Last night the Double B and I attended a four hour class for foster parents (or as I like to think of us, Foster Parents to the Stars). It's just something you gotta do -- twice a week. Four hour classes. For the whole month of February. So it was sorta like -- really romantic, as far as Valentine's go. All the other parents in there thought so, too. But at least I was with my significant other. The teacher was going stag, while his wife and children held down the home fort.
In all actuality, if you have small children at home, it's not exactly like you're going to be joining the ranks of couple diners, anyway. We had a family extravaganza planned, but as previously mentioned, we went to a four hour class instead. This time was better, because I brought cheese puffs, and the Double B brought lemon slushes from Sonic. What is it about those lemon (or more powerful, lime) slushes from Sonic that are so delightful? Let me tell you right here and now, if there was a Sonic closer then twenty miles from my house, I would have one every day. And my imaginary friends from Biggest Loser would be so disappointed, because they keep telling me facts about sugar in my sugary drinks trying to get me to stop. Don't worry, though, Bob -- it's not all that close, and I only stop there when I happen to be in town during happy hour. Anyhow.
This Tuesday class was all about child development and yes...once again...parenting. Which is helpful for one and all. But while going through the normal range of developmental stages, the teacher touched on how strong the message is we send to our small children when we use words like "naughty," etc. And it occurred to me... KATELYN IS RUINED FOR LIFE. And then it occurred to me... ALL OF MY CHILDREN ARE RUINED FOR THE REST OF THEIR NATURAL LIVES!!! I felt guilt (which descends during the 3-5 year old stage, if you are interested). I consider myself a builder of my children, but apparently I need to come up with a new word for when Kate climbs up on top of the computer, the counter, the table, the bookshelf, and the couch then "Crazy-pants." Perhaps if I just explain "I love you so much, and that is why I don't want you to get your skull bashed by the extended drop here" that would help.
I have composed a letter for my offspring to help clarify myself:
I am not a psychologist. Let's just get that into the open right now.
I don't have many mad skills, though I do have a few.
But I sure love you. And I think that will do for now.
Parenting is awesome. This parenting class is long -- though longer for the Double B, since he is the every class attender, and I'm the fifty percenter due to our crazy life right now. But we shall prevail. And my doodles will only get more and more creative, of that I am sure. I may even be able to top "Michelangelo the Hare" -- although that's a lot of pressure. We'll just have to see.