I Need A Hero

Do you remember when you were in junior high and you had all those Teen Bop magazine posters wallpapering your room? Maybe Kirk Cameron on the back of your door,

Debbie Gibson over your dresser,

Jason Priestly and Luke Perry taped to your closet door,

or New Kids on the Block over your bed?

Me neither.

Because, as you all know, my sister pulled an Extreme Make Over: Dorky Little Sister's Room Edition and plastered every cat poster know to mankind on my walls and accented with a bucket of Pepto-pink paint. Of course, before that, I was sleeping with The Declaration of Independence taped to my wall and a cow mobile over my bed, so she was probably totally justified. But I still say that my TURKEY! poster was the height of coolness!

Nay, the absolute height of AWESOMENESS! (For extra cool points say that last sentence in your best WWF Hulk Hogan vs. The Iron Sheik ring side commentator voice. Like I did.)

But, lately, I've been thinking, "Did I miss some important right of teenhood by drifting off to sleep each night with visions of cats cavorting through daisies in my head instead of pictures of currently culturally relevant celebraties?" So, I did what any normal person would do. I went in search of a hero.

Now, I know what you're thinking, "Martha, you already have a hero. You changed the lyrics to 'You are the Wind Beneath My Wings' and made up a weird interpretive dance for her, that you never recorded and therefore never posted on YouTube (and THANK YOU by the way). Where's the love??? She made your grass shorter for goodness sake!!!" You're right, she is totally my hero. But, it's winter, my grass isn't growing and I'm as fickle as a kitten running through the daisies on a spring morning.

You see, this November instead of participating in NANO-WAMO (or NaNoWriMo as some people call it, and by some, I mean everyone but me) and butchering even more obscure grammatical rules while slapping 1,666 words a day from my brain into a spiral notebook or spending all my free time cheering on beard growing men in the name of prostate cancer, I found her:

My hero.

Seriously. I <3 her so much I may print a gigantic poster of her face, tape it to my bathroom wall and post little love notes on her nose every time Ellie puts her pee-pee and tut-tut-tut in the toilet. Because, dude, NO MORE DIAPERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (You know what? That's sooo not enough exclamation points. I think I'll add some more, just for you Jamie Glowacki. Just for you.) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, people of the internet, you can keep your hoodie wearing Justin Beibers, your paper collating Wil Wheatons, I'm sticking with Jamie Glowacki and her "Oh Crap Potty Training" technique. Because she's awesome. And, because there ain't nothin' cuter than an Ellie butt goin' commando.

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