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Let's Panic: The Book!

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How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant
who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain,
and Finally Turn You
into a Worthwhile
Human Being.

Written by Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy

Some Books
I'm In...

Sleep Is
For The Weak

Chicago Review Press

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Let's Panic

The site that inspired the book!

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it. → 

« Two posts in a row involving cats = run while you still have a chance. | Main | The voice of reason is one I left so far behind.* »

The many ways in which my four-year-old is like a cat, or what you get when you write a post in ten minutes.

Henry insists on walking in front of me around the house. “I’m the leader,” he tells me, and leaps ahead, although he’s not sure where I’m going. He veers toward the living room when ha ha, I was going to the kitchen all along. This is what amuses me these days. He turns around, screeches, “Hey!” and jumps in front of me. And then stops short to explain why, athough he had requested the red Power Ranger for Christmas, we managed to purchase the wrong kind of red Power Ranger. Not paying the least bit of attention, I run directly into him and step on his foot. He cries out. I bend down to check out the damage. “Which one did I hurt?” I ask him. “Marbretta,” he says. He has named his feet. The right one is Marbretta, the left one is Plops. (Cats would probably name their paws, if they had the power of speech. You know they would. Although I’d bet they have lousy imaginations and their foot names would be Paw, Paw-Paw, Pawl, and Pawla.) The foot appears undamaged. Meanwhile, Henry is batting at my hair . “This wouldn’t happen if you’d wear shoes,” I tell him, but he’s ignoring me as he stares, frozen in wonder, at something on the ground, in doing so blocking the kitchen doorway. “It’s just a mushroom,”I say. “I must have dropped it while I was cooking. Can you pick it up for me?” He looks at me as if I had smeared myself with my own feces. “I will not pick up a mushroom,” he declares. “Charlie will eat it.” He lunges toward Charlie, undoubtedly ready to haul him mushroom-ward, but Charlie takes off, as he usually does whenever Henry comes at him. “Charlie hates mushrooms,” Henry informs me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading down to the basement to crap in a box.”

(Good enough! Quick, Alice, post it before you return to your senses!)

Reader Comments (29)

My daughter named her feet, too! When she was two, she would say, "This is Julia, and this is Echolo. My two sweeties."
January 19, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterNatalie
It sounds like Henry is working on being the dominant being in the household.
January 20, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterAnne Cecilia
Oh my god. I am laughing my ASS off. Marbretta, Plops, Paw, Paw-paw, Pawl and Pawla are the new names of the evil dwarves that haunt me at night when I am trying to sleep my sleep deprived 5 hours of sleep. Sleepy is the other dwarf!
January 22, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterMolly
My cats would call their paws Don't Touch, Don't Touch This One Either, Seriously I Mean It, and I'm Going to Bite Your Damn Hand Off Now.
January 23, 2007 | Unregistered Commenterlisa

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