Señoras del Leño

A while back I decided to ask one of my favorite questions to you over on the SDL Facebook page. “What is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard an old person say.” More than a thousand of you replied, and your answers had me rollin’ on the floor ever...

Dear readers, I shall start with a classic author's pose for the picture in today's post because I can't find anything better. My brain be fried. And not just a little fried. It be majorly fried. See, I’ve been finishing up my upcoming book that I've been working on for the past six months. And to do so, I have had to utilize all sorts of different barely-used areas in my brain to make it amazing and superb and excellent and even better than free crack at a plumbers party. After weighing heavily the pros and cons for the past few weeks (a major mental feat by itself), I’ve decided not to go through a major publisher and that I am going to self-publish it this upcoming June, in time for Father’s Day. That means I have some major work to do between then and now. You will love the book. Or I guess I should say, you will love it if you can appreciate stories in which I look like an idiot, poop my pants, and do really bone-headed things in the quest for love and happiness. You will also love it if you can appreciate the deeper corners of one of the weirdest minds ever to be opened up to the general public. In the words of one agent I have been working closely with, “Honestly, I have no idea know how you can admit this kind of personal stuff, but I absolutely love reading it.” It will not be a prescriptive book like my first book, The Real Dad Rules. It also won’t be me attempting to heavily enlighten and guide others when I don’t really have all that much experience yet in what I’m talking about. I wrote my first book when I was more pompous, self-absorbed, and sure that I had all the wisdom in the world. There was barely a funny thing in it because I thought that seriousness and sobriety was what everyone wanted. It was a good book, but I grew to dislike too much of that kind of writing. You know, the kind where I was always overly introspective, and I was always trying to be deep, and I just kind of forgot how to laugh at life… This book is not that. No, this book is simply stories and lessons taken from different parts of my life. It is funny as hell. And yes, next to the crazy and funny tales, it lays out many of my challenges, and struggles, and triumphs. But even throughout those, I laugh the entire time because, well, we should be laughing at life as often as possible. Shouldn’t we? This book definitely isn’t as squeaky clean as my blog has been so far. Sure, here on my blog, I have dropped the occasional hell and damn. I’ve said shit in a few of my posts. I’ve made a sexual innuendo or two. But for the most part, I try to keep it pretty clean and family friendly. The book is different. My life hasn’t always been pretty and clean and family friendly. My language has not always been mild and PG rated. And while I don’t cuss too terribly much in the book, let’s just say that my overly conservative friends and family might struggle a bit with both the occasional language and the stories I am willing to tell. Like the first time I ever made out with a girl and I, well, never mind. You’ll just have to read the book. I couldn’t possibly put even a synopsis of that story on my squeaky clean blog. Just know that there is a purpose to every single story. There are deeper lessons that I have learned. And I don’t expect everyone to praise halleluiah and learn and agree with the same lessons. I really don’t. I only hope you'll all get why I learned those lessons when I did and the way I did. I also expect you all to laugh from cover to cover. So anyway, hang tight with me a little longer. I will be back to my regular old blogging self soon enough. Over the next few weeks though, I will probably be doing lots of posts that I don’t have to think too much about. You will be entertained, but it will be similar to what I’ve been posting the last couple months. And forgive me if I have to sneak in another rerun post here and there between now and the day I release the book. Like I said.

Sometimes I wonder if there is some great universal balancer whose job it is to make sure that nobody’s life stays too good for too long. A month ago, I literally examined my life and found nothing to complain about. There weren’t even any small nuisances or annoyances that I was ignoring for the sake of happiness. I had a happy and healthy kid who loved me to death. I had my new and gorgeous partner in crime. My income was steady and nice. My health was perfect. I was content with who I was, and there wasn’t anyone in my personal life who wasn’t accepting of me and good to have there. I could look anyone in the eyes and honestly tell them life was perfect for me. I wouldn’t have changed a thing. And then for the past month it’s been big thing after big thing after big thing. First my health went. I told you about the monster sores in the back of my throat. I wasn’t able to workout at the gym for a week and a half. I gained a couple pounds. I became lethargic and just felt gross and useless in general. My good relationship with my fellow co-parents went downhill so fast a herd of rabid jaguars couldn’t have kept up with it. It has been a big mess. Something weird happened with the ads on my site and for the first two weeks of April I lost a big chunk of my usual income. There was a great big blow-up in my family and I somehow found myself at the center of it. I’m still not sure what exactly happened there. I started getting all sorts of mean and nasty comments and emails surrounding my sexuality and my blogging. A couple people I really love and respected also started saying some pretty harsh things. Thus my little lash back post earlier this week. A book thing I was banking on unexpectedly fell through. And then, the last straw. Costco stopped selling my favorite snack bars. Here is where things get funny. I was at Costco yesterday, and I hadn’t even realized that all of this stuff was happening in my life and all at the same time. Yes, event by event I knew it was going on, but I hadn’t yet realized that they had all side-swiped me together the way they had. Earlier in the day, I had gotten into it with Noah’s mom again. I thought things were finally mending and out of nowhere they got worse than ever. And there I stood at Costco, staring at the place my favorite snack bars have been for years. I had already made the rounds several times. They were gone. Costco has a way of doing that to you. And I just started laughing. I was all alone. No one was with me. Some guy was walking by with giant trees on his push cart. A lady was to my right checking out the dark chocolate. And I just started laughing. For some reason, as I stared at whatever new crap was in my snack bars’ place, annoyed beyond annoyed, everything hit me like a ton of bricks. The health problems. The ongoing battle with Noah’s other parents. The loss of income. The family blow-up. The escalating internet and personal life difficulty. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE. Those snack bars suddenly represented all of it, and I suddenly realized why I have felt so stressed lately. Life has been stressful! And I didn’t even know it. Because… life has been incredible even with all that going on. I still have a happy and healthy kid. His little heart revolves around mine and mine around his. He loves me unconditionally and lights up like Christmas every time he sees me. I still have my partner in crime. The Farmer’s Daughter still loves me, is still so beautiful, and has only supported me in every thing that’s come up. I have my health back. I have the portion of my income that I didn’t lose. I have my family and even when we have the occasional blow-up we always forgive each other and move on. This time was no different. I have my book, which is almost done, and even though it’s not going to go as easy and perfect as I wanted it to, it’s still going to do great. I have my real friends.

It's the last day of repost week while I knock out a good chunk of my upcoming book. This week I'm sharing my favorite posts from before most of you were ever around. Thanks, Dan First off you podcast listeners, please accept my apologies for getting all blubbery during the podcast on this one. When I wrote this I remember thinking it was cute and sweet. Today it hit me like a ton of bricks. Haha. Enjoy. When You Date a Single Parent and You Wanna Make 'Em Swoon When you date a single parent And you wanna make 'em swoon Show ‘em that you speak their language And ask to share a spoon. But don’t stop there, you sexy thing You have a golden chance To connect in ways you never have And add to the romance. First tell ‘em that your house is messy Say, “I just don’t have the time, Between life and love and doing things For those that I call mine.” Then tell ‘em that you love to laugh Sometimes it’s your only tool When things turn into crazy mayhem And chaos becomes the rule. And tell ‘em that you love to ride In those spicy minivans. And tell ‘em that you love to eat From freezers and from cans. And tell ‘em that some days you stay In your pajamas until two. And tell ‘em that you often want Something to remain new. And if you do all this, my friend You’ll really start to see That the pathway to a single parent’s heart Is as easy as 1-2-3. It’s not in the way you do your hair Or the way your muscles rip It’s not in the things that you can buy Or your ability to strip. It’s in your smile and the way it shows Whether it can thrive or not Amid the craziness life often is When you’re dealing with tiny tots. It’s in your laugh and the way it proves The kind of person that you are It’s in the way you talk of others And not about your car. It’s in your hands, and the way they touch The ones you love most dear Cause soon those hands might also touch Those ones that they hold near. It’s in your words and the way they lift Their heart when it’s feeling low It’s in your eyes and the way they find Their sometimes dampened glow. But more than anything, I think perhaps The thing that they need most Is someone who can see beyond The toughness they must show. Yes single parents don’t have the chance To show when they are weak Or sick, or hurt, or off alone Crying themselves to sleep. Supermoms and Superdads, They’re only missing capes But give ‘em half a minute and They’ll make one out of drapes. Just know that you’ll wear one as well, If a single parent you are to woo It’s gonna be tough, but it’ll be worth it When you’re covered in glitter and glue. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing PS, my dear old cyber friend You wanna spread the cheer? Share this awesome poem today You'd really make my year.

It's the second to last day of repost week while I knock out a good chunk of my upcoming book. This week I'm sharing my favorite posts from before most of you were ever around. Thanks, Dan "What other people think about you is none of your business." One of my readers wrote that in the comments one day and I've thought about it a lot since then. Is it really none of my business what other people think about me? The answer is, absolutely, 100%, without a doubt yes. And it is none of your business what anybody else thinks about you, either. And I mean anybody. There are a few big reasons, to me, why this statement is true. First, no matter how hard we try, it is nearly impossible to keep the negative voices of others from affecting us in some way. No matter how thick of shells we put on, no matter how strong we think we are, and no matter how impervious to the negativity of others we believe ourselves to be, the negative or hurtful voices of others will find ways to creep in. As we strengthen ourselves and learn to keep what others think out, those voices and opinions have a way of occasionally blindsiding us. I don't believe any of us are ever completely immune to it. Take, for example, dating. I am generally very confident when it comes to dating. I believe that I'm attractive and sexy, I believe that I'm worthy, I believe that I'm a good guy, I believe that I'm intelligent, I believe that I am ambitious enough, I believe I am a great catch. This confidence usually helps in that I don't believe any woman is out of my league, I don't believe any woman is too good for me, and I don't believe there is a reason for any woman I take out not to like me. This is not to say that I'm cocky or arrogant, in fact I'm very much the opposite. It's just to say that I am confident and that that confidence really tends to help me get and have some great dates. A little while back, I was visiting my brother and his family in England. I have always been close to him and his wife. They are people I love and respect. Before making the trip, I called my brother and told him we should all go on a double date while I was out there and asked him if there were any women he could set me up with. He mentioned the name of a drop-dead gorgeous girl that I had met some years previously and he said he would arrange it. I told him to go for it. I arrived in England and he hadn't made the arrangements yet, nor had he talked to his wife about it (who happens to be best friends with this woman). So, I brought it up myself and told his wife that we should make it happen. Her immediate response was hard laughter followed by a fairly rude "you and her... uhhh... no. There's no way you two would work." Kick me between the legs. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS PAGE What literally seconds before was perfect confidence melted into a puddle of uncertainty. I was suddenly uncertain of my attractiveness. Uncertain of my charm. Uncertain of my style. Uncertain of my success. Uncertain of my ability to go out with a beautiful girl at all. I suddenly felt like I might not be good enough, smart enough, or worthy enough. No matter how hard I tried to shake it off, or how many times she apologized for laughing and speaking out so quickly, the damage was done. I knew what she thought and it was now affecting what I was thinking. It would now possibly affect how I would act and react on this date (if the date happened at all), and it would have the potential to change the way I felt about dating women in the future. Because my confidence with this particular girl was more or less gone in that moment, I stopped pushing for the date, and didn't care whether or not it came to pass. But, the next day the universe had a different plan. We were all planning to take the kids to pick strawberries that afternoon. A few hours before, this woman called my sister-in-law and invited us to go pick strawberries. Long story short,

Today I want to take you all on a little journey though my Facebook since I started dating the Farmer’s Daughter, and then at the end, let’s have a little discussion about it (the last page is probably the most important). I will share a different phot...

It's the last day of repost week while I knock out a good chunk of my upcoming book. This week I'm sharing my favorite posts from before most of you were ever around. Thanks, Dan Ugh. I hate it when I hear people approaching the public bathroom...

Tomorrow is the five-year anniversary of my little sister's death. Her name was Carissa, and she was the most beautiful woman I've known. In honor of my sister, I think it's appropriate to repost this Saturday's Heroes post I wrote about her. I also wr...

Tomorrow is the five year anniversary of when my little sister Carissa died in my family’s arms. She had Down Syndrome, and the past two years I’ve shared the same post which always makes a lot of people smile and cry. Which is fitting because that’s what she did in real life, too. This year, I’ll do just that as well (you can find that here). But I also want to tell you about the time we found her hanging on for dear life from the, well, I’ll get to that… Carissa, like many special needs kids, had some special skills. She somehow knew how to triple her weight at will. At 20 lbs., she could make herself weigh more like 60 lbs. She would go limp and flop down when you tried to pick her up. It was cute when she was two. When she was 80 lbs. and ten years old, it wasn’t so cute. She also was strong. And not just kind of strong. She was so strong that a charging rhino probably couldn’t knock her over. When she didn’t want to do something, or go somewhere, there was no making her do it. She also was flexible. And limber. And adventurous. And free spirited. And she loved to run around buck naked. From age nothing to the day she left this earth, nudity was her companion. And why not? She wasn’t burdened by such things as social norms, shame, or self-destructive beliefs of what she needed to look like to be beautiful. She would streak because streaking was just better sometimes. She didn’t need a good reason. On more than one occasion I had friends over as a teenager when she suddenly ran from one end of the hall to the other, laughing as she went, nekkid as a jay bird. And one time when she was seven years old, she combined her dead weight, her strength, her adventurous nature, and her free spirit, and she headed out to the garage, fully declothed, climbed up the closed garage door, hit the opener, and was surprised as all get-up when it started moving with her still attached. Carissa, she didn’t let go or jump off. No, she fastened her gorilla grip tighter than she ever had, and she road that sucker all the way up until she was hanging upside down, her bare little butt pointing out at the entire world. And she started screaming for help. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE I’m not sure how long it took people to hear her and come to her rescue. One minute? Two? Ten? Never once did her grip loosen. Never once did she almost fall. Eventually my other sister found poor Carissa and began screaming for help. Either that, or a neighbor got mooned and came to the rescue. I can’t remember. What I do remember was it turning into a giant “let’s get naked little Carissa down from there” party and everyone was invited. And Carissa wouldn’t let go. No matter how much we coaxed her. And begged her. And promised that she’d be safe… she would not let go of that garage door. She was certain that to do so would lead to her falling. I stood below her, holding her tight in case she let go. My brother and dad backed me up from the other side. My sister and mom said all sorts of things to help her believe that she would be safe if she let go. And still, she wouldn’t release her grip. Her little toes and her little fingers held on tight. It was a miracle none of her appendages had been pinched or crushed on the way up. We certainly weren’t going to lower the garage door as that could lead to pinching and crushing on the way back down. And finally my dad just did what he had to do. He pried those fingers and toes off of the garage door (and not without considerable effort). She screamed bloody murder as each finger and toe came loose, and she didn’t stop screaming until she was safely lowered and able to find firm footing once again. Then, she ran buck naked back into the house, just as happy as she had been before the event even occurred. At least that’s how I remember it. Man, I miss that little sister of mine. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing

It's repost week while I knock out a good chunk of my upcoming book. This week I'm sharing my favorite posts from before most of you were ever around. Thanks, Dan I'm just gonna warn you right now. This post is chock-full of swear words. All from hilarious conversations stemming from the completely-innocent-yet-not-so-innocent words of my four-year old son... If that'll offend you, I'd advise skippin' it and coming back tomorrow for fluffy bunnies and rainbows. Or something overly dramatic and heavy. I haven't decided yet. Anyway... Noah's been repeating bad words, and every time it happens, I'm always left scratching my head wondering, "where is he learning this language?" For example... A few months back, we were sitting at the kitchen counter coloring pictures of monsters together. "I don't need this shit!" he suddenly exclaimed as he colored wings onto his scaly creation. "What'd you say?" My eyes had gone from overly tired to bulging from their sockets. His emotions didn't change. He just kept looking at his paper, scribbling something amazing with his ever-dulling crayon. "I saaaiiiid, I don't need this shit!" Okay... I'd never really thought through how I'd handle this when it happened and I somewhat panicked. Where had he heard that? I'd never turned on anything more than a PG movie for him, and as far as I knew, he'd never heard me cuss. Okay, once when I accidentally stabbed myself in the wrist with a screwdriver, but other than that... I'm pretty careful about what I say around him. And I knew that phrase didn't come from this household. "Where'd you hear that?" I asked, not wanting him to feel bad for something he didn't yet understand was wrong. "Avatar." I quickly ducked into another room, called his mom right then and there and had one of those "what are you letting our kid watch over there?!" discussions. I *may* have blown it a little bit out proportion. His mom felt bad, not having realized how un-kid-friendly Dances with Wolves Avatar might just be. She thought he'd just pay attention to the cool blue people. We worked it out, I hung up the phone, and looked at Noah ready to give him "the speech." "We don't need this shit, Dad!" "Okay... Noah, that's a word we don't use in this house." "What word?" "Shit." Ugh. I felt so dirty saying it to my kid, but how do you not in such a situation? "Shit?" he chimed back. Ugh. "Yep. Don't say that word." "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit..." "Noah, what did I just say?!" "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why can't I say shit?" I groaned. I was not enjoying this parenthood moment. "Noah, I'll tell you why it's a bad word, but when I ask you not to say something you don't say it anymore, okay?" "Okay." "Thank you." "I won't say shit, Dad." "Thank you." "Can you say shit?" He looked at me with those giant eyes of his as if he had no clue what tricks he was pulling. Keep reading on the next page. It gets out of control. "Noah, stop saying shit. Do you need an uh-oh?" We call time-outs uh-ohs at our house. "But you just said shit." Crap. This kid is too smart for his own good. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it. Let's both try not to say it. Okay?" "How come?" "Cause it's a bad word." "How come it's a bad word?" I didn't really know. "It just is. It's a word we don't say in this house, okay?" "What does shit mean?" "Noah... don't say that again." "Sorry." "Thanks buddy. I know you don't know that some words are bad, but when you find out that some words are naughty you shouldn't..." "Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" I sighed. "Go have an uh-oh." He sulked off of his barstool and headed for the kitchen wall. "Dad, I promise I won't do it again." "You made an interesting choice to say it again. You still get an uh-oh." He leaned his head against the wall and stared at the ground. I reached across for the egg timer and set it to four minutes.

It's repost week while I knock out a good chunk of my upcoming book. This week I'm sharing my favorite posts from before most of you were ever around. Thanks, Dan A few nights ago, after our usual bedtime routine, I asked Noah if he'd rather sleep in his bed or my bed. He usually picks his own bed, so I was a little surprised when he said he wanted to sleep in my bed with me. I told him that'd be fine, and began to prepare myself for a night of unending assault from my zonked-out four-year old. I tucked him in and went downstairs to get some work done. I didn't hear a peep the rest of the night. No doors opening, no pitter patter (is he too old to pitter patter?) of little feet, no requests for drinks of water. I went to bed about four hours later. And he was gone. I freaked out. I ripped the comforter completely off of my bed, hoping he had wiggled down from sight. He wasn't there. Maybe he went to sleep in his own bed, I thought as I raced from my room and burst into his. His covers were flat. There was no child in his bed. My franticness immediately turned into full on panic. "Noah!" I screamed, desperate to hear his voice or see his little feet sticking out from the covers I had just barely checked. I looked under the beds, in the closets, and still, no Noah. I don't think I've ever been that horribly scared in my life. I kept screaming his name. Nothing. I raced downstairs and grabbed my cell phone to call 911, every horrible thought you could think of zipping around in my head. Before dialing, I did one quick sweep around the lower level of our home. He wasn't there. He was gone. I flipped on my phone, walked into my office where I had been working for the last four hours, began dialing 911, and... there he was. Asleep on the sofa. Safe and sound. Oblivious to the yelling that had been filling the house. How he got there, I don't know. When he got there, I don't know. How I didn't see him or hear him at any point of the evening, I don't know. What I do know is that the sofa is in plain sight of my computer. It's only seven feet across the room. In fact, I had to walk past it to get out of my office. And somehow, I didn't notice him there. I put my phone in my pocket, and just stared at him for at least ten minutes, maybe longer. And then, when the panic was gone and when my adrenaline had subsided, I just started laughing. "You little stink," I said as I scooped him up. I carried him up the stairs, and plopped him in his own bed. He never stirred. He never even grunted. The kid was out. It didn't seem right after what I'd just felt thinking he was gone. Yet... it was perfect. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing.

It's repost week while I knock out a good chunk of my upcoming book. This week I'm sharing my favorite posts from before most of you were ever around. This one was the first viral post I ever shared here on Single Dad Laughing. Also, please note that I edited it somewhat from the original post. Thanks, Dan As a warning, the following post was written in complete desperation. I have recently learned some very sobering truths from people that I love dearly. These truths have set in motion a quest within me to do whatever I can to make a change. Today is not geared at funny. Today is geared at something much greater. I have to wonder. Am I the only one aware that there is an infectious mental disease laying siege on us as individuals right now? There is a serious pandemic of "Perfection" spreading, and it needs to stop. Hear me out because this is something for which I have passionately and constantly hurt. It's a sickness that I've been trying to put into words for years without much success. It's a sickness that I have personally struggled with. It's a sickness that at times has left me hiding in dark corners and even hating myself. And chances are it's hit you too. What is the disease called "Perfection"? Perhaps a list of its real-life symptoms will help you better understand it. We live in communities where people feel unconquerable amounts of pressure to always appear perfectly happy, perfectly functional, and perfectly figured. "Perfection" is much different than perfectionism. The following examples of "Perfection" are all real examples that I have collected from experiences in my own life, from confidential sources, or from my circle of loved ones and friends. If you actually stop to think about some of these, you will probably cry as I admittedly did while writing it. If you don't, maybe you're infected with a little too much of this "Perfection" infection. "Perfection" is a wife who feels trapped in a marriage to a lazy, angry, small man, but at soccer practice tells the other wives how wonderful her husband always is. "Perfection" keeps people from telling the truth, even to themselves. My husband is adorable. He called me a whore this week because I smiled at a stranger. When I started crying, he said he had a game to go watch. I love him so much. "Perfection" is a husband who is belittled, unappreciated, and abused by his wife, yet works endlessly to make his marriage appear incredible to those who surround him at the water cooler. "Perfection" really does keep people from being real about the truth.  You would have laughed, guys. She said that I suck at my job and will never go anywhere in life. Then she insinuated that I was a fat, rotting pile of crap. Isn't she the best? "Perfection" is a daughter with an eating disorder that keeps it hidden for years because she doesn't want to be the first among her family and friends to be imperfect. She would give anything to confront it, but she can't because then the "Perfect" people would hate her as much as she hates herself for it. "Perfection" is when a son has a forbidden addiction, and despises himself for it. "Perfection" makes us believe that nobody else could understand what it is like to be weak and fall prey to the pressures of the world. "Perfection" is a man who loathes himself for feeling unwanted attraction toward other men. "Perfection" is a couple drowning in debt, but who still agree to that cruise with their friends because the words "we don't have the money" are impossible ones to push across their lips. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS PAGE "Perfection" is a mom hating herself because she only sees that every other mom around her is the perfect mother, the perfect wife, and the perfect neighbor. I'd give anything to be Mrs. Jones. Today she ran 34 miles, cooked six complete meals, participated in a two-hour activity with each of her seven children, hosted a marriage class with her husband,

I got this email from Cammie. Made my day! Click on image to enlarge. It made me want to go ride the bus and take a backpack of my own with me! Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing

It's repost week while I knock out a good chunk of my upcoming book. This week I'm sharing my favorite posts from before most of you were ever around. Thanks, Dan "Do you floss regularly?" Oh, the shame. That's what they're aiming to fill you with every time you go to the dentist, you know. I think they love making their patients squirm. So, my insurance is running out pretty soon, and I realized that I really needed to get some long-needed work done before it turned into something much worse and cost me an arm and a leg. But before I go on, confession session time. I have never been a daily flosser. I brush twice a day. I use Listerine almost every night. But flossing... I've never developed the habit. And I knew the question was coming. It always does. The hygienist stopped what she was doing, furrowed her brow, squinted her eyes, and looked into the depths of my soul. "Do you floss regularly?" Now, in the past, I always squirmed when the question was asked. I always gave them what they wanted. I always felt smaller than a smear on a toilet seat and twice as filthy. And, I would always squeak out something pathetic like, "I'll do better from now on, please don't hate me." But this time, I decided to play the game back. "Do you floss regularly?" "Nope!" I said, showing my smile bigger than ever. I just looked at her. Smiling. Smiling. Still smiling. She looked back at me, obviously confused about my high spirits. "That's why your gums are bleeding when I floss them." "Hmmm..." I said. And then I smiled at her again. She so desperately wanted me to feel shame. I could tell. She knew how to respond to shame. Shame was her comfort zone. She didn't know how to respond to a lack of it. "Well..." she said, pausing in discomfort, "why don't you floss?" "I'm just too lazy!" Awkward... silence... CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE. For her, anyway. I was enjoying myself. Cause I'm a butt like that sometimes. "Oh... well... you should floss every time you brush." She said it like I was gonna smack her or something. I just kept on smiling. "Yeah, I know I should. I just don't." Blank. Stare. "Ummm..." I interrupted her. She was obviously uncomfortable, so I thought I'd lighten the mood. "Here's the thing. Every time I leave the dentist, I'm always so GUNG HO about never missing a flossing again. I always plan to floss twelve times a day for the rest of my life, and I make all sorts of promises to the dentist about how less disgusting I'll be next time I come in! And then I floss like twice and then I don't floss again until three days before my next appointment to try and trick you. But dang, you guys never believe it!" A giggle. "No, we always know." "So yeah. That's my story. Honesty's my new game." I said it like some cool cat from a 50's movie. "So are you going to start flossing?" What the? Was she trying to take the upper hand again? "Ummm..." "You really need to floss. All the cavities you've ever had, they're called flossing cavities. You get them cause you don't floss." "Ummm..." "All the bad stuff that's ever happened to you in your whole life... it's cause you don't floss." "Ummm..." "Your marriages failing? Cause you don't floss. When you've gotten the flu? It's cause you don't floss. When a meteor comes down and hits you? It'll be cause you don't floss." Okay, the last few I made up. But what she said about the cavities, well, nobody's ever told me that before. And sometimes obvious things (for some reason) still need to be told. At least to me. "So are you going to start flossing?" She really wanted to close this sale. I suddenly was filled with so much... shame. "Yes." I squeaked. Only this time... for some reason, I felt like I meant it. And after I left the dentist, and had signed my soul on the dotted flossing line, I went to the store and bought all sorts of fancy floss and toothpaste. And the first night,

You know what they say... Kids say the darndest things. As a parent, I am reminded of that daily. Like when Noah this morning said, "Dad, if you take Spiderman and Batman and squish them together you get the freakiest bug ever." Ummm... Anyway, in an attempt to feel like a normal parent, I asked you on the SDL Facebook Page what the funniest thing was that you've ever heard a kid say. Here are a few of your answers. When my daughter was 4 we were trying to explain jesuss death and ressurection. Afterwards she thought for a minute looked at me and her dad and said "So Jesus is a zombie?" "Mama, give me my dinner in a big bowl b/c a small bowl makes me eat too fast." This was from my 8 year old..lol The sun was shining in my 4 yr old son's eyes in the back seat of the car, and he was grumpy, and yelled " Would someone PLEASE turn the sun OFF?!" My friend was pushing a stroller with another friend's toddler who was overtired and screaming "no!" about being in the stroller. My friend, walking quickly along with her, began a sing-song "no no nono". Shortly after my friend's 4-yr-old son leaned over the stroller and told the toddler "today was brought to you by the letter no". Student 1: oh no! The lizard isn't moving. Is it sleeping? student 2: No. Its batteries died. "You should name my baby brother 'Bacon'. Because everyone loves bacon!" (from my 4-year old niece, Ellie) "That's not cheese! It's macaroni juice!" I tried to explain to my almost 5 yrs. old son about the birth of his brother and how his father and I will be together and will see the baby being born. When I was about 7 months pregnant at a family party, my son blurted out, "I know you are going to see that baby went it comes out, but I can't believe you didn't see it go in!" My daughter saw me put a whole chicken in the oven to bake. "Ew, that looks like a kid!". Five year old son, complaining about his sister not sharing the video game system: "Mom! (Sister)'s hogging the weed!" That would be "Wii" to the rest of us. My 6 year old daughter, Charlotte, when we were staying at my brother's house said to me, "Mommy, are Uncle Tommy and Auntie Carla really rich?" Worried about where this was coming from I paused before starting a lecture and asked her why she thought so. She looked at me very seriously and said, " Because, Mommy - they have REALLY good toilet paper!" While teaching my first grade class a student raises her hand and asks "Miss H-are you married?"...seeing this as the perfect opportunity to teach...Ms...Mrs etc....I began explaining. Before I could continue she says....can't find a man to love you?....as I caught my breathe to respond the student next to her looked at me and said.....maybe its your hair... On a vacation where work was still haunting me my 8 yr old offered this advice: "Mommy, stop worrying about work. Just pull it out of your head, put it in your pocket and then take off your pants!" I know all about Jedi's because I have them on my underpants. After practically begging her to finish toilet training my 3 year old sweet, beautiful girly saying "I love you mummy but I like pooing in my pants." "Mom! Andy won't get off the tramp and let me play with myself!" When my 3 year old realized her dad had shaved his beard - "Daddy, you cleaned your chin! You don't have feathers anymore!" After purchasing the family Christmas Tree, my brother tied the Christmas Tree on his car to take home. His daughter looked ruefully up at the tree and then to her Daddy and said, "Why can't we have the tree in the living room like everybody else?" When my son took his Fischer-Price Doctor stethoscope and put it to his heart, his face lit up as he said, "Mommy, come and listen to my heart--it's making love!" Driving in the car at night with my daughter (she was 2 at the time)... "Mama, I have to go poopies, BAD!" Me: "Do you need me to pull over so you can go poopies in the grass?" She paused for a moment, then said,