I enjoy watching my children play. It’s fun to watch them come up with new uses for old, cracked measuring cups and see them navigate treacherous a-giant-behind-every-armchair forests. I like the trips to the moon. I like the daily birthday parties. I like the spontaneous art projects. No . . . that’s I lie. I hate the spontaneous art projects.
But the point is: I like watching my children. So why do I spend so much time hiding in the office, browsing the Internet for stories about Ron Paul? Because the kids, they always notice me watching them. And when they notice me they ask me to play, too. And when they ask me to play they get all blinky and darling and how can I say no? And then . . . well, it happens like this:
Maybe the six-year-old guiles me into a game of tea party. Just when I’m about to take a bite of plastic donut: WHAM! She trips on a toy and smashes her big head into my jaw.
Or maybe the infant convinces me to join her in a game of peek-a-boo. And just after I uncover my face for the fifteenth time to intone “PEEEEEKERRRRRRRRRRS!” she leaps unexpectedly and WHAM! I take a head to the bottom of the nose.
Or maybe the boy child tricks me into the Oh No Vortex (this is a really great game, let me tell you) and I’m tickling him happily when WHAM! The kid throws his unusually hard noggin into my eye socket.
Playing with kids . . . it’s dangerous man. The computer is nice and safe. No bruises, no bite marks, no band-aids.
But what am I to do? I shall never qualify for Mother of the Year sitting at this keyboard all the time!
My dear friends, here is the answer:
Lightweight. Comfortable. Stylish. My troubles are over.
Your troubles could be over, too. For the low, low price of three (3) chocolate bars I’ll fashion you something similar and ship it your way! Order in the next 45 seconds and I’ll throw in the Out About Town version for free:
The Out About Town mask carries the added benefit of scaring off the carpet cleaner salesmen that keep stopping by at lunchtime!
Order now. You know you want to. Operators are standing by.
The Out About Town mask carries the added benefit of scaring off the carpet cleaner salesmen that keep stopping by at lunchtime!
5 comments:
Milk chocolate or dark chocolate?
I could surely use one of these too. Dad always wonders why I get hurt while playing with the kids, in much the manner you've described. He doesn't have the same problem. I think it's because he tends more toward offense strategies, whereas I'm usually just playing defense. Maybe if I were picking the boys up by their ankles and flinging them onto the couch or wrestling and tickling them violently and mercilessly, I'd be less injury prone too. Somehow. Works for him, anyway.
All I want to know is: what words did you put into Google Images to get that picture?
+HRC
PS: Voted for Ron Paul last week in early voting. Sorry you'll have to wait til May to get your chance.
My Dh and I have long joked that all Dads should receive protective gear for their "equipment related to progenesis" once their progeny are of sufficient size, age, and motor ability to cause what's crassly referred to (in the vernacular) as "a goosing."
Glad to see that someone's thinking of us poor mothers, too.
Sign me up for one of those Out About Town models. Some people around here would be thrilled to have me put on some makeup.
I hate it that they won't let you watch them play. They really are funny. Get grownups involved and it's suddenly stupid.
1. Dark.
2. Wrestling. You of all people should know that.
3. Oh yeah. I've got your back.
4. Keep up the fight.
Update: The man child gave me a nice head-butt to the nose while I was helping him with his shoes this morning. I celebrated the event by slamming my nose in the pantry cupboard. I gave myself a bruise. How did I do manage to get my nose between the cupboard and the cupboard door and slam it in? I am just that wonderful.
Now that I've discovered a way to protect myself from the babies, whatever shall I do to protect myself from myself?
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