Born after the famed moonwalk, I never had the profound honour of hearing those famous first words that Neil Armstrong spoke on the moon … “one small step for man.. one giant leap for mankind”… (speaking under correction and lack of sleep)
But a simple trip to the shop kinda feels like a giant excursion to another shitty planet. Shitty with a capital WTF!
Feed the baby, force your 9 year old into his shoes (for the 100th time), grab the baby, get him in the car seat… and who in HIS right fucking mind decided that regular scrawny armed mommies need to work on their muscles logging around a ton of car seat?!… strap them in, run back for the diaper bag, because we all know the little monsters time their shit according to our driving schedule, picking up my 4 year old at kindergarten, driving to the shop, waiting calmly for the 78year old to get out of the double parking space that her tiny little Getz took up… and parking.
And then the real fun kicks in. I’ve seen this thing on pinterest. … yes I’m a pinner… that a parent used this huge bright round sticker, stuck it on her car and renamed it.. the “do not move dot”. So basically each kid has to have their claw on the dot at all times. Makes it look a lot easier when getting out a baby. When looking at this innovative idea, only two things came to mind.
- Miss, are you perhaps hiding a dent underneath that dot… because I tried it to and nobody is buying that bullshit
- Do you stick super strength velcro to your kids hands before or after you’ve done the same with the dot?
Getting them like tiny little ducks in a row is a cute idea…… but so is climbing mount everest in your bikini.
I have to force my boys to hold each others hands while getting my baby out of the seat. Even then it’s a constant “get out of the fucking road, you don’t know if that idiot can see you”!
Then there’s the trollies. … or as my four year old (Ajay) so lovingly named them… tollie… (as in the male version of a brain) that has one chair created for the world’s smallest infant, and a partition for all the shit you need to buy.. which instinctively becomes the joy ride of the other two.
It blows my mind how my husband only end up buying the stuff on the list. ALWAYS! Like that’s his super power.. well that and burping the ABC’s.
I go for dishwashing tablets and pasta and end up blowing a weeks budget on things I’m sort of, kind of, maybe running low on.. and candy… and wine…
Not to trash any super market or anything but could you please … for the love of all things holy… STOP MAKING YOUR MARKETING TOYS! From angry birds to little shop to animals…. SPEND R150.00 ONLY AND GET ONE TOY ONLY AND YOU’LL SEE REAL FUCKING ANIMALS! And picking up your silly little sales pitch everywhere in every room available in my entire fucking house is forcing me to seriously consider torching the place! But thanks ’cause all I’ve ever wanted as a little girl was a tiny little milk jug to shove up my dogs ass! Newsflash! Every one still needs to eat and shit, if you want more parents to shop at your store instead of the competition. …. hand out free shots! Include a nanny! Valet a fucking car!
Anyway, I bought myself a chocolate (aka the 5 seconds of utter joy in my life), stuffed it in my mouth before the kids can finish theirs and look at me with those beedy little feed me eyes and like a good wife, hid hubbies candy in the fridge…. if he doesn’t find it in 10 hours It’s open season.
I’m cooking pasta tonight and I will gladly share my recipe in my next post.