Sunday, July 25, 2010

Did you really want to see my hoo haa?

I was at a restaurant recently with my kids (minus Hailey) after visiting Grandma Rosie. We ordered food and of course some specialty coffee and enjoyed a lovely lunch, just us girls. Upon Claire's request of "BAA BAA" (potty), I hurried to the restroom, throwing away and recycling what was left of our lunch as quickly as possible and dragging the girls to the restroom. I placed Claire on the potty first, then Anna, and then I thought I would go as it was a long drive back to Corvallis. As I sat down I did one of those martial arts moves blocking Claire's every grab at the sanitary napkin disposal, garbage can (as it was in reach of the toilet), and toilet paper dispenser. I felt like a toilet ninja keeping one block ahead of my 20 month old. As I began to relieve myself I realized there was one area I could not block from my ever curious toddler and that was the door. It had a lever handle that could be released with one ill placed hand of a mischievous toddler. As I watched in horror, she popped the lock and opened the door onto a dining full of curious onlookers. As I didn't want to stand up and flash my hoo haa to many surprised observers, I reached out with every ounce of will I could muster and snagged Claire's coat and screaming in the high pitched tones only children can hear and no one else can decipher I shrieked, "Anna shut the door, shut the door". I'm sure only the dead, zombies, and frightened children could understand the words at the pitch that was being reached by their mother. My older daughter obliged and I continued with my business until I had finished and wondered how I was going to face the 12 tables of people that just got a glimpse into my most private of affairs. After washing all of the involved hands, I exited the bathroom staring at the floor. Weaving through tables hurriedly toward the door hearing patrons say things like "aren't kids great", and chuckling, I couldn't imagine a place I would rather not be.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

wal...NUTS!!!
I recently went to a neighborhood potluck. Fun right. Actually it was. Nice people, good food, stimulating conversation. It was a potluck and I brought a salad that was on the menu at "Sweetpeas". It required candied walnuts, which I candied in my cast iron skillet, which was on my stove top...as usual. It was delicious with Amish blue cheese, D'anjou pears (thinly sliced), the aforementioned walnuts all on a bed of spinach, with a swirling of poppy seed vinaigrette. My kids enjoyed it as well as the participants of the potluck. When I returned home, my husband smiled a sweet loving smile and asked a very simple question. "Did you make that salad with candied walnuts from the restaurant?" I answered, "Yes." He then asked, "what pan did you use?" I stated that I had used my cast iron skillet. He said, "funny thing! Yesterday I cooked bacon in that pan and I let the dog lick out the bacon grease and then put it back up on the stove." Really, someone really thought it might be a good idea to let a dog clean a pan with her tongue and then put said pan on the stove top? Oh, husband I love thee...

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

potty training or "not pt"


So after Claire's 6 foot fall from the top bunk onto her back knocking the wind out of her tiny lungs and scaring me to death, splitting her head open and having it glued back together after a fall off the train table, and eating a poisonous flower, which required a call to poison control, I decided toilet training was in the cards...while Claire masterminded plans of her own. She has been telling me every time she poos and pees and makes contorted purplish facial expressions with each evacuation, which with my other two children was the determining factor in their potty training, so I decided the time was nigh. Claire, however is her own creature. Although she has "gone" on the potty, all outcomes have been by accident or with heavy bribing. This child has also discovered the "inform mommy that I need to go potty (to get attention) and for the excitement of the mad dash down the hall while I giggle all the way" power. I toilet train by allowing the children to be naked to discover by seeing and feeling where their excrement comes from and subsequently leaves from. So for our family, while running around, getting ready for our spring break trip, shopping, family dinner, etc. I've needed to be creative. Using a mixture of cloth diapers, underwear, and plastic pants, while we're out, I've come up with a fairly workable alternative to being naked all the time for the first 4 days to one week. Mix that with 15 to 20 minute forced (or suggested) potty breaks and wah...lah...you have a fairly uneventful potty training experience. It seemed to all make sense to me but not to my youngest dear, sweet babe.

Yesterday we needed to go to TJ's to get some snacks for our trip. I put some underwear on Claire with some plastic pants over the top. Upon arrival we immediately made a stop by the potty to make sure we (Claire and I) knew that there was an available potty. Well that was my first mistake. Claire instantly started the wheels turning, trying to figure out how she could use this new found knowledge to her benefit. As soon as I had her buckled into the shopping cart. She looked at me, smiled knowingly and said "BA, BA", which means "potty". I left my cart, Hailey and Anna, and my train of thought and rushed her to the potty. As soon as her little chubby buns hit that cold toilet seat she put her hands above her head, twisting her wrists frantically, which means all done. After pulling up her pants, all the while deflecting little fat fingers from grabbing the trash receptacle, toilet seat, and sanitary napkin depository with lightning speed and washing her hands, I whisked her back to the cart. Buckling her once again and trying to remember why I had left the cart next to the maple syrup, I started to get into my groove of shopping for vacation. I put two items in the cart walked a total of 10 feet when Claire, grinning angelically, looked up at me and said with lips poised, "BA, BA". I again frantically unbuckled her, rushed to the potty, and left my other two children standing wide eyed in the aisle wondering how their baby sister had just gotten away with something they could so easily see through. I again crouched down, pulled her pants to her ankles, and popped her onto the seat. This time I decided to distract her with some songs, finger plays, and body part identification. I said, "where are mommy's eyes"? Claire obliged my request by poking me in the eye. Then I said, "where is mommy's nose"? An inquisitive look furrowed her brow and the corner of her mouth twisted up mischievously. She drew her arm back and slapped me across the face. I was so shocked that I couldn't help but laugh (which I'm sure helped the cause). She then leaned forward and buried her head in my shoulder, sucking her thumb, as if to apologize. After repeating this scenario about 13 more times (minus the slap) throughout the next 20 minutes (and subsequently forgetting 1/2 of my shopping list) I checked out and loaded children and groceries into the car. As soon as all children were buckled in Claire said "BA, BA". I should have said "wait until we get home", but to a 19 month old? So I unloaded all the kids took them into the bathroom and put Claire on the potty. She dripped a few drops and then signed "all done". Hailey then informed me that she needed to use the facilities for a rather lengthy endeavor. I was perturbed, but obliged the request to turn and face the wall picking up and holding Claire. As I stood there staring at the wall and contemplating the bathroom paint color I felt warm all of a sudden and realized that as I held my youngest baby in my arms the warm feeling became wet (Claire's underwear/plastic pants combo didn't quite work). Since instead of paper towels TJ's has eco-friendly hand dryers I searched the cabinet for something to clean up the pee on the floor and off my Danskos. I made a mitt of toilet paper, mopped the floor, walked to the car with wet pants (Claire and I), and changed the baby. I drove home with wet pants, walked into the house with arms loaded with groceries and a pant-less baby, thinking of the moment I could change and be comfortable. The phone rang as I entered the house and it was my glorious husband calling for me to come and get him. As I loaded the car with the kids to go retrieve my husband (his bike had broken earlier that day and so he was stranded) the kids giggling and cheering to see daddy, I thought...I wouldn't trade this life....and after we picked Mark up Claire went wee, wee, wee all the way home.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Be careful where you leave your bag of puke ...or how to fling poop on your Mother in Law's ceiling


So first the poo...Our family decided to visit and stay a night with my husband's father and step mother on the way home from our New Year's festivities. Upon arrival we enjoyed some libation, and began to feel fairly at ease. My step-mother-in-law told me that she had printed some Can cans for me and they were on the counter. For a moment I was perplexed wondering how a "can can" could be on a counter when it was something you do as part of a dance routine. I then realized she was actually referring to a "ken ken", which is a math game similar to Soduko. Wanting to impart all of my dancing knowledge I informed her that she was mistaken and that this was actually a "can can", at which point I started kicking my legs high into the air while at the same time "singing" daah daah dut dut dut dut daah daah, dut, dut, dut, dut, daah daah...). As one of my elegant kicks reached it's pinnacle, a noticed a bit of debris shoot off the end of my perfectly pointed toe and adhere to the vaulted ceiling. Upon closer scrutiny, while squinting my eyes at a point above my head, I tried to identify the origin and type of matter that had been flung from my flawless foot. I then glanced down at the floor and noticed a small mound of brownish turds. I was just the tiniest bit, HORRIFIED. We assumed it to be cat feces, seeing that there were 3 of the little monsters in the house, but, alas, as it turned out, all of the incident fell upon our (my) shoulders. You see our youngest pint size cherub had crapped herself and most of the aforementioned doo-doo had shot out the side of her diaper, cascaded down her leg, and had been spread quite methodically it seems around the interior of my in-laws home. So if anyone should ever need someone to write an instruction manual on "How to adhere shit to your stepmother-in-laws ceiling", I'm the woman for the job.

The second incident goes a lil sumpin like dis: (1st equation) Road from Waldport to Philomath= Hailey car sick...we took the road from Waldport to Philomath on the way home from the coast because we were headed to a birthday party outside of Alsea. Just as we finished the last set of corners Hailey says, "mom I can't wait, I'm going to puke". Mark found the first place he could to pull over, while in the meantime I handed Hailey a paper bag to barf in (2nd equation) Paper bag+vomit=gigantic stinky mess. Hailey began spewing at the exact moment Mark pulled over and as she finished up we began to wonder what to do with our little package of stomach excrement. Having no plastic bags (later I realized we did) our thought processes became frenzied as the life of the bag was nearing it's end (this is one of those situations where marital bliss turns into marital screeching). Not wanting to litter but having no immediate plethora of options we left the bag near some mailboxes and in a rainbow of gravel fled feeling as though we had gotten away with some hugely evil crime. As we drove on, chuckling maniacally I realized I couldn't remember where my friends lived. As soon as we were within range of a tower and I had coverage, I called them and asked for directions. They told us the name of the road and as I spoke it out loud, Mark started making some very odd animal choking noises. As I hung up the phone, Mark informed me that much to our chagrin we would be returning to our very distasteful and smelly crime scene. So next time you invite us to a party beware...we may leave a very lovely housewarming gift under your mailbox.