And So It Begins...

My kids almost never watch commercial television.  I hate commercials.  When they need ("need") to watch something, we have about a thousand movies and a good selection of programs to choose from on Netflix.

Aside from that, they end up watching Nick Jr. a bit, which is commercial-free television.  The point is that, so far, I haven't been bothered with requests for the new cool 'Betsy Wetsy' or whatevertheheck toy is hot today.  It's been bliss.

Until today...

ConsumerCathy: Mama, I want a Happy Napper!
Awesomeness: I'll give you a nap all right.
ConsumerCathy: No, Mama.  A Happy Napper.  I need a dragon one.
Awesomeness: What in the heck is a Happy Napper?
ConsumerCathy: Well, first it's a pillow and you zip it and a dragon comes out.

Then she sings a cutesy little song that I think is supposed to be the Happy Napper jingle.

All I could think was:

OH MY GOD, SOMEBODY BRAINWASHED MY BABY!!

I got curious and Googled Happy Nappers.  Of course, they're "As Seen On TV".  This always translates into "Nothing Like On TV"

I think this will also be her first lesson in disappointment called, "Want in one hand, shit in the other."

Name That Dog

NamelessNancy has always had a hard time with names.  She didn't learn her own until she was 3.  All of her best friends at school are named Boy and Girl.  Sometimes the parents get really fancy and name their kid Thatoneboy or Theothergirl.

One exercise that we do with her, is challenge her to name her stuff animals.  We might remember that we've had some success when she named her stuffed bunny Pervert Manager Herbert Nininger.  Tonight, we had another victory with the naming of, not one, but two of her puppies.

The one with light pink spots is named Otter.

The one with dark pink spots is named Effer.

Effer?

His Name Is...

Every night at bedtime, we do the stuffed animal shuffle.  We allow CarrieCritterHoarder to keep 2 of them in her bed.  Before we put a limit on it, she thought 16 was a reasonable number.  So a part of our nightly routine is to determine which to of her million "favorites" will make the cut.

Last night, her first choice was The Grinch.  For her second choice, she selected a fuzzy, white bunny that she's had since she was a baby.

Carrie: Oh, my bunny!  I love my bunny!  He's my best friend.
Awesomeness: I'm glad he's your best friend.  You've had him since you were a baby.
Carrie: Yeah, his name is Pervert Manager. 
Awesomeness: .......Um, what was that honey?
Mr. Awesomeness: .......Um, did she just call her rabbit Pervert Manager?
Awesomeness: That's what I heard. Honey, what was your bunny's name again?
Carrie: His name is Pervert Manager.  Just like the bunny on Curious George.

Ooooooooh!  Okay.  In one episode of Curious George, the monkey is visiting his friend Bill, and Bill introduces George to his rabbits.  One of the rabbits is named Herbert Nininger. (Yeah, I don't get it either, but whatever.  It beats Pervert Manager.)

The Laws Of Ownership

Over the weekend, BillyBirthdayBoy amassed himself a good little stockpile of brand new toys.  I don't know how other families work, but the boundaries of "ownership" in our house are a little fuzzy.  Whenever we get toys, we try to keep both of our kids in mind, as they both end up equally claiming everything.

I thought maybe TashaToySnatcher was old enough to start grasping the concept of personal possessions, so we were working on the "these toys belong to Billy" lessons.  Yesterday morning, we were playing with some of the toys before her brother woke up. Apparently, she knows something I don't though, as per this conversation:

TashaToySnatcher: Oh, boy!  I love my new fire engine Mama!!
Awesomeness: BillyBirthdayBoy got those yesterday for his birthday; they belong to him.
TashaToySnatcher: *Looks down at the toy in her hand and thinks for a minute.* No, Mama.  This toy no brother's.  He's sleeping.

The lesson: Ownership begins and ends with consciousness.

Selfish Corruption

Last year for Mother's Day, I got an escapee who wrote on my walls with permanent marker.  It was not the most stellar present.  This year, however, we're trying a new tactic: selfish corruption.  We started the morning by telling BrattyBetty that today is Mother's Day.  Tell your Mama "Happy Mother's Day," BrattyB!

Then, because we can tell her WHATEVER THE HELL WE WANT, Mother's Day is now a day when "kids have to do whatever their Mamas say" and when "Mamas get to type on their computers without babies crawling all over her (for once)," and when "Mama wants to check out your cool toy you just got for your birthday, you have to let her."

This will probably get out of control by the end of the day.

So far today, ClumsyCalvin has:

• fallen backwards off the coffee table
• peed on the floor
• fallen for no reason whatsoever and hit his head on my laptop

Apparently we were working on the wrong kid.

At least the kids are getting along:

BrattyBetty: Aw! ClumsyCalvin so cute!
Awesomeness: You love your brother?
BrattyBetty: Yeeeeeaaaaah!
Awesomeness: Is he your favorite brother?
BrattyBetty: No.  He's just a baby.
*****
Awesomeness: Can ClumsyCalvin share your balloons.  You have two of them, so you can let him play with one.
BrattyBetty: No. He's just a baby.  He no play with balloons.
*****
Awesomeness: Your brother was playing with that car.  You make him sad when you take things from him.
BrattyBetty: No. He no sad.  He's a baaaaaaby!


Nice to know she respects him as a person...

I Just Don't Know

I haven't been able to (yes, yes, I'll get you some juice) write much lately and I (stop biting my arm) really don't know what the (are you okay?  where's the booboo?) problem is. 

I have (no, we don't take off our peedy diapers and put them on Mama's laptop while she's typing) plenty of time and the kids (get that basket off your brother's head!) like playing together (give your sister back her train!).

Mr. A helps keep them out of my (is it time for PerpetuallySickPetunia's medicine?) hair so I can get stuff (GET OFF THE COUNTER!!!) done.  NappyTimeNorman still takes some (SHHH! No screaming while your brother's sleeping.  Let's play in your room.) pretty good naps.

It's just so (stop using my arm as a monkey bar) amazing how lazy I've been (get off my neck, you're choking me) lately about keeping (yes, we'll watch Team Umizoomi in a minute, Mama's busy) up with my blogs.  It's, like, worse than (quit crying in my face...I said in a minute) usual lately.

Maybe (aw, do your teeth hurt little buddy?) it's because I've been (GET OUT OF THE BLINDS YOUNG LADY!) sick this last week...

I mean I feel (where's your panties?  you had them on a second ago) much better and I'm getting plenty (stop pushing the couch into your brother) of rest.  There's really nothing (PUT DOWN MAMA'S WII!) stopping me from getting anything (I hear you, I'll get you a sandwich in a minute) done.  I just need to find (do you have to go potty?) some inspiration.  I might just (NO! NOT ON THE FLOOR!  WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!!?)...

I give up.

The Guys

The invasion is upon us.

We use Pez dispensers as a cheap, non-candy reward for PeggyPezHoarder (well, as far as she knows there's no candy) for when she behaves and doesn't beg for things in the store.  Turns out, she's the best child ever (in the store), which means that we are now overrun with, what she calls, "The Guys". 

They're in her bed, in my coffee table, under the couch, in the couch, in the entertainment center, on the stairs, in the tub, on Dada's desk, on the breakfast bar, in the mop bucket, the laundry bins...

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.

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.

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.
   

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.

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!

The Toy House

We live in a 2200 sq.ft. house. We own about 3000 sq.ft. of toys. Something's gotta give here kids. Your grandparents love you plenty and want to buy you one of everything. Literally. However, somewhere in this warehouse of fun is mommy and daddy's stuff.

Someday I'd like to be able to sit on my couch without getting Elmo wedged in my ass. I know I'm being picky, but people tend to get fussy in their old age. They like to be able to get a glass of water without tripping over skates. They like to get to the dinner table without having to move a huge plastic car. These are things that sound nice to me.

So when you hear Grammy and Papa planning on getting you the entire Playskool line-up for Christmas, please start chanting "books, books, books." Maybe chew some holes in your clothes. Go all Alex P. Keaton on them and ask for a savings bond. I don't care, just no more toys please.

Now that I'm thinking of it, Grammy and Papa's house looks awfully empty. That's it. I declare March 2009 the month of The Great Toy Migration.