“It’s fine, I’m still cool. It’s COOL to care about your health!”, I told myself earlier today as I Googled “best colon cleansers 2021” knowing full well I am in fact, NOT cool. It’s alright, though. I have other redeeming qualities that nobody can take away from me, like how to do the Cupid Shuffle and knowing most of the lyrics to “Regulators”. It’s fine.
It’s kind of wild how fast it happens. One minute you’re in the know with all things pop culture, rattling off the names of celebrity couples, eating in the newest restaurants in town and making playlists of the top pop hits and the next minute the only couple you can name is Melissa & Doug, you’re picking macaroni out of your hair while eating your toddler’s last cold chicken nugget, and the only songs you know are the title tracks from your kids’ favorite cartoons (Puppy Dog Pals on repeat). Life comes at you fast, but that parental out-of-touch fog comes faster.
I remember how judgey I used to be about parents before I was one. The first time I saw a kid on a tablet while out to eat with his parents, I rolled my eyes and judged quietly to myself. Any time I saw or heard a child throwing a fit in Target, I felt so bad for the little nugget, as Target is a vacation destination and no place for unevolved little humans. After having kids, though, everything changed. Aside from the new set of long boobs I left the hospital with, the built in fanny pack with all of the storage, but none of the zippers, accompanied by the absolutely no sleep thing, an empathy switch was flipped and I saw everything, and I mean everything, through a new lens. After I became a parent, and I was walking through life questioning literally every decision I was making, I remembered back to that kid at the restaurant with the tablet and I remember CLEARLY, he wasn’t making a peep. Just eyeballs deep in an episode of Paw Patrol letting his parents enjoy a nice fried cheese appetizer and each other’s company. Those kids throwing fits in Target no longer receive any of my sympathy, because all it goes to their parent, who is just trying to browse the Hearth and Home by Magnolia section without their offspring losing their damn minds over not being able to take a sip of the gallon of milk that’s riding shot gun with them in the cart. Parenting, friends, ain’t no walk in the park. And even if it were, I would still tell you to bring along some type of mobile device loaded with cartoons, because sometimes walks in the park are even hard.
Even after I became a mom and dismounted from my high horse, I still sometimes felt myself acting a little too cocky. I remember vividly being out in public about a year ago (when being in public was still a thing you could do) and hearing a mom having a sweet and calm conversation with her son that went something like this: “Look what I got you, Henry! It’s a behavior chart!” And while I can’t be positive, I’m pretty sure I heard little Henry say, “Oh, wow, f*ckin gweat”, under his breath. I honestly didn’t blame him. A behavior chart. Ha! What kind of absolute deviant would need one of those to keep them under control and what kind of parent would believe it would actually work?
Me. That’s who. And while the behavior chart I’m using is actually just a calendar from the dollar section at Target with a bunch of stars a couple sad faces drawn on with crayon, it’s a behavior chart nonetheless. Toddlers, man. I guess since shock collars are frowned upon/illegal, behavior charts are the next best thing. I never saw myself as a behavior chart mom, but I’m kind of loving it. Not only is it humbling, but, being the behavior chart owner gives a sense of power, and who doesn’t love that? 10/10 would recommend becoming a behavior chart mom, because apparently Henry’s mom knew what she was talking about and those things work. I think about her often and about what a jerk I was for thinking she was nuts.
After last week’s blog, I felt relieved to get a lot of that off my chest. I felt renewed, like I had just gone to confession, except I’m not Catholic and the only experience I have with Catholic confession is what I’ve seen on the movies, and those usually end up a little spicy, so maybe it wasn’t like that at all. I heard a lot of great feedback from a lot of great people letting me know they’ve been going through it, too, which served as another great reminder to leave the judging to Judy. Or God. Judge Judy and God, they’re really the only two you can trust. Regardless, just think twice. Trade in that high horse for a more practical ride, like a Keep Your Comments to Yourself Cadillac or a You Just Wait Yukon. Okay, those are a stretch, but you get what I mean.
Well, that’s enough out of me for this evening. If anyone has a good colon cleanse they can send my way, just holla atcha girl!