10 Beautiful Tweets That Will Make You Book a Trip to Hydra, Greece Right Now. Written by Scott McGinnis | Goombay Tally | www.goombaytally.com | Hydra, Greece | Please contact us at [email protected] for feedback, writer and advertisement requests. For those that are unfamiliar with the Greek Islands — “Hydra” is one of the […]
Written by Scott McGinnis | Goombay Tally | goombaytally.com | Parenting
15 Universal Kid “True-isms” Parents Can Absolutely Take to The Bank
I believe all parents have said out loud — or quietly wished that they had a single, all-in-one, comprehensive, “tell-us-really-like-it-is” handbook on parenting BEFORE they actually had kids.
A book that unapologetically bypasses the painfully academic, straight-laced, perfect world scenarios involving perfect parenting and model-ready mothers wearing tennis skirts and drinking Starbucks ice coffee… They just want the information they really need to know.
Like the CliffsNotes of Parenting right?
Stuff like … well … the fact that “juice” is as good as freakin’ gold or currency to a child. The fact that kids will sell their precious little souls for one solitary Minute Maid, Apple Juice box. Or that during the span of two years (or more) you will physically handle more poopy diapers and go through more packs of wet wipes than you ever imagined you could. Your one regret will be that you failed to buy tons of stock in Pampers or Huggies.
Here’s one: expecting parents need to know that babies will wake up so many times throughout the night that they eventually won’t recall whether they actually slept or not. Don’t be afraid to tell them that their night will become a hazy blur filled with fleeting images of dimly lit hallways, the refrigerator, their babies crib with the screaming little angel inside, and their iPhone screen that shows “2:00 A.M.”
Moreover, they will stare at themselves in the mirror as they prepare for work in the morning and — for at least ten seconds — wonder who the old haggardly-looking, sleep-deprived, Stephen King-inspired person is that’s staring back at them through crusty, thin slits for eyes.
But wait, there’s more …
New parents need to know that sex will no longer exist as the gloriously romantic and breath-taking experience that it once was. Conversely, sex will quickly begin to look more like a weird cross between a Nascar pit crew swapping out tires on a racecar and a sadly rushed derivative of the game hide and go seek.
Here’s another one: if you’re a young parent, you now know that informing your kid that it’s bedtime is [reactionarily] analogous to telling New England Patriots fans that Tom Brady just retired. Yep … total mayhem and biblical gnashing of teeth. Baby teeth that is.
Parents not only know “the struggle,” of raising young kids, they become the struggle in many cases. Yes, these are the worn and pathetic people we all have to deal with on the interstate during rush hour, at the workplace, in the grocery store, and at the DMV.
Ever wonder why the two-hundred pound, disheveled … I’m wearing my house slippers outside of the house, lady in front of you in line at McDonalds is screaming at the bewildered cashier at the top of her voice because they just ran out of Chicken McNuggets? Yep … her kids drove her to this state. Don’t judge. The struggle is indeed real bruh.
What about the weird guy at the Wal-Mart checkout line with the white tube socks pulled up to his knees who just turned a (seemingly) simple point of sale transaction with the cashier into a C-Span broadcasted session of Congress — armed with two-year old expired coupons and outdated sales papers in hand to boot. Yes … you guessed it: his kids pushed him over the edge.
You get the point I think … and oh, by the way, if you are still looking for that all-inclusive parenting handbook … it doesn’t exist … and this short blog certainly won’t help you tremendously.
However, here are fifeteen true-isms about kids that all parents will instantly recognize and attest to…let this be a gentle warning and guide to the rest of you who are still holding out on producing one or many of these “gifts from Jesus”:
When You’re Running Late for An Appointment or Event, Rest Assure, Your Infant Will Poop His Diaper in The Absolute Worst and Tragic Way. Buy Tons of Clorox Wipes and Plan Accordingly.
Your Child Will Demand Juice or Water Immediately After You Put Them Down for Bedtime and Kiss Them Goodnight…It’s a Kid Law… Get Used to It.
Regardless of the Fact That None of Your Kids Needed You For Anything Within the Last 15 Minutes, Once You Lock the Bathroom Door and Sit Down on The Toilet and Do Your Business in Peace, You Will Instantly be Summoned by Everyone in Your House, Under the Age of 16.
The Child You Witness Crawling on the Floor and Whining When You Ask Them to Clean Their Room, Will Be the Same Child You See Infused with Excitement and Vigor Once You Announce That You’re Going to Toys-R-Us. Use That to Your Advantage.
Your Child Will Not Like or Eat Anything That Doesn’t Come in a Small Red Box with a Happy Face on it and a Plastic-Bagged Toy Inside.
Like a Pack of Wild Hyenas, Your Kids Are Naturally Programmed to Migrate to The Room That You Just Finished Cleaning and Vacuuming.
The Announcement of Bedtime to Your Kids Will Ignite Immediate Shock, Faux Illness, Spontaneous Injuries, Deep Depression, and Extreme Filibuster Tactics That Would Make Senator Ted Cruz Proud.
Once You Start a Phone Conversation, Your Kids Will Immediately Need Your Undivided Attention for Seemingly Meaningless or Nonsensical Issues…Also See #3 above.
You Will Never Be as Cool, Caring, and Awesome as Grandma and Grandpa … Get Used To That Notion Right Now.
The Same Child Who Literally Drove You to The Edge of Insanity an Hour Ago Will Melt Your Heart While You Watch Them Sleep Like an Angel During a Nap. This is Mother Nature’s Way of Calming Your Frayed and Damaged Nerves.
Kids are Some of the Quickest, Most Agile, and Flexible Creatures on the Face of the Earth – Of Course, Unless You Ask Them to Get Dressed and Put on Their Shoes Before Leaving the House in the Morning.
Your Expensive Items Around the House Will Begin to Break “Spontaneously.” For Example, Your Kids Will Attempt to Convince You That Your Lamp Just “Fell on The Floor and Broke”. Be Prepared to Lose Crap that You Once Cherished.
You Will Never Be Able to Prove Which One of Your Kids Hit The Other Kid First. Each Child Will Swear on The Good Book That They Were Pummeled First By The Other One. It Will Be a Lasting Mystery For You Throughout the Course of Parenthood. Good Luck With That.
Your Child Will Have Zero Interest in “Toy X” — Of Course Until Another Kid Picks it Up and Begins Playing With It. Be Advised: At That Point, All Hell Will Break Out.
Your Middle Kid Will Be Like The One Guy at Your Prom in High School That Didn’t Come with a Date and Looks Like He Just Wants to Go Home and Watch Dr. Who Reruns. Give Him or Her a Break.
Written by Scott McGinnis | Goombay Tally | www.goombaytally.com
Your Kids Will Give You The Dinosaur Look When You Tell Them This.
Written by Corinne Dodd | Goombay Tally | Mom Humor
I can remember sitting at the dinner table and intently listening to my father talk about the times of his youth and the “struggle” — if you will — that his generation had to endure. I’m certain you’ve heard similar stories from your parents or grandparents as well. Having to walk 20 miles (through blizzards, hurricanes, and tornadoes) to get to school. Waking up at 3 o’clock in the morning to feed the chickens and milk the cows before heading to school. Having to share one measly can of “Spam” and a sleeve of Ritz crackers with their 15 brothers and sisters for dinner. Invariably, we all sat there in awe, amazement, and also horror at the seemingly barbaric and substandard conditions that our parents had to endure.
Let’s admit it … comparatively, our parents made our generation appear to be soft, weak, and undeservingly entitled. O.K., yes… in many instances, I really can’t argue with them. I get it…we’re talking about the generations that stormed the beaches of Normandy against well entrenched–crack German forces or crawled through the hot, snake-infested jungles of Vietnam.
Now that my husband and I have our own little people in the house, there are indeed more than a few occasions at the breakfast and dinner table that quickly bring me back to our conversations with my father. So now that the roles are reversed, though interesting…I don’t know if I like it much.
So last week my 5-year-old is patiently waiting for breakfast to be made and he begins his standard ramblings about Lightening McQueen, Star Wars, his pre-kindergarten teacher Mrs. Stevens, interesting commentaries on spiders, and his newest iPad app. Next, he throws me his first-ever “dinosaur” question.
“Momma, what was your favorite iPad app when you were a little girl,” he says in the most innocent, sweet voice a 5- year-old boy could ever conjure up. Here we go, I thought to myself.
“Um…baby, iPads didn’t exist when Mommy was a little girl,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone. My son stared at me blankly for about five seconds. I could see the wheels were spinning in his head and I astutely anticipated the follow-on questions accordingly. I was wrong.
“Oh…so you only had the “h-Pad” to play with when you were a little girl right Mommy?” he said.
Huh? “What’s a h-Pad honey?” I asked him with a puzzled look. He went on to explain that since there were no iPads when I was young, that I must have had a h-Pad because “h” comes before “i” in the alphabet. A 5-year-old’s logic right? I certainly wished that I could have said yes and left the conversation right there but I would have done good ol’ Dad a grave injustice by doing so.
Subsequently, I had to explain to my son that the technology that we currently enjoy wasn’t actually invented in the 1970s and that when I said that iPads didn’t “exist” when I was his age…I (really) meant that with the exception of the television, radio, Cabbage Patch Kids, Strawberry Shortcake dolls, Star Wars action figures (yep…I had three brothers), books, and board games…the balance of our entertainment and excitement existed (mostly) outdoors. Of course I explained all of this at the kindergarten or Sesame Street tone and level.
The stare that my son gave me next can only be described as a hybrid of extreme pity that you only reserve for a dying kitten or puppy and that look that you see kids use at the Smithsonian Institution’s Museum of Natural History as they walk past the Triceratops display.
I was now a dinosaur. Ouch.
Poor Mommy. How horrible life must have been for you without Netflix, Xbox game systems, a cellphone, and Roblox?
I could see that my son was now re-calculating everything that he thought he ever knew about me. iPads and Xbox was an obvious evolutionary overshoot in his mind now…he would have to lower the progressive bar a little…O.K.–well, a lot. Well, way lower than he would be able to limbo under for sure. He was rethinking the calculus.
“Mommy, did cars exist when you were a little girl?” my son now said in a hesitant voice.
“Yes dear…cars were around when your “old Mom was a little girl” I said. “But our cars were a little different back then,” I continued. I was prepared to explain to my son the quintessential differences, distinctions, and nuances of cars in the ‘70s compared to the high performance, computer-designed, computer-enabled, voice-activated, GPS-guided vehicles that we enjoy today.
However, before I could continue, my son quickly chimed in, “Oh, I know Mommy…when you were a little girl, you had to drive your cars while running with your feet…just like in The Flintstones right?” He began to laugh uncontrollably until he tumbled out of the kitchen chair and onto the floor.
And there you have it…there was my dinosaur connection with my kids ladies and gentlemen. My son definitely thinks I’m prehistoric. I laughed out loud and told him that he was so silly. Of course by then, my son’s attention moved on to much more important matters like “why don’t dogs use the toilet when they poop–like we do,” and “when will breakfast ready.”
This was only the beginning of these fascinating, yet demoralizing conversations that I had with my kids. In fact, (brace yourselves) the hits just keep coming now.
Honestly, as a parent, I’m really beginning to enjoy our “back in the day” talks now; just like my Dad did back in the day I’m sure. Moreover, I pray that my kids realize and appreciate just how blessed they really are today. To be alive during this incredibly exciting and innovative phase of human history.
Yes, I’m starting to get a true sense of my own mortality, but I’m also contemplating what type of conversations my kids will ultimately have with my grandkids.
I’m guessing that they would say something like this: “you kiddos have it sooooo easy these days…when I was your age, my father and mother would actually have to drive the car using something called a steering wheel.” Or “believe it or not, there was a time when we had to actually point a remote control device at our T.V.s to change the channel…instead of just talking to it,” and so on.
If you are a parent, the fun won’t just stop there. Get ready to hear the following questions as well…have fun with that:
- Did they have schools when you were a little girl (or boy)?
- Were airplanes invented when you were growing up?
- Did you live in a cave when you were growing up?
- What did they call Christmas a long time ago when you were little?
- Were there actually people in your T.V. a long time ago when you were little?
- Did you dress like Jesus when you were growing up as a child?
- Were you a cowboy or Indian (Native American…sorry) a long time ago when you were young.
Written by Corinne Dodd | Goombay Tally Blog
Help Your Teens Find Their Social Niche
I was not considered very cool in high school. I was the opposite of cool and I knew it. I envied, and even secretly hated the “cool guys” in school who seemed to be blessed with the complete package: the physical, behavioral, social, academic, and athletic gifts that I lacked . I was not a handsome kid who had zero social skills, which consequently led to junior high and high school experience void of girlfriends. To make matters worse, I wore extremely geeky, discounted eye glasses with the caricatured black electrical tape holding the frame together for half of a school year after running into a well-positioned “pick” during basketball practice.
In fact athletics, my love for music, and appreciation for all things military served as the only substantive gravitational social platforms for me in those formative years. In retrospect, those were the things that kept me connected to the real pulse of the student population.
Oddly enough, I was able to bootstrap myself out of complete social obscurity by excelling in sports. Yes, I was a social misfit, but I was also a very good athlete. Surprisingly, this paradox kept me in good standing with the high school coaching staff during track and field, soccer, and basketball season.
To add to the dichotomy, my father instilled in me a deep appreciation for classical music at a young age and I enjoyed playing piano almost as much as I loved running the 4 x 1 relay or playing the center forward position on the soccer field. When kids in my high school were listening to Michael Jackson and Prince, I was learning to play Mozart cantatas.
Lastly, because I was a military brat, I grew up with an obsessive appreciating for the military and the discipline, values, and challenges that came along with service to your country. I enjoyed the comradely and team dynamics the most. I read World War II history books obsessively and watched the World at War mini-series every Saturday night.
So, if you mix together all those interests, a typical day in high school would find me hanging out in the band room during my lunch hour with one of my best friends at the time, Scott Hassan, who [was] talented enough to be in the band, by the way. I was not. Scott was also a brilliant computer programmer; a skill that helped propel his career and success immensely. I was essentially a band geek “groupie.” So that made me all the more pathetic to the high school social elites. For most of our lunch period, we would play the newest songs that we composed on a well-used, grand piano that looked like a city orchestra charity donation. I didn’t care. When I got the opportunity to play her, the deep, swirling, and rich sounds made me feel free. The pressure to conform to the social standards melted away for those short period of time.
During Junior Reserve Officer Training Corp in fourth period, you would find me marching on the campus drill pad, donned in my Army green and nervously double checking the spacing of my ribbons, name tag, belt buckle, and cover on my uniform before inspection. I still remember feeling sick to my stomach as the senior JROTC instructor made his way down our column during open ranks inspection. He would yell at the cadet next to me for not pressing his uniform well enough or having his “gig line” off by a quarter of an inch. Your individual inspection would always end with a quiz on general military knowledge so I would listen intensely to attempt to hear the question as the poor cadet to my right continued to take a psychological beating from the senior instructor. The pressure was unbearable. This was an open ranks inspection with vital national security implications on the line, and I was only fifteen years old.
By 4:45 P.M., you would find me on the school’s old, unpaved track running fast 200 and 400 meter sprints, and sometimes dry heaving because I didn’t take the time to eat lunch (remember, I was in the band room hanging out with the band geeks).
At the end of the day, the high school geek and social outcast who would receive zero votes in a “most popular student” election, enjoyed playing great music for an hour with his band buddies. Surprisingly, his compositions often caught the ear of some of the better members of the band who complimented him on the musical structure; even though he had no formal training. I was part of the “band tribe” at lunch. Kind of.
After lunch, I was a student of military studies and history. I wore a sharp uniform and marched in the hot sun until we learned every drill movement perfectly. I learned discipline, mental toughness, and attention to detail. I slowly became a top cadet through hard work and consistent dedication to the program. I was still unattractive, and I still wasn’t considered to be a popular kid, but I was part of the “military tribe.”
After school I was one of the fastest kids on the track and the highest jumper over the bar and I felt like a contributing member of the team. Through my hard work and achievements during track meets, I knew I gained the respect of many of the school’s best athletes. They were my “track and field tribe.”
Although I didn’t have the personality, appearance, or social gifts to be accepted into the circle of the “popular kids” in my high school, I did find my “tribes” or groups that I resonated with and in turn, they supported my talents, goals, or interests. I found that many students were so focused on the “in crowd” and what they needed to do to [be] them, they forgot how to find their own path to personal fulfillment and sense of accomplishment. They were living their lives vicariously through people they heralded as the perfect student or athlete.
I realized over time that I didn’t need to be popular to be of value. By investing in the social interaction of my tribes, I was developing those skills that would serve me well later in life. Don’t get me wrong, if your kids are popular, tell them to keep doing what they’re doing and go forth and prosper.
A study conducted in 2003 found in Perspectives in Biology and Medicine claims that people who are socially isolated possess a less efficient system to repair and maintain physiological functioning. This would include how quickly wounds heal and how efficiently they sleep. The socially isolated spectrum of that study even had a slower wound healing process and less efficient sleep cycles. Mastering social challenges in high school will equip your kids in navigating life as an adult.
However, if your child is struggling to “fit in” and may feel like an outcast; encourage them to find connections in new programs, groups, interest areas, and “tribes.” Many adolescents become frustrated because they can’t break through the social elite circles in school. The tragedy is that they spend four long years trying to please the wrong tribe. They never get to know the community of Japanese or Chinese students in your school. They never get to know the band and orchestra members, even if you don’t play an instrument. They walk right by the computer programmers who sit at their own table in the back of the lunchroom; remember these are the guys who could help them out when their laptop crashes on the night before that history paper is due. Stop by the theater and get to know the thespians and what they go through as they prepare for the next school play. Get to know the students who have physical limitations; they have unique talents and perspectives that will inspire and help them understand their challenges when they are working in the corporate world in the next four to six years.
Remind your kids that their journey through the social jungle should be their own experience, and not necessarily the one that the school’s varsity quarterback or homecoming queen is living.
Written by: Scott McGinnis
Criticizing Parents with Toddlers Will Eventually Earn You a Visit From Lady Karma!
Yes, I am an ex-single guy profusely apologizing to parents of toddlers all over the world for fighting the good fight and doing the best that they can to raise their little cherubs. Moreover, a truly sincere apology to every parent of a toddler out there that I have ever given the “evil eye” to during my wild and care-free bachelor years.
Yes, during that period of time I thought you were incredibly dysfunctional losers as I watched your little “Johnny” or “Jane” throw themselves on the floor in the middle of the toy aisle in Target and start the inevitable “jitter-bug” tantrum. I remember watching your child screaming at the top of his lungs and twitching on the ground like he was having an epileptic seizure. Apparently, what I didn’t know at the time was that the “big” parental infraction was Johnny’s mother telling him that he couldn’t have the new Legos Airport Adventure play set. Mainly, because he already had three at home already.
But as soon as you can say “OshKosh B’gosh” or “Yo Gabba Gabba,” all hell broke loose. Now sit back and watch the show.
I can still see his bright red face, the crocodile tears, the saliva drooling from the mouth, and the signature snot bubble inflating and deflating from the nostril like a creepy birthday balloon. He was traumatized by his parent’s “inhumanity” and he wanted the entire world to know about it. The world of Target shoppers.
Oh yes, I remember giving the “irresponsible” mother or father that classic look of disdain, the look of social scrutiny, censure, and loathing. “You’re a failed parent and a disgrace,” I would think to myself. “If you can’t control your little terrorists, don’t have them,” the barrage of unspoken thoughts of criticism would continue. Obviously these parents lacked the skills, discipline, and patience to raise well-mannered and emotionally stable children right?
As a single guy, I distinctly remember taking a crowded flight from Reagan-National Airport to Atlanta one hot summer morning. I sat down in seat 12-A and quickly sorting through my Jan Sport backpack to find my iPod, and my July copy of Men’s Health magazine that I picked up at the Terminal “A” news shop. With ear buds in hand and cellphone turned off, I looked forward to enjoying a relaxing flight; a flight finally free of the suffocating traffic in Washington D.C.
As the plane took off and the pilot eventually turned off the “Fasten Seatbelt” sign, I started my iPod Touch music selection with John Coltrane’s, “My Favorite Things.” Yep, I was in the zone. All of a sudden I felt a solid, deliberate, and direct kick in the back of my seat; coupled with a little annoying voice and laughter to follow. Little did I know, that kick would signal the beginning of an endless barrage of harassment from this kid, with the mother occasionally telling “Johnny” to “stop kicking the seat honey.” She obviously wasn’t doing a good enough job of convincing him that the nice man in front of him would eventually lose his mind and rip the tray from the seat in front of him, tossing it clear into the laboratories at the other end of the aircraft.
Eventually the kid did stop kicking the seat after I gave another furtive glance over my seat toward the mother who was now at her wits end and probably cursing the father who was probably just teeing off at some exclusive Golf course in Fairfax County. She secretly prayed that lightening would strike him down on the ninth hole.
Eventually, it became clear that “Johnny” really only stopped kicking the back of my seat because he was bored, not because he realized that it was annoying the heck out of the man sitting in the seat. To my chagrin, Johnny was now interested in the mechanics of the sliding window shade next to him since mother thought it was a great idea to put the child in the window seat. As you guessed, he began raising the window shade and slamming it non-stop for another ten minutes.
Not being able to take too much more of the distraction behind me, I quickly glanced over my seat again at the kid, then at mother. At that point, Mom looked completely exhausted and ready to open the cabin door and free-fall without a parachute to her demise. I looked into her cloudy, light brown eyes and realized that her soul was no longer there; it actually departed her somewhere over North Carolina. But even then, I had no sympathy for Mom.
The kid behind me eventually fell asleep and yes, I was able to listen to my Jazz compilation in peace until landing in Atlanta. Even today, I believe the poor mother “drugged” her son with Children’s Benadryl to accelerate nap time, but I can’t confirm that for sure.
Now fast forward the clock eight years; I am now married and have a newborn and a overly-exhausted two-year-old daughter sitting in a seat by herself across the aisle from Dad. We were returning from a challenging vacation in Italy and getting ready to depart from Rome to Philadelphia. Unfortunately, I knew there would be trouble when my daughter ceremoniously crossed her little arms in frustration as she starred at the seat in front of her. She slowly turned to Dad and said in the little toddler voice that you would expect to hear and said, “are we there yet Daddy?” Mind you, the plane was still sitting on the hot, steamy runway at the Fiumicino – Leonardo da Vinci Airport waiting for takeoff; and yes, the flight from Rome to Philadelphia was nine hours and fifteen minutes.
Well, as you already imagined, my daughter kicked the living crap out of the back of the passenger’s seat in front of her like she was practicing for the U.S. Women’s Olympic Soccer team. I spent hours in the air preventing her from driving the other passengers crazy and profusely apologized for her throwing coloring books and “Goldfish” over the row of seats in front of her.
Then something miraculous happened.
The passenger sitting directly in front of my daughter slowly and calmly turned around and looked at my daughter. Expecting the evil eye that I delivered to so many parents during my single years, I was pleasantly surprised to see the wide an inviting smile of a young 20-something female (probably a university student).
Instead of sending a piercing and stern look my direction; lecturing me for being a “failed and pathetic” parent, she handed my daughter her cellphone with the app Candy Crush loaded up and ready to play. “Here sweetheart, give it a try,” she said in a warm and calming voice. My daughter immediately stopped her restless kicking and took the phone from the angel passenger. She smiled back.
The passenger gave a final smile and glance at me, and turned around. For the next hour my daughter was completely enthralled by the popular game Candy Crush and the rest of the flight was peaceful and quiet.
It was during that hour that I remembered my unfair anger and frustration with “Johnny” and the disdain I had for his poor mother for not stopping him from using the back of my seat as an Adidas soccer ball. Karma had finally come for me, and I knew it. But instead of helping an exhausted and frustrated young parent, I shamed her and added to an already stressful situation.
Yes, I felt like an jackass.
But it was also during that flight that I finally got it: 95% of those parents that you run into at Target who appear not to give a care in the world what their little brats are doing in public, actually do care. Unfortunately, they are just burnt out, frustrating, and completely out of energy to do anything about it by the time you see them. These are parents that understand that they have to fight the meaningful battles. They know that there are some battles that are less significant than others, and meant to be fought (and won) on another day. The day that you saw them struggling with Johnny, was not that day.
Right or wrong, I now understood the grand parental strategy, and I had become that strategy’s staunchest practitioner and doctrinaire.
Yes, I get it, there are truly horrendous parents out there in America who should be legally prohibited from ever propagating again. They are the ones that leave their kids home alone in bed while they get their “boogie on” at the local dance club. We read about these geniuses in the newspaper everyday. We see them being carted away by the police on the five-o-clock news; shielding their faces from the cameras using a dirty towel. These people will have to answer to the judge or society in general, later in life. I’m not talking about those folks. I’m writing about hard-working parents who really care about raising great kids, but also understand that parenting young children [the right way] is hard work and that some days are just more challenging than others.
So if Johnny’s parents happen to run across this blog in the future, I would like to sincerely apologize for calling you a pathetic, failed care-giver. I’m truly sorry for judging you. Consider us now card-carrying, battle-scarred members of the same club now. Please accept my apology in the spirit that it was presented to you or any other parent that I may have disparaged during the naivety of my youth.
Now please take a deep breath, smile, wipe that apple sauce stain off of your shirt, and we must never speak of these matters again.
Written by: Scott McGinnis | www.GoombayTally.com