Poop and other things parents need to talk about

Y'all know I love to share and overshare until people start to squirm. I firmly believe the by sharing the things that make us crazy, give us gray hair and make us want to hang ourselves and others by our toenails need to be talked about. (Remember? I went on the Dr. Oz show and told e'r'one how I peed in the shower.)

And those of you who overshare with me? Well, I love you just as much as I love talking about unmentionables. 

My friends, Norine Dworkin-McDaniel and Jessica Ziegler, are the brains behind the incredibly funny and oft inappropriate (in a good way) Science of Parenthood. And... AND... they've written an amazingly funny and laugh-out-loud parenting guide. Well, ya know, it's more helpful than that "What To Expect" book that I sit on to help my sciatica.

I love these gals and their words and especially their pictures for so many reasons. The very least of these reasons is that it's funny. The very greatest of these reasons is that it's honest.

They have taken the things of parenting that make us scratch our heads and wonder why we ever thought we were capable of molding and shaping and forming another human being into a productive adult and made it something we can all grin and giggle about.

 

I love these ladies (and not just because they've mentioned me on their site). I love them because they've taken our every thought and made it scientific and funny at the exact same time. I can go to them and know that I'll not only end up laughing, but I'll feel a helluva lot better about the best bad job I know how to do as a parent.

My hubby and I not in this gig alone.

We're in the same boat as every other parent ... good news is that our on-ship entertainment is funny as, well ... our irrational need to be away from our kids and have them within arms length at the exact same time.

 

Do yourself a favor--because you know you're getting a tin of dusting powder and another coffee mug for Christmas--give yourself this book. (Click either link to order.) Then lock yourself in the bathroom with your favorite drink and read the whole thing, cover to cover. You deserve it!

Maybe it's the carbon monoxide talking ...

Let's just start with a cliché: when it rains it pours.

Let's do another one: you don't know what you've got until it's gone. 

Hows about one more: it's always darkest before dawn. 

What am I talking about? Our week. Yes, I know it's only Tuesday, but it's been L O N G so far. I'm trying hard to spin it positively in my mind.

Sure, our car is not running and no one seems to know the issue ... But! At least we have my mom's van to drive. And! The car didn't crap out in the middle of a dark highway without cell service. 

We currently have no heat ... But! We have a well-insulated roof over heads and neighbors who've loved on us when they didn't have to. And! We have a home warranty that keeps our costs relatively low. 

And our front bathroom floor indicates that we have leak--somewhere. But! We have two other toilets we can use. 

Our cats are keeping me awake all night long. But! They've caught four mice. 

Our gas logs are refusing to light. But! We have space heaters courtesy of our heat guy and neighbors. 

See? I'm finding the positive. 

Last night, as I went in a fruitless search for electric blankets, I ran into an acquaintance. He listened to my lamintations, then responded, "There but for the grace of God go I."

I smiled, but really, it's a sad response. The heart of the saying has good intentions and implies a thankfulness from the speaker. 

On the flip side, the core of the message implies that I have these maladies because I am not embraced with grace. 

If I may mix my metaphors, I cry B.S..

To return to my cliches, our circumstances are just the way the cookie crumbles ... 

And a funny thing about cookie crumbs: they come from something sweet and satisfying and are hard to sweep away. 

Much like the Grace of God ... Which is what will surround us always and in all circumstances. 

A tale of two shoes

The only thing left for us to be totally ready for Misti and Mark's wedding next weekend was shoes. Since Misti and Mark were engaged, our family has been stupid excited for this new chapter in their lives. Misti and I were in the 2012 NWA Listen To Your Mother show and have worked together on the OKC Listen To Your Mother show since then. In 2013, Hadley wouldn't let me talk about the show without asking me what Misti had to say about it. And last year, Briley said, "I can't remember how we're related to Misti." (PS--we're related by heart.)

Saturday, we had a perfect opportunity to get our wedding shoes. It was a gorgeous day and we were in the city and Shoe Carnival was having a sale.

Hadley is difficult to buy for because she wants to wear shoes that don't stand out and are comfy. She wanted to wear Chuck Taylor's to the wedding. When I tried to push her toward some cuter, more stylish shoes, she dug in her heels (figuratively and literally) and decided she wouldn't buy any shoes at all. We compromised, though. She'll be wearing a pair of my shoes and she can slip them off under the table when she's not walking anywhere--which will be all night long because she's a wall-flower like that.

Briley is difficult to buy for because she wants stripper heels.

That's right, my eleven year old, athletic, funny daughter wanted some six-inch, rhinestone studded heels. I vetoed them without any discussion.

She then chose some hideous grandma-type shoes which I said, "Really? Do you think you'll like those?" And she shook her head no before trotting off and returning with her original pair.

As if I would forget the stripper heels my fifth grader wanted to wear.

I chickened out recruited Brian help me out. "Go ask your daddy."

She returned defeated. "He said no then he went to the car." (Who's chickening out now?)

I argued the softball bit--if she fell off of those suckers, her season was done as we would try repairing her ankle. This caused her to pause, but ultimately the shoes were way sparkly.

I argued that if the Department of Human Services saw her wearing them, her daddy and I would go to jail. She shrugged it off.

I promised to take her to Target and buy her two pair of shoes if she'd just put the stripper heels down.

She got a pair of fleece-lined sequined moccasins, a pair of pink canvas, Tom's-like shoes, and a pair of black flat sandals.

Three pairs? Yep. They were on sale, and Target had stripper heels too. I had to up my ante.