For the last 20 years or so there has been a theme of sorts rising to the top of my pet peeve list. Sort of like the layer of goo on soup that has been sitting too long. Longer it sits the thicker it gets, becoming more and more disturbing and having a greater effect on the soup’s possibly being enjoyable.
Anywhoooo, here it goes. Talking with young mothers or fathers now and then about their lives which can be nothing short from laundry to the mess kids make on a daily basis. How little Joey marked up the wall, or Betty pukes all over the cashier at the market. Oh, this brings back so many memories of all the antics involving the littles and that of being a young parent all the way through teenage years and not stopping at adulthood. In fact, the grandkids have taken the place of my grown ass kids in the variety of stunts they can accomplish on a daily basis.
So a simple conversation with these parents can quickly turn insulting within moments. Here are 3 ways to piss me off. One, as if they are the only parent who has experienced little Joey marking up the wall with a sharpie [Joana] or had a child puke up all over the place, not limited to confined places, e.g. car. 2., how in the hell do you think I got this old? Where in the hell do you think all this grey hair came from? Finally, 3, do you really think I was born at this age and had not experienced life at all until this very moment when your majestic, whiney, narcissistic ass comes over to me to complain about your life?
Then and only then do you not only complain about how Joey and Betty don’t allow you to exercise, blah, blah, blah…then you have the nerve to say to me, “Oh, you wouldn’t understand because you don’t have children at home.” Fuck you! Newsflash, little Ms/Mr, fleshy-boo, I made time. Do you think I enjoyed waking up at 5 a.m. every morning, dressing in the dark and going for a run, or walk depending on my mood? Hell no, but I needed it for my sanity so I wouldn’t complain to someone like me and make them feel like shit because you feel misunderstood. You do what you want to do, kids aren’t the reason why you’re a lazy-ass, they are a convenient excuse for you not to take responsibility of your own damn life.
Seriously, I would exercise when I could, this would be at times of napping or when on rare occasion their bio-dad would spend the day with them. Or I did the unthinkable, I would spend time with them by taking them on nature hikes or just a simple walk through our neighborhood, getting to know these little humans I brought into the world. If we had a chance, I’d throw on a Journey record and teach these kids how to clean and take care of the important stuff, all this as long as I wasn’t working, which was usually a night shift or some other weird late hours.
So if you’d like to be the all-knowing, all-seeing guru and master of all things children, be my guest, but please do not assume that I haven’t lived life or my experiences are not valid because I am not doing that phase of life anymore at this very moment.
Life for us as the seasoned generation we raised our kids without cellphones and babysitters or daycare. We worked hard and taught our kids how to work hard. Obviously, your parents were napping while raising you. It’s more than likely you didn’t show up for class. Your whining and insulting me is only self-gratification, so please don’t ego-masturbate in front of me and then treat me as if I don’t have a clue about anything concerning life with kids and work, etc, I will beg to differ and very loudly.
Insulting others with careless, casual remarks such as, “oh you wouldn’t know” or “it’s just you and your husband, oh how I wish”, and the best, “can I trade places with you”. Hell to the no, I worked for this empty nest and continue to work for it. So please keep your uneducated, disrespectful, dumbass remarks to yourself, and please stop breeding because we all know you’re sharing this warped sense of thinking with those innocent children.
Who by the way, love to drive you crazy, just so they can hear you complain to others about their lastest deeds. They are proud of their wall-art, the colorful puke of the day, and the labyrinth of toys that they leave strewn about the house. They love that they gave themselves a haircut right before picture day [Joshua]. The pink nail polish was the perfect touch to the drab mini blinds [Joana], the lovely shade of picasso pink [through the eyes of a 4-year-old], spruced up the room perfectly. Oh and how, he thought that because it happened in the movie, then surely a knife cannot cut his new leather jacket, now could it? Buzzzzzzzz, it did and a long explanation of how movies are not real ensued. One of my favorites, explaining to our son how an organism is not pronounced orgasm.
Oh, how I’ve lived and love the stories I could tell. Therefore, should I receive one more insult to my intergrity while you objectify me with your banter of “you would not understand” and behave as if your life is superior than that of anyone else, well lets just say, your teacher has arrived, and you will be my student. You better damn well be ready.
ItsMeBarbi 