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Leah Ferguson

Thanks for That, Buddy

Last week, I asked Cian before lunch if he had to use the bathroom. “No,” he said. And since he was wearing pull-ups, and since I’ve lost my go-get-’em-let’s-wear-underpants motivation of potty training, I let it slide. “Are you sure?” I just said. He nodded, and I let it go. I know, lazy. But potty training breaks me down, man. It breaks me down. After lunch, I asked Cian to use the bathroom. He walked in himself this time while I cleared the table, and two seconds later I heard, “Oh, Mom! It’s on the stoooool!” I found him with one leg up in the air, avoiding the wet spot on the seat. His private parts were nowhere near where they were supposed to be, and he’d overshot and made it only halfway into the kid potty’s bowl. The other half had landed–Hallelujah! Praise for small miracles!–in his training pants. Other than that–and this is the absolute, best, it’s-so-worth-it part–he’d been completely…

Just Take it From Me

Tip: if your daughter owns a doll–more specifically, a really expensive American Girl doll that Santa brought her for Christmas–don’t ever, ever, give your 13-month-old dog a chance to get into her room when you’re not around, lest your precious 5-year-old crawl into her bed one night, all comfy and happy and ready for a book, to discover that doll discarded on top of the covers, the legs mauled to stumps, pieces of feet scattered around the room like confetti. Don’t do that.  Tip: And whatever you do–WHATEVER YOU DO–if you lose your mind and let your sweet girl’s doll (you know, the one that was made to look exactly like her) get used as a chew toy by the deranged puppy–you terrible, terrible parent, you–please retain some semblance of common sense and not suggest that she accompany you to the UPS store to see you weigh the doll, measure it for a box, and then SHOVE IT INTO THE BOX to get carted into a scary-looking back room. And don’t think you…

I’ll Just Be Over Here Quietly Happy if You Need Me

Note: You might read this while rolling your eyes and shaking your fist at my sanctimonious head. Be patient. There’s another note at the end.  It’s the third day of school cancellations for our kiddos because of that little snow storm that blew through here this weekend (have you heard about it?). I’ve a lot of friends who wept actual tears of dismay (or fear. Six of one…) when they heard the news. Some friends work full-time and had to scramble for childcare, or worse, take their kids into work with them. Others fear that their children are going to end up crawling their way out through the drywall because they just can’t be inside any longer. I keep my mouth shut, for the most part, unless someone thinks I’m complaining, too. I don’t, though. Yes, the routine of a school day is nice. But on the school days, I’m in stay-at-home mom mode: I’m driving to school and back to home and serving lunch at exactly noon and checking homework and making sure uniforms are clean and sticking. to…