Remember how I said I was the worst parent ever? I was wrong. Now I am the worst parent ever. I’m so ashamed. As I type this my child is lying on her bedroom floor, sobbing hysterically and threatening to run away over a missed episode of “Liv and Maddie.” This kind of stuff is pretty much standard these days.
She did not appreciate my offer of assistance in packing.
If I tell you a similar story, you have to promise not to judge me, okay?
I also had a few other experiences worth sharing, so you’re getting those as well. You’re so lucky. There’s no moral to the story other than I am a stupid, stupid human being.
Laughing Out Loud in Public
Experience 1: When I was brushing my hair this morning a small spider came out.
When I was brushing my hair a small spider came out. Of my hair. On my head. Onto the countertop, where it ran and evaded death by squishing.
I’ve washed my hair three times. I’ve gone through every inch of it with a fine tooth comb, literally. I’m pretty sure there’s not a nest in there, but I may need someone to check again for me before I go to bed tonight. Although I may not sleep knowing a tiny little arachnid was having a heyday in there as I slept, unaware.
In case you missed that, a spider came out of my hair.
Experience 2: I exercised excessively poor parenting skills.
You all know that my daughter and I are having a bit of a personality clash these days.
And you all know that I blew up at her a few days ago when I lost a contact in my eye and I drank the fat a few days earlier and I had bleach and soapsuds flowing from my toilet a day or so before that.
I have been incredibly lacking in motivation lately. I’m not sure what’s going on or why. A few short weeks ago I was focused and intent on writing a book. I was exercising quite a bit of self control and adhering to a strict 2,000 word per day regimen. I guess when I decided to start the book over from scratch, I started procrastinating. Understandably so, now that I know how much effort it takes to write on that level.
Unfortunately, I also began procrastinating on housework and quit asking my kids to help out. It just seemed like so much effort. After five or so days, we were stepping over dirty clothes and discarded toys to move between rooms. It was bad.
By the time Saturday rolled around I knew I had to either clean or face a possible visit from a social worker. My kids were instructed to clean their rooms as I worked on the main floor.
Everything seemed to be going fairly well until I went to put a few things in the basement and found my daughter lounging on the couch, watching “Austin and Ally.” It seemed awfully soon for her to be done, but when I asked, she swore she’d cleaned it.
(My child has a serious Disney Channel habit. I wonder if there’s a support group?)
I checked. There was an overturned chair in the middle of the floor, along with dirty clothes and wrappers from Goldfish crackers. Her bed was unmade with a pile of sheets and blankets resting on top. The few items she had picked up had been brushed into a pile in the corner. It wasn’t clean. Not even close.
I called her back up and informed her that the room wasn’t clean and she needed to get back to work. It went something like this:
Me: This isn’t clean, you barely touched anything.
Her: Yes it is, look at what I picked up. (Points to pile in corner)
Me: There is trash on the floor and an overturned chair on top of it.
Her: (Walks over and sets the chair upright) There. Can I go now?
Me: Umm, no. You can’t go. This is not clean. In fact, it’s what most people would consider disgusting.
Her: What if I miss night of premieres?
(Seriously. Support group. Disney Channel habit.)
Me: I guess you should’ve thought about that before you treated your room this way. You have to do it, sorry.
I’m a hypocrite, I know. And even though I’m a ridiculous mess of a screwed-up person, I’m still mom and I should still have some authority, right? Maybe not. I was about halfway downstairs when I heard her belt out the following, in a shrill, pre-teen voice:
I DON’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING!!!!
Here’s the terrible parenting part. Seriously. Really. I’m actually concerned someone might turn me in.
I turned around, walked back to her room, looked her in the eyes and flicked the top of her head with my middle finger.
I flicked my kid on the head. Could I possibly be less mature?
I sentenced myself to another mom time-out and locked myself in my room. She was WAILING in the background. I promised myself I’d wait until she stopped before I left my room. I knew if I met her in hysterics she’d just try to argue with me. It was a long wait.
When I finally left my room, I encountered her standing in the middle of the hall, holding her head and whimpering. This happened:
Her: (Sob, sniff, grasp head in pain) I think I have a concussion.
Me: (Crickets) No. No, you do not have a concussion.
Her: How do you know?
Me: Because my finger cannot exert enough force to CAUSE A HUMAN BEING A HEAD INJURY!
Her: You never listen to me! (Sob, hides in bedroom)
Experience three: I had another incident at Costco.
Yesterday I took my kids to their occupational therapy appointments. Normally, I am afforded a nice, quiet hour in a waiting room. Thus, giving me the opportunity to write uninterrupted.
Just as both kids disappeared into the gym, I realized I’d left my computer at home. I had no book, no computer and the waiting room had no magazines.
Then I noticed that my least favorite person ever, in the history of people, had sat down across from me. This woman is a monstrous loudmouth and I cannot stand being within a mile of her. She’s one of those people that talks freely and not subtly, about her child’s issues in front of her.
I wish I could flick her in the head.
Without any means of entertainment, knowing that loudmouth lady would surely attempt to engage me in a conversation, I left.
I went to Costco.
Costco makes my heart happy.
I replenished our supply of processed garbage we don’t need. I bought 120 of those laundry tabs people keep mistaking for candy. I bought eighty K-Cups. I bought more of the chocolate covered pomegranate seeds.
And, in the true spirit of Costco-ness, I bought my daughter a random bathing suit. I bought her a different one last week. ($11.99!)
I was walking through the pharmaceutical area and was somehow passing through a place I like to call the “Unfortunate Illness Aisle.” I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. It’s the aisle with the Gas-X and the hemorrhoid cream and basically any other medication designed to sooth an incredibly embarrassing infliction.
And I thought to myself, “Man, if you need a 500 count bottle of Imodium, you need to see a doctor.”
Then it happened. The “I’m laughing out loud, alone, in public” moment we all have from time to time. (I know, I possess a maturity level that rivals that of a twelve year old boy.) I wasn’t giggling and smiling a little, I was unsuccessfully attempting to stifle bellowing laughter.
I could not. Stop. Laughing. People were staring.
I actually got my phone out and pretended I was texting someone. I’m sure it didn’t fool anybody.
I left $140 lighter.
People, I have spiders coming out of my hair and a child who may or may not need serious help overcoming an addiction to bad Disney sitcoms. I’ll take the laughs where I can get them.