Someone needs to call social services. I am being abused. My rotten mother needs a good kick in the knee for the way she’s been treating me lately. Lemme tell ya… that lady has no sense of humor.
It all started early this morning when I very kindly let her sleep in until 5:45 AM. She looked so pretty as she laid there, hair splayed out on her pillow, drool puddling in a little pool on her shoulder and one breast slightly more exposed than is decent. I smiled to myself before leaning in so that our foreheads were nearly touching. I breathed my sweet toddler breath into her face and yelled, “WAKE UP MOMMY!”
Her reaction was anything but motherly. I imagine language like that has only been heard during shore leave in San Diego! What a tremendous overreaction to my gentle morning arousal. I stood against the wall, wide-eyed at the screaming harpy before me, and I wondered how I ever could have thought she was so pretty. She now resembled an angry Medusa! Still, I knew it was temporary. Soon she would have her coffee and all would be well again. I smiled widely at her, winked and said, “Okay mommy. I go play now.” As I left her bedside, I’m sure I heard her tell my father that she was sure I was a “demon child.” I will have to look that up later.
I waited a very saintly seven minutes before I demanded my morning feed. I didn’t want her to strain herself. I would have been perfectly happy with bacon, eggs and three chocolate chip pancakes. And since I don’t even like bacon, I wouldn’t have even complained when it came out burnt. It just goes on the floor anyway. But no… the woman handed me a banana. A BANANA. I mean, what am I, a chimpanzee? I know she likes to call me “Monkey Butt,” but seriously… I, of course, waited until she had peeled it and removed every trace of the stringy bits (I pointed them all out to make it easier for her) before I told her it was completely unsuitable. What self-respecting three year old eats a banana for breakfast, anyway?
I forced her to open the gate into the kitchen so that I could go into the pantry and point out the foods that I would consider. I gave her ample choices: Kraft Mac and Cheese (the food of the gods!), chocolate cookies or a large bag of marshmallows. The cheeky cow said no to all of them!
By this point it was nearly 6 AM, and I was getting panicked. It was then that I realized the truth – my mother is trying to STARVE ME! I can’t believe it. MY MOTHER. She who promised to always love and care for me is actually secretly trying to kill me! Oh my word! I continued to hyperventilate for the next three seconds, but common sense prevailed, and I realized that I would have to outsmart the woman. What might she be willing to feed me that tastes good but she thinks is good for me? I had it! Greek yogurt! HA!
Take that, MOTHER!
I demanded she open the fridge, and I pointed out the big white carton of delicious vanilla flavored goop. She was only too happy to dish me up a bowl of it. Sucker. Of course, I insisted on lots of honey and cinnamon to further enhance the flavor. I’m so clever.
Anyway, she finally left me alone so I could eat in peace (she was off attempting to shower or something stupid like that). I realized that she’d left out the yogurt carton, and being the good son that I am, I grabbed it off the counter (she hadn’t locked the gate, silly woman) and went to put it back. But then, I had an idea.
See, my dad has been forcing me to watch some weird science show called Cosmos. I humor him because he keeps telling me it’s awesome, but really it’s just a bunch of colors and music and the occasional weird looking cartoon. But it got me in the mood to do some science experiments. I decided to try one right now. I brought the yogurt carton into the living room and sat with it on the couch while my parents got dressed in the next room. I contemplated the best kind of experiment one could do with a tub of yogurt. And I suddenly had it! Why not see if one could BATHE in it?? YES!
It was my EUREEKA moment! I slathered that stuff all over me, making sure to taste it as I went. I washed my hair and face, and when I looked up, the she-beast was standing there with a look of rage upon her face. I very kindly offered her some of my yo-soap, but she started screaming like a banshee and grabbed me off the couch in no time flat! Within seconds, I was thrown into a luke-warm bathtub with NO TOYS. Like a PEASANT.
She apparently didn’t think the yogurt was an appropriate cleanser, and I was forced to endure at least ten minutes of scrubbing with a rough flannel and some fruit-scented baby shampoo. Ugh. When she’d finally deemed me clean enough, she yanked me out of the tub and left me shivering there on the cold linoleum, wrapped only in a flimsy towel. I knew what was coming next, and I was determined to fight.
She grabbed the bristly stick out of the cup next to the sink and added a dab of the sickly mint concoction she calls “tooth paste” (but which I know is really toddler poison) and turned toward me. Luckily, I am way faster than she is. I ran out of there so fast, the wind blew her hair back.
I ran out of the room, screaming at the top of my lungs toward my place of refuge – the baby’s room. Before I even got there, I sensed victory in the air as immediately my yelling caused my brother to wake up in a foul mood. BWA HA HA. Take that, mother!
As I hid under the bed, only my pink butt cheeks peeking out, the woman was forced to calm the little one down with cuddles and coos. Eventually she would have to go to change his diaper and get him dressed, and then I’d be free to put on my Spider Man outfit (the one she never lets me wear to school!) and work on my climbing skills.
Uh oh. The cold air on my nether regions was making me have to pee. But she was still in the room. If I ran for the bathroom, she’d see me. Hmm. What to do? Before I could consider whether or not to let loose, the trixy witch woman scowled at me and shouted, “Pippin, you’d better not even THINK of peeing on my carpet!” How did she know???
Whatever magic she has, I didn’t want to test it, so I ran to the bathroom as fast as I could and did what I needed to do. When I was done, I even wiped myself down thoroughly. But when I called for mommy to help me wash my hands, she took one look at me and began howling again. I don’t understand what her problem was?
Well after that, I was just exhausted. It was nearly 6:30 AM, and truly, I was ready for a nap. I didn’t think I could take any more of the old lady’s whining. I swear, you’d think her job was so difficult the way she carries on.
The truth is, I’m a PEACH of a kid! But you know what? She ain’t so bad either, I guess…
And now it is nap time, and I think I’m going to refuse to sleep for as long as possible so that I can eventually fall asleep in her bed. It’s way nicer than mine is.
This post is linked at:
What 80s TV Mom Are You?
Which Classic TV Mother Are You?