I love my kid, I do!  However some days, just like any parent, I am tempted to tell the next stranger who thinks she is cute to take her.  Not that I would every do that, that would be rude.  Also, I would not do well in prison.  As much as I struggle with being a “good” mom most days, I would much rather struggle with myself than Big Barb over shanks and smokes. Any-hoo,  today has been one of those days.  You see, my child is a literal minded little terrorist.  She takes everything as you say it.  This is a hard one for me because I am a Southern, sarcastic, snarky but sweet, find something to laugh at gal 98% of the day.  I can’t get mad when I ask her to throw her drinkable yogurt away and she launches it with all her toddler might across the room.   She did, technically, throw it away from her

“Dear Lord help me, I’m gonna lose it.”  Insert toddler running to the door to great the Deer Lord, with all of his majesticness and surely golden, glitter encrusted antlers.

If it is true you get what you give, I must give a lot of misdirected chaos and crap.

As any parent knows, you enter that beautiful stage of toddlerdom where it seems like you say “poo poo goes in the potty” a million times a day TRYING to get something to sink in.  Boy, should I have chosen my words differently….

Picture it, Georgia 2014.  The day has been long with a teething crawddler and a constipated 3 year old.  The state of the home is volatile and bed time is so near I can smell it.  Wait, that isn’t bedtime I smell…crap.  I walk into our bedroom only to be knocked down by the stale stank that is indicative of a turd train that has been parked in the depot a little too long.  I catch a glimpse of a hastily discarded pull up on the floor and a little girl, dressed in her birthday best with some streaks of brown on her thighs.  “BABE!  I need some assistance, NOW!!”  Turn on the shower, grab the antibacterial hand soap, and coax the proud princess into the shower.  Before I get into the shower to scrub her down, and the Deer Lord a few times, I walk into to the crapper closet to see her master piece.  The once clean, white, toilet is smeared with the fecal finger paint of a girl who tried.  The watered down streaks of her doing her best.  No idea where the birth of the brown goblin occurred, but she was proud of the result.  Someday we will cut out the middle man, or middle hands, but until then we are making a step in the right direction.

She did, after all, put the poo poo in the potty.

I think I need a Crown, but make it a deuce.