Family Circus

No one can drive us crazy unless we give them the keys. - Doug Horton

Monday

Why is it that when we, as parents, meet new people and find out that they have children, we feel an instant connection? When getting to know strangers, I make more effort to make my life 'transparent', often sharing the gory details of life as a stay-at-home mom, simply to see who bolts first. Usually it's the folks with no kids, who are rushing to book an appointment to get sterilized. I find myself tempted to get caught up in the inevitable oneupmanship when comparing the horror stories of parenthood:

Parent #1: "Johnny drew on the underside of our coffee table with crayons once."

Parent #2:
"Susie drew on the big-screen TV with markers. Thankfully they were washable."

Me: "Really? My two-year-old colored every inch of flesh between her socks and her shorts with a Sharpie. Two hours and a Brillo pad later, her legs were still a sick shade of gray."

I have good reason for avoiding these conversations: My daughters have done the same thing, to the extreme, and I always sound like I'm making up the story. I'm not. I promise.

My DH is a member of a well-known social fraternity. He and I discussed what it was actually like to be a Fraternity brother. I asked once if he shared things with fellow brothers that he'd never say to anyone else. "Of course", he answered. That makes sense. Of course you share things with the members of your exclusive club that you keep from John Q. Public. So that's what being a parent means: Perpetual membership in the Exclusive Parenthood Club.

I won't even tell you what the yearly dues are.

CAST & CREW

Erin: 31, Emcee. Witty redhead, handy with a whip.

DH: 30, Strong Man. Comedian, defender of virtue.

Halie: 7, Chimpanzee. Pulls teeth, loves bananas.

Catie: 5, Leaping Lemur. Gentle and cuddly, loves grapes.

Rosie: 2, Cappuccin. Flings poo, loves carrots.

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