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Let's Panic: The Book!

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How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant
who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain,
and Finally Turn You
into a Worthwhile
Human Being.

Written by Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy

Some Books
I'm In...

Sleep Is
For The Weak

Chicago Review Press

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Let's Panic

The site that inspired the book!

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it. → 

« It can now be revealed. | Main | I seem to be rather angry these days. »

More about what pisses me off.

Hi! You know what? I sure am annoyed lately! I was just scribbling down some thoughts for Finslippy, and, well, oh dear:

1. Drivers who reluctantly slow down at stop signs and give the pedestrian a testy little wave, as if to say, “I am doing you an enormous favor. Now scurry along before I change my mind and mow you down.” There needs to be a new obscene hand gesture that indicates, “Hey, jackass, guess what? I don’t need your permission. Stop signs aren’t optional so don’t act like you’re so very generous and I should be grateful. And you’re a jackass. Jackass.” I must begin work on this gesture immediately. To the laboratory!

2. The family members who sometimes behave as if they are not fully aware that Henry knows what words mean. They believe, for instance, that as long as they didn’t use the word B-U-G-S to refer to the B-U-G-S that were invading the basement when we arrived for a visit—as my son, you see, has a crippling fear of the B-U-G-S—he would not pick up on something being amiss even when they came tearing ass up from the basement hissing “OH MY GOD THEY’RE EVERYWHERE THEY’RE ALL OVER HIS TOYS.” And when they’re whispering updates to me on the TERROR FROM BELOW while Henry looks up from his Matchbox cars in wide-eyed horror, it should come as no surprise that the remaining hours of our visit are spent with 40 pounds of boy adhered to me via the Four-Pointed Ninja Monkey Vise Grip around my torso and neck.

3. Dear husband: what do you want from me when you shout from the kitchen, “Jesus, what did you clean with this sponge?” Is there some answer I can give you that would be satisfactory? Would you like to hear that I was exfoliating my cleavage? Or do you imagine that I store a mental tally of all the items I have scrubbed clean, so that hours later I can sit back and enjoy the memories? What a thrilling moment, when I finally rid the casserole dish of those baked-on lasagna bits. Ah, life. Anyway, could you not simply toss the dirty sponge and retrieve a clean one from our under-sink bounty of unused sponges? Should I scamper to your side and find you an acceptable sponge as you watch in manly approval?

4. People who refer to their husbands as “Hubs” or the “The Hubster.” All I can say about this is: no. That’s all. Just: no. I know some of you do it. And I like you! I do! But no. You must stop. Do you hear me? No!

To those readers new to Finslippy, I’m not normally this peeved. Truly. Some days I am positively ebullient. But lately, whew, so negative! I’m sure I’ll perk up one of these days, perhaps when everyone begins to behave exactly as I feel they should.

On a possibly related note, my son has been cursing lately. I don’t believe he’s cursing for effect, as he doesn’t check us for a reaction—as he might do before he, say, brains another child with a dump truck. For example: the other day he made himself comfortable on the couch—raisins? Check. Sippy cup? Check— and called out: “Turn on the TV.” Before I could respond, he repeated, “Turn on the damn TV, please.” Well! And then yesterday, as he pulled an oversized book from the shelf, he exclaimed, “Wow—this is a big fucking book!”

I tried my best not to laugh, but I did anyway. Luckily he didn’t notice, as he was hidden behind the big fucking book.

Reader Comments (104)

ok, that was hilarious.

I have four kids... my youngest is six and kept singing the unedited version of "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani. She was quite surprised to have hear Gwen refer to "This" being her "shit." My little one said "What's she talking about, Mommy? What's her shit supposed to be?"
June 25, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterCherry
Oh, my! I was laughing so hard I woke my 9 year old son up. So he wanders in and says, "What the fuck's wrong with you?" Synchronicity? Nah...

My daughter at two was quite clumsy and every time she'd land on her diapered butt she'd say, "Son of a Bitch! That hurt!" My mom really thought it was funny (she contributed to her delinquency and cusses like a sailor to this day) but my grandmother was appalled. I got back at my sister for teaching her the s.o.b. thing, my nephew now goes around saying "Get your fucking head out!" Yeah, he's only 21 months old! LOL! Can't say I'm sorry though.

Love your blog -- the comments were just as good as the story!
June 27, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterJenn
People who refer to their husbands as “Hubs” or the “The Hubster.”

I swear, you were reading my mind!! I have a friend who started calling her husband "Hub" or "Hubby" in a loud whiny singsong child-like voice. (as if saying it in a regular voice wasn't bad enough) And if we were in public, she made sure to yell it loud enough so everyone around her could hear her.

Right? Didn't you notice? She has a husband!!! Look everyone at how happy she is! GAH. Every time I had to hear that I think I got eye strain from the massive eye-roll that would follow.
June 28, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterMegan
You used the word ebullient without even flinching. well done. I would have spent hours flicking through my thesaurus first and I still would have spelt it wrong.

and I laugh too when my kid says bad words. He's not too bad, he doesn't say fuck or shit, just damn. And sometimes he says "Holy Mother Tadpoles" but I'll admit to spending hours coaching him on that one. I love the looks I get in the toy section of shopping malls.

By the way I have a new site and I linked you.
July 1, 2005 | Unregistered Commentersong

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