Whomever named the time off of school between the winter holiday and summer vacation “Spring Break” is a real asshole. There is no such thing as any kind of “BREAK”- not once you have kids. You are a cruel trickster- torturous time off namer. The only thing breakish about these breaks is the breaking of Mommy’s mental stability and willpower not to drink before the sun goes down. Or the breaking of that toy that was just bought during the last “break” that now seems like a total waste of money now. Or the breaking of the
money bank to take the kids somewhere they are less likely to drive us insane.
If that is what you meant by “BREAK,” Sir or Madame- you were spot on. But I’m pretty sure it is not, and therefore you suck and I hope you get a case of anal fissures.
Before the introduction of school into my life as a parent, I was flying high. I could handle my two kids like a seasoned professional. No whine was too whiny nor booger too drippy. I’m not sure what happens once they are taught things by people other than us- but when they come back they are changed. Or maybe we are changed. We parents finally get a little taste of sanity- just the tip of a toe dipped into the pool of stability after spending years building up as much patience as we can contain. FINALLY- they are off being taught how to be smarter than us and we just let go of all the crazy.
When they are home for prolonged periods of time, like they once were- it feels different. And without mommy and daddy breathing down their necks and plenty of other people to play with who are just as turdy as they are- our kids let go too.
Or maybe I’m just over thinking this whole thing. Maybe kids are just raging sadists who know this whole “Break” deal is short-lived so they take the time they are home to cram in as much shitheaded buttholey misbehavior as they possibly can so that when they go back to school they are praised for what GOOD and WELL BEHAVED students they are since they’ve gotten it out of their system at home, which leaves us parents wondering if perhaps the teacher has called the wrong number or if maybe you birthed twins and the evil one comes home to you while the good one attends school. I would THINK that I’d know if I shoved two kids out of my hoo-ha that fateful night in 2007… but if we’re being brutally honest, after the first one everything just went kind of fuzzy. I might be willing to believe another could have sneaked out of my poor tired nethers.
All that I know for sure- with ABSOLUTE certainty- is that we deserve a break. A REAL break. A
vacation! A STRIKE! Okay maybe not a strike, because I don’t want to have to picket my own house for 8 hours a day just to get credit that I was rarely getting in the first place- but a break! A vacation from the kids’ vacation.
It wouldn’t take much to get me back up to fighting stance after this week- and we DESERVE it- if not for putting up with it, to prepare us for the dreaded SUMMER break- where we realize just how grossly underpaid teachers are and count down the days until back to school ads start polluting the airwaves again.
I’m not talking about the kind of break where you’re allowed out of your gilded cage for an hour to go to Target or to grab a coffee that you didn’t make at your own house with a paper towel because you ran out of coffee filters- even though both of those things sound like a vacation to me right now, we all know it is not a REAL vacation.
We need a full 48 hours where our kids are WELL taken care of (so that worrying will not ruin our fun. What? The kids might make us CRAZY but we love them regardless!) so that we can sit around with no damn pants on watching trashy NOT kid appropriate TV and being brought delicious alcoholic beverages that we did NOT have to make ourselves with meals that we did NOT have to make ourselves or bitch at someone else to eat or have to eat cold- and dessert shall have NO calories. And we can eat as much of it as we want without feeling even the slightest bit guilty.
Realistically, I know the majority of the above is either impossible or improbable. I KNOW. You don’t need to tell me, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t and I got to live in LaLa Land for a few moments longer. How about just one day? Even if just a WORK DAY’s worth. Eight hours. No pants. Lots of snacks. And drinks.
We’re raising the future of the WORLD here- we need to not be batshit crazy in order to do so, which means we need US time- which means we need breaks from the BREAKS before we BREAK things!
Trust me- you don’t want us to break things. You wouldn’t like us when we’re angry.
Yes, that was a shameless quote from The Incredible Hulk, but that is how I imagine us parents at the ends
of our ropes- am I wrong here?
Didn’t think so.
The “Are You Ready to Have Kids?” Checklist of Doom goo.gl/fb/DTPJ1A
If anyone asks how I died, you can just go ahead and tell them "she was lured in by free pie in exchange for listening to 2nd graders screech Thanksgiving songs for 30 minutes"
Half-Assed Jingler Syndrome goo.gl/fb/McWfBy
@ItsEvieClaire Booze and tears
I'm not saying this is the perfect #Christmas gift for all the parents in your life, but.... okay, yeah I am. That's exactly what I'm saying. Truths from the bowels of parenthood! amazon.com/Kids-Are-Turds…
@Gofashiondeals All of that and more. Good times. Gooooood times