Tuesday, April 12, 2011


Oh, it’s coming alright.  The doorway to another age is forming.  In the haze of all else that embodies my world, my nine year old daughter got her first pimple today.  Due to her reaction to the microscopic imperfection, you would have thought a hemangioma developed on her face overnight.  And, apparently, it causes impairment of the functional kind…

”Mom, look!  I can’t go to school.” 

“Yeah.  No.  I don’t think so, Bailey.”

It was this moment that I sighed with relief.  Fortunately I haven’t yet endured puberty with my kids.  So elated about that fact, that I could hold a rave or hang a piƱata. 

[Flash back 15 years ago]  The Huxtables made it look so easy.  Parenting, that is.

Boys are knuckleheads.  And raising girls is like entering a mental institution and not knowing whether or not you’re a visitor or a patient.  And (if you ask my kids) I really don’t know much about anything.  Anymore.

All in all, I love these guys!  [Cue the look of shock.]  I know I complain at times – I can’t help it – but honestly, I love my children.  They are a handful.  Rebellious at times.  With minds and agendas of their own.  They test limits.  They forget things.  They make bad choices and have to deal with the consequences.  And when my kids are getting along, you can rest assured it’s because they’re coming up with stupid things to do together.  My kids are by no means perfect.  But they’re perfect to me.  I enjoy being around them.  With wine.  That helps.  (Mostly kidding, but not entirely)  The most important ingredient for raising kids is humor.  Kids are goofy and you must have a sense of humor about said goofiness.

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