This morning I woke up not feeling too well. Sore throat, stuffy nose, symptoms that make you feel blah. Both boys had been struggling with cold-like symptoms for days,and had coughed off and on all night. So, I decided this would be a good day to take off work and go to the doctor. FYI: Taking both my boys to the doctor at the exact same time is one of my least favorite things to do. It's right up there with cleaning poop-splosions...which I got to do later in this same day...don't you worry. (It wouldn't be a story without poop, right?) And because we're lucky like this, it always seems to be the on-call doctor that we have to see each time we decide to visit the clinic. Us and about a hundred other people. Which means a much-longer-than-normal wait.
So, I dressed both boys and attempted to get them in the car on time, wiping Keaton's runny nose the entire way there on his shirt sleeve, my shirt sleeve...anything I could find at the moment. And of course once we were all in the car, Cale decided he needed to go to the bathroom. Why in the world he didn't figure this out five seconds ago...I don't know? Try asking a three-year old. You won't get very far past, "I just now had to go". Funny thing is, even when they're second graders, the excuse is still the same.
We made it to our appointment on time, amazingly. I was armed with little more than two sippy cups, which the boys had already pretty much chugged on the way to the doctor, and a bag of goldfish crackers. Thank goodness for those goldfish. After about twenty minutes of waiting, I opened the bag and I don't think Keaton stopped eating for more than a couple minutes the rest of the time we were there. I'm pretty sure when the nurse finally called us back, we left a nice mess of smashed crackers in the carpet. To be honest, I'm surprised there were any crackers left on the carpet because Keaton spent much of his time crawling under the chairs and picking up any stray he could find and...throwing it in the trash. Okay, well actually he was eating the fish and I know this was well past the five-second rule but cut me some slack. At the doctor's office, with two little ones, who were already in a bad mood before we ever left the house, and only one bag of goldfish to share between the two of them...it's all about survival. And if that means letting your kid eat off the floor, and pretending you don't notice...then so be it.
We probably waited a total of an hour and fifteen minutes (and they were busy so I'm not complaining) and by the end...I was tired. Of course I ended up not going to the doctor myself because after that...I didn't think I had it in me to sit in another waiting room with my two kids. Plus we were out of drink and crackers. Word of advice: Never go somewhere expected to wait with your kids if you don't have snacks or drinks. Don't do it. Don't. Just be sick. It's actually less painful.
On the way home, I put the pedal to the metal with only one thing on my mind. Nap time was near. Lunch first. But then the blessed nap time. A time when both kids are sleeping, the house is quiet, and I can do whatever I want. I usually end up cleaning during this time, but still, it's quiet. No screaming. No tears. Well, once they fall asleep, no screaming or tears. It's a sacred time.
After about twenty minutes had gone by, while I was attempting to clean out our closet, I heard a door shut. Since Keaton has yet to climb out of his crib, thank the Lord, I knew this was our three-year old, Cale.
I was a little annoyed because he still wasn't asleep. Plus he apparently was out of his bed which he knows is not supposed to happen. So, I headed that way to give him a "stern talking to". The minute I stepped into the hallway between the boys' bedrooms I could smell it. An unbelievably strong smell of poop. A smell strong enough that even in those few seconds I realized that it must be in multiple places. My heart sank. Literally sank as I stepped on into Cale's room. I couldn't see him at first, but then he stepped out of his closet. His hands were covered. There were multiple spots on the floor. There were places on his rug. I could see hand prints on the wall in a few places. I was speechless, partly for lack of the words to say and partly for fear of the words I might possibly say in that moment. All I could think of was Why? Haven't we been through this before? It's like a reoccuring bad dream. The poop-mare.
Cale told me that it was an accident, which is his excuse for everything bad that he does. Then he informed me that it was on some of his shirts. He had been in his closet when I first walked in. Greaaat. Still unable to say much I grabbed him up, took him to our bathroom, and put him in our jacuzzi tub. I began cleaning him, while the water was still cold. Of course he hated it, but in that moment I didn't have much sympathy. The water turned warm after a minute or two and I made him stay there while I went to clean up the mess.
Long story short. It was in so many places I can't even tell you. Door handles, light switches, the bathroom counter, sink, and faucet where he'd attempted to clean his hands up by himself. The cute little blue bucket that I keep beside the sink to store lotions and such was now filled with dirty, wet tissues. So bleach, water, the Shark steam mop, and I had a meeting in a Cale's room and bathroom. This was supposed to by "my" time. My me-time. I'll admit it. I wanted to throw a tantrum.
If you've read any of my blogs you're probably thinking, "Didn't almost this exact same thing happen before. Like more than once?" Why yes, you are correct. And yes, Cale is older now. Absolutely too old to be doing things like that. Welcome to my world. Sometimes it stinks.
We keep saying that things will get easier the older the boys get. But, I remember saying that exact thing about a year ago. And I would say things are harder now than ever. But, they're also better than ever. The boys, aside from all the bad, crazy moments, are so funny right now. They make us laugh constantly. This kind of makes up for all the other things they do. The yelling, the screaming, the crying, the fighting, the being-way-too-loud-in-public, the mess making, the...pooping. It really is all worth it.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Parking Lot Problems
Well, I'm ashamed at how long it's been. All the crazy moments that could have been potential blog posts and therefore enabled us to remember them in the years to come, have come and gone and not left much time for anything else but mere survival. And some of the moments are still a little too fresh to write about. You know how you laugh about things later on...well it just hasn't been later enough yet for a few things. So, I missed a few memorable moments but there are crazy moments day in and day out around here.
School has begun and we are back in the swing of things. Or I guess you could say back in the "piles and piles of laundry to be done-floor always a mess-pajamas strewn all over the house-lunches to be made-barely make it out the door-completely zonked by 9:00" kinda days.
Every year when school starts I wonder how I am going to get everything done. Seriously. There just aren't enough hours in the day to get what I need to get done and definitely not enough hours to do the things I want to do. That is probably why there is almost always a load of clothes in the hamper, a load in the washer, a load in the dryer, a fresh batch I forgot to fold sitting in the basket getting all wrinkled, and a recently purchased book sitting on my iphone, unread. And also why my gym attendance is shamefully pitiful.
But, I do love this time of year, crazy or not. Fall is nearing and I cannot tell you how happy I am for cool weather. Last week was the hottest, most awful week ever. But, finally this weekend we had sweet relief. And hopefully it's here to stay. I'm seriously tired of sweating.
Cale and Keaton are now going to the same daycare, which is pretty handy. Mornings are a bit wild, trying to get both boys fed, dressed, packed, and locked into their car seats. But that's just the beginning. We then stop and pick up Kenzie...Cale's "favorite girl in the world", and also his cousin. She's no trouble at all and we love having her, but sometimes getting in the daycare door with three kids is pretty tricky. Especially on "bring your lunch" day...which occurs every Wednesday. And sometimes on that same day is "bring a toy" day. And it never fails, this is usually how it all plays out:
I park the car and begin unbuckling seat belts. The kids start to get out, while each handing me their backpack, then their water bottles, their lunch box, and last...their toys. Because of course they can't carry them for some unknown reason. So I have a bajillion things in my hands, a one-year-old on my hip, a three and four-year old running ahead of me, and sweat dripping down my face by the time we reach the door.
Last week, that exact incident occurred. Except that Cale was having one of those mornings that I like to call him "Carl's son". I pulled up to school and began getting Keaton out of his seat. Kenzie quickly got out of her seat on her own. Of course I had to grab all of the items that the kids can't seem to carry, and then I started to walk up to the front door. I noticed that Cale was not getting out of the car, so I headed back and tried to speed him up. He was still sitting in the car messing with some piece on his tractor, his scooper, I believe (probably not the technical term) Now, I would like to say that after firmly but gently talking to him, he decided to get out. But no, it didn't happen that way. After a minute of me threatening him with corporal punishment and a removal of a "good boy" buck from his piggy bank...which he had been saving up to buy a Thor hammer from the super hero section of Wal-Mart (hey, you do what you gotta do), he started to get out of the car.
That's when he noticed Kenzie on the steps by the front door. Shouldn't be a big deal, right? So, she's ahead of him...who cares? But, in three-year old world, on this particular morning, this was THE big deal. Cale stopped mid-step and dramatically threw himself on the ground and began crying. Now not only are my hands full with a bajillion things and a one-year old who would really prefer walking himself, but cannot be trusted to go where he's suppossed to go just yet, but there are parents everywhere dropping their kids off. So I have an audience. Yep, a fellow librarian passed by with her child, who was sweetly walking in while holding her hand. The doctor who delivered me walked past with his child, which reminds me, next time I see him I need to ask him if maybe he got our child mixed up with another that day in the hospital. Hey, it happens. Another teacher-friend I know was dropping her little one off. And all of these kids were walking in like normal human beings. Normal. Why can't things ever be normal for us?
And there I was bending over, trying to grab my child to make him stand, all the while dropping things left and right. As I got him off the ground, he jerked his arm away and took off back to the car, got inside, and slammed the door. I gotta say, on the inside I was beginning to lose it a little at this point. I ran, or awkwardly shuffled, trying to keep my cool and act as if I have this situation completely under control. I threw the door open and grabbed Cale out with more force than I thought I could have, considering my full hands and the thirty-pound ball of energy on my hip. Let's just say if I hadn't had the audience, I would have given Cale "something to cry about". And I probably would have given it to him two or three times.
By the time we got inside I seriously was sweaty and weak and pretty eager to drop my little "angels" off. It's those kind of moments that make me glad to go to work. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of other moments when I think it would be so nice to spend the day with them instead of working. But, then they wake up and I come to my senses. When I got back outside, I realized I no longer had my key in my hand. So, I searched along the ground and finally found it, in the vicinity of where out little "scuffle" had taken place. I got in my car, took a deep breath, turned on the A/C full blast, made a note to myself to get out the "strong-willed child" book and read it again, and then called Carl to tell him what "his" son had done.
I love my strong-willed older child and his, thankfully, less-strong willed little brother. Love them like crazy. But boy do they make me tired.
Oh, and by the way, this morning we had no meltdowns or tantrums. But, there was still a major catastrophe. Once I was already down Crow Mountain, by Flying J gas station, Keaton vomitted. Four times, actually. All over himself, his car seat, and a little on his cousin Kenzie who was sitting right beside him. What a trooper she was. So, we headed back up the mountain with the windows rolled down, gasping for fresh air. I dropped Keaton off with Carl and then took Kenzie home to change her clothes. I was twenty minutes late for work.
And you think your mornings are hard?
School has begun and we are back in the swing of things. Or I guess you could say back in the "piles and piles of laundry to be done-floor always a mess-pajamas strewn all over the house-lunches to be made-barely make it out the door-completely zonked by 9:00" kinda days.
Every year when school starts I wonder how I am going to get everything done. Seriously. There just aren't enough hours in the day to get what I need to get done and definitely not enough hours to do the things I want to do. That is probably why there is almost always a load of clothes in the hamper, a load in the washer, a load in the dryer, a fresh batch I forgot to fold sitting in the basket getting all wrinkled, and a recently purchased book sitting on my iphone, unread. And also why my gym attendance is shamefully pitiful.
But, I do love this time of year, crazy or not. Fall is nearing and I cannot tell you how happy I am for cool weather. Last week was the hottest, most awful week ever. But, finally this weekend we had sweet relief. And hopefully it's here to stay. I'm seriously tired of sweating.
Cale and Keaton are now going to the same daycare, which is pretty handy. Mornings are a bit wild, trying to get both boys fed, dressed, packed, and locked into their car seats. But that's just the beginning. We then stop and pick up Kenzie...Cale's "favorite girl in the world", and also his cousin. She's no trouble at all and we love having her, but sometimes getting in the daycare door with three kids is pretty tricky. Especially on "bring your lunch" day...which occurs every Wednesday. And sometimes on that same day is "bring a toy" day. And it never fails, this is usually how it all plays out:
I park the car and begin unbuckling seat belts. The kids start to get out, while each handing me their backpack, then their water bottles, their lunch box, and last...their toys. Because of course they can't carry them for some unknown reason. So I have a bajillion things in my hands, a one-year-old on my hip, a three and four-year old running ahead of me, and sweat dripping down my face by the time we reach the door.
Last week, that exact incident occurred. Except that Cale was having one of those mornings that I like to call him "Carl's son". I pulled up to school and began getting Keaton out of his seat. Kenzie quickly got out of her seat on her own. Of course I had to grab all of the items that the kids can't seem to carry, and then I started to walk up to the front door. I noticed that Cale was not getting out of the car, so I headed back and tried to speed him up. He was still sitting in the car messing with some piece on his tractor, his scooper, I believe (probably not the technical term) Now, I would like to say that after firmly but gently talking to him, he decided to get out. But no, it didn't happen that way. After a minute of me threatening him with corporal punishment and a removal of a "good boy" buck from his piggy bank...which he had been saving up to buy a Thor hammer from the super hero section of Wal-Mart (hey, you do what you gotta do), he started to get out of the car.
That's when he noticed Kenzie on the steps by the front door. Shouldn't be a big deal, right? So, she's ahead of him...who cares? But, in three-year old world, on this particular morning, this was THE big deal. Cale stopped mid-step and dramatically threw himself on the ground and began crying. Now not only are my hands full with a bajillion things and a one-year old who would really prefer walking himself, but cannot be trusted to go where he's suppossed to go just yet, but there are parents everywhere dropping their kids off. So I have an audience. Yep, a fellow librarian passed by with her child, who was sweetly walking in while holding her hand. The doctor who delivered me walked past with his child, which reminds me, next time I see him I need to ask him if maybe he got our child mixed up with another that day in the hospital. Hey, it happens. Another teacher-friend I know was dropping her little one off. And all of these kids were walking in like normal human beings. Normal. Why can't things ever be normal for us?
And there I was bending over, trying to grab my child to make him stand, all the while dropping things left and right. As I got him off the ground, he jerked his arm away and took off back to the car, got inside, and slammed the door. I gotta say, on the inside I was beginning to lose it a little at this point. I ran, or awkwardly shuffled, trying to keep my cool and act as if I have this situation completely under control. I threw the door open and grabbed Cale out with more force than I thought I could have, considering my full hands and the thirty-pound ball of energy on my hip. Let's just say if I hadn't had the audience, I would have given Cale "something to cry about". And I probably would have given it to him two or three times.
By the time we got inside I seriously was sweaty and weak and pretty eager to drop my little "angels" off. It's those kind of moments that make me glad to go to work. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of other moments when I think it would be so nice to spend the day with them instead of working. But, then they wake up and I come to my senses. When I got back outside, I realized I no longer had my key in my hand. So, I searched along the ground and finally found it, in the vicinity of where out little "scuffle" had taken place. I got in my car, took a deep breath, turned on the A/C full blast, made a note to myself to get out the "strong-willed child" book and read it again, and then called Carl to tell him what "his" son had done.
I love my strong-willed older child and his, thankfully, less-strong willed little brother. Love them like crazy. But boy do they make me tired.
Oh, and by the way, this morning we had no meltdowns or tantrums. But, there was still a major catastrophe. Once I was already down Crow Mountain, by Flying J gas station, Keaton vomitted. Four times, actually. All over himself, his car seat, and a little on his cousin Kenzie who was sitting right beside him. What a trooper she was. So, we headed back up the mountain with the windows rolled down, gasping for fresh air. I dropped Keaton off with Carl and then took Kenzie home to change her clothes. I was twenty minutes late for work.
And you think your mornings are hard?
Monday, June 11, 2012
Snake Hater
I have always hated snakes. Despised them. Can't really explain what it is. I don't know how many times my dad gave me the "They're more afraid of you than you are them" speech which I never believed, by-the-way, because I am pretty doggone petrified of the things. Growing up in the country you'd think I would at least be accustomed to snakes, even if I don't much care for them. I used to help my dad haul hay in the summers...mainly just driving the truck and helping him get the bales from the truck to the barn. I can remember being terrified that a snake was lurking in one of those hay bales. Of course my dad told me that was crazy, there were not snakes...you know, the kind of lies parents tell their children to keep them from being afraid. I've since found out, that several snakes have been found in that barn, around the hay in fact. I guess I was risking my life back then in that barn, and didn't even know it. Okay, I guess "risking my life" is a bit of an exaggeration. Maybe not.
During the summer months, my yard becomes a place of caution for me. Every step I take is inspected, for fear that a false move will land my foot on a snake. I just know it will happen one day. And I even get the full-body shakes when I see a snake on the road...when I'm in a car...where the snake can't possibly get me. Absurd, I know.
It doesn't help hearing about stories of snakes in toilets or washing machines. I'm pretty sure I would have to move if I ever found a snake inside my house. I'm just worried about the day when a snake gets around my kids. I mean, I love my kids like crazy...but, a snake? I would like to say my super-mom powers would kick in and I would...I don't know, do something. But, I'm afraid I would do one of two things: 1. Become completely immobilized 2. Run like lightning, forgetting I had kids. Cale and Keaton, who?
Today, I went with my dad, sister, her husband, and my niece to walk down to this waterfall that is near our house. Of course, there's no water right now, but they wanted to know where it was located. I was pretty nervous before even heading out there because I knew the area would be fairly grown up, with tall grass, weeds, sticks...snakey stuff. So, I put on my rain boots in the 90 degree weather, thinking this would at least make me feel a bit more brave. We hadn't walked two minutes, when everyone started yelling at Abree and I. "Snake! Snake! Get over here!". My sister is pretty scared of snakes too, I might add. So she was really screaming at us.
I think I went a little numb and my brain stopped working. I ran in the wrong direction, then darted back in the right direction. I would like to say, I grabbed my niece and made sure she was away from the snake, which they told me was pretty big. I'm sure it was HUGE. At least in my mind. But, luckily Abree took care of herself. I actually don't even think she was afraid of the snake. She's seven and I'm twenty-eight. Of course my dad started spouting off his age-old lie, "They're more afraid of you...", you know the rest. Hogwash.
Needless to say, the rest of the walk made me pretty uneasy. Every branch that touched my shoulder or every grasshopper that hopped in front of me made me jump. The deeper we got into the woods the more nervous I became. Finally as the group got pretty close to the waterfall area...there was no longer a path really, just leaf covered ground with lots of sticks and rocks...I decided to go no further. I told them I would wait right there for them. So, I waited. And waited. And looked up, down, and all around for snakes. And waited some more. They didn't come back. I could no longer hear them.
This sounds so silly to a normal person I guess. But, I was so afraid of seeing a snake that all I could do was just stand there. There's safety in numbers, right? Plus, my dad was leading the way so if there was a snake, he would step on it first. But, without them there... Finally I decided to try and head back up out of the woods. The only problem was, the path had somehow vanished and I wasn't exactly sure how to get back up. Oh, I could get back up if I was willing to walk through some crazy, tall, prickly stuff. But, that was not about to happen.
I felt about five-years old in that moment as I yelled pathetically, "Daaaaaaad? Dad? Hey guys, where are you? This isn't funny." Another five minutes when by. Finally I could hear my dad's voice. He helped me find the path and I got out safely.
So, I let a snake turn me into a child today. Pitiful.
Will my dad ever learn that snakes are not more afraid of me than I am of them? I win for sure. Well, actually the snake wins, I guess if you think about it.
During the summer months, my yard becomes a place of caution for me. Every step I take is inspected, for fear that a false move will land my foot on a snake. I just know it will happen one day. And I even get the full-body shakes when I see a snake on the road...when I'm in a car...where the snake can't possibly get me. Absurd, I know.
It doesn't help hearing about stories of snakes in toilets or washing machines. I'm pretty sure I would have to move if I ever found a snake inside my house. I'm just worried about the day when a snake gets around my kids. I mean, I love my kids like crazy...but, a snake? I would like to say my super-mom powers would kick in and I would...I don't know, do something. But, I'm afraid I would do one of two things: 1. Become completely immobilized 2. Run like lightning, forgetting I had kids. Cale and Keaton, who?
Today, I went with my dad, sister, her husband, and my niece to walk down to this waterfall that is near our house. Of course, there's no water right now, but they wanted to know where it was located. I was pretty nervous before even heading out there because I knew the area would be fairly grown up, with tall grass, weeds, sticks...snakey stuff. So, I put on my rain boots in the 90 degree weather, thinking this would at least make me feel a bit more brave. We hadn't walked two minutes, when everyone started yelling at Abree and I. "Snake! Snake! Get over here!". My sister is pretty scared of snakes too, I might add. So she was really screaming at us.
I think I went a little numb and my brain stopped working. I ran in the wrong direction, then darted back in the right direction. I would like to say, I grabbed my niece and made sure she was away from the snake, which they told me was pretty big. I'm sure it was HUGE. At least in my mind. But, luckily Abree took care of herself. I actually don't even think she was afraid of the snake. She's seven and I'm twenty-eight. Of course my dad started spouting off his age-old lie, "They're more afraid of you...", you know the rest. Hogwash.
Needless to say, the rest of the walk made me pretty uneasy. Every branch that touched my shoulder or every grasshopper that hopped in front of me made me jump. The deeper we got into the woods the more nervous I became. Finally as the group got pretty close to the waterfall area...there was no longer a path really, just leaf covered ground with lots of sticks and rocks...I decided to go no further. I told them I would wait right there for them. So, I waited. And waited. And looked up, down, and all around for snakes. And waited some more. They didn't come back. I could no longer hear them.
This sounds so silly to a normal person I guess. But, I was so afraid of seeing a snake that all I could do was just stand there. There's safety in numbers, right? Plus, my dad was leading the way so if there was a snake, he would step on it first. But, without them there... Finally I decided to try and head back up out of the woods. The only problem was, the path had somehow vanished and I wasn't exactly sure how to get back up. Oh, I could get back up if I was willing to walk through some crazy, tall, prickly stuff. But, that was not about to happen.
I felt about five-years old in that moment as I yelled pathetically, "Daaaaaaad? Dad? Hey guys, where are you? This isn't funny." Another five minutes when by. Finally I could hear my dad's voice. He helped me find the path and I got out safely.
So, I let a snake turn me into a child today. Pitiful.
Will my dad ever learn that snakes are not more afraid of me than I am of them? I win for sure. Well, actually the snake wins, I guess if you think about it.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Three...is NOT the magic number.
Three. Three is the new two. I heard someone say that back when Cale was two and I now believe it. I remember thinking when Cale was about 20 months old that he was starting the "Terrible Twos" early. Looking back, knowing what I know now, the twos weren't even all that terrible. More like "tolerable". But three...what words can describe this age? I'm not sure if "terrible" can even scratch the surface.
Now not all "three" moments are bad. Many can be quite pleasant and fun, actually. Three can be full of moments so enjoyable that you start thinking this stage is your favorite so far. Then, BAM. The evil twin, Dalebert shows up. That's the "loving" nickname we've had for Cale ever since he was little. We call him "Calebert" all the time; enough so, that strangers probably really think that's his name. I bet they wonder what in the world we were thinking. But, when Cale's evil twin appears we call him "Dalebert".
Tonight Dalebert graced us with his presence, as he's been doing a lot lately. I say "us" but actually Carl had martial arts class tonight. So, he didn't get the pleasure of Dalebert's company. However, my friend Megon and her husband Jason got a small visit with him. We were eating at Chick-fil-A. There were three adults and four kids...so we were outnumbered which is never a good thing. It's always a zoo when eating with little kids in a restuarant, even fast food. At one point Cale was getting really obnoxious and loud. He gets like that sometimes. Like, forcefully, aggressively loud. At home something physical usually accompanies this kind of loudness. Sometimes it's hitting, sometimes it's slapping. And usually poor Keaton is always the recipient.
I told Cale to quiet down. He looked at me and said pretty hatefully, "NO! You're a dork." And he continued to be obnoxious. I was a little stunned by the "dork" comment and I almost laughed. Not that his hatefulness was funny, but that "dork" was his word of choice. Where did he even hear that word? I scooped him up for a trip to the bathroom, aka the 'spanking-without-getting-judgemental-glances' room. Of course when we went in, there was a lady washing her hands. I have this issue with spanking Cale in front of people. It makes me really self conscious. I kind of think he knows that which doesn't help his public behavior any. So, since we weren't alone I started off telling him that he will not talk like that to adults, blah, blah, blah. He kept saying "Are you gonna spank me? You're not gonna spank me, are you? Don't spank me."
Well, as soon as the stranger walked out the door, Cale got what he was asking for...or not asking for. And believe it or not, after the spanking, that crazy kid looked at me with this mean expression and in an air of suppossed authority snapped, "I told you NOT to spank me!" This boy has a lot of nerve, not much sense, but lots of nerve.
Of course I explained to Cale that I'm the adult and he does not tell an adult what to do. Believe it or not our little untamed stallion proceeded to say "You are NOT the boss!" I don't why he has to push the limits so much.
So, he ended up being banned from going with his cousins after dinner. I knew how much he wanted to be with the girls and I felt like this was the most severe form of punishment I could have given him at that moment. When he heard me tell my sister that he would not be coming, he began wailing. The ride home was filled with buckets and tears and sobbing. I hope he at least learned some kind of lesson from it. I know I learned a lesson. I can never eat out in peace. Ever again.
All I wanted to do was enjoy some chicken nuggets and waffle fries. Is that too much to ask?
Oh, I forgot to mention that Keaton was a really good boy...besides poking his finger through my styrofoam cup, causing my Dr. Pepper to spill all over his clothes and the floor. But that was an accident so I'm okay with it. I hope he stays innocent for awhile longer.
Now not all "three" moments are bad. Many can be quite pleasant and fun, actually. Three can be full of moments so enjoyable that you start thinking this stage is your favorite so far. Then, BAM. The evil twin, Dalebert shows up. That's the "loving" nickname we've had for Cale ever since he was little. We call him "Calebert" all the time; enough so, that strangers probably really think that's his name. I bet they wonder what in the world we were thinking. But, when Cale's evil twin appears we call him "Dalebert".
Tonight Dalebert graced us with his presence, as he's been doing a lot lately. I say "us" but actually Carl had martial arts class tonight. So, he didn't get the pleasure of Dalebert's company. However, my friend Megon and her husband Jason got a small visit with him. We were eating at Chick-fil-A. There were three adults and four kids...so we were outnumbered which is never a good thing. It's always a zoo when eating with little kids in a restuarant, even fast food. At one point Cale was getting really obnoxious and loud. He gets like that sometimes. Like, forcefully, aggressively loud. At home something physical usually accompanies this kind of loudness. Sometimes it's hitting, sometimes it's slapping. And usually poor Keaton is always the recipient.
I told Cale to quiet down. He looked at me and said pretty hatefully, "NO! You're a dork." And he continued to be obnoxious. I was a little stunned by the "dork" comment and I almost laughed. Not that his hatefulness was funny, but that "dork" was his word of choice. Where did he even hear that word? I scooped him up for a trip to the bathroom, aka the 'spanking-without-getting-judgemental-glances' room. Of course when we went in, there was a lady washing her hands. I have this issue with spanking Cale in front of people. It makes me really self conscious. I kind of think he knows that which doesn't help his public behavior any. So, since we weren't alone I started off telling him that he will not talk like that to adults, blah, blah, blah. He kept saying "Are you gonna spank me? You're not gonna spank me, are you? Don't spank me."
Well, as soon as the stranger walked out the door, Cale got what he was asking for...or not asking for. And believe it or not, after the spanking, that crazy kid looked at me with this mean expression and in an air of suppossed authority snapped, "I told you NOT to spank me!" This boy has a lot of nerve, not much sense, but lots of nerve.
Of course I explained to Cale that I'm the adult and he does not tell an adult what to do. Believe it or not our little untamed stallion proceeded to say "You are NOT the boss!" I don't why he has to push the limits so much.
So, he ended up being banned from going with his cousins after dinner. I knew how much he wanted to be with the girls and I felt like this was the most severe form of punishment I could have given him at that moment. When he heard me tell my sister that he would not be coming, he began wailing. The ride home was filled with buckets and tears and sobbing. I hope he at least learned some kind of lesson from it. I know I learned a lesson. I can never eat out in peace. Ever again.
All I wanted to do was enjoy some chicken nuggets and waffle fries. Is that too much to ask?
Oh, I forgot to mention that Keaton was a really good boy...besides poking his finger through my styrofoam cup, causing my Dr. Pepper to spill all over his clothes and the floor. But that was an accident so I'm okay with it. I hope he stays innocent for awhile longer.
Friday, May 25, 2012
These days we've been spending much of our time outside...partly because of the warm weather and longer days...partly because the boys are way more content outdoors...partly because it's a chance for me to get a tan on this pasty body of mine...and partly as an attempt to keep my house from becoming any messier than it already is. If my boys are inside for very long, every single tub of toys ends up dumped out on the floor, but never actually played with; couch cushions are strewn about randomly; Pots and pans are removed from their place in the cabinets; The house can go from clean to tornado-aftermath in 0.2 seconds.
The other day when I got home with the boys, as I walked in the door I noticed that the air freshener and wooden vase from the bathroom were lying on the floor. Keaton. No question, it was Keaton. His ambition in life is to remove things from their designated place. The minute I start picking up the things he has scattered, he moves on to other things. It's a vicious cycle and it keeps me on my toes. He must have done it this morning after Cale and I left when Carl was getting ready for work. A few minutes later that afternoon, I walked into Keaton's room, which is all the way across the house. I found a toilet brush and the little plastic holder it sits in lying on Keaton's floor. Grossed out, I took it to the boys' bathroom which is right outside of Keaton's room. But, of course when I got in there, I realized the brush did not belong in this bathroom. Keaton had carried it all the way across the house, I'm sure just dripping and oozing all over the place, probably licking it the whole way, and ended up dropping it in his room. Cale collects trains and tractors, and Keat collects toilet brushes. I guess we all have our hobbies. Maybe he'll be a plumber? Or a custodial person? Or just gross...
A few months ago, I wrote about Cale embarrassing me in Wal-Mart when he tried to pull my shirt up and touch my "boobies", as he called them, quite loudly. Last Friday after school I took him for a quick shopping trip...which is something I have pretty much never done. I am 99.9% sure that he is not a good shopper, so I just avoid the potentially bad situation altogether. But, that day I decided it was take him with me, or never go shopping. He was completely amazed with the clothing racks and spent all of this time trying to get out of my sights, which of course made it hard to shop. I kept losing him, then finding him. At one point we were walking past the lingerie section of the store. Cale held out his hand, and while touching every bra we passed chanted, "Boobies. Boobies. Boobies. Boobies. Boobies." Every single bra. And the more I whispered, "Cale, stop saying that!", of course the more he wanted to say it and the louder his voice got. I really think he's figured out it embarrasses me. I'm just waiting for the day it embarrasses him...hopefully it will.
I know I'm a broken record, but life with our two boys is completely chaotic. I love it. I absolutely love it. But, man can it get any more tiring? Just a few days ago, I rushed to the gym after school, got a quick work out in; rushed to pick the boys up; Cale from his school and Keaton from his babysitter's house; hurried inside to start dinner...which lately often consists of something bagged or boxed. On this day, out of guilt, I decided I would actually cook a meal. So, I got started on lasagna. Once I finally got everything all together and in the oven, I sat down on the couch to relax. (Ha, there is not relaxing while they boys are awake) Five seconds later, in walks Keaton holding a big handful of white stuffing. Like the kind that goes in pillows and cushions. I glanced up, at first not thinking much about it. Then, it hit me that this was not normal. Of course we don't just have stuffing lying around, so that meant that something had been destroyed in order for the white fluff to be in Keaton's hand.
My first thought was to just sit on the couch and hope for the best. But, then I came to my senses and ran into the playroom. The floor was covered with every single couch cushion and pillow from our couch. Annoying? Yes, somewhat. I get awfully tired of putting the couch back together every day. But, what was more annoying was the mound of stuffing that had been pulled out of one of the cushions. Seriously it was everywhere. Cale, our three year old had to be guilty of the unzipping, but both boys had a part in scattering the stuffing.
This afternoon, I heard Carl calling my name...which usually always means that the boys did something bad. I'll tell you the truth. Sometimes I pretend I don't hear him in hopes that he will just give up and take care of it himself. Occasionally that works. But today he kept calling me, so finally I went to check things out, hoping it wasn't a highly explosive diaper emergency, as it often is. Keaton had somehow gotten a big bundle of grapes out of the fridge and they were strewn out all over the playroom floor and smushed into the carpet. There were at least twenty grapes that had been stepped on and ground into the carpet. Darn it, why couldn't it have just been a diaper issue? Good thing I picked my carpet well...it doesn't show a thing. The bad thing is...since it doesn't show anything, there's no telling what lies beneath the surface. Ewww.
Things like this happen all day, every day. We love our boys to pieces, even if they never let us rest or let the house remain clean.
Parents: You want birth control for your teenage or college kids? Send them our way. We'll lock them in the house with our two monsters for a few hours. It will work. I can almost guarantee it.
The other day when I got home with the boys, as I walked in the door I noticed that the air freshener and wooden vase from the bathroom were lying on the floor. Keaton. No question, it was Keaton. His ambition in life is to remove things from their designated place. The minute I start picking up the things he has scattered, he moves on to other things. It's a vicious cycle and it keeps me on my toes. He must have done it this morning after Cale and I left when Carl was getting ready for work. A few minutes later that afternoon, I walked into Keaton's room, which is all the way across the house. I found a toilet brush and the little plastic holder it sits in lying on Keaton's floor. Grossed out, I took it to the boys' bathroom which is right outside of Keaton's room. But, of course when I got in there, I realized the brush did not belong in this bathroom. Keaton had carried it all the way across the house, I'm sure just dripping and oozing all over the place, probably licking it the whole way, and ended up dropping it in his room. Cale collects trains and tractors, and Keat collects toilet brushes. I guess we all have our hobbies. Maybe he'll be a plumber? Or a custodial person? Or just gross...
A few months ago, I wrote about Cale embarrassing me in Wal-Mart when he tried to pull my shirt up and touch my "boobies", as he called them, quite loudly. Last Friday after school I took him for a quick shopping trip...which is something I have pretty much never done. I am 99.9% sure that he is not a good shopper, so I just avoid the potentially bad situation altogether. But, that day I decided it was take him with me, or never go shopping. He was completely amazed with the clothing racks and spent all of this time trying to get out of my sights, which of course made it hard to shop. I kept losing him, then finding him. At one point we were walking past the lingerie section of the store. Cale held out his hand, and while touching every bra we passed chanted, "Boobies. Boobies. Boobies. Boobies. Boobies." Every single bra. And the more I whispered, "Cale, stop saying that!", of course the more he wanted to say it and the louder his voice got. I really think he's figured out it embarrasses me. I'm just waiting for the day it embarrasses him...hopefully it will.
I know I'm a broken record, but life with our two boys is completely chaotic. I love it. I absolutely love it. But, man can it get any more tiring? Just a few days ago, I rushed to the gym after school, got a quick work out in; rushed to pick the boys up; Cale from his school and Keaton from his babysitter's house; hurried inside to start dinner...which lately often consists of something bagged or boxed. On this day, out of guilt, I decided I would actually cook a meal. So, I got started on lasagna. Once I finally got everything all together and in the oven, I sat down on the couch to relax. (Ha, there is not relaxing while they boys are awake) Five seconds later, in walks Keaton holding a big handful of white stuffing. Like the kind that goes in pillows and cushions. I glanced up, at first not thinking much about it. Then, it hit me that this was not normal. Of course we don't just have stuffing lying around, so that meant that something had been destroyed in order for the white fluff to be in Keaton's hand.
My first thought was to just sit on the couch and hope for the best. But, then I came to my senses and ran into the playroom. The floor was covered with every single couch cushion and pillow from our couch. Annoying? Yes, somewhat. I get awfully tired of putting the couch back together every day. But, what was more annoying was the mound of stuffing that had been pulled out of one of the cushions. Seriously it was everywhere. Cale, our three year old had to be guilty of the unzipping, but both boys had a part in scattering the stuffing.
This afternoon, I heard Carl calling my name...which usually always means that the boys did something bad. I'll tell you the truth. Sometimes I pretend I don't hear him in hopes that he will just give up and take care of it himself. Occasionally that works. But today he kept calling me, so finally I went to check things out, hoping it wasn't a highly explosive diaper emergency, as it often is. Keaton had somehow gotten a big bundle of grapes out of the fridge and they were strewn out all over the playroom floor and smushed into the carpet. There were at least twenty grapes that had been stepped on and ground into the carpet. Darn it, why couldn't it have just been a diaper issue? Good thing I picked my carpet well...it doesn't show a thing. The bad thing is...since it doesn't show anything, there's no telling what lies beneath the surface. Ewww.
Things like this happen all day, every day. We love our boys to pieces, even if they never let us rest or let the house remain clean.
Parents: You want birth control for your teenage or college kids? Send them our way. We'll lock them in the house with our two monsters for a few hours. It will work. I can almost guarantee it.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
What's the Deal?
I usually don't post twice in one day. In fact, I think I never have. But in addition to that last post, Keaton just pooped in the bathtub while both boys were taking a bath. Yep, pretty unbelievable. That was worse than both morning incidents combined. I guess Keaton didn't want to be outdone. I don't think it ever ends. And how has Carl managed to miss every single one of these incidents today? All I can say is, his time is coming!
Oh and the kids' toilet is clogged, so I guess he will have to handle one gross job. I must admit, I typed that last part with just a bit of a smile of satsifaction. Just a bit...
Yes, Another Post About Poop...I Sincerely Apologize.
What can I say, when you have a three-year old and a one-year old...your world is pretty much consumed by grossness.
This Sunday morning, I awoke to the sound of Cale playing in the other room. I was so blown away that he hadn't come to get me up, that I rolled over and went back to sleep. I slept for about twenty more minutes, then I heard his voice over the baby monitor, so I knew he was in Keaton's room. Thinking it was good while it lasted, I reluctantly got out of bed, not-so-eager to start my day. But, at least it was 7:30...which is an hour longer than the boys usually let me sleep so I guess technically I slept in.
Cale was in Keaton's room, along with every tractor he owns. Keaton was standing in his crib, watching big brother play...hoping someone would get help him out of his bed. So, I scooped him up and the two of them quickly began playing together. It's nice during those few moments when they actually play together with no tears, from Keaton. The tears are always from Keaton because big brother loves to torture him. Head locks, leg locks, body slams...I hold Carl responsible for Cale's love of doing these things to poor Keaton. But sometimes, no wrestling or tears are involved, and they just play. Ahhh, that's bliss.
So, I went to the kitchen to start by beloved pot of coffee. I have to say, coffee is my most favorite thing...food or drink. I can drink it all hours of the day or evening. It probably makes me far too happy, but I can't help it. It has helped me cut way back on my Dr. Pepper addiction...to an almost nonexistent point, so I guess it's actually been useful to me, right? Replacing one addiction for another, I suppose. As I was waiting for my coffee to finish, I noticed a mud spot on the kitchen floor, right in front of the door that leads outside to the garage. I figured that Carl had dirt on his shoes when he came in last night. Besides the annoyance of thinking I had to mop the floor yet again, I didn't think too much about it. Coffee first, cleaning later.
Fast forward to a little later in the morning. I noticed Keaton's nose running like a faucet, so I went to the bathroom to grab a tissue. As I headed there, I bypassed the dirt spot that Carl had suppossedly left on the floor. When I stepped into the bathroom my socks were immediately soaked. I nervously turned on the light and it was like a horror scene out of a toddler movie. No blood or goriness...not that kind of horror. But, the potty kind. The floor was covered in pee and the toilet was covered in poop. It was even all down the side of the toilet. My first concern was my wet socks. Wet socks are bad enough, but knowing they're soaked in pee instead of water is much more disturbing. After getting out of the socks and mopping the floor, I began to work on the even nastier mess. I still don't know how it is physically possible to get poop in the places that Cale managed to. Side of the toilet, under the toilet seat... I guess that's real talent. Oh, and that "mud" spot on the floor, was not mud.
And to think, I had been so pleased that he hadn't woken me up first thing in the morning. So sadly I had to tell him when a number two situation arises, he need to have help from a parent. Even if it means waking a parent...ahem, Daddy preferably, up in the morning.
Okay, now I know you may not believe me when I say this but you will just have to take my word for it. As I was typing that last paragraph (while sitting on the couch on our back porch) I heard a knock on the window. I looked up to see Cale standing, pantsless. This wasn't too strange since it's always been a battle to keep pants on him. But, he was suppossed to be napping, so I immediately felt aggravated that he was up. I went inside ready to take action when he told me that he had just got done pooping and I had to wipe him. So crazy, since I was just typing the story from this morning. I kid you not, when I walked in the bathroom, the toilet was covered once again. Seriously, it's like he's trying to get it everywhere. I mean, can that actually accidentally happen? I asked him why the sudden messy bathroom visits, but he played the "I don't know" card.
So I cleaned up yet another poop-plosion.
What has my life come to?
Sunday, April 15, 2012
I must say, I am so glad that the last few weeks are over. So glad. Cale and Keaton both had small surgeries. Keaton had tubes, which ended up being a piece of cake. He came out of the hospital room bouncing, full of energy, and getting into everything. He hasn't stopped since. Cale, on the other hand, had his tonsils out...which was definitely no piece of cake. He hurt pretty badly and cried a lot during the week after his surgery. And to be quite honest, he was downright mean. I kinda felt like we gave him a "be mean" free pass because we knew he felt so awful.
But, about a week ago things started to finally get better. Cale is back to himself. Well mostly. He went into surgery with a fairly deep, raspy voice that he has had all his life. He almost always has sounded a little hoarse. He came out of the surgery with a cartoon character, somewhat nasal-ey voice. He totally does not sound like the same kid. It's crazy. I catch myself just listening to the sound of his voice, his laugh. It catches me off guard because it doesn't sound like "Cale".
But, I really do think he's already a little happier since he got his tonsils removed. I don't know if it's because he's sleeping more soundly at night or what, but he seems more smiley and less sullen, so that's good, right? I have my fingers crossed that he will start regularly sleeping completely through the night...which means I will get to sleep through the night. I'm not quite sure what it would feel like to consistently sleep through the night. I vaguely remember the feeling of waking up well-rested; Looking in the mirror and seeing a face without massive bags and red, bloodshot eyes. Why didn't I appreciate sleep before "kids"? At least there's coffee. Lot's and lot's of coffee.
Cale might have two or three good nights, but then the streak breaks and he's back to waking up. It's been this way ever since he was a baby. If I had known we would still be going through this at three-years old...let's just say it was best that I didn't know. When he was in a crib, he would just scream and cry until we came to him. But, ever since he's been in a bed, with the ability to come and go as he pleases...we suddenly are awoken to the slamming of doors, the pitter patter of little feet, and all-too-often the sound of his shrill cry as he makes his way across the house. What a crappy way to wake up...the dread I feel when I hear that sound because I know it may be...no, WILL be a battle to get him back to sleep. Oh, I'll get him in bed...but to sleep is another story.
And he always wants me to sleep with him. Not him with us in our big, comfy bed, but me with him in his bunk bed. Now don't get me wrong, it is a step up from his tiny doll-sized toddler bed that he transitioned to after the crib. But, there's just something about climbing into a bed with the feeling of cracker crumbs on your bare feet, rolling over to find a half-eaten cheese stick on your pillow...which you also realize has a large, conspicuous-looking stain...probably juice but possibly something else a little worse than juice. It feels contaminated. At least it's my offspring's contamination, right?
Keaton has been pretty regularly sleeping through the night for awhile now. Thank you Lord for low-maintenance babies. Keat is such a chill little guy and besides getting into absolutely everything he can possibly find to get into...he's pretty easy. But on the down side, his favorite hobby right now happens to be snatching toilet brushes when nobody is looking, doing who knows what with them, as he runs through the house acting like he's got some sort of special prize. And this is especially hard for me because I find toilet brushes disgusting. The drippy water that splashes from them as you take them out of their base...makes me shudder. Toilet water in general grosses me out. I remember dropping my glasses into the toilet one time when I was in high school...and I very well considered throwing them away but I knew my mom would kill me so I washed them about a hundred times and didn't wear them for awhile. Stupid I know.
Back to Keaton's toilet fetish, I would just put the toilet brush somewhere other than beside the toilet...but where? I don't want to put the disgusting thing on the counter or on a shelf...or anywhere for that matter. I figure the toilet is something equally disgusting, so the brush just belongs there beside it. I can't wait to tell Keaton stories of his toilet brush fascination when he's older. I guess I really need to snap a picture...but I can not bear to let him linger with it because it always ends up in his mouth. The other day I caught him running through our bedroom with the toilet brush in one hand, and a large spoon in the other. Because those two things totally go together. I'm sure you're just dying to come to our house for dinner now, right?
This is why we can't have nice things. Well, one of the many reasons.
But, about a week ago things started to finally get better. Cale is back to himself. Well mostly. He went into surgery with a fairly deep, raspy voice that he has had all his life. He almost always has sounded a little hoarse. He came out of the surgery with a cartoon character, somewhat nasal-ey voice. He totally does not sound like the same kid. It's crazy. I catch myself just listening to the sound of his voice, his laugh. It catches me off guard because it doesn't sound like "Cale".
But, I really do think he's already a little happier since he got his tonsils removed. I don't know if it's because he's sleeping more soundly at night or what, but he seems more smiley and less sullen, so that's good, right? I have my fingers crossed that he will start regularly sleeping completely through the night...which means I will get to sleep through the night. I'm not quite sure what it would feel like to consistently sleep through the night. I vaguely remember the feeling of waking up well-rested; Looking in the mirror and seeing a face without massive bags and red, bloodshot eyes. Why didn't I appreciate sleep before "kids"? At least there's coffee. Lot's and lot's of coffee.
Cale might have two or three good nights, but then the streak breaks and he's back to waking up. It's been this way ever since he was a baby. If I had known we would still be going through this at three-years old...let's just say it was best that I didn't know. When he was in a crib, he would just scream and cry until we came to him. But, ever since he's been in a bed, with the ability to come and go as he pleases...we suddenly are awoken to the slamming of doors, the pitter patter of little feet, and all-too-often the sound of his shrill cry as he makes his way across the house. What a crappy way to wake up...the dread I feel when I hear that sound because I know it may be...no, WILL be a battle to get him back to sleep. Oh, I'll get him in bed...but to sleep is another story.
And he always wants me to sleep with him. Not him with us in our big, comfy bed, but me with him in his bunk bed. Now don't get me wrong, it is a step up from his tiny doll-sized toddler bed that he transitioned to after the crib. But, there's just something about climbing into a bed with the feeling of cracker crumbs on your bare feet, rolling over to find a half-eaten cheese stick on your pillow...which you also realize has a large, conspicuous-looking stain...probably juice but possibly something else a little worse than juice. It feels contaminated. At least it's my offspring's contamination, right?
Keaton has been pretty regularly sleeping through the night for awhile now. Thank you Lord for low-maintenance babies. Keat is such a chill little guy and besides getting into absolutely everything he can possibly find to get into...he's pretty easy. But on the down side, his favorite hobby right now happens to be snatching toilet brushes when nobody is looking, doing who knows what with them, as he runs through the house acting like he's got some sort of special prize. And this is especially hard for me because I find toilet brushes disgusting. The drippy water that splashes from them as you take them out of their base...makes me shudder. Toilet water in general grosses me out. I remember dropping my glasses into the toilet one time when I was in high school...and I very well considered throwing them away but I knew my mom would kill me so I washed them about a hundred times and didn't wear them for awhile. Stupid I know.
Back to Keaton's toilet fetish, I would just put the toilet brush somewhere other than beside the toilet...but where? I don't want to put the disgusting thing on the counter or on a shelf...or anywhere for that matter. I figure the toilet is something equally disgusting, so the brush just belongs there beside it. I can't wait to tell Keaton stories of his toilet brush fascination when he's older. I guess I really need to snap a picture...but I can not bear to let him linger with it because it always ends up in his mouth. The other day I caught him running through our bedroom with the toilet brush in one hand, and a large spoon in the other. Because those two things totally go together. I'm sure you're just dying to come to our house for dinner now, right?
This is why we can't have nice things. Well, one of the many reasons.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Well, we are in the midst of difficult with our one-year old. I remember hitting this point with Cale. The point when you cannot take your eyes off for even one second without some type of catastrophe occurring. Whether it's an overturned trash can containing easy to access, not-quite-empty yogurt cups which ended up being eaten and poured all over the carpet. Or the occasional toilet-brush-to-the-mouth incident. Or even better, the hand-in-the-toilet while big brother is using it scenario. Maybe it's a cabinet full of pans strewn on the floor or an entire box of cereal emptied on the tile. Maybe it's the glass bowl that I loved being pulled off the side table one too many times and shattering on the ground. Every one of these things happened in a matter of seconds. With lightning speed and the sneakiness of a fox...I'm not really sure a fox is sneaky but I think I may have heard that somewhere, so I'll go with it.
If my memory serves me, twelve-eighteen months is simply a time of survival. For parents, not children of course. It's not a time to strive for a tidy home or accomplished chores. At least not in my household.
And you know, age three has it's own hardships as well. While Cale is not eating out of the trash or toilet, shoving rocks into his mouth, or emptying drawers and cabinets...he provides many challenges for us. He is so stubborn. So, so stubborn. Did two 'so's' get my point across any better? Right now it seems it is Cale's way or the highway. And that highway leads to a rather unpleasant destination. Tantrum-ville. It's not a place we enjoy visiting, but it seems we can't get away from it. Just when we start to get close to a happier place, I do something completely absurd like say, open the door to school, and Cale comes unglued. How the heck was I suppossed to know that suddenly his life depended on his ability to open the door and I just took that away from him. The nerve of me.
I can only describe it as walking on ice. I tip toe around, scared to make a wrong move. I take a few steps,and gain a bit of confidence when suddenly I hear a crack. Sometimes I fall in and oh what a pain it is to pull myself back out. But sometimes, if I'm on my toes, I can use a distraction tactic to avoid the fall into utter, untolerable darkness. Okay, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. But just a bit.
This has nothing to do with fits or tantrums, but the other day I had to take both boys to the doctor. By myself. I have only done this once before and Keaton was quite a bit smaller. Thankfully, the doctor got us in quickly, which never seems to happen. We had to sit in the actual room for about fifteen minutes before the doctor came in, but that was no big deal. At least we're behind closed doors when we're in that room and nobody can see bad behavior from my kids or judge my parenting strategies...or lack there of, it sometimes feels. While we were waiting for the doctor, Cale mentioned needing to go to the bathroom. I figured the doctor would walk in any minute so I asked Cale if he could wait. He was already back to watching a video on my Iphone so I assumed it was no emergency. After visiting with the doctor, she sent us out to the waiting room again to wait to get an Xray for Cale. After a few minutes he reminded me that he needed to go to the bathroom. I stood up, with Keaton in tow, grabbed Cale's hand, about to head to the bathroom. That's when I saw the look on Cale's face. I knew the look. It was the "I either pooped or peed in my pants look". I looked down to see a puddle forming around Cale's feet. At least it wasn't poop, right? So, I stood there, not sure what to do. I tried to go get some paper towels, but Cale kept trying to follow me which of course was creating a pee trail. Luckily right then, the Xray lady came out for us. She used a towel to clean up the mess. Then, because I am not always the most prepared mom, Cale had to walk around the doctor's office in his underwear. I had a fresh pair in our bag, but had no extra pants. So, while we waited on the Xray results, Cale happily bounced along in his whitey-tighties. Actually his Buzz Lightyear's. He was completely unaware of the potentially-embarrassing situation he was in. I kept having to chase Keaton around, and every time I got up, Cale would jump out of his seat to follow me. I tried to convince him to stay seated because the whole 'no pants' thing was less noticeable when he was sitting. But, since he felt no embarrassment in this situation he did not take my advice.
I am pretty sure I looked like a complete mess when we left. I was more tired after that hour in the doctor's office than I am after running several miles. Toting a pantsless three-old, a one-year old who desperately, always wants down to explore, a diaper bag, and a purse...is mentally and physically exhausting.
If my memory serves me, twelve-eighteen months is simply a time of survival. For parents, not children of course. It's not a time to strive for a tidy home or accomplished chores. At least not in my household.
And you know, age three has it's own hardships as well. While Cale is not eating out of the trash or toilet, shoving rocks into his mouth, or emptying drawers and cabinets...he provides many challenges for us. He is so stubborn. So, so stubborn. Did two 'so's' get my point across any better? Right now it seems it is Cale's way or the highway. And that highway leads to a rather unpleasant destination. Tantrum-ville. It's not a place we enjoy visiting, but it seems we can't get away from it. Just when we start to get close to a happier place, I do something completely absurd like say, open the door to school, and Cale comes unglued. How the heck was I suppossed to know that suddenly his life depended on his ability to open the door and I just took that away from him. The nerve of me.
I can only describe it as walking on ice. I tip toe around, scared to make a wrong move. I take a few steps,and gain a bit of confidence when suddenly I hear a crack. Sometimes I fall in and oh what a pain it is to pull myself back out. But sometimes, if I'm on my toes, I can use a distraction tactic to avoid the fall into utter, untolerable darkness. Okay, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. But just a bit.
This has nothing to do with fits or tantrums, but the other day I had to take both boys to the doctor. By myself. I have only done this once before and Keaton was quite a bit smaller. Thankfully, the doctor got us in quickly, which never seems to happen. We had to sit in the actual room for about fifteen minutes before the doctor came in, but that was no big deal. At least we're behind closed doors when we're in that room and nobody can see bad behavior from my kids or judge my parenting strategies...or lack there of, it sometimes feels. While we were waiting for the doctor, Cale mentioned needing to go to the bathroom. I figured the doctor would walk in any minute so I asked Cale if he could wait. He was already back to watching a video on my Iphone so I assumed it was no emergency. After visiting with the doctor, she sent us out to the waiting room again to wait to get an Xray for Cale. After a few minutes he reminded me that he needed to go to the bathroom. I stood up, with Keaton in tow, grabbed Cale's hand, about to head to the bathroom. That's when I saw the look on Cale's face. I knew the look. It was the "I either pooped or peed in my pants look". I looked down to see a puddle forming around Cale's feet. At least it wasn't poop, right? So, I stood there, not sure what to do. I tried to go get some paper towels, but Cale kept trying to follow me which of course was creating a pee trail. Luckily right then, the Xray lady came out for us. She used a towel to clean up the mess. Then, because I am not always the most prepared mom, Cale had to walk around the doctor's office in his underwear. I had a fresh pair in our bag, but had no extra pants. So, while we waited on the Xray results, Cale happily bounced along in his whitey-tighties. Actually his Buzz Lightyear's. He was completely unaware of the potentially-embarrassing situation he was in. I kept having to chase Keaton around, and every time I got up, Cale would jump out of his seat to follow me. I tried to convince him to stay seated because the whole 'no pants' thing was less noticeable when he was sitting. But, since he felt no embarrassment in this situation he did not take my advice.
I am pretty sure I looked like a complete mess when we left. I was more tired after that hour in the doctor's office than I am after running several miles. Toting a pantsless three-old, a one-year old who desperately, always wants down to explore, a diaper bag, and a purse...is mentally and physically exhausting.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Kids Say the Darndest Things...
Well, there have been several times in my life so far that my three-year old has embarrassed me in public. Most of the time it's when he's being loud in a resturant or throwing a little fit in a store. I get that panicked feeling and the "We gotta get outta here" look comes over me as I scarf down the remainder of my food or begin only getting the absolute necessities on the shopping list, leaving all other so-called indulgences for another time. Yes, even soap is an idulgence in those times. "Oh, we can just use body wash. We gots to get outta here!"
Tonight at Wal-Mart, Cale embarrassed me again. But, this time I must say the embarrassement went a little deeper. I had already been to Wal-Mart once today, and without the kids. You know that feeling. Strolling leisurely through the aisles, looking at things you never get a chance to look at. Like the makeup aisle. So many new things, since about 2008, probably the last time I got to peruse that aisle. Ahhhh, it's pure happiness. But then I ran off and left one of my sacks, the one containing the milk and the construction paper to make Cale's Valentine's box. So, that's how we ended up back at Wal-Mart this evening. As Cale and I were standing behind a man at the Customer Service desk, he began trying to lift my shirt. Cale, not the man. With lightning speed I pulled the shirt down. I'm not one to go around showing my belly off, especially after having two kids, if you know what I mean. There's a little more of it to show off, or keep under cover, these days.
I said, "Cale, stop!" Then, he started saying, "I want to touch...I want to touch..." He stuttered as if he was having trouble thinking of the word. Of course I thought he was wanting to touch my stomach since his hands were ice cold. Then, to my shock, dismay, and utter horror he said, "I want to touch your boobies." And to confirm my fear that someone may have heard (he said it in his yelling-even-though-I'm-right-next-to-you three year-old voice) the man in front of me gave a loud snicker. As my face burned, I told Cale we don't say that or do that. Then, he started saying, "Booby, booby, booby, booby" What a little punk. Again, the man in front of me laughed. I was horrified. As if that is something we do in our household. My gosh, I didn't even breastfeed so there should be no boob attachment. I'm sure that man thought I was some sort of weirdo. For the record, I'm not. Well, yes I am a little weird. But not in the creepy mother-son relationship kinda way. More of the 'I lick the topping off my pop-tart before I eat it' kinda way. I can't eat one around Carl. He just stares at me in disgust and then I can't even enjoy the darn thing.
Well, I have no idea where the "I want to touch...." came from. But, Cale doesn't quite understand that some body parts are better left unmentioned...or untouched. He's constantly got his hand down his pants and has absolutely no shame in running around naked throughout the house, trying to put his "stinky bottom" on Carl or I while chanting, "Smell my booty". Or poor defenseless Keaton. We stop him when we catch him, but many times it's too late. Sorry Keat.
I'm worried to think what Cale might do or say next. You really just never know with a three-year old. And I embarrass very easily, so this isn't good. The moment he catches on to that, I'm toast.
Tonight at Wal-Mart, Cale embarrassed me again. But, this time I must say the embarrassement went a little deeper. I had already been to Wal-Mart once today, and without the kids. You know that feeling. Strolling leisurely through the aisles, looking at things you never get a chance to look at. Like the makeup aisle. So many new things, since about 2008, probably the last time I got to peruse that aisle. Ahhhh, it's pure happiness. But then I ran off and left one of my sacks, the one containing the milk and the construction paper to make Cale's Valentine's box. So, that's how we ended up back at Wal-Mart this evening. As Cale and I were standing behind a man at the Customer Service desk, he began trying to lift my shirt. Cale, not the man. With lightning speed I pulled the shirt down. I'm not one to go around showing my belly off, especially after having two kids, if you know what I mean. There's a little more of it to show off, or keep under cover, these days.
I said, "Cale, stop!" Then, he started saying, "I want to touch...I want to touch..." He stuttered as if he was having trouble thinking of the word. Of course I thought he was wanting to touch my stomach since his hands were ice cold. Then, to my shock, dismay, and utter horror he said, "I want to touch your boobies." And to confirm my fear that someone may have heard (he said it in his yelling-even-though-I'm-right-next-to-you three year-old voice) the man in front of me gave a loud snicker. As my face burned, I told Cale we don't say that or do that. Then, he started saying, "Booby, booby, booby, booby" What a little punk. Again, the man in front of me laughed. I was horrified. As if that is something we do in our household. My gosh, I didn't even breastfeed so there should be no boob attachment. I'm sure that man thought I was some sort of weirdo. For the record, I'm not. Well, yes I am a little weird. But not in the creepy mother-son relationship kinda way. More of the 'I lick the topping off my pop-tart before I eat it' kinda way. I can't eat one around Carl. He just stares at me in disgust and then I can't even enjoy the darn thing.
Well, I have no idea where the "I want to touch...." came from. But, Cale doesn't quite understand that some body parts are better left unmentioned...or untouched. He's constantly got his hand down his pants and has absolutely no shame in running around naked throughout the house, trying to put his "stinky bottom" on Carl or I while chanting, "Smell my booty". Or poor defenseless Keaton. We stop him when we catch him, but many times it's too late. Sorry Keat.
I'm worried to think what Cale might do or say next. You really just never know with a three-year old. And I embarrass very easily, so this isn't good. The moment he catches on to that, I'm toast.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Keaton
Our little baby is finally one year old. I guess I shouldn't say 'finally'. It's more like 'suddenly'. It doesn't seem like it has possibly been a year already. Time flies even faster with the second one, that's for sure. Several times this evening I have thought back to what I was doing last year at this time: going in and out of consciousness between contractions! But, it was definitely all worth it. Keaton's gone from being that little infant we swaddled up, placed on our bed, and locked the bedroom door, just to ensure that big brother wouldn't bother him to the little toddler who wanders around the whole house looking for messes to make. We've gone through formula, rolling over, baby food, crawling, solid food, and now walking. Keaton has changed so much over the past year.
Keaton has been the more easy-going of our two boys, so far. He is fairly happy most of the time. He doesn't much like going to bed, but neither does Carl or Cale so I know where he gets it. He is very loving, often giving us repeated hugs. He has still yet to really give a kiss. So stubborn. His favorite hobbies include: 1. Taking everything out of the sippy cup/bottle drawer and throwing it all out on the floor, carrying the clean sippy cups that he throws on the floor all over the house to be found in random places.
2. Sticking his hands in the toilet water, any time a careless person leaves the lid up.
3. Going for quick, clumsy-looking jogs while holding any type of technology that he's not suppossed to have. Especially an iPod or iPhone. He gets his hands on it, then takes off without looking back. He doesn't realize this is a red flag for us. He's going to have to become less conspicuous.
4. Dropping everything and booking it to the dishwasher the minute he hears the sound of plates/bowls clinking. He immediately tries to climb inside once he gets there. I have mastered the art of silent dishwasher emptying. Also, I have a trick. I take everything out as fast as lighting and set it on the kitchen counter, which is out of Keat's reach. Then, I can put things away without worrying.
5. Emptying the trash can onto the floor and searching for scraps to munch on. Caught him doing this on multiple occasions.
At one-year old Keaton is quite a chunk. He loves to eat and will do so when given any chance. He's already become a bit of a picky eater...not to crazy about vegetables besides green beans. He loves milk. He also loves his bottle. For some reason milk in a sippy just doesn't taste quite the same. I'm going to give it a little time before I really try to start breaking him from the bottle. I mean, he was born three weeks early, right? I know, it's just an excuse to avoid the terror that is to come...
Keaton loves people and is willing to go to almost anyone. He has reached for strangers multiple times. What's funny is, I can remember Cale being this same way and now he has a bit of stranger fear. He clams up and gets a grumpy face when people he doesn't know try to talk to him.
Keaton also loves to people watch. He's not even nonchalant about it. He will turn completely all the way around in his high chair to stare at the table behind us. That's actually the one time he's usually not too interested in eating.
We love our Keater-pie and cannot believe he is one. He has been so much fun already and we just love his happy personality. We can't imagine life without him. I think even Cale is 100% glad to have Keat around. It's like he's got his own little punching bag. A punching bag that he loves on in between hits. A few more pounds and Keaton will be able to hold his own. And we will probably sit back and smile the first time he does. Big brother's got it coming...
Keaton has been the more easy-going of our two boys, so far. He is fairly happy most of the time. He doesn't much like going to bed, but neither does Carl or Cale so I know where he gets it. He is very loving, often giving us repeated hugs. He has still yet to really give a kiss. So stubborn. His favorite hobbies include: 1. Taking everything out of the sippy cup/bottle drawer and throwing it all out on the floor, carrying the clean sippy cups that he throws on the floor all over the house to be found in random places.
2. Sticking his hands in the toilet water, any time a careless person leaves the lid up.
3. Going for quick, clumsy-looking jogs while holding any type of technology that he's not suppossed to have. Especially an iPod or iPhone. He gets his hands on it, then takes off without looking back. He doesn't realize this is a red flag for us. He's going to have to become less conspicuous.
4. Dropping everything and booking it to the dishwasher the minute he hears the sound of plates/bowls clinking. He immediately tries to climb inside once he gets there. I have mastered the art of silent dishwasher emptying. Also, I have a trick. I take everything out as fast as lighting and set it on the kitchen counter, which is out of Keat's reach. Then, I can put things away without worrying.
5. Emptying the trash can onto the floor and searching for scraps to munch on. Caught him doing this on multiple occasions.
At one-year old Keaton is quite a chunk. He loves to eat and will do so when given any chance. He's already become a bit of a picky eater...not to crazy about vegetables besides green beans. He loves milk. He also loves his bottle. For some reason milk in a sippy just doesn't taste quite the same. I'm going to give it a little time before I really try to start breaking him from the bottle. I mean, he was born three weeks early, right? I know, it's just an excuse to avoid the terror that is to come...
Keaton loves people and is willing to go to almost anyone. He has reached for strangers multiple times. What's funny is, I can remember Cale being this same way and now he has a bit of stranger fear. He clams up and gets a grumpy face when people he doesn't know try to talk to him.
Keaton also loves to people watch. He's not even nonchalant about it. He will turn completely all the way around in his high chair to stare at the table behind us. That's actually the one time he's usually not too interested in eating.
We love our Keater-pie and cannot believe he is one. He has been so much fun already and we just love his happy personality. We can't imagine life without him. I think even Cale is 100% glad to have Keat around. It's like he's got his own little punching bag. A punching bag that he loves on in between hits. A few more pounds and Keaton will be able to hold his own. And we will probably sit back and smile the first time he does. Big brother's got it coming...
Friday, January 13, 2012
A Week in Our Life With a One-Year Old. I'm Tired Just Thinking About it.
It's funny how fast babies go from cute pallet-on-the-floor accessories, capable of little more havoc than the occassional spit up or didn't-get-the-diaper-on-fast-enough mess, to destructive demolition experts, with the speed and accuracy, or inaccuracy, of a seasoned expert. That is where we are. At this very moment.
Carl had several things going on this week that resulted in me spending the evenings alone with the boys. Alone to try to cook dinner, clean up dinner, pick up the mounds of toys lying around my house, only to have both boys creating new mounds behind me as I went. Well, if you've ever had a curiuos one-year old, you probably know that planning to accomplish anything more than chasing them around the house as they go from one room to another, and another, and then back again is pretty pointless. But, even though I know it, it's like I just haven't accepted it. I still try to multitask. When will I learn?
A few nights ago, while Carl was gone I was hurrying around the kitchen trying to get all the droplets of food pieces off the floor beneath Keaton's high chair, mentally groaning because I had JUST steam cleaned the floors the night before. The boys were playing, and since I didn't hear the sound that makes my radar go off, screaming, I assumed all things were fine. Or at the very least non-emergency related. After quickly throwing a load of laundry in the washer, laundry that probably consisted of whites, colors, maybe even a diaper (It's happened. Couple of times), and who knows what else all mixed in together due to lack of time and concentration on my part, I walked into the living room to make my rounds. There sat Keaton, with the fireplace door opened, covered in gray ash with a nice thick ring around his mouth where he had taken a few tastes. Around him were handprints covering my floors. The floors that had just been steam cleaned, I have to throw that in there. I know, I need to just get over it. My floors have absolutely no chance of staying clean for more than an hour. If both boys are present and awake, probably not even that long.
After the initial shock, I took my little pain in the "ash", to the bath tub. Was that completely inappropriate? It just fit so nicely... Since it wasn't quite bedtime I let Keaton play a little longer. You'd think I'd learn my lesson, but I never seem to. I went to do a few more things in the kitchen because I just can't stand to have dishes laying around waiting to be cleaned. No loud sounds coming from the TV room. Just the soft voice of Steve on Blues Clues coming from the TV and the occasional sounds of plastic being hit together as Cale drove his tractors around the room. So glad that the boys were letting me get a few things done, I stuck my head in the TV room to check on them. Keaton had somehow, with his Stretch-Armstrong-like reach pulled over the trash can which we had resorted to putting on top of an end table, out of his reach. Or so we thought. Every piece of trash was strewn out across the floor, including pieces of food and crackers that Cale had disposed of. Keaton was sitting in the middle of the mess, chowing down on trash- bucket goldfish crackers, happy as can be. So, I had my 900th mess to clean up that night. Well, it felt like 900.
So by tonight, Friday night, I was completely worn out. Since every Friday night I go on a much-anticipated cooking strike, we headed out to eat. Due to the boys' behavior, we opted for casual and quick: Taco Villa. The whole dinner was a mess. Cale was fairly loud and Keaton was completely restless. He kept throwing his food on the floor, dropping his sippy cup on the floor, pulling himself to a standing position in the high chair, and reaching for anything he could get his hands on. It got to the point that I decided I was done eating and Carl decided to take his meat and bean nacho home to eat it. So, we began the process of loading everything up and trying to get out of there. Which is no easy feat. I was frustrated and tired and still a little hungry. Suddenly our Stretch-Armstrong son stretched far enough to reach the styrofoam box holding Carl's meal. The meat and bean nacho poured down Carl's leg and onto the floor.
I don't know if I finally snapped or what, but I just started laughing. Laughing hard. Carl gave me a look that could kill, so I tried to wipe the smile off my face. While Carl took the boys out to the car, I leaned down and after about 10 napkins, had most of the nacho mess cleaned up. I laughed the whole way to the car. Carl still had that look on his face. He talked about his precious nachos for about 10 minutes while driving down the road. But, to ease the pain we stopped at Taco John's to get him some food.
I still don't think the incident is even remotely amusing to Carl. Wasting a Taco Villa meat and bean nach could never be laugh-worthy to him. But, maybe in a few days.
Sometimes all you can do is laugh when life throws difficult times at you...or in this case...nachos.
Carl had several things going on this week that resulted in me spending the evenings alone with the boys. Alone to try to cook dinner, clean up dinner, pick up the mounds of toys lying around my house, only to have both boys creating new mounds behind me as I went. Well, if you've ever had a curiuos one-year old, you probably know that planning to accomplish anything more than chasing them around the house as they go from one room to another, and another, and then back again is pretty pointless. But, even though I know it, it's like I just haven't accepted it. I still try to multitask. When will I learn?
A few nights ago, while Carl was gone I was hurrying around the kitchen trying to get all the droplets of food pieces off the floor beneath Keaton's high chair, mentally groaning because I had JUST steam cleaned the floors the night before. The boys were playing, and since I didn't hear the sound that makes my radar go off, screaming, I assumed all things were fine. Or at the very least non-emergency related. After quickly throwing a load of laundry in the washer, laundry that probably consisted of whites, colors, maybe even a diaper (It's happened. Couple of times), and who knows what else all mixed in together due to lack of time and concentration on my part, I walked into the living room to make my rounds. There sat Keaton, with the fireplace door opened, covered in gray ash with a nice thick ring around his mouth where he had taken a few tastes. Around him were handprints covering my floors. The floors that had just been steam cleaned, I have to throw that in there. I know, I need to just get over it. My floors have absolutely no chance of staying clean for more than an hour. If both boys are present and awake, probably not even that long.
After the initial shock, I took my little pain in the "ash", to the bath tub. Was that completely inappropriate? It just fit so nicely... Since it wasn't quite bedtime I let Keaton play a little longer. You'd think I'd learn my lesson, but I never seem to. I went to do a few more things in the kitchen because I just can't stand to have dishes laying around waiting to be cleaned. No loud sounds coming from the TV room. Just the soft voice of Steve on Blues Clues coming from the TV and the occasional sounds of plastic being hit together as Cale drove his tractors around the room. So glad that the boys were letting me get a few things done, I stuck my head in the TV room to check on them. Keaton had somehow, with his Stretch-Armstrong-like reach pulled over the trash can which we had resorted to putting on top of an end table, out of his reach. Or so we thought. Every piece of trash was strewn out across the floor, including pieces of food and crackers that Cale had disposed of. Keaton was sitting in the middle of the mess, chowing down on trash- bucket goldfish crackers, happy as can be. So, I had my 900th mess to clean up that night. Well, it felt like 900.
So by tonight, Friday night, I was completely worn out. Since every Friday night I go on a much-anticipated cooking strike, we headed out to eat. Due to the boys' behavior, we opted for casual and quick: Taco Villa. The whole dinner was a mess. Cale was fairly loud and Keaton was completely restless. He kept throwing his food on the floor, dropping his sippy cup on the floor, pulling himself to a standing position in the high chair, and reaching for anything he could get his hands on. It got to the point that I decided I was done eating and Carl decided to take his meat and bean nacho home to eat it. So, we began the process of loading everything up and trying to get out of there. Which is no easy feat. I was frustrated and tired and still a little hungry. Suddenly our Stretch-Armstrong son stretched far enough to reach the styrofoam box holding Carl's meal. The meat and bean nacho poured down Carl's leg and onto the floor.
I don't know if I finally snapped or what, but I just started laughing. Laughing hard. Carl gave me a look that could kill, so I tried to wipe the smile off my face. While Carl took the boys out to the car, I leaned down and after about 10 napkins, had most of the nacho mess cleaned up. I laughed the whole way to the car. Carl still had that look on his face. He talked about his precious nachos for about 10 minutes while driving down the road. But, to ease the pain we stopped at Taco John's to get him some food.
I still don't think the incident is even remotely amusing to Carl. Wasting a Taco Villa meat and bean nach could never be laugh-worthy to him. But, maybe in a few days.
Sometimes all you can do is laugh when life throws difficult times at you...or in this case...nachos.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Oh to have the imagination of a three-year old...or the energy. Cale has finally hit the stage of pretend play. We started out the night with a pretend circus. I walked into the TV room to find every cushion and pillow off of our couch and thrown on the floor in a messy pile. Cale then informed me that it was a circus and I had to sit down and watch the show, which of course I did. Then, after applauding his efforts, he told me it was my turn. So, I gave a few sad attempts at what I called "flips" and he cheered and clapped as if I was a regular acrobat. You gotta love that child-like admiration. I'm trying to soak up every minute he loves me and thinks I'm kinda cool, because I know in a few years I will be so much less than cool to him.
After convincing Cale that we had to close the circus down, he decided he wanted to be a "baby". Being a sappy mom, I have to say I was eating this up. He crawled around on the floor and made cute little baby sounds. Then, he got the idea that to really portray a baby, he would need a diaper and a baby shirt (aka onesie). So, thinking this would be pretty funny (and maybe even bring back a few memories), I cradled him in my arms and took him to Keaton's room. He lay on the floor, much too eager to get his baby diaper put on. After squeezing into the diaper, he squeezed even harder into a onesie. With a little work, I finally got it buttoned. He looked like a 3 feet tall baby with long, skinny legs.
He was way too geeked up about being "the baby". Carl and I played along for about 10 minutes: putting Cale in Keaton's crib, rocking him, putting him in the high chair...you get the picture. But, eventually we lost interest. Much sooner than Cale did. He continued to crawl around and crying "wahhhh". Then, he came up to me and said, "Mommy, you need to change my diaper. I poo-pooed." Wishing he would give up the act already, I distractedly played along and said, "Oh no, the baby's got a dirty diaper!". But, Cale was pretty persistent. And that's when I smelled it. And then I looked. Cale, with the strangest look on his face said, "Baby pooped in his diaper." After he said it, he looked gave me an inquisitive look, as if to see how I was going to react to this news. Let's just say it wasn't cute anymore.
In disbelief, I scooped him up, regretting the baby idea ever happened. I stopped by the playroom to give the news to Carl. As I was holding a stinky, much-to-big-to-even-wear-a-diaper Cale in my arms and telling Carl what our son had done, Cale said "I'm peeing on myself right now." And he was.
Maybe we have a future actor in our house. He was willing to get his "hands dirty"...well, other areas dirty, for a role. Don't the best actors become their character?
Oh, who am I kidding, I think we just have a little boy who was looking for a chance to poop on himself and not get into trouble.
Moral of the Story:
Diapers are NOT toys.
After convincing Cale that we had to close the circus down, he decided he wanted to be a "baby". Being a sappy mom, I have to say I was eating this up. He crawled around on the floor and made cute little baby sounds. Then, he got the idea that to really portray a baby, he would need a diaper and a baby shirt (aka onesie). So, thinking this would be pretty funny (and maybe even bring back a few memories), I cradled him in my arms and took him to Keaton's room. He lay on the floor, much too eager to get his baby diaper put on. After squeezing into the diaper, he squeezed even harder into a onesie. With a little work, I finally got it buttoned. He looked like a 3 feet tall baby with long, skinny legs.
He was way too geeked up about being "the baby". Carl and I played along for about 10 minutes: putting Cale in Keaton's crib, rocking him, putting him in the high chair...you get the picture. But, eventually we lost interest. Much sooner than Cale did. He continued to crawl around and crying "wahhhh". Then, he came up to me and said, "Mommy, you need to change my diaper. I poo-pooed." Wishing he would give up the act already, I distractedly played along and said, "Oh no, the baby's got a dirty diaper!". But, Cale was pretty persistent. And that's when I smelled it. And then I looked. Cale, with the strangest look on his face said, "Baby pooped in his diaper." After he said it, he looked gave me an inquisitive look, as if to see how I was going to react to this news. Let's just say it wasn't cute anymore.
In disbelief, I scooped him up, regretting the baby idea ever happened. I stopped by the playroom to give the news to Carl. As I was holding a stinky, much-to-big-to-even-wear-a-diaper Cale in my arms and telling Carl what our son had done, Cale said "I'm peeing on myself right now." And he was.
Maybe we have a future actor in our house. He was willing to get his "hands dirty"...well, other areas dirty, for a role. Don't the best actors become their character?
Oh, who am I kidding, I think we just have a little boy who was looking for a chance to poop on himself and not get into trouble.
Moral of the Story:
Diapers are NOT toys.
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