We say it all the time: Kids have it easy. We say it all the time because it’s the absolute TRUTH. Much like a family pet, miniature humans have the good life. All fun all the time, and absolutely no responsibility (but of course they scream and cry if GOD FORBID something doesn’t go their way or they have to GASP pick up a toy).
For the first years of their lives, they get bathed, clothed, fed, played with, showered in toys and love and kisses, and have their asses wipe if there’s even the HINT of a shart. And all of this is done without any hope of repayment, other than just being cute. They can even be assholes 24 hours a day and we will still do ALL of these things for them.
I’ve figured out that our payback, their payment, comes in small tiny doses- but can be extremely satisfying if you can learn to see it in the right light.
There are things we parents force our kids to do that they find to be completely and utterly horrifying. Things we might think are cute but to a tiny child brain is the equivalent of entering satan’s lair.
I enjoy all of these things… except one, because to be quite honest, I find it just as frightening as they do.
A few times a year, we find it to be the best idea on earth to drag our children to the mall, or to some random department store, or wherever it is in our town that happens to have the lap of some poor sap dressed up in a ridiculous costume for kids to sit on.
Of course there’s Santa. Good ol’ Mr. Clause. The fat fucker that breaks into our homes and takes credit for the gifts we spent our hard earned money on, the one we make cookies for and then are forced to be gluttons and eat them ourselves, all to make our kids happy.
He makes sense when the lil’uns are old enough to tell him what they want- they think it’s special… or really they just think it means he won’t fuck it up and bring them the off-brand Nerf gun or the Malibu Barbie when they wanted Princess Barbie.
Before that, though? Taking them to see Santa is really all for our benefit. Cutesy family photos, ones you can print up on a gazillion gawdy Christmas cards and brag to your friends about your beautiful family with… but if your kids are anything like mine, Santa Clause is just a clever way of jumbling the name SATAN.
Bring on the pictures of screaming babies in the
claws hands of Satan Clause. While I find them hilarious (like pants peeing hilarious), I don’t fully understand the fear. It’s a dude who brings you PRESENTS (or so you think). He’s round and wearing (one would hope) a clean fuzzy red suit.
When it comes to the Easter Bunny… however… I completely understand the sheer unadulterated terror children experience when they are to sit on this beast’s lap.
WHY? Why do I fear these fuzzy creature? The one Cadbury would have you believe lays eggs made of chocolate and crack and makes an endearing bucking sound? The one who hops through the yard, shitting out plastic eggs full of candy and then leaves a woven basket full of ass-fattening deliciousness in our childrens rooms without ever making a sound?
I don’t know.
|Dear sweet baby Jesus…
Grab the child and RUN!
I think my fear stems from the fact that EVERY Easter Bunny costume I have EVER SEEN looks like it was created from the mind of Stephen King.
The plastered smile… the lack of life behind the eyes.. the raggedy dinged white fur…
NO, don’t try to tell me it’s a “cute bunny”- 999 times out of 100, the Easter Bunny costume borders more on “horror movie” than “harmless childhood icon”- I don’t get it! WHY?! And why do we want to take our children to SEE this monstrosity? What is even the purpose? Don’t we teach our children to stay AWAY from creepers trying to give them free candy??
What, are they supposed to bitch the bunny out because LAST year they got the caramel cadburys when those taste like donkey dick and they wanted the CREME ones? Uh. No. The thing can’t even speak. It doesn’t speak English anyways.. it speaks in tongues, but I digress.
You walk up, you sit on this things lap, you pray not to be devoured and have the blood drained from your lifeless body, and you walk away.
For all of the above, I was not surprised yesterday, when for the first time in my entire 28 years of life I saw an Easter Bunny that didn’t look like it wanted to snort my soul through my nose- my kids gave me the childhood equivalent of a “FUCK NO!” response.
I most certainly didn’t want them begging for me to take them to Demon Bunny in the mall, making me wait in an hour line just to have to pay for pictures of my children sitting on the lap of the closest creature to a demon I may ever see in my life, when this one was actually what bunnies SHOULD be- cute and cuddly, there was NO line and it was free.
|Where is he? Oh, that’s right, being smothered|
Well, when I finally convinced them to do it- the damn thing attempted to suffocate Holden.
I should have stuck with my gut instinct. I’d be willing to bet the Demon Bunny is going to be dropping off eggs filled with blood this year, just as a warning not to come back again without paying with their lives.
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.
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