Bad Dad Monday: When The Kids Are Quiet 

This week’s Bad Mom Monday is brought to you by my children’s dad.  This is Part 2 of how my week went last week.  To see Part 1, click here

My 6 year old son has been diagnosed with ODD (Oppositional Defiance Disorder) and ADHD. I lovingly refer to it as an official diagnosis of Little Asshole Syndrome. We’ve known about Monkey’s unique personality quirks since he was a little over two years old, and his reactions to transitions were rage-packed.  

This kid is so intense that he was kicked out of preschool.  They definitely don’t call him my clone for nothin’, because I have my own reputation for giving my poor parents a run for their money.  My sister almost never existed because they didn’t want to risk another me.  

Because of Monkey’s behavior we’ve been trying all sorts of methods to help him work on his social and emotional skills. This also helps us work with my almost 5 year old daughter, who may also have an ADD diagnosis, or, at the least, some sort of sensory issues. (Her method of traveling from one space to another is twirling.)

Now, if kept separate from other kids, especially each other, my kids are relatively decent little humans, with age appropriate reactions and behaviors. But after they get dropped off at school or if they are on the same floor as each other at home, my children turn into demon spawn who eat the souls of quiet happy people.  (Because there are no quiet happy people in this house.)

Then we were invited to a showing of the 1,2,3 Magic DVD during Abalone’s preschool parent night. Before the showing I was pretty damn pessimistic. Because I tell these kids to be quiet a lot.  Lets lower our voices, inside voices please, goddamn it shutthefuckup and stop arguing! 

So no way was some lame ass 1,2,3 counting thing going to work for my favorite little assholes.  

But it did. And it has. And Monkey has had a lot of good days at school. Abalone is still twirling but she’s stopped throwing her face into the couch.

And they’re quiet.   

A little too quiet.  

….way too quiet.  

Why can’t I hear the kids? Are they whispering up there to each other? Shit.  


Abalone has no bangs.  

Oh boy was Jesse mad.  

And when he asked her why she would do that?  

“Because me brother showed me how.”

Well, shit, kid, I can dig it.  But don’t tell your father.  

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Bad Mom Monday: Artwork 

Bad Mom Monday: a weekly post about why I might be a bad mom.  
My son, Monkey, likes to take photos and draw.  Today I shall leave you with very few words and let the pictures pretty much speak for themselves.  And you really all should get your minds out of the gutter.  That is a MOTORCYCLE and a NERF GUN.  Geesh.  


Bad Mom Monday 

Bad Mom Monday:  a weekly post about why I might be a bad mom.  

This was a recent conversation with the kids while on our way to Nana’s. 

Monkey brought up “nuts”.  Yes, those nuts.  Now, I make a point of using correct biological words for all body parts but somehow his father, my husband, still managed to teach him the fundamentals of guy talk and at some point during their primitive garage get-togethers has taught my son “nuts” and “balls”.  I’m pretty sure there’s a piss bucket in the garage too.  (And that’s a whole ‘nother story about why my daughter is angry that she can’t go pee in the garage.)

So it went like this.  We heard the DJ make a joke.  “Why didn’t the skeleton go on the roller coaster?  Because he didn’t have any guts.”

Monkey:  He didn’t have any nuts!?  Hahaha. 

Me:  No, buddy.  He said guts. 

Monkey: Oh. 

Me:  Monkey, do you know what part of the body are nuts?

Monkey: Duh, you’re penis.  

And then we got to Nana’s and started to hop out of the van.  That’s when Abalone said:  Me like to eat nuts. 

And Monkey got a horrified look on his face, with a dash of confusion.  

Me:  No, buddy.  She means like peanuts, or almonds.  The nuts you eat.  

And thats when my husband fell apart, doubled over, and could no longer contain himself.