Posts tagged ‘kids’

21st century, 1st world problems

I came across this toot on Mastodon.

Well, perhaps it is an evil scheme from Amazon, forcing toddlers and their parents to interact, at least occasionally.

By removing pictures, aka pictograms, and replacing them with text, kids who can’t read yet, MUST ask an adult (or older child) for assistance. This preventing, possibly, binge watching in the next generation, enforcing the oh so sweet human interaction.

But what do I know. My five year old would binge watch the entire library of Tom and Jerry, PJ Masks and similar stuff twice over if we would let him, or he had pictograms to help him navigate when we are distracted.

So, maybe, just maybe, Amazon didn’t fuck up, they did shit right.

Take care,

A.

Ben’s diary ep2

Dear diary, I met her at the airport, her beaming smile captivated me as she exited her plane:

After saying hello and talking for a little while, we drive of in her convertible.

After we arrived at her house things got heated pretty quickly.

Dear diary, I don’t know how to put it, but I’m in deep trouble. Those days of fun seen to be over:

That’s all for today, dear diary.

Nihilistic children…

I was at the playground with my son the other day, and while playing with him I overheard the most nihilistic thing I had ever heard. Especially from a kid.

Nothing is really fun or beautiful

(I am paraphrasing, as it needed translation)

With a kid like that you don’t need to save for college, but for therapy. The boy was around five or six years old and just blurted that line out. On the fucking playground. 

What is that kid’s outlook on life? Starting fires in daycare a year down the road because only the flames provide some warmth? Holy shit. 

Drag the kid to the therapist, medicate him before he’s full on psychotic! What are those parents reading him for bedtime? The collected works of Lovecraft?? This kid needs some serious help!

Thankfully no arson was committed that day. No sacrifice to the deep ones. Just playing on the frakking playground. 

For now. Because remember, nothing is really fun our beautiful. 

Take care (of your psycho kids),
A.

Crappy Halloween 2017

Holy fucking pumkin on fire!

Normally I’m quite fond of owls, but this abomination had stared into the abyss too long, is now the devourer of souls, as the abyss is staring through your soul, seeing you more exposed than naked.

Decorate your house with this, the kids won’t be frightened away, but will be tormented until eternity ends. Gift this, and you can strike one name off your list of enemies.

Crappy Halloween.

Chestnuts

Come fall I used to search for chestnuts all afternoon after school. 

I, as well as my peers, was nuts for chestnuts. Pretty useless crap, those chestnuts. Can’t eat them. They “spoil” soon after collecting them (as in they shrivel up). You could craft shit with them. Which I never did. 

I just liked them. Their shine when fresh. The texture of the hard exterior. The overall look was magnificent. As a kid I likened the bright spot to a navel. They were cute, magnificent, beautiful things. That I just had to collect. 

Just to throw them out soon after, when they were ugly. And molding. But always with sadness in my heart. 

I was waiting at the bus stop the other day. (After a shrink appointment) And there were a few chestnut trees. Since my son is in that magical age of four, I decided to see if I could find some for him, despite there being numerous kindergartens and primary schools in the area. 

I found numerous. 

Kids these days don’t seem to collect them. There’s a proverb floating around the internet. “Every time a kid stares at a smartphone, an adventure dies in a tree somewhere.” 

Have a nice autumn, and go collect these little useless fuckers with your kids.

A.

Crappy Birthday Jan 2017

This rainbow morphsuit is for kids. For the low-low price 34.99€ you can not only traumatize your own brat, but all their friends too!
Act quick and you can give away the 1960s selnderman, watch children cry, hear them sob, watch their parents rake up the therapist bills afterwards.

Crappy Birthday!

Keeping the gate

 … closed. Real tight!

(An experimental father blog post)

During my vacation I got to spend a lot of time with my son. 
Alone, out in the wild, where people are. 
Where mothers roam.

Running around in an urban area one day, a suburban the next, rural one on day three, zoo, aquarium, playgrounds. 
Everywhere you go as a dad with your child, you meet them. 
The Mothers. 
Especially the “MOTHERS”(tm). 
And everywhere you meet them, they give you a smile.

Nice. Isn’t it?

No.
It isn’t. 
It is no smile of joy, of friendliness, of kindness. 
No. 
This the contemptuous, belittling smile of a person about to drown a puppy.
If women were treated this way in hardware-stores, feminists would (rightly) tear them to the ground. 
Brick by brick.

With that one “smiling” glance they let you feel how superior they feel over you, how they see you as an intruder into their realm, their domain, their existence. How they despise your very presence there, and think, or feel, that everything you do is wrong, that you are wrong for even attempting to spend time with your child alone.

These women define themselves, and validate their entire existence, through the fact they squeezed a human being out their vaginal opening. 
There is no place for you, for a father, a man, in that world, the realm of the mothers.

Maternal gate keeping.

It’s a thing: 
》A father maybe plays with the kids under maternal supervision, is permitted to accompany the “MOTHER”(tm) and the kids to the playground. But, and this is the most important thing, a true mother never, ever, lets her children leave the house with the father unsupervised. 
A father does not feel or think with/for his children like a mother, thus can’t take care of the child(ren) like the mother.《
BULLSHIT!

All that is implied in that one smile they give you.

Dads! Rejoice. 
For these women lead the most pitiful life imaginable. Once the kids are old enough to leave the nest, once the menopause has begun to haunt their bodies, ravaging their self-validation with the undeniable fact that birthing is forever off the table, they have but a shallow empty ghost of a reason to live. Whilst we have memories of time spent with our children, the husbands (or lifepartners) of these despicable women will have memories of them spending time with children under maternal supervision that was as strict like a prison visit. 
Relax fellow dads. 
Smile back, and put all the pity you feel for these old hags who have lost the reason to live due to aging, in that smile. 
Give them the same pity, the same contempt and dispise they give you. Disrupt their self image, for they expect a shocked expression, a shy or hurt glance, shame in your eyes. If you hand them back what they dish out, they are disrupted.
Maybe, just maybe, you can draw a “MOTHER”(tm) back to the realm pf normal people, and make her a normal mother.

Take care,
A.

Streets of Vienna

There is a street in my town, called Triester Strasse – Street to Triest (guss where it leads to in the end, realy difficult innit?), which is notorious for its traffic. 

There is always traffic. No time of day without traffic, never could you (if you had a balcony or window to that street) sit there and enjoy the silence, if one day you wake and the street is silent, and stays that way, congratulations, you survived the apocalypse. 

Triester Straße is also notorious for the nightlife there. Brothels, ‘Massage parlours’, Strip clubs – like pearls on a string. 

My wife and I were driving down that road, out of town, doing some errands when we noticed the following on the side of the road:
Brothel, Stripclub, ‘Massage parlour’, intersection, Kindergarden, Brothel.

Read that again.
Slowly.
Perhaps speak the words aloud.

Brothel
Stripclub
‘Massage parlour’
Intersection
Kindergarden (Daycare)
Brothel

There are several things here that disturb me.
1 – next to a street that coughs up enough exhaust and soot to fill cathedrals in minutes, you do not open a daycare.
2 – the prudish ways of the Americans where a titty is worse than guns is not my thing, but brothels next door to daycare centers are a bit too much too early.
3 – at least the ‘masage parlour’ and the brothel immediately next door to the Kindergarten were displaying bright ‘Open’ signs. At half past two PM.

A few questions arise too:
a) – What kind of men go to a brothel at that hour?
b) – Do you want those men near your kids?
c) – Are those the children of the prostitutes, strippers, and ‘massage experts’?
d) – Do these kids have a pole?
e) – Can customers of the surrounding establishments put their kids into the daycare by the hour?
f) – Whose fucking idea was this?
g) – Seriously? SERIOUSLY???

Well, that was enough roadside entertainment for me. Carrying a pax closet upstairs six flights. That shall preoccupy my mind now….

Parental misadventures 6th Feb. 2016

So, to let y’all know where the promised updates are staying (away atm), a little report from my life as a parent.

Two weeks ago last Saturday my son came down with a fever and sore throat. Wife went to the pediatrician, got it looked at and the diagnosis was clear: Streptococcal angina.
Bad.
So, take antibiotics for ten days (that was up to and incuding last Wednesday) and get the fever down if needed.
Okay.
(If some holistic dipshit even dares to inhale in disagreement I will ram your wheatmill down your windpipe!)

Wife got streptococcus.
I got streptococcus.
My son already had it.
Alright, so the three of us were eating antibiotics like other families eat tictacs until we either got done with the package, or reached the end of prescription time.
All was well, all were well.

You might think I’d end here, and you just misread the title. End on a high note, a positive development.

Hold on.

So Friday-Saturday night my son woke up somewhen in the dead of night, demanding either me or my wife take him to our bed. (Again, some asshat inhaling to utter shit about a family bed will get smothered with a breastfeeding pillow).
He had a fever, not too high, but high, as we measured later at about 7am.
Off to the emergency pediatric service of the closest hospital! We don’t want to frak around if it’s the streptococcus again/still, and wait for Monday, for normal pediatrician/doctor opening.

Great spring like weather, sunshine galore, and an excruciating waiting time of over 2 hours INDOORS aside, we get to the examination. She looks at his throat after listening to the ordeal of the last two weeks patiently. “Well, give him painkiller/fever dampener if the sore throat returns, he’s red back there, but no puss.”
“Can we test for streptococci?”
“Why? If its positive, you gotta administer antibiotics again?”
Bitch! That’s the idea, we wanna annihilate this bacteria! Not just smother the symptoms and hop on one leg through lala-land. “Uhm, well, we gotta know. We don’t want him to suffer, because that shit hurts.”
“Okay.” *sad* tests him and we return 15 min later for the results.
Turns out it IS streptococcus. New antibiotics (shut up hippy scum!), stronger yield now (the same dope shit daddy got. Muahahahaha) and the order to keep him home on Monday, because “he be contagious”. Bitch! You wanted us to keep the symptoms at bay and infest the entire Kindergarden before, now you act all high mighty?
“We’ll do. We’ll do.” And we hightailed it outta there.

It’s days like Saturday that illustrate WHY I’m behind on schedule. There is no time to do shit, unless I take one. Parents are always on the move, there isn’t a dull moment, ever.

Take care,
A.

Patience

Truly is a virtue. A virtue that I am not in possession of.

I have gotten over the aneurysm inducing first parent-teacher conference, and I must say, I marvel at the patience of the Kindergarten teachers, and the braindamage indicating stupidity of the parents.
All of which seem like either left-over Yuppies (Ouppies?) or Alternative-Antivaxxer-Hippies.
Or both.

KGT (Kindergardenteacher): “For the strictly voluntary, weekly Out-Of-The-House-Day supply your kid with a backpack, raincoat, they should wear trousers, don’t pack lunches, and supply a reusable waterbottle, we fill the bottles with the children here.”
Parent1: “The bottle should be empty?”
KGT: “Yes.”
Parent2: “Can we fill them at home?”
KGT: “No. We fill them with the kids, here.”
Parent3: “So, the bottle is supposed to be empty?”

I wonder how these people have made it through the daily gauntlets of life so far.

If I would’ve held that conference I would’ve told them the first sentence. When the first parent asks I would’ve let out a sigh of frustration and stared blankly into the audience: “Listen up. I will say this only once again: Bring an empty bottle that your kid is going to fill up with water. Here. With us. You do not fill it yourselves, we and the kids do. If any of you are dimwitted enough to be confused by this simple task, LEAVE! Leave now, your kids will be taken into custody of the state, your drivers licence will be revoked, and you won’t be permitted to vote, anymore! In fact, you will be given a legal guardian yourself!”

Explaining basic simple crap to toddlers is something that needs to be done.
They’re learning. That is something I can do. Their attention span is about 5 seconds (unless they are supposed not to pay attention to something, then it can’t be deterred).
But their parents get zero tolerance.
These people have had kids, they need to raise these kids. They are holding jobs.
They have a permit to navigate a vehicle of several tons, loaded with said children and several liters of a highly flammable liquid, through populated areas.
They are allowed to vote! Thus, not only ruining the futures of small groups of people, but large groups of people.

And this can’t be tolerated! They need to be as much raised/trained as their kids, the KGT shouldn’t let that shit slip.

So.
After my first almost-breakdown, we went on further down shit road. 

Still on the subject of the voluntary, weekly Out-Of-The-House-Day:
KGT: “We ask the children whether they want to go out and if they don’t want to, they stay inside.”
Parent4 (FRONTROW SEATED!): “Well I was under the impression that my child’s backpack was hardly if ever used last year. Why’s that?”
KGT: ….
In my head: “Did you binge drink before you got here, passed out and didn’t hear jackshit about the entire voluntary part, only waking up due to the ruckus over the bottle? Did you take LSD and fazed out? Don’t ask about the bottle, I dare you! Maybe your little snowflake did not want to go out that much?”

If they were to hold a simple test AFTER the meeting, to see what the parents retained OF the meeting, the results would be catastrophic. Further cementing my idea that such test should be required to vote in election.

Sheetcreek river tours ain’t over yet!

KGT: “By rules and regulations, as well as the law, we are prohibited from administrating any medication on your children. That includes cremes if your child has diaper sore, or homeopathic globuli.”
In my head: “Wahahahahaha, good, my kid shouldn’t eat too much candy anyways!”
KGT: “We can’t even use disinfectants.”
Parent5: “Blood does disinfect anyways.”

What??? Wait! WHAT??? Then why on earth are we doing all this disinfection shit then? Why are there sterile OR tools? This parent solved all of our problems! Doctors, throw away those gloves, ditch that soap amd get to work asap, blood disinfects!

Back on track.
Parent6: “Why don’t you use Octenisept? It has hardly any sideffects, it doesn’t even burn!”
In my head: “Seriously, what kind of drug abuse are you folks partaking in to get to the point of blacking out every five minutes and missing vital shit like PROHIBITED BY LAW? Did you get ANY of that?

KGT: “No. We can’t. Dirt is washed out by the blood flow if it’s a scratch, if the child is bleeding more heavily than a band aid could contain, mwe are calling either you, or an ambulance anyways.
Parent7: “What if the child is bleading too heavy for a band aid?”

I am dead serious, what drugs were you people doing before coming in? And why did I miss the stand where they gave out the free acid or whatever?
I’d rather watch the coffeemachine turn into a dragon guarding my fridge, than go through that shit ever again!

After that the aneurysm inducing parents with the braindamage apparently gave up and kept their mouths shut.

In conclusion I must say, yes, I’d have the patience to deal with a bunch of toddlers, but I lack the tolerance, and the will to deal with a bunch of adults, which are supposedly sane.
My deepes respect to teachers worldwide, kindergarten or otherwise.

Take care,
A

PS: Next parent-teacher conference, I am going to get piss drunk beforehand.