This post is brought to you by Facebook and its new anti-privacy rules, because it was a friend of a friend who I have never heard of who posted this photo and my friend, a guy I actually do know, “liked” it.

Which apparently means the whole world gets to see it now, in case you just got out of that coma don’t know Facebook is raping you daily, right now.

Hold onto your britches. Take a gander at the girly cupcakes:
Puts new meaning in the term variety pack, eh?

Okay, focus, readers. Are ya with me? I posted this because I want to ask if you think it was would be outrageoushorrendousdisgusting of me to show this photo to my eight-year-old daughter?

Purely, a hypothetical question, Mrs. Child Protective Services, for the purposes of discussion.

I mean, if I did, I wonder if my child would guess right away what she was looking at or needed a hint from me.

I wonder if she’d then drop her jaw first, and then with a twinkle in her eye, her own drawers to show me hers as comparison to the frosted ones.

I also wonder if young girls should possess a relaxed, secure knowledge of their amazing, delicious cupcakes body.

Purely hypothetical, ya’ll. Don’t go get your panties in a–oh, never mind.

What do you think? Would you show a daughter and not a son? Is age a factor?

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During the holidays, the Kid was inconsolable at losing the tooth she had just lost, so I suggested a letter to the tooth fairy (btw, Santa she is beginning to question, but the tooth fairy…this is more believable?), and all the adults would swear it was true. No, we had no notary, but it calmed her anyway. We hoped the tooth fairy would go on the honor system.

And she did! Whew! Close one!

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I agreed even though like you readers have been saying I don’t really know anything.

But the other moms desperate for their own kids to be at my house after school pointed out that I took pictures and uploaded them, and therefore that made me a third-grader version of a camera expert.
Commence fantasizing.

Oh, imagine the fun we could have, the tricks we could do, the magazine-cover-worthy pictures we’d take, the utter fascination they would express for my pixelicious brilliance!

Key word: imagine.

Yes, my imagination often burns my ass like an Ibiza nude beach gets me into trouble. Particularly when reality quickly comes stampeding through the living room of my mind.

These girls, especially the one I bore, were utterly fascinated by photography. For 2.3 seconds minutes. Until they finished taking pictures of my everyone’s butt.

Then they needed more pumpkin bread. And some “not boring” play time.

Sure, I corralled them as best I could to look legit when their moms came. I even got a few shots of what looks like engaged photography students.
In fact, they were eager to take wildlife shots, which was only accomplished one way by my pack of wild, squealing third graders: dog treats.
Yes, fantasy and reality meshed especially well during photography class for one particular family member.
Um, say….when’s the next class?Have you ever tried to teach something to a pack of kids? I recommend leaving it to the professionals. They’re called that for a reason.

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Who does she love? Who does she hate? Who is she never going to let set foot in our house ever ever (not ever) again until possibly tomorrow?
‘Cuz one day, she’ll have friends, and not Facebook “friends” she has never met, but actual people who understand her, people who get her jokes and her strikeouts, people who she’ll totally jump in front of a bus for or at least sit through their looooooong venting sessions well, more likely her long venting session and nod compassionately, pretending to listen because they love you even though you’re a psycho.
And if she ever blows up and loses a kindred spirit, she will find it leaves a permanent mark worse than that Sharpie marker incident. Yes, friends need to roll with a friend’s occasional sassiness, absolutely particularly if she’s freakin’ hilarious, right?!

But sooner rather than later, I hope she learns quicker than her mommy a smidge of gentleness with those special ones.

Is that even teachable? And how?

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One thing of a gazillion around here that she ignores me on is that all-time kid-favorite activity: brushing her teeth.

Luckily, her haphazard dental habit has not yet caused any ulcers in me cavities. She won’t work hard at cleaning her room, or picking up her stuff, but man-O-man, will she get creative in avoiding this daily habit.

Yesterday I yelled, are you brushing? I don’t hear the toothbrush going!, and she compliantly turned it on.

Unfortunately for her, I walked by the bathroom a minute later and saw, to my utter shock and amusement, a dry toothbrush buzzing away on the counter.

Too bad her mouth was in the other room.

I confess I had a hard time not hyperventilating from laughing punishing her.

Points for creativity, right?

If she gets more crafty, I’ll have to sell her to a mustached foreigner fill every corner of the house with third grader- nanny-cams.

Are you getting crap pulled on you? Tell me I’m not alone!

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I don’t know why. I mean, others have probably gone through the exact same thing. Why should I want to hide it?

I’m talking about my case of PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and absolutely nothing else.

What event occurred to cause these symptoms (according to the Mayo Clinic definition)?
PTSD:
Feeling emotionally numb
Avoiding activities you once enjoyed
Hopelessness about the future
Trouble concentrating
Difficulty maintaining close relationships
Irritability or anger
Overwhelming guilt or shame
Self-destructive behavior, such as drinking too much
Being easily startled or frightened
Hearing or seeing things that aren’t there

What happened is that since she lost gave up her last sippy cup, the Kid knocks over her drink every freakin’ time. On me. Everywhere, our house, Disneyland, restaurants, airports, our house, the ferry, someone else’s house, our house. Every. Where.

I’ve got the nervous twitch to prove it. Just bring us our beverages make mine a double, and I’ll show you.

And I have those symptoms. I avoid giving her drinks unless she’s choking; I swear I hear the dumping sound of a full cup of milk when there is no cup; and I jump and gasp like a freakin’ kangaroo (yes, they gasp, pretty sure) if the Kid’s hand goes anywhere near anyone’s glass at any time in any place.

I am drinking too much ok, possibly not related; I don’t want to be anywhere close to her; I feel terrified of tall, skinny glasses (oh, SO tippable); and I feel hopeless about the fact that she will never ever stop doing this.

It has made me irritable screw you, that’s why, I tell you!, and I have trouble concentrating which is wholly unrelated to Twitter or Facebook usage.

The first step is awareness, right? So, there we go. Hello, PTSD!

Now, I’d like a sippy cup of Grey Goose, please, while I go online to order more quick-dry pants.

Are you suffering any known diseases? Don’t be ashamed! Confess!

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We all know he’s a total Alaskan gearhead (and I have the blog posts to prove it…), so natch, he’s got a cross- oops, I’ve been corrected compound bow. And plenty of raccoons roaming around a target in our yard for practice so I recommend you call first.

Yes, this was taken in our yard.

And the beauty of it? She wants to do it. She charges out of the house if he starts a-flingin’.

Whaaaaa?

Just how did he accomplish this great feat? I have no idea.

I’m wondering if he can start flinging her dirty socks across the living room.

Now, that would be helpful. Pick up those, Kid.

Of course, she is her mother’s daughter, so throughout practice he does have to endure a certain level of, shall we say, critiquing?

Dad, you missed! Dad, oh my God, that was SO FAR from the middle! AHAHAHAHAHA! Dad, I farted!

It’s hard to find good help these days.

Have you ever trained your kid to love some chore? Please share!! Maybe I can learn something!!

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I confess my 7 going on 27 year old told me about it. The police grandparents will be glad to know her online video searching skills have greatly improved this summer and she now knows the words to Last Friday Night by Katy Perry.

Should people really be laughing? Poor panda. Maybe someone should get him a Zyrtac?

Oh, go ahead. We’re laughing with him…right?

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Then, two days into it you realize you have serious crankiness issues.

And not just with the kids, but with yourself.

We were going to make art books. Instead, we are making ice cream runs.

We were going to go to the beach. Day 1, we got the bottom of our foot scraped by barnacles and are “never going back to the beach again!”

We were going to read, read, read. Instead, we are marathoning Phineas and Ferb.

I guess there is still too much time to correct course, but each summer I forget my margarita recipe the uphill battle from the year before. Same soldiers, different battlefield…

So, how’s your summer going? Are you doing what you intended to do?

And most importantly, do you have a good, strong cocktail recipe to share?

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