I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I’ve been turning into my father for years now, probably since I was born, actually.
But nothing accelerates the transformation into your parents like becoming a parent yourself.
The best evidence that I’m becoming my dad, besides increasing back pain and deepening bags under my eyes, are the things I yell at my kids about. Like money.
Bored kids are the worst.
Kids hate being bored so much it makes them blind. Blind to the hundreds of toys staring them in the face, blind to the dozens of books within arms reach, blind to the open space and fresh air in the backyard.
They hate it so much it makes them deaf, too. Deaf to their parents reminders of all those toys and books. Deaf to their parents’ threats that if they don’t stop complaining about being bored, all those toys and books will be given to someone who will actually use them!
About the only thing it doesn’t make them is mute, because bored kids literally never stop telling you about it.
Over the summer, Meredith Ethington of Perfection Pending shared a list of the anxieties that plague her – and moms in general – every day, like having enough food in the house, cleaning messes, making it to appointments on time, etc. I stumbled across “Thoughts Moms Have After A Long Day of Work” again recently, and have some thoughts of my own.
The punch line to her post is that dads aren’t troubled by such things, and only think about naps. It’s all in good fun -in the comments she included a disclaimer that her husband is great and that the list was merely meant to showcase “the mental load” women have that men often don’t – but she’s not alone.
The idea that moms are the only ones who deal with this kind of anxiety is pretty common. I beg to differ.
As you may know, Mom and Buried and I recently got back from our tenth-anniversary trip to Paris. Without the kids!
It was the first time we’d gone anywhere alone for more than a weekend since Detective Munch was born. And while the lack of children in tow definitely had its perks, being our first time in France, it wasn’t exactly relaxing. There was too much to see!
Thankfully, that didn’t include “my children’s faces” at the crack of dawn, so the sore feet were totally worth it.
I call my kids all sorts of things.
For starters, they have the generic names everyone calls their kids: little guy, munchkin, monkey, etc. Mom and Buried uses various terms of affection, like pumpkin and cutie-pie and goofer. I often use weird names like “munch machine” and “cracker town” that I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain (I also don’t have an actual explanation).
Then there are their blog nicknames (which I rarely use anywhere but online), along with various terms of aggravation (which I never use to their faces), like jerk, and dick, and asshole.
People occasionally get angry at me for using those words, which is understandable. Getting angry about people who call their kid “buddy” is decidedly less so…