Spring Cleaning is upon us in the No Purple Walls household. It is doing a fantastic job of highlighting the similarities between a pregnant me and a 600 lb sloth. Long story short, there are a lot of similarities. It took me between four and five hours to clean our bathroom. It wasn’t even that gross. I am just that slow and I need that many breaks for episodes of Weeds. Right now, I should be cleaning the kitchen and doing a mass-trash of old stuff in our fridge. Instead, I bring you a new segment that I like to call Musings of a Pregnant Lady With No Actual Children of Her Own Who Passes Judgement On a World Which She Does Not Yet Know.
I have raised two disobedient cats, an idiot dog, and one amusing sister in her early 20s. These accomplishments, along with the current incubation my midsection is doing of a halfway-here human, qualify me as a parenting expert. And as an expert, I am also qualified to be super judgey of all the shitty parenting I see at my local Target/Wegman’s/Panera and other public spaces. I am also qualified to follow my judgeyness with how I would handle these situations of shitty parenting with my own superior methods. Which brings me to subsection A of our segment, entitled If You Can Ignore Your Child Screaming and Acting a Fool, You Can Ignore My Passive Aggressive Shopping Cart Short-Stops to Your Back. Oops.
Ignoring your screaming, demanding jerk-baby does. not. work. Unless someone can point me to a YouTube video that captures an instance where staring stone-faced, straight ahead, with your soul draining out of your ears and nostrils, while your three year old screams at you about all the valid reasons they have for needing Sponge Bob-shaped cheese crackers, that has resulted in your child realizing that they simply do not have the time and energy to expend on something as menial as cartoon-shaped cheese crackers if you are only going to respond by not responding, it does not work. If I haven’t seen it on YouTube, it’s bullcrap. As bullcrap as that run-on sentence all that bad parenting made me type.
Kids have nothing BUT time and energy, along with the will to break you. They are jerks who know that if they break their parent, they will be set up for a life of ease, swimming in cheese crackers. Ignoring them will not stop the screaming, because when you’re three, you don’t have shit else to do. You’re THREE. You can scream all damn day. You’re not gonna look back on a tantrum, evaluate your time and energy spent and realize you took a loss. Kids are too dumb for cost analysis.
Since you’re all dying to know how I plan to handle this when my child becomes victim to underhanded marketing techniques, aimed at stirring their urgent sense of need for a product by slapping a cartoon on it, I will tell you! Those pictures that come with your wallet, the ones of the cute families that you take out to replace with pictures of your own, less-cute family? I will keep those pictures in my wallet, and tell my kid that those happy kids were my starter family, until my starter kids threw a bitchfit in public. I sent those kids back to the hospital, where they were then sent to the Ungrateful Children Ward, where they now make wallets with their ungrateful hands.
All I will have to do in the event that my own child makes the unwise decision to scream for Sponge Bob cheese crackers, is calmly take out my wallet and hold the picture of my starter children directly over the picture on the box of Sponge Bob. Immediate, fear-induced quiet, and I also save my child from processed foods. Two birds. One bullet. Amen.
I kind of ran with subsection A, so I will write subsection B another day. Maybe it will be about how to instill a sense of accomplishment by teaching your kids how to pour a beer with minimal foam. Not sure yet, still brainstorming.