Jude started rolling his eyes at me.

Not the cutesy, roll your eyes on command OMG LET’S TAKE A PICTURE BECAUSE THAT WAS ADORABLE, YOU SHOULD HAVE YOUR OWN DISNEY SHOW thing. Like, the real kind, where I say something and his response is an eye roll and some long winded exhale, leaving me standing there all, the fuck? I ask you a question and you roll your eyes at me like I am standing here irritating you like my mother? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE MAKING ME FEEL LIKE THE GOD DAMN GROWN UP IN THIS HOUSE YOUNG MAN!?

Never mind that I spent the weekend cleaning up his vomit.

Never mind that I spent yesterday as the parent helper in the lunch room of his school opening people’s Gogurts and asking a kid three times to stop saying the word toilet.

Also, really? Toilet is the best you got? What the hell is wrong with little kids these days?

In second grade, I was sent to the office during lunch for calling Jeff Shaw an ass bag after he said my tuna sandwich smelled (Which it did, what the hell, mom? You don’t send kids to school with unrefrigerated tuna on wheat bread. We get it, you’re progressive. You can make me peanut butter and jelly on white bread and still be a democrat.).

Jude is 5, and it’s like, he barely tolerates me.

Last week he had a friend call him at home.  First time that has ever happened, except when I make him talk to people on my cell phone, but that’s mostly my parents or the student loan company.  Seriously, almost nothing gets those assholes off the phone faster than when a child says, are you my real dad, do I finally get to meet you?

But this was a real friend.  One from his class, calling to, like, chat.  About what, I have no idea.  The last lengthy conversation I had with Jude was when he pulled me out of the shower to replay a television commercial for a Whack-a-Mole game that he wanted for Christmas.  (I said yes, obviously.)

So I hand him the phone, and he shoo’s me away, with one hand, like I’m the help, in my own God damn living room, where I was watching Love, Actually.

It’s like he doesn’t even know the rules about Love, Actually, the first one being, don’t talk to me while I’m watching Love, Actually.

He was on the phone, my phone because we’re totally millennials and don’t have a land line (I’M NO SQUARE!), for about half an hour.  I was dying for him replay the entire conversation in front of me, but I didn’t want to be that kind of parent, so when he handed me my phone back, I was like, oh, cool, thanks, so what did you two chat about, toilets?

Eye roll.

Well, awesome.  Let me just drive off this here bridge.

Last night, Jude was stuck driving to Target with me to buy snow boots.  We’ve reached the point of winter in Ohio where it plummets below 20 and kids are required to have boots for recess, or they have to play inside, which to a kid, was basically like sticking them with the scarlet letter of having suck ass parents.

It was a delightful ride, where I asked him things and he grunted at me and played games on his ipod, until we reached the top of a hill and were stopped behind a truck and a police car straddling both lanes of the road.  As I edged closer, I saw the cop and the driver standing over a large deer lying in the road.

My stomach fell.

No.  No I don’t not want to explain this to my kid.

What’s going on, mom?

Um, there is a deer napping in the middle of the road, so they are going to wake him up fast so we can drive.

Deers don’t nap in roads, mom.


Then, the deer picks it’s head up and looks right at me.  And for a split second I thought, OMG maybe this was a super sleepy deer napping in the road!  Best news ever!

Mom, the deer is hurt, are they helping it?


You know, if by helping it you mean debating which one of them wants a freezer full of meat.

Can you go tell them to help it?

Um…they look busy. hun.

No mommy, just go tell them.

And just like that, I was back in the mommy game again.  Like when he yells for me to rub his back as he throws up in the toilet.  He needed me again.  And that’s as addicting as crack. Allegedly.

So, I got out of the car, immediately regretting my Trust Me, I’m a Jedi hoodie, and made my way over to the two men.

Soooo, what’s up.

Hit a deer, damn near took my bumper off, gonna take care of it right now, then we’ll be able to drive through.

Oh awesome, hey by take care of you, you mean take it to the vet, right?

Ma’am you don’t take deer to the vet.

He started fumbling around his belt, probably looking for his knife, you know, to take care of it.  Or stab me.

Ohhhhhhhh, ok listen.  I have a 5 year old in that car back there that thinks I’m totally awesome right now coming out here to tell you to help this deer.

Listen, it’s suffering, so-

No I totally get it, but you can’t do, like, your murder thing here…in the middle of the road…in front of my kid.

Oh um…

Can you like, move it off the road at least, let us get by or something, and then, you know… *stabby arm motion*

This deer aint’ gonna let us move her.

What if I help, I’ll hold her head?

So we did, I hugged her neck and she thrashed her head around as we carried her to the side of the road. I whispered that I was so sorry, and ran back to my car without looking back, because if I did, I swear to you, I’d have a pet deer in my bedroom with 4 broken legs right now, and Andy would not be speaking to me.

Which is a statement of fact because I brought a baby raccoon home once, and he didn’t talk to me for about a week, until he was forced to ask me for a ride to the hospital for rabies shots.

The guy moved his truck, and as we drove by, I told Jude they were going to help it not have ouchies anymore.

It was so cool that you touched that deer, mom!

I know, right?  Do you want to call your friend right now to tell him how rad I am, because you can totally use my phone.

Eye roll.



Facebook Comments