I have always found narcissism amusing, and enjoyed a hearty private laugh at this personality
And then I started a blog. I even paid actual money for a domain when numerous blog servers are 100% free. I can no longer, in good conscience, poke fun at narcissists.
I have a credit card bill to hold myself accountable, so I hope to keep this up. I never created any baby books to speak of for either of my sweet children. I feel terrible about this. At the very least, I want to have some sort of record of our lives so that in twenty years when they accuse me of neglecting my parenting duties to spend time on the internet, resulting in years of necessary psychoanalytic therapy, I can smugly show them my blogged summary of their youth and say “See all of the fun that we had!?”
My mother harasses me relentlessly about ignoring my kids in favor of the computer… while nagging me to start a blog in the same breath. This happens all the time.
I will worry about the irony of all of the faulty logic in the preceding two paragraphs later.
I am, at best, mediocre at parenting, but I love my children and husband so much that I feel like I need to invent words that don’t yet exist to properly capture and describe the depth of the emotion.
The next time my mom gives me grief about being in the general vicinity of a computer, I am going to tell her I am blogging.
I am pretty much talking to myself. That’s all for now.
A few minutes ago, my one year old handed me our television remote. I told her “No ma’m. First you and sissy clean up all of these toys, and then we can watch some TV.”
Beans sets down the remote and appraises the huge disastrous mess of everything my children own. She picks up Mister Potato Head’s arm (and only his arm), places it into a laundry basket, and then once again presents me with the remote.
I shall describe her as “direlict”. It sounds classier than “lazy”.
work hard, play hard (…and then accept the harsh reality that it’s only Monday damnit, and you have to work hard for the four days after that too)
Just discovered an ancient sippy cup of milk under the couch. Very disgusted, but extremely grateful that unlike last time, one of my children did not find and sample it first.
Will barter back-talking, disrespectful, and uttlerly disobedient four year old for return of mental health. Free to a good home. Or a mediocre one. Whatever.
Beans, who is gradually starting to potty train (Hooah! There appears to be a faint & distant light at the end of this seemingly endless diapering tunnel!), just asked me “Where sissy’s poop go?”
What is the most bizarre question your young child has asked you recently?
Incidentally, a moment after inquiring as to the whereabouts of her sister’s latest deuce, Beanie removed her diaper, squatted BESIDE the toilet, and enthusiastically dropped her own.
Oh potty training, how I have missed you these past nine months.