One of the things about being 53 years old and having all these kids is...being 53 years old. And having all these kids.
Okay...that's TWO things. But the point is that I am 53 years old and these kids are 28, 13 and eight. And that means I have been being a parent for a loonnngg time. A really long time. And after a while?
You get tired. You get like....I'm tired. I've done this. I've done this a LOT. So now? I'm going to sit down and someone ELSE can do this. Only if you're the parent? WROONNNGGG. You ARE the default. Ain't nobody takin' up the slack but you.
This became apparent the last (to be kind) three times that damn Tooth Fairy didn't show up in this house. I HAVE AN EIGHT-YEAR-OLD. She loses teeth on a weekly basis. There is SUPPOSED to be a dollar and a dime (that's another post) under her pillow, in the beautiful hand-crafted tooth pillow her Aunt Faye got her. One dollar and one dime. No big deal, right?
YOU get up in the middle of the night, after the kid has fallen asleep, put one dollar and one dime in the special pillow under her pillow and then go back to bed. Have we mentioned? FIFTY-THREE YEAR OLD WOMEN DON'T SLEEP. If they do, it's in three-hour increments and ONE of those three hour increments in when they first fall asleep. You know...WHEN THE MONEY GOES IN THE PILLOW. We won't even go INTO the times that the fairy showed up with the money and then LEFT the tooth. Sorry. It was late.
Long story short? That Tooth Fairy been fallin' down on her duties. The bitch ain't been showin' up. Don't know what's going on...we attributed it to The Not Nice Kid not sleeping in her own bed all night. Or spending the night somewhere else. But whatever? The Tooth Fairy needs a personal secretary or a wife because THE FAIRY has NOT been getting it right. She keeps forgetting. Two days later, that dollar and dime show up and the tooth is degraded. No reason to keep old teeth.
I hate it when that happens.
Which only made it worse when, Sunday?
The Easter Bunny forgot The Not Nice Kid.
Like...forgot. Totally. Forgot. Shit.
So at six a.m. when TNNK jumped up and spent 30 fruitless minutes looking for her basket, The Easter Bunny panicked. And called TNNK's older sister and issued an emergency call...The Easter Bunny got confused. It's at your house. Please bring a basket.
This worked. We're covered. Goodies are on the way.
And then, keeping in mind we live SERIOUSLY in the country, we pulled up to Grandmother's house for Easter Sunday, after the lovely Easter church service and there....and there...and there....and then along came Jones...sorry. Digression. THERE, in the middle of the driveway, flattened and then severely mutilated by the German Shepherd....lay the Easter Bunny.
I am not making this shit up.
There was a rabbit. Dead as a door nail. His mauled remains, spread out across the driveway.
And The Not Nice Kid, who is called that for a reason, looks up and says, "Well no WONDER I didn't get an Easter basket!"
At which point I, Mother of the Year, pointed out that if that dumbass Easter Bunny hadn't been hanging out with that degenerate Tooth Fairy, everyone would have been better off.
I AM NO WORSE THAN THE GRIMM BROTHERS. And they live forever in our memories. I think I need a crown.
Editorial Note: I think we used this image last Easter...but...but...it's so damn FUNNY!- CG2