My good friend Karen Alpert, the hilarious mom behind I Heart My Little A-Holes and the very famous facebook page Baby Sideburns, is coming out with her second book. It’s called I Want My Epidural Back and since her first book was a NY Times best seller, I’m expecting big things from this one too (don’t miss the book giveaway below). FYI, I’ve read it and it is just as funny and honest and ridiculously inappropriate as I’ve come to expect from Baby Sideburns.
Karen did me the favor of writing an original piece for my blog, both to get the word out about her book and to help me since I am busy writing my book. Karen’s kinda like my book mentor. TEACH ME, BABY SIDEBURNS!
She’s talking about why she hates the parachute (as you probably gathered from the title), which is funny because I always liked the parachute, but now she has me reconsidering. Or at least she’s helped me understand why it smells.
I’ll let her explain….
MY KIDDO’S SOCCER COACH: Come on everyone, it’s Parents’ Day!! You guys get to play today too!!
And here’s what goes through my mind:
Are you F’ing kidding me? That is NOT parents’ day. Because the name “Parents’ Day” implies that it’s GOOD for parents, so if it were truly Parents’ Day, we could drop our little hooligans off and run home to take a poop alone or go to Tarjay all by ourselves and then pick up our rugrats later. Much later.
So let’s just call it what it is. Parents’ PARTICIPATION Day. And I pretty much call that UNparents’ Day because instead of getting to stand on the sidelines and chat with my friends (except for my one friend who’s desperately trying to get her kiddo to participate), today I’m supposed to go on the field and play soccer with the kiddos but pretend like I’m not very good at it because I’m not allowed to beat them.
Side note, once I actually kicked a goal against the toddlers and they all started to cry. That was embarrassing. And funny. But I digress.
Anyways, I trudge out there and start to play soccer, when suddenly the coach kicks all the balls away and pulls out a parachute. Ummmm, no. N-O. We are playing soccer. Not parachute. I mean you guys can play parachute if you want, but not me. Because here are ten reasons why I HATE going under the stoopid parachute:
1. Okay, here’s the thing, Mr. Soccer Coach. You get paid to do this. In fact, I think you enjoy it, which is awesome. But there’s a reason I’m paying YOU. And that’s so I DON’T have to do this shit.
2. Ahhhh, yes, let’s all sit in a sweatbox together? That sounds like fun! Because I’m no meteorologist, but twenty people crammed into a small confined space with zero air circulation is basically the same temperature and humidity as a man’s sweaty balls in Florida on a hot day.
3. You know what sucks? When the coach yells, “Okay, let’s go under!” and everyone ducks under the parachute and sits on it, but it doesn’t seal properly so it doesn’t puff up and it’s constantly falling on your head and the only way to keep it up is to extend your arms the entire time until they feel like they’re going to fall off.
4. Do you know what toddlers do? They poop. In their diapers. And suddenly the parachute turns into the poopachute and we’re all gasping for air as we sing Twinkle Twinkle faster and faster so we can get the F out of there.
5. And speaking of smells, sometimes Mommy has to fart when we’re under the parachute. Sad but true. So I can either hold it in for ten minutes and have a tummy ache the rest of the day or I can let it out slowly and quietly and watch the other mommies suffer while I also scrunch up my nose pretending I’m not the one who did it.
6. I have no problem singing to my kid… at night when no one else is listening and it’s the only thing that will get him to go the F to sleep because The Bachelor is about to begin and my wine is downstairs. Not under a rainbow dome where all of my friends can hear my crappy voice.
7. When I go anywhere there are other rugrats, I have one main goal. NOT to inhale their germs. Because there’s always one kid who has green boogers pouring out of his nose like Niagara Falls and when we’re under the parachute together I might as well just let him wipe his nose on my face.
8. Okay, we’re standing up again holding the parachute when suddenly the coach yells, “On the count of three, everyone let go!!” and suddenly my heart is racing because I can’t remember if I’m supposed to let go ON three or AFTER three and what if the parachute doesn’t fly away like it’s supposed to and it smothers the kids and everyone dies. Aggghhh, momentary panic attack!!
So that, my friends, is why going under the parachute sucks. And I know what you might be thinking. That I’m an a-hole mom for not wanting to spend that precious time with my kiddo. But A. I actually love spending time with him, just not under the parachute. And B. My son goes to school 2 hours a day 4 days a week, which means I have 160 hours to spend with him. Yes, one-six-zero. So I don’t think it’s too much to ask that the soccer coach take him off my hands for one measly hour and that they don’t make me go under the stinky parachute anymore.
Just tell me something you are supposed to like doing with your kids that you just DON’T in the comments below this post.
Congrats on your book, Karen!!!!
Congrats, Anna K! Please contact firstname.lastname@example.org to claim your prize.
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