Parenthood’s A Battlefield

Love isn’t a battlefield.  That is a myth perpetuated by Pat Benatar.

DARN YOU, PAT AND YOUR CATCHY TUNES!

Parenthood is the real battlefield.  Only the enemy isn’t really an enemy.  It’s an adorable little person that you love more than life itself.

Ever tried sleeping in the same bed as a 3 year old?

Ever woken up with a black eye and a broken nose?

When my son gets mad, I could very well see whatever is in his hand come flying at my face.  Surprisingly, he has amazing aim.  Or, I could become the victim of an attempted head butt.  It’s really aggressor’s choice at that point.  But it keeps me agile.  I like that.

As they grow older the battle turns from physical to psychological.

For example, my daughter needs help with her homework.  So I offer to help.  She is supposed to come up with words that end in –ight.  Easy.  Here is the space she has to write those words:

Empty Text Box

And she does this:

Text Box

So I say, “Why don’t you rewrite that word smaller so that you have room for the other words you think of that end in –ight”.

I get this response after she throws her pencil, “YOU JUST DON’T GET ME!  I’LL NEVER GET IT RIGHT!  YOU JUST DON’T LOVE ME!”  And then she storms upstairs as dramatically as possible.  Mos def Academy Award worthy.

Wow, that’s intense.

A few minutes later she comes back to the table like nothing happened…

My hubs: Uh…

Me: Don’t question it…

It’s a fact that growing up is hard.  Surviving it as a parent is just as difficult.  But alcohol makes it better.  Alcohol infused cupcakes makes it great.  Just sayin.

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