Yes, Virginia, There Is a Return Policy for Kids

I've learned when to stop inviting Karma and start asking friends about Holy Water!

We attended college orientation: Flower Child’s dorm assignment - messed up. Mix in her campers’ drama extreme last week (at Performing Arts Camp); fold with BFF & boy issue, doctor visit for throat swab…

I’ve suspended our College Myth-busters’ series for more wisdom from Mimi. Flower Child at the frat house caused a stir. I almost felt like a bad mom since I wasn’t THAT upset. Why not?

Preacher/Party Child have broken me in?

I sport Rose-colored glasses for Flower Child?

BOOM! Revelation as I prepared for a morning with sweet little babies at church, whose only you-know-what clearly appears in their diapers.

Mimi’s Return-Policy Prayer

Yes, that’s return policy on kids, not retail items. Some young mommies will never read this page again. Older mommies laugh, click, thank God theirs are responsible citizens despite themselves.

If you’ve had a fleeting moment, understanding child abuse – you wouldn’t abuse yours, just know why it could happen. This post is for you! I'll lead by example, sharing my moment:

Preacher Child was my first; how could I know it was colic? (Sorry, kids, no Internet back then!)   I knew: hadn’t washed my hair, enjoyed a hot meal in weeks. Baby flab drooped on my once-flat tummy. Worn out, I fantasized about driving him to mom’s; crossing the state line for a Waffle House and good night’s sleep.

Mimi is Buzz’s mom. For her prayer to be effective; not offensive, imagine a fancy lady. Others buy her groceries, walk her dog, and wash her car… Think 24/7 Mary Kay make-up and large hair, blonde, never out of place. She doesn’t own jeans or a t-shirt. She’s a teetotaler who says a lot without a word.        
(It’s a Southern art; I’ll never know.)

Mimi offered comfort when Preacher Child wouldn’t sleep                                             (She refers to Buzz’s big brother, circa ‘74)

“You know how horrible (my first born) was? He wrecked cars, partied, wouldn’t call, came home drunk whatever time he felt like, made me crazy. One night I was so SICK of losing sleep,

I prayed: “Lord, you gave me this child 17 years ago and he’s a little ($#!+)! I’m giving him right back to you!”

“Haven't lost a wink of sleep since!”

So there you have it – you don’t physically return the kids; you claim to whom they belong. Repeat the process throughout their lives, to relieve parenting pressure and promote a little more sleep.

Give it a try - beats a road trip to Alabama, promise.