Memory Lane

From time to time, I’ll be adding posts that were previously published on an old blog of mine here, in the Non Stepford Life, titled, ‘Memory Lane’.

Just giving folks a head’s up, so they don’t get completely confuzzled when suddenly my kid’s ages change and such.

The following was written in the throes of toilet training Princess. Something I thought I’d NEVER finish with.


Parenting Manuals Do Not Apply

I’ve finally figured out WHY I’m the Non Stepford Wife model.

Its my kids’ fault. And, by DNA responsibility and other issues, my husband’s.

But definitely the kids.

Lets start with the fact that there isn’t a parenting manual in existence that deals with the issues I face on a regular/daily basis.

Take today for example. There isn’t a parenting manual on the shelf that deals with potty training a la non-Stepford style. Princess has been ‘sorta’ trained for about a year. The ‘sorta’ parts come in when she will not ever wear anything on her butt. Initially, putting underwear on this kid had her screaming like I’d dipped her in acid. And not the funky hippie dream, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds acid either.

Sooooooo, we let her go bare butt in the house. Never an accident.

But the problem arises when its time to go somewhere. Yes, even homeschoolers take their kids out. Occasionally.

Put a diaper on her, she uses it. Usually in the worst, smelliest, leakiest way possible. I know there are other moms that read this blog, so I know I don’t need to get any more detailed than that. Same with disposable so-called training pants. Training my left foot! Only training that occurred was when I had to teach/train Wolf that they rip down the sides, you don’t have to slide a poop filled training pants down her legs. Lets all take a moment for a group shudder at the visual that sentence produced. *shudder*


I found a no name brand disposable training pant that had PRINCESSES on it. From my Princess’ all time favourite movie(s), Shrek 1-3. Well now. Defiling those were obviously a no-no. *cue angels singing*

Of course, me being me, didn’t figure this out ahead of time, and neglected to buy out the entire in store stock (they were even on sale). However, the bridge between ‘bare butt’ and ‘scream like a banshee’ has been bridged, and she will wear underwear now. *cue angelic chorus*

But only if they’re pink. With flowers. aka ‘pretty’. *headdesk*


I figure that she’ll be in normal underwear about a week before she turns 21, and then will be demanding thongs a week after THAT.

In the meantime, I have a three year old that appears out of nowhere, panties around her ankles, announcing “I pooped!”, handing me a roll of toilet paper, and bending over. All my other kids had the grace to simply holler at the top of their lungs for help from the bathroom. Not her. *sigh*

Take that, parenting manual. Never read THAT being discussed.

Its not just my youngest either. Tazzie, at 4, has been known to listen to me, cock his head to the side with a puzzled look, and tell me, “I just can’t visualize that, Mom.” and walks off.


And, the most psyche scarring event of all occurred with Diva, my eldest daughter today. I.Had.To.Teach.Her.To.Shave.

I may never recover. I literally crawled into Wolf’s lap, shaking.

(As an aside, why do men think the cure to psychological scarring is them receiving…uh…personal attention? Or is it just my dh?)

As my ever helpful husband said, “At least it was just under her arms. She could have been asking about bikini—” He wasn’t allowed to finish that sentence.

Parenting manuals at the Non-Stepford home…best used as paperweights. Or to start fires…if we had a fireplace. *sigh* And I could use some help, dang it!!

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