I love my kids, I just hate parenting
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.
This Father’s Day, we took our son to his first amusement park. (Because what do you get for the dad who has everything? LOWER BACK PAIN!)
I guess, technically, it was his second amusement park, but that’s only if you count our visit to Sesame Place when he had just turned two. But he doesn’t even remember that and I’m still doing my best to forget it. This trip was a lot more successful.
Somehow, despite the fact that “Dutch Wonderland” isn’t a cool nickname for Amsterdam, even the adults had fun!
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.
It’s rare to find a parent who didn’t measure the passage of time by juxtaposing pictures of their kid’s first day of school in September with their kid’s last day of school in June.
And then, with a mixture of pride (“He did it!”) and petulance (“He’s growing up too fast!”), they bemoan the passage of time, whine about how fast it’s all going, and bitch about how quickly kids grow up.
I call bullshit.