WARNING
For you
parents out there that preach cotton candy farts, emotional fondling, and
debating with toddlers, y'all might want to go on over yonder ‘cuz y’all ain’t
gonna like this.
My children have taken years off of my life with the stuff
that’s come out of their mouths, and I secretly love it. That don’t mean I
won’t threaten to kill ‘em, but I do love a good story. But there’s a reason I
love it: it’s called payback.
Just the other night, we’re sitting there watching our
nightly crime specials on the ID channel when Emzilla starts bouncing around
like a tased hamster. Her daddy has fine-tuned his ability to ignore children,
but I’ve yet to master it. I looked at her, and yelled that if she didn’t sit
down and zip her lips, I was gonna punch her in the liver.
Oh my Lawd….she’s a
monster! How can she talk to them babies like that?!
Quite easily, actually. I highly recommend it. Did she cower
in fear? Did she cry out and beg God for another mother? Nope.
“Aw, Mom, I love it when you punch me in the liv-ah. It’s so
sweet!”
You’re welcome, my dear, you’re welcome.
At least once a week, I threaten to shoot my sons in their
faces with a bazooka. It’s usually at bedtime when they come downstairs for
their 36th drink of water.
“Boy, if you don’t get your butt up them stairs, it’s gonna
be me, you and a bazooka, and I already reloaded.”
Do my kids think I’m gonna shoot them? Nope, not for a
minute. But they know that when momma talks about her bazooka, they’ve pushed
it too far.
I love embarrassing the kids, too. It’s all in fun, and it’s
all payback.
Yesterday I was feeling particularly froggy. It was a
Thursday morning, which meant the Bubbster had clubs at 8:00. We squeal in the
parking lot at 7:58, and I pull up by the sidewalk…and roll the window down.
“No, Momma, no! Please don’t!”
He may have said no, but he was smiling, so I instantly
cranked up “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” on my inner turntable.
“Bye, Bubby, love you! Have a great day.”
“Shmumble mumble.
Love you, too, Mom. Please don’t!”
He slams the door and takes off like Roadrunner after a bad
chimichanga.
He’d almost made it to the door when I broke out my Mr. T
and yelled, “I pity the Bubby!” Hee hee…I
used to hate mornings, but I’m growing to love ‘em more and more.
I see his shoulders shaking up and down, so I know we’re all
good.
Now it’s Rae-Rae’s turn!
“I like it when you yell stuff at Bubby, Mom.”
Oh, do you, now? Well, give him a toaster and a free
calendar ‘cuz we’ve got a volunteer!
“I’m glad to hear that, Rae-Rae. Do you have any requests
for today?”
His eyes got at least half as big as mine, and his mouth
dropped open.
“No! You did it to Bubby today, so you don’t have to do me.” Now what kind of parent would I be if I showed favoritism
like that? A terrible, unfair, unfit parent, that’s what kind.
We turn into Reagan’s school, and of course the line’s
moving like Fat Albert through Jell-O.
“Rae-Rae, what costume do you want me to wear today?”
“Huh?” *Pause*“Mom,
it’s not that kind of party! You just bring food and we all eat together.”
“Ok, I’ll pick. I’m feeling pretty athletic today, so I’m
thinking your football pants, daddy’s old football jersey, my hooker boots, and
an Indian warrior princess headdress.”
As we crawl up to the sidewalk, Reagan’s got his face in his
hands, and I’m pretty sure he’s hiding a rosary in there somewhere.
“Bye, baby boy, have a good day. Love you!”
He’s grinning like crazy with his gapped up,
I’m-8-and-missing-half-my-teeth smile, and says “Love you, too, Mom. Please
don’t!” I roll the window down as he slams the door off its hinges.
I’ve always thought “You Light Up
My Life” was a pretty song, and I can’t help it if it expressed my love for my
son at that very moment.
He turns around and grins like a
drunk monkey at my serenade, and then *meep
meep* hightails it like his brother. But what iced the cake was when the
door holder smiled at him and said “I like that handsome smile this morning!”
I don’t know about y’all, but
that sounds like a request for an encore to me!
Don’t worry, kiddos, there
will be many, many encores for y’all…’cuz I love y’all like a fat kid loves
cake.
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