Raising Little Ships

I read a great post over at the818 entitled, How Do You Know If You’re Raising An Asshole?

What a relief, I thought, to know I’m not the only one who wonders this very same thing.

My summer has been long. Much longer than any other summer in the history of my being.

Four year olds are not easy.

My constant admonition that “You are almost five!” said with the hope that five will be the magical age that they start acting like big girls, less like little shitballs, is like an elusive prayer.

It’s not as if they don’t have moments being lovely little people.

They can hug like champs, run to get band aids for a bleeding sister in need, bat their eyelashes so that you can see the sweet that they feel on the inside and make piles of toys to give to the children who might not have any.

Lovely little people!

But the yin to the yang is their much too often use of words like vagina, butt, butthole, stupid and I hate you (with emphasis on the hate). It’s gotten so bad that Sophie unconsciously sings butthole (with inflection on various notes) while concentrating on tasks like coloring pictures of her family or buttering a piece of toast.

They hit and they run.

Rather, they hit hard and run fast.

“Use your words!” I say.

“You butthole!” They say.

They make huge messes and then sprint in the opposite direction upon time to clean up.

The incessant and rampant whining and sobbing has gotten so, that in my exasperation I have gripped my own face to thwart my own screams.

It’s exhausting and worrisome and so like Megan at the818 I wonder if I am raising two little assholes; girls more like smoldering hot fire than sweetly spun sugar?

What’s a mom to do (besides endless time outs and positive motivators and tickle torture and bribery and go to your rooms and screaming her head off)?

In exactly thirteen days I’ll be dropping the girls at pre-school with Miss Shelley the Saint, at which time I will flee outside through the double doors like a four-year old who’s just walloped her sister. I might even whisper a cuss word (or two) in the car before calling my mother to whine (and maybe cry in relief) about the entire series of events called, “Me, My Girls and the Summer of 2012.”

Apple? Tree?

Oh God, it’s worse than I thought!


I admit that on occasion I have used the term, “You little shit.” To my delight Grace thinks I said, “You little ship.” What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Right?

5 thoughts on “Raising Little Ships

  1. This had me laughing out loud in my office! We all have this worry, throw in the pure physicality of BOY and welcome to my world! You must read “Bringing Up Bebe”…I just finished it and not only did I find many useful tips, but I also found it reassuring on many levels, that I am not alone…that others struggle as I do to keep their cool and raise kind little beings. xxoo

  2. The trouble with my two started at puberty, before that they liked each other and played well – probably helped to have a couple older siblings to sometimes distract them for me. But then all hell broke loose, they hated (read that in bold, capped italics) each other. Holes in walls, busted out the car window, screaming fights, viciously mean taunts (and they knew each other’s darkest troubles and just where to jab). They also went to a small school, were in all the same classes, had all the same interests and spent, basically, every hour they weren’t sleeping, together. In uniform. So the other kids weren’t even sure which they were talking to. Finally one day I asked in exasperation, “WTH?? WHY do you hate each other so much???” One looked at me. “You PICKED dad and you don’t want to be around him 24/7. I didn’t pick *insert brother’s name here*!!!”

    And now – they live over 4,000 miles apart and miss each other. Hang in there and keep making them hug each other!

    1. Hug it out! Why didn’t I think of that? It’s brilliant! Thanks for such a great reply to the post! Love the way you write!

  3. Look no further than your cousin who called the General’s Wife “ASSO” when she bumped our cart in the commissary. She was sitting up so was at least one. and Aunt Settie ALWAYS made Hank and Alex HUG it out!! Good stuff…. oxo

  4. I wonder/ask/cry thinking the same thing: “am I raising assholes (times five kids)?” Be thankful that your two (who are adorable) think you are saying ‘ships’. Mine used to go around saying ‘you little shit’ all the time. Being a mom is soooo fun isn’t it?! lol

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