I don’t normally watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse when it’s on. There are only so many times you can subject yourself to the show before you want to rip out your uterus with a crowbar and bludgeon yourself to death with it for having children who make you watch this crap. However, I was snuggling with Emmeline and she wanted to watch “Mikuh Maws”. So I was forced to permit a few brain cells to commit suicide over the course of 23 minutes of hell. It was at this time I came to the shocking realization that my children think that I am Toodles.
If you are unfamiliar with Toodles, he is Mickey Mouse’s bitch. Whenever Mickey needs something, he just yells “Oh Toodles!” and Toodles is expected to freakin drop everything and rush to Mickey’s side to help with whatever he needs that second. Which is what my children appear to demand of me.
So many times during their waking hours my children scream for me like they’re being poured in honey and attacked by a cavalcade of fire ants. Usually it’s to help wipe their ass, get them some milk or because Lena is looking out Emmeline’s window in the car – which she will simply not stand for. Their timing is impeccable. I always seem to be submerged up to my elbows in dishes, standing over an open flame or at a really critical moment in Duck Dynasty. Yesterday I was gathering the tax information together for our accountant. I made it approximately 37 seconds until the "OH TOODLES" alarm sounded and I was expected to drop the W2s and run to the rescue – because “Mommy, da dog is kinda neah me!”.
The thing is, you’d think they’d get tired of screeching for me 7,948,631 times a day. Because generally their frivolous demands are greeted with some form of sarcastic retort from Toodles/Mommy:
“Mommy! Can (you stop folding laundry immediately and cater to my every whim) I please have a lollipop?”
“Yes, let me drop everything to get you a sugary treat at 8:00 in the morning.”
“Mommy! I want a new Lalaloopsy!”
“And I want a weekend spa retreat. Looks like we are all going to be disappointed.”
“Yeah. Sweet temper tantrum. How’s that working out for you?”
I want to grab Toodles by the ears and tell him to grow a pair – although I’m not sure where they would hang because he’s really only a big head that stores an inordinate amount of crap to cater to every stupid fucking thing Mickey and the dumbasses get into. I would really love to watch the episode when Toodles rebels. He gets a tattoo that says “Your lack of planning does not constitute an emergency on my part.” Then the next time Mickey yells “Oh Toodles!” Toodles responds “For Fuck’s Sake, Mickey. I’m taking a shit. Get your own damn pair of springy shoes, you freakin' idiot.”