Wednesday, July 29, 2009

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.........

Saturday, July 25, 2009

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

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

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.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

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!

Monday, July 20, 2009

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!

Friday, July 17, 2009

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.

Monday, July 13, 2009

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.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

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.

Friday, July 10, 2009

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!!!!

Thursday, July 9, 2009

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.

video









Tuesday, July 7, 2009

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.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

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.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

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.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

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.