One Day, Karma Will Dropkick my Kids

I may complain a bit, but I know that life is good. After all, I have so much ahead of me to look forward to. You’re thinking,“Allison is about to get all sentimental!” Fear not. The things I’m looking forward to are hardly Hallmark moments. Sure there will be graduations, weddings, births, and other happy occasions down the road that I anticipate with normal motherly affections; but I’m talking about the stuff I’m waiting for while evilly rubbing my hands together and laughing. Bwahaha!

Some examples:

  • My children, who constantly humiliate me in public, will one day be extremely self-conscious junior high and high school students. I think this will coincide with my Rock-Through-the-Ages fashion phase. Sequined, white, deep-v leisure suit? Yes please! Oh, it will be so good.
  • My children will one day bring home girlfriends and boyfriends. These people will love stories about Sally’s poop art sensibilities and Luke’s desire for a training bra.
  • One day, I’ll be charged with giving a speech for my kids at some important event full of gravitas. So much material to choose from! Don’t worry, I won’t forget a thing. I have a blog preserving every last memory.
  • My children will one day have children of their own. Can you say KARMA? “I’m sorry, I’d love to watch your 3-year-old twins, but we just finally got our first nice couch and I don’t want your wild little fuckers anywhere near it.” I will (sort of) try not to laugh when they call me in despair because their children are horrible.
  • My children will one day have to take care of me. I’ll stay in their homes and pee on their sofas. I’ll have night terrors. I’ll ask them to fetch me things the second they sit down. I’ll need to be driven everywhere.*
Revenge will be mine. REVENGE WILL BE MINE!

I am positively relishing the thought of exacting my retribution. Is that wrong?

*You’re thinking, “But, Allison, if you are so horrible they won’t want to take care of you!” Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered. I plan on lying to my children about a fortune I have socked away somewhere that will be theirs the moment I die. Even better, I’ll promise it to my favorite, which will change like the weather. “Can you help me call my estate lawyer? I need to update my will.”

Popping Pills

I could bang my head against the wall out of sheer frustration when trying to get my kids to learn something I want them to learn – like sitting on a couch without somehow knocking all the cushions to the floor, or the actual meaning of “inside voice.” But something I don’t want them to learn? They pick that shit up faster than a Dyson.

For some unfathomable reason, my father demonstrated how to swallow pills for Luke. I have no idea why he would do this, but there you have it. He did it. Since then, Luke has become singularly obsessed with swallowing pills.

We’ve had to cut him off his fluoride supplements because he swallows them whole when the whole point is to chew on them.

He breaks any food into pill-sized pieces for swallowing. Unfortunately, as with his judgement in so many things, his judgement on what is pill-sized is not good.

I want to reach into his brain and tear out the section that has stored Swallowing Pills.

Worst part? He knows it bugs me. He knows I want to reach into his brain and rip out that part. So he does it more.

“Think I can swallow this almond?”

Holding up half a macaroni, “Look, I’m going to swallow my medicine!”

“Is this a pill?” finding some small(ish) object on the ground, “Can I swallow it?”

Holy shit! This is worse than when he was two and sucked on everything. I have no idea how to get him to stop. And now it’s not only him. My 3-year-old is learning pill swallowing second-hand from her 5-year-old brother.

“Sally, I found this pill on the floor,” holding any non-pill small(ish) object*, “See if you can swallow it!”

I don’t think I’m winning. It’s driving me CRAZY. And when I’m driven crazy, I inadvertently teach them all sorts of other things I don’t want them to learn. Like how to swear. And how to lose your temper in 0.0003 seconds and turn into a raging lunatic. You know, grown up stuff.

*We don’t actually store pills on the floor, but apparently we have a lot of other stuff there.

Why You Should Hate Me

Are you ready to hate me?

I’m fairly confident that most people leave my blog feeling grateful that they are not me. But not this time. T and I just took a 3 day vacation with no kids! (Yes, 3 days is a vacation.) My extremely awesome and helpful parents took on the kiddos for an extended weekend so T and I could escape to Block Island, RI for his birthday.

Have you been to Block Island? If not, go. We had never been, but are now planning to visit at least annually, eventually own a house, and create lifetime memories for our family. After years of searching, we feel like we found our place.

Unless we were eating, drinking, sleeping or kayaking, we were on our bikes. (I’m sore in all sorts of places, many of which are unmentionable.) That baby seat on the back of my bike? Perfect for toting picnics, towels, bottles of wine and other assorted goods including several rocks I fell in love with at the beach and later discarded in our hotel bathroom. (Sorry about that, Hotel.)

T’s birthday dinner began with drinks and tapas in Adirondack chairs over looking gently rolling hills, dotted with a few goats, some llamas and a camel that almost made me snarf my prosecco.

We then moved indoors and indulged in a prix fixe meal which included 2 apps, an entree and dessert each. That’s 4 appetizers! On top of the 2 tapas we had outside and all the olives in the martinis. Did I mention the basket of assorted homemade breads with the most delicious fresh butter ever? The meal was amazing and it’s a good thing we had biked all day.

Scallops, roasted corn & sweet potato crisp on the left. Salad of fresh greens, flowers and herbs, all from the restaurant's garden, on the right. OMG.

Meanwhile, the kids had a wonderful time with their grandparents and T and I didn’t have to worry about them at all. So, do you hate me now?

Safety first in the kitchen

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