1. Teach her how to look in the mirror and see a person, not a face.
2. Teach her that a little chocolate is okay. A little pizza is okay. And a little body fat is okay too.
3. Teach her that friends are like columns. You can lean on them all you want, but don’t step on them like horizontal rungs on a ladder.
4. Teach her how to hold her head up high and ask for more money. From her boss, not her husband.
So I was out to dinner the other night and there was this woman sitting a few tables away with her baby who was being a total douchenugget. I mean yeah, babies are often douchenuggets, but this one wouldn’t stop screaming and the mom was trying desperately to make her stop and you could tell she was frazzled and tired and at her wit’s end when suddenly she said…
WOMAN: Please just stop crying, Serenity.
1. Don’t tell me my kids are growing up so fast. No shit Sherlock. I’m like Zappos’s best customer on earth. And every time you tell me, it drives the stake into my heart a little more.
2. Don’t tell me I’m buckling my car seats wrong. If you don’t tell me how to buckle my car seats, I won’t tell you you’re an annoying shartrag.
3. Don’t tell me I should cherish every moment. Because when my douchenugget is screaming his head off and super-glueing himself to the floor in the cereal aisle because I won’t buy him Sugary Boogery O’s, the moment I cherish is when he goes to sleep later and I can sit on the couch and drink wine.
Today something amazing happened. Something really amazing. It all began when my family and I went to do a volunteer project. Just to set the scene, we were helping clean and sort toys and clothing and school supplies for thousands of impoverished kids in Chicago. My family was assigned to the toys section.
ME: I am soooo NOT looking forward to packing the whole family for our vacation.
HUBBY: Want me to do it?
Grrrrrr. The only reason he offers to pack is to get brownie points because he knows there’s no way I would ever let him pack for us. Why? Because I prefer spending our vacation on the beach hanging out, and NOT in the nearest store buying allllllll the stuff he forgot to bring. Well, guess what? This time I’m calling his bluff.
Yesterday our kids were being jerks. Little a-holes. Douchenuggets. And yes Miss Trolly McTrollypants, I know you think I suck for calling them those things, but it’s true. They were. All day long they fought and fought and fought. And the few seconds they weren’t fighting, they were constantly asking us for shit. Can I have a snow cone? Can I have a candy bar? Can I play on my iPad? Can I have a shark tooth necklace?
And my hubby and I were both like ennnnh, F that. We love you but you’re being jerkwads, and you don’t get jack shit when you’re being jerkwads. Seriously, I must have said the word “no” 9000 times. And it sucked. Partly because it sucks being angry and having to say no over and over and over again, but mostly because we’re on vacation and they should be soooooo grateful that they even get to come to a place like this, but instead they’re being ungrateful butt turds.
July 4th. It’s not about parades. It’s not about fireworks. It’s not about picnics or BBQs or long days at the pool or baseball games or carnivals. It’s about this. Celebrating this awesome country and all of the people that make it possible.
And it’s pretty F’ing amazing if you think about it. There was a small group of people who literally started this country. Like they woke up one morning and said heyyy, I have an idea, let’s start a country today. So they wrote the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, and badabing badaboom, America! Just like that. I mean the biggest thing I ever started was a book club and even that was pretty much a failure because no one read any books and we just sat around guzzling wine and yapping. But these guys invented this amazing COUNTRY.
And every year what do we do to recognize it? We eat a crapload of hot dogs and stay up a little late to watch fireworks and we clap and yell thank you when the soldiers and veterans roll by in the parade. And yeah it’s fun. But it’s NOT enough.
1. I want to take a nice long bath. But I don’t want the bathtub filled with water. I want it filled with melted chocolate and surrounded by romantic candles so I can roast marshmallows and dip them into the tub.
2. I want an unconditional get-out-of-jail-free card. If I murder someone because they’re chewing too loudly or because they put a piece of trash in the trashcan I just emptied, I want to be acquitted for PMSIM (Premenstrual Involuntary Manslaughter).
3. I want a giant barrier in the middle of our bed so my hubby won’t bother me. Don’t ask me for sex. Don’t ask me when my period’s ending so we can have sex. And whatever you do, do NOT ask me if I can just give you a BJ in the meantime.
Dear camp directors,
I’m worried. Like seriously worried. I mean you’re supposed to be taking care of my precious kiddos every day, but I’m questioning your sobriety. Nahhh, not our bus driver. She rocks the Casbah. But I’m seriously worried that the people who are in charge at camp are smoking something.
Because I just took a look at the summer calendar and I have four words for you: WTF were you thinking? Or drinking? Or inhaling? I mean yeah, I get it, it’s super fun for the kiddos to dress wacky once a week, but what is wrong with NORMAL dress-up days? Like crazy sock day, or funny hat day, or backwards day?!
I miss my old kitchen. Shhhhhh, don’t tell my hubby. He would KILLLLL me if he heard me say that. He’d be like WTF, we spent all that money and dealt with all those headaches and you’re not grateful? No, schnookiepants, I AM grateful. I love our new kitchen. But I miss my old kitchen.
Sure it had water that was leaking behind the cabinets and probably growing mold. And it had a dining table that was in a room we never used so it was just a giant shit collector. And it had an oven that smelled like the charred corpse of a rotting dead elf. But it had something else too. It had memories. So many amazing memories.