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The Laughing Stork

Crash. Burn. Refuel.

Candy's Column

Crash. Burn. Refuel.

No, Los Angeles, that was not a Santa Ana wind that just nearly knocked Nic Cage’s hair piece off.  That was me.  Exhaling.  (My apologies, Nic.)

The kids just returned to preschool after a two-and-a-half week summer break — and my, oh my, am I exhausted.  All of the teachers looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, while us parents…?  Yeah, we looked like we had been hit by a Mack Truck.  A Mack Truck in the form of two adorable, blond, curly-haired preschoolers who NEVER STOP MOVING.  Did you know this about two- and four-year-olds?   They are in a constant state of motion, just like Earth — spinning, spinning, spinning — while their parents teeter on the brink of crashing and burning, just like an asteroid.


And do you know what happens when an asteroid crashes and burns?  Earth just keeps on FREAKIN’ SPINNING like nothing ever happened.  And insists on following the asteroid to the kitchen when all she wants is 15 seconds to sneak a cookie without having to share.  (Hey, I was like an only child.  Sharing is not my forté.)

You full-time stay-at-home parents are surely smirking at your monitors right now.  “Welcome to my world, weakling” you cackle knowingly.  Well, that’s what my mom said when I mentioned my exhaustion, before admitting she has no idea how she raised three kids over the span of 35 years.

“It was hard,” she sighed.  “Life sure is good now.”

No empty nest syndrome there, my friends.  “FLY AWAY, BIRDS, FLY!  No need to come back until you have my grandkids!  Even then, make sure you schedule visits around my casino plans!”

Actually, hanging out with the kids was great — I may have even had a tear in my eye when I took them to school yesterday — but I am indeed relieved to have some time to myself again.  I am a loner at heart — when I misbehaved as a youngster, my parents would punish me by making me STAY in the living room with them, rather than sending me to my room by myself, which I would have relished — and require a certain amount of time by myself to work and recharge the batteries.  I’m not ashamed to admit that; it makes me a better mom.  Plus, preschool provides things for them that I’m not always able to.  Like art classes and ample social interaction with their peers and home-cooked meals that require some knowledge of how an oven works.

Any loyal Laughing Stork followers out there have undoubtedly noticed I haven’t been writing about my life much the past few months.  I know this because I have received a few e-mails from loyal followers saying, “Hey, Candy!  I’ve noticed you haven’t been writing about your life much the past few months.  What gives?”  Well, I’ve been taking time to reflect on the direction of The Laughing Stork.  You’ll be happy to know (I hope) that I’ve realized I can write about the craziness of parenthood without compromising the kids’ privacy, which is a high priority for me.  So please, keep following along!  I’ve got stories to tell!  Oh, do I have stories.  I’m also going to continue to expand the scope of our content to include more funny stuff about pop culture and just general everyday absurdity that we encounter as women.   Oh, is there ever absurdity.

You may have also noticed the site has gotten a facelift.  (Well, it is an LA-based site.  You shouldn’t be surprised if it gets a nip/tuck here and there.)  Hope you like the new look.  AND… I’ve spun off my pregnancy content into a new sister site:  Pregnancy Humor.  (Straightforward title, yes?)  So if you’re pregnant or know anyone who is pregnant, please share the maternity-fueled laughter.

If you do, I may just share my cookie with you.  Maybe.

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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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