WHAT DO YOU THINK?
Listen here folks, I need to rant about overachieving parents. I know my hypothetical kids are perfect, but that is just dumb luck, not overachieving in my parenting. If you’re going to get butt hurt because you’re one of these, read no further. If you’re going to laugh and point at yourself and others… then this is the post for you.
First, when I come to your house, I expect it to be a mess. If it’s clean, I assume you’re beating your kids with coat hangers before I come over. The least you could do is be polite enough to dash around and mess things up a bit for me, so that I feel better about my place. If I wanted the museum experience, I’d friggin’ pay a babysitter to take my kids there so they could tell me about it. Okay?
Plus, what is it with all the “I have to go to little Jimmy’s soccer game” at 8 A.M. on Saturday? What the hell? Be cool. You now have my little rugrats thinking that parents actually go to those things. So then I sign my kid up, only to be told I have to also do things like not yell on the sidelines, or push other people’s kids around, or call them names. Then you’ll get mad at me when I tell the kids to forage in the woods off the soccer fields for my snack day. Beyotch, when I was a kid, my mom locked the door and foraging was the only food I got. If I didn’t come home with a basket full of berries, my butt got whipped.
That brings up another point of contention: how can you afford all the activities your kids are in? $100 a month for dance, $200 for swimming, $900 for pole dancing lessons. When I was a kid, we played baseball with a ball made of clumps of dirt and hit it with a stick. Now, your kid is throwing a fit in the middle of the Nike store because they wanted the $200 pair of cleats when you only wanted to spend $100.
Oh, nurse do you have a hang nail? That must hurt!
Then, at every function, you start droning on about giving birth; you’re not sure how you lived through it. Let me let you in on a little secret, one I have talked about on here before: half the population on Earth have given, or will give, birth. You ain’t special. Please spare us the gory details, though it does explain why little Jimmy’s head is shaped so funny.
Let’s all agree to underachieve, except when it comes to love, hugs, and kisses. Then we all look like great parents, and we don’t think you’re hiding a body in your basement. There is no need for competition, because I always win.
Sorry I forgot to be funny.
Lady or Not… Here I Come
WELL, DID YOU?
Most of us relate to homework with school.
Mom opens the door to a bunch of kids who ask if their friend can play with them.
Mom calls out his son. Asks if he finished homework and makes a decision of letting him play based on that crucial answer.
Indeed. Like many kids, even I have made excuses like, yea mom I finished – even though it wasn’t. Or told her I’ll come back and do it, even though I know I’ll be too tired and eventually I’ll be rushing through it in the morning before school bus arrives.
As a pre-teen I dint know how long this habit or culture of homework will last.
I know now.
I never stops.
It keeps coming and keeps coming.
And if you feel you got no homework, think again.
Homework culture was inculcated in school life, according to my understanding…
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CALENDAR GIRLS GONE
During his rounds tonight
Someone had left on a light…
That didn’t look bad,
In a corner office in sight.
It must be an old issue,
‘Cause the salesman visits are through…
No more “free” sights
To warm winter nights,
To which some would say, Boo-Hoo!
REMINDS ME OF A POEM I WROTE ONCE…TOOL CALENDAR GIRLS???
THE SHADOWS KNOW!!!
Shadows on the Wall
When I am lonely and tired and given my all.
With the lights all dimmed low, it’s hard to recall.
To recall that moment, I felt a chill from the hall.
Then looked up and saw, the shadows on the wall.
The air is much colder, I shiver with chill.
The shadows are moving, not one standing still!
The fear in my blood, I feel it rush to my head.
Will morning I wake up? Or will they find me dead?
They come for my soul, making hideous sounds.
Off from the wall it is I that they surround.
They prod me and pull me, from one side to the next.
Relieving my brain as they make is a text.
My soul has been ripped from my body of flesh.
I look into their eyes and hear their request.
“We have something…
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