“Shut your fucking face, Uncle Fucker…”

Today a relative who doesn’t know me very well saw me happily playing with a family baby and said, “Aw, Auntie Smug! It’s your turn next!”

*deep breath*

No, Uncle Fuckface, it’s not. But thanks, it’s been a while since I felt shitty about it.

(I’m fine, but I AM going to drink heavily and pass out in my underpants, because whatever, no one’s gonna wake me up demanding anything.)

Happy Mother’s Day to all my bad-ass mom friends, who let me snuggle their children and never make me feel defective. Your kids are amazing, and they have you to thank.

The winter of my discontent

On my way to work, I saw a bunch of little kids, like 6 or 7 years okd, waiting at the school bus stop. It was 8 degrees outside, with a wind chill of “fuck fuck, mother-ever-loving FUCK!”

See, this is why I can’t have kids. I barely got MYSELF out of bed this morning. If I’d had tiny people in my house whose main goal in life is to hang out, eat cereal, and watch cartoons? “OK, screw it. We’re taking a ‘snow’ day. You there, start the blanket fort. You, you’re on storytime, go pick out some books. What’s 2 + 2? Right, FOUR! Excellent, A+. Y’all are gonna be fine. I’m on breakfast — Pop Tarts sound good? Mommy’s going to have her special Irish coffee, and then I’ll be right with you.”

My kids would be the weird home-school kids at the beginning of “Mean Girls.” Hopefully minus the guns and homophobia.

Basic Human Decency v. Competent Parenting

Sorry, no, Aunt Buzzkill. Me NOT being an asshole to a little kid is a far cry from “great maternal instinct.”*

My 2-year-old nephew asked me to hold his hand to help him down the stairs and I did. That’s not “instinct,” that’s…not being a douchebag. What else was I gonna say? “No way, fuckface, you’re on your own.” It’s also just part of a social contract — I would really prefer not to explain to his parents how their child ended up tumbling down the steps.

If If anything, that’s the KID’S instinct: “Hm. I require assistance navigating these stairs. Perhaps I should request some help from someone with marginally superior motor skills. You there! Lumpy! Take my hand!” That is me taking direction from a child who knows his needs better than I do.

I’m good with toddlers because all I have to do is play Mr. Potato Head, tickle tummies, and make sure no one explodes. Fairly easy in 1-day increments, but I wouldn’t call it “instinct.” Once they get fussy, I hand them back to Mom or Dad: “This one’s broken, fix it.” I don’t know what the hell to do with these kids. My instinct is to give him 20 bucks and a bus pass and tell him to figure his life out.

* I am quite sure this was intended merely as a compliment, and not as any sort of pressure to be fruitful and multiply from someone who’d never even see my hypothetical spawn. Well, I’m MOSTLY sure that’s how it was intended…probably… She IS kind of a dick…

Re-blogging: On Motherhood

Via Scary Mommy — Motherhood: The Big Fat Fuck YouIMG_1375.JPGThis is pretty much exactly how I fear I would parent (at least without copious therapy), and it’s a big part of why I don’t. There’s a larger parenting post rattling about in my drafts. I’ll have to finish it. It’s been on my mind a lot lately.

Teach them well and let them lead the way. Because I’m sure not gonna.

I keep seeing everyone’s adorable back-to-school kid photos, and I keep remembering one of my favorite comedians (Lisa Landry) talking about how there’s no way she could get another human being up, fed, dressed, and on a bus by 7 a.m.

I still haven’t eaten breakfast, my hair is frizzy, I was late for work, and my pants don’t fit. Bless all your hearts, seriously. I’m glad your children are our future, because if mine were, we’d all be fucked.