Month: July 2018

The Death Stare

I read a LOT of articles about parenting, and most comments are from other parents who defend the writer or the parents, when something happens to their kid.  Then there are those who seem to think they’re the perfect parents, and they go around judging other peoples’ parenting.  Their kids are perfect, because they raised their kids the RIGHT way, according to them.  We call them “sanctimommies.”  Then there are parents who do the time outs, whack their kids, or just drink a bunch of wine to deal with parenting.  I get why they drink wine, because if I could drink I’d be a raging alcoholic.  Maybe it’s a blessing I’m missing the enzyme that burns alcohol.  I just don’t get why they drink WINE.  I can see a Corona with lime or some awesome cocktail, but I tried wine once.  I didn’t like it.  It was very harsh on the tongue, and I can’t taste any notes of berries or wood, or whatever the fuck winetasters claim exist.  Wouldn’t it be more cathartic to take your anxiety, stress, and angst from parenting on a cocktail shaker and then enjoy the rewards afterwards?  Meh, to each their own.

I am NOT a perfect parent.  I’m not even Supermom.  I go with the flow and try to be honest with my kid as much as possible.  When it comes to discipline, I don’t whack her.  It doesn’t work.  The very few times I tried, she just laughed in my face like what I tried to do turned out to be an epic failure… and it was.  So whacking is off the table.  Yelling at her doesn’t work either.  She just yells back in rebellious preschool rage.  But I don’t give in either, unless it’s not important.  Gotta pick my battles, you know, and sometimes buying a cheap toy is better than the over 20 minutes of fit I have to face if I don’t.  I’d rather just fork over the $3 and be done with it, sorry not sorry.  And sometimes I just want her to get away from me.  Go distract herself with something, so I can have a break.  I can’t deal with the constant questions or the “MOMMY!  MOMMY!  MOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY!!!” for hours.

Kid:  MOMMY!  MOMMMYYYYY!!!
Me:  WHAT?!
Kid:  *states or asks something completely insane and makes no sense… most likely something to do with poop or death*
Me:  Wha?

That’s my night every night.  It’s either constant questions, insane statements, or fit after fit.  If it’s fit night, I have to put my foot down at some point.  I can’t just sit there and let her spend precious minutes or hours throwing fits over things I can’t control.  When she gets into one of THOSE moods, and she can’t be reasoned with, I gotta end it.  So rather than the traditional methods of discipline, I’ve mastered the infamous “death stare”… that crazed look that says “try me” without saying a word.  Most of the time, it works!  She’ll immediately back down after a minute, and start laughing that placating laugh she pulls as she says, “heh heh, I was just kidding.”  Sometimes not even the death stare will work.  She’s worked herself up so much, almost nothing will stop her from throwing the fit of all fits.  That’s when I have to add to the death stare with shit like “Stop.  NOW.”  She’ll stop as if those two words are magic words that snaps her out of fit mode, but there are rare times when Phase II doesn’t work.  That’s when I’ll add, “Keep going!  Try me!  See what happens.”  Phase III, consisting of death stare, the two magic words, and the empty threat is the ultimate shutdown to her fit.  She’ll explain what made her work herself up so badly, and we’ll resolve her issue.  Phases I, II, and III are used simply to snap her out of it.

Now, she’s never tested Phase III.  She’s never kept going to see what happens, and that’s great… because I have NO idea what would happen if she kept going.  It’s a completely empty threat, as I have no backup plan for Phase III.  Phase IV doesn’t exist, and I can’t think of a suitable Phase IV!  I consider myself lucky I haven’t had to figure one out yet!  When I teach her lessons, though, I’m the OG mom.  I tell her, “If you’re mean to someone first, you’ll answer to me.  If I find out you LIED to me by telling me someone was mean to you first, you’ll answer to me only WORSE.”  Death stares are included, of course.  I shut down shit fast by either teaching her what NOT to do, death stare included, or I implement Phases I, II, or III to make sure she doesn’t pull shit again.

I may not be the best parent in history, but I’ve mastered the death stare (alcohol not included).  That’s good enough for me!

 

I Fucking Hate Birds

Every day this week I’ve had to hose my car down, because fucking birds keep shitting on my car.  I don’t know wtf they’re eating, but some of it makes me gag.  The parking spot is right in front of my house, which is the primo street parking spot, but I gotta say it’s not so primo!

It’s right next to a street light, so where do birds go?  They sit their shitty asses on the light and then proceed to drop a load onto my roof or my window.  And I gotta say, my water hose SUCKS!  It’s one of those spiral hoses I used to see on TV, and my mom is a big sucker for products on TV.  The woman has no self control.  Apparently she saw it, too, and thought it was a great idea to replace the old broken hose with this new one.  It’s thin, and the spirals keep getting tangled.  Remember those Slinkees back in the 80’s?  Remember how those fuckers used to get twisted and tangled, so you spent more time untangling it than playing with it?  That’s the hose.  Every goddamn day I have to untangle the thin hot mess that is the hose just to hose down the shit on my car.

To top it off, they NEVER shut the fuck up!  Crows, pigeons, seagulls, they all flap around, land on the street light, and never shut up.  Even now, I can hear a damn bird from my yard, and it’s not stopping.  They never shut up.  They just keep going as bad as my kid.  Peace and quiet are near impossible because of those rats with wings chirping or squawking before they drop a giant crap on my car parked below them.  Do they know what bird crap does to a car?  It fucks up the paint, and my car is barely 2 years old!  But they don’t care.  They shit where they wanna shit, and if they’re sitting on the pole, why not take a giant dump?!  Why the fuck should they care what’s under it?!

I’m sick of this shit.  I fucking hate birds so damn much.  By the time I’m outside, ready to kick the pole to get them the fuck away, they’re already gone.  It’s as if they knew or could sense I was coming, so they hightailed it out of there before they could deal with my wrath.  One day, I’m gonna be outside while they’re on the pole, and I’m gonna take the hose to THEM!  Hose those fuckers down before they can drop their loads!  Maybe then those fucking winged rats will know how I feel every goddamn day, when I have to hose my car down AGAIN!  And while they’re at it, they can SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!