Post by bscfan1997 on Oct 18, 2015 17:15:25 GMT -5
I'd just whipped up a dinner for my humongous family (there's only eight kids - note the sarcasm); spaghetti and meatballs along with salads and Gatorade.
I've been cooking meals for everyone lately. Breakfast and dinner almost every day, and lunch on the weekends. Mom used to be the main cook and occasionally Dad would. But not me.
I've also been doing extra housework; I'm expected to do all of the laundry, clean all of the bedrooms, feed Frodo the hamster every day, etc. I'm also expected to get the younger kids (Nicky, Margo, Claire) ready for school and bed. I'm expected to help all of my siblings with their homework.
You're probably wondering where the heck my parents are, and how come they're not doing their job. They've been locked up in their bedroom with romantic music blasting, having sex. They're too busy to take care of us. But, hey, I'm the oldest kid - I'm practically not a kid anymore either - and therefore, they take total advantage of me. I am mini-mom. Yay!
It seriously bugs me that my parents are sex-crazed. They keep popping out babies every year (though, they hadn't had one in five years - yay!), and they rely on ME to co-parent them.
How stale. (Stale is a word that the BSC and I invented that means totally unfair or uncool.)
Oh, well. I'm used to it. At least I know ALL about children. Two fun facts: I was the only preschooler that knew how to change a diaper and make a bottle of milk, and I was the first five year old in town that knew what sex is. (That's because I heard my parents make noises from upstairs and they keep having babies which led me to question whether they're hurt and how the heck they had so many babies.)
"Dinner!" I screamed through the megaphone. (We're probably the only family in Stoneybrook that owns and uses a megaphone to catch people's attention.)
Everybody except for Mom and Dad rushed into the kitchen, starved. My siblings sat down in their usual places - boys on one side of the table and girls on the other side.
I filled up all eight bowls. It took a long while for Mom and Dad to come downstairs. They're having too much fun upstairs, I guess.
Just then Mom and Dad arrived hurriedly. Dad was in a bathrobe, his brown hair tousled. Mom was in a sexy nightgown that made her look like a pussycat. Her brown hair was absolutely unruly. They smelled, too. Yep. They've been fooling around for sure.
"Did you go night-night early, silly-Billy-goo-goo Moozie and Daggles?" Claire asked in a silly mood once again.
"Yes, we did," Mom replied.
"We were tired," Dad told her.
Liars, I thought.
After the dinner I made, I had to clear the table, sweep the floor, and do the dishes without any help whatsoever. And after that, I had to help with my siblings' homework individually - Adam's math, Byron's grammar, Jordan's biology, Vanessa's spelling and punctuation, Nicky's math, Margo's reading, and Claire's family tree project. Each kid took ten minutes, making a total of 80 minutes, almost an hour and a half! And I hadn't even started my homework! How stale.
I checked my wristwatch. It's just a plain old black one, which used to belong to Dad as a kid. Can you imagine wearing a thirty year old boy's watch? I wish that I have a hot pink colored watch with silver sparkles. Sparkles are so distant. (Distant is another word the BSC and I made up. It means cool and awesome. Synonyms are fresh and dibble. We are so distant, fresh, and dibble. Not to sound conceited or anything. We just are.)
Of course, Mom and Dad forbid sparkles. Other items on their banned list are makeup, contact lenses, nose jobs, mini-skirts, halter tops, and hair styling products. Yet they let Byron eat Popsicles for breakfast and Claire run around the house naked. So, so, so stale.
Oops, I got ahead of myself. Now where was I? Oh, right. The time. It's eight fifteen. Nicky, Margo, and Claire all go to bed at 9. I have to get them ready at eight forty five. They're usually tucked in by nine fifteen. Then I have to get the triplets and Vanessa ready for bed; their bedtime is ten o clock. That'd take about forty five minutes, then they're tucked in by ten fifteen. My bedtime is ten thirty, which gives me fifteen minutes to get ready for bed. That meant I had to do homework from now to eight forth five. A half hour!
Screw my sex-crazed, dependent, baby-making parents.
I've been cooking meals for everyone lately. Breakfast and dinner almost every day, and lunch on the weekends. Mom used to be the main cook and occasionally Dad would. But not me.
I've also been doing extra housework; I'm expected to do all of the laundry, clean all of the bedrooms, feed Frodo the hamster every day, etc. I'm also expected to get the younger kids (Nicky, Margo, Claire) ready for school and bed. I'm expected to help all of my siblings with their homework.
You're probably wondering where the heck my parents are, and how come they're not doing their job. They've been locked up in their bedroom with romantic music blasting, having sex. They're too busy to take care of us. But, hey, I'm the oldest kid - I'm practically not a kid anymore either - and therefore, they take total advantage of me. I am mini-mom. Yay!
It seriously bugs me that my parents are sex-crazed. They keep popping out babies every year (though, they hadn't had one in five years - yay!), and they rely on ME to co-parent them.
How stale. (Stale is a word that the BSC and I invented that means totally unfair or uncool.)
Oh, well. I'm used to it. At least I know ALL about children. Two fun facts: I was the only preschooler that knew how to change a diaper and make a bottle of milk, and I was the first five year old in town that knew what sex is. (That's because I heard my parents make noises from upstairs and they keep having babies which led me to question whether they're hurt and how the heck they had so many babies.)
"Dinner!" I screamed through the megaphone. (We're probably the only family in Stoneybrook that owns and uses a megaphone to catch people's attention.)
Everybody except for Mom and Dad rushed into the kitchen, starved. My siblings sat down in their usual places - boys on one side of the table and girls on the other side.
I filled up all eight bowls. It took a long while for Mom and Dad to come downstairs. They're having too much fun upstairs, I guess.
Just then Mom and Dad arrived hurriedly. Dad was in a bathrobe, his brown hair tousled. Mom was in a sexy nightgown that made her look like a pussycat. Her brown hair was absolutely unruly. They smelled, too. Yep. They've been fooling around for sure.
"Did you go night-night early, silly-Billy-goo-goo Moozie and Daggles?" Claire asked in a silly mood once again.
"Yes, we did," Mom replied.
"We were tired," Dad told her.
Liars, I thought.
After the dinner I made, I had to clear the table, sweep the floor, and do the dishes without any help whatsoever. And after that, I had to help with my siblings' homework individually - Adam's math, Byron's grammar, Jordan's biology, Vanessa's spelling and punctuation, Nicky's math, Margo's reading, and Claire's family tree project. Each kid took ten minutes, making a total of 80 minutes, almost an hour and a half! And I hadn't even started my homework! How stale.
I checked my wristwatch. It's just a plain old black one, which used to belong to Dad as a kid. Can you imagine wearing a thirty year old boy's watch? I wish that I have a hot pink colored watch with silver sparkles. Sparkles are so distant. (Distant is another word the BSC and I made up. It means cool and awesome. Synonyms are fresh and dibble. We are so distant, fresh, and dibble. Not to sound conceited or anything. We just are.)
Of course, Mom and Dad forbid sparkles. Other items on their banned list are makeup, contact lenses, nose jobs, mini-skirts, halter tops, and hair styling products. Yet they let Byron eat Popsicles for breakfast and Claire run around the house naked. So, so, so stale.
Oops, I got ahead of myself. Now where was I? Oh, right. The time. It's eight fifteen. Nicky, Margo, and Claire all go to bed at 9. I have to get them ready at eight forty five. They're usually tucked in by nine fifteen. Then I have to get the triplets and Vanessa ready for bed; their bedtime is ten o clock. That'd take about forty five minutes, then they're tucked in by ten fifteen. My bedtime is ten thirty, which gives me fifteen minutes to get ready for bed. That meant I had to do homework from now to eight forth five. A half hour!
Screw my sex-crazed, dependent, baby-making parents.
I might have put in a bit too much snark...
