There are many advantages to having kids.
- Tax cuts
- Little people you can order around to do things you don’t want to do.
- Plates of nuggets and fries you can help yourself to at any time
- Someone to always blame a fart on
- An excuse to get out of doing something you don’t want to do. As in, “Sorry Bertha. I can’t go to that Irish tap dancing class because my child is projective vomiting.”
- A designated driver (anytime from the age of 8 on up)
- A rationalization for buying Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch, but who really needs a reason?
- A reason to get up in the morning when you are having a hard time finding one.
But, perhaps the greatest advantage is that your kids tell it like it is. They call you out on your shit like no one else does. They know your buttons and they freaking push them all day long. Not even your best friend in the world would dare to point out the things your kids do.
- Mom, why are you getting so angry that vein is popping out of your neck?
- Wow, mom, that eye shadow is too much. It looks kind of creepy.
- Mom, that fart smells like something died in your colon. Have you been to the doctor?
- Why are you in such a bad mood and blaming stuff on me? I’m just a kid. Maybe you need to go lay down.
And the occasional heart breaker:
- I know you tried your hardest in that race. Good job, mom. I’m proud of you. (Remember this amazing thing? If you haven’t read what Emma wrote, go do it.)
You know this is leading up to something, right? That I have one of my stories to tell that ties into all of the above? I’m a sucker for a good, pointless story.
Setting: Yesterday morning, 7:30 a.m. My kitchen
The kids were eating breakfast at the counter before school. I was in my go-to outfit that is a combination of pajamas and “active wear.” It is something I can sleep in, but also something I could wear to the grocery store if need be. This cuts down on having to change clothes very often. Yesterday's outfit was a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.
I was standing at the stove cooking my oatmeal (yeah, I make the real thing that takes about 15 minutes). I was stirring away, my back to the kids.
Sam: “Hey mom.”
Sam: “Doesn’t it bother you the way you have such a wedgie right now? Like, don’t you even feel that?”
Me: “Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be looking at your mother’s butt. Ever think of that?”
Sam: “It wasn’t like I was trying. I was just panning around the room, and-boom!-saw your wedgie.”
And, he was right. My sweats had totally creeped up. Not a pretty sight. But I feel blessed I had some wise 13 year old to point this out to me before I went to the library. Because NO ONE, not even librarians, like to see a turkey butt (def: the condition of having one's clothing stuck between the buttocks.When ones ass gobbles up their pants.”). Gobble, gobble.
At least I did not have this going on (God bless People of Walmart):
At least she is buying TP for those cheeks.
What’s the best thing about having kids?
How do your kids (or, someone else’s) call you out on stuff or push your buttons?