It's a Playground

not an ashtray, or a toilet, or a king sized vibrating bed in a low budget motel.

It is a place where children, innocent C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N, go to play.

It's supposed to be safe, and inviting, and free of venereal disease transmitting debris.

So, in my infinite wisdom I've decided to compile a list of playground don'ts to help those less informed members of society learn to navigate a playground with ease and assurance.

(Please note that when I say "I've decided" that is to imply that Mama Kat decided when she selected the prompts for this week's Writer's Workshop. I know it appears that I am attempting to take credit for her bright ideas, but that is not entirely (partly, but not entirely) true. I'm convinced that since Mama K (my new term of endearment for her) and I met recently we are connected on a more existential level and that we are now sharing thoughts that other, regular people, are not privy to. It's like our brains are co-mingling at all times (which sucks for her because I'm sure that the constant images of JT shakin' his money maker are starting to make her ill). So, for future reference, just know that if Mama K comes up with a particularly awesome idea, you know, something super innovative and impressive, it probably really came from me.)

What Not to Do at the Playground (provided you don't enjoy being stoned)

DON'T SMOKE at the playground and leave the butt in the sand box so that my one year old picks it up and starts sucking on it while I'm Tweeting to @jtimberlake. I need other people to not behave like neglectful, inconsiderate losers so that when I'm feeling like doing so there aren't so many dangers lying around to make it impossible.

DON'T HAVE SEX at the playground and leave the condom (although round of applause for safety!) in the sandbox so that my one year old picks it up and starts sucking on it while I'm Tweeting to @jtimberlake. Okay, he didn't actually get it into his mouth, but he did have it filled with sand and was attempting to bat at other children with it.

DON'T LET YOUR DOG DEUCE in the grass adjacent to the playground. I have a really bad habit of forgetting #3's shoes at home and then letting him run barefoot through the park. Allowing your rat-tailed mutt to leave his excrement in random places causes me to swear loudly when #3 slips in it. So now, not only am I being ostracized for having a sh** footed toddler, but I am being glared at for my creative expression as well. I mean the bags are RIGHT. THERE.

DON'T PUT YOUR DOG ON THE SLIDE. It's just ridiculous and when my kid punches your dog in the throat because it lumbered into his personal space, don't look all aghast at me. Your bad. It clearly states that this playground is for C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N between the ages of 0 and 12, and for the record people-who-haven't-had-kids-yet-but-like-to-pretend-their-pets-are-their-babies, if it didn't actually slide outta your vajayjay or get ripped from a seriously-this-feels-like-I've-been-cut-in-half hole small incision in your belly, it's not your baby*!

DON'T TALK ON YOUR CELL PHONE the entire time. Seriously, I'm all for taking a short call or whatever, but what do you think texting is for? Obviously it's to prevent you from annoying the crap outta me at the park while you use that I'm-being-cute-and-playful-in-my-mind-but-it-sounds-really-effing-whiny-to-the-rest-of-us voice to talk your husband into letting you get the nanny an extra day each week. Please know that when my kid hands your kid the sand filled condom I'm not even gonna bother to knock it outta her hands.

DON'T FORGET TO READ (between) the signs. If there is a huge sign posted that says no skateboarding, rollerblading, or rollerskating on the play structure I think it's safe to assume that means your obnoxious, loudmouthed, way-too-big-for-jungle-gym-play son should also refrain from riding his Razor up and down the bridges. And, the fact that he got caught on my foot and took a mean header immediately after he rolled over #3's fingers is so not my fault it's not even funny.

DON'T FLAUNT YOUR GOODIES. I know, it's a public place and you and your kid are allowed to enjoy whatever culinary delights you desire, but I've been eating lettuce and water all week (trying to fit into my grown up pants again) and you're killing me with the cookies. Plus, #3's new "song" is the cookie song ("I wub cookies, I wub cookies, I WUB COOOOOOOKIES!"), which gets progressively louder as it's sung repeatedly until his affection for cookies is rewarded with one. So, unless you're planning on sharing soon, you might wanna get outta here with those.

DON'T MENTION THE WORDS NANNY, SPA, OR POTTY TRAINED anywhere near us. These or sore topics and it would just be mean.

DON'T SPREAD THE SWINE. I know, I'm buying into the paranoia here, but seriously, if your kid looks like he's carrying the plague how about you just pretend he is and keep him home. And, I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. We were just at the park yesterday and #3 started coughing. The mom of the girl next to him swooped in and put a SARS mask on her kid. Okay, she didn't really, but she did get out the hand sanitizer and go to work on those fingers. I made sure #3 planted a wet one right on her hand before we left!

Feel free to print these off and share them with all of your friends and family; it takes a village and moms like me will thank you.

Speaking of thank yous (subtle, right?!)...

I need to award this week's Thursday Thank You.



It's going out to a very special someone who I'm sure will never have sex on a playground again (KIDDING!)...

Justin Timberlake!

And, I'm only doing this because I think you're awesome, and I'm all drooly over you right now, and I want to share your undeniable awesomeness with the 3 people who read this blog.

Thank you, and you're welcome!

Dear Justin,
Thank you for inviting me to your concert (you Tweeted it, that totally counts). I was so happy that your charity event corresponded with my blogging event last weekend. I really enjoyed being a part of such an important affair (you workin' the floor) and am proud to say that I donated to such a valuable charity. I had a wonderful time with you and your friends, especially at the after party. You know, when we shared our moment?! I'm sure you remember it just the way I do: I was shakin' what my mama gave me (you know, trying to catch your eye), you noticed (how could you not, I was seriously doin' my thang) and rewarded me with that sweet smile (the one that obviously was meant to say that you love me), I rewarded you with a loud scream and a ridiculous little jig (although, since I was submerged in water up to my knees, I doubt you saw that, and I'm hoping you didn't catch a glimpse of my girdle either, I'm a little concerned about whether or not my wet dress had become transparent in the water). Now that I'm back home I hope you don't mind that I continue to interact with you. I plan to Tweet you regularly, from the park, while my kid plays with a dirty condom, cigarette butt hanging from his lips, and a mangy dog humping the crap outta his leg. Hope you don't mind. XOXO, Your oldest Biggest Fan, Dumb Mom

I've decided to break this note into a series of 140 character Tweets, nothing like killing him with kindness!

And, if you want to learn more about Justin Timberlake's charity concert, feel free to check him (and me, one of my @thenagainphoto Tweets actually made it on his site!) out here: justintimberlake.com


*Adopted offspring are meant to be included in this definition as well, point is, dogs, cats, and other furry friends don't count.