The Best Parent Ever is better than you because they only buy educational toys for their children. These are basically the same toys you have, but better.

Just take a look around their children’s room. Are those balls? Actually, they’re age-appropriate sensory stimulation objects. Hey, a funny-looking shoebox! Try: “imagination-building discovery carton” (it says so right on the box that the box came in). Play doh? Sorry, that’s a motor-skill-enhancing manipulative. And, no, you can’t eat it. (Even though the Best Parent Ever bought the wheat and gluten-free kind — just in case).

Sure, no one should fault a parent for choosing playthings that enhance their child’s development. But sometimes a ball is just a ball. It takes the Best Parent Ever to turn it into a $34.95 educational toy. Sucker? Nope. Best Parent Ever. And in order to stay better than you they must constantly ensure their brood’s development clips along at a breakneck pace, even if it means spending extra for ambiguous-sounding curriculums accompanying every day toys (do building blocks really teach pre-math and two foreign languages?).

So take that, Raggedy Ann and Andy! What did you teach our children today? That you can still find a partner even if you wear striped kneesocks? C’mon! Get a job! If you knew anything you’d re-brand yourself as a textural awareness enhancement object. Then, you might actually sell yourself to the Best Parent Ever. But probably not.

Quick test: you have just given birth and your body has expelled a bloody, viscous blob of uterine vomit called the afterbirth. Do you say (a) “Will someone please clean-up this medical waste?” Or (b) “Mmmm… That looks like it will make a nice tea!”

If you said (b)… Congratulations! You are a Best Parent Ever! In fact, there are many Best Parent Ever party plans for the human placenta. These include burying the placenta under a rose bush, turning it into some kind of stylish art or craft, and/or cooking it in any number of meals, including lasagna, pizza, and even a placenta roast. Have you vomited yet? If not, just type “placenta recipes” into that Google box in the upper right hand corner of this blog, and you will find all kinds of foodie websites devoted to the human placenta, as well as youtube cooking demonstrations. We’d provide links, but, well… ewww.

So what’s so great about treating one’s bodily discharge like some kind of vaginal wonder smoothie anyway? For starters, the Best Parent Ever has a knee-jerk disregard for most Western traditions (like, say, the traditional aversion to consuming human flesh). The Best Parent Ever loves to embrace “alternatives” — especially ones like this, that have been blessed by Mud Hut Super Moms. It doesn’t matter that, for many of us, touching or consuming afterbirth is akin to crocheting a sweater vest out of used tampons, or making monkey-like mud pies with one’s own feces. It’s non-traditional — and that means it’s best.

So take that, cannibals everywhere! You no longer have the market cornered on the consumption of human body parts. The Best Parent Ever is sucking down placental cocktails and post-natal-membrane appetizers like they are at some Tapas bar run by the criminally insane. And THAT’S why they’re better than you. Just beware the next time the Best Parent Ever says they’re having “delivery” for dinner — they may not be talking about a take-out restaurant.

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The Best Parent Ever is better than you because they just had the GREATEST Mom’s Night Out ever. But don’t believe them. It’s simply not true.

Like New Year’s Eve bashes and Bachelorette Parties, Mom’s Night Out is one of those highly-anticipated events that never quite lives up to its hype. Theoretically, the idea of escaping children for a night of gossip, liberation, and female bonding might seem like a good idea. But the moment you put more than two mothers together in a room, they just won’t stop talking about their children.

Why does one go through all the effort of arranging babysitters and/or husbands to escape their children, only to spend all night talking about their children? We don’t know — but did you hear what our children just did?  Then, of course, drinks are interupted by the multiple mandatory cellphone calls back to the nest.  And, finally, for those who left their husbands in charge of the children, there is the greatest “reward” of all — returning home from Mom’s Night Out to hear Mr. Patriach Expertus boast about how “easy” it was to watch the brood.  “I don’t know what you’re always complaining about,” he explains, dismissing the 7-day-a-week Mommy-Prison Stretch with his four or five hours of TV watching alongside already-sleepy children.

So take that, beleaguered mothers everywhere!  Mom’s Night Out is a ruse, meant to make you feel like you have a life, which you don’t.  So just buck up and stay home next time, where you can take care of the kids and think of what to do for your wonderful husband for this upcoming Father’s Day.  He is, after all, a Best Parent Ever too.

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