Okay, you know what I hate more than anything? Well, not ANYTHING. I mean I hate a few things more. Like Hitler. And olives. But I digress. Do you know what I hate a whole lot? When I’m standing there with my rugrats and someone asks me if I work. Duhh, do you think these poop machines are raising themselves?
The truth is I used to ask that too BEFORE I had kiddos. Now I’ve changed the way I ask it. These days I’ll say something like, “Do you do anything in addition to the ridiculously hard, super challenging, often disgusting job of taking care of your kids?”
Yayyyyyy, Girl Scout cookies are in!!!!
Dear Mrs. So-and-So,
Awww shit, there it is, the sound of Holden’s feet getting out of bed and coming down the hallway. Yeah yeah yeah, I know that the pitter-patter of little feet is supposed to be all adorable and shit, but I’ll tell you when it’s NOT adorable. When it’s three in the mother F’ing morning!!! AGGGHHHH, GO BACK TO BEDDDD!!!!
And to make it even worse my hubby is sleeping through it right now and I know since I’m awake I should be the one to bring Holden back to his room, but this totally isn’t fair because I brought him back to bed two hours ago and it’s not my turn again. So screw that.
Awwww shit, my kiddo just got invited to Cinderella’s house for a play date but I have no F’ing idea who Cinderella’s parents are or what goes on in their house. I mean yeah, they live around the corner so it seems safe enough but so does the totally creepy lady who vacuums her lawn in disgusting old shorts that show off her vajayjay every time she bends over. So who’s to say neighbors are always safe?
Anyways, don’t get me wrong, I totally appreciate Cinderella’s parents taking my little douchenugget for the afternoon so I can get all sorts of shit done (like pretending I’m going to vacuum but running out of time because I’ve wasted too much time eating snacks and surfing Facebook). However, my precious kid cannot be replaced so whenever I send her to a new house where I don’t really know what goes on there, I get the nervous poops.
Yayyyy, school pictures are in!!! SCHOOL PICTURES ARE IN!!! I mean uhhhh, yeah, I’m cool. I’ll just calmly walk to my car and open them in the front seat where no one can see my reaction.
I don’t know WHAT it is about school pictures that makes me so excited. I take like 9,000 better pictures of Holden every day on my phone, and they’re wayyy cuter than the totally lame-o picture of him sitting in front of a random blue background. See?
Okay, so every morning when we wake up and get ready, I pretty much always mutter WTF when Zoey picks out her outfit. Like here are a few that stand out in my mind.
When I drop her off at school I see girls everywhere wearing these super cute matchy-matchy outfits and here I am wishing I brought along my bullhorn so I can make a public service announcement to the world.
(a phone call I just had this afternoon)
NURSE: Hi, is this Mrs. Alpert?
ME: It is.
NURSE: You called to see if your kids are up-to-date with their MMR vaccines?
NURSE: It looks like Holden had his first one, but he can’t get the second one until he’s four.
ME: Alright, that’s what I thought.
Yeah, I’m going there. I mean when I put up a picture of my kid in his car seat wearing a puffy coat, I had NOOOOOOO idea the kind of ruckus that would explode. But I’m writing this knowing full well that vaccination shit is a TOUCHY subject and that some people might get their panties in a bunch reading this.
After seeing the news about the recent outbreak of measles in Disneyland, it took me a few days to muster up enough courage to “go there” on my blog, but you know what I finally decided. F that. As I learned from a very important book (Five-Minute Spiderman Stories), with great power comes great responsibility. And hell if I’m gonna stand by and watch sweet little innocent kiddos get sick and die and have other shitty lifelong problems because of a few selfish jerkwads.
Here is a list of alllllll the shit I had to pack for the rugrats this morning:
Zoey’s second snack
Zoey’s snow pants
Extra pair of shoes for her