Disclaimer Specifically Written for Those Who Abuse a Writer’s Ability to Write Creatively and freely…you know who you are. The following events are true. ..naked kids, flood, shit talk and cookie binge and sampling of alcoholic beverage by a women how has long surpassed the legal US drinking age. These are natural aspects of parenting. The chaos that ensured in my house is only a minute example of what happens in homes across America every day. They do not suggest abuse, neglect, inappropriate parenting (which, p.s. is subjective anyway) or anything that should be construed as bad, illegal or abusive parenting. No children were negatively impacted by the events outlined in this scenario and surely are better people for learning some life survival skills. Please read responsibly and ethically (if you think you have an ethical strand of dignity left). On that note…please enjoy and pop open your own bottle of Merlot…it will surely enhance your reading experience.I should write a book.
On my most Amazing Parenting Skills.
In fact, I just might title it as such:
Candy’s Amazing Parenting Skills Book.
Let’s see…shall we?
Chicken #2 screams from the bathroom, “I’m DONE SHITTING, MAMA!!!!”
Candy: “Umm, Princess Chicken…we don’t say that word. Are you done pooping?”
Chicken #2: “You said poop is a bad word. You and daddy say shit”
Fail parents of said Chicken.
Candy: “Shit! Why are my feet wet?” says the most brilliant mother of all as she washes dishes. Looking down she realizes she is standing in a mammoth sized pool of water. Cautiously opening the cabinet underneath the sink, there is a flood. Excellent. Broken pipe. Who needs a functioning kitchen sink with three kids anyway? And really…if this isn’t an appropriate time to drop the “shit” word…then really when is?
Big Brother Chicken comes running to find out what the digs are with his handy flashlight in hand. “Don’t worry, mama…I’ll fix it. I can fix stuff. I have a flashlight.
And Candy mama let’s him do his thing. Sitting on a pile of towels…exploring the broken pipe.
He informs me, “I think you need a man to come and fix it”
Hopefully the man is tall, dark, handsome and dirty rich…kinda like that Grey dude in Fifty Shades of Grey. I could some Fifty Shades in life…and if he has plumbing skills relevant to flooded kitchen sinks…even better.
Baby Chicken Check:
Oh,,she is excellent. Indulging on a little snack of animal crackers. You know, I am sure sure was looking for higher ground when she climbed into the snack cupboard to take cover…conveniently taking advantage of the Costco sized box of snacks while she waited for the great flood of 2012 to clear up. At least she is dressed, right?
Oh wait…where is the Big Brother chicken?
Oh…did I mention he is standing on the edge of the wall unit where I store the toys…getting ready to jump.
And he smiles and yells “Dunnnn dunnnn DOONNNNNNNNNNN”
Flying monkey shit.
I mean…flying Chicken.
So – let’s review.
We have redefined inappropriate language, shit apparently being the new “poop”, have a flood, promoting childhood obesity with the baby’s animal cracker binge, have a naked blond kid pretending he is a super hero running through the house and jumping off furniture (he said the ‘work’ with the water made him wet and he had to take off his “super soggy” clothes…who can fight with that?) and now…where is Sweet Princess Chicken after her grand “shit”?
Playing oh so nicely.
In the mud.
She might never be the same again.
But, as they say…mud is excellent for the skin…hair…and maybe promotes the development of fine motor skills.
So – here we are.
Did I mention this happened in about a 10 minute period?
It was rough.
I couldn’t not laugh.
And poured myself a nice glass of mommy juice.
You know…the kind you drink by the bottle with a straw so you don’t risk a broken piece of your wedding stemware
(which by the way…has already been obliterated…so, the only option is by the bottle)
Life is crazy.
Chickens are crazy.
Pipes are crazy.
Bottled mommy juice with a straw is a sanity saver.
Now…if you will excuse me…I have a child to dress, a child to peel away from the cookies, a child to de-muckify, dinner to cook and a thread of sanity to salvage all while I tread water in a busted out kitchen.
Smell that smell…
Life in the suburbs.
Can’t beat it, now can you?