Monthly Archives: April 2010

You Can’t Poop on OUR Parade!

Sophia was sitting on the back lawn playing with some pink tree blossoms while I watered and weeded the vegetable garden. It was an idyllic picture.

“Mommy, what stinks? It smells like Rocket Dog poopies.”

It should have registered that she was sitting in The Poop Zone but I was just sort of blissed out and peaceful so I didn’t really take note until it was too late.

“Honey? What’s that on your dress? Stand up!”

“I think it’s peanut butter.”

“Sweetie, you didn’t EAT peanut butter this morning.”

We looked at each other and then it hit us. Tim helped her out of her dress and tights and took her into the house to change. I found the source of the trouble; Rocket Dog had the runs.

It doesn’t matter how peacefully the day starts out, someone inevitably tries to shit on it. The key to survival is learning to see the humor in an unfortunate situation.

Have a peaceful and love-filled day.




Stranger Danger

A few weeks ago I was asking a friend how she taught her children about stranger danger. “Oh, the kids know to yell, ‘You’re not my mommy!’ or ‘You’re not my daddy!’ if someone they don’t know approaches them in a threatening way.” This sounded easy enough. I had a talk with my children, ages two and almost four, the next morning.

“Do you guys know what to do if someone you don’t know tries to grab you or take you somewhere?” I asked.

Timmy, my two year old, just looked at me and wiped the snot off his nose. Sophia, the four year  old, piped up. “Run away?”

“Well, that’s a good start, but you should also holler, ‘You’re not my mommy!’ or ‘You’re not my daddy!”

I don’t know what I did wrong. Perhaps it was our practice session in the backyard when they delighted in hollering at the tops of their voices. The following day we were in the grocery store and Sophia and Timmy were unusually well behaved. I hurried through the store, racing the clock, knowing it was too good to be true and couldn’t last long. I was right.

As we rounded the corner from the produce section and into the bakery, Timmy, seated in the front of the cart,  shouted at me, “You’re not my mommy!”  He repeatedly yelled this at me while Sophia, who was practically apoplectic with laughter at this point, starting hollering, “You’re not my daddy!” at a hapless elderly man who was merely trying to choose a loaf of bread.

Somehow there has to be a way to teach my children the importance of stranger safety without running the risk of being arrested for kidnapping them.