If there’s one thing to be said for how awesome being a parent of little kids is, even on the whiniest, poo-filled, living room destroying, not listening craptacular awful days- it’s the unwavering love that is served up on heaping platters even when you think your plate is too full- you can always make room for it.
I KNOW. BARF! Trust me, I want to kick myself in the face right now. How disgustingly sentimental! Have I been invaded by body-snatchers? Did I get dropped on my head or snort the highlighter fumes from Holden highlighting EVERY SINGLE PAGE in one book for hours on end?
Don’t worry, there’s no need to put your hands on my shoulders and shake some sense into me. Promise!
I think I’d have to be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that being to my kids what evil Jafar-Genie was in Aladdin with PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWER!!!!! is pretty frickin’ cool.
They might not agree with everything I say, or that I think they need to clean their shit up when they’re done with it; I mean, I certainly don’t like to clean up. It might be true that every day has some kind of random ridiculous tantrum about something completely pointless, and maybe even every day for a week straight that I am counting down the minutes until kiddie bedtime- but one thing still holds true. Shiny and golden and true! The kind you spit on and then rub it with your elbow or however the fuck weird dudes polish up their trophies- I’m just guessing here, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with spit
At the end of the day- we parents are still NUMERO UNO to our kids. Boom. I said it. We are the be all end all. They want something, they know the way they’re gonna get it (if they can’t reach it or weasel it out of someone else) is through us. The family pillars or knowledge. The be all end all leaders of their worlds. It’s us or nothin’.
Let us have a moment of silence for just how much of an epic win that is.
Really, I mean it! Just think about it- you have this tiny little human that YOU created who follows you around because basically, they worship you. You are the sun in their sky. They know that from you comes sustenance and love- the two things they crave the most. They also know you’re going to wipe their disgusting ass when they cover themselves in shit. That’s a special kind of bond, right there.
But!!! Come ON, you had to know that was coming. There’s always a but! Okay, maybe not always- but most of the time there is a but. Sometimes even of the stinky kind, so let’s get it over with-
BUT– like Uncle Spiderman said- with great power comes great responsibility.
I’m pretty sure he was referring to those of us who have spawned and not to any kind of tingly spidey sense- but that’s just a gut feeling.
With this whole “parent worship” thing that young, sweet, naive children practice comes a down side. Not only do they know you control pretty much everything around them- but they think you control everything everything. And I do mean EVERYTHING. Remember that PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWER thing I mentioned above? Yeah, they really truly think you have it.
Well you MUST be magic if you can see Santa, and the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny, and the Sandman- and whatever other creeper comes stalking into their house that they somehow sleep through yet we don’t. We can drive cars and turn on electronics and know how to make things work when the kids absolutely insist they are broken and there is no coming back. We parents seem to hold the answers to just about everything a kid could ever want to know (and if we don’t, thank cheezus for Google)- and therefore, according to a child- we should be able to do it all. Impossible you say? Psh, what does that mean? You are Mommy and Daddy- you can do it! Why? Because you’re Mommy and Daddy! Fuck logic!
What’s that you say, All powerful parents? You CAN’T do the impossible thing I think you should be able to do because I love you and worship you and think you hold the world in the palm of your hand? Allow me to sing you the song of my people:
I know, you think I’m being dramatic- but after the eleventy-gazillionth time I was commanded by said children to make the TV do what I told it to, and after the eleventy-gazillionth time I informed the children that I am not the master of the TV and I can’t just snap my fingers and make whatever they want magically appear on the screen- and they insisted time and time again that I could and were none too pleased with dear ol’ not-so-magical mom when she didn’t make it happen- I’m pretty sure I’m on the money here.
While this assumption of greatness and parental worship is super fantastic and sweet- it comes with a price- whiney buttholeishness. Fair trade?
Eeehhhhh…. yeah, I guess so.
my life. pic.twitter.com/qLhD6ISx7p
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