Having Children Isn't All Roses and Butterflies

I had to laugh when I read my son's post today.  It's so fulfilling to know he has a few challenges despite being childless., I had to share his FB entry so you can all enjoy the giggle with me:

My sister-in-law had surgery so today I spent 37 years with her four children, ages 6 to 1.

I was coughed on, sneezed on, spit on, drooled on, cried on, peed on, slapped, kneed in the nuts, poked in the eye, beaten with several toys, and heard "Uncle Skid!" more than enough to fill a lifetime.

(Seriously, what is the deal with little kids insisting on saying my name before each statement/question? "Uncle Skid, guess what? Uncle Skid, I'm hungry. Uncle Skid, I like pizza." And when they forget what they were trying to say, they have to start over! "Uncle Skid, I went to...uh. Uncle Skid, I went to the park." F**k, kid...I know you're talking to me...just say what you've gotta say and let's get it over with!)

Oh, and I also put together a ridiculously complex telescope with bullshit instructions, while having every single piece shoved in my face and being asked, "Uncle Skid, what's this for?"

I have nothing but respect and sympathy for those of you who have children.

I am exhausted!

Why am I laughing?  Because of Entitlement.  I gave birth to a normal child...and I share a picture to prove that he looked like a healthy, happy kid.  He was, he just "danced to his own drummer."

There is restitution, I guess... I take great delight in reading this from a man who was the first punk rocker in a red neck town.  Wore mis-matching shoes, was among the first to have his nose pierced...but he was eighteen when he did that.  I wasn't falling twice for the lie he fed when when he had his ear pierced..."Mom, I promise I'll just wear a little stud in in and no one will know."  Yeah...a stud my butt. I won't admit to having so little control that he wore the toilet seat dangling from his ear lobe, but darn close.  Yeah, I should have said no from the get go, but my kids learned early on that if you get past three "no's," you're treading on easy ground.  I was a push over...probably still am.

Anyhow...back to my entitlement.  He once wore a plaid skirt he found at the Goodwill by passing it off as a kilt and donning high-top pink tennis shoes to take a date to an amusement park.  I think his hair was in jello-frozen spikes, probably just jet black at the time...although we did enjoy the rainbow of colors many times.  He used ten thousand safety pins to keep his jeans together, all the while insisting he didn't need new ones...and by new ones, I say ones we got from a used clothing store like Goodwill or Salvation army.  He didn't like regular retail stores, and his younger brother hated going shopping with us and always announced in a loud voice..."It stinks in here."  Of course the picture of Scott and his younger brother, Brett was taken a long time before the spiked hair and mascara sharing days, but you can see Scott was already gearing up to be "Skid."

Although strange looking to me during his teen years, Scott went on to become a great self-taught musician.  He played in three bands and has a following that still clamors after him to play today.  He has a magnificent guitar collection, and a wife who either digs the weirdness or loves him like no one else.  I swear she's an angel on earth.  *love you, Jeni.*

I envy his following on Facebook.  They idolize him, offer up photo shopped images in his honor, and hang on his every word.  He's always been a bit of an attention whore, but he's a man I'm proud to call my son and I wouldn't have changed a minute of our experiences together.  He has a marvelous sense of humor, a good heart, and draws friends wherever he goes.   He was the sole caretaker for his dying dad and aging grandmother, and complained constantly, but never wavered.   I gave birth to twins...I just didn't know at the time by single birthed baby would become Scott Jones and Skid Marx.  :)

Skid...I'm sure that's my eye-makeup he has on

The whole band was weird...and I love them all!

Yeah...we shared, mascara, he dressed strangely, sometimes on a dare, but he's my son and I wouldn't change a thing about him, unless of course to steal the big coke bottle of pee he's been hanging onto for 40 years, at least, and throw it where it belongs.  Love you Skiddles...even if you're friends are all liberals who won't listen to me.  *lol*