Legos don’t top my list for my true mortal nemesis in life, even though right now I’m sporting a pretty fabulous bruise on the bottom of my foot from the last time one of those fuckers attacked me. It’s not even crayons being ground into my vintage kitchen table and dropped all over the floor, or the things with wheels that I swear are threatening my life because they know one wrong move and I’m going for a ride.
The thing in this house that bothers me the most is snack time. I love snacks. That’s the problem. I love them and I want to inhale them and I swear I get so hungry around snack time that I’m eating like this finger food is covered in crack. If I’m munching, I don’t want to stop munching. Finger foods, man. They’re so mean, being all small and bite sized and making you think that you could eat an entire box of them and it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It’s not like I ate an entire sleeve of crackers or a box of Double Stuft Oreos! It’s not like I’m eating UNHEALTHY things, so why can’t I have just a little bit more?
What?? That’s logical!!
Or.. it was logical, until I ate so many I wasn’t hungry for dinner HOURS later.
Hello, my name is Jenny, and I am addicted to snack time.
I suppose I could be ashamed about this addiction… but it could definitely be worse. Loving snack time means having all kinds of assorted snack-ish things in the house. Though I have to admit those things aren’t just me, we always have a large assortment for Picky Parker, who loves something one day and think it tastes like rectal vomit the next.
Snack crackers, pretzel type thingamajigs, cereals, granola-ish type crap, fruit, dried fruit- there’s a lot going on in our pantry, but ONE snack, no matter the day or what kind of buttholish mood he is in, Parker loves no matter what. He also loves to express that love loudly. Unfortunately, I did not know that was what he was talking about the first few days he was proclaiming his life long dedication to his snack of choice.
It was last week and we had just arrived home from a stock-up trip to Costco. We had all basically filled ourselves beyond capacity with their delicious samples, so the last thing I expected was a request for any kind of food. No way. We even joked that we were SO full of sample-age that we may not even eat dinner that evening. That was the moment Parker came sauntering into the kitchen.
“I LOVE gold bitches!” he announces proudly.
Look, I have a pervy mind. I can turn nearly everything into a pervy joke. I often say that if it wasn’t for the gutter, my mind would be homeless- so obviously when I heard my sweet little 3 year old say gold… WHAT’S? Bitches? Gold Bitches? Yeah, I did a double take.
“Gold bitches are deeee-licious!”
Okay, no…. really… did he just say what I think he said? What the flying fart is a gold bitch? Was he the owner of Studio 54 in a past life? Did I accidentally put “Austin Powers: Goldmember” on the TV? I have been known to space off long enough for the program to change.
What? I’m supposed to pay attention the mind-numbing kiddie bullshit they watch? I only have so much patience rationed for each day. That would deplete an entire month’s supply! Don’t you put that evil on me!
“Did you just say…. What did you just say?”
“Gold bitch!”– He seemed so sure of himself
Happiness turned to anger. “GOLD BITCH! I WANT GOLD BITCHES IN MY MOUTH! THEY ARE DELICIOUS!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. A lot. At the same time, I was incredibly thankful we weren’t in public during this situation. A child insisting on having gold painted bitches in his mouth? Not really appropriate for a 3 year old.
He went stomping out of the room, I assumed to plot my demise or to come back with some sort of shank fashioned out of a toothbrush, but instead he appeared back in the room again just a few short minutes later with a giant box of Goldfish crackers.
“GOLDBITCH!!!!” he yells, holding the box out.
Whoops! I mean, I love Goldbitch… I mean… GoldFISH as much as the next person, but I’ll never be able to look at them the same way again!
Mispronunciations. They are, for lack of a better term, a BITCH! This isn’t nearly the worst that has ever occurred- but it reminded me of just how often it does. Not just to me, but to pretty much every other parent on the planet at some point or another- and it’s nice to know I’m not alone, or the only parent who has a child in love with Go Go Dancers.
I want to hear YOUR stories. The most awkward mispronunciations and mishearings of little kid language you have ever experienced! It’s about time for another reader submissions blog. Send me YOUR stories, either via message to my Facebook Page, or via email to holdinholden AT yahoo DOT com. Give me your worst! It can be anonymous, or you can send it to me with your own blog or website. Please keep in mind that I get so many submissions I cannot use them all, but I’ll try to fit as many as possible.
I can’t wait to read about your Gold Bitch like fiasco!
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