The Truth About Parenting Acronyms

So, there’s a ton of new parents out there in the world today trying to muddle their way through the management of their little ankle biters.

As the proud owner of a 6 and 8-year-old, I feel it’s my duty to impart upon them just a sample of the parenting acronyms they might encounter on playgrounds or during play-dates.

Much like government agencies, parenting is riddled with acronyms that at first seem to sound like simple words…but really mean something entirely different.

Come with me…let’s take a quick gander at just a handful…

DAMN

Diapers Are Most Negative!!

KIDS SUCK

Karate In Daughter’s Sunday School Usually Changes Karate

I FEEL LIKE MY WIFE WILL NEVER SLEEP WITH ME AGAIN

I Forget Every Evening  Little Leopards Intuitively Kill Elephants Mostly Yearlings While I Feel Lonely Lethargic Nervous Even Vigorously Ravenous So Listen Equally Even People We Intelligent Thespians Have More Equal Agnostic Gains As Iguana Nightcrawlers.

I HATE PREGNANCY

I Have A Terrific Energetic Passion Regarding Early Gestational Notions Around Nurturing Child Yolks

YOUR KID SUCKS

Your Obnoxious Ridiculous Kid Is Doing Significant Sucky Uncouth Cock-o-mainy Krazy Shit

I LOVE YOU

I Love Only Vaginas Even Your Orange Undergarments

POOP

People Often Ooze Poo

Those are just a few of the many many parenting acronyms that exist. So, next time you hear me tell my wife “I LOVE YOU”….well, you’ll know what I’m really saying.



Babies Come Out Of Girl's Butts

Last night the wife and I are calmly listening to Cold War Kids and getting pumped to go see them Friday night when all of a sudden our six-year-old, long-haired, hippie daughter comes tearing-ass through the room screaming “babies come out of girl’s butts!! Babies come out of girl’s butts!!” and giggling while holding her bum bum like she’s got a full diaper.

The show Cake Boss is a favorite in this household. And, apparently the “Cake Boss’s” wife just birthed their fourth child.

And, they showed the PG version of this woman spitting out a baby while my wife and I were being neglectful parents in the other room.

It wasn’t until the town-crier move the daughter pulled by running through the house announcing the apparent mass production of ass-babies that we realized we’d allowed something bad to happen.

While I was acting like I smelled smoke in the basement, the wife quickly screamed “OK, bedtime, let’s brush teeth!”

And it was over.

Thirty minutes later when the house was silent and our shoulders slowly started relax and drop from the afternoon parental pressures, the wife and I locked eyes.

It was for only a few seconds…mainly because the wife knows if she looks at me for more than five seconds I’ll start ripping my clothes off and drooling.

But this look was different.

It was the look of knowing the time to have “The Talk” was becoming closer and closer each year.

Just over a month ago, the we had creatively avoided questions from the little bastards about “how the seed gets in mommy’s belly?” Here’s more detail on that one.

The daughter’s six and the boy is eight.

We hear the sex-talk clock ticking loudly in the other room.

The only thing preventing us from talking to the boy in the next year or two is the fact that we know he can’t keep his damn mouth shut.

He’ll completely botch the translation of how babies are made and have half our city’s parents knocking on our doors with baseball bats and other creatively deadly blunt objects wanting to know “why my son thinks jack-o-lanterns shoot from his pecker?”

The wife and I will eventually have “The Talk,” mainly because we’d rather be the ones opening that dialogue with our children than the schools.

And by “we” I really mean my mother-in-law.

The wife and I have full intentions of waiting until my mother-in-law visits, tell the kids “grandma wants to talk to you about sex and how babies are made,” and then running like hell to the nearest bar for the next 24 hours.

If you’re reading this my sweet, awesome mother-in-law…I was kidding.

I love you and would never do anything like that to you.

See you in a couple weeks! 

The Journey To A Warm Sunny Morning

Last night was just hard parenting night.

The boy was studying for his science test, which to us seemed like he was studying for his MCATs.

The daughter? She was spouting sentences beginning with “Can I have…”faster than Lindsay Lohan’s right hand in a jewelry store.

The wife? She was looking at me with a tear in one eye.

Me?

I tried to find my happy place.

And once I’m there, I just know that one day…

I’ll slide into my favorite chair on the back porch, in the sun, placed in just the right spot where I perch my feet perfectly enough to rest my head back just enough to feel the warmth of the morning sun.

The smell of coffee and the amazing sounds of South San Gabriel engulf me.

It’s the year 2022, my youngest left for college a week earlier.

The dining room is filled with family picture books, empty bottles of wine, wet floor-boards from last night’s tears, and the wife is still sleeping upstairs comfortably.

When I open my eyes I see the boy walking towards me with his bike, sporting his grey helmet saying, “come on dad!! Let’s go for a ride!”

His innocence and love to share life with good people immediately warms me.

And when I close them I see my daughter in her pretty fancy red dress running up to me, turning around and saying “zip me up daddy!”

Her raw emotion, passion and love makes me want to just hold her.

I’ll reach down, grab my cell and send them both just simple text knowing damn well they’ll see it hours later when they finally creep out of their college, stank-filled beds. They’ll probably shrug it off, maybe take a second to respond, possibly post it on a future “I wish my parents didn’t have a damn cell phone” blog site.

But the hope is that when they see my text: “I love you. Rock life and make yourself proud. We already are.” – they remember…

The tall goofy bastard who tickled them early in the morning until they peed themselves.

The stories I made-up late at night based on any three things they wanted.

The fact their mother and I were there…for everything…proudly.

And I’ll miss them.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be glad they’ve moved on and badly wishing they took the damn dog with them.

But I’ll miss them.

Everything leading up to that warm sunny morning…is the shaping of lives and the creation of memories.

My Kids Are Making-Out In the Back Seat

“Let’s have a kissing war! Grayson, you kiss me and I’ll kiss you back!”

Those were the words which cut through the air and pierced my eardrums as we were driving in the car over the weekend.

I immediately looked over to the wife who was engrossed in her Christmas gifted Kindle.

Clueless as to the words that just filled the air she looked at me and said, “what? What are you looking at? Do I have a boogie hangin?”

Me: “The kids are making out in the backseat!!!”

Wife: “What?!!!”

In movie-like slow motion I see her turn to her left, burning me with a “why does everything have to do with sex with you” look which quickly turns to a “holy shit my daughter and son are about to make out” look.

Watching through the review mirror I see the same horror as her. The daughter is leaning into the brother with a smooch on her lips as the boy finds the nearest solid object to hold in-front of his face.

Being a born and raised North Carolina native, all I could imagine was trotting off with the wife 15 years from now to see our children and driving up to wobbly trailer with my son in nothing but overalls, holding a Budweiser and missing three-quarters of his teeth.

I pictured getting out of the car to hear the boy yell to his pregnant sister/wife, “go on now and feed baby number 5 fore I’s- a tell mamma and papa you’s-a-been smokin’ and drankin’ durin’ pregnancy agin.”

Wife: “Macy!!! No! We don’t do that!!”

Macy: “But I see you and daddy do it!”

The wife and I immediately looked at each other with a “when the hell has she ever seen us kiss? We haven’t done that nonsense since…well since New Year’s 1994” look.

Wife: “Baby, mommy and daddy aren’t brother and sister. We are adults and married. We are happy that you want to kiss Grayson, but you should only do it as a peck on his cheek. Not on the lips.”

Me: “Macy, boys are disgusting. School work and never going out with boys until your 26 years old is really the way to safely go about living your life.

“Now, your brother was brought into this world simply to provide protection against the gross boys who might try to hold your hand, caress your hair, or baby-jesus forbid…kiss you. You should not kiss Grayson, yet merely thank him when he beats-down a young lad who’s entered your ‘personal zone.’”

Grayson: “Mommy, is that true? Is that really why I’m on Earth?”

Wife: “No dear, your father’s an idiot and a freak-of-nature. You are with our family because we love you and wanted a beautiful young boy to share our lives with.”

Macy: “Mommy?! Can I really not kiss boys until I’m 26 years old?”

Wife: “Yes dear. Sorry, but those are the rules.”

When the kids weren’t looking the wife and I gave a quick fist-bump to each other. Now THAT’s good parenting!



Mommy, Where Do Babies Come From?

The other day the fam and I were driving along when the boy dropped the bomb of all bombs.

No, not the bomb he dropped yesterday when he said: “Macy, do you smell something?”

Macy: “No, why?”

Grayson: “Cause I just farted and it’s horrible.”

No, not that bomb, although, that little interaction does illustrate the truth that girls are soooo much smarter than little dudes.

Here’s what I mean.

So, we’re driving along and it’s quiet, which means either there’s some pontification going on, or all holy hell is about to break loose.

This is when pontification reared its ugly head.

Grayson: “Mommy, are you going to have another baby?”

The Wife: “No honey, it’s not possible. I mean, your daddy and I feel that our family is complete with just Macy and you.”

Grayson: “No, I mean, just say you wanted another baby, you would have to re-marry someone, right?”

At that point the wife looks at me and I immediately go into “Look As Though Traffic Is Horrible And You’re Trying To Plow Your Way Through So You Don’t Have To Engage In Conversations With Your Children About Where Babies Come From” look.

Macy: “Grayson!!! Baby’s come from a seed in the mommy’s belly, silly!!”

Grayson: “Macy!! Shhhh. Seriously mommy, if you wanted another baby you’d re-marry someone, right?”

The Wife: “No honey, I would have another baby with your father, but we have decided that we don’t want to expand the family any further. We love Macy and you and our family is perfect!”

Macy: “Grayson, you’re so silly!!! Babies come from seeds in the mommy’s belly. They grow from there.”

Grayson: “Well how do the seeds get there?”

Macy: “I don’t know.”

Grayson: “Mommy?”

The Wife: “Have you been working on your spelling words today Grayson? Cause you have a review test on Friday!”

Grayson: “How does the seed for babies get into the mommy’s belly?”

At this point I’m pulling close to the guy driving in the next lane, motioning for him to roll down his window in the hopes I can sell him on letting me climb into his car for safety.

The Wife: “We’re not going to have anymore brothers or sisters for you kids to let’s rock-out to some Barenaked Ladies!!! Turn it up Dad!!”

Me: “Sounds good!!”

As I turn up the radio…..

Grayson: “I know what you’re doing. At some point I still want to know how the seed gets in the mommy’s belly! I won’t forget that question!”

We have no idea how the girl knew babies come from a “seed.” I’m just glad she doesn’t know how the seed gets there, otherwise I’d have to put on my biker outfit and go stomp some ass somewhere.

But regardless, I’m ready for the boy to bring it back-up so I can tell him where babies come from.

“Son, babies happen when the mommy slips and falls on the ground and the daddy goes to help her up, then slips and falls on top of her. When they get back up the mommy has a seed in her belly and 9 months later a baby is born.

“Now who wants ice cream?!!!”