I Want My Epidural Back Page 6

  Every. F’ing. Night.

  ZOEY: Can I have dessert?

  ME: You haven’t touched your carrots.

  ZOEY: Can I have dessert if I eat them?

  ME: This isn’t about dessert. This is about putting healthy things in our bodies.

  ZOEY: But how many do I have to eat to get dessert?

  ME: It’s not about how many. Just eat some of them.

  ZOEY: But how many?!!

  ME: Why don’t you start with one?

  ZOEY: Will that be enough to get dessert?

  ME: We might not have dessert tonight.

  ZOEY: If I eat my carrots can I have dessert?

  ME: AGGGGHHHH, stop saying the word dessert and just eat some!!!!!!

  ZOEY: They’re cold.

  ME: No shit, Sherlock. Because we’ve been sitting here for like 6,000 hours talking about dessert.

  ZOEY: They’re freeeeezing.

  ME: Fine, I’ll nuke them.

  ZOEY: Now they’re too hot.

  ME: Just wait a minute. They’ll cool down.

  ZOEY: Then they’ll be too cold.

  ME: I’ll bet they’re fine now.

  ZOEY: What are we having for dessert?

  ME: I don’t know.

  ZOEY: Can I have ice cream for dessert?

  ME: If you eat your carrots.

  ZOEY: But how many?

  ME: Oh my gawwwwd, how many times are you going to ask me that?!!!!

  ZOEY: How many? How many? How many? How many?

  ME: Fine, three.

  ZOEY: Three bites?

  ME: Three carrots.

  ZOEY: Ugggh, that is SO many.

  ME: Fine, don’t eat any.

  ZOEY: But then I can’t have dessert.

  ME: It’s not about that.

  (She puts a carrot to her mouth and takes the most minuscule bite you’ve ever seen, like Barbie would take a bigger bite than that.)

  ME: See? It’s good.

  ZOEY: Huuaggghh, huuagggh, huaaggghh (in case you can’t tell, this is the sound dogs make before they throw up).

  ME: It’s not that bad, Zoey.

  Barrrrrrfffffff. Is it wrong that the first thing that goes through my head is not “Are you okay?” It’s happiness that the throw-up all lands on her plate.

  ZOEY: Now can I have dessert?

  ME: Fine, I give up.

  (I look in the freezer.)

  ME: We’re out of ice cream.

  ZOEY: That’s not fair!!!! You said I could have ice cream if I tried a carrot.

  ME: I did not say that. And you didn’t eat one.

  ZOEY: I did!

  ME: Fine, you can have as much ice cream as the carrot you ate.

  (I take out a bowl and put it down in front of her, empty.)

  ZOEY: Can I get more if I eat more carrots?

  ME: (sigh) Sure.

  (I put some more carrots on a new plate in front of her.)

  ZOEY: How many do I have to eat?

  WTF?

  Seriously, if I don’t move that one damn pea before I put it down in front of her, the entire meal will be deemed inedible.

  How to properly ruin a friend’s BBQ

  OKAY, HERE’S THE THING. WHEN I go to a restaurant and I bring food for my kids, I know I’m a jackass. Which is why I don’t need you, Muffy McPerfectpants, to keep staring at me like I’m a jackass. I already know!!! Yes, I see your kiddo ordering off the menu. Yes, I see her wolfing down a spinach salad and gnawing away on a rack of ribs and using chopsticks. And not in the fake kinda way my kids use them by stabbing their chicken nuggets and then eating them like lollipops. And if you think I’m just being jealous, you are 2,000% right. I would KILL to have a child who eats food like a normal human being and doesn’t act like I’m trying to feed her goat scrotum when I put a sandwich down in front of her.

  Anyways, having picky eaters sucks ass. Like here’s the kind of shit that happens:

  FRIEND: We’re having people over for a BBQ Sunday night. Do you guys want to come?

  ME: DO I?!!!!! You’re like the coolest mom ever and I can’t believe you’re inviting me over!!!

  Of course, I don’t really say that out loud because I don’t want to seem too eager.

  (what I really say)

  ME: Lemme check my calendar.

  It’s all empty, just one white square after another.

  ME: Hmmm, sure, I can move things around to make that work.

  FRIEND: Great! Do your kids like hot dogs?

  ME: Umm, no, but don’t worry, I can bring food for them.

  FRIEND: What about chicken?

  ME: No, but seriously, I’ll just bring something.

  FRIEND: Hamburgers?

  ME: No.

  FRIEND: Turkey burgers?

  ME: No.

  FRIEND: Corn?

  ME: Okay, seriously, I’ll bring something for them. I do it all the time.

  FRIEND: Okay.

  And then the day of the BBQ arrives and even though we’ve been waiting around all afternoon counting down the minutes, for some reason when it’s finally time to leave our house we’re running late and I turn into Cujo and have to yell at my kids to get their shoes on and then when they finally do Holden says he has to poop, and since Holden’s poops smell like an old man took a dump and then died on the toilet, we go back inside to do it in our own home because otherwise we’d have to do it at my new friend’s house and I’d have to go into the bathroom with Holden and my new friend would never believe a smell that bad could come from a little boy’s tush and she would totally think it was me who made the paint peel off her bathroom walls. But I digress. And holy shit, that might be the longest sentence I’ve ever written in my entire life.

  Anyways, the BBQ is so much fun. The kids get to bounce in a bounce house, the dads get to man the grill, and the moms get to suck down margaritas and actually finish complete sentences for a change. And then it’s time for dinner.

  Yummmmm, it looks sooooo deeelicious, but it’ll be at least twenty minutes before the moms get to eat anything because setting up the kids with food takes forevvvver.

  HOSTESS TO HER KID: Here you go, sweetie pie, a burger and a salad.

  Holy shit, her kid eats salad?!!!

  ANOTHER MOM TO HER KID: How did you already finish your veggies? You are a total veggie-aholic.

  OMG, I am literally drooling with jealousy.

  ANOTHER MOM: See? I told you you’d like hummus, honey.

  And then there’s me. Unwrapping my embarrassing tinfoil package of chicken nuggets and veggie straws (made of real veggies but I’m pretty sure the way they make them is by taking real vegetables and sucking any redeeming qualities out of them) as quietly as possible so no one notices the shitty processed food I brought for my kids to eat. It’s like every single crinkle in the tinfoil makes the loudest noise you can imagine, and every child within a two-block radius hears me and sees what I’m doing.

  HOSTESS’S KIDDO: Mommy, can I have chicken nuggets?

  ANOTHER KIDDO: Yeah, I want chicken nuggies!

  OTHER KID: Me too!

  And they push their plates away and start banging on the table.

  KIDS EVERYWHERE AROUND THE WORLD: We want nuggets! We want nuggets! We want nuggets!

  Awwwwww shit, busted. And guess who didn’t bring extra chicken nuggets for all the other kids? Yup, I’m that asshole. The asshole who carefully counted out ten chicken nuggets and was too stoopid to pack more for the other kids, just in case.

  HOSTESS: No, Ariel, eat your hamburger.

  OTHER MOM: The nuggets are only for kids with allergies, honey.

  Uhhhh, yeahhhh, my kids have allergies, that’s it. Shit, I totally should have just lied and said that in the first place. But it’s too late. Plates are being thrown, kids are freaking out, and the moms are desperately pleading with their kids to eat the regular BBQ food.

  KID: Nooooo, I HATE veggies!! I want nuggets!

  ANOTHER KID: Wahhhhhh, I don’t want regeeler chicken!!! I want veg
gie straws!

  KID: It’s not fair!! I want veggie straws and I want them NOWWWW!!!!

  And since I don’t want to be an even bigger asshole, I take some veggie straws off my kids’ plates, and divide them up so every kid has a few, which seriously pisses off Zoey and Holden.

  ZOEY: Nooooooo!!! Those are mine!!!!

  HOLDEN: Wahhhhhhh!!! Give me back my veggie straws!!

  And Holden throws himself across the table to grab his veggie straws back and he ends up knocking three plates off the table including Zoey’s. And the family dog who’s been patiently watching the whole scene sees his cue and bolts over and catches Zoey’s plate in midair like a Frisbee and wolfs down like every single chicken nugget and veggie straw in one gigantic gulp and holy crap do the kids go ballistic now.

  RUGRAT: Nooooo, Bailey!!!

  KIDDO: It was all the chicken nuggets we had!!!!

  ZOEY: Wahhhhh!!!! What am I going to eat nowwww?!!!!

  Hmmm, I don’t know, what on earth could you eat now? Mayyybe, oh, here’s an idea, how about a huge, juicy, delicious hamburger? I put it down on her plate.

  ZOEY: AGGGHHHH, NOOO, GET IT OFF!! GET IT OFFFF!!!

  HOSTESS: Who wants dessert?!

  And the scene literally goes from a mess of snot and tears to a scene of total jubilation.

  KIDS: Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!

  And just like that, it’s the best BBQ ever and the rest of the evening is totally awesome, which pretty much sucks donkey butt because I’m 200% sure we are never going to be invited back there again. Ever.

  And that, my friends, is what it’s like to have picky eaters. So believe me, if there was anything I could do to make my kids like regular food and eat like normal human beings, I would do it.

  HOLDEN: Hey, Nemo is on my cup!

  ME: Yup.

  HOLDEN: But I want two Nemos.

  ME: Well, there’s only one.

  HOLDEN: But I want TWO!

  ME: Fine. Here’s Nemo.

  I point to Nemo on his cup.

  Then I spin the cup ALL the way around.

  ME: And here’s another Nemo.

  HOLDEN: Yay, two Nemos!

  Dear parents who don’t think it’s fair to ban nuts from school

  Dear Parents at __________ School who don’t think it’s fair for the school to ban nut products,

  So I just heard the story about your school and even though my kids don’t go there, I still couldn’t help but have an opinion. Now if you don’t want to hear what I think, feel free to stop reading now. Seriously, stop reading ’cause you might not agree with what I say.

  Okay, you’re still with me. Here we go.

  So lemme get this straight. There’s this kid who’s deathly allergic to nuts. Like it’s so bad that if this kid sat down at a table where someone was eating nuts, he would die. As in dead. Gone. Forever. And the only way this kid can go to school is if the school bans EVERYONE from bringing nut products into the school.

  And lemme make sure I understand where you’re coming from. So you think it’s YOUR kid’s right to bring her favorite snack to school. You think if someone tells her she can’t bring a PB&J to lunch that her freedom is being squashed.

  Am I understanding all of this so far? I just want to make sure I have this straight.

  Okay.

  So are you ready for my opinion? Do you want to hear what I think? Stop being such a goddamn shartrag and grow the F up. I mean seriously? SERIOUSLY?!!! You think your kid’s right to eat a stupid brownie with chopped nuts in it is more important than a kid’s life? Your kid can still eat her crappy PB&J. She’s just gonna have to wait a few extra hours until she gets home from school.

  I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient for you to have to think a little harder about what you pack in little Timmy’s lunchbox. Think how F’ing hard it is for Allergy Boy’s mom every damn day trying to figure out where he can and can’t go, and what he can and can’t eat. How awful it must be for her to send her kid off every day knowing she might not see him again if he accidentally touches the wrong table.

  “But but but can’t this kid get homeschooled?” you ask. Ummm, first of all, are you offering to homeschool him, because who the hell said his mom can do that? Duh, maybe she works like most parents do.

  “Well, why should my love muffin have to stop bringing banana nut muffins to school because some other kid has allergies?”

  I’ll tell you why. It’s called compassion. It’s called putting yourself in another mother’s shoes. It’s called teaching your kid that maybe, just maybe, her desire to take peanut M&M’s to school isn’t quite as important as a boy’s life.

  Anyways, that’s just my measly two cents. Take it or leave it. I’m off to the kitchen where I’m going to eat a scoop of peanut butter, because it’s not gonna hurt anyone, because I’m at home.

  Sincerely,

  A mom who gives a crap about ALL kids, not just my own

  HUBBY: I’m getting a milk shake.

  ME: But the kids didn’t eat enough to get one.

  HUBBY: So? I did.

  ME: Yeah, but if YOU get one, they’re totally gonna want one too.

  HUBBY: I’ll just tell them no.

  ME: Then they’re gonna be whiny a-holes the whole way home and we’re gonna have to listen to that shit.

  HUBBY: Fine, I won’t let them see it.

  ME: Yeah, right. Like that’ll work.

  I stand corrected. Thank God for winter hats!

  Once upon a time there was a green bean

  ME: Guys, don’t forget to eat your green beans. You haven’t taken a single bite.

  ZOEY: Mommy, will you tell us how green beans are made?

  ME: Well, they’re not really made. They grow.

  ZOEY: Nooooo, tell us the pretend way.

  ME: Ohhh, the pretend way.

  Ugggh, seriously? I am SOOOOO sick of telling these stupid pretend food stories. So once we went to this restaurant and the food was taking a long time to come out, and my kids were all, “Wahhhh, where’s our fooood?” and I answered, “Well, it takes the chef a long time to go out and kill the pizzas,” and then they were like, “Nuh-uhhh,” and I was like, “Yuh-huhhh. The pizzas are born on a pizza farm and then they have to grow bigger and then when someone orders a pepperoni pizza, the chef has to go out to the field and find the right one and lasso it but the pizzas keep rolling away so it takes a while.”

  Anyways, my kids aren’t idiots (except when they play a stupid game like “let’s push each other on the stairs and see who gets hurt”), so they knew I was kidding but they lovvvvved my story. And now every time we’re eating (THREE F’ing times a day), they’re all, “Tell us how they make the pizzas,” or “Tell us where they get the apples,” or “Tell us where the macaroni and cheese comes from,” and I have to use my brain a lot and come up with these silly stories.

  At first, telling these stories was fun and funny and I enjoyed doing it, but now I’m like, aggghhhh, can’t you just act like normal crotchmuffins and play with the salt and pepper shakers and leave me the hell alone? All I want to do is just eat my food in peace. Is that too much to ask?!! But fine, whatever, if it’ll make you happy.

  ZOEY: Pleeeease tell us the story about the green beans.

  ME: Okay, fine, the story about the green beans.

  I repeat her words because I’m stalling and trying to come up with a creative story I haven’t told before.

  ME: So the green beans grow in big fields on the bottom of the ocean.

  ZOEY: So they’re like seaweed?

  ME: Kind of. But they’re green beans. And they grow in these big patches until this ginormous purple octopus with eight arms comes along and he uses all his arms to give the green beans a huge hug and he picks them all at once and swims up to the surface to deliver the green beans to the fishermen and while he’s swimming up with them, the green beans sing this song.