The spanking girl

Before I tell you this story, I must preface it with the fact that Little Monster is every bit a four year old boy. He talks. And talks. And talks. The other night while with my mom the child talked for five and a half hours. Without a break. Without a pause for someone to answer the billions of questions he was asking. He just talked. It wouldn't be so bad if the child would use some punctuation when he spoke - -but often one sentence just rambles into another. Sometimes he forgets spaces for his wordsandtheyendupsoundingmuchlikethislooks.

I know. You all think, eh. Typical four year old. I'm not sure. I think he talks more than most four year olds, but maybe that's because I'm with him constantly.

By the end of the night, my mom and I just stared at each other, mouths agape in horror at the fact that he hadn't passed out from lack of oxygen. And then he went to bed and I watched Elf. It's not a masterpiece of the arts by any means, but after the day I'd had with Little Monster, it was downright hilarious in parts. Elf was Little Monster. Little Monster was Elf.

But now we need to get back to the original story. This evening it happened again. Non-stop talking. Running up and down the aisles at Michael's, while bouncing all over the place. I'd put him in "time-out" touching the cart, but it wasn't working. My patience was getting worn out. As we were in line checking out, he started to act up again. (Act up is probably a bit harsh. He was really just being a bit loud and asking questions I was too tired to answer and I didn't want to sound like a grouch around all of the other people in line). I didn't have much left for it. He had worn me out during the day with all "his friend who lives in Frank in the white house, and to get there you turn left and left then right and can we go over to his house after school his telephone number is 4" talk.

So, as we were standing there, and was tempted to issue an empty threat for a spanking, it came out of my mouth without thinking.

Little Monster. Did you know that there is a lady who spanks naughty kids in stores?

What? There was. That one lady. That one time. You don't remember?? Read This. Yeah, see. I didn't lie.

I thought it might squelch the very minor attitude and get him to be quiet for a minute. I was wrong. It just brought on more questions.

Mom, that girl that spanks naughty kids -- where is she?

I don't know. She could be anywhere! (Now I know she WAS in Ohio, but I don't know where she is right now.)

Mom is she here now?

I don't know honey.

MOOOooom. You're just joking. Right?!

Cue the guy who is standing in front of me with his young wife (who is giggling uncontrollably).

"No! I've heard about her!!"

At that moment you could see all of the color drain out of poor Little Monster's face as his jaw dropped down. We all stood around discussing whether it was possible if she was in the store the poor kid started to get scared. That some mythical woman might jump out between the checkout lanes and swap him in the butt for being naughty in the yarn section of Michael's. And the more we talked about it, the harder it was to contain my seriousness. The lady in front of us (young wife) was crying she was laughing so hard. She literally HID her face in her coat at one point because she didn't want to ruin the moment.

I may or may not have mentioned that if this mythical lady has to come out to spank you, she immediately calls Santa and puts you on the naughty list.

I'm not terribly proud of my momentary lapse in parental judgement. But I might just use it to my advantage. After all, I don't know where that lady is at any given time, and she could be anywhere, ready to spank my naughty children for me since I'm not willing to do it in public myself. But at least I'm not duct taping him to walls. Yet.

The day from -- well, one of two places.

I'm still trying to decide who was messing with me today.

It started at 3:00AM when I began coughing. And coughing. And coughing. And truth be told, I hadn't slept well before then either. But I finally fell asleep around 6:30AM. And then I got up coughing again at 7:00, decided sleep wasn't going to happen and got into the shower.

After I got out of the shower, I noticed a little more morning junk in my eye than normal, and it seemed red. So I called the Dr to get an appointment. This cough and sick stuff has been taking over my house for several days. The Butterball has had green stuff oozing out of her eyes since Thursday (Note, I had called the Dr. Sunday night, and was assured it wasn't pink eye) and has been coughing a bit -- especially at night. It is 7:34 AM


I called the doctor, and got an appointment for Butterball close to lunchtime, and one for myself later in the afternoon. The problem with my appointment was that they could not address BOTH the possible pink eye AND the possible bronchitis. I had to pick an ailment to create the appointment for. Seriously. I had to choose breathing or seeing. I figured since Butterball was being seen, I'd know if it was actually pink eye by the time I got to my appointment and chose to fix my cough and breathing problem. 7:45AM


Little Monster woke up and wanted something for breakfast. And by something, I mean something in some language I don't understand. Something Kai eats, he says. Who is Kai? I have no idea. Probably his imaginary friend. The kid has a knack for stories. 8:07AM

While the kids were quiet I took a second to look at my phone and see what I had in front of me for the day. There were approximately 3,934 emails and notifications having to do with things with our house in Virginia that we are trying to sell. The power had been turned off, rather than transferred. However, since the power had previously been in Daddy's name, I couldn't turn it back on without an extended credit check, blah blah blah. There were several more emails and items dealing with our house that needed to be taken care of right away as well. I texted Daddy with the number, hoping he'd have a few seconds to wait on hold for hours to deal with the power company. 8:27AM

By this point in the morning, I was already frustrated. I walked into the kitchen to find Little Monster attempting to dismantle the camcorder. While covered in syrup from his pancakes. I lost it my friends. Lost is so bad that I smacked my hand into something and popped a blood vessel in my finger. And then I really lost it. The fact that I thought we all were going to get pink eye because I'd let stuff ooze out of Butterball's eyes for days thinking it was just part of her cold, the pain in my finger, the lack of caring on the part of the bureaucracy that deals with my health care, all of the jerks who have screwed their spouses over meaning I couldn't start power in my husband's name. It all hit me at once. 8:43 AM

My mom started her day with a nice little phone call from a grown-up kid sobbing like a baby. It was only 7:43 AM for her. It was great.

Can you sense the sarcasm?

The day did seem to get better. I, sick as I was, had to run an errand and decided to stop and buy a little gift for Daddy. And I did. Because I love him, and after a morning of temper tantrums, lost tempers and things spiralling out of my control, I needed something nice. Even if it was just doing something nice for someone else.

I ran my errand, and headed to base to get my fake Starbucks coffee, and get Butterball to the doctor. As I approached the gate, I went to grab my military ID out of my wallet.

And then when it wasn't in the slot where it goes, I passed the gate and went straight home. And I searched my diaper bag. And my house. And my car. I tore apart my wallet. I tore apart the diaper bag again. I tore apart my wallet. I searched in all kinds of odd places a baby girl could have possibly hidden the spoils of an earlier diaper bag and/or wallet dismantling.

I didn't find the ID, so I called the doctor. They cancelled my appointment. Butterball's eyes were pretty clear all morning anyway. No big deal. We came inside for lunch. We were out of milk. And bread. And pretty much EVERYTHING you need to make children some sort of lunch.

Off to Burger King we went like a herd of sick and hungry, whining turtles. Butterball's eyes had surged back into full oozing weeping disgustingness. Of course. As I leaned over the seat in the drive-thru so many prayers of the morning were answered. I could see approximately 1/50th of the ID card I'd spent all morning tearing everything apart looking for. It had fallen between the center console and the passenger seat. At least I'd be able to make it to my Doctor's appointment that promised to cure half of what ailed me. It was the turning point of the day. Surely things had to start getting better right? I know that about ninety percent of the problems from today stemmed from the days and days of coughing and nights and nights of no sleep.

I showed up to the doctor's appointment not expecting a whole lot. It was one time today, when my expectations were wrong. I don't know if the doctor could sense my desperation or if she could see the lack of sleep and sick crawling all over me. As Butterball sat in my lap, oozing from her eyes, she asked who the appointment was for. I explained that it was for me and told her about the loss of ID leading to the cancellation of her appointment for earlier in the day. (I had already rescheduled the appointment for the next day.)

Butterball was on my lap, and as the doctor looked in my ears, and listened to my lungs, she also did a quick 'once-over' of Butterball. Which turned up an ear infection. And this angel of a doctor, figured out a way to take care of not only MY pink eye (nothing), MY chest congestion, but she also took care of my baby. They dug and dug through their computers, trying to find an appointment time to slip Butterball into so that the doctor could prescribe the medicine that would fix Butterball's ear infection. And they cancelled the appointment we had scheduled for tomorrow. Because they were angels. And probably mothers who could read the look on my face.

I almost cried for the second time today. Only this time the tears would have been tears of gratitude.

And so, tonight when Butterball stood in the tub and let feces fall from her behind, I was able to laugh. Because, how else should my day end but with a tub full of poop?

PrompTuesday!!!

Is it really Number 112? That means it's been going on for over two years. Wow. Wow.

So, this week's theme is Before & After. Click on over to get full instructions and all that jazz.

As I sit here trying to type on my computer the only "Before & After" I can even contemplate is life before and after I had children.

Before I had children, my stomach was flat and stretch mark free. My lady lumps stayed up where they were supposed to and didn't fall out of their boulder holders.
Before I had kids my husband and I lived a never ending "date." Even going to the hardware store was romantic. Before I had children, I slept all weekend long, waking only to cuddle with my husband, go shopping, or eat. Before I had children, my evenings were mine to do with as I pleased. I did crafts, put together puzzles, played with my dogs, savored late night luxurious, slow dinners at fancy restaurants. We went to midnight showings at the movie theater. Almost every weekend. When he had duty on the ship, I'd visit him, a homemade dinner (okay, sometimes it was drive-thru) riding in the backseat.
Before I had kids I could go out of the house at any time without worries that there was snot on my shoulder, banana smashed into my leg and peanut butter on my bottom. My clothes were tidy and I at least tried to be somewhat fashionable. Before I had kids, my house, although slightly cluttered, was usually clean. Before I had kids my conversations were logical, my brain worked in an orderly fashion. I forgot nothing.
Before children, television was all about what I wanted to watch -- grownup TV, news shows, and raunchy night time dramas. Before I had kids I drove faster than the speed limit, worked more than my forty hours a week, trying to please demanding people with an occasional coffee or lunch break thrown in. When we drove long distances we'd drive and drive, only stopping for restroom, gas and food. Often at the same stop. Rock music blared from the speakers, and Yup, life was pretty good before kids.

Before I had children, I hadn't experienced the joy of being woken up at 5:00 by your child with a tackle, a snuggle and maybe even a sloppy kiss. I hadn't seen any ones face light up quite like my kids' do when I walk into the room. And I didn't know how enjoyable kissing those mushy fat cheeks was. I try to kiss those mushy fat cheeks as much as possible before they get to be grown up kid cheeks. My evenings are now filled with chores after the kids go to bed. But I get to watch my kids play in the tub together every night. Giggles fill the bathroom and water sops all over the floor. I get to snuggle a Little Monster every night, watch him learn to say his prayers and hear his thoughts about his day. I rock a baby Monkey girl to sleep at night, holding her close while I still can, because in a few days she'll be too big. And I kiss those mushy baby cheeks one more time. I get to peek in on those same children after they're asleep to see their angelic faces. Before I had kids, and before I "had" to go through this routine every night, my heart almost never felt so full of warm love that I thought it might burst.
Now that I have kids, it's a miracle if we get out of the house on time, all at the same time, all with clean clothes on and each wearing a set of matching shoes. However, that snot that's on my shoulder is because I was the only person who could comfort someones broken heart or physical pain. That banana smashed in my lap is because some little soul wanted to share her breakfast with me. And the peanut butter on my butt -- well, that's probably nothing sweet, but if it comes along with a lunch conversation about how fish sticks grow up into chicken nuggets and when fish sticks grow up into chicken nuggets he'll finally eat them, then I guess it's okay.
Now that I have kids, the conversations that happen in my house make no sense, but they make me laugh daily. Imagination fills our home with Batmen, Supermen and spider men -- all who wear rocket boots (snow boots or rain boots) daily. Capes are donned with our pajamas and some days those pajamas don't come off. It's more fun to wear pajamas all day anyway. I watch my children play together every morning, and again, my heart fills with love and amazement at how much they love each other.
Now that I have kids, the TV pipes Disney and PBS most of the time. But it doesn't matter because now that I have kids I realize how much CRAP is on TV. I drive the speed limit, especially through neighborhoods because I know how fast the kids can get away from even a diligent parent. I spend my days trying to please two very demanding children, but usually their demands are simple. Goldfish crackers, peanut butter sandwiches and milk. Play a game of pretend, and smother with love. I still get an occasional coffee break, but sometimes I have to bounce a baby in my lap or drink it on the run.
Now that we have kids road trips are a little different. There are more stops. And we have to get out of the car at each one, often to change a poop filled diaper. The rock music has turned into something more family friendly (most of the time). And the conversation is often about what rhymes, lives in castles or says MOO. But now the car fills with laughter or tears for silly reasons.
Before kids life was pretty good. Life was predictable and enjoyable. After kids, life is amazing. Everything is an adventure, filled with more love, laughter, tears and emotion than I thought possible. After kids nothing is predictable. If you can figure out how, though, you learn to laugh at the mishaps and circumstances. After kids life is wonderful. I wouldn't go back for anything.

A change in plans -- and a tinkle.

I had planned to write something about the deterioration of society in the last 100 years. But it might be a topic too complex for my little light-hearted Mommy Blog.

Meanwhile, this afternoon as Daddy sat, enjoying his geekTV, Monkey girl, (AKA Butterball) grabbed his hand and pulled him up off of the couch. She then drug him down the hallway and beat on the bathroom door. So, he opened the bathroom door. At about that point, I joined him to see what was going on. We're used to being summoned into the kitchen for a snack, or a drink. Sometimes she'll even demand to go go bed. Once or twice, she's gone to the bathroom and expected a bath (she leans over and beats on the inside of the tub). But this time, she patted the toilet.

So, thinking it was a fluke, I pulled off her diaper and put her on the toilet. She sat there a minute, holding onto the handles. Her eyes gleamed with pride at being such a big girl on the potty. And after a few seconds, she let it loose. The little girl, barely 13 months old, tinkled on the toilet. And then she clapped her hands with us as we praised her.

And then we gave her a cookie.

I'm not giving up on diapers, or even expecting it to amount to much. But could she really be thinking about potty training? She can't pull down her pants or say "potty." That has always been my rule about when to start potty training - -that it was useless if they weren't old enough to do most of it by themselves. But I guess if she's going to drag us to the bathroom when she needs to go, it's one less diaper to change. And it's a start. Although it's a start I'm not sure I'm ready for.

The Land of the lost... things.

Lately, things around our house have gone missing. Little boys are often blamed, little girls a little bit too. Secretly, though, I fear for my head. Maybe I'm losing my mind?

The other day the ball for my trackball mouse disappeared. I looked all over the house and couldn't find it. So I CLEANED the house. Sparkling clean. Still didn't find the thing. I gave up, tried stealing the trackball from the husband's mouse. It worked as a temporary solution, but he figured it out and demanded it back. I gave it back, don't worry. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that we have different models with different sizes either. Have you ever tried to use a smaller trackball than the mouse takes? It doesn't work very well.

A few days ago, I was at a certain coffee place, trying to get my daily fix of several shots of espresso and couldn't find my debit card. It was found on the floor under the box we set our shoes in by the door. Someone (a one year old girl) had removed it from my wallet and in the clean-up haste, it must have been pushed under.

The iPod that plays lullabies every night and nap time for Butterball disappeared. (It reappeared in a random box of kids books).

Quite often, the remote control goes missing. Quite often it is found in odd places. Like in Butterball's dresser drawers, Little Monster's dresser drawers, the kitchen drawer that houses our baggies, and occasionally the one that holds the oven mitts. Once we found it in the trash can.

Often I'll find her sippy cups and snack traps in odd places. I've purchased many thinking they'd been left in stores or at the park, only to find them among my jeans, under the bathroom sink or in the kitchen drawers.

This morning was the final blow. The kids were playing quietly - -which in hindsight should have been a big clue that something was going on. I found them, and they were being good. However, I noticed that Butterball's little doll stroller was missing the fabric seat. It was now just a dangerous frame of metal rods daring to poke someones eye out.

After searching and searching last week for the trackball, to no avail, I couldn't take it. Little Monster had been the one to remove the seat, and since Butterball has yet to master the art of the English language (outside of Mama, Dada, Up and All-Done), he was responsible for its disappearance.

We tore the house apart. Looked under and in couches, emptied trash cans, dirty laundry bins, dresser drawers, backpacks, diaper pails, file cabinet drawers, coat pockets, closets, and multiple kitchen drawers. We looked in places the children could not have possibly put the thing. And then we looked in all of the places again. And then I dug through the diaper pail. And the outdoor trash can. You know, in case my ONE YEAR OLD managed to escape the house, grow three feet, deposit the fabric, and then come back into the house and return to normal size all without my knowledge. I dug through the diaper pail people. The diaper pail that is full of stinky, nasty, diapers. We did not find the fabric. We did, however, find the trackball for my mouse. In the hat box I keep to put the kids sunhats in near the front door. Where I had looked. At least thirty times last week.

We gave up on the search for the stupid fabric. Which was fine. Little Monster had only been told he'd not be getting his favorite McQueen and The King trailers and cars returned to him until we found it. And at one point the loss of all food until it was found may or may not have been threatened. We left. And got soaking wet since it decided to downpour during the fifteen minutes we were out of the house today.

And when we returned, I was putting my sunglasses on our bookshelf by the door, and happened to look down. Into a 5 inch gun shell that we have. Inside the shell was the fabric for the stroller.

I am pretty sure that we are losing our minds. But it isn't our fault. It isn't our age. It is definitely the fault of two people. One I affectionately call Monster. The other, often goes by Monkey. They think it is great fun to move things to funny places and then watch us go crazy trying to find them. They test us by doing the exact thing we tell them not to right in front of us -- while watching our reaction. They steal things they know they aren't supposed to have. When they are caught they run the other way as fast as their little legs can scramble, shrieking with maniacal laughter.

There is a reason why as children, we think our parents are uptight, unreasonable, unfair and quite often completely insane. It's because they were. And it was our fault. We did it to them. It also explains how they magically regain their sanity after we leave their house.

Parents, I'm sorry. Children, you're going to be too someday.

In case you were wondering...

I'm a little bit crazy. Sometimes more than others. I'm grateful on those days when I seem to be able to contain my sanity with supernatural powers, that I'm sure are only heaven sent.


This morning was one of those mornings. Note that it is only 9:11 AM as I start writing this. I know it's the same story heard around the country on any given morning, but really?


My day started at 6:07AM when Butterball began wailing from her crib. She was awake and wanted everyone to know it. She didn't need food, wasn't in dire need of a diaper change, but she was lonely and the toys in her crib just weren't cutting it. It is Tuesday. It is a day when I theoretically should be able to sleep until 7:00AM since Little Monster doesn't have preschool and I don't have any obligations outside of the house. I know you working moms are laughing at my idea of "early" wake up calls, but I don't like getting up before 6:30AM. Never have. Probably never will.


After listening to her wail for what seemed like forever, Not the Momma came out of the shower. The clock read 6:17 AM. He brought her to me, and I tried to nurse her, even though we're working on trying to wean. My hope was that she'd go to sleep and I'd get another 15 minutes of unconscious bliss. I was dozing off, hoping we were both on our way when she. bit. me. That ended that!


Up we got and I trapped her in the living room so she could wander around while I chopped up her morning banana and got her brother's breakfast ready. He wasn't up yet, but I knew he'd be up asking for his "Apple Whacks" soon.


I don't even think it was 7:00 when Little Monster got up and started making demands. "Turn da bathwoom WIGHT ON! PUH-WEEEEESE!"


Sigh

It's 7:20, the kids have been fed. Little Monster is dressed, and I still haven't used the bathroom this morning. (Note, that it's only because Little Monster doesn't have preschool today was he able to get up and be dressed without a fight. If It had been a preschool day, he'd still be sleeping.)


Such is life. I was looking forward to the nice day, the sun is shining. We are going to the park today. We ARE going to play outside today.


I grabbed a second to use the bathroom, since I hadn't done that yet. When I came back into the living room, where Butterball was safely trapped, this is what I found:

Sigh.

She found a stash of chocolate eggs that the Easter Bunny had forgotten about. Perfect. Now Butterball is topless, running amok while I clean chocolate off of books, the floor, the couch, and everything within reach of a 10 month old girl. A 10 month old girl can reach a LOT of things. And she does when she's covered in slobbery melted chocolate. Luckily she only sucked on the tin foil wrappers and didn't eat any. That I know of. Yet.

Half way through cleaning the carpet I heard the splash. I assumed it was Butterball in the dog dish.

Wrong!

She had 'stolen' her brother's juice -- OJ mixed with an acai berry blend, and dumped it on the floor. Have you ever seen acai berry juice? It's very sticky. And it stains everything it touches. The juice is dripping off of the table onto two chairs, the floor, and all over Butterball.

Sigh.

I finally got that mess cleaned up and got Butterball into the bathtub. I was grateful that her squats and grunts were for nothing. I looked at my phone. It was 8:21 AM.

I'm glad that I, somehow, was able to keep my composure this morning. I think it has something to do with the memory of the angel that existed the night before:

Many of my days are like this morning. Most of them, probably. Sometimes the messes are bigger or my composure goes out the window. If I do have a quiet morning I often find out later that I should have been paying more attention to something or someone. If there's any doubt left in your mind as to why I'm insane, and this post hasn't convinced you, Let me show you something:

And This:

You understand, now. Don't you? I knew you would.

The Sneaky Snunk!

The other day I went into Little Monster's room to find a huge mess. It's nothing new. Lego's all over the floor, blocks and little plastic soldier men laying, guns facing up, just waiting for my bare feet in the middle of the night. It's not normally a big deal, but this time his room had a certain unfriendly aroma.

It wasn't sour milk. It wasn't any kind of rotting food or dirty sheets, diapers or anything else. It was that little boy sweat smell. It surprised me to find that my little baby is big enough to make that sweaty boy smell, and that it can take up residence in his room already. (I am so not looking forward to puberty and the horrible smells that go along with that!)

I started tidying his room so that I could vacuum and maybe spray some deodorizer into his carpet to try to fix the problem. Little Monster was in a helpful mood so I tried to convince him to help me clean his room. He wasn't so sure he wanted to pick up all of his toys, so I explained to him that his room stunk and I wanted to pick up the toys so I could get rid of the smell.

A few minutes later, Little Monster stopped all cleaning and stood there. He was making the sound he makes when the wheels start cranking in his brain -- it's almost a sigh with a hard beginning -- and as he was making that sound, you could see the light bulb turn on above his head as he reached his "aha" moment.

"MOMMY! I KNOW WHY MY WOOM IS SNINKY!!" A SNUNK GOT IN HERE!!"

A Snunk? What is a snunk? I'm pretty sure it wasn't in here.

YES! MOMMY! A SNUNK! THAT SNEAKY SNINKY SNUNK!

What is a snunk Little Monster?

A. SSS.NUNK! A BWACK AND WIPE AMINAL! A SNUNK!!! WE NEED TO FIND HIM! HE'S HIDING IN MINE WOOM AND MAKING IT ALL SNINKY!

After that I had no trouble getting him to help me clean the room. However, he was really disappointed that there wasn't a skunk in his room. His imagination knows no bounds, my kid. And that skunk? Little Monster says he lives in the bushes in front of the house across the street. Waiting to sneak back into his room when it's all messy. I'm sure we'll be getting a visit from him again very soon.

Charisma and Chocolate Bunnies

Charisma. One of the definitions is "personal magnetism or charm" according to http://www.dictionary.com/ Little Monster normally exudes that kind of charisma, but today it was pouring out in buckets and leaving a mess all over the floor at the Commissary (that's the base grocery store for you non-military folks).

It all started in the car on the way to there. He asked about something related to Easter, and I took it as a teaching moment to tell him about why we celebrate it. I told him that Jesus died to save us and was buried behind a big rock in a mountain. Everyone was sad, but a few days later, he came back to life and (because he's super strong like super man) pushed the rock off. It made everyone happy to see him again. Now he's in heaven waiting for us all... Okay.. So, then I had to explain that Superman is not, in fact, Jesus -- or vice versa. I wasn't sure how much of it he picked up.

Until we got to the grocery store.

He saw the chocolate rabbits and wanted one. Daddy is on a diet, trying to prove that the military standards for people built like him aren't exactly correct about body fat, so I hadn't bought any chocolate rabbits for anyone. But, I caved today and got one for Little Monster. I picked one out and told him he could have it on Easter.

"After Jesus comes, on Easter Day?!"

Yes, I told him. So, he was very excited about the fact he was going to get his chocolate rabbit on Easter. Add to that, the fact that this particular commissary hasn't dished out the cash for any kind of child-friendly shopping carts we had back in California. Man, do I miss those. So, Butterball is in seat of the cart (I should be saying carriage since I'm in New England!), and Little Monster is supposed to be walking very near the cart, keeping his hand in contact with the metal cage at all times. Instead we walk past the fruit section and he yells out "I WANT ORANGES!" and runs over to try to grab one. I reminded him that we weren't there to get oranges, so he calmly came back and walked with me. Since he was so anxious to help pick out groceries, I let him be my helper. He was in charge of finding the items I needed on my list.

In theory it was a good idea.

In reality, it wasn't a terrible idea, it just meant that he really wanted to help. And everyone within a thirty foot radius of us was going to find out what we needed, what color it was and how many we needed. If they were lucky enough, they'd even get to have a discussion with him about whatever it was. And then there was the miraculous sudden cravings for things like pickles -- which he normally won't eat. Or lettuce. He wanted to buy everything he won't eat, claiming he liked it.

Then there was the employee who was guarding the hams. (I say this, because she was standing next to a grocery cart full of hams. Not stocking them, just hanging out with them.) She struck up conversation with Little Monster. Which was a mistake. He started talking to her about his chocolate bunny. And how he was going to eat it on Easter. And then he talked about his Daddy and Mommy and sister. Then the poor lady asked him who was coming on Easter -- expecting to get an answer about an Easter Bunny, she looked a little confused when Little Monster said VERY excitedly:

"Jesus is coming! And he saved huss (he can't say us without the H)! And he's Coming! On Easter Day Sunday! And I get to eat my chocolate bunny with the carrot on Easter day after jesuscomesbackandbutterballdidn'tgetachocolatebunnybecauseshesababy!

My husband is glad he wasn't along for that ride. He doesn't like a scene. And Little Monster was the scene in the store this morning. When people in the ham aisle heard him talking about Jesus, they all turned to listen to his story, smiling sweetly. We created quite a traffic jam in front of those Easter hams while he explained that he was getting to eat that chocolate bunny right after Jesus came back to life on "Easter Day."

In the checkout aisle, the clerk got the whole schpeal too -- only now he had Easter cookies. And onewasforbutterballanditwastheeggoneandtheduckoneisformeanditsbecauseitseasterandiwasgoodandjesusiscoming. And he wanted to give the bagger man his pennies to say thank you for his hard work. And he was determined to give the man his penny. He HAD to give the man the penny!

I swear the kid was oozing so much charisma, he was why they had to call for a clean up on aisle three. By the end of the trip, I was exhausted. And so was Butterball.

Do you think there's anything in the Easter story about how after Jesus comes on Easter Day, and chocolate bunnies are eaten that three year olds should take a nap? There should be.

What are you looking at?

This morning wasn't a morning I'm proud of. Every time I turned around someone was throwing a temper tantrum. There was one over a pair of socks that wasn't put on, because someone didn't want to go to the bathroom, because that same someone didn't want to get dressed, put on shoes, eat breakfast, carry his backpack, etc. There were more tantrums than I can count.

You'd think, ah a typical day in the life of a three year old, right? Yeah. Except that the three year old wasn't the one having the tantrums. It was me. I don't wonder where my child learned the art of being so difficult. I only have to look in the mirror to see it.

I was very grateful for time with my friends this morning. Time where I was able to look back and reflect on how I failed this morning, and know that it doesn't matter. Little Monster went to school and had a wonderful day. He was able to get a break from my psychotic behavior, and spend time having fun while learning. By the time he came home, he had his normal Mommy back.

What was my problem this morning? I'm pretty sure I was focused on myself and how "bad" I have it.. I mean, it's rained for how many days now? We were SICK the last day of sunshine.. And NOW the MALL is going to be a pipe dream at best for Friday. Friday, which I thought was going to be a day where I could leave Little Monster in school for the entire day and go shopping is pretty much cancelled. Friday school is closed. The malls are all flooded. Poor, Poor Mary can't go to the mall to get a bear re-stuffed and buy jammies for the baby. Don't you feel sorry for me?

Never mind the fact that I'm lucky enough to still have power and be in a warm, DRY house. Never mind the fact that we have a stable income and my husband has a steady job. It isn't important at all that we have MONEY to buy things like pajamas and food. Forget that the children are healthy or that we recovered from the yuck that hung over our house.

I was focused on the negative. The dark sky. I didn't even noticed that it had stopped raining.

This morning, I was able to remember that I should be focused on what is good in my life, and how much of it is a direct blessing from God. Thank You.

Now, let's hope tomorrow the person acting like they're three is actually three!

A Typical Tuesday

Do you remember this? Probably not. Go ahead. Read it. See how horrible we are.

Fast forward to this morning.

It was a typical morning, a messy diaper change while the dog was outside. After letting the dog back in from outside, I gave Butterball her breakfast and lay semi-conscious on the couch while she ate, threw her juice cup onto the floor, and teased the dog with endless amounts of corn pops and banana waiting for Little Monster to wake up. As Little Monster came out of his room, groggy from sleep, I noticed it. Butterball's apple juice cup had leaked on the floor, directly under her high chair. I bent down and touched it, thinking it was odd that the puddle was pretty far away from the cup, which still had juice in it. The puddle was warm. It smelled of urine. Warm. Urine.

OH NO HE DIDN'T!

Yes. He did. Our dog left a wet spot in the living room. Not only did he do it under the baby's high chair while waiting for her to drop breakfast on the floor for him, he did it while I was IN THE ROOM! How I missed it, I didn't know. It must have happened while they were talking about something fascinating on the news.

After a few words I'm not proud of, perhaps at a volume that I definitely I'm not proud of, the dog was in his kennel. Ugh. I cleaned up the puddle, still grumbling things that I hope the kids didn't hear.

Then, Butterball started signaling that she was all done with breakfast. She waved her hands about and proclaimed "aaa duuuuuh!!!!" (Can you believe she says ALL DONE?! I can't!) I pulled her out of her high chair and snuggled her... I hadn't snapped her onesie after the diaper change, so I lifted it up to blow raspberries on her belly and as I leaned in, cheeks puffed and ready, listening for the excited giggles of a ten month old baby girl, I noticed it. Something looked wrong. SHE WASN'T WEARING A DIAPER.

So, that puddle. That pee. That wasn't the dog's fault. It was mine.

Lessons learned this morning:

• A diaper change is not actually a diaper change unless the old diaper is replaced with a new one. Without the new diaper, it's just diaper removal.
• DIAPER REMOVAL is not recommended for children who are only 10 months old. You should definitely always complete the diaper change.
• Coffee timers should be set the night before to avoid repeats of the lessons above. Or worse.

The time flies!

I can't believe how quickly time is passing. **Warning! A maximum amount of cheesy content is below! Maybe it's the rain and gloom today? But seriously. Cheese Alert!**


I was reading some of my older entries about weaning Little Monster the other day, since, we are getting close to that time with Butterball. It seems that time changes your perception of things. I always thought that Little Monster slept through the night by about 7 months, but it turns out that he wasn't really. I thought I nursed him until a year, but really he was weaned by about 10 months. It must be something God does so that we'll continue to want more children even after enduring months of pain during pregnancy, hours and days of even more pain during delivery, and then months or maybe years of sleep deprivation along with massive amounts of horrid laundry, dishes, and constant cleaning just to keep up.

Butterball is no where near being weaned. She's still nursing four times per day, and then at least once at night. What's a mom to do? I don't enjoy getting up in the middle of the night to be a pacifier. However, I'm not sure I'm ready to give up nursing her. She's our last baby and there's something about that fact that keeps me wanting her to remain a baby.

She is, however doing everything in her power to remind me that babies grow up -- quickly. She's already begun walking. Just last night I caught her walking from the kitchen all the way down the hall to her brother's bedroom. This morning as my friends were leaving, she held her hand out to wave and said "buh buh" I'm not sure if she was calling my friends name or saying "bye bye" but either way. She also has begun letting out wails of MAAAAA MAAAAA in an utterly pathetic tone when I leave her in her bed for naps and she thinks she isn't tired yet.

This morning she nearly ripped my heart out when she cried for me. She's eating real foods now. She's mastered a sippy cup. And she has opinions. She's not afraid to share her opinions either. This week she's figured out that if she waves here hands just so, I'll ask her if she's all done, and take her out of the high chair. She giggles uncontrollably when her brother make silly sounds. You should see how she adores him. It's crazy.

Little Monster adores his preschool. Almost as much as I do. He's younger than most of the kids in his class since he joined mid-year, but he's doing pretty well as far as I know. He's come home with a few new habits, some good --like washing his hands without complaint. Just the other day he announced that March starts with M. And he's begun being an amazing helper at home. Just last night he set the table for dinner. On his own. Without any kind of prompting or direction. They must teach manners at this school of his. Either that or he was very hungry. He's grown into such a little boy, not nearly the baby that I knew only a little more than a year ago.

With all the bad in our world, I know I'm truly blessed to be a witness to these kids growing up. I hope that time will slow down just a bit though. I like what I'm seeing.

Sometimes it takes a while...

... for the electricity to connect to that little light bulb that goes off. You know, the one that goes on when you finally come to a realization? Mine came on today.

Little Monster is pretty good, and in order to keep it that way, often I'll bribe reward him for his behavior. A common conversation in our house is something like this:

Mommy, I get tookie?

Yes, Little Monster, if you're good.

I AM good!

He is. Every child is good. Some children are just naughty. I don't like using the word "bad" because it is a personality description rather than a behavior description. So, I changed the way I phrase my bribesrewards to include the word behave. Then, we started having the following conversation:

Mommy, I get tookie?

Yes, Little Monster, if you behave.

Me AM have! See, it in mine pocket! (Then he pulls something pretend out of his pocket and shows me, waving whatever it is around like a card or a piece of paper.)

(Isn't that hilarious! His HAVE, pronounced with a long A, like CAVE is in his pocket!) It only took me two weeks, to realize he thought I was saying "be Have" not behave.

So then I got to wondering how else can I phrase my bribereward statements? I started asking him to "listen and follow directions." But that doesn't work well either. When he forgets, he reminds me that he wants to listen. So he wants to, but he forgets, or can't. What do you do with a kid like this? I mean, besides smother him with kisses and hugs and pretend to be "ZURG" when he insists that he is NOT, in fact, Little Monster but Buzz Lightyear instead.

Oh, Brother.

Little Monster has positively got to be the best big brother in the entire world.

This morning I tried to catch up on some missed sleep. It didn't work entirely too well, but I don't miss the zzz's. I got to witness the sweetest thing ever.

Hi butterball. me wight here. Mommy, she waffing at me. Butterball. me hold yours hand. one two fwee four five. fwee four five turtles on yours jammas. tickle tickle, butterball. hee hee hee, you tickle me! ha ha.. You got mine shirt! ha ha!! (butterball giggles) Butterball waffing mommy! Butterball, you sweet. I wuv you. I wuv you too. Wook butterball. here yours wegs. you wook at yours body? at yours belly? ha ha. wook at yours turtles jammies. me here butterball. hi! hi! yours brudder wight here. You want pway wif baby toys? Me share wif you. Me got you. me got you. (gives her a hug) i wuv you too butterball.

For about thirty minutes, Little Monster, without prompting, played cooed and laughed with his sister. It was some of the best non-sleep I've ever gotten.

Sleep is a wonderful thing...

After yesterday's bout of "WILL YOU PLEASE INHALE BETWEEN SENTENCES BECAUSE IT WILL GIVE ME 1/2 SECOND OF SILENCE" verbal dysentery by the Little Monster, we headed over the hill to where summer lives so that he could play with a friend.

Play he did. For four hours, that child and his friend ran. And ran. And ran. And wore capes. And yelled "da DAH!" while popping out from behind corners. They rolled cars on the ground and threw balls. They completely and totally trashed his little friend's room. I felt bad because we were there to bring meals to MY friend who recently had a baby. We did, but I feel like we made some more work for her. She said the hours of playtime were worth the clean-up. I hope she wasn't lying. (And I know she's reading!)

As for me, it was definitely worth it! I got out of the house, spent some time with friends, and Little Monster had a blast. It would have been worth it before we got home. Before Little Monster went to bed at 7PM without complaining. And slept for thirteen hours straight. Without sneaking into our room and making a bed on the floor with our bed pillows. I was surprised when I got up at 2AM and he wasn't up. And 3:30AM. And 5:00AM. And 6:30AM. And 7:30AM. And 8:00 AM when he finally came into our room, after 13 hours of sleep, I looked at my precious little cranky Butterball, who hadn't let me sleep much at all and wondered why she couldn't sleep like that.

Oh yeah, she's just a baby.

GOOOOD Morning!

Are you aware that we have not set an alarm clock and actually been able to sleep in until it went off for over a year? Almost two? Little Monster gets up with -- and often before the sun. Every. Morning. Even on Saturday.

In the early days of the whole "no alarm clock needed" phase of our life, we'd wake to screams and cries. That morphed into "MOMMY!!! DADDY!!!!! OUT!!! WET ME OOOWWWWWT!!! Most recently we wake up because of doors slamming followed by demands to be taken to the bathroom.

This morning was no different, except that we had the rare occasion that we didn't have to BE anywhere bright and early. No one was coming over, chores were going to be skipped, and Daddy didn't need to be to work before the sun thought about getting up. So, we told Little Monster to just go to the bathroom. Daddy coached him into moving his stool and putting the seat on. I reminded him to "hold it down" so that the littlest fire hose didn't spray the entire bathroom. And we tried to go back to sleep.

Emphasis on "tried."

After Little Monster used the bathroom, it started. It was as if someone turned a switch on the back of his head and suddenly every little thought that came into that little boy's head came spilling out of his mouth. My mom used to tell me I had verbal dysentery. Who knew it was genetic?

Mom, the sun up? Yes, mom. The sun up. Get up mom. Mom, I tell you a story. A story, mom. A story about a Mommy. There was a mommy who went in a cave and she was in the water. It dark. And then Mommy fall down in water. And yell at daddy get hers swimsuit. And turn the wights on. And then Mommy fall down in da water. And da owange joker come and Daddy wide on owange motorcylce. And joker push mommy down in dark water in da cave. And it dark. And mommy well about hers swimming suit. The end. You like that story mommy? I tell you story about a cave and water and swimming. Daddy owange joker and he push you down and wide on owang motorcycle.

It went on like that for a while. So we got up and got dressed. And we went to drop Daddy off at work. I thought surely, the narrative would stop.

Mommy, the owange motorcycle. Look! I see joker house! It wight dere! Mommy, wacecars need headlights? No. da track is lit. ha ha ha dat funny! Mommy. I need mine skateboard. I pway wif it. wight now. NO, it is in a wittle bit. WE go to fwiends house aday mommy? Is it amorrow? YAY! it amorrow! We go to fwiends house! Mommy - this a timer. It beeping. See? Now it not beeping. Now it is. Now it not. Now it is. Now it not. What is dis mommy? What is dis den? Mommy, i need sit in yours lap. Mom, I want this open, me get this in there. Mom, thank you. Dat in da wiving woom. I want other one. Mom, this mine stuff. I want my softball me wooking for. Mom, a me hold this mom..... Mom what is this? It say "boop boop boop boop" (turns on game) What is this mom? See it boop boop boop. (shuts off game) What is this mom?

I was warned a long time ago by my mother that "someday I would have a child JUST LIKE ME." If this is what I was like, maybe I'll be lucky enough to have two.

Lingustic proof of aging.

Kids grow up too fast. We all know it is going to happen, but when it happens to your kids, you never cease to be amazed.

I don't know when it happened, but my Little Monster is growing up, and it is evident in the way he speaks these days. No longer does he say "boose" when he's asking for apple juice. He asks for apple juice. He corrects us and says his sister's name correctly when we call her "butterball," which is what her name sounded like after she was born. It's getting easier and easier to distinguish "Turkey" and "Cookie" and "poopie" which all came out sounding like "too-kee" not that long ago.

I just hope that he continues to use the word "whackin'" instead of napkin for a little longer. And it's totally fine with me that he messes up his pronouns and says "me" when I is what he wants to say -- even when we correct him. I hope he'll continue to yell at the sun for shining and the wind for blowing as if the world bows to his whim.

I'm not quite ready for him to be a big kid quite yet, so I'll hold on to these moments -- as long as I can...

Why God? We had a Deal!!

Remember that line from Friends when Joey turned 30? I'm having that conversation right now. We had a deal. I would get Babies. And I thought they would stay that way -- at least for a little while. Longer than they have. I didn't know they would only stay babies for a heartbeat. Time is going so fast.

My three month old baby girl (who is working on a good mad -- notice the red eyebrows?):

...is now rolling over, nearly sitting up for a few seconds on her own, (we place her there, and she maintains), AND today.... Today she pulled the handle on her little buzzy chair so it would sing Old McDonald. Three times. On purpose.

Isn't she supposed to be only eating, sleeping, pooping and crying at this point? Maybe a giggle every once in a while? I mean, she's not supposed to be putting her foot to my mouth so I'll blow raspberries on it. She's not supposed to be playing with toys like her friend Stretch the Giraffe, and a Crackly book. Is she? I certainly don't remember Little Monster doing all of these things this early! But then, I could be jaded and just hoping my baby will stay a baby a bit longer. I guess I'll just have to savor the noozles on my shoulder, the sweet smell of her breath and the sweetest sound of her baby giggle. Because, I'm afraid all too soon she'll be driving away to college.

Things that make you go hmmmm

Mommy, me need wadder.

You need a letter? What?

No, Mommy. Me find mine softball. M need wadder, get it down. Wike Calliou. Calliou wooz wadder det apples out of twees. Me need wadder, get down mine ball.

No. You don't need a ladder. I'll get it down for you in a little bit.

No Mommy, me need wadder wight now. I flash him a look that says he's being too demanding. He bats his eyelashes and says TWEEEEEEZ!

I said No. I meant NO.

Otay. I get mine own wadder. I do it mine self.

He walks to the edge of the room and picks up a pretend ladder. After a minute, he re-enters the room.

See Mommy, me wooz wadder, me det down mine softball.

He is now holding the Nerf football he's been talking about. At this point, I decide it is worth disturbing the baby's eating to find out what he used for a ladder to get down the football. The football had been on a shelf over 6 feet up. So, I hoist Butterball, still nursing up and go into his room.

LM, show me your ladder.

See Mommy, dis mine wadder!

He holds up a gallon bucket that previously held ice cream, but now is supposed to hold puzzle pieces.

I wooz dis and I det down mine ball!!


This, this is something I don't think I want to know. I don't want to know how an EMPTY plastic ice cream bucket became a step to a ladder for a high shelf. I don't want to know what other things in the room he had to have used to get the football down. Maybe next time, I'll get him the ladder.

And now it's our turn.

Do you remember when you didn't have kids? Do you remember when you used to know everything about raising kids? When you knew what rules your kids were going to follow, how they were going to behave outside of the house?








Isn't it funny how that all changes when you actually have kids? You become that parent that lets their child sass just a little bit, because it isn't worth the argument. The sticky chocolate fingers and vanilla bean frappucinno because they've been good all day seem a little less indulgent.






I used to know it all. My kid was never going to be that kid. The one with a holey pair of jeans, dirty fingernails, pajama shirt and messy hair running around the store making obnoxious airplane noises. Sometimes the Lord teaches us a lesson in humility by putting us in the place of those we have judged. I know I judged one too many parents in my single, child-free days. I apologize to all of those well-meaning, tired parents who just didn't have it in them. I apologize to those parents who really didn't think it mattered if their kid looked like a dork in sandals three sizes too big, a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee, T-shirt tucked into their spiderman underwear, Batman pajama shirt with cape and goofy sunglasses on if he was happy.




Yeah, I really sincerely do. And it has nothing to do with the fact that recently we left the house in sandals several sizes too big because they are his rocket boots. The fact that he wore those "rocket boots" to Costco with upside down, red goggle sunglasses meant for babies --his "race car goggles" -- has not influenced the decision to write such an apology. Neither has the fact that maybe we have left the house in pajamas, because it was too much of a fight to convince the kid that he wasn't superman or batman or whatever caped crusader he went to bed as the night before. None of those things have led me to publicly apologize to all of those I have secretly judged before.


Isn't it amazing how much you learn about other parents when you become one?

Poop. Poop. Poop.

Have you ever potty trained a boy who refused to poop? The other day Little Monster told me that he had a lid on his butt and that was why the poop wouldn't come out. After a few hours of whining, crying and yelling, James finally listened to me and took the "lid" off and threw it away so he could sit on his frog potty and get his poop out. I have to give it to the kid. He's smart. He knows that if he goes a little bit, he'll get his M&M for using the potty. Then he'll wait a few more minutes and go a little more to get another M&M. But the poop, the poop is killing me.

This being a mother of a potty-training pre-schooler and an infant, it is hard. Probably, no definitely the hardest job I've ever had. My days of making Blizzards and shooting whipped cream at my friends, or playing with my preschool class, or working on ID Card templates, heck even listening to people yell at me because they were too stupid to know the difference between the power button on their monitor and their computer were easier. What did I do with all of those free Saturday afternoons when I wasn't cleaning poop off of walls, toilets, trash cans, floors, and carpets? I don't know, but I'm sure it was time wasted. Well, maybe not. My apartment was usually generally clean. By "generally clean" I mean it didn't look like a toy tornado came tearing through the place dropping stuff off as it went.

Life was definitely easier when I wasn't trying to potty train a child. That in and of itself is hard enough, without trying to keep an infant happy. Butterball is a generally happy baby, but it seems that the second Little Monster does something that requires my full attention, she has a fit and won't stop until I'm holding her. And nursing her. Have you ever tried to nurse an infant while cleaning poop off of every surface of your home? It isn't fun.

But then there are days like yesterday. When there was no whining, no accidents. Days when my child behaved as though he were an angel who knew how to use a potty (even if it is shaped like a frog, sitting in my living room and requires being cleaned after each use). Days when my little girl is all smiles and coos and giggles. And suddenly cleaning up all of that poop isn't such a bad deal. After all, even if the job requires biohazard removal, at least I get to come to work in my pajamas.