This mom says, “I’d rather Eliza skip a meal than eat something that wasn’t organic.  I would never let her eat something that was harmful.”  There was an awkward silence.  I wasn’t sure how to respond without knocking her into the sandbox.  Instead, the awful mom that I am, I took out some NON-ORGANIC cheese popcorn and offered it to my daughter.  She hungrily reached into the bag for a big scoop.  And as an added bonus I said: “Make sure you don’t give any to Eliza, we don’t want to harm her.”

She shook her head.  I explained how important it was – could she look around or ask someone.  She stared at me blankly.  My daughter started crying again.  The emotionless woman, then commented, “Isn’t she a little old for a blanket?”

Before I could respond my husband found Blue under the potato chip display.  “Thank you so much for your help.” I sarcastically said as we left.  Who cares what people think.  The only thing that matters is my  daughter was content the rest of the ride.

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With a whopping 90+ percent of them playing online, tweens are having a big impact on game development.

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Gisele, who is also known as Mrs. Tom Brady Football Star Wife, also noted, “I think breastfeeding really helped (me keep my figure).”

Which is particularly awesome, since Gisele was back to modelling swimwear only six weeks after her natural home birth.  Neat.

I’m not sure which law school Gisele went to (Barbizon School of Law?), and I’m not sure who exactly she thinks would enforce such a law.  Perhaps some special branch of the World Health Organization could be created.  Or maybe each country would have its own Men In Black-esque agency, armed with cotton breast pads and Lansinoh.

This is will not come as a shock to my readers, but I think it will be breaking news to Gisele: the rest of us don’t live in that world.   Pumping at work has been a practical option only to my professional friends.  If you’re a lawyer with our own office door that shuts and locks, it’s a little easier to pump than if you’re a small-company secretary who has to pump in a bathroom stall.
Even for stay-at-home moms, breastfeeding can present many, many challenges.  My twins were born by emergency c-section at 35 weeks.  Because I was on an IV, I was not even allowed to enter the NICU and see my babies for the first 24 hours. I was brought Polaroid photos of them to look at while I tried to pump, weeping uncontrollably, two floors above them.  At 23 hours and 59 minutes, I was waiting at the NICU door, my catheter bag tucked into my wheelchair.
The girls were tiny and had very weak sucks.  The NICU had its very own corps of Nipple Nazis Lactation Consultants, who constantly pressured me frequently reminded me to pump to get my milk supply up.  I was spending all day in the NICU, and the Absent-Minded Professor came after work.  One evening, we were sitting there, snuggling our daughters, surrounded by wires and beeping monitors and nurses and fragile babies.  It was as private a moment as we could have.  And then the LC came up and suggested I pump.
“I just pumped 45 minutes ago,” I said.  Probably I whined it, actually.
“If you pump again, it’ll help your milk supply,” she said.
I know she meant well and wanted to help me.  I wanted to breastfeed, and breastfeeding preemie twins is a challenge.  But I needed her to back off my little family moment.
“Can I please just have this moment alone with my family?” I pleaded.  She slunk off.  The last thing a NICU mom needs is to be made to feel guilty.

Tad Hills, known for his best selling Duck & Goose picture books, has done it again with this imaginative tale filled with adorable animal characters.  My 5 year-old, often hard to get to focus, was engrossed from the beginning.  Rocket would rather play in the leaves than learn to read, but the clever little yellow bird does not give up.  She comes every day and hangs an alphabet banner from the trees announcing, “Ah, the wondrous, mighty, gorgeous alphabet”.  Then she begins reading a story aloud, engaging Rocket until he is eager to know the ending.  The bird smartly makes him wait until the next day to find out, solidifying his interest in reading.

Rocket now hooked, hunkers down to learn his letters and we get to see the words spelled out phonetically – separated by hyphens.  Perfect for an early reader, my son loved spelling out his ABCs, especially since they were written in the snow.  Readers join Rocket in first recognizing their alphabet, sounding out the letters and finally constructing words together with the enthusiastic little puppy.  When the bird leaves for the winter, Rocket is hooked and continues to practice spelling out words like M-U-D, while he’s covered in what else, but mud.

When the little yellow bird finally returns in the Fall, Rocket is ready to begin his lessons again.  The two settle down to read books and discover stories together.  The illustrations of the changing seasons in oil and colored pencil, are the ideal rendering for this sweet, captivating story.

A great back-to-school book, How Rocket Learned to Read is not only entertaining, but perfect for building confidence in early readers.  To order visit their website.

Enter for a chance to win your own How Rocket Learned to Read book! We are giving away 3 copies. (retail value $60) Tell us your latest imperfect parenting moment!

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You’ve been warned. Enter at your own risk. And FOR THE LOVE – DO NOT WEAR WHITE!!!!! (Oh and you might want to wait until after lunch….just in case.)

I have had some disgusting interesting moments as a parent. I’ve been absolutely shocked by some of my experiences. Flabbergasted-that I’ve been able to make it through them without alternately throwing up or running from the room. I’ve decided to compile this list of gross moments because…well, they need to be remembered. I need to remember what I did for Pineapple…for that matter, so does Pineapple. So, without further ado…my Top 10 GROSSEST parenting moments…to date.

#10: Coming in at number 10 is dirt. Just dirt in general. Let Pineapple outside for even one minute and what does she do?…heads for the garden. My (wanna)bee garden, my garden-garden…whatever…as long as there is dirt. And she grabs HANDFULS of it. And then she brings them to me. You know…because all moms really love dirt. Dirt is awesome. Yay dirt. <INSERT HEAVY SARCASM.> Last weekend, Pineapple made it over to the garden and grabbed a handful of dirt – and probably, unfortunately, a few seeds – and brought me some. It was so kind of her. Really. Then she put some in her pocket. For safe keeping. The really gross part? My handful had a worm in it. Joy.

#9: Drool is next. O. M. G. I am so darned, stinkin’ sick of drool. This kid drools more than a teething Rottweiler. It is unbelievable the amount of drool that she puts out. I just don’t get it. And the worst? When she has “food particles” in the drool. Yep, cookie bits and carrot bits and broccoli bits…you name it and it’s probably oozing out of her mouth at any given moment. And she JUST STANDS THERE and lets it ooze out. Yesterday evening, she was eating some bunny cookies and walking around drooling, she decided she wanted a hug…she climbs up on my chair…she puts her WEE arms around me <momentary bliss> then she rubs her face on my cheek…meaning, she SMEARED HER COOKIE DROOL ALL OVER MY CHEEK AND IN MY HAIR. *sigh* And yuck.

#8: She likes to “dip dip dip.” Oh Lord…this is nasty…OK, here goes. Pineapple watches mommy and daddy “dip their chips” in the salsa or their bread in the hummus and she wants to do it, too. She wants to “dip dip dip.” It was SUPER cute when it started. Soooo adorable. Well now, a meal cannot go by without her needing to “dip dip dip” her food. So, we’ve turned to ketchup, which she loves. So why is this gross? you ask…well, that would be because whatever she “dip dip dips” she then SUCKS CLEAN and re-dips. This includes meat, tater tots, french fries, chicken bites, chips, crackers, you name it and it goes far beyond the “double dip” into the triple and quadruple dip. We have to beg her to please eat a bit of the food rather than just keep dipping and dipping. I cannot describe in words how nasty this really is during the process. Just trust me, it is super gross.

#7: The double dip. Before you get confused, I’m not referring to her chip dipping here, I’m referring to her dipping her fingers in her nose. Yep, she totally shoves her fingers knuckle-deep into her nose…then she puts them in her mouth…and she does both nostrils, and both fingers AT THE SAME TIME. DH caught her doing this one day as he drove her home from daycare and he almost threw up in the car. And she does it ALL the time. We don’t want to make a big deal of it because we don’t want her to think “oh this is great – I totally get attention for this behavior!” So for the most part, we pretend it’s not happening. But sometimes, DH just can’t take it and he’ll pull her fingers out of her nose…or mouth….*shudder.*

#6: This would be the time that Pineapple LICKED the hand rails on the MAX train in downtown PDX. I don’t even think this needs further explanation. You’ve read my posts about how I’m a total hand sanitizer addict and for me to have to watch my child LICK the hand rails on the train was akin to a nun being forced to watch the Exorcist. It’s just. not. right.

#5: A couple of weeks ago, Pineapple was having some tummy issues. She was sort of spitting up/throwing up randomly. Well, this time in particular, she was standing in front of my chair and she just barfed. All over herself and the floor. It was a LOT of barf. And she looked at it for a moment, made sort of a spitty “bleh” sound, then bent down and began PLAYING in it. I was pulling her out of the mess – which she was swirling around and then PUTTING BACK IN HER MOUTH – OMG, OMG – and the dog wandered over….you know what? I like you readers, so let’s just stop this story here.

#4: Pineapple is lactose intolerant. Before we figured this out, we had a long period of time managing tummy problems, booty rashes, and interesting diapers – I also wore a great deal of spit up on my clothes to work each day – but we eventually figured out what the deal was and were able to mitigate these issues. When this was going on, though, Pineapple might just “blow out” either end at any given moment. One day in particular, we were all dressed up and getting ready to head out to a party and show off our sweet little Pineapple. DH was holding her on his lap and I was gathering some items for the diaper bag. Then DH says “what’s that smell?” I walked over, sniffing, and said “that’s poop” – I think she pooped…at this point, DH got a very odd look on his face and lifted Pineapple off his lap…which was VERY wet and VERY orangey/brown…all over.  Again, DH struggled not to vomit…and I struggled not to fall on the floor during my fit of laughter. Yes, it was gross…but it was gross on DH this time – not me. LOL!

#3: Carrying over the poop theme…I was out shopping with my dad one day. We were checking out TV’s and making a grocery store run and we’d brought Pineapple along. I noticed while we were in Best Buy that Pineapple was smelling “less than fresh.” So, when we got out to the car, I decided to change her diaper in the seat. Holy. Crap. Literally. It was the grossest, wettest, nastiest, most horrific poop I have every smelled/seen/dealt with in my entire life. And it was EVERYWHERE. It was on her clothes, all the way up her back, down her legs, in her socks. And during the changing, it got in her hair, on my hands, on my clothes, on dad’s seat…seriously. It was like a poop tornado and we were all getting hit with debris. And… the smell. Oh Lord, the smell. <GAGGING RIGHT NOW THINKING ABOUT IT.>

#2: Sorry – but it’s poop again. (If you are a parent, you understand why. If you are not a parent, let this serve as some reliable birth control.) This time, it’s a bit different…but still…for the love. Pineapple was VERY tiny and we were at a friend’s house. I had to change her diaper as she had pooped and peed and was rather ripe. I took her into the room to change her only to realize there was no safe place to lie her down and I didn’t have her changing pad. So, I used the floor – which was nicely carpeted. As I took off her diaper and removed it <TOTAL ROOKIE MOVE ALERT> she began making a “red face” which was an indicator that she was going to go “poop.” I didn’t have her fresh diaper handy and here I was looking at my friend’s beautiful, clean, lightly colored carpet and desperately hoping she would have us over again at some point. So, as I watched my baby’s face turn red, I…wait for it…stuck my hand under her tiny hiney and caught the poop before it could land on the carpet. I caught it…In. My. Hand. Thankfully DH walked in right about then…he gagged several times then took over diaper duty so I could quickly run to the restroom, throw the poopy in the potty, flush, dry heave, wash my hands, dry heave, wash my hands again, and return as if nothing had happened. The things we do for our children, people.

#1: A month or so ago, just after Pineapple had eaten dinner, I picked her up over my head and was flinging her up and down and tickling her tummy with my head <TOTAL ROOKIE MOVE …again>. I looked up smiling at my BEAUTIFUL baby girl who was smiling back at me….and she puked…in my mouth.

DH ALMOST didn’t make it that time. We won’t talk about me…suffice to say, I took a shower.

Parenting is GROSS. Make no mistake. But if you are a non-parent and you’re reading this, you have to recognize that we parents wouldn’t do these things if it wasn’t truly worth it. I’ve pushed my boundaries beyond anything I believed imaginable…and it has been totally worth it.

I hope nobody read this during or immediately following lunch - but I hope you at least got a giggle at my parenting expense. Please share your experiences…so I don’t feel quite so alone in the void of gross-land!

“Which is it? Am I fat or pregnant?” I barked.

“Pregnant.”

So in I went this morning to tell her.

She took the news well, much better than I’d anticipated. I finally could let my bump hang free and stop walking backwards. I was about to jump on the chair and sing “The hills are alive” when she asked the question I’ve been hearing a lot lately: “Was this planned?”

Ex-fricken-scuse me?

The question stops me every time. Was this what? You want to know whether Chuck and I knowingly boinked with or without using protection? Why?

It’s this pregnancy’s question du jour—and people aren’t subtle about asking. My cousin’s congratulatory email actually went like this: “Yipee! I’m assuming this was planned?”

Assume away, bitch.

I mean, really.

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out the motives of these nosy people. Maybe they see life as one big Lifetime movie? Maybe if I say, “No, the baby wasn’t planned,” they enjoy imagining that Chuck and I were in the throes of passion and that Chuck suddenly screamed, “Dear God, no! Your Nuva Ring just bounced off the chandelier! What will we do if we have to bring another child into this stable, loving home? How could this have happened to us, a happily married monogamous couple?”

Then, they imagine Chuck being really mean to me while I bake pies at a dusty old diner and mack on my married gynecologist.

Oh wait, that was the movie Waitress.

I was about to dedicate more time tonight to my psychological investigation (there’s nothing on TV and what else is there to do in Mulletville on a humid Thursday night) but a foul, rancid smell has been distracting me. A rodent—or one of Chuck’s shoes—has died behind an upstairs wall. No matter what I spray or what ridiculous contraption I plug into the wall to spread its flowery, morning fresh douchy goodness, the smell won’t go away.

It’s downright foul.

But. I’d rather have people sniff me and ask why I smell like decomposing mouse than the Dreaded Question. That’s how much I hate it.