I find myself using the word "just" a lot lately. I'm just wondering; I just wanted to let you know; I was just; Did you just; How does Mischief keep losing just one sock...you get the picture.
In the midst of all the justs it struck me that my boys are just growing up too fast. The world is just spinning and spinning and I'm on a treadmill set to high speed trying to keep up with it...and in the meantime I'm missing things. We're always so busy working or "doing something" or watching T.V. And I find that the more I try to keep up and the more I try to please everyone, the more I wish I could just get off the ride.
With Mischief already being ten & a half months, this resonates particularly loudly. I don't remember everything Mayhem did and said or EXACTLY what he looked like at this age. I remember bits and pieces, and I remember more when Mischief does similar things (like losing only one sock), but I don't remember everything. And it kills me. It kills me that I KNOW when Mischief is 4 I won't remember every instant of ten and a half months. I won't remember EXACTLY what this precious voice sounds like at this age because I don't remember EXACTLY what Mayhem's sounded like.
That's just great...now I've made myself cry.
God I hate sentimental mode.
I guess it's time to break out the video camera and go on a video spree.
So now that I've made myself cry...it reminds me that, speaking of remembering, there are a few words that Mayhem says that will just (there...there's my "just") kill me when he stops saying. He has just a slight lisp. You know, the adorable preschooler lisp that kids tend to grow out of as they get older. A few of my favorites are:
Lemonlade (lemonade)
Spikely (spiky)
Tuh-tumputer (computer)
Dowt (Scout, our dog)
Tooties (cookies)
As I remember...or he says...more, I'll post them.
In the meantime, I have a sock to find.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
I is for Incidentally...and Ironically.
When you have kids, every single thing you own has a stain quotient. It's that point you get to where you say to yourself (or out loud if you're okay with people giving you funny looks), One, "Is it REALLY worth cleaning or can I just throw it away?" And two, if it IS worth cleaning, "Is it worth cleaning now or should I (can I) let it ride 'til the next spill and THEN attempt a cleaning?" This question also takes the form of: "Will the Health Department bust my door down if I wipe up that spit up/coffee/easy mac/cat puke but don't COMPLETELY chemically treat the stain right away?"
I say treat the stain instead of treat the spot because you know that shit is going to be there forever. Even if just as a HINT of a stain or a slightly crusty patch of carpet/fabric. You can do whatever you want to it and it will still be there. Your expensively scotchguarded couch is no match for...*gasp*...fabric cleaner!! It doesn't matter how well you clean the stain or rinse the cleaner out, you're still going to have a blatantly obvious water spot where it was. Forever.
So if something's going to stain anyway, is it really worth breaking out the carpet steam cleaner right away or can you wait until you have a big enough swath of destruction to really make it worth your while??
Here is an example of when it is good and proper to break out the carpet cleaner immediately, without passing go and without collecting $200: When there are bodily fluids involved (non-withstanding, small amounts of spit up, pee, or puke). My favorite break out the carpet cleaner moment? When Mayhem painted his floor with poo.
Have you noticed we have a lot of poo stories? I want to say, "It's just boys!!" but I think it's really just us. And I have accepted it for what it is...a load of crap. (Ba-dump-bump. I'll be here all week; be sure to tip your waitress.)
Anywho....
To make a long and atrociously disgusting poo story short, when Mayhem was just potty training (around 2, 2 1/2) he went into his room to "get something." When he didn't come back quickly I went to check on him. He had apparently pooped in his pull-up, taken the poopy pull-up off, and was standing in front of his dresser happily massaging the poo into the carpet with his toes. In a swath about the size of two pieces of legal paper laid side by side. Oh yes. It took me FIVE full reservoirs to clean that mess. And there's still a hint of darker coloration on that part of the carpet.
So back to the current story.
Last Friday was delivery day for Mayhem's bunk bed. My mom graciously drove an hour and 15 minutes to our house to watch the boys while I finished the last minute preparations (frantically dismantling the old bed, shoving unmovables against the wall out of the way, and dragging whatever we couldn't get rid of up to the attic). While she was here, she did what she always does...randomly cleans, God love her. So while I was locked in the guest room/storage room turned Mayhem's room, she was sitting in the living room folding clean clothes and then cleaning my entire couch. Every inch of it. By hand. With hot water and a rag. I told her she didn't have to do it because I have discovered that if I don't clean it, nothing else spills on it. Whenever I attempt to clean a spot, that spot inevitably becomes a magnet for a new, and often bigger and/or more permanent spill.
But she cleaned it anyway. The entire thing. By hand.
It.was.absolutely.beautiful.
It looked like we had just bought it and unwrapped the plastic.
And it lasted exactly 48 hours.
In the last two days, Mischief and Mayhem have spilled more things on the couch and the floor around the couch than they have in the preceeding 9.5 months since Mayhem has been born. Maybe longer. And not easy to clean things. No, that would be counter to the rule. Things that are INSTANT stainers: An entire large frozen coffee, a glass of sweet tea, and an exploding cup of chocolate milk to name a few.
And that, incidentally, is a perfect example of why I don't clean as often as I probably should.
I say treat the stain instead of treat the spot because you know that shit is going to be there forever. Even if just as a HINT of a stain or a slightly crusty patch of carpet/fabric. You can do whatever you want to it and it will still be there. Your expensively scotchguarded couch is no match for...*gasp*...fabric cleaner!! It doesn't matter how well you clean the stain or rinse the cleaner out, you're still going to have a blatantly obvious water spot where it was. Forever.
So if something's going to stain anyway, is it really worth breaking out the carpet steam cleaner right away or can you wait until you have a big enough swath of destruction to really make it worth your while??
Here is an example of when it is good and proper to break out the carpet cleaner immediately, without passing go and without collecting $200: When there are bodily fluids involved (non-withstanding, small amounts of spit up, pee, or puke). My favorite break out the carpet cleaner moment? When Mayhem painted his floor with poo.
Have you noticed we have a lot of poo stories? I want to say, "It's just boys!!" but I think it's really just us. And I have accepted it for what it is...a load of crap. (Ba-dump-bump. I'll be here all week; be sure to tip your waitress.)
Anywho....
To make a long and atrociously disgusting poo story short, when Mayhem was just potty training (around 2, 2 1/2) he went into his room to "get something." When he didn't come back quickly I went to check on him. He had apparently pooped in his pull-up, taken the poopy pull-up off, and was standing in front of his dresser happily massaging the poo into the carpet with his toes. In a swath about the size of two pieces of legal paper laid side by side. Oh yes. It took me FIVE full reservoirs to clean that mess. And there's still a hint of darker coloration on that part of the carpet.
So back to the current story.
Last Friday was delivery day for Mayhem's bunk bed. My mom graciously drove an hour and 15 minutes to our house to watch the boys while I finished the last minute preparations (frantically dismantling the old bed, shoving unmovables against the wall out of the way, and dragging whatever we couldn't get rid of up to the attic). While she was here, she did what she always does...randomly cleans, God love her. So while I was locked in the guest room/storage room turned Mayhem's room, she was sitting in the living room folding clean clothes and then cleaning my entire couch. Every inch of it. By hand. With hot water and a rag. I told her she didn't have to do it because I have discovered that if I don't clean it, nothing else spills on it. Whenever I attempt to clean a spot, that spot inevitably becomes a magnet for a new, and often bigger and/or more permanent spill.
But she cleaned it anyway. The entire thing. By hand.
It.was.absolutely.beautiful.
It looked like we had just bought it and unwrapped the plastic.
And it lasted exactly 48 hours.
In the last two days, Mischief and Mayhem have spilled more things on the couch and the floor around the couch than they have in the preceeding 9.5 months since Mayhem has been born. Maybe longer. And not easy to clean things. No, that would be counter to the rule. Things that are INSTANT stainers: An entire large frozen coffee, a glass of sweet tea, and an exploding cup of chocolate milk to name a few.
And that, incidentally, is a perfect example of why I don't clean as often as I probably should.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
H is for Hey...How About Some Random Trivia.
In my last post I confessed to being a germaphobe, so I figured I'd confess some more in this one but make it a little fun.
In no particular order, here are 20 completely random facts about me that I'm sure will come in handy one day when I'm famous....or if you ever need to blackmail me.
1. I'm from a big, fat, Italian family and I have the crooked pinky fingers to prove that genetics cross oceans and centuries to unite related strangers living in different lands.
2. Speaking of big, fat, Italian family, I honestly didn't know there were skinny old people until I was a teenager. I seriously just thought you hit forty and doubled overnight...kinda like proofing dough. (Sorry to all my relatives & family friends. I love y'all, I really do.)
3. My favorite flavor anything is orange.
4. I like our dog, but I love our cats. (Please don't tell the dog that.)
5. Speaking of cats, I actually gave one of our cats a concussion. With a 1 lb tub of Desitin. (It was a COMPLETELY freak accident, I promise.)
6.If you give me an easy problem I'll stumble on it, but if you give me an impossible conundrum I'll solve it in 30 seconds flat.
7. I don't need a genetics doctorate, a state-of-the-art lab, or $50 billion in funding to prove humans can be cloned. I've already done it. Twice.
8. I am insanely proud of both my hometown (NOLA) and my football team (The 2009 Superbowl Champion New Orleans Saints).
9. I am the queen of procrastinating.
10. I am TERRIBLE at keeping in touch. And calling. And writing. And answering e-mail. Did I forget anything?
11. But I am great at organizing. Go figure.
12. I can find ANYTHING. No matter how long it's been missing or where we are. I have lost item radar. My specialties are remotes and keys.
13. I have met my guardian angel twice. Once when I was almost pulverized by a Lucky Dog cart during Mardi Gras. (Yes, you read that right.)
14. Which makes this one obvious: I believe in ghosts. And angels. And demons. All that fun stuff.
15. My mom and I have ESP. We can read each others' minds and know when things are wrong in the family or if one of us needs something, etc. We freak people out a lot.
16. My husband and I have ESP too. But not like my mom and I. I can tell if something's wrong and I know what he'd choose if he has to pick something, but this is better. Whenever he's deployed I can tell you exactly to the instant when he uses his debit card/credit card. No. Seriously. I think he feels guilty or something because I always tell him not to spend a lot of money but he does anyway and it translates to me as worry, so I pick it up. That's my theory anyway. I can actually feel him, pull up the checking account online and watch the charge pop up. It's THAT accurate.
17. I am the person you want to have around in an emergency. If you've got a situation, I guarantee I've got a contingency plan for it. Call it a zombie plan on crack.
18. I let my kids eat off the floor. What the hell...it's good for their immune systems and they're going to do it anyway.
19. I have the most disgusting story EVER regarding what happened when our dog ate virtually an entire roll of paper towels. E-V-E-R. Okay, maybe not an entire roll, but a good 15 paper towels. Think wipe dispenser. Out of his rear end. I guess that means I really do love him. (Dumb dog.)
20. Last but not least, I am a mono-eater. I find something I loooooove and have it pretty much every day until I get sick of it. And then I never eat it again. Like when I ate an english muffin with peanut butter and sliced bananas for breakfast every day for almost a year. And can't stand the thought of them now.
So what are your dirty (or funny) little secrets??
In no particular order, here are 20 completely random facts about me that I'm sure will come in handy one day when I'm famous....or if you ever need to blackmail me.
1. I'm from a big, fat, Italian family and I have the crooked pinky fingers to prove that genetics cross oceans and centuries to unite related strangers living in different lands.
2. Speaking of big, fat, Italian family, I honestly didn't know there were skinny old people until I was a teenager. I seriously just thought you hit forty and doubled overnight...kinda like proofing dough. (Sorry to all my relatives & family friends. I love y'all, I really do.)
3. My favorite flavor anything is orange.
4. I like our dog, but I love our cats. (Please don't tell the dog that.)
5. Speaking of cats, I actually gave one of our cats a concussion. With a 1 lb tub of Desitin. (It was a COMPLETELY freak accident, I promise.)
6.If you give me an easy problem I'll stumble on it, but if you give me an impossible conundrum I'll solve it in 30 seconds flat.
7. I don't need a genetics doctorate, a state-of-the-art lab, or $50 billion in funding to prove humans can be cloned. I've already done it. Twice.
8. I am insanely proud of both my hometown (NOLA) and my football team (The 2009 Superbowl Champion New Orleans Saints).
9. I am the queen of procrastinating.
10. I am TERRIBLE at keeping in touch. And calling. And writing. And answering e-mail. Did I forget anything?
11. But I am great at organizing. Go figure.
12. I can find ANYTHING. No matter how long it's been missing or where we are. I have lost item radar. My specialties are remotes and keys.
13. I have met my guardian angel twice. Once when I was almost pulverized by a Lucky Dog cart during Mardi Gras. (Yes, you read that right.)
14. Which makes this one obvious: I believe in ghosts. And angels. And demons. All that fun stuff.
15. My mom and I have ESP. We can read each others' minds and know when things are wrong in the family or if one of us needs something, etc. We freak people out a lot.
16. My husband and I have ESP too. But not like my mom and I. I can tell if something's wrong and I know what he'd choose if he has to pick something, but this is better. Whenever he's deployed I can tell you exactly to the instant when he uses his debit card/credit card. No. Seriously. I think he feels guilty or something because I always tell him not to spend a lot of money but he does anyway and it translates to me as worry, so I pick it up. That's my theory anyway. I can actually feel him, pull up the checking account online and watch the charge pop up. It's THAT accurate.
17. I am the person you want to have around in an emergency. If you've got a situation, I guarantee I've got a contingency plan for it. Call it a zombie plan on crack.
18. I let my kids eat off the floor. What the hell...it's good for their immune systems and they're going to do it anyway.
19. I have the most disgusting story EVER regarding what happened when our dog ate virtually an entire roll of paper towels. E-V-E-R. Okay, maybe not an entire roll, but a good 15 paper towels. Think wipe dispenser. Out of his rear end. I guess that means I really do love him. (Dumb dog.)
20. Last but not least, I am a mono-eater. I find something I loooooove and have it pretty much every day until I get sick of it. And then I never eat it again. Like when I ate an english muffin with peanut butter and sliced bananas for breakfast every day for almost a year. And can't stand the thought of them now.
So what are your dirty (or funny) little secrets??
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
G is for Germaphobia...and Gems.
Hi. I'm Lisa and I'm a germaphobe. Card carrying. Phew. It feels good to get that off my chest.
I dislike any manner of germs, but my archnemeses are stomach viruses and food poisoning. Really anything that results in vomiting. I guess that really makes me emetophobic, but whatever. To-may-to, to-mah-to.
I am petrified by the thought of bringing my kids to a big gathering today & then finding out someone there came down with a stomach bug that night. Oh. My. God. We were......exposed!!! Two day quarantine!!! Light meals!! No unnecessary touching!! Just in case!!!
It's terrible & it's debilitating, but it's true.
I wasn't always a germaphobe. It probably started when I was pregnant with Mayhem, our first child. You know how that goes. Every solitary person on the face of the planet seeks you out with their new mommy radar & gives you their two cents. So of course most of that "change" you get is dirty. Don't go near kids with chicken pox. Don't eat deli meat. Don't let dirt get in open cuts. Don't forget to get your flu shot. Don't don't don't. Or you'll get sick & the baby could get sick...or die!!
And it doesn't end once you actually have the baby. Oh no. No no no. It gets worse. Keep the baby's head and ears covered. You're not going to church/movie theater/party with a three-week-old are you? Don't touch the baby unless you just surgically sterilized your hands. Don't let the baby chew on that. Don't come around the baby if you're sick or have been sick in the last 14 years. And so on and so on and so on...
So I'm out of the closet so to speak. That's supposedly the first step to recovery, right? Admitting you have a problem? Um, no. Not so much. It's just an opening for the Hubs to torment me mercilessly by doing things like putting his big toe in his mouth or eating food off the ground. One of his favorite ways to skeeve me out? Watching a show like Kitchen Nightmares or Restaurant Impossible where Gordon Ramsay or Robert Irvine uncover the dirty underbelly of a restaurant and then asking me if I would eat there. Or if the restaurant they're in reminds me of somewhere we've eaten recently. Or by rewinding particularly horrendous parts and having us rewatch to make sure we got the full effect.
My mom cringes whenever we visit. I am the expiration date Nazi. If she ever tells you, "I just got that last week." Check the expiration date. I drive her nuts checking dates, smelling things before reheating or eating, making her tell me when she cooked something so I can see if it's under the maximum four days I allow leftovers to stay in the fridge, figuring out how long a package of deli meat has been opened to decide if it's still okay to eat. Seriously.
I have also become the hand washing Nazi. Did you wash your hands? With soap? Are you sure you washed them really good? Why don't you go wash them again just to make sure.
The hand washing has become particularly virulent now that Mayhem is in school for the first time. He loves to bring all sorts of lovely presents home to us. Mayhem was never sick as an infant or toddler one, because he was breastfed, and two, because he was never really around other kids. He had his first ear infection at four years old. Which he promptly passed on to his four-month-old brother who never had a chance. Mischief is breastfed also, but he is exposed to all kinds of kiddie germs via Mayhem. Poor Mischief has already had the ear infection, strep, and two unknown "childhood viruses" that start with a fever and end with a rash and probably would have killed him 75 years ago but don't really do anything now.
Speaking of presents, that reminds me of this little gem from Mayhem. Since he was an infant he has always rubbed by hair when he was nursing or tired and now he does it when he's upset or falling asleep. We were sitting on the couch together watching tv or a movie or something and he cuddled up on my lap and yawned and started rubbing my hair. He rubbed it for a minute or two and then sat back; looked me angelically in the face; and, as if he were bestowing me with a glorious and noble honor, sighed lovingly and said, "I put a booger in your hair."
Thank you, Sweetie. I love you too.
I dislike any manner of germs, but my archnemeses are stomach viruses and food poisoning. Really anything that results in vomiting. I guess that really makes me emetophobic, but whatever. To-may-to, to-mah-to.
I am petrified by the thought of bringing my kids to a big gathering today & then finding out someone there came down with a stomach bug that night. Oh. My. God. We were......exposed!!! Two day quarantine!!! Light meals!! No unnecessary touching!! Just in case!!!
It's terrible & it's debilitating, but it's true.
I wasn't always a germaphobe. It probably started when I was pregnant with Mayhem, our first child. You know how that goes. Every solitary person on the face of the planet seeks you out with their new mommy radar & gives you their two cents. So of course most of that "change" you get is dirty. Don't go near kids with chicken pox. Don't eat deli meat. Don't let dirt get in open cuts. Don't forget to get your flu shot. Don't don't don't. Or you'll get sick & the baby could get sick...or die!!
And it doesn't end once you actually have the baby. Oh no. No no no. It gets worse. Keep the baby's head and ears covered. You're not going to church/movie theater/party with a three-week-old are you? Don't touch the baby unless you just surgically sterilized your hands. Don't let the baby chew on that. Don't come around the baby if you're sick or have been sick in the last 14 years. And so on and so on and so on...
So I'm out of the closet so to speak. That's supposedly the first step to recovery, right? Admitting you have a problem? Um, no. Not so much. It's just an opening for the Hubs to torment me mercilessly by doing things like putting his big toe in his mouth or eating food off the ground. One of his favorite ways to skeeve me out? Watching a show like Kitchen Nightmares or Restaurant Impossible where Gordon Ramsay or Robert Irvine uncover the dirty underbelly of a restaurant and then asking me if I would eat there. Or if the restaurant they're in reminds me of somewhere we've eaten recently. Or by rewinding particularly horrendous parts and having us rewatch to make sure we got the full effect.
My mom cringes whenever we visit. I am the expiration date Nazi. If she ever tells you, "I just got that last week." Check the expiration date. I drive her nuts checking dates, smelling things before reheating or eating, making her tell me when she cooked something so I can see if it's under the maximum four days I allow leftovers to stay in the fridge, figuring out how long a package of deli meat has been opened to decide if it's still okay to eat. Seriously.
I have also become the hand washing Nazi. Did you wash your hands? With soap? Are you sure you washed them really good? Why don't you go wash them again just to make sure.
The hand washing has become particularly virulent now that Mayhem is in school for the first time. He loves to bring all sorts of lovely presents home to us. Mayhem was never sick as an infant or toddler one, because he was breastfed, and two, because he was never really around other kids. He had his first ear infection at four years old. Which he promptly passed on to his four-month-old brother who never had a chance. Mischief is breastfed also, but he is exposed to all kinds of kiddie germs via Mayhem. Poor Mischief has already had the ear infection, strep, and two unknown "childhood viruses" that start with a fever and end with a rash and probably would have killed him 75 years ago but don't really do anything now.
Speaking of presents, that reminds me of this little gem from Mayhem. Since he was an infant he has always rubbed by hair when he was nursing or tired and now he does it when he's upset or falling asleep. We were sitting on the couch together watching tv or a movie or something and he cuddled up on my lap and yawned and started rubbing my hair. He rubbed it for a minute or two and then sat back; looked me angelically in the face; and, as if he were bestowing me with a glorious and noble honor, sighed lovingly and said, "I put a booger in your hair."
Thank you, Sweetie. I love you too.
Monday, October 17, 2011
F is for Freaking Phases...and Fingersweeping.
Kids go through so many phases. We've been through everything from eating only one type of food to having to bring a certain toy with us everywhere to only wanting to be the blue game piece when playing games. There's the favorite show or song phase, the I don't like it phase, the I'm deaf and don't understand you phase, the my parents drive me nuts phase. Here are some of my "favorite" phases.
Some phases are cute, like Mischief's current magic lights phase. Every morning the Hubs leaves for work before dawn and on the mornings Mischief wakes up with us he likes to flick the porch lights on and off while Daddy's trying to get in the car. "I can see!! No, I can't. I can see!! No, I can't."
Some are not so cute, like Mischief's current poop at the grocery store phase. I am officially calling this a phase because the last FIVE times we have gone to Walmart, some time during my shopping he has blown a diaper out of existence. Last time we went he pooped on the hispanic and asian food aisle, which is always pretty crowded. I felt bad for the people downwind of us. Including myself because pushing the buggy meant I was perpetually downwind of him. I ended up pushing him kinda from the side a la Ace Ventura driving with his head hanging out the window. I think he's telling me he doesn't like Wally World. I know, Buddy, but we need cheap and that's where we get it.
Some are annoying, like Mayhem's current QUIT PUTTING YOUR JUNK ON EVERYTHING phase. Junk being his naughty bits. He's four and he's nude most of the time, so he has a penchant for putting his junk on anything and everything....and anyONE. Usually this pose involves passing gas on the victim as well...such as when I caught him sitting on his brother's head. He is very hard to dissuade when he gets on a roll because it's annoying, but it's funny. We have this problem when trying to get him to stop: "Quit *snicker* putting your junk *smile* on everything! *giggle* It's not funny! *snicker*" While we're telling him to quit with not-so-straight faces, he's dissolving in giggles. Like yesterday's incident. He just got out of the tub, so he's already in junk-touching attire...his birthday suit. He junks the baby and runs off. "Mayhem, don't put your junk on your brother." While I'm saying this, he giggles from behind me and I feel something swipe my back as I'm trying to pick up Mischief. "DID YOU JUST PUT YOUR JUNK ON ME?!?!?" Peals of laughter as he runs and does it to the bathroom door. "Quit touching everything with your junk!" He grabs the dog and junks him in the side. "I said stop. I'm not kidding." Huge smile & squeals of glee as he runs into the living room looking for his next victim. Cue Daddy. "You're not doing it right. You can't smile or laugh when you tell him to stop or he thinks you think it's funny and he'll keep doing it. Mayhem, STOP PUTTING YOUR JUNK ON EVERYTHING!!" Cue hysterical crying jag. Great. Even better.
Also seriously annoying: the trash-digging phase. Dogs and kids go through this one. Thankfully, the dog is out of it. Unfortunately, Mischief isn't. "Ugg bluh muh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"* (*Translation: Here Mommy, I brought you a banana peel and a sticky yogurt container. Yay!!!") This phase also equates to when the cat kills one of those nasty translucent gekkos, beheads it, and brings you the twitchy corpse to be praised.
Some phases are just plain dangerous. Mayhem was a serious climber. As in climbing the A.V. tower at 15 months. "Hi Mommy!!" "GAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! how did you get up there?!?!" "Climb up!!"
Mischief prefers to eat things. ANY things. I know kids go through an oral phase, but this isn't mouthing. This is eating. Everything. And at 9 months and almost 22 lbs, trust me. He's not missing meals. His current favorites: Paper and cat cookies (dry cat food). Magazine of choice: National Geographic Kids. And it doesn't matter how closely I watch him. Random crap mysteriously materializes in his mouth. Like the foam pad tip off the end of a kid-sized robot arm grabber. I swear. We're going to rename the child Fingersweep.
Also, as a postscript, dog fur comes out the same way it goes in...kinda like corn.
Some phases are cute, like Mischief's current magic lights phase. Every morning the Hubs leaves for work before dawn and on the mornings Mischief wakes up with us he likes to flick the porch lights on and off while Daddy's trying to get in the car. "I can see!! No, I can't. I can see!! No, I can't."
Some are not so cute, like Mischief's current poop at the grocery store phase. I am officially calling this a phase because the last FIVE times we have gone to Walmart, some time during my shopping he has blown a diaper out of existence. Last time we went he pooped on the hispanic and asian food aisle, which is always pretty crowded. I felt bad for the people downwind of us. Including myself because pushing the buggy meant I was perpetually downwind of him. I ended up pushing him kinda from the side a la Ace Ventura driving with his head hanging out the window. I think he's telling me he doesn't like Wally World. I know, Buddy, but we need cheap and that's where we get it.
Some are annoying, like Mayhem's current QUIT PUTTING YOUR JUNK ON EVERYTHING phase. Junk being his naughty bits. He's four and he's nude most of the time, so he has a penchant for putting his junk on anything and everything....and anyONE. Usually this pose involves passing gas on the victim as well...such as when I caught him sitting on his brother's head. He is very hard to dissuade when he gets on a roll because it's annoying, but it's funny. We have this problem when trying to get him to stop: "Quit *snicker* putting your junk *smile* on everything! *giggle* It's not funny! *snicker*" While we're telling him to quit with not-so-straight faces, he's dissolving in giggles. Like yesterday's incident. He just got out of the tub, so he's already in junk-touching attire...his birthday suit. He junks the baby and runs off. "Mayhem, don't put your junk on your brother." While I'm saying this, he giggles from behind me and I feel something swipe my back as I'm trying to pick up Mischief. "DID YOU JUST PUT YOUR JUNK ON ME?!?!?" Peals of laughter as he runs and does it to the bathroom door. "Quit touching everything with your junk!" He grabs the dog and junks him in the side. "I said stop. I'm not kidding." Huge smile & squeals of glee as he runs into the living room looking for his next victim. Cue Daddy. "You're not doing it right. You can't smile or laugh when you tell him to stop or he thinks you think it's funny and he'll keep doing it. Mayhem, STOP PUTTING YOUR JUNK ON EVERYTHING!!" Cue hysterical crying jag. Great. Even better.
Also seriously annoying: the trash-digging phase. Dogs and kids go through this one. Thankfully, the dog is out of it. Unfortunately, Mischief isn't. "Ugg bluh muh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"* (*Translation: Here Mommy, I brought you a banana peel and a sticky yogurt container. Yay!!!") This phase also equates to when the cat kills one of those nasty translucent gekkos, beheads it, and brings you the twitchy corpse to be praised.
Some phases are just plain dangerous. Mayhem was a serious climber. As in climbing the A.V. tower at 15 months. "Hi Mommy!!" "GAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! how did you get up there?!?!" "Climb up!!"
Mischief prefers to eat things. ANY things. I know kids go through an oral phase, but this isn't mouthing. This is eating. Everything. And at 9 months and almost 22 lbs, trust me. He's not missing meals. His current favorites: Paper and cat cookies (dry cat food). Magazine of choice: National Geographic Kids. And it doesn't matter how closely I watch him. Random crap mysteriously materializes in his mouth. Like the foam pad tip off the end of a kid-sized robot arm grabber. I swear. We're going to rename the child Fingersweep.
Also, as a postscript, dog fur comes out the same way it goes in...kinda like corn.
Friday, October 7, 2011
E is for Excitability...a Euphemism
Dictionary.com defines "Euphemism" as "the substitution of a mild, indirect, or vague expression for one thought to be offensive, harsh, or blunt."
For example: When your child's pediatrician says, "This medication may make your child excitable," this is a euphemism.
In child medication terms, "This medication may make your child excitable" is a euphemism for "Here is some speed. Give it to your child twice a day for five days. It will make him feel better. Be prepared to peel him off of your ceiling. You will need a nice, strong spatula. Or a straight jacket. Maybe both. Sleep? Vampires don't need something so mundane as SLEEP so get over yourself, you don't either. Wanna see how fast he can run? Good, cause you will. Remember the Micromachine commercials with the fast-talking Micromachine man? He won't have ANYTHING on your kid. Did you know your kid could eat seven cinnamon rolls in one sitting? Cause he can. He would have eaten all eight if you hadn't dropped one on the floor. And honestly, he would have eaten it if you hadn't gotten to it first. You're going to go bankrupt feeding him, but at least it's at the grocery store of your choice. So good luck with all that."
For example: When your child's pediatrician says, "This medication may make your child excitable," this is a euphemism.
In child medication terms, "This medication may make your child excitable" is a euphemism for "Here is some speed. Give it to your child twice a day for five days. It will make him feel better. Be prepared to peel him off of your ceiling. You will need a nice, strong spatula. Or a straight jacket. Maybe both. Sleep? Vampires don't need something so mundane as SLEEP so get over yourself, you don't either. Wanna see how fast he can run? Good, cause you will. Remember the Micromachine commercials with the fast-talking Micromachine man? He won't have ANYTHING on your kid. Did you know your kid could eat seven cinnamon rolls in one sitting? Cause he can. He would have eaten all eight if you hadn't dropped one on the floor. And honestly, he would have eaten it if you hadn't gotten to it first. You're going to go bankrupt feeding him, but at least it's at the grocery store of your choice. So good luck with all that."
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
D is for Damage....Brain Damage
Bill Cosby once said something along the lines of, if children weren't brain damaged, they'd get in trouble less and have less stressed parents. Actually, it was more like, "But these BRAIN DAMAGED CHILDREN...." are going to be spanked because they pushed one too many buttons.
So brain damage.
We're Halloween people. My hubs and I LOVE Halloween. We don't go as all-out as we'd like to, but we have a lot of fun. This year, Mischief is old enough to dress up and walk around acting cute and Mayhem is old enough to REALLY get into Halloween. He already wore his "Official Candy Inspector" shirt to school...in mid-September. And we've been scoping out all the awesome goodies and practicing trick-or-treating and counting down to October. I am one of Mayhem's two room mothers at school, so of course I'm signed up for the Halloween class party. Mayhem has had his costume picked out and perfected since his birthday (mid-August). I am driving around with Spongebob Halloween decals decorating the back windows of the car. Seriously
So we love Halloween.
For the last two or three weeks we've been discussing Jack-O-Lanterns. What are we going to carve? When are we going to get our pumpkins? They've been at the grocery store already, but we don't want to get them toooooo early and have them crap out before Halloween. We finally got them last week, two big beauties. We also got a carving template set and a battery-powered carving knife. We were SO ready.
So we're ready to carve our Jack-O-Lanters.
It took a few days to make final decisions on which stencils we were going to use on our pumpkins because they were all SO COOL and they had to be perfect. I figured we could carve two designs into each pumpkin...it's round right...lots of blank canvas. Bear in mind though, I have NEVER carved a pumpkin. Ever. But Mayhem was so excited and so sure that everything was going to be perfect that I went for it.
So I'm carving the Jack-O-Lanters.
It took me hours. H-O-U-R-S. But I think they came out pretty damned good if I do say so myself. They were beautiful. I even found some tea candles my cousin had given me that when lit, the flames are purple or green. Awesome! We took pictures and lit them. It was perfect. Mayhem spun them around to look at all of the designs and told me what a great job I did.
So we go back inside and I ask him, "Do you like your pumpkins, Buddy?"
His response in an utterly baffled voice??
"What pumpkins????"
Brain damage.
So brain damage.
We're Halloween people. My hubs and I LOVE Halloween. We don't go as all-out as we'd like to, but we have a lot of fun. This year, Mischief is old enough to dress up and walk around acting cute and Mayhem is old enough to REALLY get into Halloween. He already wore his "Official Candy Inspector" shirt to school...in mid-September. And we've been scoping out all the awesome goodies and practicing trick-or-treating and counting down to October. I am one of Mayhem's two room mothers at school, so of course I'm signed up for the Halloween class party. Mayhem has had his costume picked out and perfected since his birthday (mid-August). I am driving around with Spongebob Halloween decals decorating the back windows of the car. Seriously
So we love Halloween.
For the last two or three weeks we've been discussing Jack-O-Lanterns. What are we going to carve? When are we going to get our pumpkins? They've been at the grocery store already, but we don't want to get them toooooo early and have them crap out before Halloween. We finally got them last week, two big beauties. We also got a carving template set and a battery-powered carving knife. We were SO ready.
So we're ready to carve our Jack-O-Lanters.
It took a few days to make final decisions on which stencils we were going to use on our pumpkins because they were all SO COOL and they had to be perfect. I figured we could carve two designs into each pumpkin...it's round right...lots of blank canvas. Bear in mind though, I have NEVER carved a pumpkin. Ever. But Mayhem was so excited and so sure that everything was going to be perfect that I went for it.
So I'm carving the Jack-O-Lanters.
It took me hours. H-O-U-R-S. But I think they came out pretty damned good if I do say so myself. They were beautiful. I even found some tea candles my cousin had given me that when lit, the flames are purple or green. Awesome! We took pictures and lit them. It was perfect. Mayhem spun them around to look at all of the designs and told me what a great job I did.
So we go back inside and I ask him, "Do you like your pumpkins, Buddy?"
His response in an utterly baffled voice??
"What pumpkins????"
Brain damage.
Monday, October 3, 2011
C is for Creativity...and Cat Poop
Yesterday was interesting.
I had a ton of work to do (I type for a meager living), but the hubs had a migrane and the house needed a hazmat sign, so we cleaned all day. Unfortunately, Mischief was not so taken with our idea because it meant a smidge less attention for him than usual. So he improvised.
I was loading the dishwasher and noticed him playing with a case of bottled water. Or so I thought. When he's playing with something that's gooey or messy he does this squidgy leg thing. He sits up with his legs out in front of him and flails them one at a time out and in out and in out and in. So he was doing the squidgy leg thing sitting in front of the water and I thought, well maybe he's got a piece of plastic wrapper under his leg. So I watch him. He's now doing the squidgy leg thing and rubbing his hand on his leg.
And then the smell hits me.
Poop.
But not his poop.
Cat poop.
Oh, yes. He had somehow gotten a cat turd - a FRESH cat turd - without anyone noticing and was painting the floor and himself with it.
Lovely.
Bathtime!!
And this was before 7:30am.
Then about three hours later, the hubs was watching the boys. I'm using the term "watching" loosely. You'll see why. Anyway, he was watching the boys and Mischief was in his exersaucer having a snack. This is how our conversation went:
Hubs: WHOA!! I think somebody's pooping.
Me: Okay.
Hubs: Yeah. His whole body was red, not just his face.
Me: Wow, really? Well make sure he's done and then change him, okay?
Hubs: Okay.
Fifteen minutes later, the smell hits me.
Poop.
Again.
Me: Hey Babe, did you change the baby??
Hubs: Oh! No! I forgot!
Me: Crap. Well grab him and change him.
Hubs lifts Mischief out of the exersaucer and his dimply little legs are going a mile a minute.
And they are coated in poop.
As is the entire floor of the exersaucer.
Which he has been foot painting with his poop.
Which neither Daddy nor Mayhem who are sitting next to him in the same room have noticed.
Bathtime!!
Again!! Two baths before 11:30!!
A.M.
And both involving poop.
Not all of it his.
I had a ton of work to do (I type for a meager living), but the hubs had a migrane and the house needed a hazmat sign, so we cleaned all day. Unfortunately, Mischief was not so taken with our idea because it meant a smidge less attention for him than usual. So he improvised.
I was loading the dishwasher and noticed him playing with a case of bottled water. Or so I thought. When he's playing with something that's gooey or messy he does this squidgy leg thing. He sits up with his legs out in front of him and flails them one at a time out and in out and in out and in. So he was doing the squidgy leg thing sitting in front of the water and I thought, well maybe he's got a piece of plastic wrapper under his leg. So I watch him. He's now doing the squidgy leg thing and rubbing his hand on his leg.
And then the smell hits me.
Poop.
But not his poop.
Cat poop.
Oh, yes. He had somehow gotten a cat turd - a FRESH cat turd - without anyone noticing and was painting the floor and himself with it.
Lovely.
Bathtime!!
And this was before 7:30am.
Then about three hours later, the hubs was watching the boys. I'm using the term "watching" loosely. You'll see why. Anyway, he was watching the boys and Mischief was in his exersaucer having a snack. This is how our conversation went:
Hubs: WHOA!! I think somebody's pooping.
Me: Okay.
Hubs: Yeah. His whole body was red, not just his face.
Me: Wow, really? Well make sure he's done and then change him, okay?
Hubs: Okay.
Fifteen minutes later, the smell hits me.
Poop.
Again.
Me: Hey Babe, did you change the baby??
Hubs: Oh! No! I forgot!
Me: Crap. Well grab him and change him.
Hubs lifts Mischief out of the exersaucer and his dimply little legs are going a mile a minute.
And they are coated in poop.
As is the entire floor of the exersaucer.
Which he has been foot painting with his poop.
Which neither Daddy nor Mayhem who are sitting next to him in the same room have noticed.
Bathtime!!
Again!! Two baths before 11:30!!
A.M.
And both involving poop.
Not all of it his.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
B is for Boys...and Belligerence
Boys. Boys are different from girls. In absolutely amazing ways. Ways that you would never think of until you have two of them and really see them in action. Especially when interacting with other boys.
Mayhem is in Pre-K. It's the first time he has ever been in any type of formal (or informal) schooling and he goes for three hours a day, five days a week. There are nine boys and four girls in his class - the boys outnumber the girls two to one, which I find unusual having grown up in a school environment where the exact opposite was typically the case. This is also the case at home where I am outnumbered THREE to one. Well, six to two if you count the critters, but that still boils down to three to one...WAY too much testosterone under one roof.
I digress.
So the school has been preparing us for Daddy Night since the first week of Pre-K. It has been very well hyped and built up. The moms usually do everything with the kids, so this is going to be a special night for the kids to bring their daddies so the daddies can see their classroom and meet their teachers and see what the kids do in school every day since they're usually left out, poor daddies. The entire week before was dedicated to getting ready - paint Daddy, talk about Daddy, look at family pictures, write about Daddy. So with all the preparation you'd think there would be a plan, right? A scheduled program with maybe a craft together or snack together or SOMETHING together, right? Nope. It was come in and the daddies will chat together while the kids play together in any station they choose.
When the moms get together with the kids, there is order (mostly) and the kids all play nicely together and the event flows smoothly from beginning to middle to end where everyone hugs and says goodbye and we'll see you soon before exiting to the parking lot and getting into cars where we'll discuss our outing on the way home.
I digress.
Again.
So what happened while the daddies were chatting? The girls played together nicely, while the boys.........made guns out of the kinects/legos and ran around crazedly killing each other. When the guns were taken away from them (not because they were guns...they're boys...they can make ANYTHING into a gun, but because they were being so rough the teachers were genuinly afraid someone was going to get stabbed in an eye), they created one massive dog pile of flailing, wrestling arms and legs. It was utter pandemonium until "snack time," which turned out to be solid sugar and liquid sugar.....oh, excuse me, brownies and lemonade. And then eventually one of the daddies said, "Uh, we're going to head home now," which prompted a mass exodus from the facility.
So how did they enjoy their chaotic night that to me was a letdown after all of the hype?
"WE LOVED IT!!!"
Boys. Boys are different from girls. In absolutely amazing ways.
Mayhem is in Pre-K. It's the first time he has ever been in any type of formal (or informal) schooling and he goes for three hours a day, five days a week. There are nine boys and four girls in his class - the boys outnumber the girls two to one, which I find unusual having grown up in a school environment where the exact opposite was typically the case. This is also the case at home where I am outnumbered THREE to one. Well, six to two if you count the critters, but that still boils down to three to one...WAY too much testosterone under one roof.
I digress.
So the school has been preparing us for Daddy Night since the first week of Pre-K. It has been very well hyped and built up. The moms usually do everything with the kids, so this is going to be a special night for the kids to bring their daddies so the daddies can see their classroom and meet their teachers and see what the kids do in school every day since they're usually left out, poor daddies. The entire week before was dedicated to getting ready - paint Daddy, talk about Daddy, look at family pictures, write about Daddy. So with all the preparation you'd think there would be a plan, right? A scheduled program with maybe a craft together or snack together or SOMETHING together, right? Nope. It was come in and the daddies will chat together while the kids play together in any station they choose.
When the moms get together with the kids, there is order (mostly) and the kids all play nicely together and the event flows smoothly from beginning to middle to end where everyone hugs and says goodbye and we'll see you soon before exiting to the parking lot and getting into cars where we'll discuss our outing on the way home.
I digress.
Again.
So what happened while the daddies were chatting? The girls played together nicely, while the boys.........made guns out of the kinects/legos and ran around crazedly killing each other. When the guns were taken away from them (not because they were guns...they're boys...they can make ANYTHING into a gun, but because they were being so rough the teachers were genuinly afraid someone was going to get stabbed in an eye), they created one massive dog pile of flailing, wrestling arms and legs. It was utter pandemonium until "snack time," which turned out to be solid sugar and liquid sugar.....oh, excuse me, brownies and lemonade. And then eventually one of the daddies said, "Uh, we're going to head home now," which prompted a mass exodus from the facility.
So how did they enjoy their chaotic night that to me was a letdown after all of the hype?
"WE LOVED IT!!!"
Boys. Boys are different from girls. In absolutely amazing ways.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
A is for Apology
So. I decided to start a blog. Sometimes it will be funny; sometimes it will be happy; sometimes it will be angry. Hopefully, all of the time it will be at least mostly interesting and well-punctuated. If not, we'll call it stream of consciousness and I'm claiming artistic license now. God only knows how often I will update and how long it will last, but here goes.
I have wanted to start a blog for quite some time. One reason: I have an opinion. A pretty loud opinion. And I am hoping that someone out there may agree with me...or even better, disagree with me. Another reason: I ALWAYS see cute/funny/witty/insert adjective posts that I would love to have come up with myself, so maybe I'll luck out and entertain people while I'm here. Oh, another reason? My kids. They are the BEST and funniest people I have ever met and I think the world deserves to meet them...well, figuratively anyway.
So I'll start with the good part, the kids. My husband and I have two boys. Well, I say my husband AND I, but in reality my husband has two clones. No, seriously. Down to the birthmarks. Mayhem is 4 and Mischief is 8 1/2 months. Now wait, you're thinking. She's calling them by cute nicknames so we don't know their real names or to try and be snarky or whatever else you're thinking. No, we actually call them Mischief and Mayhem. They used to be Pooka and Piggy, but as their threat level has steadily increased, so has the strength of their nomers. They're not bad by any means, but you know that saying, "Oh, he's ALL boy!" Yeah. Somewhere in their history someone met my boys, thought of that phrase, found a time machine, and went back in time to coin it so that it could eventually be used to describe them.
My husband and I are competitive. We come from competitive families. We can make ANYTHING a competition. Anything. And God help the loser because we're both boastful winners and sore losers. Random trivia on TV? BOO-YA!! I got it right!! Name of an actor in a movie? HA! I knew it and you didn't! Is my husband's hand broken or pinky finger dislocated? AWWWW YEAH!! I TOLD you it was both! It keeps things interesting and fun. It's like fighting, but without crying and finger-pointing. We can also read each other's minds. Not in an, awww-they're-so-kitchy-and-cute-they-make-you-want-to-gag kinda way. It's more of a spooky, how-did-you-know-that or wow-you're-both-pretty-twisted type thing.
Something you might need to know about me: My thought process is a bit disjointed. It doesn't go in a straight line. You never know when I'm going to pop off with one of those things that make you go huh??? Thankfully, my husband is on the same random page I'm on and I rarely have to explain myself. At least to him. For example: Mayhem has huge feet. We always say if he's like a puppy and grows into them he's going to be huge (which wouldn't surprise me in the slightest because we have giants on my dad's and my husband's mom's sides of the families). Mischief has normal sized feet, but massive hands. Which my husband of course calls mitts. So one day he says something about Mischief's mitts and I giggle and say, we should call him Mitts Magee. WHICH HE IMMEDIATELY GETS. God I love that man.
I have wanted to start a blog for quite some time. One reason: I have an opinion. A pretty loud opinion. And I am hoping that someone out there may agree with me...or even better, disagree with me. Another reason: I ALWAYS see cute/funny/witty/insert adjective posts that I would love to have come up with myself, so maybe I'll luck out and entertain people while I'm here. Oh, another reason? My kids. They are the BEST and funniest people I have ever met and I think the world deserves to meet them...well, figuratively anyway.
So I'll start with the good part, the kids. My husband and I have two boys. Well, I say my husband AND I, but in reality my husband has two clones. No, seriously. Down to the birthmarks. Mayhem is 4 and Mischief is 8 1/2 months. Now wait, you're thinking. She's calling them by cute nicknames so we don't know their real names or to try and be snarky or whatever else you're thinking. No, we actually call them Mischief and Mayhem. They used to be Pooka and Piggy, but as their threat level has steadily increased, so has the strength of their nomers. They're not bad by any means, but you know that saying, "Oh, he's ALL boy!" Yeah. Somewhere in their history someone met my boys, thought of that phrase, found a time machine, and went back in time to coin it so that it could eventually be used to describe them.
My husband and I are competitive. We come from competitive families. We can make ANYTHING a competition. Anything. And God help the loser because we're both boastful winners and sore losers. Random trivia on TV? BOO-YA!! I got it right!! Name of an actor in a movie? HA! I knew it and you didn't! Is my husband's hand broken or pinky finger dislocated? AWWWW YEAH!! I TOLD you it was both! It keeps things interesting and fun. It's like fighting, but without crying and finger-pointing. We can also read each other's minds. Not in an, awww-they're-so-kitchy-and-cute-they-make-you-want-to-gag kinda way. It's more of a spooky, how-did-you-know-that or wow-you're-both-pretty-twisted type thing.
Something you might need to know about me: My thought process is a bit disjointed. It doesn't go in a straight line. You never know when I'm going to pop off with one of those things that make you go huh??? Thankfully, my husband is on the same random page I'm on and I rarely have to explain myself. At least to him. For example: Mayhem has huge feet. We always say if he's like a puppy and grows into them he's going to be huge (which wouldn't surprise me in the slightest because we have giants on my dad's and my husband's mom's sides of the families). Mischief has normal sized feet, but massive hands. Which my husband of course calls mitts. So one day he says something about Mischief's mitts and I giggle and say, we should call him Mitts Magee. WHICH HE IMMEDIATELY GETS. God I love that man.
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