Disclosure

My sister tells me sometimes that the stories I put on our blog make me seem like some kind of supermom. She can say that knowing well enough that (a) it's not true, and (b) it's not a title I want or aim for. She also knew me when my legs came up to my elbows, I wore my white basketball hightops with plaid shorts and a collared polo shirt that coordinated with the bands in my braces. So, you know, she's not disillusioned or anything.

So here's a little tidbit for anyone who reads this blog and thinks like my big sister, minus the awesome awkward stage visual. 

Last week, I decided I'm done with wiping a certain kind of bathrooming from my four-year-old's bottom. She's old enough to not need help with that.  So I told her that if she would take care of that entire process by herself, flush, wash hands, etc., then I would give her a marshmallow. Or if I only have minis, which was the case, then like 10 mini marshmallows.

B-R-I-B-E-R-Y at its finest, ladies and gentlemen. There was probably a day when I was a new mom that I might have judged myself if I had heard about someone doing that. Not so much anymore.

Her learning curve was suddenly about at the speed of light, thank you very much, marshmallow inventor. Four-year-old bottom-wiping? No mas. Cue Hallelujah Chorus.

There's lots more where stories like that come from, but I thought I'd pass that one out for tonight. Enjoy.