-Molly, do you want to play Death Camp?
-No! I never want to play Death Camp again!
Our kids invented a game called “Death Camp”. I need to let that sink in.
…writing down random stuff my kids say.
-Molly, do you want to play Death Camp?
-No! I never want to play Death Camp again!
Our kids invented a game called “Death Camp”. I need to let that sink in.
Molly and Benny are discussing gifts:
-We’re different. Nothing makes you happy, Molly. And I’m happy with the small things. Like, a metal pencil sharpener. Or a piece of paper that says “Benjamin is the best”.
Their conversations sound more like a sit-com than any actual series.
Benny: Molly, would you rather be a boy or a girl?
Molly: A girl.
B: Why?
M: So that I can make new people. And you? Would you rather be a boy or a girl?
B: A boy. So that I don’t have to wear a full bathing suit and no one cuts my belly open.
Good arguments, all of them. Although there are obvious pros and cons, luckily they’re both happy with their assigned genders.
(Also, superpowers: girls give birth to humans, boys get to wear bathing shorts.)
Remember when you used to look forward to your holidays because you knew you were going to have fun and relax?
Neither do I.
We were playing Ludo and I was winning for a change.
When both kids got bored and decided to stop playing, I shouted (perhaps over-?) excitedly: “Woohoo! Cool, I win!”
“You won. Congratulations,” Molly replied, in a monotonous voice.
Benny added, equally flat: “Yes. Congratulations.”
What a way to kill my vibe, kids. I got bored ages ago, I just pretended for your sake! I double win! Screw you. NOW TIDY UP!
Clearing the table after lunch with no kids:
-throw the trash in the bin
-put the leftover food in the fridge
-stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher
Clearing the table after lunch with kids:
-throw the trash in the bin
-take the scissors out of your toddler’s hand
-ask your son to show you his Lego sculpture a bit later
-tell you daughter she’s allowed to use the hot glue gun
-put the leftover food in the fridge
-separate your son and daughter who are fighting over the hot glue gun
-put the trash your toddler’s taken out of the bin back into the bin
-give your son a shower because he’s poured black slime all over his head
-give your toddler a shower because he’s pooed
-give your daughter a shower because she has hot glue all over her hands and you’re already at it anyway
-take some of the leftover food out of the fridge to feed your toddler. He’s suddenly hungry again
-try to convince your toddler to eat. He’s suddenly not hungry again
-answer the phone
-it’s your kids calling from the other room and they want you to tell them who can use the hot glue gun
-start taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen
-put the trash your toddler’s taken out of the bin back into the bin
-separate the kids who are fighting over your son’s Lego set
-take the toys your toddler’s thrown into the bin out of the bin
-admire your son’s Lego sculpture
-calm your daughter down. She’s upset because you only praise her brother
-praise the necklace she’s made out of the hot glue
-calm your son down. He’s upset because he doesn’t know why he’s upset so stop asking him that
-put the trash your toddler’s taken out of the bin back into the bin
-leave all the dishes on the work surface
-take your kids to the park
Oskar really wants me to lift him into his highchair, Oskar really doesn’t want me to lift him into his highchair.
He wants in! Nope, he doesn’t.
He wants in! Out!
Up! Down!
He complains when I try to lift him, complains when I put him down.
Here we go again. Bracing myself for years of irrational request and little nervous breakdowns ahead. My own fault for wanting another child.
So grateful that we have Oskar! This door’s not going to keep opening and closing for ten minutes by itself!
-Molly, how was the film?
-Great! It had all the things I like in it: peeing, bums, explosions, trust and hybernation!
All the things she likes: peeing, bums, explosions, trust and hybernation.
“What is this?” Molly asks me with a disgusted look on her face as I’m trying my new dress on. “You don’t like it?”
“No. You look like that woman who goes and prays to God. It also makes your legs look fat.”
I’m sending that dress right back. I don’t want to look like “that woman”. Plus, I predict Molly a great career as a critic. Of anything and everything.