Lunchables for Dinner + Other Things I Let My Kids Do

There are plenty of things I let my kids do that maybe other moms don’t. Can’t help it. I’m a mom who does whatever works at the moment and honestly, sometimes I do what doesn’t work to see what happens.

So yeah. I’m the mom who will occasionally cut my kid’s hair knowing full well they may have to drop out of school. I’m the mom who will pretend, each and every time, that I did not just see my son smell the dog’s butt.

I have to pretend. I’m not prepared to be the mom of a dog butt sniffing boy.

Shit I Let My Kids Do

Don’t judge me until you have walked a mile in my comfortable, fairly unattractive, inexpensive mom shoes.

I let my kids have friends over more than most Moms.

Every friend they have over equals at least 8 – 10 hours of sweet, sweet time that I am free. I’m free to finally have a minute to open a book… so that no one notices the wine glass the open book is hiding.

That’s why I always say yes. Yes, your smelly, 10-year-old friend can spend the night on Friday. Yes. Cole can come for supper. Yes. Cole can come for supper 3 nights this week. Yes. I did deduct Cole on my taxes.

I let my kids eat Lunchables.

I know they are loaded with terrible things that have too many consonants and not enough vowels. (Lunchables, that is. Not my kids.) And, I know they taste like what I imagine beige would.

That having been said, kids LOVE those things. Why? I HAVE NO IDEA. I suspect Mr. Oscar Meyer has some sort of delicious voodoo magic he sprinkles all over those cold, damp, turkey circles, and sadly, only kids can taste it.

I let my kids hear me swear.

They’ve heard it all. The “S” word. The “D” word. The “BIG F” word. It’s real life, isn’t it? We all say things we shouldn’t, when we shouldn’t, and in front of people who shouldn’t hear them. We apologize and try to do better.

But, the main reason I let my kids hear me swear? Sometimes Mommy’s salty language is the only thing standing between her and her book wine.

I let my kids jump on the sofa.

The heights my daughter reaches when she’s in flight between the loveseat and the sofa is often breathtaking to behold.

Why do I allow such a dangerous show of derring-do by my little girl? I don’t know. It amuses me.

I let my kids wear weird clothes to school.

Occasionally my daughter feels the need to express herself via a thoughtful combination of old Halloween costumes, black aviator glasses with no lenses, and some manner of giant hairbow. I usually say hey, you do you.

Last week it was a frilly turquoise dress with a pair of faded, low-key dirty, polka-dot leggings and light up unicorn shoes. There may have also been an array of jewelry from the Stuff Meemaw Wore In the 80s Collection. She rocked first grade so hard.

I let my kids get on a plane and go away with their Grandma.

Two key words in that sentence that explain everything. “Go,” and “Away.”

I let my kids have iPads.

Hey, don’t look down your nose at me. Parents have been coming up with versions of a “babysitter” for their kids for as long as there have been human children.

My generation’s sitter was TV. I watched a lot of soap operas that were completely inappropriate and also quite educational. I thought everyone had an evil twin and always had a cocktail glass in their hand.

My Mom’s babysitter was the backyard, as in go out and play in the backyard until it’s dark. Her Mom’s was the radio.

Her Grandma’s sitter was working in the fields all day and half the night and sleeping standing up. When she was 18 months old. Allegedly. So the story goes.

Now it’s your turn to be honest.