Parenting Books I Need To Read

Don’t you just love parenting books? There is something for just about everything — potty training, raising temper tantrum-free toddlers, what to expect developmentally. And let’s not forget about a certain pre-parenting book that is infamous for contributing to (or perhaps creating) anxiety disorders. I’ve bought many parenting books over the years, and most of which aren’t useful for us beyond serving as a fire starter. (I kid — I’m not burning a $15 book and will eventually toss them in the donate pile.)

You’re probably wondering why I’m going on about parenting books, especially since this isn’t the typical parenting blog. I’ll get to that now. A few days ago, the topic of parenting books came up in a discussion my husband and I were having with another relative. I pulled out a few of the books I’ve purchased over the years. I had books on positive parenting, parenting the whole-brain child, raising a gifted child, and parenting a defiant child.

We had a laugh over the books — mostly because of the defiant child book, which I purchased before Baby Girl came along — and then my husband made the comment, “If they really wanted to help parents, they’d make a book called How Not To Kill Your Kids.”

We had another laugh and then I had a light bulb moment — “Ooh, I could use this for my blog! And I could do other book titles that would’ve been more useful, too!” (My light bulb runs at a low wattage, in case you’re thinking, “WTH, this is what she considers a light bulb moment?”)

Without further ado, here are a few parenting books I should’ve read instead. (Click image to magnify.)

(I need to touch up this doodle and update with the correct spelling, oops!)


(I’m totally gonna use Shut The Fudge Up when I write my bad mom parenting book.)

Bonus

I forgot to put the parenting books back on the shelf last week. Baby Girl ripped the page out of the book about positive discipline. Minutes after I corrected her, she used a crayon to scribble in the book about the defiant child.

What book title would you like to see? 

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No Health For You

There are lots of ways that you can piss off your kids. Tell them that screen time is over for the day. Mention that bath time or bedtime is just around the corner. Announce that no more fun will be had until the toys are picked up and the house doesn’t look like a tornado came through.

All of these things will certainly make little tempers flare and have them shooting daggers at you, but wanna know the worst thing you can do? Offer them something healthy when they ask for a snack — they’ll treat this as the ultimate act of betrayal, one that is worthy of a spot in the ninth circle of hell.

Now I much prefer snacks of the non-healthy variety, too. My “never saw a gap” thighs can attest to that. However, most of my non-healthy snacks are consumed after the kids go to bed, in an effort to minimize the bad example I set for the kids. Unfortunately, Little Man is catching on to that. He once mentioned how unfair it is that the parents get to stay up and watch TV and eat junk food after he goes to bed. Dude, I just listened to 10 hours of nonstop chatter about Pokemon, Minecraft, Peppa Pig, and farts — you really wanna talk about unfair?

For the record, I’m not a total junk food Nazi; as evidenced by Baby Girl’s love of popsicles, they get sweets. Maybe too many sometimes, especially if we’re going to Chick-Fil-A with their amazing ice cream and follow that up with a trip to Walmart, land of the free cookies. But I do try to make sure that most of their food doesn’t have a lot of added sugar and actually has some nutrients, which makes me a bit of an asshole mom in their eyes.

Despite being pretty reasonable, both kids still try to find a way around the rules (pretty sure they’re hard-wired to do so). Sometimes they think whining will do the trick, which is annoying, but other times their attempts are rather humorous.

This one is from when Little Man was around age 4.

No beating around the bush with him!

Last week, Baby Girl went at it from a different angle.


Nice try, Baby Girl. If only!

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That’s Not How That Works

Potty training is officially underway in the Dorky household. We stuck Baby Girl in underwear early last week. She’ll wear a pull-up when we leave the house and a diaper at night, but that’s it. Amazingly enough, so far, so good. She has one or two accidents most days, but has taken to it quite well. I rarely have to remind her to go on her own, either, and she was even dry one night this week. I think she’ll be there by the time preschool starts back up.

Like with anything else Baby Girl does, the potty training adventure has been quite amusing so far. She regularly gets cheered on for peeing or pooping in the potty, so she has been returning the favor.

Sometimes Baby Girl will walk around naked from the waist down. Since it’s warm, I’m not making her wear shorts inside, as there’s a good chance they’ll get soiled at some point during the day. She has taken this a step further, though. Occasionally she’ll ditch her Wonder Woman or Batman underwear and walk around with not a care in the world. My husband and I think it’s pretty funny, but Little Man? Not so much.

For the record, Little Man still doesn’t think much of streaking through the house after a shower if he forgets his pajamas. He’ll occasionally get modest and cover his chest, but that’s it. Pot meet kettle, Little Man.

My favorite part of potty training so far was when she attempted to use her potty in…the wrong way. I walked in to see this:

Little Man and my husband were in hysterics. I didn’t immediately get why and told her to get down, thinking that they shouldn’t be laughing at a toddler — whose sense of balance isn’t that great — standing on a flimsy plastic potty next to the fireplace. (I decided to stick her potty in the living room for the first few days so that it’d be more easily accessible to her. Kinda gross, but I think it helps having it closer for now.)

“She thinks she can pee standing up!” Little Man said, still cackling. Oh! She was trying to pee like a boy. I guess she’s walked in on her dad or brother and took notice. Sorry, Baby Girl — we can do almost anything they can do, except for that. Not without buying something like the GoGirl Female Urination Device, anyway.

Do you have any potty training adventures (or woes) you’d like to share?

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I’m Not Awesome

It’s been a long week. I’m pretty sure that any week following a vacation would feel long, but there has been a lot going on this week. We were on the go nearly every day this week, much to the dismay of my wannabe hermit 9-year-old (although he definitely had his share of fun), and even when we were at home, downtime hasn’t happened much. As such, today’s post is going to be short and definitely sweet.

One day last week, Baby Girl did something that prompted her dad to heap praise upon her. I can’t for the life of me remember what it was, but her reaction certainly stood out.

My husband informed her that she could be — and was — both.

(By the way — Baby Girl was looking over my shoulder while I did today’s doodle. She had one request: for me to draw her pooping. I declined. I will, however, be continuing the Bulba Chronicles next week. Yes, there has been enough talk lately to deserve more doodles and to be upgraded to “Chronicles.”)

Have a good weekend!

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Vacation Expectations vs. Reality

Another family vacation bites the dust. As I mentioned in another post, we went back to Myrtle Beach and spent several nights at a fun resort. (“Fun resort” means there were water slides and splash pads for the kids and a poolside bar for the parents.) There were no major hiccups while we were away, every day was either overcast or sunny, and Baby Girl’s in-restaurant meltdowns were fewer than in the past. Winning!

Now we’re trying to get back into the swing of things. The luggage is mostly unpacked and put away, which is a step up from in the past, when I ignored a suitcase full of stuff for more than a week. (No, I’m not going to specify how long.) I’m also trying to organize all of our summer activities, plan Baby Girl’s birthday party, and catch up on dozens of blog posts. And there’s the matter of my own blog, of course. I’m sure some of y’all are in withdrawal mode, going without a Dorky Mom post for over a week. (And some of y’all might be thinking, “Back so soon?” Hehe.)

Since I know y’all are chomping at the bit for some details, I’ll give you a few. And I’ll save some for later, as my kids definitely gave me more material for this blog.

Here goes.

Remember when I posted about the odd — but not really bad — sunburn I got a couple weeks ago? Despite sunscreen and an umbrella, I got a weird sunburn on my leg. Odd, but no biggie. This vacation — despite plenty of preventative measures — I got the real deal of sunburns.

Yes, the most aspire to is a few splotchy tanned areas and red cheeks.

I made the mistake of not wearing my cover-up for a while and got a nasty burn on my chest. Other parts of me were dark pink/reddish and this part was more of a Merlot color it was so dark. The worst part (aside what legit feels like nerve pain in that area)? I got a nice reminder of how my body is doing gravity-wise when I take off my bra. You ladies know what I’m talking about. I think. Every damn shift or sway, I not only get a nice jolt of pain, but also get reminded that things ain’t where they once was. (Channeling my inner country girl on that last bit.)

Non-gravity defying breasts aside, let’s talk about what a kid should be excited about when going on vacation. Little Man counts down the days until he gets to get on water slides, body board in the ocean, and dig in the sand. Baby Girl gets excited about something different.

Before we went on vacation, I asked Baby Girl what she wanted to do at the beach.

“See the ice cream man!” she answered. I was rather impressed with her memory of getting ice cream at the beach a year ago, but that wasn’t quite what I was going for. True to her word, though, this is what she looked forward to every single day.

Spend hundreds of dollars on a vacation for the kid to care about a sweet treat that costs two bucks.

“I gonna see the ice cream man today?” she’d ask after waking up in the morning. The same question would be repeated twenty minutes later, after breakfast, in between breakfast and lunch, during lunch, etc. And finally the music from the ice cream truck would play and her dad would take her to pick something out.

And, I kid you not, if you ask her what kind of ice cream she had on vacation, Baby Girl will tell you all five of the different types of cones and popsicles she had. Again, her memory is most impressive.

Now for the last vacation expectation vs. reality. Since Baby Girl is getting older, there are certain things I expect of her — namely not eating poop or crapping in the tub. Anything gross that’s related to poop, really. I’ve been pooped on in the tub a few times, but now she tells us if she has to go. As Little Man would say, “Thank Zeus!” As such, I expect the same from her when swimming. Water’s water, so give us a head’s up so we can head to the bathroom, right?

Wrong.

Just a reminder — the squiggly marks on me are from sunburn, not poop.

She did tell me about the poop — after the fact. Just as I stood her up on the edge of the pool to jump in for a cannonball, she told me that she had pooped. Sure enough, when I glanced down at her crotch area, I saw watery streams of poop coming out. For the record, she was wearing a Little Swimmer diaper, but it was no match for Baby Girl’s bowels. I’ll spare you the details from there, but just know that some beach towels were ruined and that I had to avoid eye contact with people.

All in all, it was a great trip. We spent the majority of our time either by the water or in the water, which is what it’s all about for me. In the past, it has been a challenge to get Baby Girl to even touch the sand or ocean water without tears, so it was awesome to see her work her way up to digging in it a little and splashing around. As Borat would say, “Great success!”

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Mother’s Day Part One

I hope everyone had a nice, relaxing Mother’s Day yesterday (or a nice Sunday). My husband cooked me some of my favorite things (steak and bacon), plus ran a bubble bath for me and took the kids out of the house so I could enjoy it in peace, so I was a happy girl.

My family got me a few presents for Mother’s Day yesterday. One present has yet to be delivered, but my husband showed me a picture (so it counts) — an air fryer. This is cool because a) we can enjoy fried foods for less calories and b) I won’t risk burning the house down again trying to fry stuff. (There will definitely be a post for this one soon.) I was also given a gift made by Little Man that will get a post all of its own. And then there was an awesome gift that made me geek out — an R2-D2 measuring cup set.

The set looks exactly like an R2-D2 toy while assembled.

It comes apart into measuring cups and measuring spoons of varying sizes. Rather than attempt to draw a butchered looking R2-D2, you can view the real deal here.

I had barely taken R2-D2 out of the gift bag when the kids began clamoring over who would get to hold him first. Because obviously, the recipient of the Mother’s Day gift wouldn’t have dibs. And when they realized that he comes apart, well, all hell broke loose.

Apparently my kids’ arms do the Stretch Armstrong thing when they’re fighting over something.

Thanks, guys.

The next time my husband and I do any gift giving, we’ll have to make sure we give the non-boring gifts in private.

As a little bonus, I’m going to close this with a doodle from Little Man. He saw me drawing the R2-D2 and drew C-3P0 on his tablet to go with this.

How was your weekend?

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Happy Mother’s Day, Indeed

As much as I joke around about the kids’ clinginess and stuff, Little Man and Baby Girl really have a love for me that just blows my mind at times. I could do a post about Mother’s Day expectations vs. reality or one about the shenanigans my kids have been up to today, but I’ll save those for later and focus on the sweet stuff.

Little Man is a total mama’s boy. Always has been and, hopefully, always will be.

All. Nine. Realms. I want that on my tombstone.

And now for the toddler…

Yesterday I asked Baby Girl if she knew what tomorrow was, and she asked if it were a school day. I told her that it’s not (and won’t be for another three months — it’s going to break her heart when it sinks in that there is no more preschool for that long), but that it was going to be Mother’s Day.

“It gonna be Mudder’s Day?” she asked.

“Yep.”

She wrapped her arms around me and said, “You the best mudder I could have.” I didn’t think she had an inkling what Mother’s Day is, so to hear all that made my heart extra melty.

Yeah, poor Daddy.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you mamas and to anyone else who fills that role.

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