Hello, Tweendom

My son will turn 11 next week. When he turned 10 last year, he was still in that “little boy” phase. He didn’t look much different than he did when he was in second grade and showed no signs of puberty being close. So, when he announced that he was in his tweens, I chuckled to myself, since he still seemed like a little boy. This year, however, things are very different.

To start off, the boy has shot up 5 inches since this time last year. We have bought so many clothes over the past year, and since he’s still in growth spurt phase (as he has been for the past five months it seems), the jeans we bought him on Black Friday are getting close to being too short. His voice has gotten a little deeper, too. If you compare his school picture to the past three (which all looked almost exactly the same), there’s no doubt that he has left those little boy years behind. And if the growth spurt and everything wasn’t proof enough, then the behavior sure is.

I’ve heard parents complain about the tween years. “They hate us, they think we’re wrong about everything, they’re grumble and complain all the time…” I thought to myself that surely my good-natured little boy would never go down the path of the Dark Side, but you know how the my-kid-will-never works out, right?

The Look has become a fixture in our lives lately.

If pictures below look anything like your life, then you just might be raising a tween. Or a three-year-old.

Just kidding. I see a fair amount of that surliness, but not all the time, of course.

Wish me luck.

What’s new in your world? 

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Catch You On The Flippity-Flip, 2018!

Since I’m often running behind, I’m a little late saying goodbye to 2018. I could have done that yesterday, but I forgot. Lateness and forgetfulness…if I were a New Year’s resolutions sort of person, I’d probably address that. But I’m not, so you can continue expecting tardiness and absentminded stuff from me.

To officially say goodbye to 2018, I’d like to tip my hat to the top five posts from last year. This is based on the number of views for the posts published in 2018.

How To Lose A Mom Friend In 10 Days

In this post: I give you some tips for ditching annoying mom friends. This was my most viewed and most commented on post that was published in 2018 and had over 100 likes.

This post was published last July, and you can find it here.

Parenting Music

In this post: I talk about how the meaning of song lyrics changes after having kids. Also in this post…I make you question my abilities as a mother after showing my son a video for the DMX song Party Up.

This post was also published last July, and you can find it here.

That Time I Went Skiing

In this post: you read about a girl in middle school being clumsy and embarrassing herself by breaking her ass.

This post was published last March, and you can find it here.

Parenting Drinking Game

In this post: it’s pretty self-explanatory — it’s a game that involves drinking, and it’s intended for parents. A word of caution — unless your children are little angels (and don’t tell us if they are, because we’ll be jealous and hate you), then you’ll probably die if you try to play this game.

This post was published last May, and you can find it here.

Parenting Advice: Freaking Socks

In this post: I try my hand at giving out parenting advice, and the biggest thing I could come up with after 10 years of parenting was to advise you guys not to buy your kids matching socks. It was funnier than it sounds.

This post was published last October, and you can find it here. (And I realize that I promised this would be a series, but I never followed through on that. I have a draft, if that counts.)

What I learned from my top 5: y’all like posts that are — at a minimum — borderline inappropriate. You guys especially like posts that encourage you to be a bit assholish. I’ll take this lesson into 2019 and try to give the people what they want.

Which Dorky Mom Doodles post did you really like in 2018? AND, what was your favorite post you published to your own blog in 2018 — share a link!

#TBT: That Time I Broke My Ass

Right now I’m sitting in my car heading to the mountains. And I’m wearing my headphones, so I’m not having to listen to the kids complain. #ParentingWin and also, #PrayForMyHusband. While we’re on our short trip, we plan to go snow tubing. As such, I thought sharing this old post would be appropriate. Keep my butt in your thoughts and prayers…


I’m not known for being coordinated. Anyone who knows me in real life will be thinking, “That’s the understatement of the year,” but that’s basically the truth. I’m not one of those people who can walk from one place to the other without tripping over something. Sometimes it’ll be a something that I didn’t see and other times it’ll be tripping over my own feet. Occasionally this leads to broken bones and scrapes, but mostly it just leads to my being pretty darn embarrassed.

Eighth grade was a lot of fun for middle school, but it wasn’t kind to me as far as my bone health went. Aside from breaking my foot after hopping a fence/rail type thing at Carowinds, there was also the incident that occurred when our grade went on a ski trip.

My grandmother encouraged me to stay home from that trip, by the way. She knew. Obviously that wasn’t happening, since the ski trip was a pretty big deal, so I assured her that I would be fine and went.

Ha.

After we got to the ski lodge, I went through the thing they had set up for beginners and by lunch time, I was ready to go down the intermediate trail. So I went down it a couple of times to build up my confidence.

My confidence built up quickly. Too quickly.

The third time I went down, I decided to go down fast, so down the hill I went in a straight line, like a bullet.

About halfway down, I realized that I was going too fast. I knew that if I didn’t start slowing my ass down, I would going to crash into something or someone at the bottom. So, I turned my skis inward to try to slow down. Except I turned my skis in too much so that they crossed to form an X, and I lost my balance. Not good. I did a front flip, landed hard on my butt, and rolled down the hill.

Ouch.

My body hurt all over, but not as bad as my ego. A classmate helped me up, and I was done for the day. At least I got to enjoy half of the day.

The next day, my butt region was so sore that my grandma wouldn’t let me go to school and took me to the doctor.

After doing an x-ray, the doctor told me that I fractured my tailbone. I was told to take it easy, no softball (and tryouts were the very next week), and that I should sit on a little cushion to stay comfy while it healed up.

After the weekend, I went to school with my cushion. I didn’t think anything about it until a friend snatched it up and exclaimed, “Erika, you got hemorrhoids?!” during homeroom. Heads turned.

I explained to her that no, I did not have hemorrhoids and that I had fractured my tailbone.

About eight years later, I decided to give skiing another try. This is how far I made it:

I totally froze up and wasn’t moving anywhere. My body knew right then that it had no business trying to go skiing, so after much discussion over whether or not we should stay and see if I changed my mind, we ended up asking for a refund. Even though there weren’t supposed to be any refunds, we were given one anyway. I suppose the look of sheer panic on someone’s face will bend the rules a bit.

Have you ever broken your ass? How about any other bones?


Time to plug the book!

Rachel at Pretty In Baby Food had some lovely things to say about “Don’t Lick That!” Check out the review on her blog, plus enter the giveaway on her site to win a copy of the book. If you already purchased the book, enter anyway — if you win, you can gift the code to a friend that you think would enjoy the book!

“Don’t Lick That!” is available for purchase as an eBook on Amazon and as a paperback through Amazon or Barnes and Noble. (Amazon has free shipping for Prime users, but right now things are glitchy, saying shipping will take a while, so keep an eye out for that. This isn’t an issue with B&N.) If you have a Kindle Unlimited subscription, you can read the book for free. If you purchase the book and enjoy it, please consider leaving feedback on Amazon, B&N, or Goodreads.

What Partying In Your 30s Looks Like

Age might just be a number, but there still comes a time when you know your days of being considered young are officially behind you. That day might come when you hear kids refer to something you liked when you were younger as “old school.” Or, it might be when you’re filling out forms online and have to move up from the age bracket that includes ages 18-34 to 35-50. (That’s happening for me next month. RIP my youth.) If you don’t consider those indicators of moving from youngish adult to adult-adult, then maybe it’s having sound effects accompanying you when you get up in the mornings.

One of my least favorite parts of getting older is my stomach. I absolutely cannot stomach some of the things I used to have no problem with. For example, pepperoni and chocolate give me heartburn. Just looking at raw cookie dough makes the acid in my stomach start moving upwards. And alcohol? Oh lord. Now, this doesn’t mean that I don’t still partake in any of the things mentioned, but there will be consequences.

Back in my college days, it was a rare thing for me to ever get a hangover. It didn’t matter the amount I drank or what combination I had (I knew some people who would get sick off of mixing beer and hard liquor). I rarely felt bad the next day. But these days? If I have as much as one cocktail, my body usually makes sure I pay for it, whether it’s within the hour or the next morning.

This brings me to partying in your 30s. First of all, people in their 30s don’t often refer to their gatherings as “parties.” We call them “get-togethers” or “cookouts” or just say “we’re hanging out.” Unless it’s for a special event, there usually aren’t parties. And while our get-togethers are still a lot of fun, they often look very different from what parties in our 20s looked like.

In your 20s, you’ll almost always see someone doing a keg stand or shotgunning a beer. And you’ll definitely see someone playing quarters or beer pong.

Fast forward to your 30s, and hello, exciting night of board and card games! Maybe you don’t do something this tame every time you get together, but how often did board games make an appearance during the 20s? Probably never.

At parties in your 20s, it was hard to go more than 10 minutes without hearing someone yell out, “Shots!” The frequency of that word being yelled out decreases big time in your 30s.

The only shots you’re saying “Yes” to every half hour in your 30s are shots of Pepto Bismol.

Did you like staying up until the wee hours of the morning in the club on New Years Eve/Day when you were in your 20s? (Technically, I never did, but I’m putting myself in a club for the purpose of this post.)

Well, this is what New Years Eve may look like in your 30s.

That was our last New Years Eve. Usually we at least do a get-together with friends, but we were having a hard time even holding our heads up at midnight on this one.

And the only drugs you see at parties in your 30s are the kind you find over-the-counter at the pharmacy.

So, I have headache powder, tums, and if you want something strong–Zyrtec.

Isn’t getting older fun?

What’s something you find yourself doing at parties/get-togethers these days that reminds you that you aren’t young anymore? 

A Dorky Brain

Since I’m still neck-deep in the book stuff and haven’t had time for a normal blog post over the past week, I thought I’d share a doodle I’m including in the book.

(The other doodles have stories or anecdotes. This is just a doodle I used to close out the chapter that has stories about me.)


For a couple of housekeeping type things–

  • I am creating a mailing list. (That’s on the list of things you’re supposed to do when you write a book, so I’m checking that off.) I’ll use it to send out a weekly blog recap and book updates and promotions. This is mostly to avoid cluttering up the blog with that sort of stuff later. You can click this link to subscribe to the mailing list.
  • If you want to help me promote the book once I have a release date, email me at dorkymomdoodles (at) gmail.com.

And that’s that. The awkward self-promotion crap is over for now.


What does your brain look like? 

Just Call Me Super Mom

Have you ever seen those stickers and t-shirts that say, “I’m a teacher, what’s your superpower?” Maybe insert “nurse, mailman, or [whatever else]” for teacher. Well, I might not be a teacher anymore, but I am a mom, and by default, that means I have a number of superpowers. There are things I can do that no one else in my house has the power to do, and while they may not be as glamours as shooting fire from the palm of my hands, these powers are still pretty cool. (I’m being very liberal with my use of the world “cool,” by the way.) As such, I expect my invitation to the Justice League to arrive any day now.

Enhanced Vision

Thanks to my super enhanced vision, I’m able to spot items that are too small to be seen with the naked eye. This comes in very handy around the house, and I often become The Finder of the Things.

Why, yes, I can see through walls.

Step aside, Superman. Your microscopic vision has nothing on mine. The only thing my enhanced vision is unable to detect is socks. As you’ll recall from my last post, they’re basically my kryptonite.

Super Strength

Wonder Woman can throw cars and the such, but can she do the one thing that no one else in my house has the strength to do?

That’s right, I alone have the strength to do things like remove empty toilet paper rolls and replace them with new ones. I’m also the only person strong enough to close a cabinet door. At first glance, you might think that doing such things would be easy, but based on my family’s inability to complete such tasks, I came to realize my own strength. Clearly things like cabinet doors, toilet paper rolls, and clothes — which the people in my house manage to get to the bathroom but can’t actually  put them in the hamper — weigh a ton. I might not look like I have much in the way of muscles, but sometimes looks can be deceiving.

Mind Reading

Have you ever noticed that children can be super vague at times when it comes to telling you what they want or whatever it is that they have a problem with? They sometimes give you the absolute bare minimum in the way of details and expect you to be able to figure it out anyway. Maybe not everyone could figure out what, “I want [incoherent mumbles]” means, but I can, thanks to being able to read minds. I’m basically Charles Xavier with more hair.

I don’t even have to wait for her to finish that question before I say, “No.”

This comes in handy with lying, too. I don’t catch them telling lies often, but I always know when they do.

Mom Sense

You’ve heard of spidey sense, but have you heard of mom sense? It works pretty much the same, only instead of being able to deflect the Green Goblin’s pumpkin bombs, I do things like catch a falling cup of milk and stop the kids from ending up in the ER.

Catching a glass of milk might not be as satisfying as deflecting a bomb, but at least I don’t have a mess to clean up.

So, yeah, I’ve got powers. The only things I’m missing is the ability to fly, turn invisible, and having super stretchy arms. Becoming invisible would be nifty when they’re annoying me and I want a moment of peace and quiet, and that last one would come in extra handy when we’re in the car.

What’s your superpower? 

Book update time: “Don’t Lick That! [Tales of Parenting and Other Madness]” should be out within the next couple of months if everything goes as planned. (Self-published — it will be available on Amazon and other online retailers.) I’m in the final stages now and am trying to figure out the whole marketing thing. One suggestion I read was to form a “street team” (rolls eyes) to help with online promotion. If you’d be interested in doing that (I’ll form a Facebook group), email me at dorkymomdoodles@gmail.com. (I feel awkward as hell about this, but that’s better than other suggestions I read like making a video or podcast.)

Parenting Advice Series: Freaking Socks

Someone told me that I should give parenting advice on my blog. I snickered to myself when she said it, because what the heck do I have to offer people in terms of advice? I’ve been a mom for a decade, and I’m only slightly less clueless than the day I brought the first kid home from the hospital. I’m useless where getting picky eaters to eat goes. I couldn’t tell you how to get the kids out the door so you can get to school on time. And I definitely couldn’t tell you how to deal with tantrums, relatives who think they know how to raise your kids better than you, or how to keep car seats clean.

“Maybe I’ll do that,” I said, because I didn’t want to say, “I’m the last person anyone should come to for parenting advice.”

But then — nine months later (because it takes the same amount of time for me to have a good idea as it does to grow a baby) — I was folding clothes and I had a thought.

Oooh, SOCKS. Maybe I do have a little parenting advice to offer the world.  (Well, if not the world, then new parents, at least.) It only took a moment of rage to figure that out. And then I started thinking about other things along those lines, and boom — I had enough stuff to make a post. Or two. Or three.

Here we go.

In my time as a parent, I’ve learned that you should never buy cute socks for the kids. Cute socks come in different cute designs and colors, and do you know what all of that cuteness means? NEVER HAVING A PAIR OF SOCKS THAT MATCH. I wish you could see my laundry basket right now. It is full of cute socks that are missing their mates. There is even a sock that fit my preemie sized Baby Girl in the basket that is holding out hope that one day I’ll find the other one. (I refuse to throw it away. I’ll take that baby sock to my grave if I have to.)

I don’t have a clue where the damn things go, either. It’s almost like someone is breaking in my house when I’m not home and stealing socks here and there. If you’ve watched Home Alone, then you’ve heard of the Wet Bandits, and now there’s the Sock Bandits. All they take is one sock from each matching pair, because they want to slowly drive you insane.

(If those guys look familiar, it’s because they made an appearance in a post I did where I mentioned using a bug spray of sorts to get rid of religious people showing up unannounced. I guess payback is a bitch.)

I’ve looked in all the drawers, under the couch, in the toy boxes, and I cannot find them. I get missing a few socks, but I have at least 40 socks in that basket.

Are the sock companies in cahoots? Do they rig the socks in a way that makes one of them self-destruct after a certain amount of time, so that you have to keep buying more? Because — aside from the self-destruct component costing more than the sock itself costs to be made — that’s a good explanation.

Or maybe there is a portal to another dimension in my house that only socks can access. There is another world completely filled with socks that don’t match. Or maybe it’s not another dimension at all and is just part of one of the circles of Hell that wasn’t mentioned in Inferno. Dante was all like, “Shit, socks are boring, so I’ma focus on people being ripped apart by dogs.” In a less exciting area, there was a pile of socks that the sinners had to sort through for eternity.

I can understand why he would leave that out, since writing about sock sorting in a poem is kind of lame.

(New thought: a series on the nine circles of hell, parenting style.)

So, take it from me — don’t buy socks with designs or colors or brand logos or anything. Don’t be like me and go, “Ugh, those plain socks are so fugly, I’m gonna get these cute stripey ones where each pair comes in a different color and maybe the moon and stars will align and none of them will get lost.”

Where do you think the socks go?

Honest Bumper Stickers

It never fails that I get behind someone on the road who has one of those proud parent bumper sticker on their car. You know the ones — “Parent of a GREAT Kid!” or “Honor Student at [Made Up School]!” or “My Kid is Awesome and Yours Sucks!”

Maybe that last one is made up.

My car is bumper-sticker free. I do have a Hanson logo sticker on my window, though. My husband wasn’t wild about that, since he drives the car, too. He could remove it if he wanted, but I have one of those machines that lets me make any vinyl decal cutout I want, so it’d be pointless. Being the rolls-her-eyes-at-bumper-stickers hypocrite that I am, I also have a Duke TIP magnet for my son. But hey, at least a) it’s not a bumper sticker, b) it won’t mess up my paint, and c) I can remove it when he does something to piss me off. As we all know, removing a sorta braggy magnet is the ultimate middle finger to a tween.

(For any grandparents reading this, “C” is a joke, so don’t unleash your wrath in a strongly worded text message.)

Looking at those bumper stickers got me thinking — what if parents put honest bumper stickers on their cars? I mean, sure, it’s nice that your kid makes the honor roll, and I know you’re proud of that, but come on — you probably call your kid an asshole more in your head more times in your day than you think, “I’m so proud of my A and B making kiddo that I could pee my pants,” right?

Here are a few honest bumper stickers that are likely better suited to your (or someone’s) kid:

Now that we’ve got the honest kiddo bumper stickers out of the way, here are a few more that reflect #parentlife:

What would your honest bumper sticker say? 

Thank You, Siri

My mother-in-law and I went shopping together recently in an area that I wasn’t familiar with. After we left one location to head to another, I had to get Siri to give me directions, since navigation isn’t either of our strong suits. True to form, Siri started telling me how many feet to go until each turn and so on.

I noticed something after receiving a few directions from Siri — my mother-in-law was quite engaged with her.

And then when Siri gave too many directions about upcoming roads or whatever…

Or something to that effect, and naturally, I about peed my pants laughing. I told my MIL that I wanted to doodle that, since it cracked me up, and then after we chatted about it a bit, I asked her if I could write about some of her other tech funnies. She regularly reads my blog and knows what type of stuff I post, and she agreed. Others probably wouldn’t want their “The struggle is real” situations put out for the world to see, but my MIL is pretty laid back and is always quick to laugh. She once recorded a video singing “Y’all gonna make me lose my minds” and dancing with my kids, so she’s definitely one of those rare people who don’t take themselves too seriously and enjoys the moment.

So, I welcome you to the doodled mini roast (sort of) of my mother-in-law, AKA MawMaw.

(She has been included in one of my past stories. Check out Little Man’s prank if you haven’t read it yet.)

I’m pretty sure that our phone number is on my mother-in-law’s speed dial, and it’s not so much that we’re her favorite people in the world to talk to as it is we’re her go-tos for tech help. We’ve seen her through countless viruses back when she had a desktop computer. Despite installing the best antivirus software known to man and locking down all permissions to make it virtually impossible to mess up her machine, she’d still infect the dang thing, and we’d be called to fix it. I’m not sure exactly what she was looking at or downloading for this to happen, but happened it did.

Same with the tablet, laptop, smartphones, etc. Viruses weren’t so much the issue with these devices, but there were lots of questions about how to install apps, how to delete apps, upload pictures, etc. (Stuff I would expect since it seems like this stuff changes constantly.) Once there was a help request regarding Facebook.

Facebook Problems

Like almost everyone else I know, my MIL is on Facebook. For a while I’d regularly see her post pictures, memes, etc., but then I noticed that she wasn’t posting as often, and I assumed that she got tired of using Facebook for anything more than checking out pictures of her grandkids.

Wrong.

One day I was at my MIL’s house with the kids when she got her phone out and started scrolling through Facebook. At one point, she commented about how no one ever liked or commented on her Facebook statuses. At first, I thought she just meant that people didn’t comment/like things often enough — and I felt guilty for not liking them myself, even though I didn’t see them — but no, she really did mean it never happened.

After pulling up her Facebook page, I saw very quickly why there were no comments or likes.

Yep, her posts were locked, so she was the only one who could see them. I scrolled through for a bit and saw that several months worth of posts were locked. Birthday wishes, photos, posts about the grandkids, memes, updates, etc. All locked, so no likes/activity from family or friends. I could only imagine the frustration that must have been building up! 

Obi Wan Jesus

This one will be new for my mother-in-law, since I never commented on it.

One night when Baby Girl really was more of a baby, I was rocking her to sleep. It was one of those nights where she didn’t fall to sleep easily, so I was there for a while. After she dozed off, I continued rocking (it took her no less than 15 minutes to get into a deep enough sleep to be moved) and turned on my phone. I scrolled through a few statuses when I came across one post from my MIL that almost made me have to restart the rocking routine.

I didn’t even realize it was Obi Wan at first, since I was just scrolling, but then I realized, “Hey, something’s not right there…” I scrolled back up, and there was Obi Wan Kenobi in all of his Jesus glory. It was all I could do not to howl with laughter. My husband noticed my not-so-muted snickering and peered over my shoulder to see what I was laughing at, and he almost lost it, too.

Legal Troubles?

My in-laws got a new car last year, and like many other new cars, it has a shiny infotainment system. It has navigation, satellite radio, apps, etc. One of the apps (or services, I suppose) they have is On-Star. If you aren’t familiar with On-Star, it’s a service that helps with navigation, emergency services, and more. My in-laws regularly used On-Star for directions and stuff, and one day my MIL approached me to ask about the possibility of legal trouble regarding their new car.

After complaining about how well the On-Star service was working, she told me that she was worried they were going to get arrested because my FIL cussed out the virtual adviser. He asked for directions, and it didn’t understand him and it gave him some random answer. After that happened a few times, he let loose a string of curse words.

“Could he go to jail for that?” she asked me.

I can usually keep a straight face with her, but this time I couldn’t. The thought of cussing out On-Star’s version of Siri is was humorous enough, but getting arrested for it? I about pissed my pants.  I assured her that no one was monitoring those interactions (I think) and that no laws had been broken.

I’m sure it won’t be long before Little Man could write his own version of this post for his dad and me!

Do you have any funny tech mishaps to share?

Liar, Liar

Recently my friend Lindsay, who blogs at The Sensitive Giraffe, tagged me in a post on Facebook about lying to your kids. She suggested that particular topic would make for good blog material, and she was right.

I know what some of you are thinking — “It’s wrong to lie to your kids! You poopyhead!”

To which I say —

Just kidding. Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll never know.

For the most part, I like to keep it real as a parent. Well, as of around 2017, I have liked to keep it real as a parent. Prior to 2017, I only kept it real for topics that didn’t make me uncomfortable. I mostly didn’t outright lie, but I did a lot of omitting the truth and skirting around issues. (Don’t forget to vote for me in 2020.) Nowadays, if one of my kids wants to know something, I make every effort to tell them straight up, regardless of how much I don’t want to answer the question.

For example, Little Man has asked me this at various times throughout the years:

How was I born?

Before I became a [Sorta] Super Truther, I’d tell him that he appeared . Later I mentioned that babies were sometimes born by C-section, and we happily watched a C-section video, since that is better than mentioning my vajayjay. (He wasn’t born that way, but it was okay if he made the assumption.)

After I became a [Sorta] Super Truther, I told him point blank that he was born by vaginal delivery and came out of my birth canal. And you know what? He didn’t bat an eye. There was nothing to be uncomfortable about at all. (Parenting pro tip: just be super technical with this stuff.)

So, Liar, Liar. I’m a fairly truthful mom these days about the things that matter. Baby making, puberty, the chances of seeing more than a couple inches of snow during a South Carolina winter…I’m truthful.

There are, of course, a few things I’m not at all truthful about, and that’s mostly a matter of convenience. Saying something like, “Lindt chocolate is for adults only,” might make me lose a few mom points when they discover the truth, but it’s pretty damn convenient.

Here are a few other situations that I may have fudged the truth in:

As I’ve established on this blog in an earlier post, my kids definitely know that when the bra comes off, their mom ain’t doing anything. And part of that is because — at some point — I led them to believe that I require a bra to function outside of the house.

Anytime I say “Maybe” when they ask for something or to do something, it’s pretty much a lie. The above pie chart proves this.

That blasted Steve Jobs.

This also works with their Gogurt, Goldfish, and graham cracker treats. For the record, this is by no means a regular occurrence, but it has happened. (After they look at you like you’re the parent version of Judas, you’d lie, too.)

Amazon doesn’t have it. Target doesn’t have it. The whole Internet has run out of it.

I had actually forgotten about that lie until Baby Girl asked me if Caillou was still sick one day. I blanked at first, and then she reminded me that I had told her Caillou was sick and couldn’t be on TV. He eventually got better. Unfortunately.

I don’t care if you are the most honest parent in the world and never lie to your kids, there’s no way you can judge me for the last one.

What’s one of your parenting lies?