You Know What Kind Of Day I Am Having When The Kids Have Taken 3 Baths By Noon

Or, Alternatively Titled:

Poopzilla Strikes Again

Don't get me wrong, I love writing this blog. BUT, "quiet time" today was supposed to go to clipping and organizing hundreds of coupons, and maybe finishing the 10 gabillion loads of laundry I have to fold and put away. You know, everyday SAHM stuff. 

Today, I am using the quiet time to take a break, drink Diet Pepsi, eat some Harry and David almonds, and blog.

This morning I awoke to my 2 year old screaming in her bed, "I AM A BIG GIRL! I AM A BIG GIRL!".  This can only mean one thing: somehow, in spite of the Pull Ups, she has managed to have an accident all over her self, her sheets, her bed.  Thus, bubble bath number one. Only, you can't just give one girl a bubble bath. All the girls want one if one girl is getting one. So, 20 minutes later, I had 3 squeaky clean kids and a load of clothes/bedding in the wash.  No, I know how the sentence reads. I did NOT put the squeaky clean kids in the wash. That would be cool if I could.

Then, my lovely husband whom I adore and only tries to make things easier on me.. remember the post about how he handled "passing gas" issues with my 5 yr old?...  He comes home for an early lunch and says, "I know it is overcast and muddy outside, but it is supposed to really storm bad starting tomorrow. It might be your only chance to get the kids' energy out."   So, out they went, and when they came back inside, they had bubble bath number 2.

Every time I get the kids out of the tub, it is the same story. I have to chase them around, dry them off, get them dressed. It takes a good 15 minutes to accomplish this. By this point, it was clear the baby and the 2 yr old really needed to go down for a nap. So, I told the 2 yr old to go potty while I put the towels up to dry. I draped them over the shower rod, and the shower rod just collapsed.  Half of the curtain hooks went into the pee filled toilet. The 2 yr old, who was standing in the bathroom doorway when this happened, started screaming in terror (naptime, remember?).  Part of my cloth shower curtain was soaked in toilet water, too. So, I sigh and fish the hooks out of the toilet and put them in the sink to sanitize. Then, I take the shower curtain to the wash.  Then, I come back to the bathroom and realized the tub isn't drained yet. It still is piled high with unpopped bubbles. 

I fish my hand towards the drain to pull off a washcloth. These constantly get forgotten in the tub. I am always having to pull them out so the tub can drain. Only, I didn't fish out a washcloth. I fished out part of a big long "log". Ack! Poopzilla, aka the baby, has gotten sneaky.  

This meant that I had to get all three girls BACK INTO THE SHOWER! They could have poop bits all in their wet hair, for pete's sake!! AND, I had to get them a whole NEW set of clothes to put on. So, now I have even MORE laundry to do... all those poop water soaked towels, the clothes I had just put on them (bc poop water was still dripping from their hair.. better to be safe than sorry, right?)

UGH. I had to scrub that bathroom too. AND, I threw out EVERY toy that was in the tub.  (that's the good thing about the stockpile of bath related toy gifts we get as presents all year...) The 5 yr old was like "Poop? In the tub? Where??! Oh! I see it! Look at that long turd log! Gross!"  

Yeah. Three baths/showers and several changes of clothing later, here I am blogging about it.. Oh, AND! When I went to get the latest batch of wet towels from the bathroom floor, I discovered where the baby peed on the floor too. Great.  I REALLY need to do that laundry now.

My 2 Year Old, The Animal Lover

The 2 Year Old Wants a Couple of Pets...

But Not for the Usual Reasons.

I had one of those magical conversations with my two-year old the other day.  Like many children her age, she is an animal lover.  She is in Heaven at a petting zoo and loves to visit friends that have pets.  At first, our conversation was not particularly surprising. Then, it took a turn...

"Momma, I want a Cat"

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yes. I want a kitty cat and a dog."

"I see."

"Yes, I want a kitty cat and a dog. So the dog will chase and eat that cat. Because I HATE that cat!"

Then she pulls a prissy little "hmmph" and turns and walks away, arms crossed over her chest.

Ok... I am going to keep a closer eye on that one.

It's Official: The Baby is Our New Pet

The One-Year Old Is Our New Dog...
Let Me Count the Ways!

As I was trying to get the girls to settle down tonight so we could have bedtime story time, the girls were all acting rambunctious, as usual. Tonight was especially interesting, as the baby was sitting in the corner of the room. She was guarding the basket we keep the board books in and was actually growling warnings at the other girls when they got too close. In that moment, she reminded me of my friend's anciently aged chihuahua when that dog gets really ticked about something. Just growling and grumbling and warning, and daring the children to come closer. In that instant, I realized we don't really need a dog or a pet. The one-year old is our pet.

• She growls at the other children.
• When in trouble, or when she hears the word "NO!", she runs up to you to give you sloppy kisses all over your face.
• She will eat just about anything.
• She digs through the trash.
• She poops all over my floor. (Mainly right after getting out of the tub. She runs from you and poops.)
• When someone is sad, she has to go sit by them and even puts her head on their lap sometimes.
• You have to make sure she gets plenty of food and water and activity time.
  
• If I am sitting down, she has to come sit in my lap.
• She digs around in the dirt outside.
• She bolts for the open door to escape outside whenever she sees an opportunity.
• She loves a good car ride and sings along with the radio.
• She has really big eyes and is so totally adorable.
• Everyone that sees her wants to hold and pet on her.
• When she eats, she drops food bits all over the floor.. then goes and eats them off the floor.
  
• She chews on anything that isn't nailed down.
• She has become quite the "pen" escape artist and can get out of her crib and the highchair with ease.
  
• You often walk in to find her standing on the dining room table, rooting for forgotten leftovers.
• You have to take her for her shots.
• She bites fingers when they get too close to her mouth. (How many times have I had to say, while driving, "Well, then. DON'T PUT YOUR FINGERS IN HER MOUTH!!" ?)
• She follows simple commands: Stay, Sit, Lay Down
• She will shake your hand.
• The kids play fetch with her.
  
• Don't get me started on the water in the toilet bowl.
  

Yep. My kids have been asking for a pet lately. Now, I can say, "But you already have one!" I did get the some Zhu Zhu pets for Christmas... between those and the baby, I figure the kids are covered for now!

WARNING: It's About "That Time of the Month"

The First Time My 2-Yr Old Walked In On Me When it Was "That Time"
*It Had Been 3 1/2 Years In Between Periods, so This Was a Real Shock To Her System!

Why would I post this type of story? Because it is funny. Because it illustrates what it means to have children.. ie: a total lack of any kind of privacy. Mainly, because I told my husband this story while he was brushing his teeth the other morning, and he laughed so hard that the toothpaste he didn't choke on ended up all over the mirror and wall. He said, after rinsing his mouth and wiping the wall, "You HAVE to blog this."

So, here is my story. Sorry if it offends.

Having children and being a SAHM means you don't get a lot of time to yourself.. or even privacy. With a baby walking around, I often have an audience when I go to the bathroom for any reason. The baby has to tear sheets of toilet paper off the roll and sometimes tries to help her sisters wipe. Sigh. The baby tries to brush her own hair and teeth and sometimes confuses the brushes. Sigh. The baby even has to grab a book and sit on my lap if I will be more than a few seconds using the facility. SIGH. However, when you are the only adult at home, and there is a baby who is liable to choke or otherwise get hurt, you tend to bring them in the bathroom with you.

So, No Privacy.

Well, to give you an idea about why my 2 yr old would be so shocked the first time she walked in on me during "that time", having children so closely together meant that it had been 3 1/2 yrs in between visits from my monthly visitor. Yes. 3 1/2 YEARS. Do the math. I got pregnant before I even resumed my period after baby number 2. Whoops!

So, when I finally did start back, it did not occur to me that my 2 yr old would find it anything other than usual. I do close the bathroom door. When I am alone, though, I don't lock it. What if there is an emergency? I encourage the kids to knock, but sometimes 2 yr olds are forgetful.


The 2 yr old walked in suddenly one day. She stopped, looked at me, and in a voice one might use when confronted with a terrible, heartbreaking and shocking scenario (such as seeing a kitten get hit by a car), she says "OH MY GOD!" Pause. "Are you OK, Mommy?" "I am SOOO SORRY!!"

Yep. I was shocked by her response, and surprised by her entrance. Then, I started laughing really hard. I calmed her down and kissed her and thanked her for her concern and tried to explain that that is natural for mommies to do that. It was totally a new thing to her. And she was a little traumatized that I might be hurt.

Poor 2 yr old! She is so loving and empathetic. Now, when she sees my "supplies", she says "Mommy, are these your band-aids?"


You have to have a sense of humor about these things. And, You have to reconsider your position on locking the bathroom door.

The Cuter my Kids Look, The Uglier Their Behavior Has Been

If You See Boutique Bows in My Kids' Hair, Beware.
They Have Probably Been Unholy Terrors That Day.

Just a short and simple post to get your Monday started, hopefully, with a smile. If that doesn't work, go grab a brush and a hairbow.

See, my girls are angels. They are sweet, smart, loving, and pretty. Some days, however, all Hell breaks loose and it is one tantrum after another. These days there is enough back talk, and hitting of the siblings, and screaming going on to make me want to lose my mind.

It gets very tempting to just start screaming back at them and find out how they like doors slammed in their faces for a change.

But I don't do that. Instead, when my girls are being their most challenging, I force them into cute, sweet looking outfits and brush their hair. I give them darling little hair styles and put large poofy boutique bows in their hair. Seem like an odd way to react to the little terrors?

See, I was listening to the radio one afternoon. The John Tesh for Your Life program was on. (Hey, now, don't judge! I normally listen to Black-Eyed Peas, remember??!) He was talking about how to trick your body into releasing feel-good endorphins so that you can control you anger easier and be happier. He said that something as simple as smiling can fool your body to release these endorphins. When you are sad or mad, you are supposed to remember to smile.

When your children are screaming at you or not being good listeners, it is hard to stop and count to ten, much less remember to smile.

Hence the fancy boutique bows and extra cuteness quotient in the outfits. So that every time I look at the girls that day, I can't help smiling a little at how lovely they look. When I smile, they sometimes smile in return. It makes for a better day.

Plus, it also makes it look totally ridiculous to see such an adorable creature spread out on their tummy on the ground, pounding their fists, kicking their legs, and screaming because they couldn't have a second lolly. Instead of getting really angry at their behavior, I stay mildly angry and mildly amused.

Now, my friends will come over and immediately say "Uh Oh. Is it one of those days? Your girls are just so darned cute today!"

*Somedays they get cuted up just because.
**Most days, they have their hair brushed, but down, and wear whatever mismatched outfits their little hearts desire. They have to honor their own inner-fashionistas, of course! (In other words, they are usually really good, sweet girls!)

When Life Gives You Poop, Make Manure?

Warning: This Post is Not for Poop-Sensitive Readers!
With all This Manure, I Should Have One Heck of a Beautiful Garden!

The one-year old baby has a very special talent. She can poop without taking pause, grunting, concentrating, getting tense, or otherwise letting anyone know what she is up to.

Last night, the baby got out of the bathtub. We just always bathe all three girls at once to keep life a little easier. So, the baby gets out of the tub and runs down my hallway. She is just booking it for the living room, giggling as she goes. I was just a few steps behind her because I had paused to help the other two girls out of the tub. They were running behind me, giggling too. We were all trying to catch the happy nakey butt baby.

I turned the hall corner and froze. I grabbed the other two girls before they flew past me as they were still running. When I stopped them from running down the hall, right into the path of poo, they were puzzled and protesting. "You girls should thank me! Those three brown nuggets on the floor down the hall are not presents!"

Yep. The baby, true to not pausing to poop form, just pooped on the fly as she ran giggling down the hall. There were three perfect little piles along her running path trajectory.

The sad thing is that I am not a stranger to having to clean gross poop events.

When the 5 yr old was almost a toddler, she discovered her full diaper during naptime and painted the crib and walls.

When the 2 yr old was about a year old, anytime she had a stinky, she would shed the diaper faster than you could get to her to change it. We had a dog at the time.. You would notice a naked baby running around with stinky butt, then you would find an oddly empty foul smelling diaper... That dog had a full supply of breathmints and we never let that dog give us kisses. Eww.

Oh, and let's not forget the first time I changed my first baby's stinky diaper. She was two-weeks old and the husband had gone to make a Wendy's run for dinner. So, I put the baby on her crib changer. Her bed was in our room in the beginning. As I lifted her squirmy legs, she chose that exact time to poop again. And, it PROJECTILE squirted all over my face, hair, and my bed behind me. A nice down-filled king-sized comforter, just splattered. I started crying, the baby started crying, it was terrible. My husband walked in, dinner in hand, to find a soap and water flooded laundry room (I had quickly tried to jam the comforter into a small washing machine...oops) and me and the baby sitting in a shallow bath just sobbing. Now, it is one of my funniest and somehow fondest memories. Then, it was just horrible!

Did I mention that yesterday's hall leavings were an oddly shiny dark green? What has that baby been eating??!

He has an Off Sense of Humor, but Please Don't Hurt My Baby-Daddy!

My Husband's Off-Beat Sense Of Humor Almost Got Him Pummeled at Walmart When I Was Pregnant the First Time...

My first pregnancy was very unique. Of course, all first pregnancies are unique. You are experiencing pregnant nuance for the first time. But, I mean mine was VERY UNIQUE. This is because animals made me cry. All the time. For hours.

I was very sensitive to the plight of any and all animals. Disney movies? Forget it! My dr banned me from watching them at one visit when I cried telling her about how I watched Lion King the previous week. Those abused animal needs your financial support PSAs on TV? Yep. Waterworks! We would drive down the road and my husband would say "OK" and I would know to avert my eyes so I would not see the roadkill. It was pitiful.

One afternoon, my husband and I were watching Penn & Teller's BS show. We love that show. Well, this afternoon, for whatever reason, they were doing a magic trick where it "goes wrong" (all on purpose, you know!) and they accidentally throw a cute white bunny into a woodchipper. Yep. Fluff and gore everywhere. My husband immediately pauses the tv with a look of horror.. not at the magic trick "gone wrong" but because he knows what's coming. He looks to me and I burst out in hysterics. Crying like there is no tomorrow. I cried for about 45 minutes before he could calm me enough to convince me to play the rest of the show and see how it was a trick. I agree. Sure enough, Penn & Teller reveal it was only a trick. "See, here is the real bunny.." Only, to be provocative, after showing the real bunny, this bunny JUMPS into the woodchipper. Penn &Teller look horrified, explain this wasn't supposed to happen and OOPS! Of course, this bit was planned too... this is just their style. BUT I LOST IT! For another hour. That poor bunny! His poor bunny mother not knowing where he went....

Finally, my husband calms me and says "let's watch something else..." and he puts in the first VHS he can put his hands on... a Nature Documentary. What could go wrong with that, right? Someone had already been watching it and it was queued to a spot where these cute little ducks are on the edge of this cliff... "Oh No. Honey, this is where they live. They are fine. Calm Down". The narrator joyfully explains the ducklings are learning to fly today.. by jumping off this cliff.. and then a handful of the ducklings launched themselves off the cliff... VHS pause. "Honey. You heard him.. they are learning to fly. This is natural. They are fine.. don't tear up.. you'll see... oh.. don't start to cry.. here, watch" The narrator "Those ducklings that survive the fall NOW have to watch out for this hungry fox."

That was it for shows for the day. I cried a total of 5 hours that day. But that isn't the animal/pregnancy story I wanted to share today. That was just the background info so you can really appreciate this story. So you can see how my husband had tried to be good about this animal stuff. How one day, on one trip to Walmart, he decided to have fun with it since he had to deal with it constantly at home.

We had just pulled into the Walmart parking lot, having successfully avoided all views of roadkill along the way. My husband helped haul me out of the car and we were walking hand-in-hand through the lot. When, all of a sudden, I saw it first... this super cute, super little, super squished flat, dead bird. In the middle of the parking lot. It was so cute and heart breaking. I started crying as quietly as possible.... but I was sobbing. My husband pulled me into Walmart as quickly as possible, trying to distract me before I collapsed into full blown hysterics. (Hormones are really tough on pregnant women... this was my "trigger" remember)

As we were walking in, 3 military individuals were on their way out. My husband, ever the improvising, quick thinking comic, formulated his plan on the fly. He waited until the military folks were almost past us and says kind of loudly.. "Well, if you wouldn't talk back to me, I wouldn't have to hit you like that. This is all your fault. Remember that!" Keep in mind, the military guys heard this, and saw a very pregnant lady sobbing with one hand on her mouth, and one hand clutching her belly for support. Her husband obviously had a firm grip on her and was leading her forward quickly. I saw their hands clench up into fists and saw them start to turn ever so slightly in our direction, just barely altering the direction of their steps. UH OH. I was crying and couldn't get words out very well. I waved at them in a "no, no" fashion and could only say... "Joke.. no! No... dead bird.. so sad... parking lot." They looked confused, and I guess they decided not to get involved with our particular brand of crazy.. they turned back and walked away.

My husband has always had a certain brand of humor about him. He keeps life entertaining. This probably wasn't the first time and wont be the last time it gets him into trouble.

I am happy to report that I got the tears under control by the time we got our buggy and headed off to Produce. Well. That is, until we got to produce. Then, as I turned to contemplate the tomatoes, I turned back around to find my buggy totally upside-down with my bag of oranges sitting on top of it and my husband walking innocently off towards another section. This is hilarious now. That day, it was my last straw and I stood there crying again. Did I mention I was about 9 months pregnant at this point?

Thankfully, I was not prone to these types of hysterics during subsequent pregnancies. My husband had too much fun with them.