Tag Archives: unicorns

This One’s For The Parents

theronblog

“Am I…part-unicorn?”

Yesterday we watched our sweet nephew, Theron the Great, who is hands-down our coolest, funniest weekly dose of free birth control around. Since he was a baby, Theron has been cared for by a loving village of people who delight in watching him grow — and we feel very lucky to be a part of that village.

But toddlers defy every logic. I have a 19-year old, which is a different kind of defiance, but this shit is seriously crazytown.

No, you can’t stand on top of a teddy bear on top of an office chair on top of a dining room table. Why are you crying?

How can one tiny butt make that much poop? How did you get so fast and how does one run that fast with so much poop in their pants? HOW ARE YOU SPRINTING?

Why do I have to look like the asshole, wrangling you out of the grocery store cart while you scream bloody murder in the parking lot? You want to live here now? Putting your mouth on that nasty cart won’t make this your home, it will only give you hepatitis.

No matter where I sit, you want to sit there. Now that you can say “Go away,” I’ve been summarily dismissed from every possible perch in a home that I live in. You won’t be satisfied until I’m sitting on a sidewalk in a totally different city, is that it? Do you pay rent here? Why are you crying?

What did you just put in my hair? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING, OMG WHAT IS IT

Hey, I’m trying to put the groceries away while your uncle takes a work call and can you stop throwing all the spatulas at your cousin and give me a moment to take care of this out-of-the-blue stress diarrhea and c’mon, please don’t eat my earring–

STOP OPENING THE BATHROOM DOOR WHILE I’M–

Can’t stop sweating, must stand in front of the air-conditioning unit to get some relief from a diaper change that quickly turned into World War III. Please stop pushing me, please stop pushing me, please stop throwing that air-conditioning unit-related tantrum on the floor.

Instead of jumping on the bed, let’s jump on the floor! You don’t have to throw that pouch of food at me, you could’ve just said no.

Can you just eat the Go-Gurt, please? Do not swing that around in the backseat of the–

NO, JUST STAND THERE WHILE I CLEAN THE CAR, DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING WITH YOUR TINY YOGURT HANDS, FACE, BODY, OR CLOTHING.

You want to watch Bob’s Burgers? Okay. Wait, what? We Bare Bears? Alright. No, Bob’s Burgers? Buddy, we can’t watch both at the same time and if we did, your tiny mind might explode. Why are you crying?

Please don’t throw that on the–

OKAY, LET’S PICK EVERYTHING UP TOGETHER BECAUSE IT DOESN’T BELONG ON THE FLOOR, THANK YOU.

PLEASE DON’T SPIT ON YOUR UNCLE.

NO, YOU CANNOT EAT FIVE POUNDS OF CHEESE.

PLEASE DON’T PUT PENNIES IN THE TOILET, WAIT WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE PENNIES

PLEASE DON’T TAKE PENNIES FROM OUR BEDROOM TO FEED THE TOILET, THANK YOU.

TAKE THAT ROSE QUARTZ CRYSTAL OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, PLEASE.

GOLDFISH CRACKERS ARE FOR YOUR MOUTH, NOT THE RADIATOR.

BECAUSE WE DON’T HAVE JUICE.

BUT WE DON’T HAVE A HORSE. WHY ARE YOU CRYING?

LET’S USE OUR INDOOR VOICES!

LET’S USE OUR INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

THAT DOESN’T GO IN A NOSE.

OR AN EAR.

OR MY SHOE.

OR YOUR BUTTHOLE.

Let’s go to the park and run around for a while! Hey buddy, we’re here! Theron?

[snoring from the backseat]

Of course.

I settled in for a parking lot nap, too, because I was wiped the fuck out. When he finally woke up, he was angry there were no french fries in his hand (I’ve often felt this way upon waking). The fries were in the cup holder of his carseat, literally inches from his hand, but he cried anyway because that was just a bridge too far.

Parents of toddlers: I salute you, and what I assume is the gallon of wine you drink every night. I broke into the congratulatory gift wine being saved for a special occasion after Theron the Great left. “We survived,” I said, pouring $50 wine into a barely-clean coffee mug. I patted myself on the back for killing zero people that day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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