I’m the weirdo who can’t remember what I had for dinner 3 nights ago, but I have vivid recollections of my toddlerhood.
Highschool teachers names? Hell no! Learning to talk? Hell yes!
Among these oddly prominent memories are MANY of my mother wiping all kinds of substances off of my face with her thumb… covered in her very own saliva, and coupled with that vision in my head is the absolute disgust I felt. Due to this disgust and repeat offenses by my mother, to this very day, I HATE the smell of spit. Even in my “i’m a dumb whore let me make out with everyone” phase, i’d have to quit not too far in because I just couldn’t take the damn smell anymore.
WHY, WHY is this terrible woman doing this to me? What did I ever do to deserve her SPITTING ON MY FACE? This is humiliating! Disgusting! She doesn’t love me anymore! Can’t she just use WATER?? She’s trying to KILL ME!
I WILL NEVER DO THIS TO MY CHILDREN!
How many times have I said those words and ended up eating them later?
Even with that being said, and WELL documented, I still never quite understood what the deal was with spit from a mother’s mouth. Did it really have some kind of chemical that can take paint off of a wall- is that why EVERY mother seems to use it? What’s so hard about walking to the nearest water source, wetting a napkin, and wiping a face that way? Why do moms have to be so nasty and spread their fucking spit all over their kids faces? This makes no logical sense to me.
And then it happened. I was out in public with my child sized discharge, minding my own damn business (while he minded everyone elses, of course) when I noticed there was something on his face. Something crusty and indistinguishable, but if I had to give it an educated guess, it would most likely be a mixture of snot, dirt, day old food particles, and a touch of evil.
There are a fuckload of promises I made to myself before becoming a parent, and out of the few I decided I would actually keep was the promise I made not EVER to have the crusty kid. NEVER EVER will I have the crusty kid! My kid will never be in public with a dried milk mustache or a snail trail running down from their nose from a booger that was never wiped- what the fuck, wash that shit off!
Once I saw that
humiliation was imminent oversight on my poor child’s face- I knew that crap needed to be scrubbed. ASAP.
Was there a bathroom around, a water fountain? Yeah, probably.
And that is when the mystery of mommy spit was solved for me.
It’s just fucking EASIER! Why am I going to run to the bathroom for some crust when I have an endless source of cleansing liquid right in the comfort of my own mouth? Sure, my kid might end up smelling like saliva for the rest of the day- but it’s FAST- and in mommy world, fast is worth its weight in gold.
Like it or not kids- you’re gonna have to deal with me smearing my spit on your face. From now until…. well after it begins to embarrass you in public. Not just for payback purposes (although it is a nice fringe benefit)- but because it WORKS.
Now- as far as any magical properties mommy spit may have to it? I cannot accurately confirm nor deny this, even though it WOULD appear to remove things that others fail miserably when attempting to do so- but let’s just take today for example.
Little shitfaces decided to use blue marker to color all over my kitchen floor. Clearly, this displeased me. I told Holden to lick his finger and rub that mess OFF. He looked at me like i’d been snorting lysol, but gave it a whirl anyways (we’re still in the ‘mommy knows best… I guess’ stage). This did not work. And of course, in typical 4 year old fashioned, he whined about it.
So over I saunter, lick my finger in typical Mommy-fashion, and scrub that shit right up. GONE. POOF. PRESTO! I’M HOUDINI! BOW DOWN TO ME LITTLE CHILDREN!!!!
Ahem.. Yeah, so you judge for yourself on that second part there- but I for one am a believer.
I'm either "I HAVE 3 FRIES LEFT DON'T TOUCH MY PLATE!" or "Please take this so I can't eat any more of it!" There is no in-between.
Dear people writing articles on ways to get siblings to get along, I'll save you the time. The answer is "Don't let them play together"
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.