Ax Me No Questions…

Another Easter is in the books.  As you might expect, it was a long and sometimes long 3 day weekend.  Will kept getting yanked into work, meaning it was pretty much me and the kids for the duration.  What’s worse is that since Will was “working,” noise was not tolerated in the house.  I had to get creative and find stuff to do outside.  That’s ok but gets kind of exhausting after a while.

On Friday I finally managed to convince my son to get a haircut (after telling the kids we’d go outdoor toy shopping with ice cream cones to follow in the afternoon).  He was surprisingly mellow about it.  He looks like a different dude.  We also stopped at the Magic Plant Store (a.k.a. a nursery) to get a container to make a “succuwent” garden.  We had the succuwents already (although I let them each pick out a new small one) plus a huge pile of Precious rocks and minerals (mostly pyrite) we collected during a rock and gem event at a local swamp.  Don’t ask.  We stopped at Target for outdoor toys.  I have a whole other post coming about that.  I met my rubber nemesis.

See? His hair had gotten so long I could make these epic bunny ear ponytails. Ponytails were the only way he could “see pwoperly.”

We pioneered our new giant inflatable pool  for about 10 minutes (until Felix discovered how easy it was to yank the air ports open – the damn thing deflated in about 45 seconds, sending water everywhere).  The kids discovered that it still really is too chilly to play outside in water.  Mom knows her shit sometimes, no?  At one point on Saturday, I had run to Voldemart to get milk when Will called to find out  if the kids were “too cold.”  No one had blue lips – only violent trembling.  They were already back inside when I got home.

Then it was Sunday – Bunny Day.  Recognizing that Sir Bunny had been way too extravagant these past – ohhhh, I don’t know – 6 Easters, we asked that he scale back.  Each kid got a fun “container”, a main “toy,” and candy.  Stella got a new lunch box for school/camp and a skateboard.  She’s been begging for one since her brother got one for his birthday.  Felix got a toolbox and a Swiss Army Ax.  No, it’s not made by the actual Swiss Army company.  But it’s a small ax with a hammer on the other side, with all sorts of folding tools in the handle, and by tools I mean mostly tools for the purpose of murder/mayhem.  There are TWO serrated saws, a knife, a “scraper,” plus your run of the mill screwdrivers.

The unveiling of the ax.

Understand, Will saw this when we were out at one of those random places that sells shit way cheap to liquidate it.  You can find Ralph Lauren bedding next to a Sharper Images back scratcher.  That kind of place.  Well, Will saw the ax and thought Felix would LOVE it.  Now, normally I’m the shopper of the family.  I see things that I think people would like and I squirrel them away.  I’ve very rarely seen Will do this sort of thing.  So against my better judgement, I encouraged him to buy it for his son for Easter.  In my defense, I didn’t look closely at all the little dewhickeys stuck in the handle.  I saw ax.  Will said it had a rubber guard on it, and he could file it down if need be.  We bought the ax.

And see once upon a time? I’d think “A lizard! How cute!” Now? I secretly wonder where he put his ax.

Both kids were elated with their “baskets.”  Stella was sweet and cute and acted like a non-spoiled brat (as opposed to her performance at Xmas).  Felix was beaming.  He had AN AX.   “I GOT AN AX, MYMOM!!”  Yes, son.  You did.  You got a fucking ax.

See? Not an ingrate. Score!

I must be crazy.  We gave our son an ax for Easter.  Even with the sharp blades, it’s still an emergency room visit waiting to happen.  And we gave Stella a skateboard??  My only solace there is that she’s currently too freaked out by lovebugs to want to be outside much, and maybe by the time art camp/spring break is over she will have forgotten about it?  Maybe?  But Felix?  No chance.  The ax is Precious.  I had to threaten him with immediate ax removal if he tried to sleep with it.

He threatened to cut down every tree he came across.

While admiring how it glints in the sun…..

No not to cut this short (har har),but back to my Monday.  Hang in there, y’all.  Monday will be over with before you know it.

 

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From Sea to Shining She

My son is a trip.  I know, I know.  We all think our kids are the most unique, intelligent, creative, talented, humorous, and/or gifted children that have ever traveled the earth.  I think as they get older, we can relax a bit and realize that they can’t all be the best at everything.  For instance, Stella is a brainiac.  She really is.  She just smoked an accelerated reader test on a 4.7-level book.  She’s in first grade, dammit, and she only read the thing one time.  And her memory?  It’s terrifying.  But you know what?  She’s the most literal creature I’ve ever met.  If you say something along the lines of “I’m just pulling my leg” she will look at you and inform you that you’re nowhere near her leg.  And she’s not the wittiest kid in the world.  Sure, she loves to laugh, but humor will not be her forté.  I’m intrigued to see how she progresses.  She loves doing Girl Scouts, and I’m thinking of trying maybe piano lessons or some type of martial art.  She wants nothing to do with sports.  I don’t think she’s going to be a team kind of girl.  Hell, she gets that honestly.

Felix is his own creature.  His memory is also pretty robust, but being rather free-spirited he only shares it when it’s something he chooses to discuss.  I think his spatial and engineering skills are probably off the chart.  His teacher at the playschool he attends often says they wish they had a fenced playground all for himself to just see what he would build without the interference of other kids.  His playschool is great, providing lots of “raw materials” such as lengths of bamboo, blocks of wood, bricks, and the like for kids to play with or build with how they choose.  Felix comes up with some pretty impressive contraptions.

Um?

Speaking of, he’s got 2 near my front door now that neither me or his father can bear to tear down: the original Daddy Twap and one that I believe is meant for the mailman.  His dad even went so far as to move the mailman twap carefully while cutting the grass before replacing it exactly where it had been.

My son has long meaningful discussions with plants, particularly his spider plant, Beethoven.  He got really pissed at me last night because I had left Beethoven outside too long after watering and some bugs ate some holes in his foliage.  I’ve since been charged with finding special Beethoven bug spray.

Felix and Beethoven

His hair has become a “thing.”  For whatever reason, he has decided he is not getting it cut.  It’s so long now that it definitely is getting in his eyes.  Most of the time I’ll just put the front/top part up in 2-3 “ponytails.”  If you give him any grief about his hair, he will look at you calmly and say that with the ponytails he can see “pwoperly.”  Whatever, but people are starting to refer him as “she” or “her.”  What surprises me is how much that pisses me off.  To me he’s all boy.

His ponytails are slumping a bit in the heat.

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The Stars and Wipes Forever

Being a mom is often gross.  Childbirth – regardless of method- is full of blood and guts and fluids and other stuff.  And what’s next?  Diapers.  For years.

It doesn’t get much better after that. There’s snot, booger-eating, puking, that-time-that-Stella-ate-cat-puke, pooping in the tub, and things I cannot even remember or haven’t seen (yet).  And little kids have zero shame, although to be fair, why should they?  They’re cute and nothing is more precious in their parents’ eyes.  We think the world of our kids, sincerely believing -at least for a while- that no kid is as beautiful/handsome (although my kids are pretty darn pretty), smart (although my kids do seem astonishingly brilliant), athletic (well, other kids have to have an edge somewhere), or funny (one word- Felix).

You gradually get used to the gross stuff, especially once the kids learn to work the system by drawing you cute pictures of yourself often encased in crooked hearts or by telling you you’re the nicest, most beautiful mommy in the world.  Why yes, Magic Mirror.  C’est vrai!

But every once in a while, something -some event- happens  which shakes your mom-battled self to the core and shit gets real – real gross, that is.  This stomach virus has been such an event for me.  Eight and a half days later, I’m a mom hollering “uncle.”  To be fair, I think we’re almost done. But over the past 2.5 days I’ve probably spent 4 solid hours perched on the edge of the tub while liquid poured from my son’s butt.  Why did I sit, you ask?  Because if I didn’t, the second he finished (for the 73rd time) he would leap to his feet, run to the door, holler “MyMom wipe my buuuuuuutttt,” dribbling butt soup all over the floor.  I hit the wall last night.  I could almost cry.  I was tired, my back hurt, my hands were (are) a wreck from so much washing/sanitizing, and there was only enough wine for 1.5 glasses.  And as cute as my son was sitting on the commode chattering about showing the cat some science, I was sick of it.  I was tired of gross smells and liquids and germs.

I am immensely proud that Felix used the down time to work on “the eyebrow.”


It hits us all sometimes.

So guys/husbands/friends out there?  Even if your girlfriend/wife/bestie seems to be super-f’ing-woman, sometimes she needs something pretty or sweet or sweet-smelling.  It doesn’t have to be much – a single sunflower, a small container of hand cream, a nice piece of chocolate.  And don’t forget the Lysol wipes.

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Girls Just Wanna Have Runs

Flashback: one week ago.  Crispi has appeared for her final visit before she and my stepdad drive their magical rolling house away.  The kids are excited.  The next day – Friday- Stella and I were set to join the first grade class of her school for an epic field trip to New Orleans to see both the aquarium AND the children’s museum.  Ambitious, no?  Late that Thursday night, Stella puked.  

Y’all, I didn’t think anything was wrong.  This has happened before. Because of her medication, Stella often doesn’t eat a thing for lunch. By dinner time she’s starving.  She can eat an amazing amount of food. Once or twice she’s overdone it.   That particular night, she had eaten almost an entire packet of quinoa and brown rice – a packet designed to serve 4 people. Oh, and there were salmon and green beans, too.  I would have likely puked as well.

The next morning, she seemed great. She was excited and energetic. We set off for her school.   She spit (maybe threw up a little?) in the grassy area next to my car. I thought it was strange and asked her how she felt. She said she was fine and practically yanked me into the school.  I took her at her word.

We made it to the aquarium just fine, and for the first hour or so she had a ball. She paired up with a little friend, and the two girls charged around the place like little hummingbirds.  They were everywhere all at once. Then you could see it. It was like a veil came down over Stella’s eyes.  She felt sick. I yanked her into one of the restrooms, but it was one of the ones that has the autoflush commodes.  Try being a six-year-old, not feeling well, with some lingering sensory issues, trying to puke in a commode with auto flush. It was fucking awful.  We spent the rest of the aquarium trip on a bench. She did concede that buying her a toy in the gift shop might make her feel better, and a very nice lady help me score the last dose of Pepto-Bismol for sale in the joint.  Stella chewed the pink tablets and then threw them up about 15 minutes later.  The children’s museum was no better. We found a corner which served as a reading nook, and she curled up on the floor pillows. That’s where we stayed until it was time to leave.


For what it was worth, we weren’t the only ones. About four other kids became ill as well. It was definitely a virus.  Bad news.  Stella spent the whole weekend as well as Monday and Tuesday down for the count.  It sucked as there were tons of festivals and such we could have done with Crispi.  Instead, the couch was the main event.  Hopes were dashed further on Monday morning when the Dude started to throw up.  Fortunately – I guess – Will had taken Monday and Tuesday off because we were due to go to New Orleans to see Radiohead. Rather than enjoying a couple of days of relaxation or utilizing the time for home-improvement projects, he got to take care of two sick kids.  It was just his turn.

Ah, Radiohead.  Seeing them in concert has been on my bucket list forever. I’ve always wanted to see them. Honestly, I haven’t been to a single concert since I saw The Cure in 1998.  I used to live at concerts. This one was a very different experience. Not only was I was somewhat wracked with guilt for abandoning my sick kids with my mother-in-law, I guess I’m just also that much older.   I had no patience for the opening act or the four kids in front of us sneaking a joint. I forgot how bad that shit stinks.  I also found myself sitting with my purse clasped on my lap. I felt like Sophia from the Golden Girls.  But despite all of that, as well as our nosebleed seats, I am so grateful I got the chance to go and finally see them live. They were absolutely amazing.  If they ever come anywhere close to me again, I will definitely go back. And I’ll make sure I get seats that don’t require a Sherpa to find.


The rest of this week has been a blur of work and sick kids.  Hell, I even missed a Daisy Scout meeting.  I never miss those.  And just like last week, the timing couldn’t be worse. This weekend we have a birthday party on the docket as well as several other Easter activities. Honestly, I don’t know how many -if any – we will make.  I wouldn’t wish this virus on my worst enemy.

 Stella seems completely back to normal, I guess. Her attitude and sass are coming back, if not her appetite. That was one thing that was more startling than anything else: how quiet my house was when my children weren’t feeling well.  There was none of this nonsense going on:


Y’all stay healthy.

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Chair of the Dog

The weekend was busy.  After the dust settled from Camp Saturday (Will ended up being at work all day long), I was ready to chew my arm off and get out of the house with the kids.  It’s funny.  I get burnt out being around the kids, but it’s so much worse when you’re trapped at home together.  I think it traps all the damn sound.  By Sunday morning, I was done.  I desperately needed to get myself and the children out of the damn house.  Will was on-call, and received some kind of notification that one of his sites may have been burglarized. 3 damn hours – and at least3 shouting episodes from me – later, we finally left to go to the zoo.  I didn’t care where we went.  As long as it was out.  Can you feel my frustration?

My creativity in coming up with activities for my children was limited to puddles.

I had promised the kids that we would get the inflatable pool out Sunday, as it was finally warm enough to pull it off.  I had said that Stella’s BFF could come over as well.  We lost so much damn time dicking around in the morning that I ended up practically shoving my family through the zoo so we could get home in time to swim.  That was pretty dumb and yet another instance of my trying to bite off a wee bit more than I can chew.    Felix didn’t care.  He somehow found a big chunk of bamboo and convinced his father and me to let him bring it home.  He wanted to swim with it, which was vetoed; we were afraid he’d pop the pool.  Didn’t even matter.  The pool has a leak somewhere, as evidenced by the sagging walls after about 45 minutes.  Dammit.  Need a new pool.  He wanted to take Bamboo to bed last night.  Of course.  Good thing I vetoed that.  At 3:30 AM he was joining me in bed.  I can handle my dude.  I have no use for a giant bamboo stick.

Felix and Bamboo.

This week promises to be just as hectic.  Work – gah.  I’m taking off Friday to ride on a bus with Stella’s class to New Orleans for a field trip.  My mom and stepdad are coming through for their final visit before disappearing again, so will be around through Sunday.  Next weekend is a girl scout leader meeting the first half of Saturday, plus some big festival here in town, and Kite Fest across the river.  Monday I have a ginormous executive-level meeting which I will sprint from in order to grab my kids, dump them home, and head back to New Orleans for Radiohead.

Will grilled out a whole mess of chicken Sunday night, because obviously we didn’t have enough going on. There was a little mishap.

When I was pregnant with Stella, I developed pretty gnarly back pain.  The government-issue chairs in our offices were pretty damn tortuous. I ended up buying some high-backed pleather thing from Office Depot for about $90.  For several years, my chair was pretty damn luxurious, particularly once my work husband bought me an ottoman for my birthday one year so I could put my feet up.  Fast forward 7 years – and 2 pregnancies later – and this chair sucks.  The pleather finish has flaked/is flaking off, leaving black bits of pleathery flakes everywhere.  The arms have the fabric showing through.  I can’t get the seat to raise anymore.  The back is shot, such that even with 4 throw pillows I can’t get comfortable.  Will had promised me a chair for my birthday last year.  We looked a few times, but it seemed like all my favorites were $175 or more and I’m too damn cheap to spend that on a damn desk chair.  I finally broke down and ordered one from Amazon.  It can’t be worse  than this.  Right?  I’m going to need something restful after all of this.

The word of the day appears to be “damn” or any derivative thereof.  Enjoy your damn Monday.

 

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Trapper’s Delight

“I’m going to build a Daddy twap because you put me in time out!”  This is my son snarling to Will.  To be fair, Will had only threatened time out.  I had just put his little butt in the chair (for kicking his sister karate-style in the ass – direct hit).  Will asked why he wasn’t building a Mommy twap.  “Because she takes care of me.”  Indeed.  Check mate, Daddy.

It has been a day.  I spent the first few hours obsessively chewing my nails and watching the computer; summer camp registration opened at 9:00, and despite the fact that Will works for the organization behind it, we get no special perks.   Hell, since we’re doing “specialty camps” this year, we don’t even get a teensy discount.  Bitches.  And since much of this occurs online and Will works in IT, he was working.  Have you ever tried to do anything incredibly time-sensitive and convoluted with 2 kids hollering underfoot?  My BP was probably 300/150.  I needed a camp so I could register for camp.  $1200 later, Stella has a home for the summer.  Dear glob.  What the hell am I going to do next year when I’m sorting out two children? (🍷).  I need a damn village.  To be fair, I tried to drum one up, but when every mom you know is stressed/spread thin/ depressed, it’s small wonder volunteers are sparse.  

And we got to have dinner with friends Thursday night.  I say this sadly because I feel sadly about it.  You know how hard it is to make friends as an adult, as a couple, as a family.  Usually there’s at least one party that doesn’t like so-and-so, or is uncomfortable with such-and-such.  It never felt that way with them.  Then they up and moved to Savannah.  Dammit.  Dinner just made me miss them more, and highlight the fact that we don’t have many contenders to replace them. 

Stella grew up with this sweet boy. We used to dream about them going to prom together.

When did anxiously awaiting concert tickets to Social Distortion/Pearl Jam/The Cure/Depeche Mode become waiting to see if your kid gets a week at zoo/swamp/art camp?? When did your close friends drift off into their own lives and families?  Dammit, no one told me how lonely this shit would be.

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Note of Arms

I suppose it’s easy to feel taken for granted as a mother. Your children don’t thank you for picking up their toys, or cooking them breakfast, or wiping their butts.  They certainly don’t thank you for giving up your Saturday afternoon to go to another kid’s birthday, as well as your own money buying another ingrate a birthday present.  They fail to realize how much easier you make their mornings by having school clothes already laid out and book bags packed.  They underestimate the stress of keeping up with doctors’ appointments and sorting out fun, safe, and appropriate summer camps.  They fail to appreciate that you hate their homework more than they do.

But every once in a while, you get a sign – a sign that demonstrates that there is a limit to their ingratitude.

Since Stella has been on ADHD medication this year, I realize that more often than not she won’t eat much at lunch. As such, I try to fill her lunchbox with stuff that would be enticing to a little girl who simply does not feel hungry.  It’s truly nasty stuff. You’ll find cookies, Slim Jims, black olives, candy, and chips.   Looking at her lunchbox, you would think that I truly am the worst mother in the world.  You would also never know that at dinner the other night she ate nearly a pound of salmon -who needs leftovers?- by herself along with brussels sprouts.  But I digress.

Every single day of the school year so far, I have put a little note and cartoon and her lunchbox for her.  I can’t draw to save my life, so it’s usually some poorly-rendered anthropomorphic food item with big bug  eyes  and eyelashes.  Think the Shopkins’ ugly redneck cousin.  Or sometimes it’s an animal. Anyway, the note is always encouraging. I tell her to be kind, think and work carefully, listen well, and I always sign it with a little “❤ mom.”

Almost every single day when her lunchbox comes home, it looks like the note is untouched. I sometimes ask if she’s seen it. Usually I get an “I don’t know.”  But I keep sending the notes anyway. I figure some day in the future when she thinks her mother is the biggest asshole in the world maybe she’ll remember those notes.

Two nights ago she asked for small-sized paper and colored pens.  There was much intense drawing and writing for quite a while on the kitchen counter. Later she approached me and told me that she had notes to put in my lunch for the next day at work.

 It’s more of a goofy story or comic book then a note. But it’s absolutely amazing. While I have jettisoned much kid art in the past several years, this will be kept. (And the braggy mom in me must point out that the spelling errors were done on purpose. She wanted it to be silly, like Captain Underpants.)

They do get it. Or at least some of it. 

It’s always nice to be told you’re luvly.


Cute, but the spelling errors are killing me just a little.


All Felix needs is a pointy goatee.


I honestly don’t know why Felix is the villain in the story. She must have been angry with him.


What?  Me wurry?


I feel very purtekted.

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He’ll Give You the Squirt Off His Back

Busy. So busy that time passes so quickly and each moment is crammed with so much stuff that it seems surreal.  

Surreal.  It’s a Sunday afternoon in March and I’m watching my kids play in the sprinkler, each eating their 5th Popsicle.  Earlier today we went and saw the Wienermobile and got photobombed by a firetruck.


I’ve got tons of blog snippets jotted down, but I haven’t had a chance to work with them. Maybe this week?

Will and I made the kids give us the TV for 40 minutes so we could watch  episode 2 of Iron Fist on Netflix.  Now Felix is running around pounding everything.  Dammit.  Parenting fail.  We actually got a date night  last night and caught Logan.  We’ve had that odd “now what” in our heads after seeing something impactful and thought old Iron Fist could fill it. Hence the poor decision- making process.

Speaking of Will, I have to give him a shout out.  Y’all know I’ve bitched about our neighbors’obnoxious yapping   Chihuahuas, right?  Once upon a time it was just the Desperate Housewife next door (so named for her extremely slender frames, upright bosom, and anxious nature reminiscent of Terri Hatcher).  She got 2.  Then she married this big brute we call the Gorilla.  He had 1 plus some other big mutt.  The big mutt is fine – a delight.  The pack of rat dogs not so much.  They bark.  They bark so much.  At one point, she even laughingly apologized, saying it was accidental that they ended up with 4 dogs and to feel free to “squirt them with the hose” if they barked too much.  Well….

We really are live and let live kind of people.  But these dogs aren’t reciprocating.  We’ve tried an ultrasonic bird house.  It worked for a while.  Will threw firecrackers in their general direction a few times.  Our cop neighbor came to the house with his flak vest on.  We haven’t done that again.  So the hose is plan Z.

See, DH and the Gorilla have a dog door, so these furry nightmares can come and go at will.  Friday night was exceptionally bad.  They went so crazy that several times we stepped out back thinking that just maybe there was something legit going on.  Nope.  Not even a stupid possum.  This went on for hours.  I went to bed about 10:30 after several glasses of wine.  Will stayed up.  And had more wine.  And listened to more incessant barking.  He had enough.  At 12:30 he barged over, rang the doorbell, and pounded on their door.  No answer.  So he got the hose.  He let fly.

He says he stayed out there for 10 minutes, showering their back door every time he saw one of their snaggletoothed faces pop out.  Think aquatic whack a mole.  They didn’t bark at all yesterday.  We didn’t see them come out at all.  

No one wants to be that guy but I’d rather be that guy than those guys.  Next time I suppose we’ll just call the city cops and tell them about the horrible violation of the noise ordnance.  Or maybe 3 wet dogs too freaked out to do their business outside for a full 24 hours will have an impact.

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Ticks and Stones May Break My Bones

After promising them for months, we finally took the kids tent  camping.  They were beyond excited.  This was easily as big as Halloween.  As a matter of fact, they were so excited and wound up that while Will and I struggled to set up camp in the dark their noise was enough to drive away some fellow campers within about 45 minutes.  I felt momentarily bad about that but then realized they were in a camper and were therefore camping poseurs.  And who really goes camping for the peace and quiet?!  Chumps.


No, seriously, this was a very different camping experience.  Will and I used to camp all the time.  We both worked retail and had goofy schedules.  We never had weekends off.  So whenever we could get a few days off mid-week, off we went.  And the campgrounds were deserted during those times.  It was awesome.  It was quiet.  That was a lifetime ago – a different life.


But you know, this was OK too.  Once we got set up, had a fire going, fed everyone their hot dogs and marshmallows, and survived the 42 degree night, it was pretty awesome.  I also won’t dwell on the stupid rain that chased us off early Sunday morning, rendering my container of prepared pancake batter useless as we drove my damp and hastily-packed 4Runner through a Lafayette McDonald’s.

Stella completed all the requirements for a Junior Ranger badge unintentionally, although the aforementioned rain meant we had to bail before actually picking up the badge (no matter, as there are sites nearby we can visit and grab one while we’re there).  This meant several guided hikes where I actually learned a lot of stuff about the plants in the area.  We saw a speckled king snake on our own.  I like that my kids don’t run screaming from shit like that.


And y’all: I saw fireflies. Loads of them.  Sure, not the hundreds I would see as a kid but definitely more than I’d seen at one time in over a decade.

Everyone was glad to be home.  The kids missed wifi.  Hell, the adults did, too.  But we made some really good memories and now we know we can do it.  No one got hurt.  No one went completely mad.  The kids had a ball.  And we only brought one tick home (shudders).


Happy Tuesday, y’all.

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We Pee Kings

“Just you wait.  When you potty train your son, pee will get everywhere.”

“Yeah, right,” I thought to myself, thinking this was yet another know-it-all trying to overshare.  Fortunately, this sort of thing seems to come way more infrequently the older the kids get.  But every once in a while you get someone….

Fast-forward a year or so.  Felix is finally potty trained.  For the first time in over 6 years I’m not changing anyone’s damn diaper.  Can I get a hallelujah?  And after that one awful weekend when he shat himself in public no fewer than 4 times, it has all been so easy!  Only one accident at school.  Only 2 oopsies at night.  It’s been amazing.  And let me tell y’all something: this is not one of those rites of passage that as a mom makes me teary and miss my “wittle babies.” Hell no.  This is liberation.

Then I noticed something.  The kids’ bathroom started to reek.  At first I thought it was one of those stupid cats again.  I never found a puddle.  I washed the bathmat.  I mopped the floor and Lysol wiped the hell out of the commode.  It helped, for about an hour.  There is pee in that bathroom somewhere and it is hiding from me.  I’ve cleaned compulsively.  I’ve rubbed my face over the bathmat (which has just been washed but still).  I’m so pissed.  It’s like Felix has managed to aerosolize his urine and has soaked the very fabric of the house with it.

To make matters worse, Stella has taken it upon herself to be the potty cheerleader/peanut gallery.  She has apparently noticed that unlike “real” big boys, Felix sits down to pee.  Last night I had to sprint into their bathroom to keep her from yanking her brother to his feet mid-wee.  I tried to explain to her that all boys start peeing sitting down, and that Felix was a bit too short to effectively pee standing up.  I don’t think she gets it.

In other news, I’m excited to report that my tribe will be camping soon.  The kids are beside themselves.  Hell, so am I. I’ve been Pinteresting the hell out of camping stuff, and we just found an amazing Cadillac of a tent at Voldemart.  Sure, we’ve done cabin camping, but a big part of me still thinks that’s cheating – and expensive.  If this upcoming trip goes well, it will really expand our perimeter as far as travel goes.  We can start to do more, see new places.  Now if only my family can keep their act together….

It’s Mardi gras time down here.  We didn’t even make it to a single parade this year.  Honestly, I just can’t get that excited about plastic beads.  Regardless, if you’re into it, laissez les bon temps rouler!

EPee phone home?

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