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.