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The Empire of the Fussy Shitter.

Some kids are fussy eaters. They have a whole list of shit they won’t eat, most of which, they have never tried.

Others are fussy dressers. Colors and styles have to match…etc. Otherwise they aren’t going anywhere.

And, rarely, you run into a fussy shitter. The name is descriptive enough, don’t you think?

I am posted up at Starbucks at one of the larger tables with some ambitious nursing students.

They are working on nursing degrees and a career while I am working on a snotty little blog that no one reads. 

The door opens and a couple comes in with a child. The parents are in their early 30’s? And the little boy is about 5. 

Dad and the somewhat frantic boy beeline for the bathroom while mom stops nearby and makes a call on her cellphone.

“Hi mom, its Tanya.” (The name Tanya went thru a wildly popular period than it ever should have. Seriously. And they are always trouble. Its like the name summons some ancient goddess of cheesy drama or something.)

“Rog is in the bathroom with Tyler. Its bad today, this is the fourth place we have been to so far.” She looks back at the bathroom with the look of hope tinged with fear. Whatever is going on there, its got her fairly beaten up mentally. 

“No, we have been to 4 different bathrooms so far and there has been something wrong with each one. We are still an hour from home.” She listens to the phone.

“We tried that mom, he shit his pants. And we will not put pullups on him. The other kids might find out and make fun.”

Good lord.

I don’t know that I have run into the parents of a fussy shitter before. 

That is a whole new brand of oddity. 

On the one hand, you do what you have to when your kids are little. There are parents who never raise their voices or tell them no. It is a whole thing that wildly over indulges and leads to the creation of millennials. 

On the other hand, beat your kid, lady. 

5 is way too early to be knuckling under to whatever the kid dictates. 

You are setting yourself up for a lot of future shitty happenings. (Pun kind of intended.)

I went to high school with someone who went home at lunch to use the bathroom. She lived nearby and was pretty hot, so no one gave her any trouble.

I found out years later from a guy who dated her for awhile, she had some sexual issues revolving around defecation. (The home town version of 2 girls, one cup. Google that one at your own risk.)

And here it is, happening right in front of me. 

I realize how harsh it sounds, especially given the ridiculously over-compensating that parents and opinionated shitheads without kids nonsense out there.

But if they would simply sit his fussy ass on the toilet, telling him to shit or sleep there, they would be on the road. 

It’s not a quick fix.

It’s a habit they allowed to form and it will take awhile to break, but it can be done. 

One of my kids was a fussy eater. Had a whole list of shit they would not eat, all of it never tried before. 

So I made a rule. 

You can decide you don’t like something, but you have to try it. Not a nibble, a loaded spoonful.

You can only force yourself to dry heave so many times before it wears on you. 

They eventually expanded their menu nicely and it stopped being a problem. 

A few minutes later, Dad and Tyler came out, mission accomplished.

Lucky number 5. 

As they left, I was tempted to share my wisdom with them.

And then I realized that they were on their own journey.

Sigh.

Being enlightened can be a burden at times.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on December 22, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Bunny and the Glazed Donut Monster

There is a certain insanity to a child.

More of a delusional logic that disappears over time.

The really bad part is when we get pulled into it to the point that we accept the delusion.

Because you and I both know that a stuffed animal, as a general rule, do not speak foreign languages.

Case in point.

Bunny.

Bunny is currently sharing the child’s seat in a shopping cart in a supermarket.

The child with the strangle hold on Bunny is a grubby little rugrat, to say the least.

His shirt was white, once.

Key word is once.

Not a lot of thought has gone into his wardrobe.

Blame dad for that, mom is most likely the bread winner in this little scenario, because she is no where to be found.

Dad has that barely keeping all the plates in the air, half assed approach of the stay at home dad.

Further re-enforcing this theory is that fact that, if mom was involved, I can’t help but think that she would wipe this kid’s face, specifically his nose.

Its like a glazed donut screwed a Chatty Kathy doll and this was their unholy offspring.

Its filthy, sticky and will NOT shut up.

I could hear this kid running his mouth from 2 aisles away.

And what was the subject of discussion?

Throwing Bunny under the bus.

Ratting out Bunny seems to be a serious past time for the Glazed Donut Monster.

The insanely delusional list of crimes Bunny is guilty of is like watching a miniature Alzheimer’s patient in the early stages.

And here is where we find out the problem with this whole situation.

Because most kids flap their little underaged festering pie hole and I rarely notice.

I usually just assume they are a little slow, mainly because they are not mine, and I move on.

But dad is the problem.

Dad is  buying into the insanity.

“I really doubt Bunny is cussing in German!” Dad says this almost pissed off.

First of all, its cursing. Cussing isn’t even a word.

Second of all, seriously dude?

Its one thing to make the conscious decision to raise this little melon-head even after the doctor told you and the misses that he would never be right in the head. More power to you. Its a selfless thing to do.

But when you buy into the madness, you start down a path that only has one final destination.

But like I said before, stuffed animals rarely speak in foreign languages. They tend to stick to the native tongue of their owner.

And if they did, it would not be German.

Stuffed animals, even filthy snot-covered ones like Bunny, tend to evoke a warm and fuzzy feeling. Summoning images of loving and caring mothers.

Which, if you have never been to Germany, is not what you will find in the old country.

Think of an entire country and a people with resting bitch face.

Show of hands, who have I not pissed off so far?

Sometimes, the truth can be brutal.

Sometimes, outright lying can be just as brutal. Mainly because it has some unpleasant truth to it.

But insane father’s that argue in public about the linguistic abilities of stuffed animals are a different kind of unpleasant.

Because Bunny might be the only sane one here.

 
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Posted by on July 3, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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