i can just see chicken propping up that wheelbarrow jabbing buster with his elbow and whispering now we wait

God DAMN but those tiny motherfucking Legos.

I have toe lacerations.

dug this little bastard out of my right heel

There's a tiny shovel stabbed into a blueberry somewhere in my house and archaeologists will find it in the 43rd century and think, "this was a house of pygmy blueberry farmers." The day after burrito night Buster pooped a construction helmet that I thought was a corn.

So, yep.

That's the problem with parenting.)

No but seriously the problem with parenting is that it is necessarily and pain in the assedly flexible. You must pivot. You never know if you're pivoting the right way. You are malleable, flexible, ready to adjust for the winds at present. Which is important, and also your downfall.

All it takes is one asshole with an opinion and your carefully constructed, well-researched, thoughtful and value-based system of childrearing and humansculpting goes out the fucking window and a month later you find yourself doing fucking time-outs again and you're like wait, this has literally never worked a single time with my children why the fuck am I doing time-outs? And you trace it back to the asshole and the opinion, and you realize that you've fallen back on a tactic that does not work for your kids purely because it pleases parenting spectators, because it's what non-parents or another generation of parents EXPECT to see out of  "good parents" (and good parents are the ones with kids who do not make sounds, make messes, have embarrassing questions, express feelings, or get tired, hungry, cranky, sick, scared, mad, sad, confused, jealous, or mean). Because "time out" has become a signifier for "engaged parent with standards" and oh by the way that asshole and that opinion were visiting from the east coast and they haven't been living in your fucking house for the last month to watch you gradually question all of your parenting choices as their asshole opinions echo in your memory, and all of a sudden your kids are like wait we have to wash our hands AFTER BREAKFAST? That was never a thing, Mom. Who are you trying to impress here? Who's coming over today? Someone important? Is Elmo coming? MOM? IS ELMO COMING OVER TODAY?

And that asshole certainly is not the one who has to peel your spidermonkey toddler's arms from around your thigh when you attempt to put him in his room "to think about what he has done," and by the way NOBODY in the HISTORY of time outs has EVER spent that time THINKING ABOUT WHAT THEY HAVE DONE people in time outs think about one thing and one thing only and that is RIGHTEOUS VENGEANCE.

And THAT's when the shame spiral begins.

And THAT's when you have to go back to the dog-eared, highlighted, underlined, indexed parenting books.

And THAT's when you  have to close your eyes, tell that asshole to fuck off back to fucking Maine already, remind yourself that you, your partner, and your kids are the only people who matter in these decisions, and you start over.