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?

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.