It's been one long week around the ad absurdum household - some legos were swallowed, some heads exploded - I won't say by whom or which heads. So I'm especially pleased that Mandy from Mandyland has agreed to guest post for me today. She is writing on one of my favorite, most pertinent topics - how parents judge one another. Parents experience enough judgement on a regular basis, and I believe it may actually be hazardous to our health (a friend of mine has promised to write a book specifically for me on how to stand up to that particular person who judges me the most), so it's just plain sad when we judge each other. So with no further ado (which means what, by the way?) here is the lovely, the erudite, the witty and most likely gorgeous Mandy from Mandyland, with The Best Parent Ever.

The Best Parent Ever

I was the best parent in the world. I knew the best way to feed, bathe, dress and raise a child. I knew how they slept and what they should play with. I knew how quickly they reach their milestones and how easily they are potty trained. I knew how to balance work and family successfully. I knew how to keep romance alive and how to make sure that children didn't take over my world and change me into someone I didn't know. I knew it all and felt secure in offering "advice" to my friends and family.

And then I had a baby.

In a matter of weeks, every single parenting judgement I had ever made came back to haunt me. This infant wouldn't nurse. He hated the water. He spit up on his cute clothes. He slept all day and cried all night. He played with my cell phone and the remote rather than the educational, wooden toys made in Sweden. I couldn't bear the thought of going back to work and romance was something that I read about. A wee seven pound bundle of boy took over my world and changed me into someone I didn't know.

I emerged from those first three months feeling like the veteran of a foreign war. Scarred, exhausted and victorious. I was finally starting to get a handle on the whole parenting thing and I was ready to meet fellow mommies, women with whom I could laugh and share stories from the front. I learned, very quickly, that I had left one battlefield for another.

While I met some amazing moms, there were also the ones who, with a sympathetic smile and a friendly pat on the arm, passed judgment on my decisions, finding my weak and vulnerable points with the accuracy of a sniper.

"How interesting! You're letting him play with that. Did you know it's only recommended for ages three and up?"

"I'm not sure if you knew, but your stroller was recalled last month. I'm on the consumer alert email list, aren't you?"

"I would never give my baby Goldfish! Think of how many chemicals and preservatives - oh! Is that what your son is eating? Well, I'm sure he'll be just fine."

"He's not walking yet? Have you had him checked out? Now is the time to catch developmental delays."

"You know, I hate to tell you this, but bottle feeding him expressed breast milk is really taking the easy way out. Nursing can be difficult. I'm glad you're still pumping after four months, but really, did you work on getting a latch?"

I was left standing, mouth gaping, only thinking of a comeback twelve hours later while laying in bed.

Eventually I was able to successfully, and painlessly, navigate the Mommy Battlefield. Finding like-minded friends, gaining more confidence in my parenting abilities and understanding that we're all doing the best we can with the resources we have has been key. In coming to this understanding, I've also realized that my own judgments and unsolicited advice before becoming a parent may have caused a few wounds. I'm trying to make up for it now by working on being open minded and realizing that there is more than one way to raise a child.

And all those ways are just fine.

Unless you're giving your four-month-old Pepsi and a hot dog for lunch. Then we're going to have words.

Moms stuff a fantastical amount of accomplishments into each and every day (dads do too, but this is really about the moms). They work and parent and schedule and play cab driver and love and clean and nurse and worry (I honestly didn't think of myself as the worrying type until I saw a book called Women Who Worry and it started me worrying that I don't worry enough). So it's tough to find a free moment, let alone a free weekend - that's why I salute the moms who made it to Vegas with me this weekend for various birthdays of a non-specific nature. It went a little something like this:

"Guys, there's no alcohol in these drinks. I don't feel anything at all. Hey look, there's a gondola!! Let's go ask him if we can stand in it."

"I'm trying to take a picture of you guys. Could you please stop being so blurry?"

"How do you think she takes a step without falling on her face with those heels and those...other things?"

"Seriously, there was no alcohol in those drinks. Let's go try on slutty dresses."

"How do these people stay up so late?? Oh, it's only 7:45? Is that with the time change? Oh, there's no time change between Vegas and Seattle?"

"No, it's totally her birthday, she should get free spa services! Um, I'm not sure why her driver's license says she was born in August. Hey, the Harley Davidson Cafe didn't ask us for ID!"

"I think Elvis just felt me up." " Really? You should give him a bigger tip."

"There is no alcohol in these drinks, I swear. I'm totally sober. I think I'll just take a little nap here on the floor."

Well done, ladies! Same time next year?

It's easy, as a new parent, or even as an old (or should I say "less new") parent to be overwhelmed by the parenting rules and lists and guides and chronicles and books and classes all around us. When my first child was nine weeks old, we interviewed a nanny, who asked us what our parenting philosophy was. I ad-libbed for bit, and then finally had to ask her what exactly she meant. My 23 year old nanny candidate then patiently gave me an overview of "Attachment" Parenting versus "Babywise" Parenting, and I had to admit that we were more "by the seat of our pants" parenting. Of course I had opinions about parenting, anyone over the age of seven probably does, and my husband and I had discussed what values we wanted to instill in our children, and how to go about doing so. But I didn't know that there were defined parenting philosophies, and that I might be expected to have one. And I found this just a little bit intimidating. My son was nine weeks old and I was already behind on my homework.

During his first six months, I read several parenting books touting different philosophies and methods, trying unsuccessfully to find the one that exactly suited our family. I would invariably end up frustrated when I tried to impose one system or another – usually something to do with getting my angel to go to sleep without destroying my eardrums and my sanity. The latest philosophy, system, or set of rules I attempted to follow, which seemed so entirely rational and inoffensive when it was words on a page next to a picture of a peaceful sleeping infant (oh, for that infant to be mine, I would breathe reverently) inevitably failed when actually faced with a real child.

While there is certainly useful information to be found in every parenting book (excellent swaddling tips, how to properly warm a baby bottle, etc...), I failed each time I tried to implement one of the "systems" recommended. They left me feeling beaten down and berated. You're doing it wrong, they whispered as I flipped through the pages while breastfeeding for the twelfth time in the last four hours. If you don't do what I say, your child will be emotionally distant, unable to form meaningful relationships, and will never, ever be able to tie his shoes. And to add flavour to my misery, the next book would tell me to do the opposite, unless I wanted to end up with a college student unable to take a nap without his mommy, or eat his dinner without applause. But, but...I appealed to the pages...how do I know which one of you is RIGHT? Being a strict rule follower (the only time I've every truly rebelled against my Canadian-lefty-intellectual-hippie-dippy-west-coast-basically-agnostic-but-sometimes-Jewish-all-inclusive family was when I married a Republican from New York - really, what else did they give me to rebel against?) it hurts my head when I can't apply the rules exactly.

It wasn't until late into my son's first year that I realized something stunning. Something that allowed me to take a deep breath and toss all of the offending books out the window (not really, of course we donated them. Or recycled them. or something equally environmentally pleasing). The authors of these books were all, like me, JUST GUESSING. There are, in fact, no rules. Just lots and lots of guesses of varying quality. And ultimately, while it's great to listen to what people have to say, and educate myself as much as I can, beyond the few basic axioms about child rearing, which pretty much boil down to love them like crazy and do your best, it's up to me. I can consider the useful suggestions offered by others, but I make the rules. No one else does. Mama is the boss.

Jack's Tale

Once, on Hallowe'en, there was a village. It wasn't an ordinary village, it was a magic village. And the whole family was there, plus my friend James and his mommy and daddy.

Audience: And Alex!

Jack: Alex, you're part of the family. I said the family was there. So, there was a magic man, who made the village magic. He was a wicked wizard. And one day, we were all playing...

Audience: And Alex too!

Jack: I already SAID that. And so the magic wizard came, and he was chasing us. And we ran away.

Audience: And then what happened?

Jack: Nothing. We ran away. That's all.

The End

Alex's Tale

Once, on Hallowe'en, Jack and Alex went to the store to buy toothbrushes. And Jack bought a grown-up toothbrush. But Alex didn't. He bought a kids' toothbrush.

The End

Audience: Was the toothbrush haunted?

Alex: No. It was a regular toothbrush.

The End!

p.s. My apologies to those who are annoyed by the apostrophe in Hallowe'en. I can't help it. It's a compulsion.

p.p.s. Bite-sized Butterfingers are the devil.

Parenting is scary. Most parents are, on the inside, a quivering mass of semi-irrational fears. My husband is afraid of crossing the street. There's a name for it, he's dromophobic. When we cross as a family, it's a dramatic undertaking, involving terse instructions and white knuckles. He insists on holding both children's hands, being skeptical of my own ability to get myself over the pedestrian crossing, let alone taking on the responsibility of the life of one of our children. Heaven knows how I actually manage to cross the street, with the children, without him. He'd rather not think about it. I would be a little offended by the whole scenario, except that I get it. I have a comparable fear of swing sets (for which there is no fancy title, apparently - I'd call it swingerphobia, but that might confuse people). Who puts their child on a strip of rubber suspended from two chains, with no seat belt, straps or other safety features, and shoves them eight feet into the air at an angle nearing 180 degrees, for FUN? Well, I do. But I'm not happy about it - and I'm scared to death every time I do an underdog that I'm going to knock myself out. If I could stuff them into the marginally safer baby swings for the rest of their life, I would.

I'm also terrified of motorcycles (motorcyclophobia, don't you know), which you wouldn't think would be a problem with pre-school aged children, except that my three-year old dare-devil has regular tantrums over the fact that I won't get him one ("I won't fall off, Mommy, I won't!!). No wonder my blood pressure almost doubled when I was pregnant with him. Throw in some concerns about whether my children will be permanently scarred by the 12 seconds of the Paranormal Activity Two commercial they saw on t.v., whether I've foreshortened their career trajectory because the local kindergarten gets mixed reviews, and whether they will inherit my amblyopia (phenomenally poor depth perception - particularly unlucky in a motorcyclist), and it begins to make sense why most teenagers come to the conclusion that their parents are crazy. Which we are, really.

What semi-irrational fear of yours is just grounded enough in reality to drive you a wee bit around the bend?

New parents can feel completely adrift when the baby, who previously existed only as a thought - a heart-burny, nausea producing, kick you in the ribs extra-vivid kind of thought - actually appears outside of one's brain and belly. Parents are expected to go from inexperienced to expert in the matter of minutes – or in the matter of eighteen hours of labor. There is no "novice" category. No one can say, "oh, I parented for a year after college." You can't slowly ramp up, or dabble in parenting. One minute you are an independent self-sufficient, fancy-free human being and the next you are the caretaker of another life. So really, there is no-one out there more starving for knowledge from the experienced than a new parent.

However, as fellow parent, do not jump into this apparently inviting void with your own well meant, insightful and can't-do-without advice without first considering this: there are at least a hundred different ways to deliver a single piece of advice, and ninety-nine of these will likely fail, possibly driving the new parent into a sleep-deprived tailspin of irrational self doubt (and she probably won't like you much either). The trick is to deliver advice that is actually helpful, in both a diplomatic and courteous manner.

First, one should rarely deliver advice unless one has been asked for it. Sounds like an easy rule of thumb, but this is actually desperately difficult for most of us. We're generous, giving people. Wait until the new parent is ready to receive.

Second, examine your motives. Are you truly trying to be helpful to the particular parent in question, or are you looking for an opportunity to air your own views? As experienced parents, most of us are just dying for an opportunity to share what our experience has undoubtedly taught us. See the first rule above. (And I am aware that by offering you advice that you probably haven't asked for on how to deliver advice makes me appear a bit, well, metaphysically confused. That's why I'm a writer. I can't keep all my completely unsolicited advice to myself). If your motivation is actually to air your own views, rather than help your friend, you may engage in a certain amount of right and wrong opposition (co-sleeping is good; co-sleeping is bad) when what the parent really needs is a considered, non-judgmental view of her situation - which is not yours. Avoid scare tactics. New parents don't need to hear statistics on the dangers of holding a newborn within 160 feet of a television, hear about the pesticides in non-organic rice cereal, or consider the poisons hiding in their toothbrush holder.

Third, think about what kind of a result you are trying to achieve and whether your advice will actually accomplish that result. For example, is your friend feeling guilty about a decision she's made? (Which is what moms do. As my friend Michelle says, being a mom means feeling guilty about every decision you make for the rest of your life.) Her decision is already made - would it be useful for you to advise her against a decision already made, or should your aim be to help her feel comfortable with that decision?

Fourth, question whether the new parent is actually asking you for a practical solution to a problem, or simply wants affirmation and and understanding. DO offer positives, condone her methods and instincts. New parents don't have evidence that they will survive; that their newborn will ever sleep through the night; or that their two-year old will ever, well, not be two. You might assure them that yes, their baby will eventually sleep through the night, no matter what sleep strategies they employ - really, he will.

Fifth, always couch your advice in relative terms: this is what worked for me and my family, I understand your situation is different and you know it better than anyone else does.

Sixth, there are certain categories of advice to never, ever give at all, even when asked. For example, when a new mother complains about the expansiveness of her thighs, the only acceptable answer is "you look beautiful, give yourself a break." As tempting as it might be to offer up your own exercise routine, your sister's diet, Oprah's book on accepting yourself (or reinventing yourself or accepting your reinvention of yourself) don't do it. Unless your intention is to send the poor new mom into the fetal position clutching her maternity jeans, there is no other appropriate answer. Other categories include advising one mom how to achieve the greatness of another mom: if your friend asks how you or a mutual acquaintance keeps her kitchen so clean, for example, the only possible responses are 1) Oh, It's not that clean; 2) Well, okay, it's clean, but ONLY when you see it, the rest of the time it looks like the inside of a blender; or 3) Cleaning service. Don't offer up how you find "fifteen minutes before the kids get up to quickly tidy the house and fit in a yoga session." (Unless you want to mysteriously be left off the next playdate invitation.)

The meeting of minds of experienced parents and new parents or parents-to-be can be an ideal match. New parents are sponges, eager to soak up any knowledge they can to help make the impossible leap from autonomous individual to complete responsibility for another human being. Let's all hold hands and respectfully muddle through together.

A while back I posted the article Seven times you will be convinced your child is a genius, and I promised a balancing follow-up article. Thank you to my children for providing me with endless material - here are some of my very favorite less-than-genius moments.

1. You try to teach him to blow a bubble and he repeatedly blows his gum across the room.

2. You tell him to eat his broccoli, and his answer is "I already ate it," when the broccoli is clearly present and untouched on the plate between you.

3. He asks for popsicles for his breakfast for the 337th time, and is still surprised when you say no.

4. He is reasonably convinced you will let him wear shorts in 30 degree weather.

5. He calls you up to his room in the middle of the night because he "needs to give you a high five."

6. He insists he needs to sleep with mommy and daddy because he's "scared of the hiccups."

7. He explains to his little brother that an animal doctor is called a "vegetarian."

8. He's pretty sure you're going to let him have a pet tarantula.

9. His defense for kicking his brother after following him across the room, up the stairs, and into the bathroom, is that his brother was "in his way."

While making a snack...

Mommy, I need to watch you make s'mores, so I know how to make them for my kids. Because I know I'm going to have kids. I'm going to have two kids. If they're girls, I'm going to name them Pink and Beautiful. If they're boys, I'll name them Paul and Mike.

I'm kinda hoping for granddaughters!

Having just returned from an eight day road trip with two small boys, and one very large one, all of us with sand in our ears, and belly buttons, and...other places, I thought I'd share with you a few of the common sense tips I picked up along the way. I hope they'll help make your future trips as sandy and glorious as ours!

- One family of four x eight days x no washing machine = thirty-two pairs of underwear. DO forget "packing light."

- DO be prepared for the amount of stuff in your car to double after each stop, even if you purchase nothing. I can't explain it, but I can guarantee it. By the time you're on your way home, you won't be able to see the kids in the back seat under all the backpacks, lone shoes, discarded snacks, and beach "souvenirs" still containing their original owners.

- DO loosen your standards for hygiene and nutrition. YES, a quick dip in a muddy lake counts as a bath. ABSOLUTELY, chocolate chip pancakes constitute a well rounded breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.

- DO yourself a favor and pack the They Might be Giants CD Here Comes Science. Big and little people will both enjoy it, and it might save you hurling yourself out the window after the 218th request for Dora singing the Hokey Pokey.

- DO pack extra pens. Despite the ones enthusiastically leaking all over your purse, you will never have one available when you need to write something down. Like directions. Or confirmation numbers. Or your name on a traffic ticket (not that that would ever happen. Or did happen. Just, you know, in theory).

- DO be prepared to take a stand in the great "He's looking at me!" debate. It will get ugly.

- DON'T get miserably sick on the third day - or if you must - don't do it in Oregon, where you need a prescription to get Sudafed.

- DO rehearse cheerfully accepting a speeding ticket while explaining to your children that the nice policeman is just doing his job and keeping us all safe. The differences in your childrens' reactions will be telling - one might be concerned that Daddy is going to jail, while the other will ask the policeman for stickers. (Again, the preceding scenario is all completely hypothetical, of course.)

Please DO feel free to share any kid-tested road trip strategies of your own!

So, last week I talked about some of the (unfair, unfounded and just plain unnecessary) judgments people make about stay-at-home mothers and their brains. Some people pointed out that working moms have to deal with their own share of unasked for opinions - and I absolutely agree. In fact, just about every parent I know has had to field some kind of unwelcome judgment of their personal parenting choices - from fellow parents, family, friends, and the random person walking down the street. I myself am a recovering judge-aholic . I take it day to day - each day that I can be respectful about the parenting choices of others is a good day.

This week, I'm looking for your stories about the judgement you've experienced as a parent, to potentially be used in a future article. I'm looking for anecdotes about unsolicited opinions about your role as a stay-at-home parent or a working parent; your choice to home-school or not, participate in preschool, daycare, etc., or not; your choice to breastfeed or not; your decision to go organic or vegetarian (or not); co-sleep or not, or any other of parenting choices you have thoughtfully made. Who is the Judgy-Judgerson in your life?

You can leave your story as a comment, or email me at parentingadabsurdum@gmail.com - you can be quoted anonymously or not as you choose. Thank you all immensely - I'm sending good, completely non-judgemental vibes your way!