Parent-noid – Feeling Your Kids Are Out to Get You

It isn’t paranoia if “they” really are after you.

I know who “they” are. I made them.

They are out to get me.

This week we have been iced in by Winter Storm Octavia. My children have used this time to plot my demise with a variety of attacks. The first was a direct assault with cuteness as the disguise. Don Threeto approached one morning holding a pink tea set.

“Morning daddy, would you like a dwink?”

“Oh thank you! Of course I would. What do you have today?”

“Umm… Juice, Milk, and Chlorine…”

“Was that Chlorine? Like the oxidizing pool sanitizer?”

“Yup, it is yummy.”

“Two things here, 1) Chlorine is a gas in it’s purest form (I think) and 2) Which would you recommend?”


“I think I will have milk but thank you.”

“Okay! Thanks Daddy!”

She skipped away happily but she wasn’t fooling anybody. I knew I had to keep my guard up.

Next was my baby, Lady Bug. The sweet precious soul of the family.

I haven't seen my sister's Valentines Day chocolate. I bet it is delicious though.

I haven’t seen my sister’s Valentines Day chocolate. I bet it is delicious though.

She walks over to the side of the bed and innocently holds out her arms to Supermom to be lifted onto the bed. Awww. Once she is on the bed she grabs and pillow and struggles to get her arms around it and pick it up. So cute. Then she places the pillow over Supermoms face and lies on top of it giggling. She is trying to suffocate her mother under a pillow and laughing. (Note: Smother has the word mother hidden behind the S. S-mother. We should have known.)

Later that day Supermom found her behind the recliner trying to camouflage her body with a non-toxic Crayola marker. A true ninja assassin.

They marker just isn't wide enough for effective face coverage. Let's work on that Crayola.

They marker just isn’t wide enough for effective face coverage. Let’s work on that Crayola.

The next wave of attacks were psychological. It began with a six hour marathon of singing short verses of songs repetitively. Songs like:

The Cat Came Back – A tale of a man who tries to kill a cat but is unsuccessful.

Donkey Ride – “Hey ho, away we go, donkey riding, donkey riding”

If Your Happy and You Know It (Remix) – “If you love me and you know it, punch my eye.” Once again I have no idea where this came from. At least it wasn’t a joke about feces.

After these classics failed to crack my psyche they devolved into just singing everything they thought or said. It was two hours of the world’s worst musical. Something akin to Moulin Rouge performed by five year olds with Tourette’s syndrome. I really don’t know how to express this in words but imagine a tune, any tune and sing the following words to it the best you can, “I like to fly pony who are you cat poop and there was a chicken in a butt.” I think it works best to Ginuwine’s famous song, Pony. Then again, what doesn’t? Am I right?

Try it again, get the Ginuwine groove going in your head. Here comes the chorus.

“I like to…fly pony…who are you…my cat poop…and there was…a chick-en.. in a bu-u-utt.”

What an appropriate album title. It is like he knew.

What an appropriate album title. It is like he knew.

Where was I? Oh yeah, mental torture. The final attack was by Prima. She is my obsessive worrier. She waits until bedtime and then cries about something scaring her. I try to talk through her fears rationally and help her resolve them. No matter how silly. Sometimes my talks come back around to bite me.

Recently she has feared death, bugs, and eating poison berries. Last night she feared something more outrageous.

Earlier that day Prima had gotten mad at Don Threeto and punched her out of frustration. I assume it was warranted but we have a hard rule of no hitting. Jane asked, “Why? What is wrong with hitting?” I thought this was an excellent opportunity to talk about rules in general. “Well…” I began, “Hitting someone is called assault and when you are an adult you can get in big trouble. You know that is why Daddy has a lot of his rules, when you grow up I want you to know right and wrong to help you not get in big trouble.”

“What happens to adults, daddy?”

“They can be sent to jail if they don’t follow the rules.”

“Is jail fun?”

“Oh no it is not somewhere you want to go. You can’t do anything you want or even leave for a long time.”

There was a silence as they pondered the reality of jail. Good job dad.

Then later that night I hear Prima crying. I go to her bedside and ask, “What is wrong honey? Why are you crying?”

“I am afraid I will go to jail! I Don’t Want to go to JAIL!”

“Just don’t hit people.”

“But I want to! I can’t help it! Waaahhh!”

She makes a good point. Now I don’t know how to answer my children. I constantly worry that I will make things worse. I am afraid they want to poison me and they circle me singing mind numbing songs. I almost wonder if I am in a special facility somewhere staring into a fish tank while sitting in a straight-jacket and getting a steady IV of psychotropic drugs.

Memes are fun.

Memes are fun.

If you are trapped by snow in a house with hostile natives, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.


  1. I still worry about bugs, death, and jail . . . those are legitimate concerns, my friend. I think that Prima is wise beyond her years. And I think that you need to invest in those ear protection things that you wear when shooting guns for all future car rides.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Aren’t kids the greatest?! Sometimes, at the time, you don’t think so you might want to do unspeakable things to stop them, but in hindsight, you wouldn’t change them for anything!!


  3. Hilarious! We have lived through the jail discussions and subsequent panic attacks, hours of sing-song, and smother attacks. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to know I am not the only parent…


  4. Ah, yes. You should have been at my house the day I lost it (for some reason I can’t recall now), and mumbled, “I’m going to kill you.” (bad, bad mama!). Since I made a habit of never going back on my promises to my kids, you can just imagine the repercussions of that one bad parenting moment.


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