Parenting Joys

I have recently read a book about the joys of parenting. Do these people have kids? Where is the imaginary perfect world? Because I know I am not there! Let me lift your spirits with what it truly is like to be a parent. Trust me; kids do not go to bed when asked. I’ll spread true light on what that book wants people to believe.

For instance, tell your ten-year-old to clean his room in a soft, calm tone. Yeah right! With the soft-tone approach, I may as well use alien sign language. It would be best if you yelled loud enough to hear your voice echo throughout the house. Even after that, when you check their room, you wonder when you took ownership of the local dump. Candy wrappers, empty potato chip bags, dirty dishes, and dirty clothes scattered about the room. How about those tread marks in the tighty-whities hanging off the closet doorknob?

Joys of parenting! My ass!! What chapter was that? I can’t seem to find it in my book.

Your child will do their homework better if soft, easy music plays. Again, sure. If you were here, you would see and hear my sarcasm. No amount of easy listening will relax my whiny supercharged child. The best I could get out of easy listening was to use the radio to clunk some sense into them. Of course, I disapprove of child abuse, but there are days when you get that call from the school, “Mrs. Jones, your little Sally didn’t complete her studies last evening.” No shit! Really? Maybe because she was bouncing off the damned walls!

Let’s talk about bath time. Not any bath time. Bath time with a four-year-old. That, one LOL after another, the book states that a calming voice, a favorite bath time toy, and lavender in the water make bath time relaxing for the child and the parent. Yeah, sure, it does. Somewhere, not in this house. My son seems to read minds. Taking a bath is not his favorite thing to do. While I am pretending to undress him for bed, he suddenly picks up a sense that it is time to bathe. Now I am chasing a naked four-year-old around the house and yelling to my husband, “Start the water! Put that damn lavender crap in it too!” I finally caught this kid. I am carrying him, kicking and screaming, to the bathroom. I imagine my neighbors think I am torturing this child. I get him in the water, and he hops out. Slippery and naked, screaming, “Noo! I will melt!” My husband’s turn to snatch up the soapy piglet! Please tell me, where did that lavender play any part in this capture-release bath time? Tell me!! Please.

We love our children; we do. It’s those moments when trying times test our patience to its limits. These wonderful little human beings torment the bejesus out of us. Every day is a new day, a new experience. We, as parents, read these books and tell ourselves that we will follow them to the letter. Our little darlings will be perfect. They failed to tell us that our angels have an opposing agenda. This spontaneous hyper-energy plan isn’t in any book. Someone should write a book about true parenting joys. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the wanting to rip our hair times too. Not a load of false hope. Damn, you want good children — then don’t bullshit new parents!

THE END?

Let’s move on to raising teenagers.

No?

It truly is too horrific to consider!

THE END

Maryann Lindquist & Mojha MacDowell