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.

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.

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.

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.