Friday, November 22, 2013

Embarrassing Your Kids 101

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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