I just wrote a long rambling blog post about starting my new job today and how my anxiety is kicking my ass and how very terrified I am that I’ve made a horrible decision.
It’s true. My anxiety is winning right now. I am terrified. My inner voice loves it when I’m down, because that cunt kicks it into overdrive and pulls no punches.
Well, fuck that.
Fuck that right in the face.
I’m putting on my warrior face and I’m going to write about something else instead.
Randy and I were talking recently how different it is being grandparents. I know our revelations are nothing new. But to us they are. I know that we are far from the only indulgent grandparents on the planet. I am also sure that we are not the only grandparents that drive our children batshit.
For instance, not long ago when our three year old granddaughter was visiting, there was a battle brewing in the kitchen. The battle was over a banana. Baby girl put her hands on her hips, squared her shoulders and dug her heels in. Her mother adjusted her momma cape and the lines in the sand were drawn.
Baby girl asked for a banana and proceeded to not eat any of it and then ask for a different snack.
Momma said no.
It was a tense situation.
Until Randy came along. He looked at his precious daughter, then at his equally precious granddaughter. He looked at the line in the sand and did what any reasonable grandfather would do.
He picked the banana up and threw it into the backyard.
Truly, I saw his act as peacekeeping and was proud. I don’t think his daughter saw it the same way.
We just see things different when we get older. Either that, or we’re just too damn tired to fight over bananas.
We also find humor in situations that mortified us when we were young parents.
When my older son was around 2 years old, he loved Thomas The Tank Engine. He was particularly enamored with Percy. He loved Percy. Only he couldn’t really pronounce Percy.
We were at a store when he spotted a toy Percy and started yelling; Pussy!! Mom mom mom mom. It’s PUSSY! I LOVE PUSSY! I WANT PUSSY!
I did everything but put a ball gag in that kid’s mouth to just shut him up. I probably promised to buy him a life size Percy if he would please, for the love of all that is holy, stop yelling ‘pussy’ in public.
25 years later and I’m in Target with my granddaughter.
The same one who was willing to battle to the bitter end over eating a banana. She stayed with us for a week last Summer and we were on a mission to find sidewalk chalk. Only baby girl doesn’t really pronounce ‘chalk’ right. She says it with a hard ‘c’ instead of the ‘cha’ sound.
I put her in the shopping cart and she looks at me and says ‘Let’s go get some cock, gaga’!
Was I mortified? Hell no. I kept that shit going. And it got so much better.
Me: Do you like chalk, sweetie?
Baby girl, who was very excited about shopping and might not have been using her inside voice: I love cock, gaga!
Well, we found our sidewalk chalk, and bonus! It had sparkles! But did baby girl pronounce ‘sparkles’ correctly? Nope. She called them ‘fuckles’. Cock with fuckles.
It might have been the best shopping experience of my entire life.
Me: What are we buying, baby girl?
Baby girl: We got cock, gaga! With FUCKLES!
Me: What are we going to do when we get home?
Baby girl: Play with cock!
I bet I asked her at least a dozen questions to see how many times I could get her to say ‘cock with fuckles’.
Did I give a fuck who was listening? Nope. I was terribly entertained. I wish I could go back in time and tell 26 year old me to lighten up about the whole ‘pussy’ incident. That shit was funny.
Well, that certainly took my mind off the fact that I have to make the journey back to a strange land in the morning.
Not that I’m complaining, but my old cubicle was much nicer.
I might be complaining a little bit.