Life after Kids…
With my oldest son’s 14th birthday looming around the corner, I have come to a horrifying realization. I have realized that these children of mine are growing up… and do you have any idea what follows this “growing up” stage??? I’ll give you a hint. First they grow up and then they grab a pre-packed duffel bag full of old squandered lunch money, dating back from the 1st grade… and then they run for their life. Where are they going? There’s no actual “X” on the map… they are just yearning to put as much distance as possible between themselves and their arch-nemesis…
The nemesis known as “Their Crazy Blogging Mother”
The multiple years of unflattering pictures and having every last detail of their awkward emergence into puberty, posted for the world to see has finally caught up with you. Those precious little souls have hit the ground… and they are running. Shit, forget running. They are sprinting… and throwing various objects over their shoulders to deter you from chasing after them… Various object that may or may not be lit on fire…
So, where does a Crazy Blogging Mother go from here? We can attempt to blog about the adventures of one of the kids down the street… We can have a fake pregnancy, followed by a fake birth, followed by a fake 18 years full of imaginary child-raising. We can hunt down our escaped child-adults and attempt to blog about them, from afar… like, across the street from inside a van “afar”
…or we can recognize that while these little humans may have given our blog a good run… they are not the only thing that defines us. I mean, there are other things to write about too, right? There are spouses, co-workers, friends, strangers, pets… you’ve written about all these topics before and they’ve gotten their own fair share of laughs. But, let’s face it… The kids had something special.
So, now what??? You can’t just pull the plug on your blog. That would be a travesty… sort of. I believe that I have come up with the next best thing. Once my children grow up and run like hell away from me and my keyboard, I’m going to create a list… and distribute it to the people I know and maybe a few I don’t. This list will contain my new expectations of my peers. If the list is not followed… the blog will be a goner.
1. Proper English is a no-no. Substitute the word “I” for “me” If you choose to add a stutter to the mix, each shuttered word must be repeated no less than 15 times. Each time the word is repeated your voice MUST go up an octive. Talking like Yoda is appreciated and smiled upon.
2. Leave random oddities around, for me to find… a used straw wrapper folded into the letter “K” , an empty plastic Popsicle sleeve thing with a Roly Poly Crawling around inside, a torn sheet of notebook paper with mis-spelled curse words scrawled on it…
3. Fight with each other and make it amusing. Your coworker got the last package of good highlighters from the supply cabinet? Run into their cubicle, while they’re diligently working at their computer and yank the security card from their keyboard, flinging it victoriously over the cube wall. While they are in the cafeteria, steal all of their newly acquired good highlighters, leaving behind only the caps… and maybe a candy corn.
4. Shuffle… every day But, if I ask you to shuffle for someone else, run and hide behind something… cry, if you have to. basically make it look like I was lying about your sick shuffling skills.
5. Allow me to give you shitty haircuts.
6. If on a shopping trip, with me… you MUST become exhausted within 17 seconds of entering the first store. Ask if you can sit on the floor… the windowsill… a display case…. inside a nearby dressing room… and outside.
7. If I look at you, during any time of the day, and say the words “Step up fast” you have to follow by exclaiming “THROW THIS CASH…. MAD…. SAD….. MUMBLE MUMBLE MUMBLE” When yelling about throwing the cash, you have to mimic as though you are throwing actual cash at me. The closer your hand gets, to my face… the better. At the end of your mumbling you have to strike a “gangster” pose… attempt the throw up West Side and shuffle away, sideways… while mumbling about your gangster-ness
8. Your clothes have to either not match… or not fit. If you’re going to ask me if your shoes are on the right feet… they probably shouldn’t be.
I think 8 will do for now…besides, I’ve still got 4 year’s until Daniel’s great escape, to come up with more…