…that I let them do this…
…that I took pictures of it…
…or that I think they’re total geniuses for coming up with it.
Best mom ever.
Don’t forget to check out my new style/design blog project: Style Key West!
Last year, I featured some pictures from a failed holiday card photo shoot. It was attempted right before we left for holiday cocktails at our neighbors’ house.
This year on New Year’s Eve, history repeated itself.
I looked at my children all dressed up (forget about dressed up – they were all DRESSED!) and thought, “okay – it’s go time.“
I herded everyone over to the Christmas tree, frantically kicking shoes, toys and unidentified objects out of the shot, and then proceeded to ask, cajole, bribe and threaten them to “stand still and look at me!“
It was a complete disaster as usual…
…but I was able to get ONE semi-decent picture of them:
Sadly, I had to make them sit – so the backdrop is the not-so-prime real estate at the bottom of the Christmas tree. Very few ornaments are featured there, and they’re all ones that I don’t mind losing to a stray karate kick or airborne toy.
And to add insult to injury, Eleanor looks like she has a Celtic cross growing out of her head (ornament courtesy of a wedding we attended in 2001 – continued best wishes to you, Cathleen and Sean!) Her princess crown from Target helps, but I may have to attempt some Photoshop editing.
All in all, I’m thrilled and expect to see even more improvement over the 2010 holidays. Who knows – maybe we’ll actually send out a holiday card. A girl can dream…
I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions. The ones I would make, I do make every day. “I’ll start the diet tomorrow…I really have to stop yelling so much around the kids…I need to turn off the computer and spend more time building block towers…“
And none of them are easy.
But the eve of the new year always makes me a little introspective, as any ending-beginning does. So I find myself thinking about the kind of life I want to have and the kind of person I want to be.
When my daughter was born, it was the end of only worrying about little boys and their wants and needs. And it was the beginning of my tenure as a role model for what a woman should be.
In fact, the day we found out that one of our twins would be a girl, I told my husband, “well, you’ll never hear me complaining about being fat anymore.” When he asked what that had to do with anything, I explained that I intended for my daughter to grow up in a house where women spent more time developing healthy eating and exercise habits than bemoaning the unfortunate body type that a cruel fate had given them. While I couldn’t shield my daughter from the inevitable insecurities and poor body image issues so integral to the experience of a teenage girl, I could at the very least do away with that attitude at home.
I said that I wanted her to be too busy being and doing and achieving things to worry about the circumference of her 15 year old thighs.
Then a light of recognition flared in my husbands now glassy eyed expression and he said, “oh yeah – I totally agree. We’ll get her involved in sports as early as possible.“
Now that Eleanor is three, we can start thinking about what sports she might enjoy, but I’d like to think that my endeavors to refrain from the fat talk have contributed to the groundwork for her positive future self image.
And really, as they’ve gotten older, I’ve made many changes in my own life in an effort to be exemplify the qualities that I’d like my children to have.
A pretty major one has been my concerted effort to stop taking myself too seriously. It’s a trait that runs deep in my family, this tendency to grow a stick up our posterior every time we are the butt (pun totally intended) of a joke or are made to feel ridiculous in any way. In general, I have a very good sense of humor and can even laugh about embarrassments from the past. But in the heat of the cheek flaming moment, I do tend to bristle. I don’t like to feel silly.
This is a struggle. But when I see my very intense three year old son rigid with fury, I double my efforts. I want my kids to be more light-hearted than I was. Where I’m just learning to get over myself already, I want them to do that as a matter of course.
And like all parents, we make the daily attempt to not use bad language, to show good manners and to be kind to others.
We do pretty well with the swear words, though we’re far from perfect. Last week when I started to explain who “the baby Jesus” was, my four year old proudly exclaimed, “Jesus Christ!” Like, “oh yeah. I know that guy…you always talk about him when you’re pissed off at us…” Awesome.
It was surprisingly easy to institute please and thank you, but manners and consideration will always be difficult concepts for little guys. With three kids who have only just barely shed their toddler status, our house is a place where “excuse me” means “get out of my way” and “share” means “gimmie that!“
So I think I’m in a constant state of resolving to be better. And I don’t think I need a new calendar year as motivation.
But.
I do look back in the process of looking forward, and I do think about what I’d like to change. While we make choices every day, it’s nice to have a benchmark – an official day to take stock.
When I think about who I want to be in 2010, I think about some of the choices I’ve made. The ones think I’ve made well and the ones I’d like to rethink. And of course, the new ones that come with age and experience.
Now that I’m a mother, so many of my choices are influenced by my children. I want to be a better person for them. I want to be comfortable and confident in my own skin. I want to have a good sense of humor – even when it is at my own expense. And I want to put kindness and manners before principles and justice. I think that all of this will benefit them as they watch me navigate a life that will be their future.
And deciding who it is that I want to be comes down to these choices.
So when my children pull all of the sheets out of the linen closet making a huge mess for me to clean up, I’ll choose to let the anger go let them play “ghosts.” When I feel bad about the way I look, I’ll choose to get over it and take everyone to the park. And when I feel like tossing a defiant three year old into their room for the rest of the century, I’ll choose to admire their forays into learning to make their own choices.
I’ll always choose to appreciate each day I spend with them.
These are my choices to make. And I will choose well.
I choose happiness. I choose joy and laughter. I choose forgiveness and gratitude. I choose kindness and understanding. I choose love.
And I choose myself.
I will prioritize my life and how I live it. Because by choosing to be a better me, I’m choosing them – my children. And doing my best for them is the most important choice I’ll ever have to make.
As a family primarily populated by small children, we’re really just beginning to create holiday traditions. For a long time, it felt like we were the house of babies, then toddlers. And now that everyone is between the ages of two and three, we can actually say “we have three kids.” They are finally all able to understand Halloween – or at least the various decorations and activities that go along with it.
Now we have three very enthusiastic little people in our house who just LOVE PUMPKINS! So number one on the list of what we do to prepare for Halloween? We talk about pumpkins incessantly. The word “pumpkin” must be included in every other sentence – at least. And if we are driving in the car, there must be constant speculation about where the pumpkins are, how many there are and which direction should be taken to find them. Oh – and if there aren’t any to be seen? Get ready for some screaming.
We also make it our first order of business to purchase a hideous plastic light up pumpkin:
My three year old, Oliver felt that this was a “must have” on one of our trips to Harris Teeter – LAST MONTH. At the time, I thought, “what the hell? If an ugly light up pumpkin decoration adds to their Halloween experience, why not?” Why not? Because it’s now the most important feature of the house and must be plugged in at all times. Plugging that stupid pumpkin in is my first priority when we get up and when we come home in the evening. I’m starting to worry about what will happen when Halloween is over and the pumpkin is put away (hidden). How will they function without their tacky idol to worship? Will I have to buy them a plastic light up turkey?
The next Hood Halloween tradition is to buy our costumes early. And demand to wear them ALL THE TIME:
Unfortunately – George tired of his Yoda ears a couple of weeks ago and decided to hijack his brother’s costume:
If I don’t hide the Superman top, George will demand to wear it everywhere: to daycare, to bed, to the mall, in the tub (seriously – we’ve had some BIG fights about that). I’ve written before about George’s tendency to get attached to things. And I think that he would shatter all of the glass in the house with his screams if I dared to take that Superman costume away from him and let Oliver wear it. Luckily Target had more. So we’ll have two Supermen this year. I don’t care – at least Eleanor is happy as a ballerina. And I suppose I should be pleased that George isn’t demanding her costume.
But I think our most festive new Halloween tradition is “decorating the ceiling.” What – you’ve never tried this? Well let me tell you how it’s done!
It all started with one of my great ideas for kid friendly activities. I have these all the time – but they never turn out quite the way I have in mind. This particular gem was inspired by stickers. My kids love to put stickers on paper, but do tend to get frustrated when they can’t peel the stickers off the paper to re-stick them. So what could be more fun than reusable stickers? The answer? Halloween window clings! Have you ever heard of these? They’re like little gel stickers that you can put in your windows. I thought this could keep them busy for a long time while I made dinner, got lunches ready for the next day, changed out of my work clothes… And that it did.
While I put away dishes and Chris was on the computer, Oliver had the genius idea to rip the orange and black gel shapes into tiny pieces. Because shredding things is fun! Then he decided that if the pieces would stick to the window, they would stick just as well to ceiling!
I told Chris that I was running upstairs to change and caught Oliver in the act. He was mid-fling and obviously thrilled with the results of his work. We don’t have particularly high ceilings, but I had to be at least initially impressed by his skill. He had only gotten a few good throws in at that point, so I told him he had to stop, took away the pieces in his hands and called to Chris to make sure that nothing else happened until I came back downstairs. Assuming that my husband was in charge downstairs, I wasn’t in a rush. But apparently I should have been since my directions were not followed.
I came downstairs to find this:
Here is a close-up:
Now, I don’t usually take pictures of my children using their powers for evil. But this was just too outrageous. I needed proof. So before starting in on the husband evisceration, I grabbed my camera. That small detail out of the way, the whoop ass can was opened.
Unfortunately, no one was overly concerned with my rage. Chris thought the whole thing was hilarious and even tossed a few scraps himself. Just another example of men taking inappropriate pleasure in their sons’ misbehavior. It’s all about example setting at our house.
Anyway – the fun ended when we had to pull the pieces down later that evening and realized that they had stained our ceiling.
But orange and black is festive for Halloween…and it makes the ceiling look old…like in a haunted house… Oh who am I kidding – it looks like crap. And I’m fairly certain that it won’t be re-painted until next Halloween. Chris is a bit of a project procrastinator. I mean, it takes him a year to make a dentist appointment (sorry honey – but it’s true).
So here it is October 30th, and we’re all ready for the big night! When darkness falls and the festivities begin, we’ll have our plastic pumpkin blazing, our children dressed as Supermen and ballerinas (costume wearers to be determined), and our ceiling stamped with the signs of much mischief. If you think about it, with the exception of costumes, it doesn’t deviate much from everyday life a “the house of kids” – where every day is Trick or Treat.
Happy Halloween!
EPILOGUE: It is now a year after I originally wrote that. And yes – the ceiling has of yet to be repainted. It’s like I don’t even see this stuff anymore…
*ANOTHER re post – but I do kind of love this one since it really gets to the heart of what it’s like to live in my house… And I’ve updated the pictures since back then I didn’t realize that you could select larger images OR add more than five per post (my ingenue period). Happy Halloween week!
Scary Mommy has thrown down the gauntlet and asked for other scary mommy stories. As in “mirror mirror on the wall, who is the scariest mommy of them all?”
Okay – so I don’t think she’s an evil queen or anything (or is she…), but she claims to be the kind of mom who is “scary.” This refers to “the anti-perfect mommy. The mommy who despite adoring her children to death, will admit to wanting to wring their little necks. The mommy who forgets to shower until bedtime. The mommy who drives through Chic-Fil-A to get fruit for lunch rather than deal with schlepping the kids to the grocery store.”
My first thought is, “you can get them to eat fruit? I’m intimidated.“
It would be hard to come up with a comprehensive list of what makes me scary. You can just click on any one of several labels on my sidebar (Oliver, George, Eleanor, Little Ones, World’s Best Mom…) I’ve covered everything from refusing to buy my kids toys that would drive me crazy (for their own good), to bribing them with candy (for my own good), to refusing to let them help decorate the Christmas tree (because a perfect tree makes Christmas even more special for children), to comparing my daughter to Mr. T (because I can), to letting them run around town looking like the cast of Oliver (they’re own fault for outgrowing perfectly good clothes)… I even wrote a list of reasons why I’m a scary mommy (although I called myself “that mom”). Twice. So as far as scary mommy status goes, I think I’ve really covered my bases here at The Big Piece of Cake.
But Scary Mommy isn’t asking for links. She’s asking for something new. And I do happen to have a rather cringe-worthy story that hasn’t been told as of yet…
A year ago, we visited my Aunt and Uncle in New Jersey. They live on a block of lovely little houses that happens to be positioned behind a large public high school. And directly across the street from their front door is a driveway that leads to all of the playing fields and tennis courts. A perfect venue for entertaining your three year old while your two year old twins take an afternoon nap.
So on that Indian Summer Saturday afternoon I walked hand in hand with Oliver down the driveway and into a wonderland of bleachers and dusty pitcher’s mounds. While it was already quite a distance for Oliver’s little legs, he heard the siren call of tennis balls hitting clay. So we went even further into the school grounds to watch the tennis lessons and recreational matches going on.
At this point, any games that may have taken place had ended so aside from the tennis courts, the fields were fairly deserted. We (he) could run up and down pathways between the chain link and exclaim over the very exciting ball smacking going on everywhere we looked.
After an hour of tennis, we took an abandoned ball over to the bleachers and played a complicated game of catch that involved jumping down, climbing up and throwing the ball far out of the catcher’s range just to watch them (me) run.
Needless to say, after an hour and change, we were exhausted. It was time to go.
About halfway across the playing fields, Oliver’s stubby little legs gave out and I was given the option of sitting down on the ground with him or picking him up and carrying him. Since I was used to hauling that big boy around on a regular basis (mainly to make him submit to my will – but same-same), I scooped him up with ease and made my way back down the driveway that led to my Aunt and Uncle’s house.
What I didn’t expect was to find an almost 6′ tall chain link fence blocking our path. Apparently, the gate is locked for the day once school activities conclude, and that time must have passed while we were climbing bleachers. I was feeling rather nonplussed since I didn’t even realize that there was a gate. But there it was…
And there we were… Tired, hungry and wet. Although Oliver had been potty trained for a while, I realized that I must not have taken him to the bathroom before leaving the house (a rookie mistake that I still make on a regular basis). So of course, he had an accident. Which was at that moment soaking through my shirt.
The only other way to exit the school grounds was on the other side of the tennis courts. Which would require about a mile walk around the huge block back to our destination. Holding an exhausted 50 lb. three year old. With pee pee soaking through my shirt…
I looked at Oliver. Then I looked at the chain link. Then I looked behind us at the tennis courts. Then I looked again at the chain link. Then I finally looked at Oliver, let out a long resigned breath and said, “yeah – we’re going to have to go over.“
And how does one go about hoisting a small child over a chain link fence? In my case, not very well…
First I explained the process to him, “okay Oliver – here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll hold you up as high as I can over my head, and then you are going to throw your legs over the top of the fence. Then I’m going to dangle you over the other side, and count to three. When I get to three, I’ll let go, and you will jump to the ground. Sound good?“
After receiving a blank stare for confirmation, the plan was set. It was go time.
As it turns out, lifting 50 lbs of dead weight over your head is not as easy as it sounds. And Oliver was no help at all. Seriously, no initiative whatsoever – you’d think he was a child or something… But somehow, I managed it. And in less than a minute with only minimal scratches from the jagged fence top, he was dangling just a few feet over freedom.
I’ll admit that he didn’t quite stay on his feet when I dropped him, but he scrambled back up quickly enough (mommy’s little trooper) and received me with open arms – the better to climb me with – as soon as I joined him on the other side.
The rest of our walk home involved a very short trek through some underbrush due to ANOTHER chain link fence. Honestly – what are they keeping in that high school? The Hope Diamond? But this one seemed to just block cars from the driveway and much to our relief, we could make our way around it.
As soon as we arrived back, we changed into clean clothes and told our story to a spellbound crowd of admirers (or to a few horror struck relatives…potato-potahto…) But alls well that ends well, I say.
I did consider fudging the truth, but we scary mommies wear our poor parenting moments like badges of honor. Even if they just serve as a reminder of where improvement can be made, “right – never doing that again.”
And no – I have never lost my mind and tried to toss a child over a chain link fence since. But not to worry – I fall short daily, serving peanut butter sandwiches for dinner because that’s all they’ll eat…pretending that I’m not aware of them disobeying orders in the other room since it’s just easier that way…letting them skip teeth brushing because it will just provide another 15 minutes of evasion opportunity to an already late bedtime… A scary mommy’s work is never done. And I never leave my post.
Motherhood opened today, a movie about a mom/writer/blogger. Also, the director is a woman and a mom, too. We should really try to support this movie and show the studio heads that there is money to be had by making movies for US. I’m going to make an effort to get out there and see it – which is pretty huge considering that I have seen the inside of a movie theater about three times in the past four years.
And yes – I do owe you an update on the conference call with Uma Thurman…but I’ll try to do that next week (as usually, I’ve stayed a bit long at the party and this post is a beast). But here’s a spoiler: I could barely hear her, she got cut off several times, and I spent most of it running away from my whining children (thank god for the mute button). So yeah – it will be REALLY exciting.
So let’s just jump right in shall we?
Oliver? Shreds paper. I mean, like all the time. And not only is this strange, but it’s also messy. As if my house isn’t a disaster as it is…
It all started with him realizing that he could use tissue paper to make snow for one of his little Thomas Train scenes. Then he found he could also use it to simulate soap suds for “the wash down.” And THEN he cut out the middle man altogether and started shredding it just for the sake of creating little piles.
The saving grace is that he only does this with tissue-like paper. Paper towels are about as thick as he’s willing to go. So at least 50% of the paper we own is safe from his machinations.
Now, I know that this is all tied in with his sensory issues and it’s somehow soothing for him, but having to keep anything tissue-related out of reach is ANNOYING. Seriously – it’s like living with a gerbil.
Also? He will trail me around the house asking me for the same thing over-and-over-and-over-and-over… Like:
Oliver: Mommy – I want some milk please.
Me: Okay – just a minute honey.
Oliver: Mommy – I want some milk.
Me: Okay – just a minute.
Oliver: I want some milk.
Me: Just a minute.
Oliver: I want some milk.
Oliver: I want some milk.
Oliver: I want some milk. I want some milk. I want somemilk. I wantsomemilk. Iwantsomemilk. IwantsomemilkIwantsomemilkIwantsomemilkIwantsomemilk.
Oh my god (insert Chandler Bing’s signature tone here) someone make it stop.
This one probably doesn’t have anything to do with his Spectrum issues. Instead, I think it’s a direct result of my inability to maintain focus for more than 30 seconds. You see, it’s a very common occurrence for one of my children to ask me for something, and then for me to say “you bet!” and walk purposefully out of the room…only to get sidetracked by something else and never be heard from again. So this is probably his way of making sure I follow through. Proving that I have only myself to blame.
Still very annoying though.
Then there are the twins.
For a long time I found it seizure inducing when they would scream the same thing in stereo. But now I get the pleasure of listening to them argue. And make simultaneous yet opposing demands.
If one of them wants the lights on, the other wants them off. If one of them wants butter on their rice, the other wants it plain (and god help the woman who doesn’t make it crystal clear that their servings were prepared separately as ordered). If one of them wants to watch The Wonder Pets on TV, the other one wants to watch Diego.
Don’t get me wrong, they play wonderfully together and they are the best of friends. But they’re learning how to assert themselves just like any other three year olds. So it’s inevitable that they’d seek out opportunities to clash.
The best is when they do this in the car. Because you know, I can’t escape. It usually has to do with keeping the windows up or down. And compromising with one up/one down doesn’t work since from what I understand, wind can reach you from either side.
So I hear “I want-a window DOWN!” and I put the windows down. Then I hear “NO! I want-a window UP!” and I put them back up. Then “NO! Down!” – and they go down. Then “[howl] NOOOOO! UP!” – and they go up. And this continues until I decide that it’s kind of funny to mess with them and start rolling the windows up and down as fast as I can.
This would be when they join forces and either hate me or think I’m the funniest mom ever. On a good day it’s the latter.
Another precious little habit of theirs is to turn a short bedtime story into an hour-long activity by demanding to take turns reciting their version of the text on EVERY PAGE. And if I try to turn the page without each of them having their full moment in the spotlight, they make “the noise.”
I put “the noise” in quotes, because that’s what I’ve starting to call it, saying “don’t you MAKE that noise or I will put this book away.” A tactic that is only partly effective since they generally switch to writhing around on the floor howling “NO!” in an attempt to squeeze my brain until it literally explodes.
It’s very hard to capture “the noise” in writing, but I guess you could call it whining. Phonetically, it would be something like “Eh! Eh! Eh!” Which doesn’t sound that bad as I reread it…but believe me after five storybook pages of that, you will start scanning the room for sharp objects to drive into your eardrums.
And if they’re really on their game, they will battle each other for the last word. Each making “the noise” after the other takes their turn – making it impossible for me to turn the page until I finally lose it and say “that’s it! Lights out!” That’s usually when they drop to the ground and pull out another signature move that I like to call “sizzling bacon.” That one looks a lot like demonic possession (I mean – from what I’ve seen on TV), but the exorcism is far more simple. It just requires assurances that we WILL in fact continue the story if they just stopstopstopfortheloveofgodpleasestop.
So yeah – that’s kind of annoying.
This has gotten rather long, and any other parents reading this know that I could go on forever. So I’ll end with a new favorite.
Eleanor has decided that she is only a part time three year old. The rest of the time, she is thirteen. This manifests in her angsty practice of being frequently wounded by something innocuous that we do or say. She will immediately leave the room and then settle in a spot nearby where we are sure to hear her whimpering tears.
At first I thought this was hilarious. It brought back so many memories of sitting alone in my self inflicted misery, just waiting for someone to happen upon me and realize how wronged I have been by such a cruel world…
But then I remember that she’s only three, and isn’t slated to become an angsty teenager for another 10 years. So does that mean that we will get more of the same until 2019 when she officially takes office as the resident teenage girl? Or is she just starting to hone her skills ensuring her black belt in emotional blackmail by age nine?
I’m afraid to speculate. Hopefully, I’ll be too busy cleaning up shredded tissue paper to notice.
I hadn’t originally planned to do a part II for this, but since I wrote the first post, I’ve noticed about five billion things that I should have included.
Then Jill from Scary Mommy continued my train of thought by writing about how gross her kids are. So I decided that I needed a second installment featuring more of those special moments that I’ve shared with my children.
Let’s start with gross. I didn’t mention eating habits in the last post (aside from the booger eating of course), and that is kind of a big one in my house.
I’ve mentioned before that my oldest, four year old Oliver has a lot of sensory issues. For him this translates into extreme messiness. He can’t just eat a quesadilla – he has to peel it apart, extract the cheese and mush it around a bit for good measure. And if he’s had enough to eat, the left over food is perfect to use as a prop in one of his many Thomas the Tank Engine tableaux. Mushed up cheese can be pretty much anything featured in a train crash, from a mountain to a pile of…well, mushy cheese (hey – it could happen).
And he doesn’t even have to try to make a mess. A perfect example is the way he eats peanut butter. Given his druthers, Oliver would just eat it straight out of the jar. But since that’s not happening on my watch (though it often does when I’m looking the other way), it is usually spread on a rice cake.
The very first thing he does is lick as much peanut butter off of the rice cake as possible. And once he makes a thorough job of that (which can take an ungodly amount of time), he’ll finish off the remaining rice cake. Then he’s ready to eat all of the left over dregs on his siblings’ plates (he REALLY likes peanut butter).
And there are always dregs because almost three year old George, who mimics the peanut butter licking portion of Oliver’s procedure will never actually eat the rice cake. For George the rice cake is strictly a vehicle for moving peanut butter into his mouth.
By the end of snack time both Oliver and George are covered in peanut butter from forehead to chin. And Oliver tends to have it all over his stomach and thighs as well since he hasn’t quite caught on to this napkin trend that’s been sweeping the nation.
George’s twin Eleanor isn’t quite as messy of an eater as her brothers are – possibly because she enjoys food so much that she doesn’t like a speck of it to miss her mouth – but she really outshines them on “the back end” so to speak.
I’ve already mentioned Eleanor’s love of potty humor. Oliver and George could care less about the fart noises that send their sister into paroxysms of giggles (they’re probably too busy rubbing peanut butter all over themselves to notice). But that’s okay, because Eleanor is gross enough for all three of them. And the other day she took it to a whole new level.
I was enjoying a peaceful moment at the computer while Oliver played on the floor at my feet and George watched Noggin in the basement. Unfortunately, Eleanor was not on board with the whole quiet play thing. Instead she leaped about asking me questions, singing unintelligible songs and whining about her non-existent boo-boos.
While she looked pretty adorable spinning around in nothing but a diaper (yes – I have almost three year old twins who still aren’t potty trained – what of it?), I hoped that semi-ignoring her and suggesting she go find favorite toys might encourage her to entertain herself for a while.
Finally, in a last desperate attempt to get my attention, she proclaimed that she wanted to be “nudie” like Oliver (my children are naked about 70% of the time they are at home regardless of season, room temperature or the presence of non-family members in the house). And in one sweeping gesture she ripped her diaper off, brandished it over her head and sent about fifty poo balls of varying sizes flying in all different directions.
I think I screamed. I know Oliver laughed. And I believe that Eleanor was just as shocked by the turn of events as the rest of us.
It was at that moment that George came meandering around the corner (also in nothing but a diaper), and ignoring the poo balls that I was now frantically trying to pick up before anyone stepped on one, announced that he wanted some milk.
Since I was too busy crawling around yelling, “DON’T touch anything!” he took matters into his own hands and yanked the half full gallon bottle out by himself, sloshing milk all over the floor.
Sometimes you just have to laugh.
But annoyance set in about an hour later when I could still smell poop. And it took me several more reconnaissance missions to locate the hidden stray next to the refrigerator.
THEN a while later, I realized that in spite of copious amounts of Fabreez sprayed into all corners of the room, it STILL smelled like poop. With “linen and sky” top notes perhaps…but poop nonetheless.
I was able to forget my irritation briefly during another moment of quiet computer time (what a surprise…all my children seemed to have disappeared…) I even forgot about the smell. That is until George wandered upstairs to visit (hey – HE wasn’t the one who flung poop all over the kitchen).
He looked at me and said, “poopie!”
I said, “yes, I know – that was a big mess.”
Then he repeated, “no – poopie!”
I acknowledged that, “yes – it does still smell like poopie.”
Finally he pointed and said, “NO – POOPIE.”
It was then that I looked behind the computer and saw the hidden stink bomb left over from the first explosion. Ah – the one that got away…
I would have closed my eyes and taken a few deep calming breaths, but couldn’t since the room literally smelled like ass.
Luckily, that really was the last of it, and the stink is entirely gone. But it’s just another nudge to my mental cocoon of denial that we really need to start potty training boot camp asap. Which opens the door to a entirely new world of “gross”…
This is my son Oliver.
He has been Superman for Halloween two years in a row. And no – it’s not because he loves superheroes. It’s because he would NEVER abide any kind of “costume” that involved head gear, make up, heat trapping fabrics or accessories that must be held or clipped on. Basically – he wouldn’t wear costumes. Of any kind.
So I tricked him.
Target sells pajamas that look like superhero outfits. Superman was the only one that didn’t necessarily look like jammies though (the detachable red cape that he only noticed and ripped off 50% of the time was a nice touch). So Superman it was!
That was my solution. It was a win-win for all. I had a cute little costumed toddler/preschooler and he got to be comfortable.
It was such a success that we even suited up George (18 months younger than Oliver) in the same pjs last year.
Not sure what we’ll do this Halloween… Now that he’s four, Oliver likes costumes, and comfort may not be as much of an issue.
He’s pretty big – so I could possibly dress him up as the Incredible Hulk.
I wonder if he’d let me paint him green. Probably not. But maybe if I let him paint himself….
This post is part of Better in Bulk’s Give Me Your Best Shot! Friday. Lolli is another founder of Moxie Media and organizer of Around the Blogosphere in 5 Days.
Her cancer came back after nine years of remission.
It was sudden and terrifying and full of uncertainty.
And darkness.
But on an island that practically trademarked sunlight and sparkling water, it’s impossible not to look for hope.
Hope is something I do well. And of course my talent for dissociation doesn’t hurt…but I’d like to think that hope is the dominant of the two.
Pretty much everything we did that week involved entertaining Oliver, and what could be better inspiration for hope than a child?
From pushing my father into the pool (thanks Dad – great idea for a game!) to walking up and down the docks looking at fish (luckily the Push Grandpa in the Pool game didn’t seem to translate), Oliver kept everything light. We lived in the moment and were thankful for the distraction.
By far, Oliver’s favorite activity was visiting the Key West Butterfly Conservatory. It felt like we went every day, and I didn’t mind a bit. There is nothing more uplifting than walking into a room filled with fluttering butterflies.
It’s very hard to capture pictures of butterflies, especially when they are in motion, so this picture my father took seemed like a mini miracle.
As did my mother’s recovery. Something that wouldn’t have been possible a year or two prior.
Hope isn’t always easy to capture – but maybe it’s not meant to be held too terribly close. Letting it surround us without trying so hard worked best for my family.
Our hope didn’t just float – it also had roots. Ones that grow stronger every day. My hope now constant, and it’s both solid and lighter than air.
This post is part of 7 Clown Circus’ Wordful Wednesday. Angie is another founder of Moxie Media and organizer of Around the Blogosphere in 5 Days.
Honestly, I kind of forgot about this.
I kind of forget about a lot of things of course… But this is such an easy one! Post a few pictures, complain about whining in the car, embarrass future adult age children with online stories about nose picking… Yet – I did forget.
For the exact same reason that people don’t write in the beautiful journals they purchase: there never seems to be time when they’re thinking about it, and they’re never thinking about it when there’s time.
Blogging for me isn’t online journaling. I don’t chronicle every day and I don’t record even 25% of the important things in my life. Partly because I can’t imagine that each and every one would be interesting to someone reading my blog and partly because I don’t have a computer keyboard permanently attached to my fingertips (remember – I forget stuff). That would be cool though, right? I mean a detachable one of course. Someone invent that please.
But back to my point. I probably had a ton of ideas for funny, touching and insightful posts regarding the two family vacations we took this summer – but they’ve left my short term memory for the moment. I hope they’ll check in from time to time, but for now it seems that we lost touch indefinitely.
So thank god for cameras!
Here are some highlights:
Rehoboth Beach, DE – July 2009
This post was part of Tribute Tuesday at Mayhem & Moxie. Another founder of Moxie Media and organizer of Around the Blogosphere in 5 Days.
