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Broke Wife, Big City
Stupider things
By Aprill Brandon
Here is the thing they never tell you about being a parent (or at least
not in an official pamphlet form): Once you get to a certain point,
past the “oh god, I just really need both of us to survive this” stage,
you will spend the majority of your parenting time arguing.
Arguing about very stupid things.
For example, say you buy your small child a sprinkled donut. Because he
INSISTS he wants a sprinkled donut. But then he hands it back to you
and wants you to take off all the sprinkles. All the sprinkles off the
sprinkled donut that he REALLY TRULY wanted. Because he apparently only
likes the ghostly essence of sprinkles on a sprinkled donut.
Because 3-year-old logic.
Now, as a parent, you have several options here.
You could flat-out refuse, because it’s a ridiculous request. Which
will likely lead to a stupid argument and end in a tantrum (yours or
his).
You could try to reason with him. Which will likely lead to a stupid
argument and end in a tantrum (again, yours or his or, let’s be honest,
both).
And lastly, you could just shut up and do it. Which means every time
you get donuts now, he will ask for a sprinkled donut and ask you to
take off all the sprinkles. Which means, six months from now, you will
likely have a mental breakdown as you are scraping sprinkles off the
27th donut, and while you are busy rocking back and forth in the
corner, sucking your thumb and sobbing, your small child will turn to
his father and ask HIM to take off the sprinkles. Which Daddy will
likely refuse to do (because he’s not an idiot). Which will lead to an
argument and a tantrum as they are driving you to the nearest asylum.
Sigh. In case it wasn’t already clear, there are no winners in these
kinds of scenarios. Only survivors.
And yes, I know. Hey, man, with kids, you have to pick your battles.
But that’s the thing. I already am picking my battles. Which is how he
won the stupid pizza argument.
What’s the stupid pizza argument? So glad you asked. The stupid pizza
argument began because my 3-year-old claims to LOVE pizza. But what he
really means is he loves pizza crust. And only the crust. If there is
even the tiniest remnant of cheese or sauce or anything that actually
makes a pizza a pizza, on that pizza crust, he will hand it back and
ask you to remove it. It doesn’t matter if your big ‘ol dumb adult eyes
can’t see this alleged speck of sauce. You are to remove it. All of it.
And he will hand it back to you over and over again until not even one
of those nerds on one of those CSI shows could find trace elements of
sauce.
I know, I know. Ha! Ha! Kids, huh? They’re so funny with their weird
quirks. But wait! There’s more! Because once the pizza crust has been
professionally picked clean, he will then proceed to dip it into a
small bowl of pizza sauce.
PIZZA. SAUCE.
No matter how much I explain the irony, my son doesn’t get it. So, do
we go through this whole ritual every single time we have pizza? You
bet your happy ass we do.
Because you have to pick your battles.
But you can’t always give in either. Because then they know that they
own you, which, sure, doesn’t seem that bad now but wait until they’re
17 and you’re having the stupid “being a dj is not a career” argument
and they won’t listen to you because you decided when they were three
that it was just easier to pick the sprinkles off the goddamn donut.
Which is why you simply can’t give in during the stupid “stop saying
shut up” argument even though you know how stupid it is and even though
everyone is staring at you because you are the crazy person yelling at
your son to shut up about saying shut up because only grown ups can say
shut up so knock it off and shut up because I am gradually going insane
and so many brain cells are committing suicide right now.
And so, in conclusion, alcohol is terrific.
Cheers
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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