No Art, Lots of Parenting

I could never be that Octomom (who lived just a few blocks away, so I've seen insanity up close and personal).  Parenting is SO HARD some days.  I can't figure out why there isn't a single book on parenting with a chapter on preparing to get even.  We all know that time will come.  Our sanity as parents depends on knowing that there is a way to get back when we're at our wits end.  You know, when the kid is 16, their eyeballs do 360's at a pace that no human would consider truly possible (without getting stuck - we all know that old addage) and, if sarcasm were an olympic sport, our kid would hold a record to rival Michael Phelps. 

I was lucky.  When Kevin was about two, I managed to think to grab the camera when he was sitting on his little potty chair wearing nothing more than a huge pink-edged sombrero and a grin.  (I know, I'm going to the be Wal-Mart greeter of Hell for this one).  There are days when I want to print out the photo on one of those iron-on decals and wear that t-shirt when I pick him up after a HUGE band competition,  and maybe - oooooooh - after a football game.  Then there's always the wedding reception slide show.

The fact that mere mention of the pink-edged sombrero tells me I'm right on track.

I rock.  Bahahaha.