684413_see_my_fingerListen here dink.  I have something to say to you.

Shut.  The Fuck. Up.

I can hear you.  Because I am a parent does not mean I am deaf.  And I do not want to hear about what you think about my son’s food.  Yes, his lunch is white.  It’s udon noodles in miso soup.  Not tonnes of food value.  Not organic sprouted quinoa with free range coconut duck and leafy greens.  That he killed himself.  And then cooked.  I get it.

Still.  Shut.  The Fuck. Up.

At least he is eating.  At least he isn’t leaping from the ceiling like a ninja.  At least he’s not crying because the noodles are too noodley.  At least I’m not sobbing into my sushi.  At least I had a shower.

At least I’m not stabbing you in the eye.

There is a chance that shortly, he’ll eat a banana and more carrots than you can shake a stick.  Maybe. If I’m lucky. But maybe not, because the carrots might be too orange and the banana may break when I’m peeling it.  But you won’t see that.  Because you’re off.  Very busy. Must do another exercise class.  And walk your perfect dog. And cook your sprouted duck.  And be a dink.

Yesterday, he would only eat green food.  Sure…sounds great, in theory.  All the leaves in the world. But red grapes (which he loves) almost made him pass out with rage…because they weren’t green.  Cucumbers were a challenge because they were green on the outside and white on the inside.  And watermelon was just torturous because it looks green…until it becomes red.

Because he’s three and a half.  That’s what they do.  They eat only white food…or green food…or food that rhymes with ‘fold dish’ on a whim.  Because they are tiny little maniacs.

Have you read this?

Totally true.  I wish I’d written it.  Then maybe I’d get famous and I might have more money to hire a nutritionist and a child rearing expert to help me deal with days when my kid will only eat white food.

But I didn’t.  So I don’t.  So, when he wants only white food and I’m out in public (and hell, even when I’m at home)…I give it to him.  I try not to,  but sometimes…well…I just can’t.

Suck it up.

I used to be one of you.  I used to look at people with kids and go ‘tsk tsk…when I have kids I will never [insert obnoxious shit-heady verbiage here]’.  And I was a total dink.

You are a DINK…and that’s fine.  Some of my best friends are DINKS…and I love them.  Be a DINK if you want to be.  DINK it UP!  You don’t want kids?  Awesome!  Don’t have kids!

But here’s the thing. If you are a DINK…don’t be a dink while you are at it.

Because nobody likes a dink.



Erin is a New Westminster-based mother of one perfect son and wife of one incredibly patient husband. She is a mother, wife, daughter, sister in law, actor, writer, football player, video game geek, crafting queen, marketing and communications maven and amateur Iron Chef. Prior to her current adventure in motherhood, she was an advertising executive, an executive director and a bunch of other stuff including cucumber pruner and farm hand. She likes to keep things interesting. Her blog Acting Responsible has been an on again, off again love of hers (showing her complete lack of responsibility). But its back...she thinks. Probably. Unless she sees another shiny thing.


  1. Love it – especially the fact that you didn’t separate out the parents from the non-parents. Let’s face it, there are dinks in both groups and they should rightly be sent to sit all together in the same time out corner.

    Fingers crossed that they’ll read this post AND (more importantly) realize that you meant THEM!

  2. i love this! funny as hell and true all at the same time. i am not a mom but if i knew you in real life i would be your best non dink bff

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