Stone Cold Daddy is a parent and that means I show up late on a serial basis. They say when trying to get kids out of the house to add 15-30 minutes to however long you think it will take.
“how long I think it will take.”
This course of action is a gaddamn mess. Parents don’t have time to hypothesize, do math, and/or form equations to figure out how long it’s going to take us to get to the trampoline park. If we take a moment to do any of that shit, our kids will find a way to set several grease fires, flood the bathrooms, and commit a few homicides while we’re distracted.
Thing is, there’s evidence that thinking things through is beyond our fucking skill set. How are we to be trusted to put our thoughts to good use given we’re guilty of committing boneheaded blunders on the regular? If the fuck-ups of parents were recorded as stats, I would be leading the region in errors and wild pitches. Leading the pack is hard to do, because parenting in general is full of missteps. That’s Spanish for I know you fuck up too.
1) Knocking over and/or into shit: Good luck finding the fountain of coordination and agility after the kids start coming. All gross motor skills are employed for walking around with a screaming, puking, squirming medicine ball. This in turn compromises shit you used to do with ease.
The erratic behavior of children could be tied to the amount of times their heads are slammed against doorways their parents can’t seem to negotiate properly with any consistency. All of a sudden, glasses of water are slipping out of your hands for no reason. While trying to keep your kids from knocking over shit in the store, your poor stroller navigation is knocking shit over in the store.
Maybe it’s just me, but I blackout for a split second coming down stairs, my foot forgets where it is, and I nearly tumble to my death when I snap back into it. I’m wondering if there is a scientific term for stubbing my toe on a serial basis. Most of my toenails are/have been/or soon will be dead. My niece said recently, “Uncle Stone Cold, your toenails look funny.” I promptly told her to go to hell.
Dancing with the Stars won’t be calling my ass.
3) Forgetting where you’re going: I’m behind the wheel to drive to church, and all of a sudden I’m headed to the highway to drive to my in-laws. Stone Cold will find himself in the grocery store parking lot when I intended to go to the hardware store.
“Where are you going?”
“Which way are you taking?”
I hear these things when the bride of Stone Cold calls me out for malfunctioning brain activity while operating a motor vehicle. I almost wish I was shooting heroin so there was a cut and dry reason for my brain shitbombs while getting to point B. Alas, I can only tell you this started happening between my daughter’s birth and learning who the hell Sophia the First is.
4) Putting perishables in the cabinet: Several months into my career as a SAHD, the bride of Stone Cold started finding meat in in the bread drawer, tools in the fridge, and fruit in the toy chest. This is a general result of my general parenting brain damage you potential parents need to know about.
I’ll be looking in the fridge, forget what I opened for, only to realize I’m looking for a clean plate in the cabinet next to it. Other times I will open the dishwasher to with the intention of placing a dish inside, while in reality I’m placing a grease stained plate in the cupboard.
Yes, I know, these sound like the misadventures of a drug addict, but this is shit Stone Cold is doing on pure oxygen.
5) Falling over the dish washer and shit: I’ve been nearly impaled by knives and forks after tumbling backwards over an open dishwasher door. One time I was holding my child. I have nothing more on this matter.
6) Forgetting names: The mother of all parenting side-effects. Most of us aren’t really good with names anyway. Add tantrums, potty training, and dance classes to the mix, and you’ll experience moments of brain leakage when asked what your own name is. If you don’t have a few dozen people in your life you greet with “Hi you” “Hey man” or “Hello friend” you’re not a real parent.
Addressing my kids, nieces, and nephews by the name of another is damn near a religion for Stone Cold. Stone Cold’s subconscious is programmed to fuck up a family member’s name at least 2-3 times a month….no a week…alright, basically every fucking time I attempt to speak a proper noun, the smart money’s on me fucking it up. Damn it all to hell.
7) Buying a ton of shit at target but nothing you went for: Ah yes, Target, official sponsor of the “Tons of shit I kinda sorta want, but very little I actually need” association. Here’s a Stone Cold weekly scenario that may hit some parents too close to home:
Oh look at that, I’m out of laundry detergent/paper towel so/sandwich bags. I’ll go to Target to get some.
(Gets to Target)
“Look at that, twenty juice boxes for $3.99, undershirts on clearance, big sale on storage bins, AND here’s a cheap duvet cover I’ve been looking for.”
(Gets back home, and heads to washing machine)
“Oh fuck, I knew I was forgetting something”
8) Losing your kids: Obviously the most atrocious fuck-up on this list. Be that as it may, after looking away or drifting off in thought for a few seconds, kids are known to vanish faster than you can say Vanilla Ice. They wander anywhere from to another room of the house to the Federal Witness Protection Program. I don’t know where they are or where they went.
Easiest way to find kids where your kids are: go to the bathroom and expect privacy. Those motherfuckers will reappear in no time. Worst way to screw up with the easiest fix……shit like that only exists in parenting.