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I usually try to refrain from posting too many stories involving bodily fluids purging from my kids’ bodies. However, tonight you must forgive me a therapeutic moment as I recall a few choice memories. It’s not that I revel in all products of the bowels; instead, sometimes it helps to laugh at the perils of parenthood. However, be ye warned! We are swabbin’ the poop deck here! Chris and I ranked our favorite three tales: 3. Reverent Regurgitation: We were slightly late to church one morning and the only open seats in our Charlottesville ward were on the front row opposite the bishopric. Davin, nearly one at the time, was content to sit on my lap during the meeting. The high councilman was in the middle of his talk when Davin’s pancakes decided they could not stay still. Out they came, all over me, Davin, and the floor in front of us. The high councilman stumbled a moment, but continued bravely onward, though the first councilor looked a little green. Chris sprang from his seat and das...

Before I had kids, I was determined to be a progressive parent, one who would not shy away from being open and honest with my kids about all matters of life. I wanted my kids to have a healthy understanding of their bodies and feel comfortable discussing their concerns with me. However, I’m sad to admit that when the subject came up, I tucked my tail between my legs and ran. Speaking of tails, this is how the morning began: Davin: Rowan has a tail! Me: Really? Let me see! (I picked up Rowan and pulled back his diaper slightly to see his back side.) Nope, no tail here. Do you have a tail Davin? Davin: Noooo. I have a fladder. Me: A fladder? (I pause for a moment trying to deduce this one.) Oh, you mean a bladder. Davin: I have a bladder. Rowan has one too. All of the sudden I realized what Davin thought his “bladder” was and the significance that he recognized that Rowan had one too. Here was my teaching moment! A chance to set things right, to talk about “bladders” and what that al...

Last Saturday, Chris celebrated his last night as a twenty-nine year old. He had a bunch of guys come over. They set up five televisions, four x-boxes, and one wii. They played video games until 2:30am. I think Chris had a good time. I’m not complaining about having a thirty year old husband. He weighs less than he did when we got married, he has more hair, and he makes more money. Not too bad, eh?

Rowan earned a few of his first stripes on the battlefield of childhood this week. He took a spill on the driveway and hit the pavement face first, resulting in a scratched face and bruised forehead. The cut is in a nasty place, the zenith of germdom on a baby’s face where goo flows from the nose above and the lips below. It is the most wiped spot and the spot least likely to be clean, especially during cold season. The second boo-boo happened when Rowan tried to intercept Davin’s golf ball mid-swing, causing a black eye. I’m afraid I scolded Davin too harshly about this one as he didn’t do it on purpose. He was pretty upset and still talks about how he hit Rowan. Rowan is healing well, though he looks like a tough kid from the wrong side of town. Rowan has a new game lately. He gathers a toy from our upstairs play room, moves it down the hall to the top of the stairs, and releases it down the stairs, ceremoniously watching it as it makes its noisy descent. Rowan then returns to the to...