Each and every year when birthday season comes around.. or Christmas season, or hell- ANY season where people see fit to lavish gifts upon little children- an intense panic washes over me.
You see, long ago I learned the ways of the world (slight exaggeration) when it comes with what contraptions to buy for your children. This is far and away from contraptions they WANT, because the things they want will likely drive you to an early grave. Or to a nice extended stay at the nutfarm.
I learned my lesson after I wanted to go Hulk Smash on a toy that just wouldn’t shut the flying fuck up, and when I searched for someone to blame for my extreme annoyance… I realized it was me. I was the perpetrator. The buyer of the obnoxiousness!
And having to blame myself sucks.
No longer! I refused from that point on to buy anything I knew from the getgo would make me want to punt it across a field into a gigantic pit of lava and then dance around it while speaking in tongues. That does not mean that toys that DIDN’T seem annoying won’t BECOME annoying- but shit, there’s only so much you can do.
My wondertastic epiphany unfortunately did not rub off on others, for when gifting season comes gyrating around the corner, it mocks me. As if a twisty pelvis isn’t enough, it also has this sly “I know something you don’t know, or you do, and you can’t stop it!” look on its smug little face. It knows that it doesn’t matter that it cannot annoy me- for someone else will. Gifting season cannot be stopped!
Someone ELSE will not care about my fragile psyche. Someone else will go out of their way, whether it be on purpose or not, to pick up the most obnoxious thing on the entire shelf and give it to my children. Would they buy it as something to play with in THEIR homes? Oh, I fucking doubt it. You sneaky, horrible people.
I’ve also timed this blog BEFORE the inevitable happens at the birthday party this weekend so that no one reads my blog and gets all shitty about how I thought their gift was shitty.
Is it the thought that counts? What if the thought on the other end was to torture me? How does one count that?
Your list of the most obnoxious toys ever gifted to your children (and usually without a gift receipt) may differ from mine- but the sentiment remains the same. I can’t quite narrow the sentiment down, but I can tell you that a lot of it is NOOOOO! and WHYYYYYYYYYY and DAMNIT! and I HATE YOU! and JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU HAVE KIDS!
The cycle will continue.
Here is my top 5 most heinous evil obnoxious annoying toys EVER gifted to us by other people. Gifts that are so horrid, I dared not mention them on my list of toys I wish would mysteriously disappear into the night. Most of those were my fault anyway.
Ok, so yeah- THE LIST!
Don’t get me wrong; the premise of the Aquadoodle is fantastically fantastical. It’s not on this list because it’s necessarily bad right out of the gate. It’s a friggin’ mat. With some friggin’ Pens. That you will up with water. That’s it! MAGIC! You don’t ever have to buy refills (assuming you don’t lose the pens). All they need is their imagination (cue glitter and rainbows bursting from your screen right now in a show of epic imagination skillz coming to life). HOORAY! BLOSSOM MY CHILD INTO A CREATIVE GENIUS WITH RENEWABLE RESOURCES!
That is, until this handy-dandy little water trough they give you to dip this painbrushy like doo-dad into spills. And it ALWAYS spills- covering the entire mat with water. Guess what you can’t use once it’s already wet? Guess who’s going to freak out that they can no longer use the mat because it’s completely soaked? Mmhmmm.
4. Glow ma-doodle.
|Don’t look directly at it!|
Look, I don’t know what the hell this thing is called, nor do I care. I know it has been blogged about here before, but I can’t remember where. It’s haunting me. And I have two of them, thanks to my shitbricks not being able to share for a full year. It’s like a magnadoodle, but you use it in the dark. Instead of magnetized crap on the inside, you use a glowstick, and the pad lights up where you draw (or really if you even shine the thing in its general direction. derp). The premise is awesome, it’s super creative and can be a lot of fun- until your kid tries to fucking blind you with a glowstick pointed directly at your retina. You will not be able to see for 5 minutes. Once you stop stumbling around, your spawn will do it again- because Mommy and Daddy doing the ‘zombie’ is friggin’ hilarious. Or, because it’s glow in the dark, that whole DARK thing has to be made to happen. So your kid goes into a dark room and closes the door. Cue you, looking for them, open the door- and they scare the ever living fuck out of you with their creepy glowing child-face.
3. Playdoh. Moondough. DOUGH DOUGH
I don’t care what kind of dough- it all sucks and I hate it, and it seems like no matter HOW much I have, every gift-season that comes, our house becomes completely overstocked with it. When will we have enough shit that can get dried up and crusted all over everything or mashed into the carpet? Apparently NEVER.
Yes, kids LOVE the shit. They love it until they can love it no more. They also love to eat it, to leave it out until it’s a mass of concrete, to throw it, to leave it caked up in the stupid pieces that come with it so that the pieces will never work again unless you spend seven hours meticulously picking it out of every nook and cranny- and do you think we’re going to do that? Well… if we want the whining to stop.
2. Little People. All the Little People
|Don’t worry.. she won’t hurt you|
Now before you go and get your grannies in a wad- I think you need to be a parent, or have been a parent any time from the 70s until now, and you will know exactly what I mean by Little People. Little.Plastic.People. And their little plastic homes. And their little plastic cars. And their little plastic animals. And the weird fucking hats and things in their hands that make no sense with their “jobs”, and the creepy fucking faces on their vehicles that are borderline Chucky-ish “I’m going to consume your soul” in appearance than cutesy “Awwww, that car is smiling at you”
I have never bought a single Little People thing, yet somehow my house is overflowing with parts and pieces and chewed up pieces and parts (I guess there’s something about the plastic they’re made from that is super appealing to toddlers). You can cry about stepping on a Lego (and yes, that sucks donkey balls)- but once you trip over Little People shit every single day for a week- you will find an even deeper loathing than the one you have grown over little pegged pieces of plastic.
And did I fucking MENTION the creep-ass smiles?? ‘Cause wasn’t that enough?
1. Screaming Slingshot Monkey
This small furry bundle of hell, I would not wish on my mortal enemy. I am still trying to figure out, to this day, what in the world I could have done that was SO wrong to deserve not one, but TWO of these monstrosities to be given to my children. WHATEVER I DID I AM SORRY!
|Does that LOOK like a child in
the photo to you?
A monkey. That is also a slingshot. That SCREAMS when it plows into things, like a wall, or a television, or your face. Usually your face. Kids think this is absolutely the most hysterical thing they have ever witnessed in their time on earth- and so they do it again. And again. AND AGAIN.
I should throw them away. I have PLANNED to throw them away multiple times- but every time I’ve had e-fucking-nough, they disappear. POOF. Gone with the wind, Scarlett. Only to be found one quiet afternoon and suddenly *SMACK* AAHHHHH-EEEEEEE-AAHHHHHHHHH. *SMACK* AAAAAHHHHH-EEEEEEEEEE-AAAAAAAHHHHHH!
And then it’s gone again. I think these flying howler monkeys are a curse. I think I shall trap them and send them back from whence they came.
Now, I know that some of you may be thinking I’m an ungrateful little shit. I dunno, maybe I am… but I figure if I haven’t melted the shit down and sent it back to the gift giver with a note that says “YOU SUCK!”… I’m pretty damn nice. And besides, it’s not me that has the problem here… it’s my sanity. Blame my sanity, I always do. Well, that and my uterus, but that’s another story that has been pretty well covered around here.
What makes your list, hmmm?
A story for any mom who has ripped the ass out of her pants because she hasn't replaced them in forever, using the excuse "well the kids need pants more than me" holdinholden.com/2018/02/i-ri…
Acting like they're never coming back. pic.twitter.com/MknDuwtDtm
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I Ripped the Ass out of my Pants goo.gl/fb/fcStPt
@BrentWalshITM Your show in RVA is the first time considering taking one of my minis to a rock show and I figured you'd know better than any- safe for a 10 yr old or wait a few years? He loves y'all but I don't think he can handle a thrashing
My kids do this funny thing where they give me all kinds of attitude in the morning while forgetting I have access to their toothbrushes while they're at school.