Poopie Head

I don't understand this whole sibling dynamic. My brother and I are 10 years apart, I am perfect he is not.  I was an only child until I was almost ten.  I loved my brother from the moment he arrived.  When I morphed into a tragic teenager, he was a sweet little boy.    My mother reminds me quite often that "she did it right!"   Lately, I have wondered if she did in fact do it  right.  The dynamics in my home leave me flabbergasted.  E and C argue about everything and anything.   This was the fight this morning at 6:30 am:
C: "Mommy! I went poop"
 E: "I went poop first."
C: "No I did!"
Me: "Who didn't flush the potty?"
C: "Not me, it was E"
E: "It was C, it looks like C's poop."
Me: "Really how do you know what Middle C's  poop looks like? "
 E: "She talks too much when she eats and doesn't chew her food, there were chunks. "

On a positive note, Middle C has been doing well in Kinder.  I had my concerns, but she has earned three super behavior stamps.  When she was chatting about her day, she mentioned that today's stamp was very light because she just barely earned it. She colored her hand black because she wanted to look like the little girl sitting next to her.

Drama on hold ...for a few hours

First day of school, done. 

I asked Middle C about her first day of kinder..."I love my teacher, she thinks I am an awesome skipper, just not in the hall." E's comment about 1st grade, "My teacher is nice, but she must be old like you because sometimes she forgets things...and I heard Claire get yelled at for skipping in the hall."  OK, Miss. "One-upper".  My comment about the first day of school, "Supercalifragilisticexpalidocious ,  almost eight hours without tattling, yelling,or complaining.  Just 3.5 hours until bed time.  Sweet!  

Today also began my life with just one kiddo at home...

Baby A got undivided attention for the first time in... forever.  Our discussion topic, panties.  I felt ambitious and let her sit on the potty and put her in big girl panties.  She sat on her little potty and in the time it took me to get a new roll of T.P. she managed to break the valve under the pedestal sink causing water to spray in her face.  Her eyes were as big as saucers, as I screamed for hubby to turn off the water.  A scurried off the potty, slipping on the wet floor, tears gathering in her eyes and ran to find her diaper.  Yeah, toilet training is not in our future now.  She keeps wandering over to the potty saying, "Potty, water, eyes.  No Potty!"   Hmmm...tomorrow we will try watching Elmo. 

"WILD" Kingdom Late Night

            In our attempt to pack in a few more memories before sending the kid’s off to school, we decide to go to one of our local zoo's.  Our city has the zoo and the "zoo”. I actually prefer to go to the “zoo”. It is down a few back roads littered with one or two mattresses that may or may not have had a crime committed on them, and one "gently mangled" sofa missing an armrest.  This Zoo is tucked away between a few mobile homes, past an abandoned storage shed, down a dirt road.   You really do need a GPS to find it.  It was awesome that we had one in the car.  The only issue was my directionally, absolutely, 100% correct husband did not believe “Xena” our travel warrior.  I watched as he argued with her and chose a different road, after a different road.  “Recalculating…..recalculating…..recalculating”, the miles to the zoo went from 11 to 21.   After an extra 30 minutes and Xena expertly teaching Baby A to now say “recalculating” we made it.

            It was a great time, the weather was good, and the animals stayed behind their bailing wire and duct tape fences.  Then I spotted it, a Zebra that was apparently rather excited.  I am NOT talking about old school Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom excited, I am talking about Discovery Channel Late Night excited.  I did my best to not point it out to the kids, but I HAD to say something to the hubby.  I also, because I really am not mature, thought that I would get a photo op of Middle C standing in front of the “huge” zebra.  She glanced over and posed for the photo.  Just before I snapped the photo, someone got very camera shy.  Claire looked at me after the photo and said, “Wow that Zebra turned from a boy to a girl.  God can do anything on a Sunday.”  Why yes, Middle C, he can.  He can also give my sweet little family the opportunity to watch yet, another Animal Kingdom Porn Scene.  Mr. Bear was having a moment with himself.  It was not a quiet moment; there was some loud grunting.  As we approached, hubby and I stopped and stared as we observed Mr. Bear committed a fairly impressive act of personal fellatio.  Baby A was giggling screaming”funny, funny,” in her high pitched voice as Mr. Bears grunts became louder.  Hubby attempted to distract the girls by mention it was snack time.  The girls ran off, Hubby and I just shrugged our shoulders.   I suppose solitary confinement amusements are few and far between…or should I say fur and fur between?  

Mr. Bear Himself

Conversations

Scrolled through my Facebook feed and realized that August really did provide me with a few giggles between the bickering, whining, and chaos.

~Apparently, I have broken Middle C's heart forever because I "forgot" to buy Strawberry Short Cake band-aids and only have the plain ones. I told her they were twice as much money to get the fancy ones, she replied,"Yeah, but just think of how much money an infected cut will cost you because these plain ones don't cover as much skin." Good Luck Kinder teachers, I will soon pass the torch to you.
 
~ We were watching the closing Olympic Ceremonies when George Michael came on. Without thinking I said," I thought he was still in jail". George started singing, "Freedom". E looked up and said ,"Obviously he likes being out of jail because he wrote a song about it." I am just glad he didn't sing, "I want your sex".

~ I have hit the age where a thong will no longer be in my panty rotation. I tossed them on the ground while I was cleaning out the drawer. I just went upstairs to the play room and discovered that they girls seem to think they make a pretty awesome hammocks in the Barbie Dream house.

~ Shout out to my 5 year old for keeping it real." Mommy, I know you have been sick, but it isn't hard to shower and put some lipstick on." She then digs through my panty drawer and pulls out a thong from years ago."This will make you feel much better!" 

~ The girls were attempting synchronized diving at the pool today. Before jumping off the diving boards, they would discuss what they would do. I overheard Middle C saying,"Ok, first you toot, then shake your bottom, and then do spirit fingers." 

Glass of mommy guilt...

Middle C's note for her sister

The start of school is just two long weeks away.  I feel guilty about saying it, but I am ready.  I announced my feelings about school to a few friends and one of them floored me when she said, I don’t want to send them back, I am having so much fun with them.  I will miss them so much.  That is when I felt that little sting in my heart that makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with me?   I should enjoy these last few days of togetherness.  The following day I was determined to have “fun”.  I told the girls to get on their swimsuit.  Simple task, but apparently middle C “accidentally” dropped E’s swim suit in the toilet when she was bringing it to her.  E retaliated by declaring that Middle C was wearing one of her old swimsuits that she always thought was ugly.  Tears and drama ensued, but I didn’t yell I”enjoyed” the moment.  Baby A took a dump in her swim diaper two minutes before we were about to get in the car. After the drama, and 20 minutes of deep breaths and determination to not loose it and enjoy my kids, I loaded all three girls into the swagger wagon.  First stop the neighborhood pool, and the sunscreen ritual.  Yes, someone is always getting it in their eyes.  Baby A inevitably will find the one spray bottle not locked and spray her face.  There will be tears, but I will “enjoy” the moment.  After the pool, I took the girls to get their new backpacks.  While at Toy R Screwing us, Baby A managed to get her foot stuck in the slats of the cart.  She was screaming bloody murder, and the teenage employee looked confused when I asked if she had any lotion to help grease up her chunky leg so I could pull it out of the cart.   I tried not to lose it when she said they didn’t have lotion.  Really?  They sell baby diapers and baby necessities.  Baby A’s foot is swelling; my other girls are clutching their new backpacks in horror.  Then out of the corner of my eye, I see super woman sprinting down the aisle clutching a bottle of baby oil.  She helps me lube up baby A’s foot freeing her from the evil shopping cart vice.  I had tears in my eyes and sweat tricking down my back.  She looked me in the eye and said, “This is why I hired a babysitter this week.  I can’t take it anymore either.  On a positive note the baby will have smooth skin?"   I sniffed and gave her a big hug.  So for those of you mommies that are enjoying your last few days with your kiddos, bless your sweet little hearts.  For those of you mommies that are about lose your mind from the bickering, the pouting, the whining, and the constant pressure to make memories,   bless your exhausted guilty hearts.  Pour out that glass of mommy guilt and pour a glass of mommy glee, I won’t judge! Two weeks and counting...

House of ill repute

I have been so busy lately that I have neglected my blog.  Have I been busy vacationing, going on dates, blowing money, getting a rock solid body, tanning?  Um… nope just experiencing my first summer with three kids not in school.  My mother always said that she hated when summer was over.  Just pour me a glass of mommy guilt, because I am looking forward to sending them off.    I embarrassed my oldest by performing the cabbage patch, running man combination when I saw the “Back to School” display at Target.  For the record, I still can rock it old school style.   Speaking of old school, I have finally decided it was time to empty out the panty/bra drawer.  Gals you know what I am talking about, remember those totally cute, lacy numbers, the sexy thongs that you perhaps wore when you first got married.  Victoria did have a secret and they are all jammed in the back corner of my drawer.    While baby A was napping, and the older girls were playing upstairs.  I sorted the items from…granny with too many holes, granny but comfy, special occasion, and “G” so not wearing that string.   I shoved the retired panties into a Wal-Mart bag and threw it in my closet.  Apparently there must have been a few renegade thongs begging to be used.  Later that day, I went up to the playroom and found this lovely moment frozen in time.  Notice the clever use of the thong as it cradles a mother mermaid and her child.  Western Barbie (circa 1984) appears to be attempting a Fifty Shades Of Gray move. The other Barbie is working on some Pilates equipment above her bed.  Not sure what is going on with the “Sunshine Family Dad” and the girl in the bath tub.  When I questioned middle C about it she said, “ Mom, that is not a boy , its just a girl that likes to look different and she has eczema, also her legs fall off if I try to take off her pants.”

Urine your backyard...

I'll admit sometimes I look at Middle C and wonder where she came from, and then hubby does something and all I can do is shake my head and shrug my shoulders.  Last weekend, we attended a party at our next-door neighbor's house.  I had some wine and hubby had one or two beers.  We came home around 8:00pm (gasp!) and put the girls down.  I sat down at my computer to do some work, and hubby went to finish up some yard work.  About an hour later, he waltzed in.  He glanced at me in the office typing away, and proceeded to give me a bear hug.  I pushed him away and wrinkled up my nose.  Stinky!  He started chuckling.  He came in for another smelly hug, and then started laughing.  I stared at him in utter confusion.  Seriously?  What is so funny about smelling like booty?  In between laughter, he managed to relay the story of what occurred the backyard moments before.  Let me clarify, that we do back up to a greenbelt with a short fence and have a sweet little burrow filled with two baby bunnies under one of our trees.  Hubby was attempting to protect them from the coyotes that we hear every night.  How could a six foot, four inch man, protect the sweet little bunnies...peeing the fence line of course, duh!  Well, while creating a human barrier, he was looking down and managed to forget about the bird feeder we had hanging from a low branch.  Yes, my brilliant hubby cracked his head on the feeder, showering him in congealed bird poop, seed, and stale rain water.  He was sweet enough to hug me and play "what's that stench?"  Sigh...

wax on, wax off

The other day my hubby and I had the state of our union briefing that primarily focused on the budget and spending cuts. He showed me pie-charts and graphs outlining our spending habits in the past few months.  We discussed where we could make some cuts in our spending.  I sat there feeling guilty at the spiking red line in the grocery spending, while sipping on box wine.  Hey, I am trying.  After the talk, I really needed to make some changes and there by forgoing a spa appointment that I had made.  Not spa like relax, but spa as in wax.  Our ten year anniversary is this weekend, and I though I would surprise hubby with some smooth skin.  I chose a nice place, versus the place I get my 8 dollar brow wax for obvious reasons.  I have never had anything waxed besides the brow before.  Well, the budget cuts forced me to rethink my choices.  After talking to a friend, she recommended doing the wax at home.  So, I bought the Sally Hansen wax strip kit.  The cheerful box boasted "quick and easy, works on short hair, and results lasting 8 weeks!"  I waited for hubby to go out for the evening, got the kiddos to bed, and downed a glass of wine to take the edge off.  I locked my bedroom door and preceded to lay out the items.  I began to read the directions and then at the bottom of the pamphlet I spy the phrase, "Must have at least 21 days of growth."  What??  Shouldn't that have been on the front of the box?  Who lets everything grow out for 21 days?  I couldn't return the box because I opened it, and I am too cheap to waste it, so I tried it despite my lack of 21 days of growth.  Not the brightest thing I have done, I guess you need 21 days of fur so you don't rip off a fine layer of skin.  Apparently, there are somethings that need to be budgeted for.  Happy Anniversary honey...

Tinkle

Just discovered that Middle C has been experimenting with urine collection. I found a bucket in her room this morning.  When I asked her about it she said,"Ummm...I am practicing being a nurse, they have to work with tinkle."  I shook my head.   "What?  They said on TV that trying things will help me know what I want to be when I grow up.  Seriously!"  My response was probably not one any parenting book would suggest. "Well try being a janitor and clean this shit up" (yes I shit, it just slipped, out it was 6:30 in the morning.)  Claire glared at me and stomped her foot, " It is not shit, it is tinkle AND you said a bad word."  Why yes, yes I did.

Lyrical Genius

This morning Middle C age 5, woke me up with a new song that she made up.
(to the tune of "I'm Sexy and I know it")
Your a Mommy and you know it,
You have boogers in your nose and your not afraid to blow it, blow it, blow it.
When you walk in the house, this is what you see
toys on the floor and you scream at me.
You have stink in your pants and you aren't afraid to blow it (she then made a toot sound with her mouth and shook her booty)

I am thinking she just might be the next Weird Al.  Seriously, there must be some sort of scholarship for her mad lyrical skills.

Cleavage Envy

If you have ever read my blog, you know that I suffer from T.T. (Tiny Tata's).   T.T. has been an issue in my life for many years , however after three kiddos, I now have T.T.T. (Teeny Tiny Tata's).  If you are cursed with my particular affliction you are required to wear a tank top under most of your shirts and dresses. There is not a line of clothing designed for TTT sufferers and so most clothes just hang down way too far.  Last night I was going out to meet some friends, I had a dress on and a tank underneath it.  I walked over to the kitchen table where E was sitting she looked up with a confused look on her face.  "Mommy, why do you wear a shirt under your dress?"  I told her that if I didn't, I would be showing off my bra.  "Really?" she replied,  "My teacher wears low things all of the time, but she doesn't wear a shirt under.  I can see some of her boobie, but not the nipple.  It sort of looks like a fanny crack."  I explained that her teacher has something called cleavage.  She looked at me confused, "So, will I have cleavage?  I really want some."  Sadly, I had to tell her if she has my genes she might be out of luck.  Middle C was listening in on the conversation and piped up.  "Yeah, well I DON'T want a fanny on my chest.  I bet it would get smelly and then people would call you smelly boob".  Things went down hill from there.

Roid Rage, Kentucky, and a Keg

Yep, that sums up my weekend...roid rage, Kentucky, and a Keg.  This weekend we hosted our 6th annual Kentucky Derby party. It was touch and go before the party.  I had been suffering with walking pneumonia and was taking steroids.  I was not bitchy, not weepy, but just plain mean.  I found immense pleasure crunching a beetle under my shoe and glaring at people.  My poor family...  Seriously not a good place to be in while getting ready for a party for 27 adults and 22 kids.  Hubby got a keg, and several bottles of mint julip and he was in heaven.  He taped the keg the night before the party and was giddy.  It annoyed the crap out of me that he was so calm and happy.  I finally gave up glaring and yelling and downloaded "Fifty Shades of Gray" on my kindle.  That seemed to tame the roid rage quite well.  The party went perfectly, there was betting, drinking, eating and plenty of lovely hats.  The following day we had to kill the keg.  Hubby was so proud of teaching the girls a new... life skill? The girls were fighting over who could fill up our cups.  Hubby would take a swig..."May I please give you a refill Daddy?" Middle C would call out.  This was usually followed by E screeching, "Hey, it's my turn. I want to do it, it's not fair!"  As far as I know, neither of the girls have gone to school bragging about their newly acquired skill.  Middle C, I'm sure is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to demonstrate her skill at her church run preschool.  She has already told me she wants to be like Jesus and turn water into wine because, "Mommy sure does like wine."