Monthly Archives: January 2013

Guilty Chicken

Eating the breast does not make you a bad parent.

How many times have you found your self struggling between eating the drumsticks when you really know you want to eat the big piece? Why do we do this to ourselves? Is it that natural instinct to make sure the bairn are well stuffed before we nurture our own needs, or is it just idiotic guilt?  My vote is on the side of misguided self flagellation. Wings or thighs? Does it matter, does it make me a horrible selfish person if i go for the big one at the bottom of the bucket? Unfortunately this mentality does not just apply to The Colonels 8 piece, this unnecessary guilt at self satisfaction plagues most parents, though I think single parents get a double dose. When sacrifice becomes so ingrained in your way of thinking and operating it becomes hard to be self indulgent. It’s time to take a stand!! So on behalf of ALL SINGLE PARENTS I SAY EAT THAT BREAST, HECK, TAKE THE THIGH TOO!!! Your kids will survive they won’t hate you for it, you deserve it, you’re bigger you need the sustenance!!

Dante’s Fried Chicken Logo

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Oh Snap! I’ve Been FounT Out

YOOOO!! The jig is up, my son just read my blog!! Earlier today after I’d finished writing “It’s a Seance, Meet My Son” I had left my laptop open, with the blog scrolled to the post about “Fake Jordans”. Hungry Eyes was standing next to me begging for dinner when he looked over my shoulder and spotted the post then says “HAAY! What is that??”. I’m like “hunh? Wha What’s What?” “THAT!”  he goes, pointing to my screen. I distracted him with garlic bread and spaghetti, but I should have known he couldn’t be put off that easily. Now, why am I trippin? I don’t even know. It’s not like i’m writing lurid naughty mommy tales up on this joint, but in someways this is kind of my private personal…public :/ diary…grown folks talk. Not that I have too many secrets from the boy but still, this is like my space where if I could I’d lock it, put warning stickers on it, and break out my special Lisa Frank pencils and draw hearts with Raki + Idris 4ever in the middle. I digress. After dinner I absentmindedly left my laptop on my desk and went to escape to my bedroom. All was quiet on the home front until about 30 minutes later I heard giggles coming from down the hall. Not just any kind of giggle, they were quiet up to no good snickerings. Next thing I know, Dave walks into my room with my laptop in one arm and an accusatory hand on hip saying “You Weren’t Going To Buy Me Retros!!”. He had read the blog about the “Fake Jordans“. It get’s better, not only had he read that, he had read ALLLLLLL OF THEM! Seriously, I can’t get this kid to read the instructions on a pack of Kool-Aid but he can read all of my blog?! Word. His reactions went like this:

(appalled): “You DON’T WANT KIDS?!!” – in response to “Girdle My Loins

(mortified): “YOU TOLD THEM I WAS IN MY UNDERWEAR?” – in response to “Bohemian Rhapsody

(accusatory, disbelief): “Soooo That’s what you were doing at Orrrrientaatioonnnn!!” and ” THERE WAS SNOT INVOLVED??” – in response to “Inappropriate Texts

I’ve already told y’all that I can’t have nothing to myself right? Any other kid understands the rules of sneaking and snooping. Rule number one being: You find stuff out and keep it to yourself, NOT confront the grown up with your findings and start asking questions. My son hasn’t grasped this, I’m to blame. These are the side effects of teen parenthood. What happened to the sanctity of Grown Folks Business?

My diary

My diary

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FACT: In public, A well behaved yet ashy child, reflects worse on you as a parent than a loud mouthed lotioned one.

i didn’t say it was fair, but it’s true. 

FACT: In public…

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It’s a Seance, Meet My Son

So I met a guy.  I try to prolong the appearance of being single and carefree for as long as my schedule will allow, which is usually every other weekend and anytime before 4:15pm (when the school bus comes).  So I met this guy and the only way we could work our schedules around hanging out the 2nd day after I met him was for him to come over that evening around 9pm.  I’m not June Cleaver and this is certainly not the Cosby Show, so unless Nyquill comes in to the picture, Dave is NOWHERE NEAR going to bed at 9pm. Matter of fact at 9 o’clock he’s more than likely running around asking what’s for 2nd Dinner!  I don’t usually bring guys home too early to meet the kid but this time I was like “What the heck, might as well get this over with.”  So I’m running around the house doing some straightening up and getting myself together. I was trying to figure out how to be cute, considering that I can’t get all the way “dressed” because its 9pm and I’ve been in the house all day so being too done up would look like I was trying way too hard.  By now my son has gotten wind that we’re having company. Notice the “WE”.  In his mind, company comes for “US” not just me.  I notice he’s doing his own sprucing up, putting on lotion and such, straightening up his toys etc.  I’m just about ready to go down stairs to get the guy from the lobby, when I see Dave putting on my sneakers. “Um, where you going?” I say, he’s like “Downstairs, with you.” Tuh, “Oh no you NOT!”  Look, the walk from my apt to the lobby is roughly a block, about a 3 minute walk down the hallway from elevator to door.  I can control that walk, it’s the last few minutes for me to make a great impression, be cute, even coy and extremely believable as a carefree artist chic. Those precious minutes are the last time for me to GET.IT.IN.  And that is precisely what I did.  I walked super slow knowing that this could all go out the window as soon as we get back to my apt. As we walked down the hall we laughed, I told my best jokes, batted my eyelashes knowing that each step brought us closer to the unknown. Inside I was praying with all that was in me that David would be cool. The thing is, with him you just never know. So we finally made it back up to my apt. I’m standing at the door and take one last deep breath, twist the knob and open the door into the portal that used to be apt #205. PORTAL. YES. PORTAL. Maybe Gateway would be a better word. My entire apt is dark except for One candle on the island illuminating the solemn brown face of my son who’s perched cross legged on a bar stool in meditative silence.  WHY? Why me Lord? I’ve never moved so quick in my life, all in one stride I’d flicked on the kitchen lights, blown out the candle and yanked his legs out of Indian style.

Thankfully the guy took it all in stride even laughing about it a little bit. Luckily Dave was just normal-kid-weird for the rest of the night. So much for first impressions.

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