Going to my parenting class is like going to therapy. I don’t know why, but I go into full-on word vomit mode. Things just start pouring out. At least no one has cried yet.
There’s also free food, which is good in a bad way. Three nights out of the week I don’t have to cook for my offspring, and now that I share a kitchen with the preschool downstairs, I rarely cook anything that doesn’t come out of a can, box or freezer bag. Horrible, I know. I’m a bane to the image of motherhood.
So at my parenting class, where last night they provided fresh vegetables and slow-cooked pork and rice, topped off with orange cheesecake for desert, I gorged, and NOT in an attractive way. Fortunately for me, all the other po’ folk in the room were cannonballing into the food as well.
Last night we talked about not giving your child “vague commands” like “Why don’t we pick up those toys?’ “Be Careful” or telling your kid you will do something “in a minute.”
One of the teachers asked us “What does ‘in a minute’ mean to a 2-year-old?”
“Uh, nothing?” someone finally answered.
Our teacher nodded. Then I proceeded to spew out some patented single mom word vomit.
“That’s why you say it, because a toddler doesn’t know how to tell time yet, and it buys you a few extra minutes to finish whatever you are doing.”
Then I realized I had just confessed to the very crimes we were talking about. I had DEFENDED them, actually. I started to laugh in a psychotic, high pitched tone. Thank god for my white trash peers, because they started laughing too.
Ha I wasn’t the only guilty one!
For my confession, I received whimsical wooden kitty art to decorate my new apartment.