Parenting is inherently shaming, but it’s made worse by everyone trying to one-up each other with their kids’ accomplishments. The other day, I got stuck in a conversation about little Noah’s debate club trophies. As I feigned interest, I couldn’t help but feel smug about my prodigy, Bone Crusher, who began gearing up for the Water Wars when she was two by creating armor from soda can tab chainmail, neon-colored water wings, and bedazzled tactical gear.
Crusher’s gifted status was confirmed a decade later when I discovered her basement stash. Picture a thousand gallons of water surrounded by a security system of hot-glued nails and camo nets. Now picture me stuck in said net, pulling nails out of my feet. But she let me loose after I promised to buy her a Mad Max vehicle that jetted water instead of fumes.
How did she get that much H2O, you ask? Crusher’s negotiation skills are legendary. Last week, she traded a box of stale Oreos for a solar-powered water purifier. While maintaining cover as a lemonade stand operator, she devised a system of underground tunnels that tapped into and redirected the toilet water from a dozen neighbors, which led to me losing the house for violating our HOA.
For weeks now, I’ve been wandering the parched landscape in search of a watering hole. But not Crusher. She’s been sitting on a swan pool floaty held up by her tween followers who balance on top of her squirting mega-truck, Wasteland Wrecker. She’s been recruiting and training the tweens for years. I always wondered where she went in the evenings. Mystery solved.
So, the next time I’m trapped in another “my kid is so talented” conversation, I’ll just nod along. Because while their kids might be whizzes in math or classical music, mine is out there sporting her water noodle tiara and Super Soaker scepter, creating a new world order. And maybe, one of these days, she’ll give me a turn on her floatie.
