My Kids Are The Best. And The Worst.

A friend was feeling bad yesterday morning. She had an epic fight with her three year old because he wouldn’t let her wipe him after pooping. They were late for preschool and she didn’t have time for his shit. Literally. She lost her temper, and after dropping him off at school, she still felt remorse.

I listened to her story, picturing her chasing her boy around the house trying to wipe his ass, because I had gotten all scary mommy on my son that same morning. G still wets at night and wears a pull-up to bed, which is fine. What is not fine is his habit of changing his clothes upstairs in the morning and leaving his nasty wet pull-up on the floor of his room. It really pisses me off, and I let him have it yesterday morning.

There are some things that set me off and I lose my temper and say mean things. Last night in the car, L screamed. She has a piercing scream worthy of a slasher film. She screams when she’s happy (We get to go swimming today! Scream!), when she’s mad (No more cartoons? Scream!), or just for fun, like last night. I yelled at her to stop (yes, I see the correlation), and told her that screaming in the car can distract the driver, who could get in an accident, and we could all die. That’s right. I told my my three year old that her screaming could actually kill us.

That’s not the only horrifying thing I’ve said to my kids. Not holding a grown-up’s hand while crossing the street may get you hit by a car and your head will explode like a cantaloupe (stole that beauty from some friends). If you’re naughty on the airplane the pilot will kick you off and you won’t be able to see Grandma. I’m not proud of some of the things I say to them, but if it happens at my house, maybe it happens at yours, too.

We all think our kids are the absolute best but also the absolute worst. We tell our friends the awful things our kids do and have no problem one upping each other with the bad stuff, but inside we all know that our kids really are better than everyone else’s. I am certain that my kids are cuter, funnier, and more clever than any other children in the world; but that they are also the biggest assholes. I know you get it.

I love my kids HARD. They get billions of hugs and kisses, I tell them they are my very favorite boy and girl in the world, and I delight in them. They make me laugh, they make me proud, and I like them as people. But they can irritate me on a good day, and provoke my anger until I’m raging like a hurricane on a bad day. That’s why parenting is so exhausting–there is more emotional see-sawing than a high school romance.

At least this relationship will last till prom.

About the Author

Amy and her husband made two kids, a three-year-old girl and a five-year-old boy. She’s a stay at home mom, but doesn’t consider herself a housewife or homemaker because she doesn’t own an apron or pearls. Amy is an expert in nothing but laughing at the absurdity of parenting. She blogs at FunnyIsFamily.

 

 

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Comments

  1. Hillary says:

    Loved the ending! Oh my heavens! It is a roller-coaster, isn’t it? And it is so damn exhausting, but like you said, I love my kids hard. Still, I , too, am a scary mommy hurricane sometimes, and I’ve told my kids horror stories to keep them from trouble. But this relationship? It’s going to last forever…and maybe the grandklids won’t be sooooo trying.

    Oh, and the fight with a preschooler? I had it for three straight months, two mornings a week, after my son decided he hated preschool. But I know I’m a better, stronger person for it….right?

Trackbacks

  1. [...] Parenting is complex. One seemingly impossible phase blends into another so quickly you don’t have time to even count the resulting grey hairs. It literally starts with a human being forcibly removed from your body, and every minute after that is a guessing game. Infants don’t sleep, toddlers don’t eat, tweens are obnoxious, and teenagers are…well, teenagers. Parenting is really just the ultimate game of survival, and you’re not even always sure you want to stay alive. [...]

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