Let me introduce you.


My kids are the ones who enter a restaurant and SPEAK AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS and then they demand their food by banging their utensils on the table.  


My 3 year old is the one who is yelling “W-W-WH-WHERE’S MY FOOD! HEEEEEEEEY! THAT’S MY FOOD! THEY GAVE THEM MY FOOD!”


(No honey, we haven’t ordered yet. That food goes to someone else.)


My 3 year old is the one who keeps all you wait-staff in line by letting you know he “DON’T LIKE YOU!” then tops off the insult with a bit of abuse by punching you in the hip, butt, or leg–which-ever is within reach.


My 3 and 4 year olds are the ones standing up in their chairs or the booth craning their heads around to announce loudly that other children are behaving badly. 


Hello Pot?  This is Kettle.  You’re black.


My 6 year old son is the one who lets loose with a chair rumbling fart that can be heard and smelled within a 20 foot radius. 


My daughter is the one who announces it to anyone who didn’t already hear it or smell it by saying–once again at the top of her lungs–”SAY EXCUSE ME” and then proceeds to laugh at the hilarity that all 4 year olds know and recognize as the best joke in the world.  That of course is the fart.  Or poop.  Basically any and all bodily functions and toilet humor. 


Remember that all this takes place in a restaurant.  Or somewhere else public or private. 

__________________________


My daughter is the one with the following mispronunciations: “Bugglemum” (bubblegum), ”Fighter fighter” (fire fighter), Trans-a-pa-ti-tion (transportation).


She’s also the one who frantically announces that her pajama buttons are broken because, “There’s a hole on the top but no button! And there’s a button on the bottom but no hole!”


(Um, honey? You mis-buttoned it.)


“Ooooooooooooooh.”


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My 3 year old is the child who climbs counters, fences and basically leaps tall buildings in a single bound.What are these you might ask?





Why those are gum wrappers. The ones I found anyway. They were hidden oh-so-stealth-fully under the blankets on my 6 year old’s bed. The culprit was clearly the 3 year old superhuman I call a son who climbed into the top of the kitchen cabinet and apparently consumed more than nine pieces of gum. I know there was more. The packages hadn’t been opened yet.


Why do I know it was the 3 year old?


Means: The 3 year old can climb. The 6 year old? Not so much.


Motive: The 3 year old obsesses over candy. He thinks gum is candy. The 6 year old? Not so much.


Opportunity: The 3 year old was home with me all day. The 6 year old? Not so much.


All that AND I caught the little bugger red-handed red-mouthed with a piece of gum in his mouth. Not a big one so I know the rest of the pieces are lurking somewhere. I can hope they haven’t been chewed. Do I believe they haven’t been chewed? Not so much.


Aha! I just asked him where all the gum went from the wrappers I found in the Boy’s bed. He stared at me for a second then ran upstairs and came back down with this.





Yep. That’s a bucket full of gum. At least I know he didn’t swallow it now. Or leave it as a masticated mess some place where it will suprise me at the worst possible time.


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My children are the ones in full meltdown mode or claiming a near fatal pain in the ass arm or opting to go to bed early because the mere thought of cleaning their rooms is just………..to……………much to deal with. Seriously mommy is killing them.


Yet, the minute someone says something about a complicated automotive project or perhaps some heavy equipment operation in the yard they want to help. Never mind that they aren’t tall enough or strong enough or coordinated enough to be of any help. They want to do the things they can’t do rather than the things they can. A contrary streak that runs rampant through their father’s side of the family I assure you.


*Blink* *Blink*


What? It’s the truth, yo.


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My 3 year old is the one running around the house, giggling as he yells “I HAVE A GIANT WEINER!” and five minutes later throwing the mother of all tantrums.





The mood swings come from both sides of the family, but I’m still hoping its just him being three. My other two went through it too, but it still scares me.


__________________________


My 6 year old is the one who comes home and says, “J and I draw pictures of fat men because we think it’s sooo funny.”


Then as I turn to look at him with a single raised eyebrow, he says, “What? They aren’t of you.”


Sigh.


__________________________


And that my friends is why I remain One Bad Mutha.





Before taking the time to leave a comment telling me what a horrible parent I am keep in mind that you are only getting a portion of the story regarding the incidents I am sharing here so please take the time to read this post. And if you do not have the integrity or the courage to leave a real email address I guarantee that your comments will never see the light of day on this site.

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