Part 4 of my Pay It Forward Guest Blogger Series Cuz I Am A Lazy A-Hole and Cuz I Also Love My Blogger Buddies

This is a post from the bloggy blog of my pal Jenny from a lovely blog and Facebook page called Holdin' Holden. She is a peach and we have BIG BIG BIG plans to start a Private Investigation business that has the most awesome and most longest name ever that I can't remember right now because I am a moron, but trust me...it's good. Not many people can keep up with me or keep from boring me in a ridiculous text-a-thon of nonsensical chatter, but she is one of the few. She has also written a book, which is really hard and takes lots of focus and stuff. Read this. If you like it go like her blog and like her Facebook page and buy her damn book. xoxo

Ten toys I could live without (but the kids can't)

As a mom, I buy my kids shit. Not actual shit mind you (they make enough of that on their own), but it's still shit to me. I'm not one of those "i'll buy you whatever you want as long as you STFU and let me finish my grocery shopping" types, but they do get toys on occasions other than holidays and birthdays. Which in turn means that my house is full of useless junk. Not useless to them mind you, but useless to me- because there's only so much kid junk that keeps my more superior adult brain (aka, little to no imagination) occupied. I buy them for them because they like them and i'm attempting to do that whole "good mommy" thing; plus that means they won't be tugging at my pant leg begging me to constantly entertain them with puppets or some shit, but that doesn't mean I like them. Actually, to be totally honest with you, I HATE the majority of their toys.  It's hard not to when you've developed this paranoid flinch when you hear the battery powered ones flip to the "on" position. So, like I do with so many other things in my random life- I have made a list of the ones that top my "if I could melt you down into plastic to use as a footrest without causing my child to have an explosion the size of Chernobyl, I would" list.

1. Matchbox cars: There is no doubt in my mind that they all feed into a collective conscious stream that tells them to attempt to break parents necks. Why else would you only EVER find them at the bottom of a stairwell or in the dead center of a room. Sometimes I am convinced they materialize directly under my feet.

2. Magna Doodles: There's only so many times I can look at a drawing of.. ????THEFUCK?? and clap and say "YAY!" before they start asking me to tell them what I think it is, and then I get bitched the hell out for not knowing. Oh, and i'm really fucking sick of the stylus breaking off and the full on face melting tantrums it causes when you can't find it.

3. Anything with stickers: Give it about 5 minutes and those pieces of doesn'tstickgoodenough shit are torn off left and right. Now you're left with a super expensive busted ass toy that looks like you bought it for a penny at a garage sale. Even worse when YOU were forced to put the stickers on yourself.








4. "Some assembly required": because fuck you. And the horse you rode in on.







5. Anything that makes noise: If you have ever been forced to sit through 25 rounds of the ABC song, you feel my pain

6. Books: Yeah, they're educational. You're encouraged to read to your children to promote learning- but I swear to fuck if I have to say Goodnight to the bowl of oatmeal one more fucking time I will snap. And furthermore, who the fuck eats oatmeal before bed? You're tellin' me you let that kid eat his breakfast and leave the bowl in his room all day? Barf.

7. THIS FUCKING BUS

Seriously. Its eyes TWITCH when it rolls. Ours is currently stuck in the eyes rolled back 

"i'm going to devour your soul" position.

KILL IT WITH FIRE!

8. Thomas the Train anything: It's expensive as all hell, and it says "PEEP PEEP"-  Might as well go to a strip club for the same effect and pay LESS. 

9. Recorders:  Do I really need to explain this one? I am positive whomever thought up the recorder did it as a malicious hateful gag. I am also convinced that the friends who gave my child TWO for his first birthday hate me. Needless to say, they are hidden in a deep dark corner of a closet I will not identify... but really I should have incinerated them. 

10. Legos: We.All.Know.Why.

What makes your list of toys you could live without (aka burn at the stake and dance on the ashes of)??

J        -Jenny Schoberl

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Spiderpocalypse 3. Ya know how usually by the time a movie gets to part 3 it pretty much sucks balls and is nowhere near as shocking or amazing or terrifying as the the first one was? That's so totally not how this went down. At all.

Thursday, July 12th 2012.


Approximately 10:00 am. 


Or something like that.


I don't know for sure.


Because after the events of that morning, time ceased to matter.
As a matter of fact, after the events of that morning, lots of things ceased to matter. 
After the events of that morning, my carefree, willy nilly, look at the shiny things, life changed.
As in hard-core changed.
I no longer have the luxury of letting my gaze turn wistfully towards something shiny.
Oh. Hell. To. The. No.
There's not a heck of a lot of willy nilly-ness going on around here either.
I am constantly and unavoidably on high alert.
We're talking level 10, you guys.


As you all know, I am always on an alert called Zombie Alert. ALWAYS. Just last night while on a walk with my mom, I alerted her that I had that zombie feeling.  And although we didn't end up seeing anything besides a few non-zombie geese, mark my words: Strange things were afoot in those woods. And if there is a body found in there with it's face eaten off in the near future, I will not be surprised one bit. I mean, there is an ever so slight chance that it was just some horny teenagers getting their freak on out there or something because my mom said she sat on a condom on one of the park benches the other day. But there is an ever so bigger ass chance that it was Zombies.


But this is an even higher alert than my constant Zombie Alert. Patti's Constant 24/7 Zombie Alert-ometer runs at about a 7. And that's high as shit. Cuz even a level 1 for me is super high. I am like the Chuck Norris of alertiness. My alertiness is mega hard-core. Mega. Like, take your highest ever alertiness and multiply it by infinity and add a gallon of awesomesauce and a Chuck Norris kick to the balls, and that's how much more alert I am than you. 


And my current state of alertiness is, as I said before, a level 10. 


That's the Holy Shitcakes level.


And it's all because of those freaking spiders.


7/12/2012
It was a busy morning. I was in the midst of a Patti Waits 'Till The Last Minute Pack-A-Thon for our trip to Missouri, and I was also trying to shower and get myself all purdied up. The Boy yelled to me from the office, so I went to see what was going on. He said there was a spider on the door, and I almost flipped out until I saw that it was small. About the size of my thumb nail. So I grabbed a tissue so I could squish it. Then it jumped. And although that freaked me out a teensy bit, I stayed calm and took care of business like a champ.


About 10 minutes later as I was walking through my bedroom, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a big grass spider in the middle of my floor. It was about the size of a half dollar, which is about the size of the nuggets that I wanted to poop because that is a big enough spider to scare the shit out of me. I called The Boy in for back-up which consisted of him standing in the doorway yelling while I sprayed the spider with Sebastian Shaper Hairspray and pounded him into oblivion with The Hub's heaviest shoe. (And believe me, I have tested all of his shoes for this purpose. My closet -being mostly filled with flip flops- is useless in the spider killing arena. Plus, I don't want arachnid guts on MY shoes.)


About 10 minutes after THAT episode, I was on the phone with my sister-in-law while packing up my bathroom stuff, when suddenly I sensed that I was being watched. I turned towards the shower, and there it stood. The Jaws of the arachnid world. This spider:

"Hi. I am an asshole. I will fuck up your entire mental well-being and then have babies in your underwear drawer."

So I did what any normal human being would do. I freaked the freak out. Big time. My sister-in-law must have thought there was a murderous hobo zombie dressed as a clown coming at me with a machete in one hand and a chainsaw in the other. Which I honestly would have much preferred. And I am not even being dramatic. That is how I really feel. Spiders are my Kryptonite. Well, spiders and John Denver. If you ever wanna do me in then train a spider to sing Rocky Mountain High and let him loose in my abode. Mission. Accomplished.


So anyways, I start freaking out and I remember that I have some Hot Shot Spider Killer under the kitchen sink, so I run to get it, yelling for The Boy to come and help me. But guess what? After I told The Boy that Spider jaws was in my bathroom, he refused to cross the threshold. And let me just pause here and say that when my OBGYN told me that I was giving birth to a penis, I thought there go all those mother/daughter mani/pedi's and tea parties, but at least I'll have a spider killer in my midst. What a load of crap THAT dream was. Cuz my little dude wants ZERO to do with saving my ass from creepy crawlies. So I gave him the phone, and ran back into the bathroom, and guess what else? Spider Jaws was gone. So yeah, I freaked the freak out some more. Then jumped in the tub so I could survey the area whilst in a protective moat of sorts, and I spotted him over by the shower and went balls to the wall spray-a-rama on his ass with my Hot Shot while I screamed bloody murder and The Boy screamed bloody murder into my sister-in-law's ear on the phone. And guess what happened THEN??? A nightmare of the most epic proportions. Something that you hear about while sitting by a campfire while a dude in a hockey mask stalks you from the woods. Something that is so horrifying you can't even believe it to be real. A shitload of  baby spiders started running all over the freaking bathroom, abandoning ship after being pummeled with the spider spray. There were tons of them running in all directions. It was shocking, and I went a bit comatose for a minute. The horror that I was witnessing wasn't even registering in my brain. I couldn't come to terms with what my eyeballs were seeing. I imagine that's how people react during major traumatic experiences like war, mass murders, and Justin Bieber concerts. But this was probably worse. Cuz duh, we're talking about spiders here. And it happened to me. And everything's worse when it happens to me. 


So finally I realize the unspeakable horror that is taking place right in front of me and I snap to it and start spraying the spray all over my damn bathroom while screaming words so foul I'm sure the boy would have aged a good 20 years instantaneously had he heard any of them. Which he didn't, due to the fact that he was in the living room screaming bloody murder himself. Even though he had never laid eyes on WTF was going down in my lavatory, due to the other fact that he doesn't love me or want to protect me. So eventually, after what seemed like about 6 months, 17 days, 5 hours and 32 minutes, Spider Jaws was barely moving, so I jumped out of the tub and ran to the office to grab the big ass college dictionary, ran back to the bathroom, dropped the book on Spider Jaws and proceeded to jump up and down on it for approximately 5 minutes while yelling "Die! Die! Die!" and "Holy Shit!" on a loop. And the entire time I am jumping up and down on this book, the 2 inches of Hot Shot that I've flooded my bathroom with are splashing all over the freaking place, including on my skin, which will probably erupt in weird growths and protrusions at some point in the near future. Or maybe I'll grow a tiny little twin out of my ankle or some awesome shit like that (a girl can dream). And after I was done jumping I sprayed the dictionary and vicinity with even more Hot Shot for good measure. 


Better safe than sorry. And better a one-eyed, snaggle toothed, annoying little ankle twin than a spider any old day.


Then I went into the kitchen to try to gain some semblance of composure and wash the poison off of my hands, and guess what else? There was a goddamn spider standing next to my sink looking at me like "What the fuck did you just do, bitch? What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Just. DO???" And so I crushed him with a book and put him in the disposal and we threw our shit in the car and got the hell outta dodge.


And I swear to Sweet Baby Jeebus on a tilt-a-whirl, I didn't stop shaking for 5 days. And scratching. I look like a tweaker. And I'm swatting at things that aren't there. And I'm totally still looking over my shoulder. Well, more than looking over my shoulder. I am constantly scanning the perimeter at ALL times. It's like I'm looking through some kind of Robocop or Terminator eyeball situation where I see some sort of computer screen that can detect any oddities or movement or arachnid activity of any kind within a 50 foot radius of me. I told you. I am on high freaking alert, you guys. And It's starting to take a toll. It's like Nam, or something. I keep having flashbacks and bouts of the shakes and involuntary spasms when I think too much about what happened. I definitely have PTSD or something.  And I have to go home in a few days, and I'm scared. The only hopeful thing is that my cat sitting friend did let the bug guys into my house and they supposedly attacked the situation full force. Which in my mind would have been burning the house down and re-building out of solid metal and putting it on electrified stilts 30 stories high, but in their mind was some old-fashioned spraying and stuff. But my friend has made no mention to me of seeing any spiders on the premises. Which is good. And she texted me this photo of The Cat a few days ago:

And I really like to think that if there was a Spiderpocalypse 3 going on at my house, The Cat wouldn't be sitting around masturbating with a tennis ball. So this photo makes me hopeful that all is well.




In case you missed it:
Spiderpocalypse Part 1
Spiderpocalypse Part 2

Part 3 of my Pay It Forward Summer Guest Blogger Series Blah Blah Blah Thingamabobber

This week's guest blogger is my girlfriend over at The Klonopin Chronicles. She is someone I have slowly gotten to know over the past year since I started my Facebook page, and she has become one of my favoritest people. She's a great friend and a wonderful writer. She makes me feel like a hack on many occasions, but I still adore her.  Read this little ditty then go check out her blog and Facebook page. DO IT!!

Road Trip!  Rekindling My Affair With My iPod 

Summer is the time for travel and this summer, I actually got to travel.  Seven hours round-trip to take my son to his friend's for the week so that he could play video games at their house instead of making me look like the shitty parent that I am by playing them unsupervised at my house.  Anyway.  I resurrected my iPod to go on a road trip.  I don't know where I had lost it (that's why it was lost, duh) but somehow I found it and I plugged it into my car's sound system and off we went.  I put the iPod on Shuffle and two days' worth of music lined up at my fingertips.  What on earth was on this thing?  I mentally rubbed my hands together. 

I was alone in the car, which was a good thing because there was no one there to hear me say things like, "Oh my god I love this song!"  And then answer myself, "Of course you do, Klonnie, it's your iPod."  In a different voice.  That was creepy, even for me.  Danny's not here, Mrs. Torrance.  Redrum! 

Here are some songs that I heard and the random thoughts that ran through my head when I heard them:  

1.  No Sleep Till Brooklyn, Beastie Boys:    Cranked up so high that the music resonated in my chest.  So loud that I didn't really hear it, you know?  I just sat back, feeling it thump the floorboards and pulse from the speakers in the doors.   

No!!  Sleep!!  Till Brooklyyyyyn!  Duhn dahhhhhhn duhn..  

No!!  Sleep!!  Till Brooklyyyyyn!  Nuhr nuhhhhhhr nuhr.    

Good thing I was alone in the car.  My kids would have turned that shit off in a heartbeat.  How's that for irony? 

2.  Silversun Pickups, Lazy Eye.  Cup of coffee in my hand + that hypnotic track on a loop + me behind the wheel.   

I've been waiting for this moment all my life.   

There are two kinds of people in the world:  those who thought the lead singer was a woman until they found out he wasn't, and those who are lying when they say they could tell right away that it was a dude. 

3.  Work Me, The Black Keys, Chulahoma.  The Black Keys cover Junior Kimbrough.   I'm melting, sliding down under the steering wheel because I'm weak with lust.  Squirming in my seat, I can't lie.   

Baby, work me till I want no more.   

"Chulahoma" is the sexiest album I have ever heard.  Barry White?  Al Green?  Forget about it.  These two white boys from Akron, Ohio, ladies and gentlemen.  Give it up. 

4.  Dancing Nancy, Dave Matthews Band.   I have a live version of this song from Red Rocks in Colorado.  The spring that my mom died I would get in my car and play this album and just drive for hours and cry.  

Could I have been anyone other than me? 

That was the year I discovered Starbucks and I would get a caramel macchiato and just suck that puppy down while I drove.  Something about that warm sweet milky coffee soothed me.  I was worried that people would see me crying at stoplights so I had to drive on the freeway.  Crying while driving 70 mph is probably right up there with texting while driving on the dangerous- o-meter, but God watches over drunks and mourners. 

5.  Beautiful World, Colin Hay. Remember Men At Work?  Mildly entertaining 80s band from Australia?  This guy is the lead singer.  And a brilliant songwriter.  Acoustic version of "Overkill?"  Raise your hand if you first heard that on Scrubs.  Beautiful World is a song about getting older and looking at your life.  It's uplifting.  But the middle of the song picks you up and dumps you on the ground, emotional-reaction-wise.   

Still this emptiness persists.  Perhaps this is as good as it gets. 

Suddenly I am sobbing.  Gut-punched.  I've heard this song 200 times and I still never see it coming.   Thanks, Colin. 

I pulled in the driveway and turned off the ignition.  I had to pee, but I needed a moment to pull myself together.  I was spent, wrung dry.  I took such deep breath that my bangs blew back a little on the exhale.  Batshit crazy emotional chameleons like me should not be allowed to have iPod shuffles.  I do enough shuffling as it is.

          -The Klonopin Chronicles

          Facebook Page
          The Blog

This is post about what I've done so far this summer. Well, some of what I've done so far this summer. Because I only had 15 minutes to write it because I am super procrastinatey and lazy.

Hi. My name is Patti. This here is my blog. Since I have been super sporadic about posting on here lately, I thought it best if I re-introduce myself just in case you forgot who I am. And although I like to think that there is no way in hell that you could ever possibly forget about me (I do like to fancy myself memorable, kinda like that weirdo you made out with in the 9th grade that humped your leg and told you that you smelled like Pixie Sticks), I also know that lots of my readers are actually readers of mine because of the simple fact that they are ding dongy, forgetful, spastic, goofy, weirdos like I am. So basically I assumed that everyone could use a reminder. Even me. Because sometimes I get so wrapped up in the life inside my head (And the life on my FB page. And oh! Real life.) that I even forget that I HAVE a blog. Queen of Spaciness at your service.


My long time readers know that I get extra spacey about posting in the summers because (a) I travel a lot, and (b) The Boy is home, and when The Boy is home there is constant noise. Constant. Noise. And although I totally dig his little ditties and his trash talking on his X-box headphones, and his constant narration of everything he is doing from eating breakfast to taking a poo, it does tend to get on my nerves just the ever so tiniest bit. And by ever so tiniest bit I mean a big ass, honking, mega giant, monstrosity of a bit. And The Hub will read this and say "You know...all those things you said that The Boy does to annoy you are the same exact things that you do to annoy me." And ya know what? He's totally right. But in my mind that dude took a vow to find everything that I do adorable. I took no such vow for The Boy. If anything, The Boy owes me some quiet thinkery/bloggity  time because of the fact that I cooked him up and pushed him out and fed him and watered him and one time when he was a baby he peed in my face. There was no vow. None.


So far this summer I have gone on a Mexican vacation with The Hub and The Boy. Parts of it were awesome and parts of it totally sucked balls. But hey...It was Mexico and it was beautiful so even the sucky parts were still good. Except the food. The food at the resort sucked ballsacks (Tripadvisor here I come).

Me, The Boy and The Hub floating down a river that was cold as caveman balls.

After Mexico The Boy and I went to Missouri so that he could spend time with my dad and I could go on a float trip with my girlfriends. The same two girlfriends that I wrote about last summer. Ya know, the one that chews Skoal and left Mr. Pickle in the hot car, and the one that only poops once a month and lied to me about the Goaticorns and sent me and Skoal girl out into the wilderness to try to get us lost or murdered (you can read a bit about that mess here). 


So anyways I rented a cabin in the deep deep deep deep scary-ass woods for my friends and I to stay in for a few days. Let me just say this: I have been in lots of woods, but these were some kinda mega woods. On the nighttime drive out there we saw about every kind of animal that Missouri has to offer, plus some kind of ghost/shadow wolf situation straight out of an episode of Ghost Hunters. Seriously. Jason and Grant would have had a field day out there. And the cabin was in an area that looked super Deliverance-y. Banjos were playing and all that crap. I mentioned that it felt a lot like The Hills Have Eyes and then I told the girls about that one episode of The X-Files where that in-bred family kept the legless/armless mom under the bed on a skateboard thingy and wheeled her out when they needed to reproduce or just get their inbred rocks off  and that I was 99.7% sure that by morning we were gonna be stumps tied to skateboards in the cellar of some dude who has an extra eyeball and a siamese twin growing out of his buttcheek like a creepy little ass-puppet. 


So we all got scared. 


But then Margaret mentioned the fact that she and Crystal had their baby making parts removed and I had my tubes tied so the inbreds were totally barking up three wrong boobie trees if they were looking for baby makers on wheels. But then we thought "How will they know that? Because we do look very young and vital, ya know." So I decided we should leave a note on the door telling them the facts so that they didn't waste their time kidnapping us and stuff only to suffer the complete and utter disappointment of learning that we could not cook up their creepy 2-headed hillbilly babies. But then Margaret pointed out that they probably couldn't read, because even though the in-bred hill dude of my imagination has 3 eyes, there's no way in hell he ever went to school. Book learnin' ain't so portant when ya gots squirrels ta kill an make into soup an hats an mittens an stuff. So then I decided we should draw a picture of a pregnant lady with an X through the belly. But then I figured that they may just think we mean "No Fatties." So then I had the genius idea to draw 3 girls and then a baby with an X through it, and we all agreed than even inbreds might possibly understand what that meant. But we didn't have any tape to stick it to the door with. Plus, we were afraid to open the door to stick it up there even if we DID have tape, because if there weren't inbreds around there were probably at least a few zombies and zombies move really really fast and could get in that door in a flash. So we just totally chucked that whole sign idea, took some sleepy meds, drank some beer, passed out, and thankfully survived the night and were able to go on our float trip the next day.

Crystal, Me, Margaret.

And since Margaret didn't like that picture because she thinks she looks super old I am now going to post a photo of myself from the float trip in which I was doing a post-float-trip-beer-belly-pelvic-thrust-butt-spanking-dance and I look super idiotic. I am hoping that this will make her feel better about the fact that I did not take her feelings into account and posted the photo that she hates of herself.

Notice my float trip beer coozie of complete and utter awesomeness. NOTICE IT!

And since I'm just kind've a troublemaker and stuff I'm gonna now post a photo of Crystal that she doesn't like. Just so we are all even.

This is Crystal in high school being all drunk and sick while I was being all caring and supportive and stuff by taking her photo and laughing at her.

And now I am late for an appointment and out of time and have to bring this post to a close. And I didn't even get to tell you guys about the guy who worked at the float trip place who we mercilessly flirted with and pretty much sexually harassed the hell out of and then found out he was only 16 (they grow them manly in Missouri). Or the fact that Crystal was about 8 hours late meeting me to get supplies and drive out to the cabin and how I threatened to kill her, throw acid on her grandma's flower garden (after pooping in it), and how I said "I've known your grandma since I was 11 and she's a sweet sweet lady, but fuck your grandma" to her when she had gotten super super late and I was near the point of going on a murderous rampage. I don't have time for all that now cuz I gotta pack for yet another trip. So I will continue this later. I SWEAR. And until then you can always keep tabs on me on Facebook. Except for those of you who are living in Little House On The Prairie times and have no Facebook account and are reading this on a library PC. You people will just be SOL.


Until next time...

Part 2 of my summer blog series "Paying It Forward: Like That Kid In That Movie With Keyser Soze And That Chick From Mad About You Who Was Also In That Movie With Bruce Willis Where He Saw Dead People And Bruce Was Dead Too But Nobody Knew Until The End Except Me Cuz I Am A Movie Ending Genius Just Ask The Hub Cuz It Really Annoys Him."

This week my guest blogger is Bevin from PaRANThood. I am one lucky girl to have so many fellow bloggers who will help me keep things rolling in the summer when I am extra spacey and lazy and all that stuff. Read it. Like her pages. Or I'll spork you all.

I'm The Bitch Of The World

Remember that movie "Titanic"?  Well, even if you were doing something more important with your life in the year 1997, like mourning the death of Biggie Smalls, or perfecting the art of collar poppin', and you missed the boat on that movie, I'm sure, at the very least, you're familiar with that famous scene.  

You know... THE SCENE.....   Let me remind you: 

It's the part when that "Home Alone" kid is hella excited to first be on the dumb boat.  He runs up to the front and starts squealing so pre-pubescently high that dolphins jump in to goddamn tunafish cans just to escape it.  He then steps on to the very front part of the boat and spreads his arms out super wide (like how you wish your kid did when you asked them how much they love you but they never fucking do)  and then... he does it... 

With a grin that would make the Kool Aid Pitcher Dude kick rocks, and wind-feathered hair so flaxen gold, it put Farrah Fawcett to shame, he shouts the now iconic phrase: 

"I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!!!  

And there it is.....

Now, I don't know if that "Saved By The Bell" kid won an Oscar for his part in that movie, and I don't really give a shit, all I DO know is that THAT MOMENT for me, was contagious.  

There was this EXPLOSION of self-confidence, and joy so abundantly flowing from the splayed fingertips of that "Full House" kid that I found myself flinging MY ARMS out too!** 

**This led me to accidentally smash the girl's face seated next to me, which unfortunately resulted in a buttered popcorn brawl, subsequently getting my ass kicked out of the theater altogether and thus preventing me from ever finding out what happened to that stupid boat... 

My point is, I didn't NEED to see anymore of that film because for the five bones I spent on the movie ticket, I walked around with three days worth of dolphin-ear-errupting confidence, periodically shouting "I'M THE BITCH OF THE WORLD!!!" and smashing random folks' faces with flung out arms!  Now, you can't buy THAT kind of happiness even with a million dollars!! 

I tell you, if that "Silver Spoons" kid were here right now, I'd probably make out with him for gifting me with such a spectacular moment.... and then ask to ride that really cool fucking train he's got in his house... that little rich snot nosed shit.

Yeah, like you really need more presents you spoiled bastard.

Since that movie, or the first part at least, I've been trying to figure out ways to recreate the same energy and joy I felt pulse through me fifteen long years ago, and so far I've discovered that although being covered in baby shit is NOT one of them, certain other aspects of babies as well as kids themselves ARE!  

Below is a list of 

Shit That Kids Do, Which Makes My Ass Go ALL TITANIC:

1.  Being born.  What else makes you feel like a Super Hero more then exuding a whole other human body out of your own?!?  You can keep your useless clear jet, Wonder Woman, I have people to create!!!  Guess what Dr. Frankenstein, you didn't actually make anyone dipshit, you just sewed together a bunch of body parts from some preexisting dead people and even THEN you couldn't "make" a person nearly as cute as my fucking creation!!  Yeah, that moment, right after having a baby..... TITANIC.

Aww, he looks just like... like... well, like that fucking dude that died last week....! Not. Cute.

2.  First REAL"I Love You" Hug.  Let's face it.  Babies for the most part, are ungrateful little turds.  Their EXTREME neediness tends to accentuate this, complied with the fact that they're fucking MUTE for quite a while.  Sleepless nights, backbreaking days and more spilled body fluids than a public bathroom.  These times, when you're soaking in sweat and tit milk feel ENDLESS.... even at times useless.

  

"Why why WHY am I doing this?!?!" you shudder... 

"WHAT FOR?!?!" you cry...

Well, that moment when your toddler, oozing with snot and bumbling around bumping in to shit, scales the couch, plops down next to you, wraps their mini-arms 1/4 way around your still baby-weighted body, and in a true Mickey Mouse style voice says loudly: 

"I WUV YOU MOMMY!" IS EXACTLY WHY WE DO THIS SHIT.   

I'm sure you're remembering this moment right now... and smiling... because you know you were all...

TITANIC.

Even a hug and "I love you" from THIS is a TITANIC moment.

3.  Kick Ass Parent/Teacher Meeting.  This is about as far as I got on the list because my kids are still fairly young.  I'm sure more will be added as I trudge through this journey of shit stains, pissed beds and BFFs but for now, this is the last but by far NOT the least of the list.  

Just as #2 is payback for all the baby torture we endure, THIS moment is payback for toddler torture.  You know all those "Please"s and "Thank You"s and "May I"s and "Alphabet Song"s and "Counting Fingers" and "You Have To SHARE!"s and "Clean-Up Song"s and "Wait For Your Turn"s and "Follow Direction"s you repeated so many fucking times you've lost count? Your toddler barely heeds you as they Tasmanian Devil right past your ass destroying room after room.  

You are the 'Rainman of Manners' -- they are your opponent in the ring.  

You are the referee of the playground -- they are in UFC mode.  

You wonder if serial killers are just born that way, or if you are somehow fucking something up... and you just don't know it yet.

They grow a bit, they start school, they challenge you differently.  Not less, just differently...  

You walk in to your first parent/teacher meeting with a hockey mask on ready to deflect insults spit like fucking pucks at your face and then...

"Oh, she's SO GREAT with the other kids!"  

"He's really gotten in to the spirit of helping!"  

"Your child is a wonderful addition to the class!" 

"Whatever you're doing at home, keep it up!"

You cannot BELIEVE it but something you've done must've stuck!

First three thoughts?  

1. You know who I am right??

2. Am I being Punk'd right now?

3. Fucking TITANIC.

For many, this is what we feel like upon entering our first Parent/Teacher conference....

Annnnnnd there you have it folks!  So do some shoulder rolls, because even though they don't happen often, when they do, you wanna be prepared to NOT tear a rotator cuff as you fling out your arms while shouting:

I'M THE BITCH OF THE WORLD!!!!!!!

YEAH!!!

Bevin Fredericks-Waxman is the author of the blog PaRANThood as well as the admin of the Facebook page of the same name.

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