Always get all your ducks in a row — even (especially) when you are in a crappy place.
Parenthood requires an honest reframing of one’s spiritual beliefs. Nirvana is reached in that brief moment when the dirty clothes hamper and clean clothes laundry basket are both empty. Nirvana is short-lived, if not unattainable.
Explain to your three year-old before you arrive at the party that the phrase, “party pooper,” has nothing to do with actual feces.
Kazoos were invented by the devil, and are distributed to children by advocates of filicide.
Before reprimanding your child, it is wise to clarify her intentions:
Me: Please don’t whine at me.
Child: I wasn’t whining at you. I was yelling at you!
When you have a conversation like the one that follows, it might be time to contact the Ayn Rand Institute and ask how old one must be to become a spokesperson.
Child: What’s a thief?
Me: Someone who steals things.
Child: Oh, like the government?
A pointer for the cat unlucky enough to
be owned by own a small child:
When someone picks you up, make sure some runny poop squirts out of your butt and splatters on the wall. The amount of “affection” you receive will diminish significantly.
Be grateful that you’re having this conversation with your three-and-a-half year-old daughter instead of your twenty-three-and-a-half year-old daughter; perhaps saying it early will help her avoid saying it often:
Me: What did you say to the boy who was being mean to you?
Child: I told him he was not respecting me, but he didn’t know what respecting me meant.
When you sing, “Oh Mickey you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind,” to your child, and you replace “Mickey” with your child’s name, the breeze you feel on your face is actually intended for your mind — your face just got in the way of her blowing.