Proof that my parenting style shares many similarities with the movie "Dumb and Dumber".

Today, I consulted with Harry and Lloyd for parenting advice and we had what I am going to refer to as a "Dumb and Dumber" moment. Only it lasted about an hour and a half.


Here's the thing, blogworld. Around 2 p.m today, I mandated outdoor playtime. I brought this on. I needed a few moments to put groceries away, rinse dishes and generally get a handle on the TORNADO that is/was our first floor.


About a half an hour later, I noticed the kids in the back yard, and I went out to say hey.


Big J was perched upon the slide o' death, talking to...something. In fact, all three kids seemed to be catering to this *something* that Big J was fondling. With his bare hands. Inches from his FACE.

Ohmygod.  Ohmygod.  OHMYGOD.

DEAD Bird.  Gag.  Ick.  Gag.  Ohmygod.  GAG.

This is the ACTUAL text message I sent to Mike, at 3:05 p.m.:

"Imagine my shock/disgust/horror, when I found your children taking that dead bird for rides down our slide.  It is currently "sleeping" in a bucket on the deck.  And our children have potentially been exposed to rabies."

Let's step back a second.  Earlier in the day, I called Mike to tell him my recent observations that birds are getting:  1.) blinder and 2.) dumber.  Because this is the second bird in less than a week that has met it's death against our basketball backboard.  Bird #1 got smooshed by Mike's tire before we realized it was there. 

Bird #2?

In tact, and the happy, dead playmate of my young children.  Not unlike the blind boy in Dumb and Dumber who bought the headless parakeet.  Only ours had a head.  A very floppy head.  And technically, L is half blind. 

Seriously.  I can't make this stuff up. 

But the spirit of Charlton Heston, or Paul Newman, or Andre the Giant (or Harry and Lloyd)...or someone equally masculine, came upon me at that very moment.  And it said, "Damn it woman, let those boys play with some dead animals and learn to kick the crap out of the maggots virus firsthand!" 

And they were right.  There's no need to turn my children into ninnies who fear small, dead things.  There are a couple of wives who will thank me for this later, I assume. 

So you know what?  I let them play with that dead bird as if it was their most prized action figure.  Only I told them to keep it in the bucket, because I could only witness it tobogganing down our deck railings in a shovel so many times before I felt *weird*.  Instead, they placed him in his "home" and carried him from activity to activity. 

I should have known, really.  A few years ago, I gave Mike a taxidermied bull frog for Father's Day.  BIG hit.  If you want to win some fun points with your hubby, I suggest you search the taxidermy section of ebay. 

When "playtime" was over, I guided them through a lengthy sterilization process that included intense washing with soap and etching cream. 

Because nothing says MANLY and WILD like a full body dip in Purell.   

The end.