Thursday, July 9, 2015

Ten Most Sanctimommy Posts

When I hopped online this morning to take a quick (yeah right!) peek at Facebook, I came across a post by friend Andrea, sharing an article about The Ten Most Sanctimommy Posts Ever. http://www.momsbelike.com/4267528-11781133

And then the laughter began. ;)

I started out reading on my cell phone; I was only taking a quick peek at Facebook, remember? But by the sixth Sanctimommy post, I knew I had to switch over. 

Besides, the photo advertisements directly beneath the article were driving me nuts. I kept seeing someone pinching the side of their bare stomach, and thinking how I can’t “pinch and inch” at all. Heck, I can’t even gather all my flab in one handful, never mind between 2 fingers.

So I fired up the laptop, got onto that article again, and commenced with the jocularity. 

You really have to read the whole article to see them all; I’m just going to comment on a few that really made me laugh here. Not giggle, not chuckle, but huge uproarious guffaws. Well, okay, not out loud, since everyone else was sleeping. But I did on the inside. 




Obviously this mom never had a child with special needs. And I’m not even talking about Megan, who with Down syndrome was toilet trained at 4 ½ during the day, and 10 ½ for nighttime. Yes, she wore the biggest diapers they had at the time, then we had to move on to adult diapers delivered by a medical supply company. But that’s not even where I’m going with this.

Try having a boy who refuses to go on the toilet. Yes, refuses, R-E-F-U-S-E-S. It’s not that Timmy couldn’t, not that he didn’t recognize the urge or that he couldn’t control it. No, he was just plain stubborn, and it’s anyone’s guess as to why.





This child went so far as this: when he was four I went to Walmart and checked out the potties they had, some coming with gadgets like music for the tyke’s listening pleasure, barely short of a disco ball as reward for the piddling of the pee. 

Timmy was not impressed. As a matter of fact, he was so underwhelmed by even the grandest of child thrones, that he said to me in his four year old voice, ”Even if you buy one of those I won’t use it.” 

No promise of training pants or big boy undergotchies swayed this little diapered tyrant. Not even from Granny (my mom).

Timmy finally gave in exactly a month before his 5th birthday. I’ll tell you how I managed to change his mind about it: I told him that if he went in his diapers anymore, I’d spank his butt. And that’s what I did, twice that day, and he never wore a diaper again.
I know there are people who don’t believe in spanking, and I’m not one of them. This isn’t even up for discussion, because you (hopefully!) haven’t dealt with a child almost five years old absolutely refusing to use the toilet. If I’d known that two spanks would cure him of that vexing tenacity to have his diaper and pee in it too, then I’d have done it when he was three and saved myself 2 more years of that. Sheesh.

Oh, and by the way, on Timmy's fifth birthday, I took away his bottle. Yes, you heard me: bottle. Hey, no hatin' on a momma who was desperate for sleep; you don't know his history from before we got him at 5 weeks old and you have no clue what it was like raising a baby born cocaine addicted. 











“Mom the right way”???? I’m not even going to make a peep about this because there are not enough hours in the day to delve into this one without writing a book. And I’d have a contract for the sequel, too. ‘Nuff said. 


















Um….but my children are raving lunatics! And at the end of a busy day, I actually look forward to a glass of fortification, I mean wine. 












Obviously the woman who said this never had a child like Timmy. Who not only did all those things, but more. Oh yes, sooooooo much more. 

Like pee in the cat’s litter box to see it clump, open a can of refrigerated orange cinnamon rolls to eat the little can of icing, or dig out the almost dry plaster patching the hole he dug in the horse hair wall. 

Hey, as hard as it is to believe, even I melted crayons on the floor heating vent in the winter and ate dirt on saltines in the summer. I hate to shatter your image of me, but alas, it is true.



I never felt the need to be away from the girls when they were little, no joke, but with Ryan and Timmy….whole ‘nother story. I admit very willingly that I have gotten someone to watch my children and fairly ran to the car as fast as my fat arthritic legs could take me, disregarded the door and flew in through the window, and started the car, whooping vociferously, “I’m FREE!!!!! I’m FREE!!!! I’m FREEEEEEEEEE!” Yehaw. 



(Okay, so I did use the door, but in my mind I was going in through the window.) 

You know, I could have said so much more, and about each of the ten posts, but like I said, not enough hours in the day. I hope you got as good a laugh about those as I did. I know for myself, I just improved my health by several notches; you know, a merry heart and all. (Proverbs 17:22) 

Go forth and laugh, people. It’s good for you. ;) 

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