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Dawn of the Doshi, Vacation Chapter One

Ooof. I say that entirely too much in real life. Ooof has become the "um" of my stalled conversations and I think it's likely due to, ooof, being spring broken. In fact life has been all shades of wrong since the man hammered down on me and insisted that I return to my dreaded desk. Ugh. Why me? I just want to go back to Disney World.

Parenting is an acquired skill. Yes, I screw up quite often. Fortunately, the boys have had a team of professionals to help raise them because never have my parenting skills seemed so obviously flawed as during this past week. Maybe that's just because there was never any escaping them. Still, they exhaust me even as they sleep.

And as I eluded, parenting has been all on the job training for me as it's not something I ever really planned to do. Not that I'm not good at it, I have my moments, I just have many more where I wonder how I've gotten this far down the road with two very fully functioning young boys, alive and well. It's a miracle really.

So we are somewhere in Louisiana last Saturday morning when Truett starts chanting something about bragadoches. First, you must know that I have a strict no chanting policy. Not just a no chanting policy, but in all actuality, a very restrictive no chanting barrier that includes my ecosystem, wherever I happen to be. Believe it.

Look. I don't care what the frick you have to say, if you have to say it more than once then chances are it's not that I didn't hear you, it's that I simply don't give a flying fuck. But since I can't say that to the boys, whenever they start repeating themselves, I declare no chanting and all sing songy ranting ends.

But in the car, not so much. True would not shut up about his being a bragadoches, like he was proud of it, singing it loud. Out of left field I decided I would try a little reverse psychology on him. I said, "I wouldn't be yelling that, True, you know what doches means don't you?" After much more (unexpected, yet provoked) chanting, I caved and blurted out that a doches was a butt hole. OH MY GOODNESS, big mistake. Mistake of the century.

Just tell me where to turn in my motherhood credentials. Big assed backfire. The rest of the time, I mean all week, I was hearing doches humor. I had ignorantly invented a family curse word just in time for Disney. There is just nothing like hearing your sweet kid call someone else's grandpa an asshole in chouspeak in the middle of space mountain. Perfect, right? Hands up, anyone surprised? I was.

Prolly the worse was catching True with a couple of kids. Cornered in a line somewhere I'd hear him, "Don't you know what a doches is? My mom says..."

"True," I would grumpily assert to try and stop the conversation, but who knows how many innocent children were educated/scarred while I happily tuned them out? Hundreds, I'm guessing.

And that, my chilly willies, is how I became a shit blogger on my first day of spring break. It also served as a constant reminder that I keep my day job, because I think my chances of pulling out much success in this mothering gig is kinda limited. Don't you?

Posted by shoe at March 21, 2007 07:41 PM | TrackBack