When Mommy loads up the stroller with enough crap to open a Babies R Us, it means it’s time to go to the park. Even though Mommy has brought wholesome, organic snacks, the first thing you do is eat sand. Mmm, notes of raccoon pee. Also, she forgot to pack your hat, which according to The Unspoken Rules of Parenting is the equivalent of leaving you outside naked in a snowstorm. At the playground, parenting shortcomings never go unnoticed. Flanked by Stepford Wives who whisper their disproval and a gaggle of nannies who openly discuss it in another language, Mommy is living an Orwellian existence. At least this means there are lots of other kids for you to play with / catch illnesses from. Including Terror Toddler. Mommy suppresses her inner Jerry Springer and tries not to freak out when this bully-in-training shoves you, snatches your pail and comes dangerously close to blinding you with a shovel. Who is this kid’s parent? Oh, it’s Weekend Dad, who is busy sexting last night’s piece of strange on his hip-holstered BlackBerry. Mommy decides to give Terror Toddler a pass, since that kid is going to be filled with self-loathing (and, let’s face it, pharmaceuticals) in about a dozen years. Meanwhile, Mommy gets her cardio burn on chasing you backwards up a slide, moving you out of the way of big kids on swings, and catching you from falling off the playground stairs. At least she no longer feels guilty about her lapsed gym membership. Speaking of exercise, now Weekend Dad is doing chin-ups on the monkey bars to impress the local MILFs. Maybe he should spend more time on his parenting skills and less time on his upper-body strength since Terror Toddler is currently aiming a Super Soaker at a sleeping newborn. Oh the park, where nature and nurture come together to bitch slap each other in the face.
DRINK: Parks & Wreck. 3 oz fresh lemon juice, 1 oz vodka, 1 tsp raw sugar. Serve over crushed ice, garnish with a lemon slice and fresh sprigs of basil. Rim glass with the sand that will permanently be tracked into your house.
My daughter doesn’t even own a hat! (gasp)!
The Parenting Police have been alerted.
I live in California, we can get away with much more here. BUT if I feed them non-organic…well, that’s grounds for execution!
“Where nature and Nurture come to bitch slap each other in the face”… I’ll be laughing at that for days, bahahahaha!
All of these things actually happened this weekend! Comedy.
ROFTL! I love Weekend Daddy with his piece of strange.
Ha ha ha – it’s such a colourful expression.
May I please quote you on “where nature and nurture come to bitch slap each other in the face.” Pretty please? I feature quotes on mondays on my blog and I can’t bear to pass this one up!
http://www.dirtyrottenparenting.com
Absolutely. So flattered!
Excellent! It’ll be up on my blog on Monday with a link back to your post.
Your best one yet! And I’ve read all 68. “Flanked by Stepford Wives who whisper their disproval and a gaggle of nannies who openly discuss it in another language, Mommy is living an Orwellian existence.” LOL! Keep up the hysterics . . . and the fab drink recipes.
Thanks so much for the kudos! Glad you’re also enjoying the drink recipes. The key to parenthood.
Amazing post! Thanks for the laugh!
Glad you liked it! There were more chin ups spotted at the monkey bars this weekend. Is it the summer weather? Dads getting beach body ready??