True Story: Sometimes Being the ‘Yes’ Parent Rocks

Today while Took and I were grocery shopping we made a quick peek at the toy section. (Note: Our grocery store is one of those awesomely huge marvels of western modern man, complete with a jewelry store, a toy section, a doctor’s office, a post office, and OF COURSE A STARBUCKS BECAUSE CAFFEINE FIRST FOOD SECOND, YO.)

Anywaaaaaayyy…let me set the scene:

Me. Took. Toys.

She spots a Rapunzel doll and immediately begins gazing at me like this:

“All my future hopes and dreams rest on the purchasing of this doll, mom.”

This is no ordinary Rapunzel doll, either. This particular doll LIGHTS UP WHEN YOU DANCE WITH HER.

…you can dance, if you want to…

You need to understand, I’m the mom that always says no. I hate clutter, and new toys have a way of ending up on top of piles of old toys that I will eventually, in a fit of clutter-induced rage, throw away while the kids are at school or taking naps. When I see a new toy, I don’t see hours and hours of fun. I see hours and hours of inevitable crying when the kids return home from school (or wake up from naps) to find their toy inventory reduced by 75%.

“Do you mean…my beloved Beanie Baby Chuck the Kangaroo that I haven’t played with since before I got my third tooth is gone? Like, forever? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? I WILL NEVER LOVE AGAIN!”

But there is a caveat to my miserly stinginess. *in best royal court announcer voice* ALL HAIL THE ALMIGHTY RED CLEARANCE TAG!

Not this time, thankyoooooooo….ooooh, wait, is it on clearance???

Took immediately notices the change in my demeanor and puts on her very best Pretty Please I’m The Cutest Kid Ever And I Promise I’ll Be Good For The Rest Of Eternity And Never Ask For Another Thing As Long As I Live face.

Pretty please?

But we all know that inside that pretty little head of hers she looks something more like this:

I’ve got her where I want her…

At this point I’m torn. I can see the inevitable ugly end of this doll’s existence in our home, but at the same time RED CLEARANCE TAG + CUTE CONNIVING TOOK = ALL MY DEFENSES ARE DOWN.

“Okay,” I relent. “We can buy-,”

There’s is no time for me to finish my sentence because Took has taken off, clutching Light Up Rapunzel to her chest as she runs with blind joy toward the dairy section screaming at the top of her lungs,


#mythreeyearoldcanquoterapunzel #ipodbabysitter #parentingstandardsgodownonthefourthkid

I’ve been walking on a cloud ever since.

True story: Sometimes being the ‘yes’ parent rocks.



TRUE STORY: A Recent Conversation With My Three Year Old

Kid: Hey, Mom. Guess what?

Me: What?

Kid: Chicken butt! *dissolves into hysterical giggles*

True story: Even three-year olds are capable of comic genius.

(p.s. Share your offspring’s version of funny in the comments. Or any kid you happen to know. Doesn’t have to be yours. *grin*)


TRUE STORY: The Scariest Thing in the World

There is nothing in the world more spine chilling than your three year child shouting from the other room,

“I’m sorry Mommy! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Mommy! I’m super super sorry!”

and then (a) not being able to get her to communicate why she’s sorry,

and (b) not being able to find any apparent reason for her sudden, vehement remorse.

Because it means that one day in the near future I am going to find something horrifying that only a tyrannical three year old could think up – like maybe a whole container of laundry soap in the dryer. Or finger paint on the piano keys. Or Vicks all over the dog. Or fingernail polish art on the carpet. Or permanent marker Gene Simmon’s style all over her sister’s doll’s face.

I am currently accepting donations of wine and chocolate to be applied directly to my ongoing Mommy Sanity Care.

TRUE STORY: Stephen King ain’t got nothin’ on a toddler when it comes to scary suspense.