So this morning I log on to Facebook and laugh at my friend Leslye's entry that she "now knows firsthand that one of the most dreaded sentences to hear is, "and then there was a biiiiig poopy and then the poopy was in my shoes..."
I think to myself that this is something Joey would have done to do to me pre-potty training and then post some snarky comment suggesting that she be glad it wasn't used as finger-paint and now that Joey is potty trained we don't have these problems anymore. Oh how Karma bit me in the ass today...
The day began innocently enough with in an attempt to wear out my children with a visit to Monkey Joe's (big bounce house place). Since Abby has decided she's a big girl now and isn't content to stay in the toddler section this unfortunately means that Mommy has to climb around in these things, go up and down the ladders, slides, etc. Let me tell you just how attractive I'm sure that looks - me with my saggy jeans, spare tire middle and bad hair toting two small children up bouncy house ladders.... thank god there are no mirrors... nothing like feeling your flab bouncing as you head down the big bouncy house slide!!!
So, after a whiny drive home and lunch I make a vain attempt to try to get Abby down for a nap while simultaneously meeting all Joey's 1000 needs a minute "Mommy, play Mario Cart", "Mommy I need a snack", "Mommy, I'm thirsty", "Mommy, I NEEEEEEEEEED you". However, Abby is starting to show her stubborn hard-headed streak more and more. Up until this week she's been really great about going to bed and taking naps -- I assumed this was my well-earned payback for 15+ months of not sleeping through the night. Now she's determined that she doesn't WANT to nap. So, I put her down anyway and after 20 straight minutes of howling we go in there and she's standing in her crib with a completely defiant P.O.'d look on her face and she'd thrown all of her blankets, stuffed animals, pillow, etc AND her shirt out of her crib. Defeated, I get her out of her crib and take her down for yet ANOTHER snack -- she promptly falls asleep in her high chair.
I decide to take this opportunity to make a quick Target run to buy eggs for their preschool Easter Egg Hunt. I sneak out of the house and spend a glorious hour child free in Target -- picking out cat food from the clearance section has never seemed so wonderful! I drive home and open the door and quickly learn that I shouldn't have come back. Joey comes barreling out of the downstairs bathroom and proudly announces that he is REALLY a big boy now because not only did he poopy on the potty, but he WIPED HIMSELF TOO!!! Happy Happy Joy Joy -- or so it seems. My mother fills me in that he's been in there for a LONG time and wouldn't let her come in to help him. Eventually he asked for a 2nd pair of underwear (don't ask) and came out -- however, when he flushed the toilet it was clogged. Now, I have to admit that my boy has already clogged a potty or two (once at the neighbors -- a proud moment for us!), so I grab the plunger and think OK, I can handle this. However, as I plunge and then foolishly flush again, I notice that the toilet paper roll is empty -- then, in increasing horror I watch the toilet begin to overflow on to the hardwood floor at the same time it occurs to me that there was close to a new roll in there this morning..... Yes, Joey wiped himself, but he did SUCH A GOOD JOB, that it apparently required 3/4 of a roll of toilet paper. So, I spend the next hour and a half cleaning up the bathroom, disinfecting everything in sight, doing a load of "sanitary" laundry and attempting to keep little hands and feet out of the poopy water mess. Joe arrives home in time to ask me if I know how to use a plunger -- I mean I MUST have done something wrong if the toilet overflowed right?? I shoot daggers of death at him and he goes up stairs to congratulate Joey on his new skill and suggest that he ask for some adult supervision with toilet paper dispensing in the future.
I then handle a messy whiny dinner, clean the kitchen, bath the children, deal with the preggo cat and my constipated dog and now I am heading to bed. I love my life.... thank god the fridge is well stocked with beer.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Blow-out in Blowing Rock
We had a nice weekend – went away to the mountains with our neighbors, but it of course generated the next chaotic saga in my life. Our neighbors, Mike and Sheley, moved in across the street from us last year and they have a little boy, Colin, who is just a couple of months younger than Joey. In true “Three Martini Play Date” fashion, we initially had a few play dates with our kids to see how well we all meshed – fortunately, they were our kind of parents and we have made a habit of mixing play dates and happy hours several times a week – it wears the kids out and we have someone to drink a beer with. A few weeks ago they asked us if we wanted to go to Mike’s brother’s cabin in the mountains with them over Memorial Day weekend – we accepted and so proceeded our first out of town “date” with our new couple/kiddie friends. So, as I’m sure most of you can relate to, you want to leave a good impression on these sorts of trips – it’s one thing to do hang out and drink beer a few nights a week and it’s another to spend three days together in a cabin in the woods with two 2 year olds and an infant. For married couples with children, these are the equivalent of your first out of town weekend with a new boyfriend. So, we pack up and head for the mountains on Friday – the cabin outside of the Asheville/Boone area so the scenery is really great. For the most part, our trip went very well – when we got there a large cooler of beer was unloaded (our kind of people!) and I think everyone had a good time, but of course there were a few minor incidents that I felt merited an email.
To provide some background, Colin is doing very well with his potty training – he only had to use two pull-ups all weekend. On the other hand, slacker parents that we are, we basically gave up on trying to potty train Joey when Abby was born –declaring that we needed to give him some “adjustment time” – 7 months later, we apparently haven’t adjusted yet. So, Joey is watching Colin use the potty all weekend and I think the pressure of it all must have gotten to him because he failed to use the potty for #2 for 3 days (last fun diaper change for that was Thursday night). On Sunday, we decided to drive to Blowing Rock and walk around the town, go to the park, have lunch, etc. After lunch we all wandered down the street to have some ice cream. First, Joey declares he wants peppermint ice cream and that all goes well until Colin gets “superman” ice cream – then we listen to Joey declare/whine incessantly that he wants that kind for 20 minutes. Finally, just as we think we are ready to head out, Joey squats down on the main street of Blowing Rock, full of tourists, and announces that he has to poo. So, Joe says he will stay with him and I walk back to van to get “set up” for what we know will be a project. Of course, the van we brought was Mike and Sheley’s – we had moved the car seats so we could all ride together. Now we’re back at the van and we see Joe and Joey walking towards us. Joey comes up and announces “I’m wet” and proceeds to turn around and show us all his pants which have a wet/brownish tinge to them all the way down his leg. To save our neighbors from the true horror of it all, Joe and I take Joey and the diaper bag (which fortunately had a change of clothes in it) and head to this grassy area off to the side of the little school we are parked next to and begin the operation. I won’t go into detail here, but it wasn’t pretty. Nothing like changing your child’s blowout diaper disaster in a public park area while your neighbors wait and laugh at you. We ended up packing up his clothes in a baggy and throwing them in the back for the drive home. Joey also ended up with a bunch of bug bites on his butt from being changed in the grass. J When we get back to the cabin, Mike and Joe take the boys to the park nearby to run around and I start a load of laundry – as I’m doing that I walk by Abby and wonder if I should check her before starting the washer. No, I think naively, she rarely ever has a blow out, and I start the washer. Silly me, I should have known… she’d had apples and plums for lunch and was in her favorite “business” spot – the exersaucer. No sooner do I start the wash and pick her up when I notice her pants are wet. A quick investigation leads to the discovery that she has decided to learn from big brother and also have a blowout. I try to discreetly take her to the changer, but when I get things opened up I realize I am looking at a major OSHA incident. Also, Abby has hit a little stage where as soon as you take her diaper off, her little hands go IMMEDIATLEY to the va jay jay and start pulling – very ladylike. This is NOT good when there has been a blowout – just then Sheley walks by and sees my predicament. Fortunately, she takes it all in stride and helps me hold Abby and her hands down while the clean-up takes place. I don’t think they were horribly offended by the sheer amount of excrement that my children produced in the span of about an hour, but it’s not exactly the scenario you want on your first trip with the neighbors. If it were the boyfriend out of town weekend, you know the phone would never ring again – but thank goodness most parents have experienced this at one point or another.
A few other “Joeyisms” from the weekend though…
* After Sheley served him a biscuit with homemade jelly for breakfast – “This isn’t working for me”.
* We constantly had to drag him from the bathroom every time Colin was in it – he felt he should watch at all times.
* To Colin during dinner when he was playing with some lights near the window “Colin, stop playing with the electricity” (We had to remind him that Colin already had a mother several times).
* Joey and Colin to the adults. “We need to go get some more beer”.
And finally, Joey did learn something from Colin this weekend – how to pee in the woods – a big thrill all around. Of course, when we get home, Joe and I are unloading the car and Joe walks around the front of the house to find Joey watering down the mulch in our front lawn for all the neighbors to see. I’m sure that will be a big hit with the homeowner’s association – I can’t wait for my notice asking me to please refrain from letting my children urinate in the lawn.
To provide some background, Colin is doing very well with his potty training – he only had to use two pull-ups all weekend. On the other hand, slacker parents that we are, we basically gave up on trying to potty train Joey when Abby was born –declaring that we needed to give him some “adjustment time” – 7 months later, we apparently haven’t adjusted yet. So, Joey is watching Colin use the potty all weekend and I think the pressure of it all must have gotten to him because he failed to use the potty for #2 for 3 days (last fun diaper change for that was Thursday night). On Sunday, we decided to drive to Blowing Rock and walk around the town, go to the park, have lunch, etc. After lunch we all wandered down the street to have some ice cream. First, Joey declares he wants peppermint ice cream and that all goes well until Colin gets “superman” ice cream – then we listen to Joey declare/whine incessantly that he wants that kind for 20 minutes. Finally, just as we think we are ready to head out, Joey squats down on the main street of Blowing Rock, full of tourists, and announces that he has to poo. So, Joe says he will stay with him and I walk back to van to get “set up” for what we know will be a project. Of course, the van we brought was Mike and Sheley’s – we had moved the car seats so we could all ride together. Now we’re back at the van and we see Joe and Joey walking towards us. Joey comes up and announces “I’m wet” and proceeds to turn around and show us all his pants which have a wet/brownish tinge to them all the way down his leg. To save our neighbors from the true horror of it all, Joe and I take Joey and the diaper bag (which fortunately had a change of clothes in it) and head to this grassy area off to the side of the little school we are parked next to and begin the operation. I won’t go into detail here, but it wasn’t pretty. Nothing like changing your child’s blowout diaper disaster in a public park area while your neighbors wait and laugh at you. We ended up packing up his clothes in a baggy and throwing them in the back for the drive home. Joey also ended up with a bunch of bug bites on his butt from being changed in the grass. J When we get back to the cabin, Mike and Joe take the boys to the park nearby to run around and I start a load of laundry – as I’m doing that I walk by Abby and wonder if I should check her before starting the washer. No, I think naively, she rarely ever has a blow out, and I start the washer. Silly me, I should have known… she’d had apples and plums for lunch and was in her favorite “business” spot – the exersaucer. No sooner do I start the wash and pick her up when I notice her pants are wet. A quick investigation leads to the discovery that she has decided to learn from big brother and also have a blowout. I try to discreetly take her to the changer, but when I get things opened up I realize I am looking at a major OSHA incident. Also, Abby has hit a little stage where as soon as you take her diaper off, her little hands go IMMEDIATLEY to the va jay jay and start pulling – very ladylike. This is NOT good when there has been a blowout – just then Sheley walks by and sees my predicament. Fortunately, she takes it all in stride and helps me hold Abby and her hands down while the clean-up takes place. I don’t think they were horribly offended by the sheer amount of excrement that my children produced in the span of about an hour, but it’s not exactly the scenario you want on your first trip with the neighbors. If it were the boyfriend out of town weekend, you know the phone would never ring again – but thank goodness most parents have experienced this at one point or another.
A few other “Joeyisms” from the weekend though…
* After Sheley served him a biscuit with homemade jelly for breakfast – “This isn’t working for me”.
* We constantly had to drag him from the bathroom every time Colin was in it – he felt he should watch at all times.
* To Colin during dinner when he was playing with some lights near the window “Colin, stop playing with the electricity” (We had to remind him that Colin already had a mother several times).
* Joey and Colin to the adults. “We need to go get some more beer”.
And finally, Joey did learn something from Colin this weekend – how to pee in the woods – a big thrill all around. Of course, when we get home, Joe and I are unloading the car and Joe walks around the front of the house to find Joey watering down the mulch in our front lawn for all the neighbors to see. I’m sure that will be a big hit with the homeowner’s association – I can’t wait for my notice asking me to please refrain from letting my children urinate in the lawn.
Friday, May 23, 2008
The Fatal Flaw
We took a very brief trip up to MD over Mother’s Day for Joe’s grandmother’s 100th birthday party. We were only there two days due to the general chaos of traveling with two small children combined with an ant problem that was driving my mother-in-law crazy (for good reason) and some Kuhns family drama that is way too complicated for this email! In addition picking up a raging sinus infection while I was there, we also discovered Abby’s fatal flaw – she HATES long car rides. This came as a bit of a surprise, because for the most part she has been a pretty easy going baby --- other than thinking it’s still a good idea to wake up every morning around 4 and demand a bottle these days (God help me at the beach). She also always gets happy when I put her in her car seat at home because she knows that means she’s going somewhere and will have new things to look at. She particularly likes shopping – this doesn’t bode well for the teenage years…
(As an aside here… has anyone seen the dresses girls are wearing to the prom these days?! I may be turning into a prudish middle-aged old bag, but some of them look like something a high-priced call girl might wear – necklines to the naval and cut-out sides – on a 17 year old? Seriously?).
So, we pack up the car with pretty much everything we own and head out the day before the party. Joey has a video on and I’m thinking I might actually get a little peace. Then, after about an hour in the car, I discover that peace is not to be… Abby starts howling at the top of her lungs. So, I think maybe she’s hungry and try to give her a bottle. She takes a little but then proceeds to howl some more – so I make Joe stop so I can feed her properly. The very SECOND I get her out of her seat, she’s all smiles and squeals (she’s a talker) – so she takes her bottle and I think I have solved the problem. If only it were so easy. As soon as she’s back in her seat, the howling commences again. This literally went on for at least 3-4 out of the 7 hours of our trip – the rest of the time she FINALLY fell asleep. At one point I considered throwing myself from our speeding car when Abby’s howling and Joey is yelling “Shut Up Abby!” -- then we told him not to say “Shut Up” so he starts yelling “Dam#it, Dam#It, Dam*it” at the top of his lungs. It was like Dante’s 7th circle of hell. Let me just add that the way home was not much better – and included a fun and exciting stop at Cracker Barrel that featured Abby knocking over a glass of water on to me (and everywhere else) because she was flailing around like she’d just had a bottle of Red Bull instead of formula, Joey refusing to eat anything and then melting down when we wouldn’t get him a treat – about ½ way through the meal I realized that we were “THOSE people” that day. As soon as we got out of the car when we got home we immediately cracked a beer.
This leads me to my proposal for a new national policy – I think that parents of children under 5 or so should be given special sirens for their cars. The sirens could be hooked up to the parents like blood pressure monitors and as the parents blood pressure rises, the siren would get louder and louder urging people to get out of the way and giving the parents special dispensation for speeding. I assume something simple like a little whining wouldn’t result in the siren lighting up too much or wailing too loudly – but as additional disasters such as babies howling incessantly for hours, toddlers continuing the whining (and cursing in our case) for 30 minutes straight and other fun car events like blowout diapers and vomiting would then result in an ambulance-like siren that would announce to the rest of the world that there are desperate parents in the car who badly need a beer and should not be held up by petty things such as stop lights and Sunday drivers. I know I would pull over quickly if I saw a parent siren coming my way – I might even hold a beer out my window in solidarity in case they could grab it on the way by.
OK, this post has already gotten too long (as usual), so I’ll just sum up the rest of my life by saying that I saw a picture of myself from 10 years ago the other day and wondered what the hell happened to me because the tired old bag in the mirror with no make-up, bad clothes and a 15 pound spare tire around her middle clearly couldn’t be one in the same. J I think my children are just sucking the life out of me. Abby is still sweet natured for the most part (car rides aside), but she is suddenly incapable of sitting still for even a moment – she’s constantly grabbing for everything and pulling hair (even when she’s taking a bottle) and her diaper changes are like a wrestling match. Joey has been a treat as usual lately. Yesterday he slept on his leg wrong or something I think because he got up from his nap and couldn’t walk (or claimed he couldn’t – he could bend his leg and scoot around just fine, but couldn’t stand for some reason). This resulted in a HUGE meltdown when he couldn’t jump on his friend’s trampoline and then he insisted on being carried the rest of the night and sat on the couch demanding to watch Thomas the Train, eat snacks and drinks that he decreed should be delivered to him on the couch and wanted me to hold an ice pack on his knee – seriously, it was like he was on his death bed or something – this doesn’t bode well for his future wife. Needless to say when he got up this morning his leg was miraculously healed…
(As an aside here… has anyone seen the dresses girls are wearing to the prom these days?! I may be turning into a prudish middle-aged old bag, but some of them look like something a high-priced call girl might wear – necklines to the naval and cut-out sides – on a 17 year old? Seriously?).
So, we pack up the car with pretty much everything we own and head out the day before the party. Joey has a video on and I’m thinking I might actually get a little peace. Then, after about an hour in the car, I discover that peace is not to be… Abby starts howling at the top of her lungs. So, I think maybe she’s hungry and try to give her a bottle. She takes a little but then proceeds to howl some more – so I make Joe stop so I can feed her properly. The very SECOND I get her out of her seat, she’s all smiles and squeals (she’s a talker) – so she takes her bottle and I think I have solved the problem. If only it were so easy. As soon as she’s back in her seat, the howling commences again. This literally went on for at least 3-4 out of the 7 hours of our trip – the rest of the time she FINALLY fell asleep. At one point I considered throwing myself from our speeding car when Abby’s howling and Joey is yelling “Shut Up Abby!” -- then we told him not to say “Shut Up” so he starts yelling “Dam#it, Dam#It, Dam*it” at the top of his lungs. It was like Dante’s 7th circle of hell. Let me just add that the way home was not much better – and included a fun and exciting stop at Cracker Barrel that featured Abby knocking over a glass of water on to me (and everywhere else) because she was flailing around like she’d just had a bottle of Red Bull instead of formula, Joey refusing to eat anything and then melting down when we wouldn’t get him a treat – about ½ way through the meal I realized that we were “THOSE people” that day. As soon as we got out of the car when we got home we immediately cracked a beer.
This leads me to my proposal for a new national policy – I think that parents of children under 5 or so should be given special sirens for their cars. The sirens could be hooked up to the parents like blood pressure monitors and as the parents blood pressure rises, the siren would get louder and louder urging people to get out of the way and giving the parents special dispensation for speeding. I assume something simple like a little whining wouldn’t result in the siren lighting up too much or wailing too loudly – but as additional disasters such as babies howling incessantly for hours, toddlers continuing the whining (and cursing in our case) for 30 minutes straight and other fun car events like blowout diapers and vomiting would then result in an ambulance-like siren that would announce to the rest of the world that there are desperate parents in the car who badly need a beer and should not be held up by petty things such as stop lights and Sunday drivers. I know I would pull over quickly if I saw a parent siren coming my way – I might even hold a beer out my window in solidarity in case they could grab it on the way by.
OK, this post has already gotten too long (as usual), so I’ll just sum up the rest of my life by saying that I saw a picture of myself from 10 years ago the other day and wondered what the hell happened to me because the tired old bag in the mirror with no make-up, bad clothes and a 15 pound spare tire around her middle clearly couldn’t be one in the same. J I think my children are just sucking the life out of me. Abby is still sweet natured for the most part (car rides aside), but she is suddenly incapable of sitting still for even a moment – she’s constantly grabbing for everything and pulling hair (even when she’s taking a bottle) and her diaper changes are like a wrestling match. Joey has been a treat as usual lately. Yesterday he slept on his leg wrong or something I think because he got up from his nap and couldn’t walk (or claimed he couldn’t – he could bend his leg and scoot around just fine, but couldn’t stand for some reason). This resulted in a HUGE meltdown when he couldn’t jump on his friend’s trampoline and then he insisted on being carried the rest of the night and sat on the couch demanding to watch Thomas the Train, eat snacks and drinks that he decreed should be delivered to him on the couch and wanted me to hold an ice pack on his knee – seriously, it was like he was on his death bed or something – this doesn’t bode well for his future wife. Needless to say when he got up this morning his leg was miraculously healed…
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
I'm pretty sure this must be how Mussolini started out...
We’ve had a pretty eventful week here in NC. Joe was out of town in Trinidad and my mom stayed over to try and help me manage the kids – but on Wed. night she and Abby took a fall down our BRICK front steps. My mom got pretty banged up and Abby had to go get a CAT scan to make sure the bump on her head wasn’t serious – fortunately she’s fine – no worse for the wear and my mom is OK too. By some miracle my neighbors where home and outside, so Sheley drove me and Abby to the hospital and her husband Mike took Joey to play with their son who is the same age. Of course, this happened to be the ONE night that Sheley’s (my neighbor) mom and step-dad were in town on their way back to WV and I hogged them all with my medical disaster. Her parents were actually really nice and helped out my mom while we took care of everything else. I of course thanked them with the ever-appropriate gift of chocolate chip cookies and beer. JJ
Anyway, I turn to the actual topic of my post– the little fascist dictator that I seem to have spawned. I’m hoping this is just some exaggerated version of the terrible 2’s/3’s that we are experiencing, but as of late I’m starting to think that my sweet boy is possessed by the spirit of some fascist power-hungry demon. He seems to be under the impression that he should be able to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants and that we should all hop to immediately upon his issuing his latest order – or a huge meltdown is our punishment. He seems to have completely forgotten how to say please and thank you and has just started demanding things (i.e. “Get me a drink RIGHT NOW”) – needless to say he doesn’t get ANYTHING until he asks nicely, but that doesn’t seem to deter him. Anyway, I could go on and on with stories of his out-of-control bossiness (clearly inherited from his father JJ), but I’ll just provide you with a small sample of some of his latest decrees...
Joey: I’m an adult, you’re a child, I’m in charge.
Me/Joe: Noooo… we’re the adults, you’re the child and unless you plan to get a job and pay rent, we are in charge.
Joey (leaving his classroom at school): I shut the door so the kids don’t get out (he thinks he’s a teacher).
Joey (after having several toys taken for bad behavior): I put this toy up now because I’m not going to listen.
Seriously – what do you do when your child proactively takes his own toys away with full intentions of being bad?? Clearly we are not deterring him. I’m seriously thinking I need to look into military preschools. All he does is demand things and order everyone around. Between the constant bossiness, the still problematic drooling and the perpetual hand down the back of his pants, I fear he’s close to becoming “THAT kid”.
The other scary thought that occurred to me was that this is the child that is going to be responsible for caring for me in my old age. I can picture him now trying to put me in a home when I’m like 45 or something because I didn’t let him eat dessert for breakfast or something. I wouldn’t put attempting to get power of attorney past him by time he’s 8 or 9. I’m just hopeful that Abby will keep me out of the home… of course she’s so busy trying to eat paper these days that I doubt she’ll notice. The other day I laid her on our bed for literally 20 seconds while I ran into our closet to drop some clean clothes and by time I came out she’d managed to roll over to the Time Magazine that I’d left about a foot or so away from her and had already started chewing off the cover. She also likes to try to roll under the couch when I leave her on the living room floor on a blanket – I come back in and all I see is her head sticking out from under the couch. I literally can’t put the child down or she’s into something – and she’s not even crawling yet so this does NOT bode well. Of course, she always does it with a smile so it’s hard to be mad at her…
Well, I suppose I’ve rambled on enough for one day… Time to get back to my pathetic new couponing habit – Triple Coupons are coming up at Harris Teeter – the sad culmination of my existence these days…. J
Anyway, I turn to the actual topic of my post– the little fascist dictator that I seem to have spawned. I’m hoping this is just some exaggerated version of the terrible 2’s/3’s that we are experiencing, but as of late I’m starting to think that my sweet boy is possessed by the spirit of some fascist power-hungry demon. He seems to be under the impression that he should be able to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants and that we should all hop to immediately upon his issuing his latest order – or a huge meltdown is our punishment. He seems to have completely forgotten how to say please and thank you and has just started demanding things (i.e. “Get me a drink RIGHT NOW”) – needless to say he doesn’t get ANYTHING until he asks nicely, but that doesn’t seem to deter him. Anyway, I could go on and on with stories of his out-of-control bossiness (clearly inherited from his father JJ), but I’ll just provide you with a small sample of some of his latest decrees...
Joey: I’m an adult, you’re a child, I’m in charge.
Me/Joe: Noooo… we’re the adults, you’re the child and unless you plan to get a job and pay rent, we are in charge.
Joey (leaving his classroom at school): I shut the door so the kids don’t get out (he thinks he’s a teacher).
Joey (after having several toys taken for bad behavior): I put this toy up now because I’m not going to listen.
Seriously – what do you do when your child proactively takes his own toys away with full intentions of being bad?? Clearly we are not deterring him. I’m seriously thinking I need to look into military preschools. All he does is demand things and order everyone around. Between the constant bossiness, the still problematic drooling and the perpetual hand down the back of his pants, I fear he’s close to becoming “THAT kid”.
The other scary thought that occurred to me was that this is the child that is going to be responsible for caring for me in my old age. I can picture him now trying to put me in a home when I’m like 45 or something because I didn’t let him eat dessert for breakfast or something. I wouldn’t put attempting to get power of attorney past him by time he’s 8 or 9. I’m just hopeful that Abby will keep me out of the home… of course she’s so busy trying to eat paper these days that I doubt she’ll notice. The other day I laid her on our bed for literally 20 seconds while I ran into our closet to drop some clean clothes and by time I came out she’d managed to roll over to the Time Magazine that I’d left about a foot or so away from her and had already started chewing off the cover. She also likes to try to roll under the couch when I leave her on the living room floor on a blanket – I come back in and all I see is her head sticking out from under the couch. I literally can’t put the child down or she’s into something – and she’s not even crawling yet so this does NOT bode well. Of course, she always does it with a smile so it’s hard to be mad at her…
Well, I suppose I’ve rambled on enough for one day… Time to get back to my pathetic new couponing habit – Triple Coupons are coming up at Harris Teeter – the sad culmination of my existence these days…. J
Thursday, April 24, 2008
What Have I Become?
Since our last riveting episode of life in the mommy lane (suburbia edition), Joey has continued to display his incredible talent for picking up the worst phrases that Joe or I might mutter and then parroting them back to us (usually in a public place). Some of his latest little gems include referring to me as “Dearest” or “You Chunk” (thanks Joe) and walking up to a lady in the mall when Joe wouldn’t buy him a piece of gum and asking if he could have some of the pieces in her hand (nice). He also refers to us (Joe, myself, Abby and Bear) as “Hey Family” when he wants our attention and has taken to negotiating just about everything with us like some sort of little con man – we say “one cookie” he says “two cookies”, or “If I’m a goooooood boy, then I get ice cream”. Etc.
Abby continues to be a pretty happy baby for the most part, although she’s showing signs that she’s going to be a real problem as soon as she becomes mobile. She refuses to sit in her little bouncy seat any longer – as soon as I put her down she flips herself over and tries to climb out and then howls when she gets stuck. Even when I lay her down flat she immediately turns over and tries to scoot herself around – the other day I left her within a foot of a magazine on our bed while I took some clothes into the closest and by time I was back 15 seconds later she had flipped herself over, somehow acquired the magazine and had begun eating the cover. She also complains loudly if you try to put her down in a spot she doesn’t deem appropriate at that moment or if you fail to provide a properly warmed bottle at the very second she decides she wants it. On the bright side, she isn’t swearing at me yet and Joey’s blowouts make hers look downright quaint.
The main source of my discontent lately is my growing alarm at the person I am somehow morphing into these days. I realized I had hit a new low when I found myself perusing two new websites – “afullcup.com” and “hotcouponworld.com”. That’s right, I’ve become a “couponer”. You see, the price of gas and food here in NC (and no doubt even more so in the DC Metro area) has gotten completely out of control – as a result, so have my weekly bills from Harris Teeter and Target. Unfortunately, Joe’s paltry professor’s salary and my consulting income haven’t risen at the same rate as our cost of living – which also apparently rises with each child you produce. So, for the past two weeks, I’ve been faithfully cutting and printing coupons for just about everything. The good part about this, is that I’ve saved about $100 over the past week or two on our grocery/diaper/formula/household supply bills – the bad part is that in addition to all my other alarming suburban house frau traits, I am now carrying around a coupon folder and greedily sorting through the Sunday paper ads like they are porn (or in my case, maybe made of chocolate) or something. So, as I was sorting my latest coupon finds earlier today I started to ponder all the differences of the “before” kids me and the “after” kids me. Below is a sample of what I’ve come up with – and I keep thinking of new things to add to it.
Before: Worked in an office/held adult conversations
After: Work from home/try to hold adult conversations while holding a baby and with toddler screaming in the background.
Before: Had a decent wardrobe
After: Wear nothing but jeans and t-shirts – EVERYTHING must be wash and wear (not sure why I’m still hanging on to all my “dry clean” only clothes – they just mock me from their hangers.)
Before: Not exactly abs of steel, but I was in decent shape and didn’t have to give serious consideration to a tummy panel and skirt when bathing suit shopping.
After: Abs of cellulite and the thought of bathing suit shopping makes me want to move to Antarctica.
Before: Thought Happy Hour was a fun way to unwind after work and meet cute boys.
After: Realize Happy Hour was clearly created by desperate parents trying to get through the witching hours and counting the minutes until bedtime.
Before: Kept up with current events.
After: Only current events I’m truly aware of concern where the latest diaper sale is and the most recent potty-training tips.
Before: Social activities included concerts, shopping, lunch with friends, etc.
After: Social activities include Bunco, play dates and the occasional baby shower (thank god they serve alcohol at these!)
Before: Listened to music, read latest books/magazines
After: Know the words to “Thomas the Train” song by heart and find myself humming the “Teletubbies” theme to myself even though it’s like nails on chalk board every time I hear it. Latest book read—Green Eggs and Ham.
Before: Fixed hair and make-up prior to leaving the house
After: Rarely look in the mirror more than once a day in the morning – often notice the horror show while innocently walking past a mirror in a store where I wonder who that poor pathetic middle-aged woman with something that looks like sweet potatoes on her shirt, droopy jeans, screaming kids and gray uncombed hair is – realize it’s me.
Abby continues to be a pretty happy baby for the most part, although she’s showing signs that she’s going to be a real problem as soon as she becomes mobile. She refuses to sit in her little bouncy seat any longer – as soon as I put her down she flips herself over and tries to climb out and then howls when she gets stuck. Even when I lay her down flat she immediately turns over and tries to scoot herself around – the other day I left her within a foot of a magazine on our bed while I took some clothes into the closest and by time I was back 15 seconds later she had flipped herself over, somehow acquired the magazine and had begun eating the cover. She also complains loudly if you try to put her down in a spot she doesn’t deem appropriate at that moment or if you fail to provide a properly warmed bottle at the very second she decides she wants it. On the bright side, she isn’t swearing at me yet and Joey’s blowouts make hers look downright quaint.
The main source of my discontent lately is my growing alarm at the person I am somehow morphing into these days. I realized I had hit a new low when I found myself perusing two new websites – “afullcup.com” and “hotcouponworld.com”. That’s right, I’ve become a “couponer”. You see, the price of gas and food here in NC (and no doubt even more so in the DC Metro area) has gotten completely out of control – as a result, so have my weekly bills from Harris Teeter and Target. Unfortunately, Joe’s paltry professor’s salary and my consulting income haven’t risen at the same rate as our cost of living – which also apparently rises with each child you produce. So, for the past two weeks, I’ve been faithfully cutting and printing coupons for just about everything. The good part about this, is that I’ve saved about $100 over the past week or two on our grocery/diaper/formula/household supply bills – the bad part is that in addition to all my other alarming suburban house frau traits, I am now carrying around a coupon folder and greedily sorting through the Sunday paper ads like they are porn (or in my case, maybe made of chocolate) or something. So, as I was sorting my latest coupon finds earlier today I started to ponder all the differences of the “before” kids me and the “after” kids me. Below is a sample of what I’ve come up with – and I keep thinking of new things to add to it.
Before: Worked in an office/held adult conversations
After: Work from home/try to hold adult conversations while holding a baby and with toddler screaming in the background.
Before: Had a decent wardrobe
After: Wear nothing but jeans and t-shirts – EVERYTHING must be wash and wear (not sure why I’m still hanging on to all my “dry clean” only clothes – they just mock me from their hangers.)
Before: Not exactly abs of steel, but I was in decent shape and didn’t have to give serious consideration to a tummy panel and skirt when bathing suit shopping.
After: Abs of cellulite and the thought of bathing suit shopping makes me want to move to Antarctica.
Before: Thought Happy Hour was a fun way to unwind after work and meet cute boys.
After: Realize Happy Hour was clearly created by desperate parents trying to get through the witching hours and counting the minutes until bedtime.
Before: Kept up with current events.
After: Only current events I’m truly aware of concern where the latest diaper sale is and the most recent potty-training tips.
Before: Social activities included concerts, shopping, lunch with friends, etc.
After: Social activities include Bunco, play dates and the occasional baby shower (thank god they serve alcohol at these!)
Before: Listened to music, read latest books/magazines
After: Know the words to “Thomas the Train” song by heart and find myself humming the “Teletubbies” theme to myself even though it’s like nails on chalk board every time I hear it. Latest book read—Green Eggs and Ham.
Before: Fixed hair and make-up prior to leaving the house
After: Rarely look in the mirror more than once a day in the morning – often notice the horror show while innocently walking past a mirror in a store where I wonder who that poor pathetic middle-aged woman with something that looks like sweet potatoes on her shirt, droopy jeans, screaming kids and gray uncombed hair is – realize it’s me.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Bunny Heaven
So, you’d think I could get through a day or two without some craziness befalling me, but it appears it was not meant to be. So, let me just provide a brief description of the last 24 hours of my life. It all began yesterday afternoon when there was a dog running loose in my neighborhood. The one thing I haven’t lost since having children is my crazy tendency to pick up every stray I can find. So, I figured I would take Joey for a walk and catch the dog and return him to his home before he was run down by one of the crazy teenagers (could I sound more like a crabby old bag – I might as well say “whippersnapper”?) or cut through drivers in our neighborhood. Unfortunately, as we were walking over to the next street where he was, we discovered that one of the neighborhood bunnies had not been so lucky. I didn’t even notice it until we were basically on top of it because I was too busy answering Joey’s incessant questioning about EVERYTHING around us. So Joey points at the very dead bunny and asks “Mommy, what’s wrong with that bunny?” “Why he laying there like that?” I pick him up and move him away from said former bunny and try to explain that the bunny has died because he was hit by a car. This led to basically constant questioning for the REST of the night, a 2nd walk by the bunny today to see if someone had helped it yet and more interrogation. To try and keep this email to a reasonable length, I will provide just sample of the ongoing dead bunny discussion that I have engaged in since yesterday…
Joey: “Why we helping the doggie and not the bunny?”
Me: Because it’s too late to help the bunny
Joey: Is the bunny sad?
Me: Yes, the bunny was sad, but now he’s happy because he’s in a better place
Joey: Where is the bunny? Is he hurt?Me: The bunny is in bunny heaven and he’s not hurt anymore.
Joey: What’s that pink stuff on the bunny?
Me: That’s where the bunny got hurt
Joey: Oh, I worried about that bunny. Is someone coming to help him?
And on, and on, and on…. In addition to questioning me, my mother and Joe pretty much incessantly weren’t enough, Joey informed the contractors building us a new deck, the neighbors and a delivery man that the bunny was dead and we were sad –I’m sure they were thrilled. I guess I should be thankful that I didn’t have to bring home the dead bunny and hold a funeral in my back yard…
To add my joyful dead bunny day, I must now turn to my usual favorite subject – poo – yes, sorry to do this to you all again, but it has reared its ugly head (or bottom) once again. I will also try to keep this brief… Joey is living in fear of the potty these days and is therefore holding things in. It’s bad enough when he doesn’t do this, so you can only imagine what happens when he holds it for two days. This afternoon he complains that his stomach hurts and then I can’t get him down for a nap. Just when I think the day can’t get much worse, he announces that he has to go and I ask if he would like to use the potty. He replies that no, he would prefer to hide under the dining room table. I am instructed to wait in the kitchen (but to not go into the living room for some unknown reason). I keep asking him if he’s ready for a diaper change and he keeps saying “not yet” and continues squatting under the table. After a few minutes I hear him start to emerge and I walk out just in time to see him AGAIN with his hands IN HIS PANTS removing poo. Apparently he learned NOTHING from the incident two days ago. He then proceeds to try to run away and wipes his hand on the china cabinet… yes, I thought cleaning off the wall was bad enough, I never saw the china cabinet coming. Long story short, I wrestled him to the ground in the kitchen while he screams that he doesn’t want me to wipe his “paws” (thanks to Joe for saying balls in front of him). I end up stripping him down and throwing him in the tub – an hour of time was spent getting things cleaned up and laundered. Afterward, I got to enjoy several hours of crabby, un-napped two year old while Joe worked late today. By 4 p.m. the mommy juice was flowing... by 8 p.m. I was considering shooting myself.
Joey: “Why we helping the doggie and not the bunny?”
Me: Because it’s too late to help the bunny
Joey: Is the bunny sad?
Me: Yes, the bunny was sad, but now he’s happy because he’s in a better place
Joey: Where is the bunny? Is he hurt?Me: The bunny is in bunny heaven and he’s not hurt anymore.
Joey: What’s that pink stuff on the bunny?
Me: That’s where the bunny got hurt
Joey: Oh, I worried about that bunny. Is someone coming to help him?
And on, and on, and on…. In addition to questioning me, my mother and Joe pretty much incessantly weren’t enough, Joey informed the contractors building us a new deck, the neighbors and a delivery man that the bunny was dead and we were sad –I’m sure they were thrilled. I guess I should be thankful that I didn’t have to bring home the dead bunny and hold a funeral in my back yard…
To add my joyful dead bunny day, I must now turn to my usual favorite subject – poo – yes, sorry to do this to you all again, but it has reared its ugly head (or bottom) once again. I will also try to keep this brief… Joey is living in fear of the potty these days and is therefore holding things in. It’s bad enough when he doesn’t do this, so you can only imagine what happens when he holds it for two days. This afternoon he complains that his stomach hurts and then I can’t get him down for a nap. Just when I think the day can’t get much worse, he announces that he has to go and I ask if he would like to use the potty. He replies that no, he would prefer to hide under the dining room table. I am instructed to wait in the kitchen (but to not go into the living room for some unknown reason). I keep asking him if he’s ready for a diaper change and he keeps saying “not yet” and continues squatting under the table. After a few minutes I hear him start to emerge and I walk out just in time to see him AGAIN with his hands IN HIS PANTS removing poo. Apparently he learned NOTHING from the incident two days ago. He then proceeds to try to run away and wipes his hand on the china cabinet… yes, I thought cleaning off the wall was bad enough, I never saw the china cabinet coming. Long story short, I wrestled him to the ground in the kitchen while he screams that he doesn’t want me to wipe his “paws” (thanks to Joe for saying balls in front of him). I end up stripping him down and throwing him in the tub – an hour of time was spent getting things cleaned up and laundered. Afterward, I got to enjoy several hours of crabby, un-napped two year old while Joe worked late today. By 4 p.m. the mommy juice was flowing... by 8 p.m. I was considering shooting myself.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Countdown to the Beach -- Yikes
I realized today that our annual beach trip with a bunch of friends (and kiddies) to the outer banks is a mere 2 ½ months (or 11 short weeks) away. This also means that I will soon be faced with the arrival of shorts and swim suits season – sooner rather than later here in Dixie. Unfortunately, I will likely be dragged kicking and screaming from my jeans and boxy sweaters – it’s 75 today and I’m hanging tough with jeans and an over-sized long-sleeve t-shirt. The problem, you see, is that it turns out that having a 2nd baby and c-section at the age of 38 is not so great for one’s figure (let alone your ability to do basic things such as comb your hair or put on make-up)
When I had Joey, I gained 35 pounds but luckily managed to take most of it off in about 3 months and was able to regain some semblance of my old self. Not so with baby #2. Sure, I naively thought I was doing great when I managed to gain LESS weight with Abby – I left the hospital giddy with anticipation of fitting into my old clothes by Christmas – and I also assumed that left me some room to satisfy my chocolate addiction. Silly me. Sure, my stomach had never QUITE returned to its former (never-glorious) but reasonably flat self after Joey, but I was never much the bikini-type anyway. Well, this time around has been a rather rude awakening to my approaching middle-age and what carrying out in front will do to you. You see, I am STILL 12-15 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight (depending on the day). I have been on Weight Watcher’s since the start of the New Year and have only managed to lose only a paltry 8 pounds. That’s maybe a pound a week if I’m lucky – and that has included me trying to cram in some exercise in the form of walking any day I can manage it. You’d think that I could count hauling a whiny 2 ½ year old and chunky little 13+ pound formula vacuum around with me at ALL times (I swear I only have about 2 hours a day when I am not holding a child) as exercise, but it doesn’t seem to be having much affect. Also, even when I do manage to wake up looking only 2 months pregnant, after I eat breakfast (or a freaking tootsie roll for that matter) I immediately pouch out like I am five months pregnant. I’m guessing after a day or two of drinking at the beach I’ll look like I am ready to deliver again (only this time it will be a case of Blue Moon).
So, I’ve watched the days of winter and big bulky clothes slip all too quickly away towards the dreaded summer clothes which will now display my post-baby flab, newly acquired varicose veins and shiny white skin in all their glory – and I am not a happy camper. The other issue is that I have REFUSED to buy new clothes in a bigger size so I have been wearing the same 3 outfits for the past four months. I suspect the neighbors are starting to wonder why I don’t seem to own anything beyond a two pairs of old baggy jeans (sadly borrowed from my mother who lost weight and is now wearing my old clothes that I can’t fit into) and 3 long-sleeved t-shirts. They are probably frantically nominating me for “What Not Wear”. I fear that I may be forced into a shopping trip that will no doubt throw me into a serious state of depression after having to not only buy larger clothes, but also view myself in the never-flattering dressing mirrors/lighting. I am considering a mumu for the beach – or at the very least one of those attractive reinforced pointy-boob, tummy panel and skirt bathing suits that our mothers always wore (and I now understand why).
I've sent a plea to the other women going to the beach with us to please le their thin and in-shape selves go a bit so that when I am lying next to them on the beach, small children don’t run up and try to roll me back into the ocean in an effort to save me yelling “Quick, before it dies!” (like I’ll really make it to the actual beach with a 2 year old and a 7 month old).
In the meantime I will continue to plug away on my weight-watchers. I currently thank a higher power every day for the invention of the one-point chocolate snack cake – although it unfortunately turns out that if you eat 10 of them, its still 10 points.
While I'm at it... yesterday's quote of the day from Joey while we were driving home from the airport after picking up his Daddy (we had the windows open):
Daddy, shut the window so I can hear mommy!
When I had Joey, I gained 35 pounds but luckily managed to take most of it off in about 3 months and was able to regain some semblance of my old self. Not so with baby #2. Sure, I naively thought I was doing great when I managed to gain LESS weight with Abby – I left the hospital giddy with anticipation of fitting into my old clothes by Christmas – and I also assumed that left me some room to satisfy my chocolate addiction. Silly me. Sure, my stomach had never QUITE returned to its former (never-glorious) but reasonably flat self after Joey, but I was never much the bikini-type anyway. Well, this time around has been a rather rude awakening to my approaching middle-age and what carrying out in front will do to you. You see, I am STILL 12-15 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight (depending on the day). I have been on Weight Watcher’s since the start of the New Year and have only managed to lose only a paltry 8 pounds. That’s maybe a pound a week if I’m lucky – and that has included me trying to cram in some exercise in the form of walking any day I can manage it. You’d think that I could count hauling a whiny 2 ½ year old and chunky little 13+ pound formula vacuum around with me at ALL times (I swear I only have about 2 hours a day when I am not holding a child) as exercise, but it doesn’t seem to be having much affect. Also, even when I do manage to wake up looking only 2 months pregnant, after I eat breakfast (or a freaking tootsie roll for that matter) I immediately pouch out like I am five months pregnant. I’m guessing after a day or two of drinking at the beach I’ll look like I am ready to deliver again (only this time it will be a case of Blue Moon).
So, I’ve watched the days of winter and big bulky clothes slip all too quickly away towards the dreaded summer clothes which will now display my post-baby flab, newly acquired varicose veins and shiny white skin in all their glory – and I am not a happy camper. The other issue is that I have REFUSED to buy new clothes in a bigger size so I have been wearing the same 3 outfits for the past four months. I suspect the neighbors are starting to wonder why I don’t seem to own anything beyond a two pairs of old baggy jeans (sadly borrowed from my mother who lost weight and is now wearing my old clothes that I can’t fit into) and 3 long-sleeved t-shirts. They are probably frantically nominating me for “What Not Wear”. I fear that I may be forced into a shopping trip that will no doubt throw me into a serious state of depression after having to not only buy larger clothes, but also view myself in the never-flattering dressing mirrors/lighting. I am considering a mumu for the beach – or at the very least one of those attractive reinforced pointy-boob, tummy panel and skirt bathing suits that our mothers always wore (and I now understand why).
I've sent a plea to the other women going to the beach with us to please le their thin and in-shape selves go a bit so that when I am lying next to them on the beach, small children don’t run up and try to roll me back into the ocean in an effort to save me yelling “Quick, before it dies!” (like I’ll really make it to the actual beach with a 2 year old and a 7 month old).
In the meantime I will continue to plug away on my weight-watchers. I currently thank a higher power every day for the invention of the one-point chocolate snack cake – although it unfortunately turns out that if you eat 10 of them, its still 10 points.
While I'm at it... yesterday's quote of the day from Joey while we were driving home from the airport after picking up his Daddy (we had the windows open):
Daddy, shut the window so I can hear mommy!
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