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Birthday Grinch

And just like that next year I wanna be that smug, killjoy, lefty parent who sends out birthday invites that fake-polite demands attendees do not bring gifts but instead make a donation to a charity of the child's choice. When everyone knows said child doesn't care about the charity and would've loved some loot.

Why? Two garbage bags of plastic film, cardboard, twisty-tie wrappings I had to cut and wrestle from around every gift.  TWO! bags of packaging and plastic crap toys that Jane never saw but went straight into the trash.

For example, the exact same kind of doll shoes that Jane stuck up her nose months ago. We're not risking a repeat of that, thank you. (Kept the doll, just ditched the shoes.)

Also, plastic necklaces with real metal clasps that her tiny hands can't do and I'm not gonna do up and undo every two seconds, thank you. (Not to mention the choking hazard to the 2 yr old when her big sister decides to dress her up with them and inevitably strangles her instead.)


And, while the real wooden jewelry box and mirror with included kiddie jewelry is really lovely and she had a fun time exploring it all this morning--does any 4 yr old need clip-on earrings that even made my ears hurt when I tested them? (Not to mention the image of my great-grandma's two inch long stretched out earlobes from years of wearing heavy clip-on earrings. Okay, maybe not actually two inches but golly they sure looked like that to my little kid eyes.)

Finally, I really hate Barbie. I hate her so much I am wanting to embrace the aforementioned smug, killjoy, lefty bitch and organize a pussy-hat-wearing protest march against Barbie right alongside her.

It's not even her weird body. All dolls have weird bodies. It's her smile. And hair and make-up. There's this whiny thing Jane does that is innocent right now but in about ten years and with some YouTube coaching will scream, "I am nothing but a sex object for men!"

I hear it in her I'm-a-victim! speech patterns that can't ask for anything outright. This morning I was hiding in the kitchen eating a pudding cup (recovering from yesterday plus dropping my husband off at 6:30am for a week-long work trip; don't judge) and she comes in and wants one. All of my boys would've straight up said, "can I have a pudding?" with no hesitation or drama and they'd have gotten one.

But Jane has to stand there for ten seconds glaring at me and working up her jealousy while she formulates the most whiny, pathetic question possible: "Is that your food?"

I'm incensed four words into our first conversation of the day. Yes, it obviously is my food given that I am in fact eating it! Yes, there is plenty and you can have some, too. But, yes, you have to ask for it with real words because that's what we've been training you to do every damn day, several times a day, for months on end now.

I'm so sick of the simpering and manipulating. You are NOT going to be your mother or grandmother who whine their way through any conversation about something they want! I will correct this. And if that means throwing away every Barbie doll and Barbie book and Barbie jewelry that comes into our home to remove that trashy example from your life; I'll do it without a second thought.

Long story short: she didn't get a pudding. And then I threw away two bags of packaging and cheap toy crap. 7am the day after a stressful party and at the start of a week without my husband is really, really, really not the right time to piss me off.

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