Who is parenting who?

“Don’t forget to bring these to put in the toilets.”

Said my toddler as he shoved a handful of tampons in my face.

Maybe there’s a chapter in one of those parenting books that instructs you what to do with your inquisitive toddler when it’s just the two of you amidst a TJ Maxx raid and menstruation is about to ruin a perfectly good pair of underwear (that you finally managed to put on forward-facing and right-side-out) but that would’ve required me actually opening one.

What to Expect When You’re Expecting served as a coaster and those informative pamphlets from my OB might’ve been used to level a wonky end table. The day I found out I was pregnant I scanned a quick paragraph about hemorrhaging from ectopic pregnancies and decided that I prefer the element of surprise.  

But seriously, the method I’ve adopted means commandeering the handicap stall and taking care of my lady business while Rinn plays this fun game where he pretends to unlock and open the door while emceeing my toilet business and making awkward comments about the difference between the male and female anatomy.  

“How do you pee without a penis?”

“You’re sitting down, are you pooping?”

“I WAAAANNNNNAAAA SEEEE!”

What’s the alternative?  Instruct him to wait outside the stall while I swap out plugs and hope that he doesn’t take this as an opportunity to try out a new family like he does every Summer at the public pool or chat up some stranger about The Lion Guard and show them his “tiger claws?”  Seems like the fast track to an abduction and I don’t have near the skill set of Liam Neeson.  

So I have a son who is acutely aware of the menstrual cycle and the tools necessary to surf the crimson wave; his future girlfriend will thank me when he doesn’t have a tantrum about grabbing her a box of Playtex Supers from CVS.

the fur child

I suck at blogging.

Hilarity is still a frequent occurrence in my day-to-day affairs and I still err on the side of funny, or so they tell me, but I’m busy.  The works-6-days-a-week, chases-a-toddler-from-preschool-to-dance-to-basketball, has-a-relationship-of-the-romantic-variety, carries-13-credits kind of busy.  I poop at the grocery store more then I poop at home and in the throes of tourist season I spend more time bathing my horse then I do my own child. Find the time to document my absurd life in more than 140 characters? Laughable.

Those infrequent spare moments are usually spent napping in 20 minute increments, supervising the construction of a Paw Patrol puzzle or looking at pictures of clothes I’ll never own and baby animals on Pinterest.  With that said, let me introduce you to the newest member of the band, Tui (rhymes with “chewy.”)

Because the most logical thing to do when you’re already overextended is to throw a furry hand grenade at your life.  In his defense, he’s a good dog.  Okay, he’s not a bad dog.  I’ll reserve the adjective “good” for when he stops trying to devour all of Rinn’s stuffed animals with the same fervor that I consume a bottle of pinot.  Put Rinn and Tui together however, and well, you know the chaotic scene from Kindergarten Cop where it’s Arnold’s first day as a substitute teacher and all the children are behaving like wild animals; wild animals with fingerpaints and the ability to throw anything that isn’t nailed down?  It’s that, tenfold. There’s nipping and defensive headlocks, barking and shrill screams of delight and/or terror, pinching and clawing and one of them has always just farted so the entire scene smells like our septic system needs to be flushed.

I scream, they cry, everyone goes to timeout while I google “tubal ligation” and “where to buy animal tranquilizers” for me and the dog, but mostly for me.