I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Sometimes, in the midst of parenting, it’s easy to lose track of your kids. (Figuratively speaking, of course!)
My 7-year-old and I butt heads on the regular, never more so than when we’re navigating the everyday stresses of our daily routines.
Schedules and stress and exhaustion and frustration combine to make our relationship combustible.
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.
Parenting is hard.
Everyone knows this. Parents know, the child-free know, even kids know. They don’t care, but they know.
Caring for and raising and protecting and molding and teaching another human being, from scratch, is mentally taxing, physically exhausting, expensive, boring, and stressful. Even if you think it’s the greatest thing in the world, you can’t deny how challenging it is.
So why do we lie about it?
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.
Last fall, in the aftermath of the most recent “deadliest shooting in U.S. history,” this time in Las Vegas, I Got Mad Online. Upset, angry, and frustrated at what happened keeps happening, I posted a variety of tweets, links, and images to social media.
In response to one such item – the Instagram image of an old tweet (meta!) that reads “NRA = No Rational Argument” – someone commented, “DadandBuried- Not a Real American.”
Cool.