Not since the deliciously wicked Suri’s Burn Book has a blog so completely taken the social media world by storm.
The Honest Toddler is a scathing, brilliant, laugh-out-loud blog where the diabolical musings of a three-year-old toddler (who has the intellect of Einstein and the warmth of Idi Amin) are shared in a completely adult way.
Honest Toddler tweets from @HonestToddler. Here’s a taste…
You don’t need to be a parent to get a kick out of it. And if you are a parent this blog will confirm what you long suspected: we’re on their payroll.
This from Yahoo:
Honest Toddler — who in addition to having Twitter and Facebook pages also has a personal blog — uses an uncanny adult voice to describe his (or her) motivation for every toddler transgression from kicking daddy out of the “big bed” to what will happen if mommy dares to give him a cookie in broken pieces.
And the best part is the posts are designed to be a de facto advice manual for parents to help them better serve their “beautiful, gifted children.”
“Maybe it will help to think about why you decided to become a parent. Most likely you were bored and looking for someone to serve. Now that you have the opportunity to make your life mean something, do your best. Wake up with a smile on your face and say this fourteen times, ‘Broken food is disgusting, when I serve it I look a little ugly,’” writes the little dictator.
Here’s a recent blog post the Honest Toddler wrote about the Super Nanny:
Dear Super Nanny,
Super? So you think you’re an action hero. And what is your power exactly? Tearing families apart?
Since your show started and like a pregnant spider exploded into countless demonic spin-offs, children around the world have been suffering from your ridiculous and terrible ideas. The fact that parents are starting sentences off with “Well, on Super Nanny…” to excuse the creation of time out spots and restrictions on big bed time only adds evidence to my claim.
You walk around with that wool cloak looking like the manager of Hogwarts. I’m not scared of you. The day you come into my home expect Armageddon because I’m going to bring it. Nanny, you don’t know my life. You don’t know my situation. Were you at my birth? Are you my midwife? No. So you don’t know what I need.
Your turn now. If you were an Honest Toddler, what would you say?