I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Every time my wife and I show each other any kind of affection, Detective Munch comes bombing over to get in on the action.
He’s like Pepé Le Pew, if Pepé Le Pew were into incestuous threesomes. (Which: probably?)
He’s always butting in! I literally don’t remember what it’s like to have time alone.
I’m a better parent than you.
Sorry. I know this is tough for some of you to hear. Just accept it. It’s easier that way.
I’m a better parent than you and I’ll tell you why.
In a recent post for Lifetime Moms, I mentioned that the issue of my son having “bad influences” – i.e., influences that aren’t his parents – wasn’t one I was expecting to encounter for a while. I expected him to be primarily under the influence of me for the next few years.
And then he met Xander.
And Xander ruined my son’s childhood.
Children are little terminators.
To quote Kyle Reese, “They can’t be bargained with. They can’t be reasoned with. They don’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And they absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.” The only difference between my son and Arnold Schwarzenegger in that movie is that my son’s speech is more intelligible. And that Arnold loses. My son never loses.
His commitment to being irrational is so absolute, it’s like living with Andy Kaufman. I honestly can’t tell where the act ends and the real person begins. Or if there even is an act. Or a real person. I’ve never been so uncertain of how to deal with someone in my life.
Which is why I might start acting like a child at work.
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