I love my kids, I just hate parenting
As of this morning, I’ve been a parent of two children for four months and one day. Thanks to the five-year separation in their ages, it doesn’t always feel like it.
When Mom and Buried and I decided to have another kid, we worried about the bigger-than-desired age gap, but so far, it’s making things easier for us. So much so that I sometimes forget I have two kids!
I don’t mind the sibling age gap.
The Buried clan spent the last week in Turks and Caicos! (Visit my Instagram page to hear me rub it in your face.)
We had a great trip, made lots of memories, spent way too much money, and got home in one piece. Despite the two flights that book-ended the excursion.
All things considered, the two four-hour flights went pretty well. The Hammer slept (mostly) the whole time, Detective Munch behaved (mostly) the whole time. I didn’t give out any goody bags in a passive-aggressive attempt to stand up for all parents who get hassled on planes. And I didn’t deprive my five-year-old of technology in an attempt to see how long I could go without getting punched.
I did change a blowout at 35,000 feet, which I’m pretty disgusted by/proud of. And that wasn’t even one of the ten best things about flying with children!
Read more about The Best Things About Flying with Children …
I have two kids now. I’ve never been more of an expert on what it takes to be exhausted and annoyed 24/7.
Which makes today the perfect time for another round of my unprofessional, ill-considered, potentially criminal parenting advice! (Check out all of the previous installments.)
And I actually got a handful of solid questions! Too solid, really. It was a struggle to make fun of them! It’s almost like you people are starting to take me seriously. STOP IT.
Read more about Take This Under Advisement, Jerkweed! – Volume 13 …
I guess I’m a party pooper. My son turned five in September, and as usual, my wife threw him an elaborate and expensive birthday party, complete with a theme, of course. Now that we have another kid to celebrate, the birthday party nightmare is only going to get worse.
When Detective Munch turned one, it was a circus theme. For two, it was Yo Gabba Gabba! At three, it was all about trains, and at four, he and his friends got capes and dressed as superheroes. This time around, it was a pirate-themed affair, complete with invitations that looked like—and were actually burned at the edges to look like—old treasure maps, a corresponding treasure hunt, and plastic swords and eye-patches for all the scurvy little dogs to take home and subsequently use to terrorize their parents.
It was fun. My son had fun, his friends had fun, everyone had fun. Even the adults! (We provided beer and mimosas because WE’RE NOT MONSTERS.) That doesn’t mean I want to do it again.
Kids aren’t good at very many things, but they are good at going berserk on their parents for no reason.
After a while, you get used to their antics, and learn enough about their irrational ways that you can properly anticipate, and safely weather, one of their outbursts.
If you’re not yet schooled in the five stages of throwing a fit, don’t worry. I’m here to help.