Tag Archives: weird holidays

National That Sucks Day: a holiday designed for parents

Tomorrow is National That Sucks Day, a holiday created in honour of the day U.S. taxes are due, the day the Titanic sank, the anniversary of Lincoln’s assassination, and the day the first McDonald’s opened.

But, ultimately, I believe National That Sucks Day is a day designed for parents.

Here is an overview of a few things that suck about the first five years of raising children.

Age 1

They can walk. At first, you wish for it. You’ve held their tiny fisted hands in yours, as they tested out life on two feet. You shouted encouragement, “Come to Mommy!” But once they’re successful, there’s no going back.

When my twins learned to walk, we still lived in Thailand. The flooring of our apartment was concrete covered by parquet. The number of bruises on my kids’ heads made them look like they’d stepped out of a UFC ring.

Age 3

They can talk. In sentences. My son’s hand-me-down shirt says it all.

A shirt that's a conversation starter with strangers

This incessant talking bothers my husband. He has a condition called Focal-Ground Disorder. Now this is not something legitimate (I’ve googled it); it’s a syndrome he and a friend in Thailand made up. According to them, Focal-Ground Disorder is when a person is unable to distinguish a background noise from the foreground. So, someone tapping a pencil fifteen feet away would make them go bonkers. Well, add twins who learn to talk at the same time and who constantly have a conversation partner, and my husband goes nuts. I, by the way, call it PITA syndrome, short for Pain In The Ass.

Age 5

They are becoming clever. Like every new stage, this may at first seem like a good thing. They can tell knock knock jokes that have a punch line. The “That Sucks” part is that they tell them excessively. Then they go all freestyle and invent their own. At this stage, if you can manage a laugh, it is at them, rather than with them.

At this age, kids also entertain each other more frequently. Here is the conversation between our twins the other night at the dinner table:

William: I’m going to say no to everything you ask me.

Vivian: Do you like mom?

William: No.

Vivian: Do you like school?

William: No.

Vivian: Do you want dessert?

William: Yes.

Vivian: I win.

Clever indeed.

Unfortunately, though, kids at this age don’t really get sarcasm, which means I haven’t yet tapped into the chapter entitled “How To Use Sarcasm To Outwit Your Child” in my mythical how-not-to-parent book. And not being able to use sarcasm really sucks.

Can’t wait till my kids become teens and write their own encyclopedia of things that suck about their mom.

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Feel free to add your parenting experiences that suck in the comments section. And, of course, Happy National That Sucks Day.

Happy Herding Cats Day

December 15th is Cat Herders Day. This invent-a-holiday recognizes people who have kids whose lives are so out of control it’s like they’re herding cats.

Try herding these kitties into a single photo

(cc) tanakawho, Creative Commons, used under a ShareAlike License

When I first heard of this “holiday”, my brain twisted the word herding into hoarding, a word association that would cause psychologists to scribble something into their notebooks. Of course, a reasonable association would have been remembering my five-year-old twins run opposite directions in the parking lot on Saturday, but my mind is not logical. I thought of hoarding, which made me think of the clutter in my house.

My husband collects cheap things. I’m not sure if I should include myself in this categorization.  If something’s cheap, he’ll take ten. Or more.  Even if we don’t need any.

Last week, he came home with one of his deals.

“I got you something,” he said. Visions of a one-night-solo-stay in a boutique hotel danced in my head.

I looked up from Twitter as he dropped the box in front of me. I peeked through the flap and spied hundreds of individually-packaged marmalade jams, enough to power Denny’s through a month of burnt toast servings.

“Marmalade? What are we going to do with this?”

“Eat it,” he said. “On toast.”

“I hate marmalade.”

“But it was only five bucks.”

And therein lies his theory of accumulating things. If it’s a good deal, we need lots.

My daughter seems to have inherited this penchant for low-grade hoarding. She covets her “collections.” They range from rocks and leaves, to stuffed animals and cut-out paper hearts. Last year she even tried to collect snow. She’s like a magpie; anything shiny is slated to a lifetime in a plastic container. Half of our Tupperware containers have gone AWOL because they’re housing her collection du jour.

I seem to have a thing for collectors. Maybe it’s because I’m a failed collector.

I tried it once myself. During one long week of my childhood, I collected nail clippings. Then someone wisely told me it was gross, so I threw out my collection in a fit of embarrassment.  After that, the only things I saved were letters. And a few years ago, I gave those back to the writers. I figured it was a nice flashback to all the guys my pen pals had crushes on.  Nothing like a window into your life at the age of thirteen to realize how far you’ve come. Or not.

To complete the metaphor for moms, just add rollerskates and stir

To complete the mom metaphor, add rollerskates and stir

(cc) Richard, Creative Commons, used under a ShareAlike License

Maybe most collections are embarrassing. Or should be.  But maybe they’re our security too. Our way of exerting control in a world where we feel not only like we’re herding cats on a daily basis, but also like we’re blindfolded and on rollerskates.

Celebrate Your Unique Talent Day (or Not)

So yesterday was Celebrate Your Unique Talent Day. Apparently it’s an annual holiday. I don’t know who celebrates it, but I’m guessing their friend-count on Facebook might be in the single digits.

As I alluded to in an earlier post, one of my useless claims-to-fame is that I can sneeze like Donald Duck, a “talent” that not only stops conversations, but also sends people to wash their hands in our H1N1, whose-saliva-is-on-me world. If that isn’t bizarre enough, I can sing Amazing Grace to the tune of The Lion Sleeps Tonight as well as to the theme song from Gilligan’s Island, both perfectly off-key. Nothing I’m going to add to a resume, that’s for sure.

When I was a six, my sister dragged out a tape player the size of a poodle and recorded me hosting a Gong-Show style program. (We were farm kids with little to do in the winter).  If you’ve blocked out memories of The Gong Show, you can watch the clip below, featuring The Unknown Comic . It’s worth it to see a young Steve Martin on the judging panel, or to see the show whose “sardonic outlook continues to influence many unsympathetic talent and reality shows,” according to my research assistant, Wikipedia. If that’s not reason enough, then check out The Unknown Comic’s shoes.

In my own six-year-old version of The Gong Show, I gave talents to my family members and rated them. My dad’s skill was hammering and he pounded his way to a score of 7 out of 10. My brother’s talent was “blowing stinks” (you guessed it: farting); he got gonged, as in big time, wind-up, hit-the-gong-as-hard-as-you-can gonged. Not sure what my sister’s skill was, but it was no doubt pretty good. My mom’s special talent was curling, as in the sport, and she received a 10. And there you have it, my worldview at age six. (By the way, if you’re not suitably bored at this point, watch this video on curling; if you’re still not bored enough, go curl).

In honour of Celebrate Your Unique Talent Day, I asked my five-year-old twins to share what they believe are the unique talents of each of us. According to Vivian, her talent is drawing cats and flowers, William’s good at silly dancing, and Mommy excels at loving and cuddling (I believe this was a thinly-disguised attempt at kissing-up since she desperately wanted a treat). Daddy, according to Viv, is really good at watching basketball on TV. And she’s right, he’s is really good at it.

William then weighed in on the debate. He declared that he was good at playing computer games (insert bad-parenting-guilt here). Vivian, he claimed, was great at playing blocks. He confirmed that watching TV was Daddy’s specialty. As for me? William says my talent is sitting. Freaking great…sitting…I can hear the gong already, while I’m seated on the chair sneezing like Donald Duck. Voted off the island.

Happy Belated Unique Talent Day. If you don’t have one, perhaps you can practice for November 24, 2010.

If that’s not reason enough, check out The Unknown Comic’s shoes.