Cat Grabber

For a 7 month old, a cat is probably the coolest thing in the entire world. For a cat, a 7 month old must be the most terrifying thing in the entire world. I know she's fuzzy and she makes the coolest noises ever. Especially when you grab her head and pull it in 2 different directions. I don't think that the kitty has nearly as much fun as you.

Your sister had to learn the hard way with a rabid swipe to the cheek that the kitty is not always nice. I don't think I want Kitty to have to experience this again. She's a very friendly, snuggly cat. She's just not interested in getting manhandled.

For now, the kitty is off limits. Disappointment will have to be your friend instead.

The Outing

Why does it have to be a disaster every time we leave the house? Maybe it's becuse I'm a horrible procrastinator. Could also be my active rebellion against all structure on the weekend. At any rate, yesterday did not go as expected.

Two hours before we needed to leave, I have to force Mr. LazyDad out of bed. We start listing all the things that need to be done before we can take off. Showers, fix stroller, pack bag, buy ice and drinks, hit ATM.

We also talked about waking Little Missy MorningHarpy up at around 8:00. Two reasons: 1) She is not a morning person which makes her a crybaby diva for the first hour she's awake. 2) She gets car sick unless her stomach is settled before we leave. I've found in the past that an hour is plenty of time for that.

So we're 1/2 way though the showers portion of our plan when I come downstairs at 8:30 expecting to see my GruffGirl and nope. Someone didn't wake her up. Now I'm sort of in a bind. We can't not feed her. The kid needs breakfast. We'll have to chance it.

I was also expecting the stroller to be fixed in about 5 minutes. That did not happen. Apparently it takes Mr. FixitDad 45 freakin' minutes to put wheels on a stroller. I was really counting on him to be done with the wheels, the bag and the Banshee by the time I got done with my shower.

I'm rushed now to toss together a bag, wake the beast and feed her some kind of breakfast, then finish getting ready myself. In 1/2 an hour. Right.

We only left 2 minutes late thanks to my skills at being WonderWoman. The car ride was long, but pleasant. The kids played and slept. It was like a dream until....

BBBLLLEEECCCHHH!

That would be CarSickCathy. Who woulda guessed it. We were only 5 minutes away from stopping. This couldn't have waited? Ugh. So I'm fishing around the bag for something to clean her up with. She just keeps puking. Ew.

We finally get stopped and I thought, "Well I'll just put her in the spare outfit I brought." Except there isn't a spare. I forgot to pack extra clothes. Well, even WonderWoman gets caught by the villain sometimes. Whatever. I just doused her with water and scrubbed everywhere I saw barf. That would have to do.

Of course, we invited along Mr. Awesomeness's mom and grandma. As soon as Grandma SuperCritic sees the puke stained baby, she feels she needs to pipe up. She turns to Mom-Of-Mr. A and says, "What did I tell ya. I knew she shouldn't have eaten breakfast." Die you old hag. Really, did you think your Monday Morning Quarterbacking was doing anyone any good? Shut the hell up. You know, she might just make my other blog for that one.

Right away PukyPatty start hollering that she's bored. Luckily, the place we were at had a petting zoo. That really saved our ass. Until she was done petting the animals anyway. We spent the rest of our day catering to her. It was a total nightmare. No one else got to do anything they wanted. We left early. What a bummer. We don't have a chance to get out much, so I was hoping we'd get more out of this trip.

Next time, stroller wheels and bag gets done the night before.

Crawlin' Dude!

Little Man! You're doing so good. You've finally learned that you can get anywhere you need to go if you just move your arms in connection with your legs.

That whole moving your legs and not your arms thing was not quite working out with all the face-planting and ninja kick flips and such. Your poor little head was starting to look gnarly. And not as in "Gnarly, dude!"

Thank you for playing for hours on the floor with your toys. Mama might now be able to work on other important things...like her blogs :D

Uh, and also thank you for finding all the dirt on the floor. I think I'll try sewing dust mops onto the knees of all your pants. For, uh, knee protection or something.

Mr. Sandman

You've hit my little man hard today. He's been napping for most of the day. This morning he fell asleep in his oatmeal. Later on, he fell asleep in my arms when I was tidying up. I know housework is boring, but dang.

Of course Miss Megaphone Mouth was on a rampage today. Ssshhh means quiet honey. Quiet. Not yell in baby's ear.

More On (moron) Potty Training

Yesterday we did away with the timer. Apparently the thing was unnecessary. She is just running in and peeing when she has to go. Hunh. What a novel concept.

So for the last couple of days we've just left her naked and left the bathroom door open. Take that potty training books.

Potty Training

I'll be the first to admit that I don't know what I'm doing. I took a few days off from work so I could try to work with MsPissyPants so she could learn to use her big girl potty.

It's the end of day 1 and she hates it. I'm using a timer that I set for every 90 minutes. The last couple of times it's gone off, she's cried because she knows I'm going to take her in to the potty.

Sigh. I don't know why this has to be so hard. I don't believe in food as a reward, but I don't know what a proper reward for pissing in a plastic bucket should be.

Ugh.
Sigh again.

Sleep Pooper

Silly PoopyBoy. I don't know what happens in your little baby head. You start to get sleepy. Your bowels relax maybe. You are, possibly, comforted by the warm sensation in your diaper. You fall asleep.

You wake up with a serious case of red-ass. You are a grumplestiltskin for the rest of the day. Wouldn't it be easier to leave the poopies for a time when we can take care of it? You've caused your mom to collect a witch's brew of butt potions on her breakfast bar. I'd rather put cookies or potpourri up there. It's a lot more homey and attractive.

Let's work on that, okay?

Water Fountain

I could have sworn I just gave my LittleThirstyGirl a cup of water. Why does she want more?

Oh. It's because she's taken her entire cup of water and, instead of using it to drink and stay hydrated, she spit it all over herself. Herself, her toys, the couch, her brother's toys, the floor. Apparently, this is a lot more fun than actually getting it into your belly.

Kid, you're almost 3. I'm not going to stand next to you while you drink water. You're a big girl now and should have the basic concept of swallowing down to a science by now.

I get that it looks funny coming out, but give it a rest all ready.

The Mystery Of The Poopoo Pa

2 year old: Poopoo pa
Awesome mom: Huh? What's a poopoo pa?
2yo: Mama poopoo pa
AMom: Show mama a poopoo pa
2yo points at the fridge. I open the door. She takes out water.
AMom: Honey, that's water
2yo: Mama wawe in a poopoo pa.
[She points. I look.]
Purple cup? You want water in your purple cup?
Yeah, yeah, yeah!

Case closed.

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.