Guest Blogger

I had a huge post all typed out about how my son is now a hyperactive zombie and I am now a catatonic zombie.

I had to leave for a moment to get AnnieAccomplice some crackers and came back to "Your post has been published successfully!"  Um.  Okay.

I look.  Apparently GaryGuestBlogger does not want me telling anyone about his nighttime shenanigans.  So please excuse the last post.  I would delete it, but the SuperProudMommy gene is kicking in.  I just can't trash my kid's first published story.

Hope there's many more to come.  Just not on my blog.

Up All Night! Sleep All Day!

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I <3 Daddy!

PollyPJ loves her pajamas.  Most of all, she loves her "I <3 Daddy" pajamas.  When she got up yesterday morning she needed to tell me all about them.

PollyPJ: Look Mama!  My PJs.  Says "I love Daddy."

AwesomeMom: Yes, baby.  They do say, "I love Daddy." Good job!

PPJ: Daddy PJs are my favorite.

AM: I'm glad those are your favorite.

PPJ: Look Mama! *takes off PJ top and turns it inside out* Now it says "I love Mama!"

Goodbye And Good Riddance!

Today I finally unloaded all of my old baby gear.  I was at a point where I was going to post it all up on Craigslist and offer $50.00 for someone to show up and haul it all away.

Why didn't I give it to Goodwill or leave it on the street corner if I wanted to get rid of it that bad?  Well, because I'm a sap and wanted to give it to someone we knew who could use it.

It all served me well; some of it made it through 2 babies.  I hope they enjoy it as much as (or in the case of the bouncer, more than) my babies did.

Goodbye bouncer seat that made both kids scream like it was made of fire.

Goodbye car seat.  I have nothing bad to say in parting to you, because you totally rock.  It was really nice to just leave the kids in their seat to pack them inside when they fell asleep in the car.

 

Goodbye walker.  We barely used you.  I think the boy sat in you once.  You were cute and all, but my kids learned to walk just fine without you.  You were more of a 'temporary confiner' than a 'walker'.

Goodbye bouncer-saurus-rex.  You win the award for the hugest, most obnoxious bouncer on the planet.  Grandma got you for the boy because she heard us mention the word bouncer in a sentence once around Christmas time, or some other bullshit reason.  You were enjoyed for about 5 minutes, then you haunted 1/2 my loft for the last year.

Doesn't he look indignant?

Goodbye 3rd baby monitor that we received as a baby shower gift.  We really only needed 2.  You were never even removed from the package.  I hope you come in handy for someone else.

Another baby monitor?  Oh awesome!  We can use it...if the baby's ever alone in the garage...

And, last but not least, the wipe warmer that I'm sure would have ruled if we had somewhere to safely use it. 

Thank you to the couple taking this stuff off my hands.  Mr. A was about to toss a rattlesnake at me if I bellyached about how all this crap was overrunning our house again.  You just saved my life.

Why Doesn't He Like Me?

Mr. A is not the best of buddies with our little buddy.  The kid, frankly, cries when he's left alone with him.  I keep telling him that the baby does not respond well to the following:

• When he's crying, "Oh, just fucking stop," doesn't work.  Trust me, I tried it already.
• Putting your face in his face and yelling, "Hi!" like a maniac is scary.
• Constantly 'playing' with him by pulling him away from things he's trying to reach is only funny for you. (And maybe me.)
• Your references to him as "Floor Pisser" and "Jerk Boy" are not terms of endearment.
• Sometimes when he's crying he's hungry, or thirsty, or his teeth hurt, or his diaper is full.  It's not because "he's being an asshole again".  I mean, I might be wrong sometimes, but I think I'm mostly on target with that.

This would explain the boy's reaction to Dada.  Now to work on why the cats don't like him...

Gee, Thanks!

• I'm thankful for a minute to myself the day after Thanksgiving.  Yesterday, my house was infested with 4 children under the age of 5.  It reminded me of my burning desire to double up on birth control.
• I'm thankful for no-nap babies who go to bed an hour early and sleep for 12 hours straight.
• I'm thankful for Woolite rug cleaner with Oxyclean.  This stuff got Jell-o out of my dining room rug.  I am a die hard fan now.
• I'm thankful for good friends who don't take it personally when you grab them, throw them in a headlock and pimp slap them. (We stayed up playing Lunch Money.)
• I'm thankful that the kids managed to not be sick for the holiday. 

For the record, I am most certainly not paid in any fashion to endorse anything.  When I do it, it's because the shit actually works like it's supposed to.  I'll let you know if this changes.

No Bed For You!

I've been trying to sleep in my bed rather than on the couch lately.  So far, this has not been a roaring success.  If it's not LateNapLarry screwing me over by staying up all night, it's PleaseDon'tLeaveMePolly waking up in the middle of the night crying because she's afraid that we're going to leave her behind and not take her to preschool.  We are leaving her behind, but I'm hoping she won't figure that out until we're heading out the door.

We've left instruction for LateNap not to let him sleep after 4:00 in the afternoon.  Day 1 of someone else trying to enforce this caused the babysitter (Grandma) to toss a sleepy crying baby at me as soon as I walked through the door.  Her exact quote was, "I couldn't have kept him awake for much longer."  What I heard was, "His crying was giving me a headache and I was going to ruin your entire night by letting him sleep anyway if you didn't make it home soon."  So .... we've got some work to do there.

PleaseDon'tLeaveMe was up last night at 1:15 begging to go downstairs for water, then she refused to go back to bed.  Spending the night on the couch with a squirmy 3-year old watching Spongebob (the movie) is not the setting for pleasant dreams.  It's the setting for frequent waking as I'm being kicked all night, coupled by the fact that the title sequence played on a loop and that obnoxious Spongebob laugh kept jolting me out of any productive sleep patterns.  I know the obvious solution would be to either turn the movie down or off, but that required way more effort than I was committing to anything.

The "Feel Better" Brigade

When you need to cheer up a sick sister, call in this guy:

 

He will perform invaluable services that are sure to make her feel better, such as:

• yelling in her ear
• bouncing her up and down right after she's puked
• stealing her crackers
• waking her up by knocking over furniture

These, and many more wonderful benefits can be yours for the low, low price of some Goldfish crackers and milk.

Catch Up Time!

Halloween:

The kids had tons of fun this year.  Despite what you see in this picture:

After he got the hood off (.39349 seconds after this picture was shot), he had a great time running around as 'The Bat' or, as ScarySissy called him: SuperBaby!

I think she would have been more excited to have the same costume as her brother.  She picked hers out and was begging us to let her wear it for almost a month.  We finally got it on her and:

Ten minutes later it was on the floor.  The headband was destroyed in about 1/2 an hour.  Those cutesy ribbons just pull right off, by the way.  Later that night she ran around the house with his hood on and his costume around her neck telling us, "I'm the bat!"

Last Saturday was also a big day for us.  It was our 4th year participating in the Making Strides For Breast Cancer 3-mile walk.  We had one excited walker:

And one really mad one (could have a little to do with the fact that he woke up to me shoving him into his car seat at 5:45 in the morning...):

Don't worry, that didn't last long:

I thought that the hike went really well until I realized at the end that MissyPissyPants had, well, pissed her damn pants.

Right before the walk started:

MissyPissyPants, do you have to go potty?

No, Mama.  No potty.

Are you sure you don't have to go peepee?

No, no peepee.

No.  Lots and lots of peepee, little liar girl. 

We Have Temporarily Exorcised The Demon

The flu came to visit us this last month.  Just as I was finally getting some decent sleep, the flu kicked down our door and viciously attacked my kids.  It was a nightmare of 105 degree fevers, vomiting, turning our bathroom into a sauna, humidifiers, and secondary infection.

Before it was over, ChrissyCoughs-A-Lot has gotten: the flu, a double ear infection and a urinary tract infection.  We learned one very important lesson with that: stop waiting for her to display abnormal symptoms or behaviors before calling for a doctor appointment.

We have, until now, operated on the assumption that we could just handle everything at home.  We both agreed that taking her out just put other people at risk for being infected by her.  Also, though, we didn't want her to pick up something worse in a waiting room.

Well, our reasoning got us a kid that was a lot sicker than she needed to be.  Now she's taking an antibiotic (that some idiot, who will remain nameless, let's just say she's normally totally awesome...ahem, left out on the counter overnight so she had to start her dosages over again) and she is doing much better.

The scary part of this story is that she really wasn't acting abnormally.  Even when her fever was leveled off at 103, she still chased her brother around the house and threw the mother of all tantrums when we wouldn't let her play outside.  She was not giving us any reason to suspect that her ears or her....anyway, that anything hurt her.

She's back at school now.  Which only means that we need to stock up on more fever reducer, because I'm sure the flu liked it here and will probably be visiting again soon.

Oooooh! A Woodhecker!

So, the language delay again.  If you can't beat it, you may as well enjoy it. 

Today, on the way home, I was letting her look at the animals app on my phone.  She likes that one because, if you double-click the animals, they play the sound associated with the animal.  She has recently become fascinated with the woodpecker, but she still pronounces a lot of her P's as H's.  This mostly happens at the beginning of the word, but sometimes, as in this case, it comes in the middle of the word. So they end up being "woodheckers".

As if conceived by a burned-out sitcom writer, this was the dialogue on the way home today:

WinnieWoodpecker: Ooooh!  Look, mama, look!  A woodhecker!

Mr. Awesomeness: Wood*p*ecker.  P-p-p-pecker.

WW: Woodhecker!

Mr. A: Can you say *p*ecker?  Woooooood*p*ecker...

WW: No, dada! Ssshhhhh.....

Mr. A: Just try it, say *p*ecker.  P-p-p-pecker.

Awesomeness: (after laughing like Butthead the whole time..."He said 'pecker.'")  Baby, tell your dada to stop trying to make you say pecker.

I think we're just going to have to settle for woodhecker.

The Queen of Clean

Where did I go so right?  PollyPickUpGirl can't stand dirt.  She says, "Mama!  Das astustin!" ("that's disgusting"...we're still working on that) whenever something falls on the floor.  She yells, "Ew! Trash! Blech!" whenever she sees anything that even looks like garbage.

When I accidentally leave her brother's peedy diaper on the floor, she throws it on my lap while I'm typing.  Subtle, kid.  Subtle.

Vacation

Psssshtt.  I wish that's why I haven't been writing.  The truth is, the kids are not doing too hot. 

It's been 4 months since we started SaraSchoolGirl in preschool and 4 months since her nose and lungs have been clear of mucus.

It's been 4 months since BoogerBoyBob hasn't had to be wrestled down for a whole day to clear his poor nose.  I'm so glad we don't live in an apartment.

It's been 4 months since I've slept through the night in my own bed.  I do have a nice groove worked into the couch though.

It's been 4 months of always making sure we are well-stocked in anti-fever meds.

It's been 4 months since I've been able to string coherent thoughts together for any sustained period of time.

It's been 4 months since I've questioned why parents are half-crazy.

Fun In A Can

Some people see a $24.00 can of formula.  PowderPuffPeggy sees an opportunity for an indoor 'sand' box.  I have no more words, just sad, expensive pictures.

 

Bearopus

It's time to come clean with you, NeedyNorman.  You're adopted. 

Your parents were a bear and an octopus.  They were young and just couldn't afford to take care of you properly.  Also, your bear father couldn't very well make a life in the sea with your octopus mother.  She tried to live in the forest, but it just didn't last.  It was very sad.  They loved you very much.

So now you know where you got your ability to maul me so effectively.  Also, those clinging arms that seem to be everywhere, that was your mom's side. 

I know that you probably have a lot to think about right now.  Your Dada and I are here for you.

Not My Child-Resistant

We found out the hard way today that HarrietHoudini knows how to open child-resistant bottle caps.  I should have known because, the other day, I found her on the kitchen floor with an open bottle of Flintstones vitamins.  I just assumed that we left the top loose when we last gave her one.

No.  No, she opened it.  I got a frantic call around lunch time from Grandma (babysitter).  The kiddo had sneaked off into the bathroom and gotten into the Tylenol Cold.  She didn't think she'd done more than taken a small sip, but we had no idea how much was in the bottle, so we couldn't say for sure.

I asked her to call Poison Control right away; Mr. A. and I sped home.  Poison Control's advice was to look out for jitters, sleepiness or vomiting.  When we got home, she had the usual amount of ants in her pants, nothing unusual.  They said to keep her home, but call back in 2 hours.

Thank goodness, she's fine.  Thank goodness for Poison Control.  They were terrific!

Pat, Pat, Pat

I just hit my 3rd grade BFF in the face with a ball.  I don't know what he said to me, but I'm sure he deserved it.  Right before he sent his army of robot kittens after me, I managed to leap headlong out of a 4 story window.  I don't remember landing, but I must have managed it somehow, because now I'm hiding in the trunk of my car.

For whatever reason, the kittens have decided that their cuteness isn't powerful enough to damn me to Hell, so they've transformed into The Terminator.  Lots and lots of...The Terminator.  Well, now I'm screwed.  Oh forget this, I'm going home.

The home I lived in when I was 12.  Here, I get to hang out with Cal Worthington and his dog Spot.  For whatever reason, the dog (who is really an elephant) keeps butting into my legs.  What does he want?!

Oh.  It's MidnightMarvin.  He's reaching over his crib rails to pat me on the leg. 

Wakey, wakey Mama Lazybones!  It's 2:15 in the morning and you're still asleep?

All new post:  'Kid For Sale!' coming soon.

Confessions

• My son loves to dance to the theme song to South Park.

• When my daughter asks for candy, we give her ice cream sprinkles.

• We bought our daughter boy clothes.  My son now wears her hand-me-downs.

• When my son scrubbed his nuts with his toothbrush last night, we laughed as he stuck it back in his mouth.

• I sometimes refer to my son as 'Cuddles'.  I hope I outgrow that before he's a teenager.

The Color Of Water

AbbyBlabby started out with a bit of a language delay.  At close to 3 1/2, she will now speak to us in full sentences, but her pronunciation still needs a lot of work.  We try to help her out as best we can by continually challenging her to talk and interact with us. 

One constant exercise is to ask her to tell us the shapes and colors of things and to count them, if applicable.  On the way home from preschool, for instance, she was able to tell me that she had colored 3 triangle-shaped mice in orange, green and purple.

Today, Mr. Awesomeness was in the kitchen with her when she was begging like an orphan for food.  She has a bad habit of tugging on the refrigerator door.  So Mr. A, in keeping with tradition, asks her what color the fridge is.  "Black!" she says. 

Then she tells her Dada, "I want water."  This time, Mr. A asks her, "What color is water?"  He asked in a way that told me he was feeling a little smug about his trick question.

Her immediate response: "Brown."

Time to change the R.O. filter.

Some Girl

I don't know when, but at some point Some Girl ended up being my "I'm up at 2:40 a.m. and life is sucking" movie.  I'm just fascinated by Marissa Rabisi's character and her steady decline throughout the movie.  I'm pretty sure that I was jealous that she got to take pyrmaniacal actions against the source of her problems.  I just spoiled the end for anyone who hasn't seen it, but it's really a non-end anyway.

ChrissyCoughs-A-Lot was up at 2:30 hacking the last of her lungs out.  The 3 months solid that she's had her preschool crud has been hard on her.  I can't get mad at her; she hasn't had a decent night's sleep in all that time either.

I listened out for a while, to make sure that she wasn't also throwing up or crying, then snuggled back down into my nice, warm bed.

WWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

That would be SidneySleepKiller.  I don't know if his sister's coughing woke him up or the sound of my comfort.  I pat him on the back and fix his blankets and pray to benevolent sleep spirits.  Those sleep spirits are scumbag twats.  No dice.  I think one of them peed on me.

I take him downstairs to change him and give him a bottle and pray to the benevolent catnap-on-the-couch spirits that this will be everything he needs.  Nope.  By this time Marissa's character is on her way to that special place in my heart.  I wonder if he'll ever sleep.  Well, actually, first I wonder if I've ever seen this movie from the beginning.  Then I wonder how I can come to an arrangement with the evil revenge spirits to sic my fire angel on those bastard catnap-on-the-couch spirits.  Then I wonder if he'll ever sleep.

The movie ends and I'm still holding my baby, trying to get him to calm down without my having to be upright and bouncing.  I think I'm going to trade in this kid's crib for a vibrating lounge chair.  Sure, it'll be expensive, but I'm sure it'll be worth its weight in gold.

He's finally down just in time for the alarm to go off.  Now I'm saying a little prayer to the benevolent coffee spirits.  I think I have an in with these guys. I put their coffee blessings in funny mugs and slip them some Chocolate Caramel cream.  Offerings -- it's all about the offerings.

Can A Mama Get A Table Dance?

I'm not sure what the deal is with ClimbyCody, but lately I can't keep him off of the tops of the furniture.  It started a couple of months ago with the couches.  He has this odd fascination with needing to climb over the backs.  Well, I assume the climbing is his fascination and not the skull-cracking that may result from it.  Who knows what happens in a baby's head.

Lately, his obsession has been with climbing on the dining set I got for the kids.  It's a 2 ft. high table with wooden kid chairs.  The one seen here:

He uses the chair to climb up onto the table.  Then he gets all scared because he's not sure how to get back down.  It's funnier when he gets stuck on the chair.  He shrieks like a housewife desperately escaping a mouse. Now, we're having to store the chair in our playpen when not in use.

It's not limited to the kids' table though.  See the corner of that coffee table.  He'll dance on that for me too.

Boiling Lake Of Lava

That's what Mr.FloorSleeper's crib has turned into.  Well, to listen to his cries for help when I lay him down, one would have to draw that conclusion anyway.  The last week or so, I've been spending night after neck-creaking night on my couch while he sleeps peacefully on the living room floor.

Here are our options:

1. Move my bed downstairs into the living room.  I miss it and I'm not opposed to the labor involved so much as the style and function of having a bed where your couch used to be.
2. Take his crib out of my room and just toss the living room rug up there.  Well, then where to put the crib....?  Next.
3. Stand my ground and force him to cry it out in his crib.  This is more of a non-option.  There are 3 other people in the house that don't deserve to also have sleepless nights.  I also don't have the patience to endure the cry-it-out method.  I view it as avoidance and I'm more of an active fixer.
4. Change his mattress.  We've had these issues before and I thought about doing that, but never got around to it.  His sister's mattress looks awfully comfy and she would sleep on the kitchen table if we let her.  Definitely an option.
   
5. Tell Mr. A. that his shift on the couch has started.  He doesn't like our bed anyway because the mattress is too firm.  Well, buddy, how would you like to spend your nights on a soft, squishy couch instead?  Sounds good to me anyway.
   

The Burger Kingdom

We were having a particularly rough day and Mr. A decided that dinner at Burger King would lift our spirits.  We announce to FrannyFrenchFryFiend that we were going to take her to Burger King.  She got unusually excited and we couldn't figure out why.  So we asked her:

Mr. A.: Baby girl, do you know where we're going?

FFFF:  Going to the BURGER KINGDOM!!!!!

Mr. A.: ............

AwesomeMom:  We're going to Burger King, sweetie.  Do you know what we get at Burger King?

FFFF:  Yeah, yeah, yeah!  Going to the BURGER KINGDOM!!!!!

Awe. Mom:  ..............

Okay, so we watch a lot of Blue's Clues here and, on a couple of the videos, they go to the Numbers Kingdom and whatnot.  She seems to understand the connection that kings live in a kingdom.  Both Mr. A and I were reasonably concerned that she was going to be disappointed thinking that she's going to some magical fantasy place.  I mean, we weren't even going in, just through the drive-thru.  So we wanted to know what she expected to happen when we left the house.

Awe. Mom:  Honey, do you know what we get at the Burger Kingdom?

FFFF:  The KING!  The KING!

Awe. Mom:  ...............

Mr. A.:  ...............

Awe. Mom: They have french fries at the Burger Kingdom.  Do you want fries?

FFFF:  No!!  The KING!  The KING!

I mean, what do you say to that?  My little princess was going to the Burger Kingdom to get the king.  Not something that I thought I'd be dealing with.

On the way in, we were playfully chatting about what sort of stuff a little girl would find at a Burger Kingdom.  The conversation then turned to what would happen if we got pulled over on our way to the Burger Kingdom, because we didn't bother to get dressed.  We weren't naked or anything, but we didn't want anyone shining a flashlight on our respective wardrobes of choice.

So we were doing what we do best and making up the dialogue we would have with the cops.  Mr. A. apparently thinks that the officers where we live are assholes, because he kept punctuating everything "the cop" said with a loud, snotty "PAL!!"

It didn't take long for FrannyFFF to catch on and run with it.  On the way to the Burger Kingdom, after every sentence we said, she would pipe in with "PAL!"  It was cute, however she was carrying on little too much with it, as little kids normally do.  So we asked her to hush it a little.

We get to the drive through and I could tell that FFFF was confused.  There was no castle.  No king or even a princess.  No dragons.  Just french fries.  What a let-down.  We order our food, but the employee kept cutting us off after every food item we mentioned and we were getting frustrated.  The last item we were getting was a large french fry to share.

Burger King employee:  Would you like anything else?

Mr. A.:  Yeah, just a large fries.

FFFF:  PAL!!

So Far, We're Still Pals

HairyScary was starting to look like a mop, so I gave him a haircut today.  I was extremely nervous doing this because 1) I can't cut a straight line to save my life and 2) boys' hair is so much different to cut than girls' hair. With SissyNoBangs (remember that she cut her own hair a few posts back?) it's been pretty easy.  Cut a few hairs in the front.  Only cut the back when her hair starts looking like a yak's.  Got it.

With his hair, I had to try to keep him from squirming (unsuccessfully I might add) while I was cutting around his ears (YIKES!!) and trying not to slip with the scissors too much.

I don't think I did too bad, all things considering.  This is before:

That's birthday cake, I promise.

This is now:

Athlete's Crotch?

Why we bother to buy our kids toys is beyond me.  When they play, they always choose something that was never intended for entertainment.  A flashlight, a water bottle, a toilet paper tube.  Not items you find on a shelf in the toy department anywhere.

PlayfulPam made up a new game today.  She took her Dada's sock, a dryer sheet and a wind-up Eeyore toy and stuff it all in her underwear, then ran around the house.  My little girl is stuffing her panties.  

Her Dada and I both hope that sock was clean.

Much Better!

A couple of weeks ago, GracelessGretta fell down and scraped her elbow at school.  I was upset about it because none of the teachers noticed this.  Half her damn elbow is missing skin and no one sees this?  I complained to the owner.

In true 3-year old fashion, she refused to keep a band-aid on it.  In true dirty-kid-wound fashion, the damn thing got infected and developed a pus pocket.  Mr. Awesomeness was left with the honors of pinning her down to clean that out.  Hurk!

It's finally healed (thanks StaphAseptic!) but now she's done a 180 with her stance on band aids.  Now she Must. Have. One.  Not only have we created a band aid monster, but now she wants all of her boo-boos kissed. 

Much better!  Thank you!

She even wants us to kiss the ones on her tushie.  (No, we don't kiss her butt.)

She also clutches her arm protectively whenever her Dada approaches her now.  Yikes!  It doesn't help that I giggle at this...  She clasps her little hand over her elbow owie and asks him in this little pitiful voice, "Is it much better?"  He has to reassure her every day that it, in fact, is much better.

Hope that blows over soon.

What's That Shiny Sharp Thing?

If my son could type, this is what he would blog about today:

6:30 a.m. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnn!  I'm not ready to get up.  Oh man, there's that old lady again.  Where's Mama going?  WWWWAAAAAAAAHHHH!

12:30 p.m. Hey!  It's Mama!! Mama!  Mama!  Why are you putting clothes on me?  I hate clothes.  I. Don't. Want. Clothes.  I'll wiggle around and be a noodle so I don't have to get clothes on.  Drat.  She's stronger than me.  Where are we going?

1:30 p.m. What's this room?  It has a cool picture of a doggy thing on the wall.  What's this padded bench thing?  Ooooooh!  Crinkly paper!

1:35 p.m. Who are you and why are you sticking that doohickey on my head?  Yeah, you better run away.

1:40 p.m. Now who's this person?  Why are you putting that cold thing on my chest?  Get that thing outta my ear!!  Oh, now you're gonna shine a light in my eye?  Well, let me tell ya lady, I......are you taking my diaper off?  DO. I. KNOW. YOU?  Oh, now you're gonna run away?

1:42 p.m. Oh?  Back for more forehead doohickey lady?  Well, let me tell you, I've had just about enough of.........OH MY GOD!  I just got stabbed in the leg.  OH MY GOD!  I just got stabbed in the other leg.  Mama!  Waaaaaahhhh!  I want up!  OH MY GOD!  That bitch just stabbed me in the arm!  Get me outta here, I'm under attack!  OH MY GOD!  She just got the other arm!  You're not even trying to fight her off.  Some mother you are.

Beauty Cabinet

Well, I messed up big time today. I got all exhausted and took a nap. What was I thinking? I wake up to Mr. A standing over me holding a huge wad of SallyScissorHands's hair. Ugh.

She climbed up onto the bathroom sink and proceeded to give herself a haircut. After she was done, she took all of the items out of the medicine cabinet and had them scattered all around her. When he walked in on her she was simultaneously applying Chap Stick and deodorant.

Pretty hair Dada! Pretty hair!

Lava Zombie

LavaLarry has been running a fever for the last 2 days. It finally broke last night, thank goodness, but sick babies = glued to mommy. I feel incredibly bad for my babies when they don't feel good but that doesn't mean I want to spend all my time wearing them.

Now, he won't sleep.

He'll scream his head off for 3 hours.

He'll toss his bottle onto the floor and smack my hands for trying to give it to him.

He'll slide off my lap onto the floor then scream louder because he just figured out he can't be on my lap and the floor at the same time.

He'll claw my arms, chest and neck and then get all indignant when I have to put him down because I can't take it anymore.

He'll finally cry himself out, but then wake up every 2 minutes or so to continue crying for about 30 seconds before passing out again.

But sleep? Nope. What sense would that make?

Decisions, Decisions

This is the nightly dinner conversation with HerRoyalPickiness:

Me: What do you want for dinner PickyPatty?
PP: Cheese!
Me: You can't just eat cheese. What else do you want?
PP: Cheese!
Me: What do you want with your cheese? Noodles? Bread?
PP: No. No noodles. No bread.
Me: Then no cheese.
PP: WWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
Me: Those are your choices if you want cheese for dinner.
PP: CCCCCHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEE!
Me: No.
PP: 'Roni cheese.
Me: What, honey? I can't hear you.
PP: 'Ro-o-o-o-o-o-o-ni ccccchhhheeeeeeeeeeeessssse. Waaaaaaahhhhh!
Me: *Bangs head against wall.* (I heard if you do that long enough you can actually burn calories.) Do you want macaroni and cheese?
PP: Yeah.
Me: *fixes mac 'n cheese* Here you go!
PP: Nnnnooooo!!!! No want 'roni cheese.
Me: *Bangs head against wall.* (I'll be a size 2 before you know it.) Too bad honey. This is what I fixed because you said you wanted it.
PP: Cccccccchhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssseeeeee!
Me: Yep. 'Roni and cheese. Just what you asked for.
PP: Nnnnnnnoooooooo! Waaaaaaahhhhh!
Me: It'll be on your table if you get hungry.

10 minutes later:
PP: *eating macaroni and cheese*
Me: What do you want with your mac 'n cheese? Applesauce? Peaches?...
PP: Cheese, please.
Me: *slowly backs out of the room*

Backfire!

Don't lie to your kids. They might not have the reasoning skills to process the information you're giving them correctly. They will also supplement their lack of reasoning with imagination. Or even worse, they might just take you literally.

We're sticklers for teaching our children to clean their own messes. MissMess has been cleaning up her toys since she could walk to the toy bin. When it comes to the bathtub, we have a tub toy bin and we ask her to collect her toys and put them away before leaving the tub.

Unfortunately, she's not always compliant with these requests and we're completely stubborn about her doing this every time. So, at some point, Mr. Awesomeness felt it was a good idea to tell her that if she doesn't pick up her toys, they'll get sucked down the drain with the water.

I forget this and often pull the plug on the tub before even requesting that she clean up. The screams can be heard around the neighborhood. She frantically scrambles, crying, for every toy. Because she's freaking out, though, she doesn't always make it into the bin with the toy before moving on to the next.

So all that time I spend getting her calmed down with a nice, warm, fun bath is for nothing. Now I'm dealing with a frantic, crying mess. Way to go Dada.

Dammit!

This is PattyPottyMouth's new word in the car. It's my fault because it just slips out. When we're driving along and I hear a *click* I know that she's unbuckled her seat belt. Dammit!

When she drops her breakfast on the floor of the car. Dammit!

When she unbuckles herself to pick it up and eat it anyway. Dammit!

It's been overused. I'm really trying very hard to stifle the word, but it's already caught on. She just says it randomly and throughout the entire car trip.

We hit a bump. Dammit!

We brake too hard. Dammit!

We turn too quickly. Dammit!

Happy Birthday!

SaberTooth had his first birthday. I can't believe it's already been a year. Well, sometimes. Other times, I can't believe he's not ready for college yet.

1 Year Ago

Today

Hardly looks like the same kid. Anyway, happy birthday little SaberTooth!

Open Up And Say NNNNNOOOOOO!!

Monday was ToothyTina's first visit to a dentist. We've been getting a lot of pressure to take her to a pediatric dentist, but we thought we'd try to take her to the family dentist first. I don't know what advantages there are to the pediatric dentist, but I don't want to end up sitting in a place where some bozos are wearing clown suits and singing "Skip To My Lou" to drown out the drill.

So, in case you were wondering, this is exactly what I think of when someone mentions pretty much anything that caters strictly to children.

She was actually having a great time. There was a cool fountain in the waiting area that she looked at for quite some time. She also had a lot of fun comparing leaves on the plants. There was a cool video about tooth decay playing on a flat screen. A bobble head with braces. The staff was really nice to her and she was enjoying their company. The dentist even came out and asked her name and how old she was. She wasn't shy at all to tell him anything.

When it's time for her to go back to the room, Dada takes her back and all anyone hears is....
"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Do you wanna brush the big play teeth?
"NNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

Do you wanna....
"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I had an appointment at the same time. I could hear cries followed by the assistants all running up and down the hall clucking, "She's crying. She won't even let Amy count her teeth."

Meanwhile, I'm slinking further down in my chair. I didn't expect her to love it there, but I was kinda hoping that someone would at least get a good look at her teeth. I don't think she has cavities, but I'd like a professional observation on that.

On the way out, she's got her little goody bag full of non-candy prizes. I ask her on the way home, "Did you like the dentist?" She says, "I luvva dentist!" We need to work on her definition of the word "luvva."

The good news: they didn't charge me for her visit. Pretty nice!

No Blue House

It's beginning. SchoolGirlSally doesn't want to go to school. I really thought that the novelty wouldn't wear off until she went to grade school, but she's done.

AwesomeMom: We're going to the blue house (her name for the school).
SchoolGirl: No. No blue house.
AwesomeMom: Don't you want to play with your friends?
SchoolGirl: No. No play.
AwesomeMom: Oooookay. Don't you want to color pictures and sing songs.
SchoolGirl: No. No color. Go to Wal-Mart!
AwesomeMom: You want to go to Wal-Mart?
SchoolGirl: Yeah! Go to Wal-Mart

So, my kid would rather go to Wal-Mart than preschool. That's beyond sad.

That's Disgusting! or Look At Me! I'm A Total Copycat!

I was reading someone else's blog just a minute ago. They listed the top 5 most disgusting things their kids ever ate. I guess I was imagining something horrific based on my experience with my own GarbagePailKids. I was disappointed that her list contained nothing but food items. I'm also ashamed to admit that I have eaten 2 of those items and think a 3rd actually sounded good.

So, in true copycat fashion, here's my top 5 disgusting things I've seen my kids eat:

1. Rug strings. I may have mentioned a few times that we have a shag rug. My preschooler enjoys picking those strings out, wadding them into a ball, and chewing on them. Now I can't say for sure that she actually swallows them, but I can say that it wouldn't surprise me.
2. Foam letters. The kind that you buy for your kids to stick to the bathroom wall. Alone, they are unusual food items, but not terribly disgusting. Until you consider that little kids piss in the tub all the time. My little kids especially.
3. Cat hair. Both my kids have done this. They don't even wait for the hair to die of natural causes and fall off the cat. They just grab a handful right off the kitty and jam it right into their mouth.
4. Toy cars. The wooden kind. My kids are part beaver I think.
5. Dead bugs. Needs no clarification.
   

Polly Parrot

Well, the inevitable has occurred. My 3 year old is now mimicking the things that we say. This is no good. We speak a lot of Sailor in this house.

Don't get me wrong, we knew it was a matter of time and that we should watch it, but it's just ingrained.

Last night while she was feeding the kitties, her brother decides to chase after her. Dada gives baby a helpful admonishment, "Stay away, asshole."

Sure enough, clear as day, "Stay away, asshole." The stop hand went up and everything. She knew what Dada was saying.

Unlearn, unlearn, unlearn, unlearn, unlearn.........

Letters To The Little Ones

To my precious son,

You are not my conjoined twin. We cut the umbilical cord in the hospital for a reason. Go play. Stop crying like you're being waterboarded if you're not being held.

Naps are great, but if you go to sleep after 7:00 from now on, this will be considered bedtime. You're going to have to work this out. I'm a sleep deprived mess and I'm not going to take it anymore.

Thank you for not getting sick this week.

Lots of Love,
Mama

****

To my lovely daughter,

Crayons are not food. Candles are not food. That spaghetti you won't eat, however, is food.

Thanks for dumping corn starch all over the entire dining room. It was slightly easier to clean off the surfaces than sunblock.

Pulling on my hair is not a good way to get positive attention. Shoving your face in front of my face when I'm trying to blog or read stuff online is not a way to get positive attention. Jumping on my back when I'm trying to get your brother to finally take an early nap is a good way to get yourself exterminated.

It is physically impossible for us to occupy the exact same space. Back.The.Hell.Up.

The next time you get sick, please make sure to get something that your doctor can identify on the spot.

Lots of Love,
Mama

Name That Rash

Welcome to everyone's favorite game show, Name That Rash. I'm your awesome host. Let's get started. Today's rash looks like this:

I'll give you a hint: it's not roseola. The next hint: doctor says it's a virus. The last hint: it started on her knees.

Oh Yeah, The Good News

I wasted all my 10 minutes of alone time yesterday griping about Donny McDrownerson, I forgot that he was also Walker McTexasRanger. He started walking on Sunday. Yep, 3 days ago.

I told Mr. A, but no one else. Not the girls at work. Not my friends. Not my family.

Whoops! Looks like I can forget about Mother of the Year again this year. Drat!

Donnie McDrownerson

You're totally fine, which means I get to simultaneously scold and make fun of you. You almost Darwined yourself out of existence tonight buddy. I was all set to calm you down, get you to sleep, then come over here and blog about what a big boy you are. Then you had to go and give me gray hairs.

BetsyBubbles gets in the tub first. We do that so I don't have to worry about not having a free hand while washing you. You've always been welcome to come join in the grimefighting from the edge of the tub, but not any more.

Now, it seems, you aren't content until you do a little face-diving into the bathtub. Your life's goal was to get that little foam 4 that was floating around next to Sissy's knee. You waited until I got shampoo into Sissy's hair, then SPLOOSH! Who knew you could even make it over the edge of the tub? Huh...

So, of course, I panic and snatched you out. You weren't too happy with me, but I don't care because you lived to be pissed, so to hell with your attitude problem. Dada comes bursting in to see what the deal was. He found you all wet from head to toe -- still fully clothed -- and spluttering. He was supposed to keep an eye on you.....

....but he had to go fight a mutant earwig or some shit with his buddies. Sorry kid. So Mama's frantically trying to get the soap out of Sissy's hair. Do you remember what you did? Right!

SPLOOSH!! Again?! Are you kidding me? Didn't you learn anything from the last time?

So Dada finally either defeats the beast, or he hears that his son is on a suicide mission, and he comes barging in. Well now he'll stick around because he knows you're crazy, right Dada....

Dada? Where the hell..... Oh, apparently we interrupted his Heffalump and Woozle slaying time. Well at least you learned your lesson. Right, Donnie McDrown........

SPLOOSH!

Daddy's Little Girl

Yesterday, at preschool, some little girl shoved our daughter. It was bound to happen. She was isolated from other kids for so long, that she gets a little overly friendly (stalker!) when she's playing. She also doesn't communicate very well, so the children don't understand her.

I understand. Mr. A, on the other hand, does not. I was informed of the incident when I checked on her at lunch time. I called up Mr. A right away:

"Did they file an incident report?"
They always do.
"Did they write the name of that little shit on the report?"
No, they're not going to do that.
"I'll shove that little shit."
You're not going to shove a 3-year old.
"I'll shove her mom."
No, you're not going to shove her mom. No one's getting shoved.

I have a funny feeling that he won't be so concerned when it comes time for Baby Boy to go to preschool. The conversation will go more like this:

"Did he shove him back?"
No, he didn't.
"What a pussy! He didn't kick him?"
No, he didn't.
"How could he just stand there and take that? Have I taught him nothing?"
He's 2. What are you teaching a 2-year old about fighting?
"Maybe it's time to start him in karate."
Ugh.

Only In My House

Mr. A usually puts MissyHissyFit to bed. I'm normally wrangling Mr.SharkBite into his own state of potential nighty-night. Tonight, about 20 minutes after hubby comes back downstairs, we hear Missy knocking on her door.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.....

Mr. A:
She has her balloon, her game, some water and a Pop Tart. She better be on fire.

Okay....maybe I should put her to bed more often. A Pop Tart? I didn't quite get a chance to question that because I'm answering the persistent knock.

What do you need sweetie?

MissyHissyFit:
I clean a balloon. Balloon is dirty.

My kid will not go to sleep because her balloon is dirty.

The Next Gold Medalist In The Couch Diving Olympics

BungeeBoy, I don't get the fascination. Couch Diving, as a sport, doesn't even have any clearly defined rules. You seem to start out the same way each time: climb onto the couch. From there, it gets a little sketchy.

The first event, The Side Dive, is where you crawl over to the arms of the couch and try to dive off head first. I'm not sure what the excitement of that could possibly be, but you giggle like a hopped up lunatic whenever you're doing it -- which is the only thing that's saved you from actually falling over that way.

I do enjoy this more than the next event: Back Of The Couch Dive. Also known as the Sprained Neck Splat. This event is usually saved for the guys who like to light their ball hairs on fire Little Guy. You're going to need to wait a few years to try it.

You also like to practice your Sofa Spring Dive. This is where you stand up on the cushions, then sit down really hard. This causes this fun bouncing movement. I'm sure this is a blast right before your momentum bounces you right off the edge. "Table To The Head" dismount is not much fun, is it?

Then there are the times that you're feeling old school and just plain old roll right off the couch. B0000RING! Try a triple-tuck next time.

What My 3-Year Old Would Like You To Know

According to MissKnowItAll:

Water is too wet.

A red bowl is red.

Cereal is too hot.

Bananas are cuties.

Salad is dirty. Eeeeeeeew!

Shhhhhh! BE QUIET!! BROTHER IS SLEEPING!!!!

Picture Day

I was feeling uninspired in my writing, so I thought I'd do a picture day. This might make up for the 104 Wicked Witch of the West points that I'm sure I got for the "screw you old lady" post.

Warning: We didn't actually do anything today. Our grand adventure was to go out to lunch, then I bought a new fruit bowl and my girl needed some shoes. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The writing came out a little fuzzy in the first pic. It says, "The day started off just fine. EarlyBirdBoy got us up at 5:20 - he let us sleep 5 minutes later than yesterday - and, at first, he just wanted to snuggle with Mama."

Just in case anyone doubts that his cry is really that awful. You'll want to turn your speakers down.

The Old Lady And The Restaurant

I used to like restaurants until I had kids. Aside from the usual crap shoot of whether or not they'll actually behave themselves, I now have to deal with strangers striking up conversations. I can handle comments, I'm particularly picking on those people who practically move over to your table.

The reason I find this annoying has nothing to do with the fact that I think that most people are inconsiderate assholes (which I totally do). It's because I'm on baby patrol the whole time I'm there. For those who don't have kids, this is what my typical restaurant meal is like:

1. Hold on to kids while host/ess pulls head out of ass to finally mosey over with a booster and a high chair.
2. Baby needs to immediately be distracted with food. Don't leave home without some snacks.
3. Preschooler needs to immediately be distracted with coloring and/or food.
4. Order drinks.
5. Keep preschooler interested in a color page that she's already completely covered in crayon.
6. Give baby more snacks or a toy.
7. Get drinks and juggle around the 50,000 things the restaurant lays out on the tiny table (none of which you actually need) so that the drinks are completely out of reach of the baby.
8. Order food. Something that can be shared with the baby. In other words, something mushy and bland.
9. Clean up preschooler's drink.
10. Baby is ready to go now. Distract with toys, more food, or a bottle.
11. Get food. Start handing server unnecessary condiments and food/drink advertisements. Either that, or stack them on the partitions between the booths. You're everyone's friend when you do this.
12. Shoot server nuclear-grade glares when they warn you not to touch the plates because they're hot, then put 'em down right in front of the grabby baby.
13. Juggle plates around so that they're out of the baby's reach.
14. Try to coax preschooler into eating the kid's meal you've gotta pay $5.95 for whether she eats it or not.
15. Sharing food with a baby involves continuously shovelling food into their mouth until they refuse to take a bite. I know when he's full because he'll start to climb out of the highchair.
16. Now both kids are ready to go. We're furiously trying to send out signals for the server (who has usually retired to Antarctica) to come over with the check and choke down as much food as possible.
17. Pay the check and start gathering all the kids' stuff. Diaper bag, toys, food, bottles, crayons...

This is what happens when it goes well. Now if one or both of the kids start melting down/puking/choking/spilling food everywhere then there are more steps.

I didn't put "Chat up the friendly old lady" in as one of the steps because I've already got enough to concentrate on.

Yes, the baby's completely frickin' adorable. He's even cuter when he's diving into someone else's cleavage to try to eat their necklace in a crowded restaurant.

Yes, I've already assumed that, if you had kids, they've been long-grown. You're like 80, lady. Your kids are quite possibly older than my mom.

Yes, it's a horrible tragedy that Bobby will never get married. Bobby's probably fugly or weird and maybe he shouldn't procreate. (You can tell that this is the point where I started to get a little uncharitable in my thoughts toward this woman.)

Yes, I'm sure that my kid looks like at least 100 other kids that you know. All babies look alike. If you don't mind, he's got snot leaking down into his mouth and my daughter is coloring the table.

One Giant Step For A Baby...

...is all we're going to get for now.

Sir Stands-A-Lot, you're a millisecond away from walking. You tease us all day long with standing unsupported for whole minutes at a time and taking one step before falling to your knees and crawling.

Please just bite the bullet already and take that next step with your other foot. I really want to be home to see your first steps, so you have until the end of vacation: July 14th. No pressure or anything.

Poop Fetish

I would find the technical name for it, but I'm afraid to Google it, so I'll just leave it alone. We'll just call her Franny Fecophile and call it good.

I cannot keep this kid from playing with her own crap. I really have no idea what the fascination is, but she just won't leave it alone. This morning we found her in her room with her poop all over her hands. She was smearing it into the carpet.

If it didn't stink to high heaven, I would just assume that she found the texture fascinating and the lumps of mushy clay-like substance just something fun to mold into little poop dogs. The fact of the matter though is that she thinks it's gross.

We get her downstairs to wash her hands and she's saying, "Ew! Poop on a hands! Wash a hands."

If you really find it that disgusting kid, just keep your damn hands out of it.

Thank You Blue

Right now I'm pretty sick. NeedyNancy doesn't care if I'm half-dead, because she needs attention just the same. PaddyO'PlugNose is having whatever-it-is that I'm having illnesswise, so he's not giving me a moment's peace either.

I don't have the energy for chasing them. I don't have the voice to back up my lack of action. This could get really bad.

Good thing for all of us, we have several episodes of Blue's Clues on DVD. Both my kids are in love with the show and seemingly prefer watching it to, say, getting into the kitchen drawers or climbing onto the dining table, picking up their poop and smear it around th......................

Son of a bitch! I gotta go.

Front Room Banana Peel Farming?

Today's activities get me curious as to what MaryQuiteContrary has planted under my living room floor. Whatever it is, she feels the need to water it constantly. We just cleaned up 5 huge puddles of water from various spots on the floor.

How did we discover the water? When InnocentBystanderBoy slipped and fell on his ass. Good thing it's padded. No sooner did we get that cleaned up, then she slips and falls in another puddle a few feet away. On our way to another towel to clean that up, we discover 3 more.

So now I've got 2 babies with bruised psyches who want Mama to snuggle them back to 100% betterness. This forces me and Mr. A to do this weird kid-juggle-a-thon until both of them get settled down.

If I'm looking for a bright side, I guess I could say that those spots on my floor are a little bit cleaner now.

Crib - It's Actually A Torture Device

Now we get to solve the mystery of why KidKribophobe is suddenly refusing to sleep in his crib. Little man will sleep in his Pack 'n Play just fine -- which can't be nearly as comfortable -- but acts like the crib is a medieval dungeon torture chamber.

I've spent every night this last week on the couch downstairs because, otherwise, this kid howls so loud that cats in heat throw shoes at him. I can't take it. I'm sleep deprived to the max and I don't care if I'm indulging bad habits. I'll worry about that when I'm better rested.

My current theories:

1. He doesn't prefer the crib mattress.
2. Dada's snoring sounds like an asthmatic dragon is loose in the room.
3. The shiny box with the colorful talking dogs is downstairs, so this is where he wants to be.
4. When Mama is super sleepy she is not nearly as attentive. This means he gets to play with the good toys. Like Mama's shoes or Sissy's potty chair. (Yeah, I should work on that....)
5. He's just a little jerk. (This is always my default "when all else fails" theory. It's lazy thinking, but it is also a plausible assumption.)

BuzzardBoy

Looky here little dude. Your sister needs to be able to eat in peace. You're harassing her during her meals and it needs to stop.

You circle around her table making very aggressive grabs for her food. This forces her to have to also circle the table to stay a step ahead of you. Then she wants to get mad and push you down. While I have to put my foot down about the shoving, I also can say that I can't blame her for getting frustrated.

I've been cooking you the same foods as her every meal that I can. Do pancakes really taste better on her plate than they do on your high chair tray? They must because you didn't touch yours, but you're wolfing hers down.

I've tried putting your food on the edge of the table and letting you eat on the other side. Nope. If it's not on Sissy's plate, it's not the good stuff.

We'll keep trying, but, if all else is failing, you're going to be confined to your playpen for the duration of her meals. Keep in mind, we're talking about your sister. You know, the girl who takes and hour 1/2 to eat 5 mini pancakes. Not good times for you, buddy, so shape up.

Family Camp In - Day 2

Subtitled: Who's stupid idea was this again?

Disclaimer: What's with the bugs Blogger? Why can't I put spaces between my paragraphs? I'll try to make it easier on the eyes for everyone.

So the second night did not go nearly as well as the first. Neither of the kids were interested in sleep until around midnight. There's not really a good way to keep them both settled down at the same time. The minute she's bored or bothered, she cries and whines, which keeps him up. He makes sure to return the favor. Apparently only Dada and I need sleep.

LavaLass had mostly cooled down. We still monitored her during the night for good measure, but she never got back above 100. She did get cold though. She kept kicking her covers off, then waking up because she's cold. I don't know why she's not making the mental connection to just put her blanket back on, but she chose to start crying and walking around the house instead.

Of course, this wakes her brother up, who now has to be walked around and patted. We finally get her back into bed and put her blankets on. BrotherBerserko is cuddled back to sleep.

Fast forward to one hour later, when that whole mess gets repeated. No one got any sleep. This will officially end our family camp in adventure.

Family Camp In - Day 1

Neither the Mr. nor I wanted to leave LavaHead Lucy by herself last night, so we planned a family living room "camp in." Mr. A took the couch, I got the love seat, BiteyBoy camped out in his playpen, La'H'Lu' got her mattress on the floor.

In front of the TV.

Now, we have a tendency to cater to the girl when she's sick. It's not the ideal thing to do, but when your normally hyperactive firecracker is glassy-eyed and staring at the wall for almost an hour, it's hard to deny her request to watch Baby Deer (Bambi) even though Dada prefers root canals.

We watched Over The Hedge 3 times. Wall-E twice. We also found out that the menu sequence for Over The Hedge plays a semi horn. See my gripe about the dumbasses that make DVDs.

All in all, it went better than I thought. The fever broke around 3:30. Somehow, everyone actually got some sleep in between the truck horn and the alarm going off every couple of hours.

We're going for a repeat performance tonight. Wish us retroactive luck.

Mystery Solved

Well, SisterSickopants, your Father's Day present to Dada this morning was to be a puking fireball of a daughter. He got to wake up early to your very loud crying, followed closely by your very loud vomit noises. Now we know why you were so fascinated with going to see the doctor yesterday.

As a special treat, your Dada got to make an early morning trip to Walgreen's for medicine, Gatorade and a thermometer that doesn't totally suck. Your temperature this morning, according to the one we had, was somewhere between 97 and 107 degrees. I had a feeling that the three 102 degree readings were more accurate, but I'd rather be sure.

Maybe next week we can take him out for a nice lunch like we were going to this week. In the meantime, rest up HotHeadHannah.

Somewhere? Anywhere?

My little GoGoGirl is getting all kinds of spoiled on leaving the house several times during the week now. Every day she thinks we should go bye-bye. This morning I found out she doesn't even care where we're going, she just wants to leave.

When I went in to her room this morning:

"We're going to the blue house?" (her name for school)
"Nope. Not today baby."
"We're going to the store?"
"Not if I can help it."
"We're going to the doctor?"
"Nope, not going to .... what'd you say? Where're we going?"
"We're going to the doctor!"
"What the hell! You hate the doctor!"
"No, no, no! I luvva doctor!"
"No you don't. You cried when we were there."
"No, no, no! I luvva doctor!"
"You're crazy."

Ahoy Captain Ridiculous!

Are you ready to assume your new position BabyFormerlyKnownAsHappyBoy? Here are your Captain Ridiculous duties:

• Stay up until midnight -- at the earliest -- every night. No exception.
• Refuse to eat unless someone is holding you. Make sure you mix this up with refusing to eat if someone is holding you. This is crucial for maximum confusion and frustration.
• Only play with things that will hurt or kill you. Nothing else is all that much fun anyway. Especially if someone paid good money for it. Paying good money for toys when there are perfectly good forks laying around is just silly.
• When you're being held, scream and squirm as much as possible. Then when you're put down, scream louder and throw yourself back, so your parents have to quickly pick you back up before you crack your head on the floor. They love this. It's good exercise.
• Speaking of screaming, make sure that you always do it at a decibel level that will alert the entire neighborhood to your displeasure. Maybe one of those guys will know why you're screaming so loud that Mama's ears are bleeding.
• Mama's laptop is the best toy ever. That's why she plays on it so much. It's fun to pound on the keyboard. It's even more fun to pull on the monitor while Mama's typing. Unplugging it, then chewing on the plug is the ultimate fun.
• Confuse your parents often with deep eye rubs followed by vehement sleep protests. Lack of sleep is good for you. It will grow hair on your chest.
• Dinner is your enemy. Make sure it never gets cooked. Distract Mama and Dada by combining the "crying while clinging to pants" technique learned earlier this year with perennial favorite, "making fake choking noises."
• If you do find yourself in the unfortunate position of almost falling asleep, quickly turn your head to dislodge the bottle. This will give you that extra jolt you need to completely wake up for at least another hour.

Your job is a difficult and thankless one. Good luck Captain.

Preschool - Take 2

I need to talk to these people. When I called at lunch time, they had mentioned that she had 2 accidents and that she actually ate lunch. Disappointment for the potty thing, but I am encouraged that she ate Sloppy Joes. My kid ate meat.

At the end of the day, when we picked her up, there was a "report card" waiting for the day. It listed what she ate and the activities she participated in. It was cute! They listed her disposition as "busy" and her best friend for the day as "everyone". Yup, sounds like my girl.

Then I look at the napping section and it says she slept for 1/2 an hour. Hmmmmm. No, I don't think so. I notice also that it says she ate all of her lunch. I know for a fact that she didn't. When I called, they said that she ate 1/2 her lunch.

Then I see that her name is spelled incorrectly at the top. I know there's a kid that shares her name there, and that kid spells their name that way.

Ugh. They gave me the wrong kid's report card.

Why We Stay Home

Yesterday, I thought it would be fun to get the kids out of the house and hang out somewhere else for a while. After about an hour, I remembered why we don't ever do this. Our friends that we go visit don't live in a babyproof home. They're 3 bachelors, so not so much as one outlet cover and crap is laying out everywhere. This was my visit repeated on a loop for about 7 hours:

Get out of the cat food.
Get out of the dog water.
Get out of the toilet.
Stop playing with the drums please.
Get out of the cat food.
No eating the iPhone.
Stop climbing the cat stand.
Get out of his bedroom.
Don't put your face in the doggy's face.
Get out of the cupboards.
Stop pushing the buttons on the water dispenser.
Get out of the dog water.
You don't need to get into the litter box.
Stop stealing their chips off the counter.
Get out of the fridge.
Don't play with the electrical outlets.
Get out of the cat food.
That kitty's sleeping and he doesn't like you anyway.
Do you have something to clean up puke with?
Get out of the dog water.
Don't turn the dishwasher on.
Eat your granola at the table please.
Stop turning the lights on.
Get out of the fridge.
No climbing the entertainment center.
No you can't play with their flashlight.
Get out of the cat food.
Stop pushing the buttons on the water dispenser.
Is it time to go yet?

Big Boy Food

My SillySharkyKid has been indicating for a while that he has no interest in being spoonfed. Any and all attempts to put babyfood to his lips is met with spitting, angry noises, a little head tossing and ends with him getting totally annoyed and shoving his spoon away in a huff.

There are only a few foods for bigger babies on the market and they all involve spoon feeding the baby. We already know he's not putting up with that malarky. The puffs they sell are not meal material. So Big Boy food, here we come.

Our first meal was mac 'n cheese with chicken and cooked carrots. He did very well. The noodles were just little O shaped pastas -- think Spaghetti Os. That was nice, because then I didn't have to cut them up for him. I did cut up the chicken because it wasn't very mushy. I gave him this with some potato bread. He gobbled that up in no time.

So long short-lived baby food days. I will not miss you at all.

First Day Of Preschool

So, as I mentioned a couple of posts back, Sissy Spazzattack was just enrolled in preschool last week. Wednesday was her first day.

I wanted to put this up on Wednesday, but Mr. Mouthpain has been a late day napper lately. This means that he's just getting up from a nap when I get home from work now and he doesn't want to go back to bed until, at least, midnight. Otherwise, he wants to be held. Ugh.

So, she had a great time! She did pee herself twice, but I think it's just because she waits until the last minute to go to the bathroom at home and when she tries it there, she doesn't quite make it because she isn't accustomed to where the bathroom is located.

She also fell and hit her cheek on a table. Mr. A thinks that this is a conspiracy. No way his little princess's bruise looks like a table edge. Yes it does you dork. We always talk about how accident prone she is. In the year after her first birthday, we were seriously contemplating getting her a helmet. Remember that?

When we went to pick her up, she pretended like she didn't know us. When we walked over to pick her up off the swingset she screamed like we were trying to kidnap her. I'm glad she had a good time, but she kinda scared the other kids.

We'll try it again on Monday.

Bedtime Is The New Playtime

Okay, Restless Ruby, we're going to have to come to an agreement about what's supposed to happen when I take you up to your room at the end of the night. Bedtime is just dragging on for way too long.

9:00 - Feed the kitties, your bedtime chore. Please just put some food in the scoop, then pour it into the bowl. If you spill some, let me clean it up. You do not need to pick up each individual piece of food one at a time. I appreciate the effort, but not the time it takes.

9:10 - We finally make it into your room. You freak out until I finally relent to letting you pull every one of your 40 billion toys out so I can watch you jump over them. Awesome, let's get your pajamas on.

9:15 - We play, "Where's Your Pull-ups?" I'll give you a hint: they're in the same drawer they're always in every night. You always respond with, "I dunnooooooooo....." then proceed to pull open every drawer but that one.

9:16 - Let's get the Pull-up on please. Putting both of your legs through the same leg hole just to be funny is kinda pissing me off. You know how to put it on correctly, maybe if you continue to do it, I'll just let you go to bed that way.

9:19 - Oh look, you found your other leg hole -- finally. Now let's get your pajamas. Where's your pajamas? I dunnoooooo.... Argh.

9:25 - You're finally in PJs. Yippee. Let's pick a book to read. You now have to rummage through your wide assortment of books. I read you the first one you bring to me. Where are you going? Oh, to get 3 more books. Well, if they're not too long and you're good then maybe..... Oh, you just want to jump them. Are we going to read a story or not? Your crying at my stopping the story is conflicting with your talking over me and complete lack of attention while I'm reading.

9:37 - Let's get the toys back in the bins so we can go to sleep. You individually pick up each one, but only after I name them. Some of them a couple of times. Oh no! Did your baby deer hit his head on the wall? Does he have a boo-boo? Now he's crying? He got a Band Aid? Is he much better now? You milk this for as long as you can.

9: 44 - Enough! Get in bed and give me some goodnight kisses. One or two is fine. You won't let me leave the room though until I've kissed all 6 stuffed animals in the bed, then kissed you at least 4 times. We're not making out kid. Good night!

STOP!!

Missy Migraine:

STOP --

-- going into the bathroom when you don't have to go potty.
-- turning on the bathtub and sticking your head under the faucet.
-- standing naked in the front room window.
-- trying to play with your brother when he's napping.
-- brushing your teeth with the dog's water.


Bummer Boy:

STOP --

-- spitting your food all over me.
-- faking me out like you're going to take a nap, then not doing it.
-- crying and crying and crying and crying and crying....
-- throwing yourself backward when you know I don't have a good grip on you.
-- making little puke puddles all over the floor for me to step in.

Prayers For The Preschool

Those poor people have no idea what they just signed on for. We dropped off the forms yesterday to enroll Ms. Mayhem in preschool. Her first day is Wednesday. They said that they look forward to seeing her. I doubt they'll feel the same way the next day we bring her.

I've always heard that kids are different for other people than they are for their parents. They'd better hope so. At the very least it should be interesting. This is what I'm most curious about:

1. There is no TV there. They schedule "movie days" for the older kids, but not for the 3 year olds. I'm really happy about this. She thinks the TV is broken when it isn't playing a cartoon. I hope she learns all about the many, many things that little girls can do without the company of animated friends.
2. She does not eat a wide variety of foods. They serve meals that are approved by state nutritionists. Again, this is something that I'm happy about. I'm hoping that she will start to experiment a little more with her food choices. I have a feeling that we will be packing food for her though.
3. She has never been outside the company of her parents or Grandma. I'm dying to know if she has the same contempt for all adult instruction or if it's just us.
4. Potty training has been a success, but she's going to be in a strange place where she may have to wait for the bathroom every once in a while. I don't think she gives herself time to wait for someone else to get done. I'll be packing a couple of different outfits.

I just hope I don't get called away from work to pick her up on the first day. Actually, that's a lie. I'm kind of hoping she'll be my excuse to cut out early ;).

The Energizer Bunny

What is wrong with you PartyTilTheBreakODawn Boy? Mama is falling asleep trying to get this post out. How the heck can you be so awake?

Your normally combative sister went down without a fuss tonight. What kind of Bizarro World did I step into that you're the bratty kid and she's the quiet, compliant one?

Attempt number one to get you to sleep was a bust. You had a couple of gulps of milk, then you decided that your thirst was slated and it was time to play. Play, play, play, play, play, eye rubs....hmmm.

Attempt number two had me fooled. You looked asleep, you had your eyes closed and everything. Then all of a sudden you perk up like a little jack-in-the-box. Ugh.

Attempt number three. Hmm. Third time really is a charm. Who would have guessed. Just in the nick of time too. I think my alarm's about to go off.

Happy Crying Day Everyone!

We celebrated Crying Day with a non-stop cryfest. Since I have 2 kids, they each took 1 ear and proceeded to scream into it for hours on end. It's so heartwarming when kids that young get into the holidays.

Mr. ToothMaster9000 participated in the traditional Cling To Mama's Pants And Scream While She Cooks Dinner Event. For 1/2 an hour. Whadda ya want, kid? I let you play with a bamboo spoon. Nope, not happy. I gave you some of those Gerber cheese things you like. Nope, still not happy.

This, of course leads straight into the old Try To Grab Food Off Of Mama's Plate, Then Cry When She Pushes It Out Of Your Way Spectactular. You thought you wanted green beans CryGuy. Mama gave you a green bean. She picked it out of her shag rug later. Then you made a lunge for her steak. Not happening kid. Grow a few more teeth, then come back and talk to me.

MissyPissyPants peed on the floor just inside her fathers office. The one that's 3 feet away from the bathroom. Playing in the Doom Room is fun, fun, fun, but we can't ignore Mother Nature. Of course, Dada got, uh, mad-a and started yelling. This was good for at least 15 minutes of crying.

I finally got her calmed down with a coloring book and some crayons. Until she started eating them. On the bright side, her poop is going to be some pretty rainbow colors. So, into the trash with the crayons. That was good for another 15 minutes of crying.

Then there's bedtime. I take NoSleepNancy up to her room to put her down. I have to bring LateForBedLarry with me because his Dada is busy fighting an alien alligator or something with his friends. He's crying because he wants to sleep. She's crying because she'd like to stay up for another 3 hours. What a perfect end to Crying Day.

Screamin' Meamie

Everything's making you cry this weekend little Mama'sConjoinedTwin Boy. I tried all the emergency back ups: Blue's Clues, Baby Bumblebee, Tylenol. Nothing's working. You just want Mama to hold you and walk you around.

Actually, the only real exception to your yelly screamy fits this weekend was when we took you and your sister to the grocery store. You were a total angel in there. Too bad your sissy decided to be That Kid. We might have stayed there all day otherwise.

Now your yelling at your dad and giving him backward flops. You're going to end up on your head doing that. Then you'll really have something to cry about.

Synchronized Pooping

My kids are on the same poop schedule. I think it's convenient. I just have one time during the day to deal with all the "another person's poop" nastiness, then it's done.

Mr. Awesomeness, on the other hand, had his world come crashing down on him when he discovered poop in the potty chair while he was on his way to throw away a poop diaper.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Ahem, I mean, aw, that sucks dude.