This is kind of a guest blog. I swiped this from my sister’s Xanga site. She’s one of the best moms I know. Anything worthwhile that I do as a parent I’ve probably learned from her. [NOTE (to my sister should she be reading this): don’t start crying because your big brother paid you a compliment].

This poem was inspired by my two mini-me’s and their endless supply of questions. It sounds a little self-centered, but it’s our reality. These are the daily sentiments that we go back and forth with every single day, and it hurts me every time which makes my 100% forgiving their dad extremely tough. Everyday it’s in my face how much of a dad he is soooo not. I choose to deal with their questions by never saying anything negative about their dad in front of them because I believe that they are capable of eventually forming their own opinions of him — they don’t need my help. He’s an ass and everyday they grow to see that more and more. But I don’t encourage it. I try to stay as neutral as possible and there are days when I’ve literally had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from answering their questions from my perspective.

Everything written was actually asked or said by them but manipulated by me for the sake of rhyming:

Mommy, is it ok for you to be our best friend?
You’ve managed to be there from start to the end?
You’ve taught us so much all by yourself
From tying our shoes to good dental health.

You’ve taught us to roller skate, read, and ride bikes,
To write and to clean and say our prayers at night.
So why doesn’t Daddy ever help out?
‘Cause he doesn’t know how or can’t stand when we pout?

You’ve taught us to be nice, especially about our dad
Because you don’t like it when we start to say bad
Things like we hate him and hate when he lies
And we notice all of the things he never buys.

And when we ask questions about him you say you don’t know
Which we don’t understand because you’re a mommy so
You should know everything like all mommies do
You answer everything else, so answer these too!

You tell us to call him to see what he says,
But he’s just gonna lie and tell us to behave.
We don’t want fake answers from him, we want real ones from you!
He doesn’t know us at least not like you do.

You let us know what’s going on, at least the things we need to
And you never lie to us. You tell us the truth.
You sing silly songs and take us to the park,
And museums and the library and catch fireflies when it’s dark.

And you go to work and to school just like us
And he doesn’t do anything except sit on his duff
And play video games the whole time that we’re there
Then he’ll send us outside or say, “Sit in that chair.”

He needs to work more ’cause you need a rest.
You pay for our school, clothes, food, toys — you’re the best.
And he doesn’t even know when we’re happy or sad.
And that’s why we think that makes him a bad dad.

You know what Mom, nevermind ’cause we know what to do.
We don’t wanna call him or see him, just you.
But you say that’s not nice, so we don’t know what to think.
But at least you don’t make us call him, and good ’cause he stinks.

I guess we have to love him because he’s our dad
But we’re glad that we live with the best mom we could have.

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Comment on this bit of rantus interruptus anyway you want (I don’t know where you’re reading it from) but if you want to guarantee me seeing it, do so at my message board.