Nicky The Good

Our Heavenly Ms. Rachel, we are gathered here before you in front of our TVs, giving ourselves up to you for the next 2 days. May your songs be joyful, sign language be clear and voice be both perky and bright. Also, if you can limit the screen time of your friends on the show that would be great. They don’t keep my child in a trance quite like you do.

We have been told that Saturday and Sunday is a journey of only 48 hours. It’s our “days off”.

To that I say … days off … my ass.

The Devil has led us to believe that 48 hours is what stands between us and eternal work week glory, but us veterans of parenthood know that 48 hours is a lie. An apparition! A magic trick! DARK MAGIC!

100 hours in parent years. That’s the truth.

With each gymnastics class, toddler gym, dance, swim, whatever it may be, may the minutes fly swift and seconds pass without effort.

So to my fellow parents. Let’s lock in and fill up our cups with infinite caffeine. Remove the limits for consumption and pump yourself full of nature’s greatest creation – coffee. Attack each day with enthusiasm, even when you’re manually holding your eyelids open, but remember, it’s never too early to drink. It’s never shameful to cry. Simply do what your anxiety tells you to do.

When there’s an argument or temper tantrum over a lost Elsa doll, stay calm. Do what you do best with no reservation. Find the fucking remote and put that motherfucker on. Give in. Don’t fight it. Just survive. For the next two days there will be no judgment. By any means necessary is the rule. Just get through the day. Your silence awaits as the sun goes down.

Parents. Assemble and brace for impact.

For this last line I’d like all the Moms to stop reading. This is for Dad eyes only

To the Dads, get ready to take multiple fake dumps during the day where you disappear and just sit on the toilet hoping you don’t hear your name. This is our escape. This is our freedom.

The weekend. The hardest days off of the week.

God bless. I love you all.