WTF Wednesday: The Gremlin Has a Death Wish

My son is an evil genius. This is not news. (And this post was supposed to be up yesterday but that's just how my day went.)

But due to recent events, this was a conversation I had with the hubs sperm donor (I will refer to nothing related to my hell-child demon spawn with love for the entirety of this post) earlier today.

Me: He tried that shit again at Susan's?

Sperm donor: God bless us if we can get this kid behind something that matters in life. Because if he decides he wants to be bad... we are screwed.

Me: He does look cute in orange.

But what did he do, Rikki? What could possibly be the problem? 

He's like a cute little Gremlin when it gets wet... 

He's all sweet and cuddly and, "Give me all your hugs and kisses." 

Then... when you are least expecting it... he goes for the kill. 

It started when he got sick and we let him sleep downstairs with us. 

He made all the right faces and said all the right things... and bless his sick little heart, he needs to be by his mommy when he is sick. 

Around this time is when I assume the angry hobo with bad breath moved in upstairs. 

Because ever since then he has BEGGED and PLEADED and MANIPULATED his way to sleeping downstairs. 

On Monday he had a small fever and complained of his ears hurting. This is probably legit because I definitely ignored these cries over the weekend (mom of the year, I know) (but also he manipulates to get what he wants and since he is a proven little terrorist, forgive me for not trusting him). 

I went to pick him up. On the way to pick him up I was informed his stomach was cramping and he was about to throw up. 

Gremlins are messy little shits. 

I got him home and he damn near turned cartwheels out of the car. 

That was my first clue he was playing me. 

My second clue was him begging me to jump on the trampoline and asking when he could get treats. 

We had a come to Jesus meeting where I calmly firmly explained that sick little boys eat applesauce and toast and do nothing fun but lay down.  

Gremlin: "Oh yeah." And then laid down. 

That night he begged to sleep downstairs. What if he threw up? He would need his mommy. 

And we took the bait. 

Tuesday morning he woke up and said, "I think we need to cancel today. My belly hurts." Then he started to cry. 

I was already dressed and ready for work. And I love my job. I don't take "mental health" days and I certainly don't fake sick days. Never have. 

And I knew he was playing me. But I also knew that if I was wrong, I'd feel like the giantest jackass in a red state and so I could take this opportunity to teach him a lesson. 

Life was so boring and bland to him by 11:30 am that I finally got him to admit he was lying to me. 

 
Anger seethed through my body like stiffed drug dealer on tax day. 

I chanted to myself, "Thou shalt not beat thy child. Thou shalt not beat thy child." 

And I vowed to make it the worst sick day he has ever experienced. 

"Lay down, Sam. You're too sick to play." 

"But I'm not sick." 

"Horseshit you aren't. I stayed home to take care of my sick son so lay your tootie down and rest." 

Gremlin: "Can I have a snack?" 

Me: Sick kids don't get snacks. Sick kids eat applesauce and toast. 

Gremlin: Can I sit with you momma? 

Me: No. I don't want to catch your sickness. 

Whatever I could, I used it. And he was not having any fun (as he told me multiple times). 

And then the little spawn of Satan did it... HE FAKED MORE STOMACH CRAMPS! 

He's lucky he didn't get a swirly. 

He acted so pitiful. He stuck his lip out. He asked to go sit by the toilet. 

Then he asked to sleep downstairs. 

WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT!

At that point I just got mean. 

Me: You are lying. I don't like kids who lie. Get away from me with your lying face. 

Stuff like that. And he admitted to lying. Again. 

And then like the dumbass parents we are, we agreed to let him sleep downstairs one more night on agreeable terms. He could either: 

1) Sleep upstairs and get to have candy and cartoons the next day. 

or 

2) Sleep downstairs and not get candy and cartoons. Also, he had to sleep upstairs the next night with no fight. 

He chose option 2 (for non poker folks that means he called our mother puppy bluff). 

Shit. 

He woke up this morning and wanted a cartoon. 

Me: Nope. 

Gremlin: SCREAMING*CRYING*RABIDMONKEYANTICS

Me: Get away from me with that drama. 

(LOTS MORE DRAMA)

Gremlin: YOU HURT MY FEELINGS!

Me: I'm going to hurt more than your feelings if you don't knock it off. 

Gremlin: *throwsclothesaroundinafitofrage*

Sperm Donor: *stepsintosavesonslife* Sit your butt down on those stairs and knock it off. Next step is a spanking. 

*quieter drama*

Sperm donor leaves. Gremlin refuses hugs. 

Sperm donor drives away. 

Gremlin loses his God forsaken mind and attempts another fit (because he wanted an apple and not a banana). 

Momma lays the smack down. 

Gremlin cries all the way to Susan's. 

Gremlin eats banana. 

This is why Momma drinks.