Threshold of Hell

This is the bathroom. The bathroom my kids use. I wont open the door any more than that and if you came knocking on my door, doing a dance and begging to use my facilities, I would let you in, walk you through my home and into my backyard and let you pick a tree to water.

Children of the Corn

My 6 yr old loves corn on the cob. But remove the cob, and the corn morphs into something awful. And so does my 6 yr old. This standoff lasted 120 minutes before the kernels were consumed.

Decay

My 5 year old is sitting at the table eating chicken nuggets this afternoon and he says, "You know why I DONT like the hospital? BECAUSE OF THE SHOTS!!!"
Wow.
Talk about drudging up the past.
This time however he has a little parrot now to reiterate the point. Just in case I missed it the first 8 kajillion times he randomly brought it up.
TMy two year old jumps out of his booster seat and with his arms straight down and pointed back presumably to make his voice punch me in the brain a little harder, yells, "YEAH! WE DON'T LIKE HOPTALS!"

Dually noted. Thanks guys.

Tornado Warning

My last post (a hundred years ago) was about registering my son for kindergarten and all the whats if's and concerns and irrational fears.
Well he starts school soon and while the what if's and irrational fears are still very real, they are not quite as real as my desire to survive motherhood and thus the drive for self preservation trumps the fears and since school will offer a brief reprieve from the ever constant battle of the siblings, then off to school he must go!
Im not too sure what he will get from his experiences as school though. Apparently I have done SUCH an awesome job at raising this little man, that at the ripe old age of 5 1/2 he already knows everything he could possibly need to know and is so confident in his knowledge that he no longer feels its necessary to listen to me.
Go Me! :o/
I hope the teachers are prepared for the small tornado I might be releasing upon them soon. I know I am.
Ive got my power suit ironed and ready to put on for my inevitable first visit with the principal. ;)

2,000 pounds of what-if's

I just registered my 5 year old for kindergarten. This is just one tormenting step in a long series of tormenting steps one must take on the road to raising children to adulthood. Im not ready.
When I was little, I witnessed two pink featherless birds fall out of their nest and land inches away from my cat (who was already chomping on the first jumper that I didn't see in time.) I scooped them up and brought them inside. I made a nest for them and used a heating pad to keep them warm. I went to the bait shop and bought a cup of worms and then to the grocery store for peaches.
I fed those two birds pieces of peach and cut up worms using the tweezers from my science set to act as a "beak". I carried them to school with me so I could feed them there, and even brought my baby birds with me to sleep overs. I set them on my finger and raised and lowered my finger to make them flap their wings for exercise.
They grew and thrived and one morning they took flight. In my room. At this point, I knew they need more than I could offer, and I called the Wildlife Society. They came and praised me on a good job, then let me know that some birds learn to fly before they learn to hunt so it was a good thing that I called them. They finished raising them and released them.
I know this is the same thing with my child. He is a wild beast right now, in essence flying around the room. And I realize he needs a little more than I can offer. Im gonna have to call in the professionals. Teachers. I need their help to mold my little beastie into a human being.
*by the way, he is licking my arm and barking at me as I type this*
But I don't want to. I don't want to let go of my baby bird.
What if my baby bird goes to school and gets picked on, or does the picking? What if something happens and Im not there? OH THE WHAT IF's!!!!!
What if he makes lots of friends and one of his good friends has non-English speaking parents and he wants to go visit his friends one day after school and I have to meet the parents first and I get there and we just stare at each other awkwardly because I dont know what to say and neither do they and then I have to turn around and take my son back home and explain to him that I cant leave him there because I don't speak their language and I don't know if they think its okay to let you run around in the street cause that's normal in their culture. No I dont know what culture thinks its ok for kids to run in street, but still!! I cant risk that, so sorry honey you cant talk to him anymore ok? WHAT IF HE GETS JUMPED INTO A GANG AT LUNCH????
Oh my gawd! I cant handle this!
Someone hand me a Valium.
And a grip.
Because I seem to have lost mine.

Meanwhile back at the bat cave....

"You better not call me Stan or any of those other names!"
"Sounds like a plan, Stan."
"No! I AM NOT STAN. Dont call me names!"
"Like what? Like sweetie pie? Hunny Bunny?"
"NO! Stop calling me the names of animals! I dont look like an animal!"
"You dont? I kinda think you look like a teddy bear"
"I am NOT a teddy bear! I dont have fluff on the inside!"
"You dont? What do you have on the inside?"
"BONES!"
"Oh. Ok, well I think you kinda look like an octopus."
"I AM NOT AN OCTOPUS! I DONT SWIM IN THE WATER!"
"Yes you do!"
"OCTOPUSES SWIM WITHOUT FLOATIES AND I SWIM WITH FLOATIES AND I AM NOT AN OCTOPUS!"

2+5=5150

Moooom, its bruke.
(Mama!)
You mean broke?
(What?)
Yeah, can you fix it?
(Mama!)
Here.
(What?)
Thanks.
(Wassat?)
Mom its bruke again.
(Whats what?)
Broke?
(Dog Food!)
Yeah, can you fix it?
(Spit that out!!)
Here.
(*spit*)
Thanks.
(NOT IN MY LAP!)
Mom, its broke again, can you fix it?
(Mama!)
Are you kidding me?
(WHAT?)
No, its bruke.
(Ruff!)
Broke.
(Nice. Go sit, doggie.)
Can you fix it?
(*lick*)
Here.
(Stop licking my arm.)
Thanks.
(Ruff.)
Mom its broke again.
(I smell like dog food, thanks.)

Num(b) Lock

"Hello?"
silence
"Anyone here?"
more silence
"Where are we?"
"Im not sure."
brushing off a thick layer of dust, revealing a sentence:
Every once in a great while, amidst all the yelling and wondering...
"You know what? this is that one chicks blog!"
"Which chick?"
"The crazy one!"
"Oh yeah!! I hardly recognized the place, its like its been abandoned."
"I heard she wrote a book and is too busy canoodling with other famous authors."
"Where'd you hear that shit? I heard she lost her mind and every 3rd Wednesday when the moon is full, if you listen very closely in between the howls of wild coyotes, you can hear her. Yelling obscenities and screeching something about eating broccoli and peeing IN the toilet not ON it."
"Yeah, that makes more sense. Lets get out of here. This place smells."
"Like pee huh?"
"A little."

Cc

Every once in a great while, amidst all the yelling and wondering where youve gone wrong to raise a pair of tiny heathens with no regard for authority, you get an itty bitty reward. A small morsel that you with a great hunger shove in your mouth and savor ever so slowly because you know you may not get another one of those tasty morsels for a very very long time.
I had one the other day. It tasted sweet.
I realize that I am raising two children and the end goal is to release into the wild, a pair of independent thinking, conscientious, smart, human beings. This is tough work. And before you know it, they will have their own opinions and you will no longer be someone they want to be like. I revel in the fact that I can do a goofy dance and they want to copy me. This wont last long. So I like to take advantage of the time I have.
Ok, shut up already. Where am I going with this?
Anyone seen that obnoxious commercial from Ask.com? With the horrible jingle and equally horrible dancing people on it? Tell me you have.
Its been permanently etched into my head.
Let me share a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEJqJUKDSWE
Alright, now that I have infected you with that brainwashing ditty, let me continue.
I have been singing and dancing that damn commercial for a week now with no relief in sight.
The other night, my kids are eating dinner and my 4 year old goes, "Hey ladies! Who wants a deal?"
And my 2 year old answers "I do I do!"
They continued on.
"Hey fellas! Who wants a deal?"
"I do I do!"
"Hey chickens! Who wants a deal?" (you knew he had to include chickens right??)
"I do I do!"

My husband walks past me and says, "I hope you're proud of yourself."

Oh honey. You don't even know.
(wipes a tear)

Cannons and Kleenex

I was feeling a bit festive today and put on some Christmas music. Then this song came on:

Amazing Christmas Canon -Trans Siberian Orchestra - The funniest movie is here. Find it And my mind immediately went back to one afternoon around this time last year.
Or maybe it was the year before....my mind is all but gone.
Anyways. My husband and I were driving home from a doctors appointment for my youngest son. I was frazzled since he had shots and hates doctors and essentially screamed the entire time we were in the building. Christmas Canon was playing on the radio and we were driving past the hospital and stopped at a traffic light. On the corner was a father holding the hand of his son who looked to be no more than 3. I remember that the pajamas he was wearing stood out in the gray winter day. As they crossed the street, the little boy, still holding his fathers hand, jumped up and off the curb and then scrambled across the street.
The little boy was bald.
My guess is that he was a cancer patient.
I watched him walk across that street in his jammies with his dad and it just struck a chord with me and I started crying.
I was overwhelmed with sadness for them, gratefulness of what I have and I think that damn song pushed me over the edge.
Now every time I hear this song I think of that little boy.
I don't know where you are little guy, but I hope you are happy and thriving and feeling a bit festive too.

Tiny Dancer

My son is wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a onesie. The onesie is snapped on the outside of his pants. Sort of like a really bad tribute to Madonna. Or a really really bad ballet dancer.
Why you ask is my son dressed like a strange girl?
Let me tell you.
My son has this fun game he likes to play where he goes off into another room quietly craps his pants, digs in there with his hand and then comes running up to me with his hand out to show me.
Kind of like a cat marching with pride up to his owner with a dead bird in his mouth to show off his hunting prowess.
Only instead of a cat.
Its my 2 year old.
And instead of a dead bird.
Its shit.
And no fewer than three times in as many days I have been given the stink finger.
So I embarked on a journey to find the right outfit to deter the doodoo mining.
First I tried the onesie thinking that since every time I turned my back, my son had his hand down the back of his diaper like his butt was a dyke and he was the little dutch boy. Well that didnt work. He poked his fingers through the leg openings. Next I put a pair of pants on over the onesie.
Butt covered.
Legs covered.
Wrong.
Being the little homo sapien that he is. He just took his pants off. Leg opening once again made available for easy crap extraction.
Ok, onesie with overalls. Deterred him for an afternoon, until I caught him standing in front of the TV, with both hands down the sides of the overalls grinning with pride.
This my friends, is why my child is now running around in what looks like a leotard with ill fitting leggings underneath. Took me a while, but I think I am finally one step ahead of my child.
At least until he learns how to work the snaps....

Kitchen Bitchin

My husband found a deal on line for this free video game and downloaded it to my computer. Its cute. Its this girl who runs a bakery and you have to wait on each customer, get their order right, and get them out the door as quickly as possible. Of course it gets progressively more difficult the further along you get. The orders are more complicated and the customers are in a hurry. You will eventually screw up and tick someone off.
I have wasted a small chunk of my life playing this game.
Then it dawned on me I spend a larger chunk of my life playing this game in real life. It hit me when I was getting dinner ready for my kids.
One child is protesting dinner and sitting in the family room. I get the other kid in a booster seat and hand him his bowl of pasta. He starts eating, and I go back to preparing dinner for my husband and myself. My son then tells me he is thirsty. I prepare him a cup of chocolate milk and go back to the stove. My 4 year old hears the words "chocolate" and "milk" and comes in asking for some. I tell him as soon as he is ready to eat his dinner, he can have some. He agrees.
I give him a bowl of pasta and go back to my dinner.
Im reminded that I have chocolate milk to prepare.
I make said beverage. Back to my dinner prep.
My other child who has been quietly eating his pasta like a caveman, decides he doesn't like the resulting mess on his hands and holds his hands out for me to wipe them.
Dinner prep once again abandoned for a quick hand wipe.Then as I go back to the stove I hear the sound of pasta hitting the ground. Then a bowl hitting the ground. And finally a sippy cup of chocolate milk hitting the ground.
I stop what I'm doing and clean up the mess, then clean up the kid. He decides he is not done and wants his cup back.
I could go on here but I think you get the idea. From the moment they sat down to eat until the moment they were done and walked out, I was going back and forth fixing something, wiping something, retrieving something etc.
*click*
*click*
*CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK*
Damn mouse doesn't work in the kitchen. How do I turn this game off? I dont wanna play anymore!

Transcript from Hell

kid 1 to kid 2: Shush!
me to kid 1: Don't tell him to shush, that's not nice.
kid 2 to kid 1: You shush!
me to kid 2: Don't you tell him to shush now. That's not helpfu-
kid 1 to kid 2: Shush!
me to kid 1: NO! That's a NO NO!
kid 2 to kid 1: Yeah! No No!
me to kid 2: STOP IT!
kid 1 to me: Stop!
Kid 2 to kid 1: NO! YOU STOP!
me to everyone: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

I reiterate: Trying to discipline a toddler with a preschooler around is like trying to swim up a waterfall.

Dog Poo

Somewhere in the fine print at the very bottom of the contract you unknowingly sign when you push a human being out of your body it states that you have to explain death to your children.
I assumed telling them that Fido ran away (as did great Aunt Ethel and the guy down the street) was a good route to take. By the time they figured out the truth, they would have seen enough bad programming or played enough video games to know what really happens right? Ok, so apparently you cant do that..PFFT!
Our 13 year old dog took a turn for the worse and we knew the inevitable was coming and coming fast. So I dragged the kids to a book store, asked the guy for "books about dogs (whispered 'dying')". He nodded and pointed us in the right direction. I couldnt decide, so I grabbed three and went home.
I sat my son down and felt like I was tricking him, since he eagerly sat down expecting to hear a story about dogs and probably some fun adventures. I just imagined him listening to me and thinking "What? What the hell is this? The dog is dead? He is in a hole in the ground? The kid is crying? What is this shit?"
He took it all really well, so I assume he didn't really get it. But who am I to force the issue? When I was done, I explained a little about our dog and how he was very old and didn't feel very good, and I took him by the hand and led him out to the garage so we could pet the dog and see that he wasn't in great shape. My youngest who was playing in the corner got up and followed us into the garage. When we got back into the kitchen he was holding his hand out. I assumed he wanted me to hold his hand now too. So I grabbed a finger or two, led him through the kitchen and then let go. I was still talking with my 4 year old trying to make sure I wasn't scarring him for life and ruining any chance of ever sleeping peacefully again. So we went back into the living room, my 22 month old in tow. He is still looking like he wants my attention. I look at him and he holds his hand up at me again.
Im trying to find a funny picture of our dog from earlier times and so in a hurry I shake his hand and say "Nice to meet you!" and go back to flipping through the album.
And then it hits me.
The smell.
Coming from my hand.
And it all started to make sense.
He did not want me to hold his hand like I just did with his big brother. No. He didn't want to shake my hand either. Nope. What he did want however was to show me that while I was busy dancing the death talk tango, he was quietly in the corner doing his own little number (two). And he had the proof on his hand. And now MY hand!
Perhaps he sensed I was struggling with the topic and wanted to lighten it up a bit. I guess I should thank him.
Thanks. :/

Wet Floor and Drywall

I like to think that as my son stands in time out with his face crammed in the corner that he is thinking about why he is there.
Like maybe he is thinking about how it might not have been a very good idea to take an unopened fruit cup, walk into the kitchen where his mom is loading the dishwasher and announce "Watch out!! Flying peaches!!!" while simultaneously hurling the fruit cup into the air towards her. And that as the fruit cup travels through the atmosphere in slow motion and makes a hard landing, splits open and ejects its contents violently all over the floor, and he goes from excitement to immediate fear when he sees his mothers face wrinkle up and the door of the dishwasher fall open as she charges him like a bull whose sees the matador has tripped in the dirt, that maybe, just maybe...he should have thought this thing through a bit more.
But no.
Most likely he is thinking, "I wonder what this wall tastes like?"
Lick.
"Not bad."
Lick.
Lick.

Like Sands Through the Hourglass

My husband took the day off. My first inclination was to get dressed and sneak out of the window and leave him with the kids so I can sit in a Starbucks somewhere and just be.
Then I decided on something a little less selfish and suggested we take a drive to the lake and let the kids splash around in the water. So we pack up and head out.
This being California and in, I dunno, year 40 of a drought, the lake level was really low. This meant the hike from the car down to the water was significantly longer.
We grabbed the stroller, the kids and dog and start down the hill.
About 20 feet in, my 4 year old starts to feel the sand creeping into his sandals and is not impressed with the sensation. So he starts to complain. He hops onto the stroller my husband is pushing and it immediately sinks into the sand and stops. So he gets off and grabs my hand and asks me to carry him.
Um. hell no.
I tell him I have the dog and I cant carry him and he can just rinse his feet off in the water when we get to it. I point to the lake and remind him why we are here.
Keep your eye on the prize buckaroo! Eye on the prize!!
"I dont want to go to the lake! I want to go home! I dont want to go to the lake! I want to go home!!"
Im being pulled by the dog who is trying to keep up with my husband who is pulling the stroller backwards through the sand and rocks at breakneck speed trying to get to the water as quickly as possible. My youngest is sitting in the stroller, cheeks bouncing up and down and he has this look on his face like "WTF."
My 4 year old is wailing behind me and acting like we are walking through glass and fire. I look back at him and he has this drool strand hanging off of his lip and flapping in the wind.
All I could do at this point was laugh. Im cracking up at the whole scene. It was something straight out of a Chevy Chase movie.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally made it to the waters edge. And thankfully everyone ended up having a great time. But man, did we have to work for it.

Pot-Bellied Pig

I am on a mission. I have been rummaging through my sons old baby clothes looking for onesies. I thought that he had outgrown them, but I see a huge glaring need for them once again.
I cannot keep his hand out of his diaper.
Its there. All the time. Walking around, sitting, sleeping even.(I had to take a picture of him sleeping like that. Need to fatten the blackmail photo album in preparation for the teen years.)
Apparently there is a fear running rampant among men that at any given moment, their man parts could fall off. They have to keep close tabs on them at all times.
Step, step. Check. Step, step. Check.
He looks like a little Al Bundy. All he needs is a remote in the other hand.

*blink*

Yesterday I took the kids to a friends house to celebrate her daughters birthday. She has four children so I wasnt terribly concerned about what my kids could get into.
Silly me.
I had a temporarily let my guard down and had the nerve to have a 30 second conversation with a girlfriend and my 20 month old disappeared.
Two story house. Bottom story filled with balloons, children and even a clown!
No kid though.
Stairs. GAH!
I ran up stairs and quickly scanned the room. Its a play room. Toys as far as the eye can see.
No kid though.
I start calling his name and running from room to room.
Where was he?
The master bedroom.
In the 30 seconds it took me to begin a conversation, my child decided against watching a clown, scrambled up a set of stairs, bypassed a room full of toys and found his way into the master bath.
I found him swirling toilet paper with both hands in the toilet bowl.
My friends husband said "If it makes you feel any better, I just cleaned that toilet yesterday."
...sigh....
Reason number six thousand eight hundred and twenty three why I avoid outings in which I cannot contain my kids either in a stroller, car seat or shopping cart. If I cant tie them down, I dont wanna go. ;)

Last night Im helping my 4 year old get his pajamas on and as he steps into his shorts, his foot brushes up against me and its wet. He had just gone to the bathroom, so I suppose there's a number of reasons why he might have gotten his foot wet.
Right??
I brace myself for the answer and ask, "Why is your foot wet?"
Silence.
I repeat myself.
"WHY is your foot wet??"
I walk him into the bathroom and Im scanning to room looking for answers. Not much to see but a few drops of something wet on the rug in front of the toilet.
Trying to not over react on the off set chance he had a potty accident, I ask him again, as nonchalantly as an irritated mom can be.
"Honey? What happened? Did you pee on the floor? Why is your foot wet?"
He looks around and goes, "Umm (lie coming)I think maybe it got wet from the shower."
Looking at the bone dry shower I call him on his lie and ask him to tell me now what really happened.
"Ummm, I think maybe my foot accidentally fell in the toilet."
Ah, well okay then. I can only imagine the pickle one must find themselves in when they are standing at the toilet and their foot accidentally falls in. Must be one of the dangers of standing up to pee.
Deciding it wasn't worth it to press him for any info that I didn't really want to know, I asked him wash his foot and go to bed.

Pearls

Ive been trying for three days to sit down and update my blog, but I have not been granted such luxuries lately. So here's a quick tip that my son offered up when I get frustrated. (Courtesy of the latest episode of Blues Clues)

"When you get frustrated, you stop, take a big breath, and stink."