I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I was supposed to keep track.
I was supposed to tally all the miles I walked with Detective Munch and Mom and Buried, as part of the “KINDMilesMatter” campaign. But I blew it. Rather, my son blew it.
Because kids ruin everything.
On Tuesday, the Huffington Post shared an article called “9 Things Kids Can Play With In-flight That Don’t Involve Technology” and I’m still laughing at this list.
I’ve read a lot of stupid things in my life, many of them on this very blog. But I’m not sure I’ve read anything quite this delusional lately. (And I once compared my son to a bird!)
I may not truck with parents apologizing for flying with kids, but I would never willfully abuse my fellow passengers. Which is essentially what these suggestions boil down to.
I’ve always found it annoying that it’s so hard to stay mad at my son. Even when he’s being horrible, he’s still adorable. It’s sickening.
I’ve written about the way biology tricks us before – little kids are really just one long con, suckering us with their cuteness only to obliterate our lives when they get older – but there are some perks to the biological bond we have with our children.
Especially when they need some TLC.
Children will never admit to being tired.
They’ll shake their heads while they’re yawning if they think it will buy them five more minutes of doing whatever stupid bullshit they’re doing. My son hates going to bed more than I hate trying to put my son to bed!
They simply don’t know what’s best for them. So it’s up to us to decide.
I’ve never really liked post-apocalyptic movies.
You know the ones, where the world is shit, whether by circumstance or calamity, and everyone left is fighting for survival and scrounging for sustenance. Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome‘s dry, desert dystopia just depresses me (although I definitely enjoyed Fury Road). Everyone is so dirty! It looks miserable. One of the reasons people prefer The Empire Strikes Back to Star Wars is because for once, Tattoine isn’t involved.
The good news is I’m almost 40; the odds of having to experience such a hellscape in real life dwindle with every birthday I have. The bad news is that with every birthday he has, my son may actually be getting closer to experiencing such a life.
Thankfully, I don’t really care.