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31 Sure Fire Ways to Screw Up Your Kids

free photo: pixabay user/sasint

Raise your hand if you’ve ever gone to counseling.

If you didn’t raise your hand, it’s not because your parents were perfect or that you actually have your schtuff together. You either didn’t raise your hand because: you’re lying; you didn’t hear the question; you were raised with strict religious, intellectual, or spiritual shaming messages that counseling is for the weak or faithless; or, it’s just that your parents probably didn’t believe in counseling because their parents didn’t believe in counseling because their parents didn’t believe in counseling, so, like a helluvalotta other things, they passed that belief onto you.

It’s not our faults. It’s theirs. It’s always “theirs.”

But every generation has the opportunity to write its own story…every generation, collectively and on individual scale, is responsible to make peace with the past and create a healthier today and tomorrow.

And if you’re a parent, one day, when your kids encounter conflict, especially if they’re off to college and possibly for the first time hear they’re actually designed with “critical-thinking,” all their problems will be because of you.

That’s right. It’ll be your fault…you’ll be the “them,” and that kind of sucks. But it doesn’t have to be all that bad!

So, how does one generation screw up the next? When are we going to start owning our schtuff long enough to see our part in the mess? And what can we do to deal with and let go of our schtuff in a healthy and timely fashion as not to project our sludge into the future generations but cheer them on to explore and do it differently and better than us?

Here are 31 Sure Fire Ways to Screw Up Your Kids, in no particular order:

  1. Know everything and make sure your kids believe you’re the authority on all the things.
  2. Shut down questions with, “Because I said so, that’s why…end of discussion.”
  3. Forget you were once a kid, of all the ages your kids are and will be one day.
  4. Believe you have nothing to learn from a kid, or anyone else, for that matter.
  5. Multi-task time with your kids with something you have to check off your to-do list.
  6. Never let your kids see you sad or disappointed or anything other than happy happy joy joy.
  7. Forget that you are figuring it out, too…all of it.
  8. Demand immediate submission and obedience. 
  9. Believe, “Treat others the way you want to be treated,” is something kids need to memorize, but not something you have to live out in front of them.
  10. Do things because that’s just how you’ve always done them.
  11. Overcompensate for the lack of whatever thing you think your childhood was missing.
  12. Tell your kids HOW to believe and WHAT to believe in, and DEFINE what their faith should look like.
  13. Let your fear of death and eternity be your filter for everything.
  14. NEVER model authenticity or vulnerability…get yourself together, dude!
  15. Never tell them you are sorry, by God, you’re the freaking parent! Parent up, YO!
  16. Diet or “cleanse,” constantly exercise, own a scale and use it often, and pinch your muffin top in the mirror in front of them, but tell them they are beautiful.
  17. Tell them never to talk to strangers, and model the part where you don’t make eye contact with one.
  18. Demand perfection in every area, especially: manners, appearance, grades, performance, hygiene, human interactions.
  19. Use God as your scapegoat by cherry picking scriptures and whatever your pastor said, to back the way you’ve chosen to “discipline.”
  20. Abolish all empathy from your parenting game.
  21. Model intolerance, first for yourself, then especially for “others.”
  22. Live offended…of everything and everyone, especially when your kids think differently than you.
  23. Teach them to believe the worst about people.
  24. Use blanket statements, stereotypes, and generalizations when talking about people.
  25. Drive like you own the road and tell those people in the other cars just what you think of them, out loud.
  26. Make them eat their veggies, but you don’t have to since you did your time as a kid.
  27. Have people over only when your house is clean.
  28. Project onto your kids what you assume they are feeling, thinking, experiencing.
  29. Forget that the back of your phone and computer are today’s “Cat’s in the Cradle.”
  30. Tell them they have to pick a “real major” in college because you know it’ll financially help them in the long run, even if you hate your life, but have a padded bank account.
  31. When they come home from their first year of college and tell you they learned their family of origin is dysfunctional, tell them, “Hey, I put the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional.” And then change the subject and discount what they’re saying as stupid, 18-year old rebellious teenage stuff…cuz, what could they know, right?!


And this list could go on…

We’re all figuring it out. The point of every generation is to not only teach the next, but to learn from them, too…not hold on for dear life to the lessons of those who have gone before them. Our great greats and greats and grandparents and parents did a lot of things right, and they also had some things wrong, big and small. Same with us. And same with the next. It’s not rebellious to do it differently when hate or ignorance isn’t sustainable.

Let’s posture ourselves for learning and see what happens.


It’s Important for you to Know

It’s important for you to know I don’t always hate myself.

It’s important because it is the truth.

And “hate” is a big word, one which isn’t truly accurate for how I feel day in and day out.  But for those of you who struggle with the person in the mirror on occasion, you know when the word “hate” is stirring and feel the brunt of it when it rears its ugly head.

Most days I don’t even think about myself.  I love being a wife and mom and friend and neighbor.  All roles I enjoy and have even chosen.

But this morning a thought came to mind.  After processing it a bit with my husband, a friend, and just an hour ago with my counselor, I’ll try my best to convey here.

Earlier this week I read this article.  Before you criticize the author, read it and then process it through the following filter:

My intention in attending a 4-year college was not to find a husband.  I mean, really, if you think about it…$20,000/year for private schooling = a really nice dowry after 4 years.  Instead, I got married with a heap load of debt.  I went to school with a desire to learn and grow and explore more of God’s creativity, knowledge, and will for my life.  Originally I wanted to be a writer, but after being placed in remedial English my freshman year (WHO KNEW you could study for the SAT???!!!) and being challenged by my parents to choose a “real major,” I decided to move forward in pre-med, because I at least knew I wanted to heal people.  (*Pretty sure my parents envisioned a beatnik writer in a smoky coffee shop with a beret handing out free copies of my work or a writer in a cabin in the woods, never publishing but living off her parents.  I think they forgot about journalists and columnists and you know, authors and writers.)

Photo by Ann Larie Valentine

If you’ve read here a while, you know I didn’t make it through pre-med, seeing as how passing chemistry is necessary and all.  With a passion for international travel and culture and a love for God’s love story for the world, I majored in Theology with a Missions emphasis and a minor in Spanish.  Upon graduation, my husband and I set off with hundreds of teenagers in tow to Venezuela to share God’s love, and that was just the beginning.  (*This doesn’t really have anything to do with what I’m talking about here…but you try tracing a thought in your head on paper.  It’s tough stuff.)

Anyway, way back when my mom told me about reproduction, namely sex and baby delivery, I was cool never being a mom.  And FOR SURE not going through the delivery part.  Ewwww and OWWW!  Kids were fine and all if they belonged to someone else, but for me, it was six in one, half dozen in the other.  Then I met my husband and realized he would be one amazing dad.  And then I met our first child and fell in love.

I hung up the world of Student Development in the college setting, having only been surrounded by college aged women from the time I entered college plus 7 more years as a professional.  And I entered into daily one on one’s with an infant girl.  One for whom I was souly (*I meant: soul) responsible, but really had nothing to give in return other than bodily excretions and some lovely sounds and snuggles.  All good, but not the reason I went to college.

Soooo, follow along here for a sec…a few years ago my mom and I were talking about indulgence and contentment specifically how I’ll eat to escape.  We talked about how on vacation we are relaxed, enjoying feelings attached to new memories, rewarding experiences, and new pleasures, often times coupled with dining and trying exotic foods or yummy drinks or relaxing on warm beaches.  These are all good and great and obviously a luxury, but all reasons we long for and look forward to vacations, even short getaways. 

This morning it occurred to me, a person who loves authenticity and enjoys the art of writing, whether on paper or in my head, that even though I love being a wife and mom, those roles do not define me.  My friend even said her husband posed the question to her several years ago, “If I died or our children died, you wouldn’t be my wife or their mother anymore…so who would YOU be, not what would you DO?”  He went on to say those are roles she may love, but they aren’t necessarily her authentic true self, they are part of her but not her.

Are you even tracking with me?  I’m sorry if not…I’m trying here.

So, I can’t speak for you, but I’ll speak for myself.  I adore my children and am a really good mom.  I’m also a smoking hot, attentive wife who prays favor and blessings over my husband every day.  And during this season of life, which is now going on 11 years as a parent, 20 as a wife, I’ve put aside much of my own desires, passions, pursuits, and ways in which I am wired, to focus on the here and now, namely my family and their well-being.

I put all my coals in one fire.

Like the British mum who expressed her heart, this is not something I should have done.  Loving myself by keeping one iron in the fire would have kept God’s deposits, His gifts, still kindling.  INSTEAD, like many SAHM’s and Outside the Home Working Mums, I focused on just one thing and that one thing became THE thing.  And as a result, I have FILLED those places which were rich and fulfilling with temporary satisfaction, namely food.

And maybe you’ve filled it with an addiction to sassy coffee or keeping a perfectly clean house or volunteering extra hours at things which are good and worthwhile and important or shopping or redecorating and redecorating and redecorating your house or that third glass of wine?  Or maybe you’ve filled it with accomplishments at work and others opinions of you or checking things off a list or keeping up the image you portray to those around you, no matter how weary you really are?

These feelings we experience on vacation when we are able to escape from the day to day become feelings we want to experience in the day to day when the rubber hits the road and we feel overwhelmed…and especially as Americans, we think we deserve it.

Okay, never mind, I’ll speak for myself…I think I deserve it.

I think because I did 7 loads of laundry, cleaned the house, got Em off to school and played trains and dinosaurs with Ryan for three hours and put a healthy dinner on the table, I deserve this or that reward…and truth be told, I crave the reward and instant gratification food or wine or, for sure, chocolate, delivers.

All the while, the reason these temporary indulgences have come up short is because as I dove head first into being a mom, specifically, I didn’t leave an iron in the fire.  A writing iron, that is.  The very iron God designed in me as an outlet for creativity and in more recent years, for authenticity, ministry, and healing.

Which leads me to my Facebook post after counseling today:

“Here I go to counseling to talk about disordered eating and unhealthy expectations and body image, and we wind up talking about writing…because apparently when I write authentically, candidly, and with vulnerability, I’m being true to who God made me to be.”  #stuffcounselorstellyouthatyouknowdeepdown #killingmonsters #findingfreedomtowritemyheartout

After counseling I had lunch with Jason, then headed to a beatnik coffee shop to write.

The girls next to me asked me what I do.

I told them I’m a writer.

10 Things I Hate About Me

I just thought of that title so, either this list will be a piece of cake and I’ll need to make a part 2 and 3, or I will need to make some stuff up.

  1. My upper arms.
  2. My bent towards inconsistency.
  3. How my self-worth is so closely knit with 10 lbs of fat and whether I eat “clean”or not…or not.
  4. My eternal optimism for everyone else, but inability to offer it to myself.
  5. How I can treat the people I love the very most with complacency when I feel fat and failure-ish because I eat a carb instead of not.
  6. My unrelenting desire to make peace between others but my inability to make peace with myself.
  7. The fact that I could even write a list like this.
  8. That I am an isolationist when I don’t have my shit in order.
  9. How I will believe the best about you to a fault, even if you actually suck as a person.
  10. #3 and #6

A couple of weeks ago I sat on the floor in my closet and cried.  I hadn’t tripped trying to change my clothes, hitting my head on the dresser or wall or anything.  It wasn’t due to a physical injury.  I was crying because I’m messed up.  I was crying out to God.  “How can my worth be so intrinsically connected to the fat on my body?!?!  I don’t want to be this shallow!  I know You designed me to matter so WHY can’t I break free from this endless battle that rages in my head and heart?  Why can’t I just eat clean and be done with this friggin’ ‘journey’?????”

On Mother’s Day my daughter gave me a poem she had been working on for a couple of months.  Here it is, written exactly as she did:

why i love you mom
you are funny
you love me more than stars in the sky
you comfort me when I’m sad
I can talk to you about anything
you are fun to hang out with
you would do anything for me
you care for me
you’re compassionate
you’re creative
you’re loving
you have a good sense of humor
you’re talented
you can find good in anything
you have a awesome sense in fashion
andddd you’re awesome!!!!!!!!!!
you know me so well
mom, these are some the reasons i love you

I’ve never let Emily know how much I’m not a fan of myself.  I’m a good liar…except I’m actually known for totally sucking at lying.  I can’t do it.  I have never said, “I’m fat or ugly or I don’t like myself” in front of her.  But she’s not stupid, in fact, she’s quite brilliant.  And like I said, I suck at lying, so I know I’m not pulling the wool over her eyes.

This is NOT the legacy I want to leave…

So, on Tuesday I’m headed to see a counselor who specializes in Eating Disorders.

Because the things she loves about me are there deep down inside and they matter and they are the things I know make up my true beauty.  And I actually do believe these things about myself, the “beauty” my daughter sees, but what I believe in my head just hasn’t quite made it to my heart and I think I need someone to help me get there…

No. Really. Head on over…

I’m going to be running through a series over at my “Confessions of a 2nd Grade Closet Eater” blog over the next several weeks.

If you or someone you know, love, or even hate, is at a crossroads, has hit a wall, is stuck on a gerbil wheel with no end in sight, send them over there, too.

As always, in my truest, most candid form, I’ll give you my guts.

And hopefully, that’ll encourage yours.

Everybody needs to puke sometimes…

I hate puke. I hate to puke. I hate cleaning up puke. Puke and I are not friends…and that will never change. Can I get a “Holla”?

Random Junior High Confession: Parents were out of town. Friend and I convinced older teenager with fake ID to buy us wine coolers. Drank as much as my skinny friend. Woke up in middle of night needing to puke but pleaded with God to spare me just this once and let it come out the other end…and promised I’d never get drunk again. At that time, I really meant it. Had diarrhea all night. Next time I got drunk I puked. (My mom just read/heard this story for the second time in the last 25 years…sorry, Mom, as I’ve mentioned, I wasn’t/am not perfect…but I don’t get drunk anymore, so that’s a good thing (smiley face))

I’m not sure how it happens but no matter how hard we try to emphasize manners and clean table talk, bodily functions like puking, diarrhea, gas, and burping always emerge at the dinner table. Even the threat of “Manners School” doesn’t do the trick…for Em or Jason. Does this ever happen at your house or do you only discuss the beautiful weather and sweet baby animals at your dinner table?

On Friday I was volunteering at Em’s school, sitting in the hallway listening/watching/trying to discern/decipher short shadow puppet plays that the kids were expected to make up on their own. Really, I was trying not to punch myself in the face, if I’m going to be honest. It was grueling…literally. A whole lot of squeaky voices with virtually no plot, sequence, and way too much conflict.

Anyway, Em hadn’t had breakfast that morning because her “tummy hurt” and her throat was sore. For the most part, Em’s not a faker when it comes to feeling lousy, but since she’s not currently a fan of school, we’ve had to decide which “tummy aches” and “sore throats” are stress related and which ones are genuinely gut wrenching.

The problem was, she knew she had to go to school on Friday because her Nana was flying into town and then we were headed to Mary Poppins for girls night out.

Seeing as how I was enthralled in my hallway job of watching 3 second grade boys repeat their shadow puppet play seven times, I missed Em slip by on the way to the bathroom. I had already warned her teacher that she had told me her “tummy hurt” that morning and hadn’t eaten breakfast but that I couldn’t tell if she was just too excited about the days’ events.

Em came out of the bathroom as the group of boys was changing the name of their play and characters for the umpteenth time. She was a palish greenish whitish color…Em and I headed into the classroom and I told the teacher I was going to take her home, that she really didn’t look well…the teacher agreed wholeheartedly.

I had a meeting with Amy Sampson (Amy’s recently written a book and is doing a national launch where a portion of the proceeds on April 27th for purchases on will go to my non-profit organization, Bevy, Inc. more on that later) and Lauren Miller (who has also written a book, is an inspiring woman with a great will to live after she conquered cancer in the midst of a divorce) in a half hour and it had already been rescheduled, with the help of babysitters, so I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do, but obviously my sweetie girl was my priority. I called Jason. Jason had the day off, (thank you Compassion International for observing Good Friday) and had just finished up at the gym so he and I coordinated to exchange Emily in the parking lot where he was. I called the doc just in case to schedule a sick kid appointment because, with that face and her throat now hurting, I had a hunch. Jason would take Em home, I’d run to my meeting and then we’d meet at the doc in two hours.

Thankfully that morning I had grabbed a couple reusable grocery bags for running errands. But, of course, the ones I grabbed weren’t the “moisture proof” type, if you know what I’m sayin’. She kept saying, “Mommy, I don’t want to throw up. My tummy hurts. I hate throwing up…” What can I say? It runs in the family. I gave a bag to Em in the back seat and told her, “this is just in case…just in case.”

As we pulled into the parking lot next to Daddy…you guessed it…my sweetie girl puked…on the canvas Trader Joe’s bag and in the back seat of my friend’s car that I was borrowing! And, as you may have guessed, she felt a little better once that was over.

Long story short, we met up at the doctor’s office a little later where they did a quick strep test that quickly came back positive. She was put on antibiotics immediately and the color came back to her cheeks. She even had enough energy, like bouncing off the wall energy, to make it to her second viewing of Mary Poppins in her little lifetime. The first time she saw it was when she was a month shy of 3 while in London on business…well, she wasn’t there on business, of course. It was great and she’s been great ever since!

All this occurred at the end of last week…over the holiday weekend. Earlier in the week I had my second counseling appointment, but first with the new counselor. Changing to the “neutral” person made all the difference for me. It felt safe and I spoke completely unreserved.

I puked right there in her office. It felt great! Of course, I’m talking figuratively now, but the release of all that was in my heart and on my mind and in my guts…for years…was one of the most liberating things I have ever done. I realized that after being in women’s ministry for 20 years, even though I’ve talked with family and friends about this and that, I’ve always protected the identities and even defended the culprits in my life for the sake of sparing and protecting them. I’ve never had a neutral. Jason, of course, listens to my heart, but he’s a man so wants to fix and repair, which is okay, but not necessarily what my heart needs at the moment.

God has obviously known my heart my whole life and none of this is news to Him. He knows every hurt, every tear, every problem that I try to stuff down and ignore. He’s the Guy I go to first…and obviously He’s the One that cares the very most and does the heart repairs. The true healing.

But baby, talking to a woman that doesn’t know me or any of the people in my life was one of the most profound and therapeutic experiences EH-VER. Why more people don’t go talk to counselors, I don’t know!? I mean, they get paid to listen to whatever the heck you want to tell them. It was awesome!

Group counseling for grief was great, too, especially for learning others’ stories and having the comfort of not being alone. Being able to be completely candid for the first time in my life, without hurting another person’s heart or feelings, and without being judged…that was priceless. Hearing an outsider’s perspective and then getting a game plan was the best puke I’ve ever had…and I didn’t even need a bucket!

Guts and Grief

So, I did it. I went to my first solo counseling appointment.

That’s it. I’m cured…no need for any further intervention. I’ve been declared “problem free”.

Just kidding.

So, back up a bit and you’ll remember that my going to the appointment was a result of a slight temper tantrum – breakdown I had after I thought it was a fine and harmless idea to delve into scientific Trisomy and other birth defect testing. (Remember, I just wanted another ultrasound…) Even though the results told me nothing I couldn’t learn by reading a medical handbook about the risks of pregnant 38 year old women, it still struck a heart cord in me and really revealed, at least in my own heart and mind, that I wasn’t allowing myself to connect, or attach, to this pregnancy. I mean, if I skip the attachment part then the possibility of being faced with saying goodbye all too soon wouldn’t be as difficult, right? Right!#$%^&*

I knew it was a load of crap, as well, so, I went ahead and made an appointment with a woman licensed in grief counseling. I had previously asked a few friends if they had recommendations of good counselors, but after reviewing their suggestions, two of which would have a previous knowledge of me, and then finding out I could meet for 6 sessions through Jason’s insurance for FREE, I went with the obvious choice: FREE. But seriously, I really valued the idea of walking into an office and knowing I’d never be seeing the person on the “outside” in “real life.” Just safety in knowing this for some reason…

So, halfway through my session, I looked around the office for a small break in eye contact. The guy in the picture looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Back to eye contact and my story…why was I here?

I gave her the “Jason” abbreviated version of Noah’s story and then shared my own grief journey, the blog, group counseling and how this pregnancy has messed with my heart a bit. I was obviously aware of it and that’s why I thought maybe I should have some counseling. She said that it sounded to her that possibly my faith or my knowledge of God was a cover up for allowing myself to really feel my grief. I told her it was more of a deep comfort, knowing that God knew exactly how I felt and that His knowledge of a bigger picture was something that gave me peace.

I also told her that over the last 3 and a half years I have processed my grief quite candidly and openly with awesome family and friends, and, with all of you! I have allowed myself to feel every emotion, including, but not limited to: anger, disgust, being totally pissed at God and Noah, despair, jealousy, hope, peace, happiness, trust, failure, anger at the unknown, frustration with “modern medicine” and the “system” of politics and insurance, surrender, peace deep down that I can’t explain, hope that there is a reason for everything and it’s okay that I don’t understand it, and trust that He’s not done with me yet…for some crazy reason.

I looked around the room again for a break in eye contact. Saw the same guy, smiling huge in a photo where he was hugging the woman across from me…

Me: “What is your last name?”
Her: “Such and such…”
Me: “We’ll be at barbecues together in the future…our husband’s just went to Bolivia together.”

She asked me at the end of our time together if that made me uncomfortable. I didn’t answer the question but asked her the question in return. I went ahead and signed up for our week two appointment.

On the way home I had a bit more time to process. Even though I felt comfortable sharing with this woman, who made me feel comfortable, I really treasured the assurance of having a neutral counselor, someone with no “outside” knowledge of me. I also realized that once I made the connection of who she was, I shut off part of my story…part of my heart. Adrienne, a person not afraid to share all of my guts, threw up some walls and started “monitoring” anything I shared.

As a result, I called the office, rescheduled with another counselor and also shot off a quick email sharing why I was switching. She called back and completely understood. I told her I looked forward to knowing her on the “outside”.

One thing that I realized from our session was that over the past 3 and a half years, I have been processing my grief. I don’t claim to have the corner on the market on how to grieve beautifully, but I believe I have allowed myself to walk through it, the highs and lows, and I have a pretty good grasp on grief and its triggers in my life. Hence, the reason I made an appointment in the first place.

So, even though I’ll likely share more of my grief experience with the new counselor, I am also looking at this as an opportunity to dig in deep to the crap I’ve been burying for years…just other sludge that comes to the surface as a result of interacting with certain personality types and situations and my own coping methods as a middle child peacemaker…for me, I think it’s going to be very interesting to see just how screwed up I really am. (Smiley face) But really

Unrelated things…

One: Jason is in Bolivia with Compassion International. No, he is not a Compassion blogger, he is the boss of many of the projects they are currently visiting. BUT, I am hoping that he’ll “blog”, (and I use that term loosely when it comes to my hubby who speaks but 100 words a day), at the least some photos from his adventures…I won’t even expect captions…so don’t you, either. He did post some on Facebook, but hopefully Noah’s blog will come to you from Bolivia at some point this week.

Two: Just as I did with our group grief counseling, I will share my counseling experiences here to encourage others on similar journeys. For accountability sake, my first appointment is Tuesday, March 23rd at 9:00. It’ll pretty much go like this: “So, I have 6 free sessions…not looking to extend that…let’s cut to the chase…I got problems…”

Three: Not sure if I mentioned this here or not, but I put The Well Radio Show, my weekly talk show with Gina Johnson, on hold for a season. I felt like I was supposed to really focus on some other dreams that God has been stirring in me for years and, apparently, that timing is now. If you’ve been here a while, you remember the day I ran around frantically trying to get my paperwork into the IRS for my non-profit organization, Bevy. Well, it was approved 8 months after Noah died and is officially a 501(c)3 organization. It has been on my heart to be a good steward of it and pick it up again, but to change the mission a bit. You wouldn’t think that dropping a weekly one hour radio show would free up so much time, but let me tell you, I feel like we’re getting a ton done! God has opened some amazing doors, details I’ll share at another time, but here’s our preliminary website…still working on branding and logo and have to add our Board of Directors. You’ll be able to add it to your blog soon, if you’d like to help spread the word.

Four: Today I had lunch with a friend I love very much. She knows our journey very well, just to lay a foundation for this story. Let me preface this to say that I laugh at very inappropriate things and even crack dead baby jokes with certain friends…unfortunately, it’s something bereaved parents are completely entitled to do. So, I was telling her about a picture of a pie chart Jason posted on Facebook that contained information regarding the infant mortality rates and reasons for death in Bolivia. I told her that a certain percentage of the babies died prior to delivery, some died during delivery, another portion charted that the mother died at the time of delivery, some babies died because of malnutrition and still others died from complications from diarrhea due to unclean water sources. My sweet friend looked at me with a mind-boggling look on her face and said, “Can you EVEN imagine having your child die because of diarrhea?” I paused for a second and smiled…and said, “Yes, actually.” Her face turned beet red and I laughed out loud! She apologized emphatically, but I assured her it was totally fine! Maybe you had to be there???

Five: As we were driving back from lunch, my friend told me of another thing she said to the guy at Chipotle that was unknowingly inappropriate. I was laughing so hard that tears were blurring my vision and I could hardly breathe or see the road…here’s how it went down…if you are too pure, don’t read this

Chipotle man: Carnitas?
Friend: No, veggie tacos.
Chipotle man: Oh, okay, veggie tacos.
Chipotle man turns to cashier and says: Carnitas…I mean, veggie!
Friend: Yeah, quit trying to put your meat in my taco.
Chipotle man: (Nothin’…turns head sideways…awkward look on his face…)
Friend: (Nothin’…beet red cheeks…backs away from the counter…)