My Kids Are Buttholes

For those that have kids, I want you to be honest about yourselves in today’s blog. It might be a little hard and there is a small chance that you may end up in jail. But it’s ok, they like young fresh meat like you. Use a little extra eye shadow though to cover up those tears because Bubba doesn’t like it when you cry. Just drink a lot of toilet wine and it’ll be ok. Keep telling yourself that until your parole hearing gets denied.

If you do get arrested for being honest in today’s blog, I’ll make sure I send you a carton of cigarettes a month so you can buy your own bitch.

Hossmom was approached the other day by an expectant mother. It seems that she called her dog a “butthole” and this was cause for concern. It appears that the expectant mother’s dog was misbehaving and then ignoring her. She was hurt, and emotional because she is pregnant and therefore crazy, so she said “Hey, don’t be a butthole” to her dog. Her husband told her not to call the dog a butthole because you wouldn’t call the baby a butthole. To which of course expectant mom’s response was that she would never call her own child a butthole, she is going to shower the child with love and every thing will be peaceful. I should mention that this is their first child.

You hear that in the background? That sound that is getting louder and louder? That’s the sound of every parent laughing and thinking that if all you call your kid is a “butthole”, then you will be ahead of the game.

Here’s my piece of honesty for today’s blog, which I’m sure will come up in some future divorce hearing: Hell, yes I’ve called my kids a butthole.

Look, we all know we love our kids very, very much. We would move heaven and earth to make them happy. We would gladly step in front of a moving train to save our kids and not even think twice about it.

But that doesn’t mean that our kids are always nice people. My 2 year old, and I do love her very much, is currently completely ruled by her id. She wants it and she wants it now.

“Daddy, Jack.” She says. This is 2-year-old code for “Father, it would give me much pleasure to watch the educational, yet highly entertaining show “Jack’s Big Music Show” currently running on the Noggin channel.”

“We are not watching Jack right now sweetheart, we are watching the news so Stay at Home Dad is not a moron.” I reply

This is when she picked up the remote and threw it at the dog. Now let me ask you, do you think she was being a butthole or an angel?

And this is not the only thing that she did that caused me to think this either. She can be a holy terror if she doesn’t get what she wants. And this is not a new thing either.

When Little Hoss was brand new into this world she was a handful. She wouldn’t sleep and she would scream her bloody head off. After a month of this, at 3 in the morning, I decided I would smack-talk her until she went back to sleep.

I told her that she could scream until the cows came home and that I would out-last her. I promised her that at her first slumber party I would walk out in my tighty whitey underwear with the greasy holes and embarrass her in front of all her friends. I told her that if she didn’t go to bed and let dad get at least 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep I would never ever take her to the mall. I told her she couldn’t drive until she was 18, she couldn’t date until she was 25 and that if she didn’t close her eyes right the hell now I was going to be proactive and start deducting her future allowance.

Two hours later she finally understood that I was serious. Then I took a shower and went to work so I could go buy her a new toy. Because I’m her dad and I love her more than anything and no matter what I will love her. But she can be a butthole.

I know it, you know it and everyone on aisle 12 of the grocery store knows it because she jerked down a jar of spaghetti sauce which, of course, shattered because I wouldn’t let her eat a banana before we paid for it. You think those poor guys who had to clean up her mess while she pulls a Gandhi, sitting in the middle of the aisle until I finally have to go over there and drag her away by her arm, yup, they think she was being a butthole.

And I’m sure that nice lady shopping for her nice little dinner thinks that she is a butthole too, because my daughter also decided that while I dragged her by her arm away from the candy aisle that she would go limp and not have any spine except when she had enough and kicked the innocent shopping lady. The lady was just minding her own business until Little Hoss kicked her while as I drug her away. The only guy in the whole store who didn’t think she was a butthole was the guy who has to dry-mop because we were doing a pretty damn good job of it.

That’s when I promised my little butthole that I would buy her a shovel so she could learn to dig ditches because there was no way in hell I was sending her to college now.

There’s this romantic idea of having kids. Your baby pops out, it holds your hand and then looks at you. It says “momma or dada” way before the charts say they should so she is obviously a genius. You go to school plays and your little angel sings the solo that gets her noticed by Julliard. She goes on a scholarship and then eventually goes on to fame and fortune and wins in a landslide the presidential election and names you the cabinet post on family values because you are the best parent. Ever.

You may be the best parent and those things may happen. But to get to that point, you have to be a good parent in the first place. And that means that there are going to be times when you have to lay down the boundaries. And she is going to hate you for it. And in hating you for it she is going to steal your wallet, go buy herself a tongue piercing and then shack up with Chester, her deadbeat boyfriend (who isn’t even in the band, but is just a roadie) for a day until you go and get her.

And when you find out, your first response is going to be: “Man, my daughter is being such a butthole.”

That’s not the worst thing you are going to think about your kids. You are going to think a lot more than that. There are going to be times when you are actually going to question whether this child actually came from your loins as she takes those juicy 15 oz steaks you were going to cook for a special dinner and feeds them to the dogs.

Hossmom and I had a good laugh at the expectant mom’s story and her husband’s worry. I wish them the best and I hope that they never think that their child is being a butthole. I hope that they get to sleep through the night immediately. I hope that this new child doesn’t think that the dog’s balls are a great thing to whack with a toy hammer. I really hope all these things for these people.

Now if you will excuse me, my two little buttholes keep getting out of bed, blissfully unaware that I am tracking each instance and will make sure that each transgression is paid back in spades.