Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Welcome to Dysfunction Junction

                 Everyone's got problems, right? I mean every person reading this has at least a few things in their lives that is plaguing them. It's part of being a human. That woman that you stalk on Facebook with the interesting job and white picket fence and charming pictures of her adorable freakin kids and hot husband probably has a serious pill popping problem or is a closet hoarder, or maybe is actually in debt up to her ears. We all know that everyone has problems in some form or another, I definitely do. What I want to actually talk about today is the sliding scale of dysfunction that we impart on our kids. Personally, I worry about all these little things that happen in our every day lives that will eventually screw up my kids, until they are sitting on a couch, telling some stranger what a total asshole I am. 
                  I like to believe that, in my own little world, that the actual amount you screw up your kids is on a sliding graph. (And I'm being satirical here, people, I'm not talking about actual life altering screwing up your kids, just those little things that we all remember from childhood.) For example, when I was little, I saw that my mom had a new nail polish. I thought it was the most beautiful nail polish color ever created, so I took it and carefully painted a giant heart for her, and probably used 3/4 of the bottle. She beat my ass. Not physically, but she is really loud when she yells, and it made me feel terrible. I made you a present, biatch. Like how much could the nail polish have cost? I always remembered it, and now I try to have patience when Princess Particular dips into my expensive makeup or draws in permanent marker on... anything. 

Super accurate hypothetical graph of exactly how much you can screw up your kids before they need the couch:

                  Another prime example of something that will mess you up for life is catching your parents doing doinkies. (pronounced doy-nk-ees, copyright of my stepdad, Fatboy) I thankfully never experienced this, but (and if you are related to me, now is the time to stick your fingers in your ears and say lalalalalala) Princess Particular once walked into our bedroom, said, "Oh. You're dancing on the bed? Weird." and walked out. Sweet Jesus, one day she will realize what we were actually up to! Enter therapy. 
                   The great part about this is that in order to keep the dysfunction to a healthy level is that you can do awesome mom things that they will remember and cherish. This includes but isn't limited to: playing Barbies until you feel like you may take the scissors and give them a "haircut", making homemade anything and letting your kids help; and doing any craft at all you find on Pinterest. You can also let them play the songs they want on the radio, have movie nights and build a huge fort in your living room. A good guideline to go by is to do the exact opposite of whatever exists on your own therapy chart. Please feel free to leave me some great stories about how badly your parents screwed you up, either in the comments here or on my Facebook page :)    Don't leave me hanging, I know you guys are one Xanax away from hitting up the therapist too!

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