It just seems like I can't get a spare minute to blog these days. And when I do have a minute, I just don't have it in me. By the end of the day my brain is pretty much shot. But as crazy as life is right now, we're having a lot of fun. Cale is saying and doing new things each day. He now tells a few knock, knock jokes. So that I don't forget years from now here's the one he tells the best: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Och. Och who? Bless you."
Cale has also gone to the movies two times now. I can barely believe it, but his Mammaw has taken him both times and says he sits through the whole movie. And he even kept a pair of 3-D glasses on through one of the movies. We're looking forward to taking him to the next good cartoon movie that comes out.
Today when I picked Cale up from the babysitter, the school-aged boy who opened the door immediately informed me that Cale had picked a booger and eaten it. I knew this day would come. I see it everyday in my second graders. Some are closet eaters. You know the ones. They sit at their desk and nonchalantly dig one out. They glance around in an attempt to be inconspicuous all the while being completely obvious and then lean down pretending to tie their shoe while quickly shoving the booger in.
Some eat freely, out in the open, not caring who can see. They take their time, really trying to get in there and get the best one. As if they are eating something innocent and socially acceptable like a cookie. Then, two minutes later they come and give you a hug. Gross.
Well, I've been dreading the day that Cale ate his first booger. Oh, I'm not naive. I know this is probably not his first rodeo. He's probably eaten many 'a booger in his day already. But, this is the first time he's been caught.
When I walked in and heard the news, I could hear some of the other older kids chanting, "Cale ate a booger. Cale ate a booger." I cringed. Is he seriously the gross kid already? Cale just stood there with this happy-go-lucky look on his face, having no idea that he was becoming the resident "cootie kid".
Then, his baby-sitter told me that she asked Cale why he ate the booger. He stood there a minute and said, "I don't know." Then, she asked him what it tasted like, in hopes of getting a response like, "yucky" or "gross". But no, not from Cale. He said it tasted like strawberries. Strawberries, which are red, juicy, and delicious. It's really kind of strange because the day we had the "poop eating" incident, he said his poop tasted like grapes. Maybe he has some kind of unhealthy relationship with fruit. Heaven knows what he thinks of vegetables.
Well, being a school teacher and knowing that booger pickin' and eatin' can follow a kid through their elementary days, I realize that we must to put a stop to this now. How, I don't know. I just have to keep telling myself...at least it's not poop...at least it's not poop. Is that something to be proud of?
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
It's crazy how one minute having two kids doesn't seem so hard, but the next minute I can barely find any spare moment throughout the day to relax...or blog...or really do anything. Whew. The past few weeks have been filled with moments like the latter. Thank goodness for coffee. And lots of it. I drink it in the morning, I drink it in the evening, and if it wasn't for work...I would probably drink it in between. It's becoming the new 'Coke' for me. Well, if only it was taking the place of Coke. Instead it's just become a highly addictive addition to my soda habit. But, I actually think I look forward to it a little more than my Sonic drink now, which says a lot.
The other night it was very stormy and loud. Of course Keaton woke up, that's nothing new. But, Cale also busted out of his bedroom in the middle of the night, bawling like crazy. I guess the storm scared him. So, I decided it might be a good time to try letting him sleep with us again. Maybe he would actually go to sleep in our bed...which is something he has never in his life done. Really, never. Well, the 'never-in-his-life' record still stands. He didn't make it. But, I must say he gave it a good effort. For about 30 minutes, he sat there halfway quiet, but not halfway still, unfortunately. He wiggled and flipped and flopped the entire time. Every few minutes he would lean into my face and in his best attempt at a whisper say, "It's still raining." I kept telling him to be quiet and to be still, but it just didn't happen. So, back to his bed he went, without much protest thankfully. That was at 4:45. My alarm went off at 5:15. Oh how I miss sleep.
Tonight in the car on the way to the park Cale suddenly informed us that he was a "cwack baby" No son, actually you're a caffiene baby, not a 'cwack baby'. Get your addictive substances straight. (I'm sure he meant quack, as in duck) I wish I could bottle up Cale's sayings for those teenage years when he's not quite so endearing.
When we got to the park, Cale started trying to swing. These days he has to do everything himself. And I mean everything. He would rather sit there on the swing, completely still, instead of letting me push him. At one point as I began to give him just a little push to get him started, he said, "Momma, get away from me." And he said it in this, two-going on-thirteen, hateful sounding tone. And in front of another set of parents who were pushing their sweet, content little girl on the swing beside Cale. I was a little embarrassed. I told Cale to be nice. So he said, (and I'm sure I noticed a hint of huffiness) "Please, will you get away from me?" Not exactly the "be nice" I was hoping for. But, he did say, "please".
A minute or two later, Cale was sorta-successfully making the swing move just a little, I started to tell him "good job, keep pumping those legs, blah, blah, blah." He quickly cut me off in a loud voice, and said, "You stop talking!" Again, in front of the other parents. I cringed on the inside, as I scolded him yet again.
Needless to say, we're having to work on using a nice tone and asking, not telling.
The other night it was very stormy and loud. Of course Keaton woke up, that's nothing new. But, Cale also busted out of his bedroom in the middle of the night, bawling like crazy. I guess the storm scared him. So, I decided it might be a good time to try letting him sleep with us again. Maybe he would actually go to sleep in our bed...which is something he has never in his life done. Really, never. Well, the 'never-in-his-life' record still stands. He didn't make it. But, I must say he gave it a good effort. For about 30 minutes, he sat there halfway quiet, but not halfway still, unfortunately. He wiggled and flipped and flopped the entire time. Every few minutes he would lean into my face and in his best attempt at a whisper say, "It's still raining." I kept telling him to be quiet and to be still, but it just didn't happen. So, back to his bed he went, without much protest thankfully. That was at 4:45. My alarm went off at 5:15. Oh how I miss sleep.
Tonight in the car on the way to the park Cale suddenly informed us that he was a "cwack baby" No son, actually you're a caffiene baby, not a 'cwack baby'. Get your addictive substances straight. (I'm sure he meant quack, as in duck) I wish I could bottle up Cale's sayings for those teenage years when he's not quite so endearing.
When we got to the park, Cale started trying to swing. These days he has to do everything himself. And I mean everything. He would rather sit there on the swing, completely still, instead of letting me push him. At one point as I began to give him just a little push to get him started, he said, "Momma, get away from me." And he said it in this, two-going on-thirteen, hateful sounding tone. And in front of another set of parents who were pushing their sweet, content little girl on the swing beside Cale. I was a little embarrassed. I told Cale to be nice. So he said, (and I'm sure I noticed a hint of huffiness) "Please, will you get away from me?" Not exactly the "be nice" I was hoping for. But, he did say, "please".
A minute or two later, Cale was sorta-successfully making the swing move just a little, I started to tell him "good job, keep pumping those legs, blah, blah, blah." He quickly cut me off in a loud voice, and said, "You stop talking!" Again, in front of the other parents. I cringed on the inside, as I scolded him yet again.
Needless to say, we're having to work on using a nice tone and asking, not telling.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Incident
Cale, you were doing so great...right up until the end.
Today we ventured out to the train depot for a safety train ride with Cale. Cale is completely obsessed with trains right now...almost to the point that he has forgotten about tractors. Which is saying a lot. The train ride went about as well as it could have. Cale loved it, and even though he was getting bored by the end, he still remained a good boy. So far, so good.
The rest of our day consisted of me cleaning out closets and hanging out with Keaton while Carl and Cale did yard work outside. Still a great day.
At one point while Carl wasn't watching, Cale got all three strollers out of the garage one-by-one and pushed them down the hill into the fence. Carl caught him on about stroller number three. He said Cale gave the stroller a big push and then as it hit the fence he said, "I wrecked." Now, this was a bit of destructive behavior, but the strollers weren't harmed so it was okay.
We even flew Cale's new jet plane kite, which he really could've cared less about because he was busy "hammering" things with the hammer that he found. Cale with a hammer, scary, I know. Nothing like a great, productive day outside.
At about 7:00 Keaton's eyes started becoming red and he got fussy. This was my cue, it was time for bath and bed. So, I gave him a quick bath, dressed him in his jammies, swaddled him up, and began to feed him. Suddenly I heard, "Lori!". I looked up to see Carl and Cale. The strange thing was Carl was holding Cale upside down by his feet. At first I assumed this was some kind of trick and I was suppossed to laugh or cheer at Cale's amazing upside down act. But I could tell by the look on Carl's face that they weren't playing. And then I saw it. Well, I smelled it and I saw it. The reason Carl was holding Cale by his feet is because his shirt was covered in poop. His hands were covered in poop. And I'm ashamed to say his mouth...was covered...in poop. That sweet mouth that gives me kisses. That sweet mouth that can say the funniest things.
Yes, it was a complete disaster. And of course this all happened right as I was trying to put Keaton down. So, I helped Carl get the poop monster undressed, scolding him the entire time. We got him in the bath, kicking and screaming, turned on the cool water, not warm (this wasn't suppossed to be an enjoyable bath) and attempted to de-contaminate him. I say we, but what I really mean is Carl. I guess you could say I was with him in spirit. Yes, since I had already started Keaton's bedtime routine, I don't think Carl had the nerve to give the clean-up job to me. So, he manned up and handled it himself. I must say, I usually want Keaton to hurry up and guzzle his bottle. He is sometimes a frustratingly slow eater. But, tonight I savored every minute of rocking him as he slowly ate. He even fell asleep about 15 minutes in and I sat and rocked him awhile longer. Not that my husband knew. As far as he's concerned, it took me about 25 minutes to get Keaton to sleep. Shhhh.
At one point as I was feeding Keaton, I started laughing. Like, out loud laughing. I'm not sure if I was laughing at the thought of Carl having to handle the poop monster (it seems like it usually always happens when I'm around) or if I was laughing as I pictured Cale hanging upside down covered in poop. Maybe I was laughing at the fact that though my son seems to be fairly bright, he goes and does something like this. Oh, he can have a full conversation with us, remember almost anything we tell him, but he can't resist touching and now eating (gag) his poop. A smart guy who eats poop. It's like an oxymoron. No, I didn't just call my son a moron. A kid with a weird obsession, yes.
After I put Keaton to sleep, I headed into the playroom where Cale had been laying watching TV when he became...curious. Let's just call it curious. I was armed with a wet cloth, a scrubbing brush, some resolve, and my nose. The last thing may not seem like a tool that could help in a situation such as this, but it did.
I went around on all fours sniffing the carpet for suspicious odors. I ended up just cleaning the entire area near where Cale was laying. And I also picked up every.single.Thomas Train and took a whiff, trying to decide if they had come in contact with "the poop hand".
So, tomorrow I will be making a trip to Wal-Mart for come Clorox wipes, since I am out. I will wipe down each and every one of Cale's trains. I need peace of mind.
I guess it's just one of those things you have to look back on, laugh, and just remind yourself that crap happens. Literally.
Today we ventured out to the train depot for a safety train ride with Cale. Cale is completely obsessed with trains right now...almost to the point that he has forgotten about tractors. Which is saying a lot. The train ride went about as well as it could have. Cale loved it, and even though he was getting bored by the end, he still remained a good boy. So far, so good.
The rest of our day consisted of me cleaning out closets and hanging out with Keaton while Carl and Cale did yard work outside. Still a great day.
At one point while Carl wasn't watching, Cale got all three strollers out of the garage one-by-one and pushed them down the hill into the fence. Carl caught him on about stroller number three. He said Cale gave the stroller a big push and then as it hit the fence he said, "I wrecked." Now, this was a bit of destructive behavior, but the strollers weren't harmed so it was okay.
We even flew Cale's new jet plane kite, which he really could've cared less about because he was busy "hammering" things with the hammer that he found. Cale with a hammer, scary, I know. Nothing like a great, productive day outside.
At about 7:00 Keaton's eyes started becoming red and he got fussy. This was my cue, it was time for bath and bed. So, I gave him a quick bath, dressed him in his jammies, swaddled him up, and began to feed him. Suddenly I heard, "Lori!". I looked up to see Carl and Cale. The strange thing was Carl was holding Cale upside down by his feet. At first I assumed this was some kind of trick and I was suppossed to laugh or cheer at Cale's amazing upside down act. But I could tell by the look on Carl's face that they weren't playing. And then I saw it. Well, I smelled it and I saw it. The reason Carl was holding Cale by his feet is because his shirt was covered in poop. His hands were covered in poop. And I'm ashamed to say his mouth...was covered...in poop. That sweet mouth that gives me kisses. That sweet mouth that can say the funniest things.
Yes, it was a complete disaster. And of course this all happened right as I was trying to put Keaton down. So, I helped Carl get the poop monster undressed, scolding him the entire time. We got him in the bath, kicking and screaming, turned on the cool water, not warm (this wasn't suppossed to be an enjoyable bath) and attempted to de-contaminate him. I say we, but what I really mean is Carl. I guess you could say I was with him in spirit. Yes, since I had already started Keaton's bedtime routine, I don't think Carl had the nerve to give the clean-up job to me. So, he manned up and handled it himself. I must say, I usually want Keaton to hurry up and guzzle his bottle. He is sometimes a frustratingly slow eater. But, tonight I savored every minute of rocking him as he slowly ate. He even fell asleep about 15 minutes in and I sat and rocked him awhile longer. Not that my husband knew. As far as he's concerned, it took me about 25 minutes to get Keaton to sleep. Shhhh.
At one point as I was feeding Keaton, I started laughing. Like, out loud laughing. I'm not sure if I was laughing at the thought of Carl having to handle the poop monster (it seems like it usually always happens when I'm around) or if I was laughing as I pictured Cale hanging upside down covered in poop. Maybe I was laughing at the fact that though my son seems to be fairly bright, he goes and does something like this. Oh, he can have a full conversation with us, remember almost anything we tell him, but he can't resist touching and now eating (gag) his poop. A smart guy who eats poop. It's like an oxymoron. No, I didn't just call my son a moron. A kid with a weird obsession, yes.
After I put Keaton to sleep, I headed into the playroom where Cale had been laying watching TV when he became...curious. Let's just call it curious. I was armed with a wet cloth, a scrubbing brush, some resolve, and my nose. The last thing may not seem like a tool that could help in a situation such as this, but it did.
I went around on all fours sniffing the carpet for suspicious odors. I ended up just cleaning the entire area near where Cale was laying. And I also picked up every.single.Thomas Train and took a whiff, trying to decide if they had come in contact with "the poop hand".
So, tomorrow I will be making a trip to Wal-Mart for come Clorox wipes, since I am out. I will wipe down each and every one of Cale's trains. I need peace of mind.
I guess it's just one of those things you have to look back on, laugh, and just remind yourself that crap happens. Literally.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Mom-ish
So today I officially felt old. Not that it's the first time or anything. It's happening more and more these days. As I shared my vehicle this afternoon, I felt like the "soccer mom" in a car full of younger girls. The sad thing is these girls were actually about my age, one even a tiny bit older. Tiny as in about 6 months. If that counts.
To explain, I am in a wedding tomorrow. My life-long best friend is getting married to her childhood sweetheart. The rehearsal was this afternoon. After the rehearsal we had to drive about 15 minutes to the dinner. The bride asked if she and several other girls could ride with me. I smiled and said, "Of course. That will be great! (fake smile)" But, in my mind I panicked. I mean, I now have two car seats in the back. And if you have ever had car seats in your car, you know how dangerous it can be to pull those things out. You never know what's hiding beneath them. It could be living. It could be gruesome and rotten. Most times it is the latter. Seriously. I have had to pull Cale's carseat out, carry it sideways to the grass, dripping the whole way, and pour smelly, mysterious, syrupy liquid out of it and then spray it down with a water hose. And who knows how long that, whatever it was that had liquified or fermented in the hot summer sun, had been there. At least I had found the source of the smell.
Back to this afternoon. So, I crossed my fingers as I unhooked Cale's seat and carefully lifted it out, hoping no one was looking. It was messy underneath, no doubt. But luckily the mess just consisted of Goldfish crackers (some whole and some crumbs), and sweettarts. No mysterious liquid stains or moldy food. I breathed a sigh of relief.
But once the car seat was out and the crackers were swept off, my job was still not finished. I had to get the baby blankets, bibs, four or five Thomas trains, cars, and plastic toy dinosaur out of my floor board. As one girl sat in the front seat beside me, she pulled the visor down, trying to look in the mirror. But, she couldn't even get to the mirror because of the visor-case holding the sea of cartoon DVD's that now help us survive all car rides with a two-year old. And once my car was "clean" I couldn't help wondering if there was a smell. Like a sour spit-up, urine-ish, dirty toddler/newborn smell. You know, a smell that you can't detect because you live in it, but a smell that hits others like a punch in the gut. I didn't notice anyone cringing or gasping for air, so hopefully the smell wasn't too bad.
Yes, I felt old. These girls weren't married, yet. They didn't have kids. They were about my age. But here I was in the mom-mobile, complete with carseats, spilled food, toys, and mysterious stinky smells. And why is my passenger side visor mirror not accessible? Because I no longer have time to look in the mirror.
Yes, I am old. Maybe not in actual number years. But, I'm "Mom-old". Having kids will do that to you. Occasionally I miss that feeling of being young and carefree. Sometimes I miss having a clean car complete with the scent of air fresheners. Sometimes I miss having a back seat that people can actually sit in, without the hassle of carseat removal or fear of contamination.
But always, those moments of reminiscing about my carefree days, are replaced with moments of being so thankful for our two little ones. They are a lot of work. They do make messes. But they are truly worth it and life wouldn't be nearly as much fun without them. More restful, but not as much fun!
To explain, I am in a wedding tomorrow. My life-long best friend is getting married to her childhood sweetheart. The rehearsal was this afternoon. After the rehearsal we had to drive about 15 minutes to the dinner. The bride asked if she and several other girls could ride with me. I smiled and said, "Of course. That will be great! (fake smile)" But, in my mind I panicked. I mean, I now have two car seats in the back. And if you have ever had car seats in your car, you know how dangerous it can be to pull those things out. You never know what's hiding beneath them. It could be living. It could be gruesome and rotten. Most times it is the latter. Seriously. I have had to pull Cale's carseat out, carry it sideways to the grass, dripping the whole way, and pour smelly, mysterious, syrupy liquid out of it and then spray it down with a water hose. And who knows how long that, whatever it was that had liquified or fermented in the hot summer sun, had been there. At least I had found the source of the smell.
Back to this afternoon. So, I crossed my fingers as I unhooked Cale's seat and carefully lifted it out, hoping no one was looking. It was messy underneath, no doubt. But luckily the mess just consisted of Goldfish crackers (some whole and some crumbs), and sweettarts. No mysterious liquid stains or moldy food. I breathed a sigh of relief.
But once the car seat was out and the crackers were swept off, my job was still not finished. I had to get the baby blankets, bibs, four or five Thomas trains, cars, and plastic toy dinosaur out of my floor board. As one girl sat in the front seat beside me, she pulled the visor down, trying to look in the mirror. But, she couldn't even get to the mirror because of the visor-case holding the sea of cartoon DVD's that now help us survive all car rides with a two-year old. And once my car was "clean" I couldn't help wondering if there was a smell. Like a sour spit-up, urine-ish, dirty toddler/newborn smell. You know, a smell that you can't detect because you live in it, but a smell that hits others like a punch in the gut. I didn't notice anyone cringing or gasping for air, so hopefully the smell wasn't too bad.
Yes, I felt old. These girls weren't married, yet. They didn't have kids. They were about my age. But here I was in the mom-mobile, complete with carseats, spilled food, toys, and mysterious stinky smells. And why is my passenger side visor mirror not accessible? Because I no longer have time to look in the mirror.
Yes, I am old. Maybe not in actual number years. But, I'm "Mom-old". Having kids will do that to you. Occasionally I miss that feeling of being young and carefree. Sometimes I miss having a clean car complete with the scent of air fresheners. Sometimes I miss having a back seat that people can actually sit in, without the hassle of carseat removal or fear of contamination.
But always, those moments of reminiscing about my carefree days, are replaced with moments of being so thankful for our two little ones. They are a lot of work. They do make messes. But they are truly worth it and life wouldn't be nearly as much fun without them. More restful, but not as much fun!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
This morning Carl woke up early to go fishing. So, for the first few hours of wakefulness, it was just me and my boys. Cale is becoming so good at entertaining himself...especially when he is on a DVD kick. It's been Blues Clues, it's been John Deere Heaven (thank goodness that seems to have passed, the annoying soundtrack makes my skin crawl), it's been, and probably still would be, Polar Express (but the addiction to that was getting so out of control that we had to mysteriously "lose it" until next Christmas)
Right now the addiction is GeoTrax...a train DVD that came with a Fisher Price toy Cale got many months ago. Trains are the new tractors for Cale. There was a time when Cale wanted EVERYthing "tractor". He lived and breathed tractors. But, now he seems to be losing interest and he only has eyes for trains. Steam locamotives, mountain trains, bullet trains...yes, I guess I'm becoming more informed about trains these days. This morning Cale spent much of his time with his babysitter...uh, I mean GeoTrax DVD. I would like to say it was educational, but it wasn't. It did keep him entertained, though, and made my morning fairly easy. Until...
At one point, Cale ran into my bathroom and said he wanted to "poop". Well, he sat down and within a few seconds started to pee. I quickly pointed the "gun" downward because Cale doesn't quite have the hang of that and things can get messy if you don't intervene. After a few minutes of serious grunting, Cale gave up on the pooping thing. He got an A for effort. He did get his handful (it's only suppossed to be one or two but I usually end up giving him a big 'ol handful) of M&M's. I pulled Cale's tight pajama pants back up and let him walk off diaperless, because we were in my bathroom and I didn't have any diapers handy. I had intentions of walking straight into his room to get one. But, as I often do, I got sidetracked picking up toys, washing some bottles, the stuff that never ends.
About thirty minutes later, I went to check on Cale. The door to his room was shut, as it always is when he's playing at his train table these days. Guess he likes his privacy. I opened his door and was greeted with a bad, but unfortunately oh-so-familiar, stench. I heard Cale saying, "Gross. Poop is nasty". I agreed with him of course, and then asked him if did indeed poop. He actually fessed up, which is progress because normally he says "no" and runs off to hide somewhere as if that's not obvious. I could tell by the way he was holding his hand that he had touched the poop. I guess he relapsed, as all addicts sometimes do. Oh, what was his addiction? He had a bad problem with touching his poop awhile back. Back to the story. So I grabbed him, in the same way one would grab a skunk...holding him as far away from myself as I could, and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands. The whole way there I was giving him the "We don't touch our poo-poo" speech...a speech I've given far too many times. After washing his hands I got ready to change his diaper. As I was about to pull his pajama pants off, I noticed a mysterious big lump in one leg. You know, like if something such as a ball had been put down his pants and had slid down to the mid-calf area...that's what it looked like. What on earth was it? Then it hit me. I never put a diaper back on him. Darn it, darn it, darn it. I knew better. Not putting a diaper on Cale is like an open invitation for bodily fluid release. I guess it's the freedom. Or maybe he likes to torture me, I don't know. All I know is, the poop had been smeared all up and down Cale's leg. I don't really know how it made it so far down, but it did.
So I put Cale in the bathtub and prepared for the worst. Let's just say his cute little pirate pajama pants are resting in a tied-up Wal-Mart sack in the bottom of the garage trash bucket. I'm not usually wasteful...I mean I attempted to "scrape" the pants...but I'm not super-mom, I guess. It just wasn't worth it for a cheap pair of pants. He was almost too big for those pajamas anyways. And believe me, Keaton would not have wanted those hand-me-downs.
Carl made it back from his fishing trip about five minutes after I got Cale all cleaned up and had hosed the house down with Febreze. How convenient, right? It's like men have a radar for difficult moments, especially those involving poop.
Right now the addiction is GeoTrax...a train DVD that came with a Fisher Price toy Cale got many months ago. Trains are the new tractors for Cale. There was a time when Cale wanted EVERYthing "tractor". He lived and breathed tractors. But, now he seems to be losing interest and he only has eyes for trains. Steam locamotives, mountain trains, bullet trains...yes, I guess I'm becoming more informed about trains these days. This morning Cale spent much of his time with his babysitter...uh, I mean GeoTrax DVD. I would like to say it was educational, but it wasn't. It did keep him entertained, though, and made my morning fairly easy. Until...
At one point, Cale ran into my bathroom and said he wanted to "poop". Well, he sat down and within a few seconds started to pee. I quickly pointed the "gun" downward because Cale doesn't quite have the hang of that and things can get messy if you don't intervene. After a few minutes of serious grunting, Cale gave up on the pooping thing. He got an A for effort. He did get his handful (it's only suppossed to be one or two but I usually end up giving him a big 'ol handful) of M&M's. I pulled Cale's tight pajama pants back up and let him walk off diaperless, because we were in my bathroom and I didn't have any diapers handy. I had intentions of walking straight into his room to get one. But, as I often do, I got sidetracked picking up toys, washing some bottles, the stuff that never ends.
About thirty minutes later, I went to check on Cale. The door to his room was shut, as it always is when he's playing at his train table these days. Guess he likes his privacy. I opened his door and was greeted with a bad, but unfortunately oh-so-familiar, stench. I heard Cale saying, "Gross. Poop is nasty". I agreed with him of course, and then asked him if did indeed poop. He actually fessed up, which is progress because normally he says "no" and runs off to hide somewhere as if that's not obvious. I could tell by the way he was holding his hand that he had touched the poop. I guess he relapsed, as all addicts sometimes do. Oh, what was his addiction? He had a bad problem with touching his poop awhile back. Back to the story. So I grabbed him, in the same way one would grab a skunk...holding him as far away from myself as I could, and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands. The whole way there I was giving him the "We don't touch our poo-poo" speech...a speech I've given far too many times. After washing his hands I got ready to change his diaper. As I was about to pull his pajama pants off, I noticed a mysterious big lump in one leg. You know, like if something such as a ball had been put down his pants and had slid down to the mid-calf area...that's what it looked like. What on earth was it? Then it hit me. I never put a diaper back on him. Darn it, darn it, darn it. I knew better. Not putting a diaper on Cale is like an open invitation for bodily fluid release. I guess it's the freedom. Or maybe he likes to torture me, I don't know. All I know is, the poop had been smeared all up and down Cale's leg. I don't really know how it made it so far down, but it did.
So I put Cale in the bathtub and prepared for the worst. Let's just say his cute little pirate pajama pants are resting in a tied-up Wal-Mart sack in the bottom of the garage trash bucket. I'm not usually wasteful...I mean I attempted to "scrape" the pants...but I'm not super-mom, I guess. It just wasn't worth it for a cheap pair of pants. He was almost too big for those pajamas anyways. And believe me, Keaton would not have wanted those hand-me-downs.
Carl made it back from his fishing trip about five minutes after I got Cale all cleaned up and had hosed the house down with Febreze. How convenient, right? It's like men have a radar for difficult moments, especially those involving poop.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Drama
Sometimes I feel like drama follows us wherever we go. Not drama like you may be thinking. Carl and I aren't confrontational. We don't fuss or argue with others. I'm not talking about reality show-type drama. The drama I'm referring to is "baby drama". It seems like if it's not one thing, it's another. Between my two kids...one of whom is only six weeks old...I've been to the doctor way too many times to count, or admit for that matter. Our oldest had a rough start on life. We were in and out of the doctor many times during his first few weeks. The doctors finally discovered that he had pyloric stenosis, which is why he threw up every few minutes and got down to 4lb 5oz. Once he had surgery to fix his stomach, he started gaining weight and we were out of the doctor's office for awhile. Then, the ear infections began. At about 9 months of age Cale began having them. He had one or two a month until he was almost a year old. Then, he had tubes put in...just like almost every other kid in America it seems. The tubes didn't stop the infections at first. Between ear aches, several bouts with thrush, and then chronic diarrhea...we felt like we lived at the doctor's office. It was kind of embarrassing. Well, now Cale is two and I don't know if his immunity is up or if he is just tougher...but we haven't really had to take him to the doctor at all the past few months. Yes!
But, now there's kid number two. Sweet little Keaton. He's six weeks old and has already had his fair share of doctor's visits. He's a reflux baby with a milk allergy and a body rash (eczema) because of it. So, we've been on 4 different formulas and still see no results, at least no good ones. We have an appointment with the GI on April 18th. That's right, today is March 2 and they can't get us in until the 18th...of stinkin' April! So, I'm frustrated but I guess it's nobody's fault and we just have to grin and bear it.
I feel like I call the doctor's office every other day right now. For awhile it was about the reflux. Then, it was about the constipation due to a formula change. Then it was about the diarrhea due to a formula change. Well, today I had Carl call. I was just too embarrassed to call again so soon. Embarrassed because I don't want to be labeled as one of "those" moms. You know the kind. But, also embarrassed because of the issue with Keaton.
For over about two weeks now, his ear has smelled...bad. At first I felt horrible, thinking I wasn't washing behind his ears well enough. So I went to town on those bad boys. But, even with scrubbing the left ear still had a stench. Well, that infectious smell...not infectious like a cute little baby giggle is infectious. Infectious like...infection-smelling...well that smell now smells like something has crawled up into Keaton's ear and dropped dead. Yes, my sweet little innocent baby's ear smells like a dead animal. Like roadkill. There's no other way to describe it. And I would know. I grew up in the country where dead animals can always be found.
No, I didn't have the nerve to call and tell the nurse about my son's ear "situation" and ask her about how to fix it. So, I gave this one to Carl. He called this morning but still hasn't received a call back yet. He better not think he's going to get out of this one! At lunch I talked to him and he told me the nurse said, "Use some soap and water." Let me just tell you, my blood started boiling. I was just about to start giving Carl an earful about that nurse, when he told me he was just kidding, he hadn't heard anything yet. Leave it to my husband to make up a story...and then he gets frustrated when I sometimes won't believe him. I often have to remind him of the boy who cried wolf...
But, now there's kid number two. Sweet little Keaton. He's six weeks old and has already had his fair share of doctor's visits. He's a reflux baby with a milk allergy and a body rash (eczema) because of it. So, we've been on 4 different formulas and still see no results, at least no good ones. We have an appointment with the GI on April 18th. That's right, today is March 2 and they can't get us in until the 18th...of stinkin' April! So, I'm frustrated but I guess it's nobody's fault and we just have to grin and bear it.
I feel like I call the doctor's office every other day right now. For awhile it was about the reflux. Then, it was about the constipation due to a formula change. Then it was about the diarrhea due to a formula change. Well, today I had Carl call. I was just too embarrassed to call again so soon. Embarrassed because I don't want to be labeled as one of "those" moms. You know the kind. But, also embarrassed because of the issue with Keaton.
For over about two weeks now, his ear has smelled...bad. At first I felt horrible, thinking I wasn't washing behind his ears well enough. So I went to town on those bad boys. But, even with scrubbing the left ear still had a stench. Well, that infectious smell...not infectious like a cute little baby giggle is infectious. Infectious like...infection-smelling...well that smell now smells like something has crawled up into Keaton's ear and dropped dead. Yes, my sweet little innocent baby's ear smells like a dead animal. Like roadkill. There's no other way to describe it. And I would know. I grew up in the country where dead animals can always be found.
No, I didn't have the nerve to call and tell the nurse about my son's ear "situation" and ask her about how to fix it. So, I gave this one to Carl. He called this morning but still hasn't received a call back yet. He better not think he's going to get out of this one! At lunch I talked to him and he told me the nurse said, "Use some soap and water." Let me just tell you, my blood started boiling. I was just about to start giving Carl an earful about that nurse, when he told me he was just kidding, he hadn't heard anything yet. Leave it to my husband to make up a story...and then he gets frustrated when I sometimes won't believe him. I often have to remind him of the boy who cried wolf...
Terrible Twos
Terrible twos. Something every parent hears about. Something every parent comes to fear. Well, I think we are here. This makes me actually feel a little relieved because it's no longer something I am dreading. It's now become something I'm living, several moments each day. And overall it's really not that bad. It's a little deceiving because not every moment is "terrible". Some days I'll start to think, maybe these TT's aren't going to be as bad as everyone says. Then, boom! Cale drops a bomb on us. But, truthfully I think Carl and I enjoy this stage that Cale is at more than any other he's been in. Well, most of the time.
Sometimes it feels like we're living with a teenager in a tiny person's body. Cale can be so extremely moody for no apparent reason. And his moodiness is always directed towards his parents. Lucky us. I heard him crying in his room at about 6:00 yesterday morning. I opened his door ready to love on him and make him feel better because I'm a Mommy and that's what we do best, right? Well the minute he sees me, instead of the look of pure joy and relief I was hoping for, he shot a dirty look my way and yelled, "No! Get out!". I tried to talk to him to see what was wrong and in a very exasperated voice he said, "No, don't talk!". Seriously, I am not suppossed to get on his nerves yet. I can only imagine what he'll be like at fourteen. Sheesh.
Same exact thing happened this morning except that I didn't go in his room. Nope, wasn't going to make that mistake twice. After a few minutes of fussing, Cale came out of his room to find me cooking eggs in the kitchen. The minute I said hey, he grumpily said, "Don't talk, mom!". I didn't think my son would start hating the sound of my voice until he got older.
And in Cale's case one of the most obvious characteristics of terrible twos is: throwing himself ever so dramatically onto the floor, face down, and crying horribly. I mean, you would think he just lost his best friend. Nope, I simply told him he couldn't have another Tic Tac. Even the tiniest, seemingly small thing results in an Oscar-worthy crying performance by Cale. We've really tried to start ignoring his tantrums, even though they are a bit amusing. The good thing is, since he buries his face in the ground as he cries, Carl and I can point, laugh silently, and smile at each other without Cale ever knowing. Of course a strong-willed child never gives up, he simply monitors and adjusts. Cale's new and improved strategy is to throw the tantrum, then get up, stretch his lower lip out into the perfect pout, and in an almost irresistably sad voice say, "I sad. I been crying. Real bad." Oh really son, we hadn't even noticed. Thanks for telling us.
But for each terrible two moment there is usually an equally terrific two moment. Terrific either being something very funny or very sweet that Cale does.
Sweet: This morning, after Carl and Cale had gone out the door, Carl comes back in and tells me to walk outside. Cale was sitting in his carseat, not wanting to leave because apparently he had told me he loved me and he was worried I had not heard him. So, he said it again. "I love you Mommy. Be careful". Melt my heart. If that kid ever discovers what those words do to me, we just might be in trouble.
Funny: A few days ago, Cale runs in and says very seriously, "Mommy, Keaton's eating himself!" I go see what's going on and I find that Keaton is slurping on his fingers as all baby's do. But, to a concerned big brother, he was eating himself.
That same night, I walk into Cale's room to find his dirty diaper (and I mean,
dir-ty) on the floor and Cale standing on his tippy toes with poop all over his bottom, trying to get his wipes out of the top drawer of his dresser. Guess he was going to change himself. Interesting idea. Hmmm, he can attempt to change himself but can't tell us when he needs to go to the bathroom. Somehow that just doesn't quite seem right.
Sometimes it feels like we're living with a teenager in a tiny person's body. Cale can be so extremely moody for no apparent reason. And his moodiness is always directed towards his parents. Lucky us. I heard him crying in his room at about 6:00 yesterday morning. I opened his door ready to love on him and make him feel better because I'm a Mommy and that's what we do best, right? Well the minute he sees me, instead of the look of pure joy and relief I was hoping for, he shot a dirty look my way and yelled, "No! Get out!". I tried to talk to him to see what was wrong and in a very exasperated voice he said, "No, don't talk!". Seriously, I am not suppossed to get on his nerves yet. I can only imagine what he'll be like at fourteen. Sheesh.
Same exact thing happened this morning except that I didn't go in his room. Nope, wasn't going to make that mistake twice. After a few minutes of fussing, Cale came out of his room to find me cooking eggs in the kitchen. The minute I said hey, he grumpily said, "Don't talk, mom!". I didn't think my son would start hating the sound of my voice until he got older.
And in Cale's case one of the most obvious characteristics of terrible twos is: throwing himself ever so dramatically onto the floor, face down, and crying horribly. I mean, you would think he just lost his best friend. Nope, I simply told him he couldn't have another Tic Tac. Even the tiniest, seemingly small thing results in an Oscar-worthy crying performance by Cale. We've really tried to start ignoring his tantrums, even though they are a bit amusing. The good thing is, since he buries his face in the ground as he cries, Carl and I can point, laugh silently, and smile at each other without Cale ever knowing. Of course a strong-willed child never gives up, he simply monitors and adjusts. Cale's new and improved strategy is to throw the tantrum, then get up, stretch his lower lip out into the perfect pout, and in an almost irresistably sad voice say, "I sad. I been crying. Real bad." Oh really son, we hadn't even noticed. Thanks for telling us.
But for each terrible two moment there is usually an equally terrific two moment. Terrific either being something very funny or very sweet that Cale does.
Sweet: This morning, after Carl and Cale had gone out the door, Carl comes back in and tells me to walk outside. Cale was sitting in his carseat, not wanting to leave because apparently he had told me he loved me and he was worried I had not heard him. So, he said it again. "I love you Mommy. Be careful". Melt my heart. If that kid ever discovers what those words do to me, we just might be in trouble.
Funny: A few days ago, Cale runs in and says very seriously, "Mommy, Keaton's eating himself!" I go see what's going on and I find that Keaton is slurping on his fingers as all baby's do. But, to a concerned big brother, he was eating himself.
That same night, I walk into Cale's room to find his dirty diaper (and I mean,
dir-ty) on the floor and Cale standing on his tippy toes with poop all over his bottom, trying to get his wipes out of the top drawer of his dresser. Guess he was going to change himself. Interesting idea. Hmmm, he can attempt to change himself but can't tell us when he needs to go to the bathroom. Somehow that just doesn't quite seem right.
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