When I awoke this morning, the last thing I expected to do while shoveling cereal into my face and trying to become coherent enough not to want to rip peoples heads off after a shitty night of “sleeping” (I use that term lightly) was to be completely bombarded with a barrage of bodily functions and taboo conversation coming from the male members of my household (which is everyone but me.)
I had absolutely NO interest in overhearing the discussion between Holden and his father about Holden’s “you should have been in bed but insisted to shit in the middle of the night” poop totally clogged up the toilet. AGAIN; I definitely was not at all interested in the conversation that spiraled into about Thomas’ coworker cutting off his damn fingertip while I’m eating a nice red berry cluster in my usually delicious but now slightly horky cereal; and I DEFINITELY didn’t need to hear his ass trumpet going off. This is not a military base- and your ass is not a wake up call. Or it shouldn’t be. Seriously. I don’t care if you’re IN the bathroom- I really don’t wanna hear that shit (literally) while I’m trying to eat.
Lunch I can totally handle, but NOT breakfast.
I AM A FUCKING LADY! I HAVE STANDARDS!!!
Well… when it’s convenient.
Alright, fine- I am very infrequently a “lady” by definitive standards- and I can and do talk about poop pretty much constantly as if it’s a normal conversational topic- but boys are just GROSS. They are gross and they are nasty and I am surrounded by them every moment of every day and at times they are so disgusting that I find it brings out my inner prissy-prude and I turn my nose up and comment on how awful these foul beasts that inhabit my home are. Have some respect! Some class! I’m trying to EAT here! I don’t want to smell your ASS while I eat. RUDE!
If I truly wanted to- I could spend every day all day bitching and moaning and nagging about the booger eating, farting, gigantic toilet clogging turding and farting, amongst other nasty things that take place in this house. I really could! I would NEVER run out of material. Some might say it would even be therapeutic- we women deal with a lot of frustrations!
I don’t though. Well, this morning I did- because SERIOUSLY, come the fuck on- that was a bit much even for me- but usually I don’t. The reason being- I then think about how much worse it would be if I had girls instead of boys. Now- I’m sure if I ACTUALLY had girls I would think far differently (probably the opposite)- but oftentimes parenthood is ALL about perspective. Right or wrong, sometimes it’s just how you look at it and nothing else, that will get you through the days and make them just a teensy bit brighter.
The farting, the pooping the finger cutting- whatever else is thrown at me- those are easy marks. All I have to do to keep myself from imploding or curling up in a dark corner and alternating between crying and dry-heaving is pink. PINK. Pink frilly frilly tutus and princess tea parties. Unicorns and my little ponies and Strawberry Shortcake dolls that simply can’t compare to the ones I had when I was little with the SUPER smelly hair. Legos? How about Barbie shoes to stab your feet and creepy dolls with eyes that follow you all over the room and having to teach a poor girl child about periods and boobs and hair removal. THANK YOU CHEEZUS I DON’T HAVE TO DO ANY OF THAT! It’s so NOT ME. Not me at all. And to think I once wanted a little girl SO badly I spent the majority of one pregnancy absolutely miserable- when it turned out it’s likely I am more suited for boys. Maybe my uterus really DOES know what’s best for me! Sneaky bitch!
To be clear- I am PRETTY damn sure if I had a girl, I would be totally pretty pretty princessed pink lace wearing “a dream is a wish the heart makes” fru-fru’d out (assuming that is the kind of stuff she’d be into)- but like I said- It is ALL about perspective, my friends! From the right viewpoint, anything stanky can be downright awesome, and anything awesome can be downright stanky.
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.