Mumu has started saying she wants to be a doctor when she grows up so she can, “Feel people better.” I’m not sure what that means (it sounds vaguely illegal) but I would love it if she became a doctor, as it would provide the perfect opportunity for revenge.
First I would show up at her swanky house, go straight to her library, and proceed to break all the spines and pull out all the pages of her fancy doctor books. Then I would brew about 30 pots of coffee and casually knock them over on her lovely living room rug. After that I would systematically break all her fine china by banging it together, before going into her bedroom to smear peanut butter over her fine clothes. I’m kind of hoping my daughters live together as adults, btw, so I can kill two birds with one stone on the revenge thing.
Not satisfied there, I would carry on to the garage and pour a minimum of two gallons of milk into the plush seats of their luxury automobiles, so they could never, ever get the smell out.
After that, I might be rather tired, so I would return to the living room, strip off my clothes, and bare-ass the furniture, farting as much as possible. By then it would be bath time, and I would hope there would be a marble jacuzzi tub for me to poop in.
At this point it would be bed time, which means I would become suddenly invigorated and object in the strongest possible terms to any form of sleep. Instead, I would recline in a red wagon and demand they pull me up every steep hill in town, because by thing point they’d be totally exhausted.
Maybe then I’d agree to sleep for a few minutes, provided they simultaneously rub my back and serenade me on the guitar, but soon I’d be awake again, every hour from 8pm to 5am, screaming about penguins and people stealing my bananas.
At 5am I would show up in their bedrooms, screaming for waffles, and I wouldn’t stop until they got out of bed. When finally, bleary-eyed, they made me waffles, I would scream at them that I wanted pancakes, and pour the maple syrup over my head.
Yet still, we wouldn’t be even…
BRILLIANT. God, the crap we live with at this age. (and, I suppose, the crap our own parents took from us when we were little, but still…)
Omg i laughed my butt off reading that while my spawn were tieing my beautiful scarf to the bedside lamp and the other end to the vacuume. Thank god i finshed before they towed the lamp! It doesnt get any easier i guess until they start actual school.
That was freaken hilarious!!! But after reading that, and hearing the horror stories from my neighbour about her 2-year-old…well I’m not looking forward to the next few years with my boys! The worst they do now is pull everything out of drawers, cupboard, boxes etc.
You know what would be easier? Just keep talking up how awesome kids are, how you hope they each have 2 or 3 or 4 of their own. Try not to cackle maniacally or rub your hands together evilly when you say it. It’s a long-term plan, but if you do it right, they’ll have no idea it’s even payback. You can just sit back and enjoy the havoc, maybe occasionally whispering a particularly naughty bit of mischief to promising young grandkids…
Ah parenthood. So many memories brought up by your post. No one told me that 4mn olds could projectile poop. But… they can. And… if your not careful you too can have poop on your curtains! Fortunately I pulled back just in time to avoid a face full myself. There was a brief pause as I stared at the poo on curtains and wall… then at my 4mn old cooing happily on the changing table. This pause was followed by hysterical laughter. Which considering the sleep deprivation gifted to the parents of 4mn old twins was better than crying. Ah well, they are 16mns old now and hopefully past the worst of the projectile pooping stage…. but I keep my guard up and head back!
I tried to read this to my husband but had to keep stopping because of the tears rolling down my cheeks — tears of laughter of course! You are one funny mama