“You should write a book on parenting,” numerous well-meaning people suggest to my parents.

Daddy and Mother laugh.

Raising eleven kids is no cake-walk, and it’s at moments like these I remember the Toilet Paper Club.

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The family was peacefully settled down in the cozy living room, lamp-light casting soft shadows, and Daddy’s deep voice calmly reading from the Bible. Most of us cuddled on the couch, but Punky crawled out of the sibling pile and squiggled into Daddy’s lap.

Abruptly, the reading stopped.

“You’re wet, hun,” Daddy looked warily down at the toothless grin and mischievous eyes staring back at him. “What’s the deal?”

“Oh, nothing,” Punky shrugged, “I’m a member of the Toilet Paper Club.”

Great……

After assuring himself that “The Toilet Paper Club” didn’t have to do with what we all associate with T.P., Daddy resumed reading, and anxious tension crawled back into the shadows.

That is, until Bentley (4) tried to brush Mother’s hair with a brush filled with wet, disintegrated, toilet paper.

“What is going on?” Daddy yelled. The freshly soiled brush dripped down on the carpet, and white particles flaked all over the sofa.

“The Toilet Paper Club!” We gasped in unison.

Daddy dubbed Mother the President of the Toilet Paper Club, as she went to investigate the mess. Two seconds later, she came marching back, her lips pinched into a thin line.

“Chad. You are President of the Toilet Paper Club.”

Eagerly, the remaining ten of us jumped up from our seats and began stampeding to the bathroom, only to be sent back to our seats. Punky was exiled to the backroom, and Mother and Daddy trudged to the riot scene.

Mountains of soaked, shredded, white goo, overflowed the clogged sink onto the bathroom counter and into land mines on the floor. The brushes had been used to card wool (with T.P. as the wool substitute.) Ribbons dripped off the drawer handles and rolls swirled unwrapped over the entire mess.

The club underwent a direct name-change to The Toilet Paper Gang.

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For Punky’s sake, we shall not give the leader a name, nor her little minions, but it’s times like these when even my parent’s 20-years of experience did not prepare them for this experience.

From what I’ve observed, parenting is a wild ride, and I’m so blessed to have parents that handle the angelic moments, as well as the trials.

Parents, just know you are not alone.

Were you that Kid who started Toilet Paper Clubs? (I may have been…)