{Originally published on T with Honey and titled A Moment Almost Missed}

The little curly haired girl crawled out of her mother’s lap and headed over to the box of toys. It was time to pick out a special friend to take to bed to be cuddled through the night. After careful consideration she picks up Baby Bop.

As per her usual habit she lays the toy on its tummy, finds a little blanket and begins to tuck Baby Bop into bed. The blanket doesn’t go down right the first time so she lifts it up to try again. As she does the little girl notices that Baby Bop has a friend. In the pocket on the front of Baby Bop’s outfit is a little stuffed piggy.
The little girl picks up her toy and asks “What this?” Her mommy repies, “It’s Baby Bop’s toy.”

“Oh, what this called?” she said pointing to the pink toy. “It’s a piggy”
The little girl is curious about the piggy. She wants to pull it out, look at it and ask more questions. Her mommy just wants her to crawl in bed and go to sleep. It’s getting late.

The toddler’s inquisitiveness takes a stronger hold. She points at the little animal and asks for the fourth time, “What this called?”
The mommy flatly states, “It’s a piggy.” Then with more than a little exasperation in her voice she says, “Princess, it is time for bed. You need to stop this. Lay down and go to sleep.”

The little girl’s arms sag and she glances at her mommy’s face. Her mother’s eyes meet hers for just a fraction of a second but the girl’s frustration and sadness comes across in that look and stab into her mommy’s soul.

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Originally published on Deb on the Rocks

Oh my god. What is this? OH MY GOD?!?!? Who is taking pills? I will not survive these high school years, I won’t.

What
is it, speed, painkiller, what? I’ve never taken anything that looks
like that. What am I going to do? I need to sell this house and
homeschool these kids in Idaho until they are 21.

Crap. I need
to go to the pill I.D. website and describe this thing and find out
what it is. Then I’m going to track down the dealer and go freaky
bloody Kill Bill ninja MILF-on-fire lioness on his pathetic dealing
skanky existence. Who would sell pills to kids?!?! I’m going to pluck
out his eyeballs.

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Originally posted on The Busy Dad Blog.

Editor’s Note: BusyDad is a master of parody. If you’ve never heard of or seen the show Iron Chef, this brief explanation will give you some background on what follows.

If memory serves me correctly… my newest
Iron Chef began his tutelage under legendary Iron Chef BusyDad in the summer of
2005. His journey into the culinary world began in BusyDad’s kitchen, honing
his creativity by finding ways to turn every kitchen utensil into a gun or a
spaceship.

As his apprenticeship progressed, this would-be chef cut his teeth by
helping his master cut green beans. With a butter knife. Perhaps his actual
teeth may have been a more effective tool for this, but an important lesson was
learned. Dull tools sharpen the mind.

And sharpen his mind he did, along with his craft. Known throughout culinary
circles as the catalyst for the “kid gourmet” movement, Fury has
dazzled critics and playgroups alike with his “rad” interpretation of
traditional fare.

Today, I welcome him to Kitchen Stadium as my newest Iron Chef. As
this is his debut battle, and seeing as he can’t reach the faucet, I have
decided to bring his master, Iron Chef BusyDad out of retirement today for a
very special tag team edition of IRON CHEF.

AND NOW, TODAY’S THEME INGREDIENT… FLOUR!
Allez Cuisine!

* * * *

Fukui: Oh! the Chairman has thrown us a curveball today by picking
flour as the theme ingredient! So basic, yet complex! Yes, yes. Let’s go to our
commentator on the floor, Ohta for some play-by-play.

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Originally posted on The Anvil Tree

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Originally published on Halushki.

One of the most important responsibilities
- nay, obligations - of any parent is, I think, to encourage our children’s
daily awareness of all that is magical and mysterious in our great,
big fantastical world.

And, yes, I am a hippie.

To point our children toward a sly glimpse of the crystalline fairies
in a drop of dew….

To wonder in awe at Titan voices booming across the evening sky during
a summer thunderstorm….

To marvel at orchestras captured on silver discs, musicians trapped
like microscopic genies to be released in song only at the listener’s
wish and command….

Ah bliss! Ah joy!

To support and stimulate their creative selves and thusly nourish their
hearts and souls with the food of poets and saints!

(And I’m not talking cigarettes and day-old baguettes.)

But, as a bittersweet fact of life, every day my children grow a bit
older and, so too, a bit too wise for the world’s magic.

Mostly, I blame science.

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Originally posted on Okay, Fine, Dammit

The minute Emma was born, I knew something was wrong. I’d swallowed a horse, fought its hellish bucking to the death, turned myself inside out, until I won. Until she slid breathlessly — literally — into the world. I listened for her bourning cry but it did not come, because she was not breathing.

I lie there, split apart at the seams and bleeding out, and watched
the scene as if from above. I bore witness while the midwives pumped
oxygen into someone else’s baby for eleven minutes before they called
9-1-1, before two ambulances delivered both of us to a nearby hospital.
It was all for naught anyway — by the time we got there, she was
breathing on her own as if nothing had ever happened.

When we left the hospital for home, Emma was perfect in every way
but one: she would not nurse. She could not suck. I knew the
powers-that-be wanted to remedy the situation with a feeding tube, to
rapidly ameliorate the problem and neatly close out our file, but she
was our second child and so I had faith in my body, and in my baby.
Somehow I held patience as she lost weight.

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