Some of you may recall this post, in which I suggested that we “not worry about” brushing toddler teeth because “they’re going to fall out anyway.” Newsflash: I WAS JOKING. If I weren’t joking, that would mean I thought it was okay not to brush a child’s teeth until they were 7-8 years old…because they were going to “fall out anyway.” Yeah, so…I may be a bad mother, but I’m not crackhead bad. My kids get fed and bathed and clothed, pretty much daily, and they even, on occasion, get dental care!
I thought my overall tone in that post, dripping as it was with sarcasm, was pretty obviously “full of it”, but I recently discovered, much to my dismay, that some people read that whole toothbrush thing seriously. I was shocked and confused, until a well-seasoned blogger (who you may read at this awesome blog) filled me in on a critical piece of information: some people don’t pick up on sarcasm. Huh. I wonder if that’s why my emails at work keep almost getting me fired. Food for thought.
Wait. Hold up. Can’t read sarcasm? What a sad, miserable life. Almost all good literature is simply fraught with the stuff. Even Jane Austen uses it. (Therefore, it’s valid.) And David Sedaris? Helloooo. The writing of the Gods.
Anyway, I realized that such a person (the person who couldn’t read sarcasm) would be lost and alone and scared in my blog – like a kitten in the Sahara without its mother. So, being an altruistic lover of humankind, on behalf of those people, I’ve crafted a handy little guidebook to serve as a map of sorts, to help them navigate renegade mothering, where seriousness comes to die.
- I initially wanted to name my blog “Whiskey Playdates” and I don’t even drink. That’s how full of shit I am.
- In this post I compared myself to Ghandi. In this one I said I wanted to beat certain women with blunt objects. And here I stated that I want to bang on my children for “stalling.” And please let’s not forget this post, in which I declared that my kids need to stop attending school because they’re creating too much laundry. If you see statements like these, or any others that could potentially send me to jail or a mental institution, please rest assured that I’m just kidding. Playing. Making fun. Making a little jokey joke. Hahaha. Ha. Ha.
- In fact, I’m usually kidding. If I’m not kidding, you’ll know, because the post will look like this one (except for the whole play date in the trailer thing) or this one (Sylvia Plath and ovens and shit) or this one (does Walmart sell Bieber?).
- I exaggerate. I’m overly dramatic, emotional and intense. This is a personal blog about mothering. I get to be overly dramatic, emotional and intense.
- I don’t give advice on parenting. I don’t give tips. I don’t have handy bits of parenting information. In fact I hate handy bits of parenting information. I shoot it down in mid-air just on principle. If I see distributors of unsolicited parenting advice, I run away. Super fast.
- This blog is not intended to show anyone how to be a better parent. If I knew how to be a better parent I’d be off doing that rather than whining about my deficiencies online.
- My tongue is almost always planted firmly in my cheek. It’s actually a little exhausting, having it stuck there all the time. (Oh wait. You might not get that. So I’ll translate: I’m sarcastic. Just a little.) Good God I can’t stop! It’s a disease!
- I’m a smart-ass with loose verbal ethics and a pretty bad attitude. I play with language. I love language. I love messing with it. I do little mini acrobatics with my words, because I like to. (I also end sentences in prepositions, but that’s because I’m a REBEL). These little word games sometimes result in stretches of the truth, but, as Ms. Dickinson suggests “tell the truth, but tell it slant.”
- I like one-liners. The whole toothbrush thing was a one-liner. And it was funny.
- Speaking of funny one-liners, I use them for the sake of using them, because they’re funny, even if they are untrue, exaggerating, offensive, rude, politically incorrect, morally corrupt, shocking, ridiculous and/or make me look like a parent unconcerned with my kid’s rotting teeth.
- When in doubt, assume I’m joking.
- If offended, or if you feel compelled to call Child Protective Services, assume I’m joking and Google “scrap booking mama blog.” Then follow the first link you find. You’ll be happier there.
But if you already know these things, and you’re sticking around any way, welcome, friend. It’s damn good to have you.
And that was not sarcastic.