Dear Diary …
I’ve said it before, and I will say it again … Children are terrorists. And really in a lot of ways, their level of psychological warfare might be more devious than that of any actual terrorist organization.
Diary … you remember a couple weeks ago when I had that meltdown about how my son was never gonna poop in the potty in his entire life? Yeah well guess what he did the very next day, and every day since then? Poop in the potty. Of course!
Why? Because he knew. He broke me. He won. I lost. And once he realized that he had crushed me emotionally, he moved on. That is pretty terrorism-y if you ask me.
So now he’s moved on to a new brand of mind control … asking me questions that make no sense.
Like yesterday … “Daddy what time is it?”
What do you mean “why?” That doesn’t make sense. It’s 4:30 because that’s what time it is.
“Why we have it the same this day?”
What are we even talking about anymore?
Look I get it when kids use different words for certain things. But as the parent, you hear it enought hat you understand it. My son calls Chewbacca from Star Wars “Tukka-bacca.” Yeah … I understand that. This isn’t that. This is nonsensical mind control.
Here’s another question I got yesterday …
“Why did they go to the red?”
The … wait .. who?
“THEY! With the red!”
The red what? I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. What is this red that you speak of?
Is you’re brain melting yet? Mine is!
This is warfare, people! An extension of this is to demand things that we don’t have, and then defiantly insist that we do.
The other it was “I want grapes.”
I’m sorry … we don’t have any grapes.
“Yes we DO!”
No … we don’t! Believe me, if I had a way to magically pull grapes out of my bum right, I’d be doing that right now to end this conversation and make it go away.
Oh and of course I cave and buy grapes the next day at the store. And this is where my daughter can enter for her portion of the psychological warfare.
I don’t know if you knew this or not Diary, but it is scientifically proven that it is impossible for two children who are related to agree with each other … Ever. Cuz she only wants RED grapes, oh but he only wants GREEN grapes.
And because I’m a sucker … I buy both grapes. And guess who eats them? Nobody! They never wanted grapes … they just wanted to ruin me. Both emotionally and financially as their stupid grapes rot into little raisins in the refrigerator.
Bath night … every night in my house … you cannot win. Because if one of them wants to take a bath first, well then so does the other one. And they will fight to the death over which one of them gets to take that bath first. So of course … what happens the next night? One of them wants to go second, and the fight to the death is on again.
And what I’ve learned above all else, is that no matter who eventually wins … that person is never me. I never win. I lose.
This is how I know time travel will never be invented in the future. Because if it was invented, then I guarantee you that future me would’ve already come back to warn pre-kid me of all of these things to make sure I was truly prepared for the war ahead. And since I ain’t got my visit, I know it ain’t been invented.
Till next time Diary .. I say … Goodbye.