Get Your Hands Off My Sh*t!

Posted: November 16, 2010 in Uncategorized
Tags:
sharing is caring

This is how I used to share when I was 2. Psych!

First thing you need to know about me: I am not a socialist — except when it comes to health care, social services, infrastructure maintenance, the postal service and police and fire protection. Otherwise, what’s mine is not yours.

But my mom thinks differently. According to Susy-Share-the-Wealth, the moment some kid “asks” I’m supposed to relinquish control of every toy, doll or those cool coffee stirrers I snagged from Starbucks. What a load of horse sh*t.

Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time I’m game to share my crayons or a picture book, as long as I’m the one making the decision. But when my mom tells me I MUST share — that’s when I lose it. Where does she get off? How would she like it if I yanked off her wedding ring and demanded she “share” it with some random woman who just admired it? “But mom, it would make her sooooo happy!”

It’s really just one more manifestation of her classic narcissistic tendencies. I guess it makes HER look bad when I won’t share my toys if the kid’s parent is within earshot. If I refuse to hand over my Hello Kitty figurine (and especially if the kid starts freaking out because I won’t comply)  she believes she’s perceived as not properly teaching me the virtues of equal distribution. Otherwise known as a “PARENTING FAIL.” No wonder she’s so high on it.

“Sharing is caring” my ass.

Well, looky here. I’ve uncovered more evidence my mom should have had her uterus yanked and never had kids. Here’s an old post I uncovered from her pathetic ‘mommy blogger’ days. Can someone crack a window? This reeks.

(Originally published on momlogic.com) I enjoy playing games with my 4-year-old daughter Lily. Except one: Candy Land. If you’ve never played it, consider yourself lucky.

The game can literally take hours as you pick cards and move your pieces on the way to … you guessed it: Candy Land — a sticky environment that looks like a sugary oil slick. Sure, you might get to meet Gramma Nutt or King Kandy along the way, but after that there’s nothing to look forward to … except for it to end. My daughter is literally addicted to the game. Hopefully, Candy Land isn’t a gateway game that leads to harder stuff (like Keno).

Amazingly, the game has literally NO strategy, yet Lily has honed her Candy Land skills and has become something of a shark. It’s scary. And oh, yeah: It’s tedious as hell.

LILY’S TOP SIX CANDY LAND STRATEGIES:

1) Use the WHOLE board
She is a Candy Land genius, so you never know how she might approach the game. Sometimes she moves her pieces backward instead of forward, and she often hops over from one path to another. Or — suddenly and without warning — she starts pretending that the board is bed and her playing piece is a baby and then proceeds to give it a bottle.

2) Have a “Candy Land Face”
When she selects a card, she’s just like Lady Gaga maintaining a poker face — only Lily’s expression is always one of utter and total elation. Every time she picks a card, she flips out. (“Purple. I GOT TWO PURPLES!!”) Still, that’s nothing like what happens when she picks a card with a piece of candy on it. She’s sooo excited she must run in to show Daddy. (I use this time to surreptitiously move our pieces closer to the finish line.)

3) Wear down your opponent
With every move, Lily has to touch each space. EACH. SPACE. It takes forever. I know it’s all part of her scheme to tire me out. The thing she doesn’t realize is, I’m already exhausted because she gets up every morning at the crack of dawn.

4) Bluff
The worst part of the game — for her AND me — are the Lose Your Turn squares (the ones with the piece of licorice). When she does end up on the offending square, she does what any high-stakes game player would do: She cries. She’s bluffing, of course, but it works every time. The second I let my guard down, she’s rifling though the cards looking for one with a picture of a candy on it.

5) You MUST play with your lucky playing piece
Pretty much no matter what color piece her opponent picks, she’s gonna want that color. During the game, she’ll randomly insist on switching out her original selection. If you disagree, she’ll just start using your piece instead of hers … or use more than one, so her piece will have a “friend.”

6) Cheat
Even Candy Land sharks have their limits. After about what seems like hours, Lily starts to get bored. She’ll then tell me (no matter where her piece is on the board) that she won. Believe me, I don’t argue.

As most of you know, I’ve often longed to counter the wildly popular Shit My Kid Ruined website with one called Shit My Parents Ruined. First casualty on the list of shit they ruined:

My creative process.

Case in point: Yesterday I find this t-shirt in a bag for old rags and proceed to make my mom a pillow. Why? Because bitch loves to nap. After cutting out my pattern, stuffing with toilet paper and sealing it shut with a liberal application of white glue I present it dripping and beautiful to my mother.

Does she scoop me up and smother me with kisses of gratitude? Does she praise my environmentally friendly use of reclaimed objects? Nope. She FREAKS. According to her the t-shirt got into the rag bag by mistake! This shirt, she says, was some sort of “memento” from her days when she did stand-up comedy in the 90’s. Hard to believe my mom was involved in anything having to do with standing up. Most of the time she’s sprawled out on the couch whining about how tired she is.

This women is continuously stifling my artistic growth — like suggesting that things that are glued should be left to dry…why wait for it to dry?! Art should be fluid!

I guess the crux of the situation is my mom is waaaay to possessed by her possessions. Parents need to be taught a lesson about ‘letting go.’ That’s why, every now and then, I like to f-up their sh*t. They’ll thank me later.

If there’s one thing I get sick of it’s my mom complaining that because of her work schedule she doesn’t get enough “quality time” with me. Yeah, right. When she finally drags her sorry ass into my after-school program and gets me home do we immediately start playing a rousing game of Candy Land? Do we kick off a round of Hide and Seek? Fat freaking chance. The FIRST thing that happens is she says she, “Needs a moment” after her 10 hour day. Boo freaking hoo. My school day wasn’t exactly a cake-walk. During recess, while playing “Cat Hospital,” I had to operate on four sick kitty cats … I was scheduled to do five operations but Emma freaked out and ran away. Look lady, I take my job seriously, too.

Anyway after she’s had her “moment” and “unwinds” (whatever the hell that means) do we finally enjoy some “quality time?” You tell me:

This whole Valentine’s Day thing is a crock. Look, I have no problem with handing out a “Will you be mine?” card  to each and every kid in my kindergarten class — even to the boy who eats his boogers. What I object to is the idea that my parents, (who can usually be found bickering about such earth shattering topics as whether leaving all the pots to soak ‘counts’ as doing the dishes), will suddenly be all lovey-dovey come February 14th. Ever seen those conversation hearts with the sickeningly sweet phrases like “Cutie Pie” and “True Love” — whoever cranks those out has NEVER met my mom and dad.
This year I propose a few more realistic sayings:

Celebrities ARE just like us. Or at least they’re just like my freakin’ mom. I’m watching the Ellen DeGeneres show the other day and Modern Family’s Julie Bowen is there yammering about how when her kid falls asleep in the car she tries to keep him awake so he’ll take a nap at home instead. How freaking selfish can these real and fictitious moms get?! Back when I was in preschool my mom used to try the same underhanded crap when I tried to enjoy a nice car nap. In fact, she even went as far to market a product to facilitate her selfish goals. Luckily her business venture failed…just like her pathetic attempt to shed the baby weight five years after the fact.

Check out the commercial that she conned me to appear in by bribing me with candy:

Some people just shouldn’t have kids. In case you’re considering breeding please consult my handy dandy decision tree chart. If you already went ahead and popped a few out, don’t despair, hindsight is 20/20 … or in my mom’s case more like 20/200. Bitch can’t see shit. (BTW truth be told, my mom came up with this chart when she was a writer for the Warner Bros. website momlogic.com. Now she’s a producer at CBS The Talk.)

Dad and Me

I’m thankful my oblivious dad doesn't realize he's being completely upstaged.

These days, Kindergarten seems to consist primarily of gluing dried leaves to construction paper, tracing hands to render bizarre finger-shaped turkeys, and being endlessly interrogated on “What We’re Thankful For.” I’d rather be waterboarded with turkey gravy. After a while, I’ll say anything to stop the madness.”

We kids play along and blurt out the usual “Candy!” “Mommy and Daddy!” “Turkey!” and whatever the hell to placate our teachers … but the truth is we’re thankful for oh, so much more.

Here’s my REAL list of what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving:

1. I’m thankful my mom hasn’t found the stash of lightly chewed gum I’ve hidden in the back of my sock drawer.

2. I’m thankful my parents are so frazzled at the end of the day that they can’t figure which of them said “Yes” or “No” to my zillionth request. Thanks to their profound lack of communication I can pretty much get whatever I want.

3. I’m thankful my grandparents don’t know anything about the dangers of transfat, lead-based paint, or even car safety. (Once Grandpa let me ride in the parking lot in the front seat! It’s freakin’ awesome up there!)

4. I’m thankful for those times I can kick back and talk potty-talk with my friends without grownups giving us the stinkeye.

5. I’m thankful my mom’s eyes are getting so bad she’ll invariably select “All Episodes” instead of one episode on the DVD menu — thus giving me a much needed iCarly Marathon.

6. I’m thankful my baby dolls have stopped throwing up all over my room (poor dears, they’ve been sick).

7. I’m thankful for that Saturday afternoon when my mom and dad both napped while I hauled mud into the tub to recreate that chocolate river from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

8. I’m thankful that if I throw a big enough fit I CAN leave the house in a princess dress/pajama ensemble complete with Mardi Gras bead accessories.

9. I’m thankful that by precariously placing a box on a chair I can almost reach where my mom’s put my Halloween candy.

10. And last but not least, I’m thankful for my parents because if it weren’t for their mediocre parenting skills I couldn’t get away with half the shit I do. Thanks Mom and Dad this one’s for you!