I’m Officially Finished Parenting. Here’s how I did it

It’s official. I’ve done it. Eight years and some change into parenting my second child, and I’m done. It’s complete. I have reached the pinnacle of parenting.

The first one I kinda fucked up, but he was my practice kid, right? I nailed the second one, and in record time. I can retire my parental finger wag and scowl I have honed over the past decade. He can go off to college now. I have nothing left to offer him, for he has everything he needs to be a productive human already. The older one  is still going to require a little more work, but I am signing off on the eight year old. He is ready to go off and make his own way now.

I know what you’re thinking: How? How did you accomplish such a miraculous feat in such a short amount of time?Should we be calling the Guinness Book of World Records? Putting your name in the ballot box to win a Nobel Peace Prize? And let me say, while I appreciate the multitude of praise for a job spectacularly done, there is no need for parades, accolades, or awards. Instead, I am going to share with you the secret of my success, so that you, too, might be done parenting your children before they hit the double-digits.

It all started with Sunday chore-time. This is nothing unusual. We do it every. single. week. One week one will clean a bathroom and the kitchen table, and the other will clean the big bathroom (which is “their” bathroom) and the other small bathroom. The next week, they switch. They can try to argue, but it’s no use, because this is how it is. As long as they complete these chores and don’t half-ass them, all is right with the world. They’ve been doing a decent job for so long now that I didn’t even think to check every nook and cranny behind them to make sure they hadn’t half-assed. I may have never even noticed had the toilet in the master bathroom not been out of commission, and had I not needed to go pee before bed time on Sunday night, and had I NOT noticed, while going to sit on that toilet, that it wasn’t really clean. That is what brought my attention to the base of the toilet, and around to the back, and WHAT, pray-tell, did my eyes behold?

Pee. But not just any pee, crusty pee. Lots of crusty ol’ pee. Probably weeks worth of crusty pee because maybe the boys decided they didn’t need to actually aim into the toilet and it’d be fine flying all over the place like a fucking water hose- I’m not really sure. All I know is I was horrified.

Have you ever tried to pee with your feet OFF of the ground? It’s like the opposite of a public restroom butt-hover. It’s where the floor is so disgusting, that you plant your ass, lift your feet, and let it go. Once you’re done, you do an Olympic gymnast level leap clear to the other side of the bathroom. It’s dangerous, as your pants are still down, limiting your range of movement, but it can be done if you don’t want a layer of crusty pee on your feet.

I was disappointed, yes. Disgusted, absolutely. Angry, yeah- a little. I trust the kids to fully clean the bathrooms in exchange for being able to live here for free, and screen time, and me making them food, and all that fun stuff. I don’t ask for a lot. Some respect, a few chores here and there, general requirement of not being a major a-hole. EZPZ, right?

Monday rolls along, and I roll out of bed still thinking about the fact that I nearly used the boys’ old pee as a foot exfoliator.

I confront the one responsible for the half-assery and request, calmly, that when he go and finish the job he was supposed to do the day before. He asks if he can get to it a bit later. Sure, I say. It’s early, why not, I say. Let’s relax for a bit– as long as you get it done. I’m not unreasonable.

By the time he gets to it, it’s a bit before lunch. I’m upstairs in my room doing my makeup.
To give you an idea of how far we are apart- I’m at the back corner of my room, about ten feet to my right is my doorway, and a few feet from that doorway is the doorway to his bathroom. I can hear everything crystal clearly.

It starts with him claiming he has no idea what I’m talking about. According to him, the bathroom is spotless. There’s no mess. I inform him that not only did I find poo streaks on the toilet seat itself (which I cleaned off prior to sitting, he can thank me very much) but that I nearly wore his old pee as winter socks.
He is not pleased.
And by not pleased, I mean hysterical once he sees the devastation that has occurred.

This isn’t unusual. The kid always cries when he has to re-do chores. I’m never sure why, because he spends 10 times longer crying about cleaning than it would take to actually get the job done, but whatever. I’m not him. He can waste his time however he sees fit.

I heard something different through the self-pitying sobs this time. I pause doing my eyeliner to get a better listen.

It’s…. what IS that–I wonder to myself.

And then it hits me, much like reality has hit him. He’s gagging.

So I’m sitting there at my vanity, trying to perfect a cat eye, and he’s a few feet away, scrubbing up his OWN CRUSTY OLD PEE like
“THIS IS DISGUSTING” *gag* “I HATE THIS” *gag gag* “THIS IS SO UNFAIR!” *gag* “I DON’T WANT TO-eeeoooohhhehhh-DO THIS ANYMORE!”

And it’s taking everything within me not to laugh hysterically. Never has there been a sound more pitiful than a little boy realizing how fucking disgusting he is and having to clean up the disaster he himself has created.

It’s karma. It’s poetic justice. It’s the peepocalypse. And he’ll never ever half ass cleaning the bottom of the toilet again.

(shhhhhh, just let me live in my delusion for a day or two)

Posted on January 16, 2018 by Holdin' Holden 1 Comment
Holdin' Holden

About Holdin' Holden



1 Comment

  • Loved this! I have 2 boys (3 if you count my husband, which if we are being honest, is also a big child) who pee on the floor, and it kills me. I don’t even go in that bathroom, but the mortification comes when someone “drops by” and asks to use the bathroom. I started having my boys clean up their grossness a year or two ago, and life has never been better! Good job, mama, for teaching your son this important lesson. 🙂