I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I could hear them talking in the other room.
My wife’s voice was soft, nearly whispering. My son’s voice, on those rare occasions when he interjected, was uncharacteristically tentative, uncertain and wary. I stopped listening. I knew what was being discussed.
My wife has multiple sclerosis. And she was explaining it to him.
My instinct is to joke about it. To make fun of the whole thing, to poke fun at the people who fall for it, to bemoan the dumb victims and their bad parents.
But he whole thing is so twisted it makes my stomach churn. These are little kids.
No matter how desperately I wish it were funny, the Momo Challenge isn’t a joke. Real or not, the prospect is terrifying.
I am not the world’s best gift-giver. Not by a longshot.
But one Christmas, when we were still dating, I got my wife the perfect gift.
It’s been downhill ever since.
Last year, I posted a video of my kids having an impromptu dance party to “We Are The World,” a classic 80s tune my 7-year-old learned about it in school for some inexplicable reason. (I’m not complaining: “We Are The World” is FIRE!)
In the video, my toddler can be seen dancing along with his older brother, occasionally attempting to mimic his amateur break-dancing moves, all while happily sucking on his pacifier.
It caused a little controversy.
I had a good childhood. My parents were attentive and supportive, and we didn’t want for much.
My brothers and I had our own rooms, we had a pool in the backyard, I had a bike, we had cable, a VCR, at one point we had a Laserdisc player for some reason, and we had a big screen TV. I wasn’t spoiled; there was plenty of stuff I wanted that I didn’t get, like the latest video game system, a TV in my room, a car, a girlfriend, a social life, etc., but there was nothing I needed. It was pretty great!
Too bad it’s ruining my kids’ lives.