by Karen Alpert
3. Someone is ALWAYS watching you.
4. You pretty much wear the same thing every day.
5. You wash other people’s dirty clothes all day long.
6. You are surrounded by crazy people.
7. Sometimes you think YOU are going crazy.
8. You’re often subjected to unexpected pat downs.
9. You never get to sleep alone.
10. It’s not unusual to hear screaming and/or crying in the middle of the night.
11. Someone else dictates when you wake up every morning.
12. You’ve lowered your standards big time when it comes to food.
13. Your showers have to be fast and furious.
14. There are never enough toilets for everyone.
15. Someone else decides what you watch on TV.
16. You often stare out the window longing to be somewhere else.
17. Visitors don’t really understand what you’re going through.
18. You don’t really know what’s going on in the outside world.
19. If you bend over, you are likely to be poked inappropriately.
20. You really look forward to getting the mail every day.
21. You barely get to wear makeup anymore.
22. People do gross things like smear poop on the walls.
23. You often count down the number of years you have left.
24. You’re constantly walking on eggshells trying not to piss anyone off.
25. You worry about someone getting hold of a sharp object.
26. You find yourself guarding your genitals a lot.
27. You’re coming to terms with being someone else’s bitch.
28. You often wonder how you got yourself into this mess.
You’re born and then you die, and if you’re a parent, somewhere in the middle you go to hell.
Tell Those
Overachieving Moms
TO SUCK IT
OKAY, SO HERE’S THE DEALIO. I’M NOT TOO JUDGMENTAL when it comes to other moms. You do what you wanna do when it comes to parenting. But duuuuuude, calm the F down. Do you seriously need to paint every kid’s first, middle, and last names in rainbow colors on the super-special party favors that each cost more than the crappy birthday present my kid brought to the party? And in case you’re wondering, yeah, that’s ours, the one that’s wrapped in two different kinds of wrapping paper. Because (a) I was stoopid and bought a gift that wouldn’t fit into a gift bag from the Dollar Store, and (b) I only had a small amount of two different kinds of wrapping paper left. And yes, I know that one of them is Hanukkah paper. And yes, I know that it’s July. And yes, I know that you are Christian. And no, I don’t give a shit. Because parenting is hard enough without a bunch of overachieving mommies rubbing it in our faces on Facebook and Pinterest and in the carpool line every day. Anyways, PTO presidents and Pinterest divas, this section’s for you. Or rather, against you.
Only a-holes send chain letters
SO THE OTHER DAY I’M SITTING in the kitchen when I hear the most beauteous sound ever. The squeak of the mailbox opening. “The mail is here! The mail is here!” I run around the living room in circles like a dog. I mean it’s not like I’m expecting anything special, but for some reason when you’re at home alllllll day long taking care of your little crotchmuffins, you get excited when the mail comes—yeah, even though it’s just filled with shit like bills and coupon books and two Pottery Barn catalogs (seeeeriously, does your computer system suck that bad that it can’t see that you are sending TWO catalogs to ONE address?) and another catalog called Oriental Trading (ummm, is it just me or does that sound like an Asian slave-trading catalog?).
So I grab the mail and start sifting through it. Bill, bill, junk mail, bill, hmm, I wonder what this one is. It’s addressed to my kiddo. I guess I should probably wait till she gets home from kindergarten to open it, but F that. She’s only five and it looks interesting so I’ll open it for her.
(I’m too lazy to type the whole letter out so I’m going to paraphrase it a little.)
Dear Zoey,
This is a chain letter and you have to send some stickers to the first person on this page and then copy this page and move the second person into the first person’s place [I’ve now read that line eight times and I still don’t know WTF it’s telling me to do] and then add your name and address and photocopy it and send it to six of your friends, but not the same friends who already got it and since you don’t have many friends yet because you’re only five, you’re going to have to dig deep to figure out some new people to send it to, and by the way, you’re gonna have to get your mom to do alllllllll of this for you because you can’t do jack shit yet because you’re only five. And if you don’t do this, you’re going to have bad luck for seven years. And then in four weeks you’ll be so excited when you get a stupid sheet of Dora the Explorer stickers in the mail, even though you hate Dora, from some random person you don’t know.
Love,
A friend who apparently hates your mom and thinks she has lots of downtime
Anyways, my point is this. I am soooooo sick of this chain letter crap that I don’t even do it anymore. That’s right, that letter you so carefully photocopied to send out from your kiddo? I tore that shit up and threw it in the trash. Not even the recycling bin because that shit has some seriously bad juju and I don’t want it being recycled into toilet paper or something and spreading its bad juju to someone’s good hooha.
And yeah, I know I suck because now your kid is sitting there four weeks later wondering why her sixth pack of stickers hasn’t arrived (ennnnh, bullshit because kids don’t remember things four weeks later, or even four hours later, unless it’s the lollipop I got from the bank and put in my purse, in which case kids remember that kinda stuff forevvvvver). So F the moms who think chain letters are cute and perpetuate this bullshit tradition. In fact, here you go. I wrote my own little chain letter that I will be sending out to some of my “favorite” moms tonight.
Dear mom who sent me a chain letter from your rugrat,
This is another adorable chain letter. It is being sent to you because your child (really you) sent my child (really me) a chain letter, so I can tell that you think chain letters are super fun. Here’s how this one works. Photocopy the following message and send it to seven of your best overachieving mom friends:
Chain letters SUCCCCCCCK and are super annoying and moms don’t have time for irritating shit like that, so stop doing it.
If you do not do send this to seven people, you will be cursed forever and die.
Sincerely,
When my kiddo is old enough to do chain letters without my help, then you may send her one
You know how all those Missy McPerfects brag on Facebook about their perfect kiddos? Well, I apologize, but I’m gonna join them for a moment. My kid doesn’t just say I love you—he pees it in a heart shape on the carpet. Try not to be jealous.
FRIEND: There’s an opening on the PTO. Would you have any interest?
ME: I don’t know. How much does it pay?
FRIEND: Nothing.
ME: Do I get a certificate or a trophy or something?
FRIEND: Umm, no.
ME: Are your kids really proud of you for being on it?
FRIEND: I don’t think they even know what it is.
ME: So why do you do it?
FRIEND: Ummm—
ME: Wait, I know. You’re on the PTO so people like me don’t have to be on the PTO.
A bunch of things I do that make overachieving moms think I’m a shitty mom, and maybe they’re right but I don’t care
1. I let my rugrats ride on the bottom of the shopping cart. And yes, Muffy McPrissypants, I know that’s how fingers get mangled. Side note, do not Google images of mangled fingers. I don’t know why I just did that. Holy crap. But even after seeing those pictures, I will still let my kids ride under the cart. Only now I’ll just yell at them even louder to “GET YOUR F’ING HANDS AWAY FROM THE F’ING WHEELS BEFORE YOU
LOSE A FINGER!!!!!”
2. Screen time? WTF is screen time? That’s bullshit. There’s iPad time and there’s TV time and there’s iPhone time and there’s Wii time. That way, I can plop her in front of the TV and then after she’s watched a couple of shows I move her to the iPad and then while I’m cooking dinner I let her play the Wii. I mean TV is where she can veg out, and the Wii is where she gets good hand-eye coordination, and the iPad is where she learns important shit like math and reading, even though really all she does is play stupid princess dress-up games.
3. You know those itty-bitty carrots and celery that come in a can of chicken noodle soup? Voilà, veggies are served. Yeah, I know those are totally bullshit and they don’t really count because (a) they’re like the size of an atom, and (b) if my kids notice them they FA-REAK out and gag like their tongues are made of vomit and refuse to eat any of the soup until the miniature Barbie veggies are removed. But seriously, who has time to cook a whole dish of veggies that their kids aren’t gonna eat anyways? The way I see it, by not cooking a veggie I’m NOT wasting food, so I’m basically helping starving children all over the world.
4. ME: Holden, wash your hands after you go potty.
HOLDEN: No.
ME: Okay.
Yeah, I know I’m supposed to teach him to wash his hands every time, but it’s just such a pain in the ass. Plus, he’s just gonna touch his butt again anyways.
5. Whenever I can’t think of what to make for lunch, I pack the kids in the car and take them to Costco, where there is an abundance of free samples. And then when we find an awesome sample, like chocolate clusters, we “accidentally” walk down the same aisle a few times.
“Why yes, we would love to try some chocolate.”
“Oooh, that chocolate looks good. Could we have a taste?”
“Nooo, we haven’t tried this chocolate yet. We’re just the kind of people who look like a lot of other people.”
“You have to give us another taste. It’s the Costco law.”
6. Sometimes (translation: all the time) when the kids are fighting downstairs, I yell at them to “work it out.” It’s a super-important skill they need to develop. Plus, I just don’t feel like getting up and walking all eighteen steps to the playroom. So far no deaths or brain injuries!
7. I never correct Holden when he mispronounces stuff because I think it’s cute that he calls flamingo “flingo” and nail polish “paint nolish” and hasta luego “enchilado” and even says cute things like “the cat is throw-upping.” And sometimes I even make him say it over and over again so I can hear it the wrong way. What’s the cat doing? Wait, what did you say he’s doing? I forgot, say it again.
8. I let Zoey skip practicing her reading words all the time. I mean yeah, sometimes I just forget, but sometimes I’m like, ugggh, doing flashcards is sooooo painful and slow and then she gets mad at me for making her try and then I end up yelling at her. Oh well, so she’ll be illiterate. There are worse things. And at least we won’t fight as much so I’ll always be there to read everything to her.
9. Once or twice a week I pretend like I have the runs at exactly the same time we’re supposed to leave the house so my hubby has to deal with getting the kids’ shoes and coats on while I go hide out in the bathroom and read People magazine. Not for too long. Just until I hear the back door slam. Then I come out. Honey, if you’re reading this, I made that one up. I don’t really do that.
Dear lady who condescendingly looks at me with pity every time I drop my kid off at school and he screams and cries his eyes out while your kid walks in all nicely,
I just wanted to let you know that the reason my kid cries and yours doesn’t is because mine loves me more and can’t stand to be away from me because I’m so F’ing awesome.
Sincerely,
My kid misses me. Does yours?
Yo douchebags who constantly brag on Facebook, this chapter’s for you
OMG, SO THE OTHER DAY I waxed my mustache and it took off a little skin and then I spent the rest of the morning cleaning semi-dry throw-up out of the cracks in Holden’s floor, so I was feeling a little depressed. I have no idea why—my life is like totally glamorous. Anyways, I had approximately thirteen minutes until carpool pickup and I said to myself, “I’m gonna relax for those thirteen minutes and just surf Facebook and catch up with my virtual friends who I haven’t talked to in decades but we think we’re still friends because we spy on each other through social media.” Ennnnnh. Bad move.
Because here’s what you should NOT do when you are depressed. Go on Facebook. Facebook is basically a cesspool of perfect people showing off their perfect lives and their perfect children.
Do you have people like that in your newsfeed? Oooooh, look at my big house. Oooooh, look at the fabulous vacation we’re on. Oooooh, look at my perfect kids who are so well behaved. Oooooh, look at the group of women who I went out with tonight and you weren’t invited. I mean no, they don’t just come right out and say, “Look how amazing my child is!!!” But they’ll say something like, “Does anyone know what the best kind of shoes are for my eight-month-old who’s already walking?” Some people call this a “humble brag.” But I call it “you’d have to be an idiot not to know this person is showing off.”
Do you know the Facebook posts I’m talking about? Here are some examples. Oh, and just for shits and giggles (and because it’ll make me feel better), I’m gonna add what I wish I had the balls to write in the comments section.
Megan: Sorry to post another picture of my boys today. They’re just so cute, I can’t resist.
My comment: Thank God you did. I was just thinking that eleven pictures in one day is not enough.
Lisa: The teacher just called to tell me Madison is the only one in her class who can write her letters!
My comment: She’s bullshitting you. My kid can write F and U.
Jessica: Oh nooo, today Cambria went on a playdate and the mom took the girls to McDonald’s and Cambria called it an UN-Happy Meal and refused to taste it because I taught her that McDonald’s is really unhealthy. My bad!
My comment: WTF kind of name is Cambria? Did you steal that from a Pottery Barn Kids catalog?
Bree: My husband and I are arguing and we need some advice. Do you think it’s okay to fly with little kids in first class, or does one of us need to sit in coach with them?
My comment: I think he should take me since we’re sleeping together.
My second comment a minute or two later: Just kidding.
My third comment: One of you probably needs to sit back with the peasants. Wear brown burlap so you don’t stand out.
Emily: Oh noooo, baby Hudson is crawling at seven months and he’s getting into everything!! If your child isn’t crawling yet, don’t feel bad. Feel lucky!
My comment: Studies show that babies who crawl first are often first to do other things. Like smoke pot and lose their virginity.
Abigail: I’m super proud of myself for being so crafty! I went on Pinterest and picked out all the things I wanted to do for Whitlington’s birthday and then I sent them to the party planner.
My comment: Who should I give my RSVP to? You or the party planner? Ennh, I’ll just put it here: No F’ing way.
Rachel: Totally bummed. I made homemade chocolate chip cookies, but Eloise wouldn’t stop eating my homemade kale chips and now she’s too full for dessert. Ping me if you want the recipe.
My comment: F the recipe. Just drop the chocolate mouthgasms off at my house.
Melanie: Ugggh, the maid taught Reginald all this Spanish and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Now I totally know what it’s like to have a child with a speech problem.
My comment: Can you please ask him how to say the word douchebag in Spanish?
Pamela: I’m so jealous of all these moms who wear pajamas to drop the kids off at school. I wear little nighties to bed, so I have to put on real clothes every morning.
My comment: Do you pull that stick out of your ass every morning too
?
Jenny: Wahhh, I want a funny school picture like everyone else is posting, but my little Mattelyne just can’t seem to take a bad picture. See?
My comment: You spelled her name wrong.
Lauren: I made little goodie bags for all the people sitting around us on the airplane in case my kids misbehaved, but of course they acted like total angels the whole flight. Murphy’s Law. Oh well, guess they’ll have to find another reason to use the earplugs!
My comment: Surely there was someone else they wanted to stop listening to.
Anyways, maybe you’re thinking I’m just jealous of all these people and their perfect lives. Well, yes, if their lives really are this perfect, I’m absolutely jealous. But I don’t believe it for a sec. Because when a mom has to brag this much, you just kinda know something’s missing from her life. Like maybe her husband is missing because he’s on a “business trip” diddling his coworker. Or maybe a stick is missing from the garden because it’s stuck up her butt. But here’s the thing. My life is pretty damn good. Not perfect, but good enough. I just don’t feel the need to constantly broadcast it.