(Trace mean mugging me for even thinking that I’m allowed to kiss Skylor & not him)
I have a favorite child. It’s true, I do.
My favorite child is the one that is not acting like an asshole when it’s time to come inside. He goes to bed on time and doesn’t put up a fight. The one that eats all the food at mealtime. He’s the one that rarely talks back or throws a fit over absolutely nothing. Keeps the water in the bath tub when asked to do so and picks up his toys when he’s done playing with them.
He’s the one that can wipe his own ass, brush his own teeth and dress himself. He’s the one that smiles so deep your heart melts deeper. He’s the one that laughs the best, says I love you the sweetest and who gives the best hugs. He says sorry when he’s wrong and he wants you to be happy.
If you didn’t know, I’ve described both my kids.
My favorite kid changes by the day, the minute, the month. Every day there is always someone not listening, someone slamming cabinets and someone I can’t wait to put to bed. Some days neither are my favorite and I want to lock myself in the bathroom and pretend I’m taking the longest poop known to mankind. But really, if I tried to do that they would all come barreling in looking for me so that wouldn’t really work anyway.
“When I’m not near the kid I love…I love the kid I’m near”
Sometimes my favorite kid is the dog. He never wastes food, doesn’t need his ass wiped and sleeps really well. But he also can have accidents in the house, leave half eaten bones right in the middle of the hall where I step on half asleep. He will bark at the damn wind blowing and has eaten 100’s of my underwear.
Sometimes my husband is my favorite kid, you know the one that makes me amazing dinners, can read my mind when I need a cocktail and will tackle any DIY project I throw at him. He can run the household while I’m gone at a bachlorette weekend, a trip for work or when I have a horrendous migraine. He takes the kids to run errands, does laundry and can cure my hangovers with Chipotle.
And then sometimes there are no favorites. Each male annoys me to a point where I end up yelling CAN YOU ALL JUST LEAVE ME ALONE FOR A MINUTE!!!
When all else fails, and no one is your favorite, I suggest walking around Target to watch other parents struggle with their kids. There’s something that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I see other kids being assholes to their parents! I realize that sounds neurotic, but it makes me want to go home and jump right back into the madness I ran away from in the first place.