I love my kids, I just hate parenting
You may have noticed that I occasionally post some “e-card” type images here, or on my Facebook page.
Until now, I’ve been creating my own “user cards” over on the hilarious Someecards site. But I wanted to get away from using their template, and their logo, so I decided to make my own.
Today I’m unveiling the first one, which reveals the truth about toddlers.
By now, everyone knows the “terrible twos” are a myth.
Okay, maybe not a myth, because I’m sure they suck for many parents, but for many other parents, like Yours Truly, it’s year number three that proves to be far more harrowing.
Mom and Buried and I are now halfway through this “threenage wasteland” and we can’t wait for it to end.
Which, presumably, will be when he turns four, right? Unless there’s already some clever phrase for our son to live up to for that year, like the FOUR-ror Show.
Or maybe something better. Shut up.
My son can talk, which is great. Less great is that he can’t seem to stop talking.
Seriously. My kid never stops babbling. But that’s okay. The trouble isn’t that he talks, or even what he says, since a lot of the things he says are cute. He says things he doesn’t understand, and it’s hilarious when kids say darnd things. I won’t brag and say my son says the darndEST things, because I’m not a braggart, and besides, that’s for Bill Cosby to decide. But Detective Munch definitely says some pretty darnd things.
The trouble begins when we actually listen to them.
As a youngster, I used to enjoy writing “Weird Al”-style song parodies. I wrote one that changed the title of one of my favorite Saturday morning cartoons to “Muppet Rabies”. I told a story about a classmate who appeared on “Teen Jeopardy” by re-purposing the tune of Rush’s “Tom Sawyer”. At a friend’s request, I once wrote something bashing Derek Jeter and jammed it inside an Eminem song.
As I grew older, I occasionally found a new outlet for this supreme waste of time.
A few years ago, I helped my wife alter some lyrics to the song “Razzle Dazzle” so she could perform it at her company’s talent show (don’t ask). And just last year I whipped up a “Paradise City” parody that referenced Pope Benedict’s abrupt retirement and posted it on Twitter. It’s been retweeted 1,314 times and is easily my most popular tweet, even though I’ve written several about potty training.
I just can’t seem to stop writing the stupid parodies, and yet I’ve never written one about my son (unless you include the one where I sing his name to the tune of the “CHiPs” theme song). Until now. I apologize in advance for wasting your time.