Wednesday, November 13, 2013

He's Making a List

Well, it’s that time of year again. Christmas is right around the corner.  Time to buy more shit for my kids that they don’t need and we don’t have space for.

Every single toy store has figured out that if you want to increase sales you need to appeal directly to your target audience.  That’s why the covers on all of the toy catalogues are BRIGHT GREEN or FLORESCENT YELLOW…so your children will be sure to spot them in the pile of other mundane crappiness that the mailman delivers these days.  (Seriously, does anyone get anything other than bills in their mail anymore?)

So my kids have started looking through these catalogues and circling what they hope to receive for Christmas.  It’s been a very long process because a new one comes to my house literally every single day. 

And while we’re on this topic:

Dear American Girl Doll Company,

Sending your catalogue to a mom of two boys clearly makes you guilty of intentional infliction of emotional distress and can be considered cruel and unusual punishment.  My lawsuit against you is pending…

I digress.

My kids have started making lists. 

Carter’s list is all over the damn place and includes outrageous requests:

“Santa won’t be able to fit a Jeep Grand Cherokee with monster truck tires in his bag.”

And everything he’s ever heard of or looked at:

 “Florida is a state, not a Christmas gift.”

 And some things I’m relatively sure he has no fucking clue what they are:

“No…you can’t have the Mir Space Station for Christmas.”

This week I made them each come up with two big and three small things that they really reeeeeeallllly wanted to get for Christmas.  Santa has started her shopping and she’ll be damned if anyone comes up with an 11th hour request that they simply cannot live without. You’re writing a list now and you’re sticking to that list, kid!

Carter was predictable at first: Legos and Power Rangers.  Fine.

But then he hit me with: “I want a Tennessee Titans football helmet.”

Hey, Random Boy…we live in Boston.  WTF is with the Tennessee Titans?

His next choice of gift was a map. 

Um, if I buy you the map does it get me out of buying you the out of commission Russian space station?

Your list is really running the gamut here.

Ok, whatever, I’ll get you the random football helmet even though it’s gonna get you beat up on the playground, some Lego ninja shit and the best map that money can buy.

Well, one kid down and he’s the tough one.  I was thinking Grant would be a breeze.  Only, he sucked even worse than his brother.

Know what he asked for? A new car seat.  Yup.  Car seat.  Every three year olds dream gift!

You’ve got to be shitting me kid. 

I tried to get him to give me an idea that didn’t suck Christmas balls and this is what I got…

“I want something long.”

Is there any way you can be more vague here? That would really help me out.

Clearly I was going to have to come up with ideas of my own.  So I grabbed a bottle glass of wine and did some online shopping…

The Cool Mom in me: "I'm gonna buy my kids these cool light up swords they've been asking for! They'll be from Santa. They're gonna love them!"

 The Frugal Mom in me: "And man did I get a good deal! They'll look big and impressive in the pile but they're so cheap!"

 The Sane Mom in me: "Woah! What the fuck are you two doing? You bought our kids WEAPONS for Christmas? Bitches be crazy!"

The lesson here, my friends, is don’t drink and shop. 

This is exactly how Carter ended up with a drum set last year. 

Thursday, November 7, 2013

You, With the Face

Hey You….You, with the face. 

I see you.  And I don’t like you very much.

What? You’ve never seen a two year old throw a shoe before? Or a 16 month old poke his brother in the eye with a cookie?  Or a three year old refuse to take one more step until you make his jacket less bumpy?

Maybe you don’t have little kids.  Maybe you forget what it’s like to have little kids.  Maybe you’re just a douche…

Whatever the reason, You, with the face, I want to tell you that it’s an unnecessarily harsh face. 

Because the only possible reason to make that face it to alert me to the fact that you disapprove of whatever me or my kids happen to be doing at that moment. 

Seriously, it’s not just that you think my child should be acting a certain way.  It’s that you want me to KNOW how you feel.  You want me to see your face.  You want me to feel shame. You want me to change my actions in some way to make them less offensive to you. 

Oh ,You! You don’t get it.  You can think I’m a failure as a mother or that my kids are little monsters and guess what?  You can do it all INSIDE YOUR OWN HEAD! Without the face.  You can make comments about my parenting skills to your friends when you get home.  Without the face.  You can vow to never raise your kids that way or rush home and kiss your perfect angel children and thank them for never acting up in public.  All without the face. 

Sometimes when your kids are being wild jerks and running around a store and playing tag in the racks it’s perfectly acceptable to grab them and tell them that the store manager is going to call to police.  And the police are going to take them off to jail.  And there are NO LEGOS in jail. 

And then sometimes after a mom deals with that situation she looks up and sees you.  You, with the face. 

And she has a sudden incredibly strong urge to rip your face off your head.  Because know what your face does?  It makes her burst out into tears in the middle of Target because she’s trying to pack four people for a weekend away for a family wedding and her husband needed last minute pants and her dog sitter just cancelled on her and her kids are terrorizing her life. 

And then there’s your face.  Do you feel proud of your face right now? 

And some other time that same mother might be at a farm with her kids and one of the kids has some gastro-intestinal issues and his underwear does not survive the experience.  And he’s in the single stall public bathroom in the itty bitty store with the delicious donuts and the cute overpriced toy tractors and he’s screaming.  He’s screaming: “WHY ARE YOU THROWING MY UNDERWEAR AWAY! I LOVE MY SCOOBY DOO UNDERWEAR! PUT IT IN YOUR PURSE AND WASH IT WHEN WE GET HOME!”

And that mother is mortified because without a doubt everyone in the five by five foot store can clearly hear what’s going on.  And she hisses through clenched teeth that if her son shuts the hell up about the underwear she will personally hire Scooby Doo himself to come and wrap his furry body around her son’s ass and act as his underwear for a whole month. 

And the poor un-named mother who this happened to last week takes a deep breath and exits the bathroom.  And of course, there you are standing there. You, with the face!

And that mother just happens to look down and notice that, along with your face, you are also sporting a very sizable bump.  And maybe that mother summons all her self-control and does not say “You’ll be here someday too, bitch!”

OK, maybe she secretly hopes and prays that this exact scenario happens to you…but she also hopes that if it does someone will be waiting outside the bathroom door, not with a face, but with an understanding eye or an “Anything I can do to help?”.

So stop it.  Stop making the face.  Us moms are aware of how awful our kids can be.  Your face doesn’t make any difference in their behavior.  We don’t really care if you disapprove of our actions because all we’re trying to do is survive a trip to the grocery store and leave with around the same amount of kids we went in with. 

All your face does is make me want to punch it.  And I can’t punch it. Cause, along with no Legos...there’s no wine in jail either.