Throat Punch Media - But Did You Die?

A collection of humorous essays by

A Bunch of Know-It-Alls

Throat Punch Media, LLC

Copyright 2017 by Throat Punch Media, LLC

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When I gave birth for the first time twelve years ago, I was more than a little terrified. I felt like I received more care instructions when I purchased a goldfish than when I took my tiny baby home from the hospital. I had shelves and shelves of parenting books, but none of them offered me real-world advice. One told me to introduce my baby to our home and explain to him what happens in each room. Telling my infant, This is the kitchen. This is where we get our eat-on at, seemed like a total waste of time. I didnt know if I should sleep train or let him cry it out. Should I swaddle him? How tight was too tight? Why did he cry so much? What did he want? So, I turned to the experts in my life: my grandmother, who was the mother of four, and my own mother. The first gift my grandmother gave my child was a wheeled walker that she bought for an exorbitant price from her neighbors garage sale. Grandma, Im pretty sure those are banned, I told her. Theyre quite dangerous. Also, your neighbor completely overcharged you.

Grandma replied, Oh, theyre not so bad. Your Uncle Carl only fell down the basement stairs twice in his.

My mother was also a wealth of terrible advice. The first time I took my baby to the pool I slathered him in 1000 SPF sunblock, twenty-six layers of sun-repellent clothing, and a hat with a brim bigger than his whole body.

My mother frowned. When you were a baby, I just rolled you under my beach chair.

Excuse me? I said.

I put a towel down. You werent on the ground or anything, she said, all huffylike that was the problem.

You rolled me under your beach chair? How old was I?

Hmm, three months, or so? It was a good place for you. Nice and shady. Because I dont think sunblock is good for babies, she said. We never put sunblock on you kids.

Yes, Mom, I know, I replied. Thats why I have to go to the dermatologist every year and have her literally check my asshole for skin cancer. Ive had several suspicious moles removed and I have permanent skin damage from the sun.

Okay, but did you die? she asked.

That was my mothers response to everything when I questioned her parenting choices. Car seats didnt even exist when I was a baby and seat belts were a suggestion until I was in college. I rode my bike willy-nilly without a helmet. I drank soda as an infant and chewed on toys painted with lead paint. Everybody around me smoked. Ive never worn a life jacket on a boat.

I dont baby my kids, but compared to the way I was raised, my kids are being raised in a cushion of bubble wrap. I think Im doing a good job raising them, but who knows? Luckily, now I have the parents (and even a few opinionated non-breeders) of the Internet to give me advice. I dont follow it all, but its nice to pick and choose and make sure that at least Im screwing up my kids in the same way everyone else is. Im sure in twenty years my children will be horrified by all the terrible things I did and my response will be, But did you die?

Jen Mann

Well, the day youve been simultaneously daydreaming about and dreading for the last few years has finally arrived: your childs pet is dead. Its an important milestone in your parenting career, and make no mistakethe fuck-up factor on this one is pretty high. If you dont get this one right, your actions will be mentioned at every single Thanksgiving and probably several Buzzfeed-esque compilations of shitty parenting stories ad infinitum.

Heres a few tips and tricks I learned when my daughters beloved hamster, Brownie Pancakes, kicked the bucket last summer after two and a half excruciating years.

Keep your celebrations private. I am a total animal nut. Ive had almost every kind of pet you can own, and I spend most of my time at parties trying to convince the hosts cats to like me. However, if I had to rank the happiest days of my life, they would be (in this order):

• The birth of my children
• My wedding day
• The day that fucking hamster bought the teeny tiny farm

But I couldnt show that emotion at home, because my kids, for some inexplicable reason, loved Brownie Pancakes. Despite the fact that her hobbies were eating, sleeping all day long, biting the person holding her, and escaping from her cage and throwing the entire household into full-blown WTF mode, my daughter still made that thing a birthday card and convinced everyone in her third-grade class to sign the card. So please, keep your double crane kicks and fist pumps confined to someplace your kids cant see or hear you.

Make sure its really dead. With some pets, its pretty obvious theyve gone to that deluxe litter box in the sky. If you wake up and your bird is lying on the bottom of the cage, its pretty safe to assume its done. Fish generally dont sleep sideways at the top of the tank. But with other pets, its not so easy. During Brownie Pancakess final days, I would stare at that hamster for at least a full minute sometimes to see if it was still breathing, and just when I was ready to crack open the champagne, BOOMit breathed. One morning, though, I stared at that thing for like five minutes and felt pretty confident this was the real deal. No breathing, no moving. But then later that day, as I was helping my kids draw pictures for the funeral, my husband looked at me and quietly said, Are you sure its dead? Which is an important question to ask, because I dont know about you, but Im not trying to start a Pet Sematary in my backyard. I saw that movie; it did not end well for anybody involved. Plus, can you imagine how many points youd lose if you (or, lets be real, the designated person in your life who touches dead things because LOL NO) put your kids pet into the funeral shoebox and it fucking comes back to life?! That is no bueno on so many levels. So trust me, poke it with a stick, hold a miniature mirror under its nose, do whatever you have to do to make sure its not just merely dead, but really most sincerely dead.

Dont get creative. This is not the time to involve Pinterest in your decision-making. Unless you really hated that ferret and already have an entire secret board dedicated to pet funerals, then by all means, feel free to look into a little bit of therapy for yourself because you might have a few things you need to work out. On the same note, dont make this the moment you decide to educate your kids about going green by dumping their pet directly into the ground because its more biodegradable (i.e., youre cheap and hated that fucking parakeet anyways), or go back to your art school days and try something avant-garde and meaningful. Translation: dont try flushing the hamster down the toilet because you think it makes some kind of bold statement about the the fleetingness of life or some goofy shit like that. Keep it boring and traditional. Trust me, the kids will find a way to make it interesting enough without you adding to the experience.