Remember Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck . . .” bit? I do, because thanks to my husband, our family qualifies for quite a few of those. Anyway, I was thinking that the same thing could be applied to parents. Hence my blog post for today. If any of you have something to add, please do so in the comments!
You might be a parent if . . .
You have thousands of markers in your house, and every one is missing a lid.
You have the theme to Dora the Explorer on repeat in your head.
You aren’t sure who is on the Supreme Court, but can name every one of the seven dwarves.
In a sleep deprived daze you have lost your car keys, purse, phone, diaper bag, glasses, lunch, child, and your sanity.
You get so tired of reading the same children’s book that you start making up your own words to the story that might possibly involve stuffed animals going on a rampage.
If a genie asked if you wanted fame, wealth, or eternal life, you would choose sleep.
One time while dropping off your kindergartener, your two year old runs into the room with her, and you are in such a hurry to get to work you completely forget about the toddler until you are out of the school building and in your car and you see that hey, the car seat is empty and OMG I forgot my kid! This is purely theoretical.
One of your children hangs his sibling from a basketball goal.
Your child has eaten any of the following: dirt, super glue, marbles, paper, dog food, shoes, or that mysterious green goo in the baby food jar labeled Spinach. Bonus points if your child has done all of these.
You’ve played hide and go seek with a child and repeatedly forgotten to seek.
If you’ve called Poison Control at least once.
Teachers and principals at school know your name well, and it’s not for a good reason.
Nothing grosses you out anymore.
You wake up to someone screaming “Mr. Flibble, No!!!!!” and don’t think this is odd.
When you need to sign something, the only thing you can find to write with is a broken green crayon.
You freely talk about the bowel habits of your child at the dinner table.
You get to work and two hours later discover your shirt has baby boogers on it.
You make your dinner off the leftovers on two small plates.
You have experienced projectile vomiting, projectile pooping, and projectiles aimed at your head.
You allow your kid to pull every book from the book shelf because hey, he’s occupied.
You could swear your child didn’t have that many stuffed animals the night before.
Any one of the following is on your floor right now: naked Barbies, glitter glue, homework due last week, a My Little Pony with its mane cut off, a diaper in any state, a baby sock (and your child is ten), a sippy cup with week old apple juice making it smell like you give your toddler Bud Light, a Barney VHS tape, a library book with your child’s autograph in crayon, a pile of laundry that’s been there a month, Legos, one of your diamond stud earrings, a hamster, the contents of your purse, a half eaten Uncrustable, cherries from that Hi Ho Cherry-O game, your car keys, dried out markers, dirt, super glue with a bite mark in the middle of it, a trail of dog food, a shoe, or any UFOs (Unidentified Funky Objects).
And finally . . .
You might be a parent if a child’s face lights up when you enter the room, and you think maybe Santa is behind you, but no, it’s just you.