Birthday parties scare the hell out of me, because I know, deep down inside, despite having identified, finally, so much love and beauty in the world, that I am still not as light as air or sea foam or Styrofoam or even Wd40.
When all else fails…
Don’t sweat what to call your kids. All our names are pretty much doomed, anyway. My name is Susan. I’m only fifty-four. But as everyone I introduce myself to can readily discern, I’m old.
Removing poop from underwear is an entirely different process from changing a diaper. I hope, dear reader, you won’t add this to your list of unpleasant parental experiences. If you’re lucky enough to know the poop is there, you may be able to channel your inner bomb expert and shimmy down your kid’s undies without dropping the turd on the floor. Of course, that’s assuming your toddler doesn’t do a little wiggle right at the end and fling it onto your foot or the wall or an unsuspecting sibling in the area. If you happen to have a cold or otherwise fail to notice the heaping pile in your kid’s drawers, you get to do the honors of flinging shit onto your foot or the wall or an unsuspecting offspring in the area.
As parents, hearing stranger’s parenting suggestions are like nails on a chalkboard. On the other hand, my infant daughter, Penelope, doesn’t understand our frustrations, and welcomes any and all opinions. In this post, Penny and I “discuss” when it’s appropriate for strangers to intervene and the duty to rescue.
My husband eats everything. I always expect the one thing I look forward to at the end of the day to not be there when I get home, but I have yet to become inured by my everlasting disappointment.
Next time I go to the doctor’s office, I’ll sign in and tell them to shoot me a text when it’s my turn, and then head back out to my car to wait.
I think about drafting an apology letter to the parents of each teenage boy and wonder what is the most tactful way of saying, “I did my best and realize now I should have hired an onsite paramedic and triage station for the living room. Whoops. My bad.”
Me: Good night, dear one! I love you!
Son: Good night. (Translation: I adore you, my sainted mother, but my acute self-consciousness requires that I conceal my sentiments.)
Don’t get me wrong. Family vacations are magical. (So are Jafar, Maleficent, Sauron, and the Evil Queen.)
Being an oldest child has got to be hard.