ginas. Me: Thank you, Kindergarten Cop, now go to bed.  Him: Do you thank God for your Bah-gina cause you should.  Me: I’ll thank him later, go to bed. What did I really want to say?

“No, I can’t actually say I thanked God for my vagina today, or ever.  I thank him for lots of things but not for the thing that makes my life a pain in the ass for a week a month.  You try to thank Him for the bleeding, bloating and craving shitty food. Thank him for my shitty attitude,  and the ability to go from 0-60 in a single bound when you piss me off during Aunt Flow’s visit.   And for the 5 pound weight gain, let’s not forget about that. So, no, I don’t think I’ve recently thanked anyone for my vagina.   But, I promise as a dude one day you will be thanking God for vaginas.  You don’t even know how many times you will thank him. So lets not boss me around for what I’m going to be thankful for.

Hold on to your rockers for the last one…

Two days ago my six year old son decided to stick his iPod into the toilet and take a picture of his asshole. He tattled on himself to his father who came flying into the bedroom to show me the picture.  I was about to lose my shit laughing when he came around the corner and I had pull it together for an educational moment. Me:  J, why would you take a picture of your tush? Him: I thought it would be funny but now I know its not so funny after all. Me: Firstly, no more taking pictures of any private parts anymore. Secondly, iPods don’t belong in the bathroom, especially not in the toilet.  Lastly, please go flush the toilet and wash your hands. What did I really want to say?

Why…why in the fuck would you take a picture of your asshole!!!  That’s disgusting.!!! And if you lost your iPod in the shitty water, I would have kicked your ass and you wouldn’t get another electronic device until you got a job and paid for it yourself. But really, lets talk about your mad skills buddy. You stuck your iPod INTO the toilet and got an asshole pic without ruining it.  As disgusting as that is. Props and high fives for your agility and skills. I can see it now: The New York Times Photograph of the Year goes to JP for “The Bunghole in the Abyss”. You can have a whole gallery of asshole photos to sell when he’s older. Crowds of people would fill his gallery and look at his pics sideways trying to find the meaning of the picture. Me, his proud mama, would be gleaming there.  That’s my son’s asshole!

I’m speechless as to why he thought this was a good idea, but he did. The next day it was brought up and he admitted that he just wanted to see what it looked like.  And then I realized.  The dude was was exploring his bod. He’s never seen an asshole before.(I have seen plenty, literally and figuratively).  He was just looking for a little information real time. You can’t say the boy isn’t resourceful. Back in the day we used mirrors to explore.  He could actually  take a picture of it and zoom in.  I should have just slapped him on the ass and said, go to it buddy. Go check it all out, punkin.  And make sure that shit is sparkly clean. And no posting. No one else wants to see your asshole.

You see, we live in this Facebook perfect and pretty world where some of our kids are perfect and everything is sunshine and roses, losing weight is easy and we never get mad. FUCK THAT!!!  I can’t sugar coat that. My life is a big fat mess. Most days I wonder whether I’m screwing up my kids. If one day these kids will be adults in therapy hating and blaming me for their life.  Somedays I look in the mirror and try and brave it though a day  I want to be curled up in bed crying. And yes somedays are amazing. My kids are angels, I wake up happy, not bloated and pimple free. Somedays, I drink wine just cause I like it. Sometimes both of my kids just want some mommy lovin’ and do whatever is asked of them. I treasure those days.  But the days I’m emotional and tear up in the car because I’m stressed are equally important. The days that I wonder how I can balance life…they are needed days. Life isn’t perfect. Our kids do screwy things. Sometimes we laugh when we shouldn’t. Sometimes we say the wrong thing. But sometimes we also get it right.  That’s the thing about balance. We can’t have all good or all bad.  But we can have all we need and be grateful.  It’s also ok to not be so grateful too, because you’re not perfect. I’m not perfect.  If you think you are…we can’t be friends. Perfect people need not apply at my door.  I want your messy, weird and amazing self…for exactly who you are.  Don’t change for me.  I love you just the way you are…

Until next time…








4 Responses to “Things I wish I could say to My Kids Some Days”

  1. Kelli September 19, 2016 at 1:51 pm #

    Lmao! And that’s real life baby! The good, bad and the ugly! Love this! Love you!


    • DP Babbles September 19, 2016 at 2:41 pm #

      Sure is!!!! Love you my favorite blogger friend!


  2. Holly September 19, 2016 at 3:33 pm #

    Yep, real life. I drink because my fourth-grader thinks he knows everything … except his math homework, which I spend hours every week helping him do while he is whining and procrastinating.

    I hold onto hope that as long as the kids feel loved, therapy won’t be necessary….


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