Here’s some honest and funny parenting advice about raising young kids.
Raising young kids is much like playing golf.
A golfer can take 100 bad swings, and when all hope is lost, he nails that one perfect shot. This gets him through the next 100 awful shots.
The same rule applies to a parent. A parent can make countless mistakes and the kids can be intolerable.
Until that one moment that makes it all worthwhile.
Another similarity between parenting and golf — there’s a ton of cursing involved.
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This quote, from General George Patton, is written in bold Sharpie on an index card tacked to the bulletin board in my office. The board hangs next to the computer I work on all day.
Writing is the only career where you hear “no thanks” more often than a hooker with visible cold sores. That’s a joke, some men will screw anything, cold sores be damned. The intention of the quote was motivation for every time I heard “no” from an editor, every time I slammed into writer’s block with my face or any other occasion when my profession punched me around.
The words of General Patton would inspire a man who could never serve in the military because of a rare disorder that causes him to cry in pressure situations and Swiffer commercials. “Oh my crap, she finished all her housework and can now read a book! Celebrate sister!”
A funny thing about the quote — I tend to stare at it more when things don’t go right with my kid. Probably because every time the crap hits the fan with parenting (figuratively — he hasn’t thrown shit at a fan yet but he’s got a weak throwing arm), I cower in my office pretending to work until everything blows over.
“Is he done with his tantrum? No? Well, I’ll be in here [bangs keyboard with the back of his wrists] Deadlines! Deadlines!”
My philosophy in life before the kid was simple. I didn’t take chances because there is less of a chance of screwing up. It’s easy to have a high rate of success if you never make an attempt at the truly difficult in life.
For example, I’ve never belly flopped off of a diving board because I’ve never attempted a dive off anything higher than the side of the pool. “No thanks, I’ll be over here, lowering myself down by the metal steps and holding my nose just in case. OH, IT’S SO COLD!”
Parenting is a risk. From the moment she pees on the stick and gives the thumbs up until he’s old enough to walk out the front door for good, I’m going to be taking huge gambles. I’m going to gamble with the way I raise him, the things I teach him and every other decision that impacts his life. It’s just the way this job goes and I’ve got no choice.
I finally accepted all this as fact and started making the tough calls like a father should.
I’m going to screw up. I’m going to make mistakes. I’m gonna fall. He is gonna fall (though if he falls any more he’ll need a helmet and three layers of protective snowsuits until the age of 30).
We are both going to bounce back up. How high we bounce depends on what kind of man I am and how good I am at teaching him to bounce right back up. He’s going to dive off the highest board at the pool, even if it will kill me to watch.
How the hell am I supposed to hold my nose and cover my eyes at the same time?
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A Letter To Toy Makers – From An Agitated Dad
Dear makers of agitating and semi-pointless kid’s toys,
Don’t take this the wrong way, but on behalf of all the parents in the world, go eat a warm sandwich baggie full of farts.
I’m sorry to use such harsh language but your incessant songs/rhymes/repetitive phrases voiced by a woman that sounds as if she chugs carafes of coffee before shoving an open umbrella up her vagina to obtain just the right annoying vocal pitch in which to say “T stands for Tall” has us all a teeny bit on edge.
I’ll tell you what T really stands for toots — it sounds like ‘what’ and it refers to the makers of this torture device created in the depths of hell.
Look, I get it, the music and sounds stimulate young minds and gets the little people moving, grooving and up out of their ‘Umizoomi’ induced hazed brought on by the warming glow of four hours of Nick Jr. You’re doing the Lord’s work.
Except you purposely do shit just to screw with the caregivers of the little monsters who keep pressing the play button like a crackhead on a drug vending machine. Do they have vending machines for drugs yet? I keep checking the vestibules of Babies R’ Us in hopes that the average parent can just get a little $1 taste to dull the pain.
Maybe drugs should come with these kids toys?
Where the hell was I…oh right.. why I think you’re dicking us all around.
You do things purposely just to screw with our sanity.
A good example is the options for sound levels which include “ear piercing,” “slightly less ear piercing,” and OFF. HAHA! I’m kidding. These toys don’t come with an OFF button.
It might read OFF but the toy is never really off. It’s only muted until 4am when the house is dead silent and I’m walking past to take my eleventh whizz of night. Is there anything in the vending machine for constant urination? Nevermind. I’m just going to piss on this duck that is only supposed to play when placed in water but quacks every time I reach past it in the cabinet.
Hopefully, the urine shorts out the circuitry or at least electrocutes me into another couple hours sleep.
It’s all fine though because, we, the annoyed parents of the children that play with these toys will get the last laugh. It will be just like ‘Toy Story 3’ or at least what I remember between long cries and wails of “I miss my childhood!” — one day the toys will have to go.
We’d like to give them to needy children but that just isn’t going to even the score. These toys have a date with a screwdriver and middle-aged hands still jumpy from years of torture and vending machine Zoloft.
T stands for “Take that ya fucking duck.”
Or we might just give them to friends with small children. Their kids will love ‘em.
Love and butt rubs,
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