Mom leaves her husband some “child care tips” before going away on a girls’ weekend
It’s always hard when a parent takes off for the weekend, but when that parent happens to be the one who usually deals with the brunt of the childcare, it’s even harder — for the parent who remains, that is.
Meghan Maza Oeser was recently heading out on a girls’ weekend, and her list of “tips” for her husband is getting a lot of attention because — well, you’ll see.
A letter to my husband as I leave for girls’ weekend…
(Warning: foul language)
I’m writing this to…
“I’m writing this to you out of love, not fear,” she begins. “I wanted to go over a few things with you before you embark on this weekend alone…with the others. Nighttime, daytime, breakfast time, and somewhere around lunchtime can easily be mistaken for pure HELL, with Satan coming off as a My Little Pony in comparison.”
That’s not intimidating at all. Also, her pose in that photo? That’s the universal sign for “peace out, bitches” — in case you didn’t know.
What follows is an exhausting list of all the tiny little maddening details that only the parent who spends all day dealing with the wants and needs of children knows. “It’s most likely that Quinn will be pissed off about Penny wearing her Elsa dress, and Penny equally pissed off because Quinn will ONLY refer to her as Anna. Penny will also be fighting sleep, which I’ll get to later,” she explains about her daughters.
“Dinner will suck. Bailey will want pizza, while Harper will ask for hotdogs. Quinn will cry when you say the word hotdog, and will insist on Mac n cheese (but not the orange kind or the white kind, but the purple kind). We’ll be fresh out of the purple kind, so she’ll then ask for toast. You’ll already have started making mac n cheese for Penny, but since she heard Quinn ask for toast, she’ll also want that toast. You’ll end up tossing the Mac n cheese because Bailey got the stomach flu 5 years ago after eating the orange kind, and Harper prefers the white kind. You’ll also forget about Harper because her friend Lily “unexpectedly” stopped by, so they went ripsticking down the street. Everyone will eat cereal for dinner, and Lily will come inside for a bandaid.”
This may be a huge bummer of a note for her husband, but it’s already making me feel better to know that someone else’s house is as batshit crazy as mine every day. Dealing with kids is no joke. It’s not for the weak of heart… or anyone who spooks easily.
The note eventually gets to that time of the day all parents dread: bedtime. Meghan comforts her husband, like any good wife would, saying, “Good. Fucking. Luck, buddy.”
“Pajamas. FUCK pajamas. Don’t even ATTEMPT anything but a nightgown for Penny. And if you cannot find a nightgown for Penny, keep fucking looking. She’ll ask for her Minnie Mouse nightgown, but once you put it on, she’ll scream in agony because the sleeves are CLEARLY ripping her fucking arms off. Just find her Elsa one. Chances are, it’s dirty as shit, but so what…so is she. I can’t remember the last time I put soap to that one.”
At this point in the story, parents everywhere reading it wonder why they don’t own a coffee mug or t-shirt that says “fuck pajamas.” This should be everyone’s new mantra. Meghan’s husband must surely be finding a remote spot in the house where he can curl into the fetal position and hide for the weekend.
The post doesn’t end there: it goes into what exactly it’s going to take to keep the kids in bed, the hell of breakfast, and the inevitable reality that after it’s all done, he’s going to have to “lather, rinse, and repeat.”
“Oh, also…just incase you wanted to get ANYTHING done this weekend…good fucking luck. Quinn cries basically every 5 minutes, and you would think that Penny’s esophagus was on certain fire every 4.5 seconds. She’ll need constant refills, which leads to more potty breaks. Sometimes she can go by herself, and sometimes she’s completely useless and will whine about everything. Including, but not limited to, her underwears feeling funny. Have backup underwears. Oh, and since you made me get rid of most every sippy cup, leaving me with 2…she’ll lose those. Good fucking luck finding them.”
If these truly are all her notes, and dad truly needs them — mom has really earned her holiday. And she knows it. She simply signs her letter, “Kisses, The Wife.”