“Tumors ain’t cheap, so I got myself a job. Really more of a side hustle, as the kids say, but it’s work and I get paid for it. Mind you, it’s not raining Benjamins over here, but I’m contributing. Do the kids still say raining Benjamins?
I’ve never worked. Allow me to clarify. I work. I’ve always worked. I raise children. I cook. I clean. I pick up my dog’s shit. I homeschool. I write content for the internet’s 8th least popular blog. But the last time I received an actual paycheck was way back in high school.”
“Happy Pride, my beauties!
… okay okay, that’s enough pleasantries—I’m worked up about something!
I recently read an article about queer teens being thrown out of their homes by unsupportive families. It had a lot of advice that sounded pretty good. Pursue legal emancipation. Talk to your teachers and guidance counselors. Seek therapy.
“Bah,” I scoffed through a mouthful of Babybel cheese. “Amateurs! Someone needs to write a real guide. Someone who actually knows what it’s like!”
I was too busy playing with that weird red wax to remember I was exactly that person.”
“In my house, we are currently potty training my three-year-old. It’s the challenge all parents must face and possibly the most unreasonable of them all. Consider this: You must convince a child that his caution-to-the-wind, carefree, diapered lifestyle is actually inconvenient for him AND that he’d have much more fun if he stopped playing, did a peepee or a poopy in the toilet and cleaned himself after. I’m not saying it’s a hard sell, but it might be easier convincing a poor white man to be a rich black man for a week.
This struggle is exacerbated in my particular situation because my particular three-year-old has zero fucks to give.”
“By now you’ve figured out that I don’t like weak parents. I don’t like parents who let the kids call all the shots. I don’t like parents who want to be their children’s friend. I don’t like parents who sigh heavily and say, “Well, what can I do? Jax refuses to wear a coat when it’s snowing out.”
Be a fricking adult and tell your kid: “Jax, you will wear your coat today because it is cold out. When the temperature is warmer than 70 degrees, you will no longer have to wear a coat. Today is 30 degrees, so it is a coat day. Please put on your coat so we can go to school.” If that doesn’t work you take Jax’s Legos away every day he fights you on the coat. We all know, Jax is very bright (so you keep telling us) so he’ll catch on after the first day I’m sure.”
“Mary’s earnest little face is staring intently at me. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t say “little” face anymore. She’s 12-years-old. She is almost my height and looks more like a teenager than a child.
We are sharing a bit of late-night tomato Bruschetta at the dining room table. I’m showing her how to spread it onto the slices of toasted Italian bread before sprinkling thin shavings of cheese on the top. Being an enthusiastic eater from day one, Mary is very intent and serious for this activity.”