Bad Bunny

You probably assume by now that I can be fairly horrible to my children. You are correct. In a constant effort to get them to behave, I have discovered that when it comes to making up ridiculous threats I am seriously gifted; it's my true medium. AD was a model child - the type of toddler who, if she drew on the wall, would come and show me what she'd done, solemnly apologize and surrender her crayons without a single prompt. And then never do it again. It wasn't until she was three years old that she actually started acting like a real kid and getting in trouble. Time outs were introduced, and if that didn't work then a favorite toy would be confiscated and put on the "No-No Shelf" where it joined my personal list of things that are off-limits (Keanu Reeves movies, shredded coconut, anal) for as long as it took.

Once we hit 5/6, the No-No somehow lost its teeth. Promises to send anything to exile there were met with a shrug and a snotty "fine...don't like it anyway...". Since we're not a spanking family, I turned to the much less harmful punishment of mental torment. It started with the standard "I'm going to call Santa!", but that left me unfulfilled and frankly a little embarrassed. I'm so much better than that, thought I. "Alright, if you don't knock it off right this second, I'm going to take every single book and piece of clothing out of your room, throw it in the front yard and have Jesus and Mr. Kennedy (the school principal) come over and light it all on fire in front of the entire neighborhood. And then haul you off to prison where you'll get all your teeth knocked out and probably lose an eye and have to play boyfriend to Big Sal." Kidding about that last part! Ha ha! Because that would be MEAN! Anyway, that worked for maybe a week.

Because I never actually followed through with any of this (duh. I'm not a Shriner.), I have had basically zero credibility when it comes to being an effective disciplinarian. This changed when an off-hand comment I made to AD birthed what has become the greatest law enforcement tool in the history of Birchwood Drive...it was right around this time last year that I said something about how "well, I would be awfully sad for you if the Easter Bunny canceled and you got the Bad Bunny instead." Evidently AD has more than a little love for the Easter Bunny because she perked right up and said "what. What are you talking about. TELL ME." After much fake back-peddling on my part I reluctantly told her how if you don't behave then the Bad Bunny will come to your house, take all your toys and food and chew your foot off to make a lucky key chain. Winner winner chicken dinner! Somehow the child who is already better at math than I am (not that that's so tough) somehow not only bought it but has added her own list of awful things the BB is responsible for.

 

My friend Ben has, for some reason, an unshakable disdain for Greg Gumbel that borders on irrational hatred; he claims that every time something good happens in his world, here comes that asshole Greg Gumbel to snatch it out from under him. It should be noted that Ben doesn't actually know Greg Gumbel, but that matters to him not at all. The BB has become AD's Greg Gumbel. You better believe that he's behind the snow 2 weeks ago, and the fact that tennis got canceled. Mud on the playground. The broken jump rope. Her lost "KidsBop" CD (that one was actually me). Her sister (also me. And her dad). I've even found myself blaming him for stuff; it must be he who snuck into my house and had all of my pants taken in. And surely it's not my fault that I'm not married to Morten from "A-Ha", living on a houseboat and being spoon-fed Ro-Tel.

 

Since I'm not (pinky swear) a complete monster, I haven't yet introduced the RM to the concept of the Bad Bunny. But if today's No-No Shelf harvest is any indication it won't be long.

 

And so it begins.