Potty Talk

Poop is the most popular topic in my house. I don't know why my kids find it so interesting, but they do.

"Mom, my poop was normal!" Rio yelled from the bathroom.

"Okay...great to know buddy!" I yelled back. "Was it not normal before?"

"Yesterday I had exploding poop!" Rio answered back.

"Exploding poop? What's that?" Amaya peeked her head out of her room, not wanting to miss the opportunity to engage in such a fascinating discussion.

Rio went on to explain the dynamics of an exploding poop when it gets flushed. I'll spare you the details.

This led to a debate where the two of them compared all poops ever pooped in this house. They took a vote that decided the exploding poop was the winner.

I may just start awarding ribbons.

Kid-Glove Parenting

Kid-glove parenting seems to be the trend these days. Where parents overindulge, pamper, coddle, and fuss over their children.

"What are you a marshmallow?"  I yelled at my five year old.  Then I realized...oh no! I have just turned into my father!

But you know what, I GET IT NOW! My children aren't marshmallows, and I don't want them to grow up to become marshmallows. The fact is, a little tough skin is necessary.

"That mother's looking for you," a friend informed me. She pointed towards the playground to a mother fussing over her child.

"Why?" I asked sarcastically.

"She wanted to tell you that Amaya wouldn't play with her daughter," she relayed the message.

"Well good thing she talked to you and not me," I teased. I had a feeling that the overbearing mother wouldn't of appreciated my take on the situation.

Kids have to learn to solve their own problems, and fight their own battles. Mommy can't always be there to do it for them. What will they do in the playground of adult life.

MELT!

Idiots

I'm  surrounded by idiots. That's what the pin my husband gave me for our 14th anniversary reads. There's never been a truer statement or better gift.

"Why can't you two act normal?" I shouted at my children after the fifth photo attempt. Then I looked over at my mom. "I don't know why every time I try to take a picture they act like idiots." I complained.

"Ooh..." my husband came over. "That lady is not happy with you."

"What lady?" I looked over in the direction he was pointing, to a woman walking away, shooting dirty looks and shaking her head at me. "What did I do to her?" I asked my husband.

"She didn't like that you referred to our kids as idiots," he said laughing." She huffed away, lecturing you under her breath.

"Well, she obviously hasn't met our kids!" I squawked ending the photo session.

I suppose I could of chose a better synonym to describe the actions of my children. Maybe that woman would have been happier if I used the word silly, goofy, crazy, or foolish.

Too bad I'm not in the business of people pleasing.

Homework

Helping my kids with their homework isn't my best skill. I get bored staring, page after page at subject lessons that are elementary to me. My husband says it's my been there done that attitude. Maybe, but I think it's more of a I hate repeating myself thing.  I blame Amaya.

"What letter is this Amaya?"  I asked while helping her with one of her homework packets in kindergarten.

"I don't know?"  She answered shrugging her shoulders.

"It's the letter 'D'..." I stressed. "Now you tell me, what letter is this?" I pointed to the letter.

"B?"  She questioned.

"No. It's the letter D," I sighed. "Write the letter ten times," I said as I handed her the pencil.

We repeated the above steps over and over.  Each time Amaya guessed a different random letter.  Nothing worked.  She mentally blocked out the letter "D". 

Two years of preschool! What a waste of money!

My husband came home to find us both in tears, crying. He kindly took over and earned his very first gray hair.

I was so relieved!
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Date Night

Date night is detrimental to my health. Without it, I become one frantic momma on the edge. I took date night for granted before my children were born, but now, it's a crucial tool my husband uses to maintain my sanity.

A typical date night is the usual, dinner and a movie. 

Dinner, because it's important I eat a meal once in awhile, free of hovering children waiting for the opportunity to put their fingers in my food.  Why do they have to touch my food?  I haven't the slightest clue.  They don't put their little fingers in my husband's food...ever.  

A movie, because it's a luxury to sit and watch anything from start to finish without explaining what's happening, travel five times to the bathroom, or listen to Rio give us his play by play narration.

"Don't you feel guilty..." people ask,  "leaving your children so you can go out?"

My answer is always the same...HELL NO!

Birthdays

Birthdays are a big deal!  I've been told, I tend to go a bit overboard.

I tell myself every year, "This is it.  Next year I'm only serving cake and ice cream."  But then I get an idea and I just can't help myself.

It doesn't take much to tickle my party bone, whether it's a treasure map invitation, a lady bug cake, a carnival game, or the opportunity to rent a dunk tank. All it takes is one idea to spread like wild fire.

Themed parties are my forte.  I'm not referring to the store bought prepackaged themes.  Those themes are for amateurs.  I'm a professional do-it yourselfer. My parties involve buckets of paint, props, and tricking random family members into volunteering their services. 

"Mom, what kind of party am I having this year?"  Rio asked the day after Amaya's birthday.

"Let me think about it..."  I told him.

Later that night Rio sat in astonishment as we attended a Medieval Times dinner show.  The five dollar flags we purchased as souvenirs weren't enough.

"Mom the small wooden sword is only twenty dollars," Rio pleaded.

"Only...twenty dollars? I can make you that sword for one dollar," I stated the obvious.

His face dropped, he was clearly disappointed. The swords were super cool, I couldn't blame him.

"How about I make them for your party," I proposed. "Then everyone who comes can get one."

"Okay!  But I'm the King!"  Rio declared.

This will be the last party, I swear! ?

Amaya

 Amaya's a girl who's thinks three meals ahead. Before breakfast, she's requesting dinner. At dinner, she's planning  lunch. At lunch, she's worried about breakfast. And snacks... snacks can cause a real migraine.

"Mom, what meat do we have in the freezer?" It's a question asked every morning while picking through her cereal.

"Why Amaya?" Is the common response, but I already know where the conversation is headed.

"I was thinking...maybe we can have spaghetti tonight?" Her most common request.

"Can we finish one meal before we plan the next?" I usually plead with frustration.

Amaya will nod her head, but the worried look on her face always says different.

"Have I ever forgot to feed you?" I try to remind her she's never gone without a meal.

For an incredibly picky child, she sure is worried that she won't get to eat. If it were up to her she would live on spaghetti, tuna, and avocados.

After breakfast, like clockwork, Rio will find me.

"Can we have spaghetti tonight?" Rio asks.

I roll my eyes and sigh. "You hate spaghetti. Remember?"

"Oh...well, Amaya told me to ask," he'll confess.

"Amaya!" I yell through the house. "Quit sending Rio to do your dirty work!"

Follow My Lead

               

Last weekend we had a wedding to attend. I packed the car and drove an hour to the city to pick my husband up from work. Due to my lack of direction, he would drive the rest of the way.

The bride and groom's car breaking down wasn't part of the plan.

When we caught up to the bridal party caravan, squeezed on the side of a windy road, in the pouring rain, the groom's car was finally running. Still not willing to chance it, my husband decided we should drive their kids in our car to be safe.

No problem.  Then...

"Hey babe," my husband said.  "I'll ride with the groom, you take the bride."

The expression on my face dropped. I had a bad feeling, this wasn't the best idea.

"Oh, that's right, I was supposed to drive,"  he remembered.

"Well, it's not ideal...but, I guess I can handle it..." I replied sarcastically. Thoughts of, I don't know where the hell I'm going, were flashing through my mind.

After everyone was crammed into random cars, my husband tapped on the driver side window. "The grooms parents don't know where their going, so let them follow you." 

Great!  So it was the blind leading the blind. What could go wrong?  I had a stressed, panicked bride riding shot gun, twin toddlers in the backseat, and two senior citizens tailing my lead.

"Weddings always have a glitch,"  I reminded the bride.  "This was yours, nothing else can go wrong."

When the exit approached, I turned my blinker on early signaling the car behind me to follow. Then a semi truck cut in front of me, it slowed down and blocked my view of the road ahead.  The exit appeared to be a two lane off ramp, so I switch lanes. 

I was wrong! I cranked my steering wheel right and switched back at the last possible second clipping the off ramp median with my front left tire. I looked to my right with a gut wrenching feeling, I just lost the groom's parents... 

...and in slow motion, I saw the faces of two elderly people drop in disbelief as they missed the exit..so what do I do? 

Wave good-bye.

Numb Tongue

Every time I tried to swallow I would gag on my tonsils, but my only other option was to drool instead.

My numb tongue felt fat and swollen. When I spoke I slurred my words similar to an uncle that liked to polish off a bottle of Gin discretely in the back bathroom at Christmas.

The left side of my face was asleep, and when I smiled I resembled a stroke victim. My teeth were big and the inside of my cheek was bleeding.

As karma had it, I broke a tooth the other day while flossing. And that broken tooth, broke my seven year boycott of the dentist.

I forgot how fun it was to get a Novocaine shot.  My dentist kindly reminded me.

"Mom, thoo you wanth me thoo thake a thower afther thinner?"  Amaya asked as she imatated me.

Yeah, she's a hoot.

Kid Cuisine

I used to love to cook, but lately...I have to admit, cooking isn't my top priority. So I let my kids make dinner last night. But really, they insisted on helping and then took over. 

Amaya did the potatoes and Rio was in charge of the griddle.

"Mom! I'm bleeding!" Amaya panicked. "It stings! It stings, it stings, it stings." 

"Stop being so dramatic. Go get a band aid," I told her.

"Rio! Go get me a band aid," she ordered.

"No...you go get it!" he responded back. "You're not dying!"

The second Amaya left the sink, Rio was in her spot, peeling her potatoes. Amaya came back to the kitchen to find her little brother doing her job.

"Mom!  He's in my spot!"  she protested. "Fine, Rio...I'm going to do your job then."  She tried to control the situation. "Rio, where's the spatula?" she demanded, holding out her hand.

Rio didn't answer, he just kept quietly peeling the potatoes. This infuriated her.

"Rio, the hamburger patties are burning! I have to flip them! Mauuuuum..."

"Someone please flip the patties," I demanded.

"Rio, don't use that!" Amaya bossed. "Mom he hid the spatula on the floor, under the cabinets...gross."

"What?" Rio answered the look I shot him, while he wiped the spatula off on the front of his shirt.

"Wash it," I told him. "We don't use cooking utensils that have been on the ground."

The end result. Well done hamburger patties, unevenly cooked potatoes, burnt corn, and a gallon of lumpy gravy. 

"Why does my stomach hurt so bad?" My husband moaned after our chefs were in bed.

I cited the obvious. This could do wonders for our waistlines.

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Be More Specific

Friday is the worst day to have a problem.  So I was ecstatic when Rio chose today to inform me about the hole in his tooth. 

"Mom...it hurts to brush the hole in my tooth." He complained from the bathroom.

I inspected, and sure enough, half of his top back right molar was missing. 

To get an appointment last minute on a Friday, with the dentist, is next to impossible.  It's like pulling teeth.  I had to exaggerate, embellish, and plead with the receptionist.  Fortunately, negotiations went well and she squeezed him in. 

After the appointment was booked I pulled him out of school and drove him to the dentist.

"I don't know what I did with the baggy..."  Rio casually mentioned from the backseat.  "The dentist probably needs it,"  he added.

"What baggy?" I questioned.

"The one with my tooth in it,"  he explained.

"What tooth Rio?"

"The one that cracked at school,"  he said.  "I heard a crack when I was eating, then I pulled part of my tooth out of my mouth."

"When did this happen?"

"Ummm...a couple weeks ago,"  he continued, as I shook my head in disbelief.  "I put it in my sandwich baggy for you."

"Why didn't you tell me what happened?" 

"You didn't ask."

Apparently, it's not enough to ask what happened at school today.

Now I know to be more specific.

This kid...unbelievable.
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Marshmallows?

An old man recently flagged my husband down while driving.  The old man motioned for him to roll down his window and then asked him to pull over.  This man had no teeth.

"What is Raising Marshmallows?"  The old man asked slowly, pointing at the window decal on my husbands truck.  "I've been driving behind you and I just had to ask."

"My wife's blog,"  my husband answered.

"Does the white stuff spilling over the back of your tailgate have anything to do with the website?" The old man was still confused.

"No...that's taping mud."  My husband laughed, he explained it wasn't candy.

"What's the blog about then?"  The old man asked.

My husband handed him one of my business cards and suggested he check it out.

So my apologies to all who have stumbled across this blog thinking you would find marshmallows only to discover parental sarcasm. 

While the literal light, spongy, very sweet confection, made up of corn syrup, gelatin, sugar, and starch, then dusted with powdered sugar doesn't live in this blog...the proverbial kind does.
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Back to Normal

Everything is back to normal.  That is, if normal includes piles of laundry, a sink full of dishes, and playing referee to the game of  "he touched me...no, she touched me first."

Rio started the morning doing flips on his bed, kicking a soccer ball through the house, and terrorizing his sister.

Amaya took her sweet time eating her Cheerios...a solid 30 minutes.  Then decided she should kick her brother.

Surprisingly, we left for school on time and everything was peaceful in the car.  Until it wasn't.

"He's on my side!"  Amaya yelled.

"Stop pushing me!"  Rio yelled back.

"Really!"  I yelled at them through the rear view mirror.  "We're ten feet from the drop off, and you want to start this now?"

They got out of the car as I reminded them to have a nice day.

My day went by so quick without them.  Too quick.  I enjoyed the peace and quiet so much I forgot to pick them up from school.

That will teach them to fight in the car.
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Sick and Tired

February started just as pleasantly as January.  I'm being punished for skipping the flu shot. 

Today I woke up feeling better but exhausted.  The cough that has moved in is keeping me up all night so during the day all I want to do is sleep. 

Sleeping causes other problems.  I wake up to a puddle of wetness on my pillow and my sleeve with my hair plastered to the side of my face.  Even in sleep I'm aware of the torturous sore throat I have.  The drooling is completely involuntary.

It's Monday.  So imagine my excitement of sending the kids off to school.  First I drag Amaya out of bed by her ankles.

"Get up!"  I yell.  "You're going to be late."  This is due to me hitting  the snooze button repeatedly.

I go into Rio's room.  I try to shake him conscious.  He's burning up.

"Mom, my throat hurts,"  he complains.

I grab a flashlight to inspect his tonsils.  After all I am a throat expert.

"Uh-oh..."  I say.  "Looks like you're staying home." 

Then I remember.  What about my sleep?  I'm devastated. 

"You know if you stay home today, you're staying in bed?" 

"I know." 

"No video games, TV, or playing outside."

He was fine with that. So we slept all day.

The only thing worse than waking up on my own saturated pillowcase, is rolling over into his.  

♥

It's All About Balance

I proudly wear the titles wife and mother.  Still, I'd prefer to have the titles ruler and dictator.

I don't mind the cleaning, the laundry, the dishes, the mopping, the vacuuming, or the cooking.  I don't mind the carpooling, the scheduling, the budgeting, or the organizing.

Okay, I mind a little.  It's my job not my passion, and if I want these things done right, I have to do them. 

But it never fails, in the middle of my cleaning escapades, to look over and find my husband sitting on the couch.  Just sitting there, not doing anything.  It makes my blood boil.

I try making extra noise in the kitchen, I try turning on the vacuum behind him, I try dusting the television he can't pry his eyes off of.  All my subtle attempts fail to draw his attention.  Finally I can't stand it any longer.

"Are you just going to sit there?"  It's a demand more than a question.

He's oblivious to his three pairs of shoes scattered in the middle of the floor, the knocked over sunflower seed bowl spilling down the cushions, or the fact that he has tracked taping mud through the entire house.  I just finished sweeping!

I start thinking, "Men have it so easy!  I wish I were that blind."

Then I remember, that's why he has me in his life...to make his life harder. 

It's all about balance.
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No One Likes a Tattle Tale

Today Rio was sent home from school with a discipline slip.

"Mom look what Rio has for you,"  Amaya said, handing me a slip from Rio's teacher.

A discipline slip.  It states:  Grabbing clothes of others around the neck. 

This is the second discipline slip this year.  The first one was for not following the one set of rules that the school has in place for tether ball.

"Rio,"  I said. "Come here."

"Ya..."  He said with his head hanging low as he approached me.

"What happened?"  I asked.  "You grabbed someone by their shirt?"

"Yes,"  he answered.

"Why?"

"I don't know?"  he answered.

"Was it because you were mad?"  I asked.

"No, we were playing,"  he said.  "And grabbing is part of the game.  You have to catch the other person.  He grabbed me too."

"Okay, well it isn't okay to grab people by their shirt.  Especially around the neck, it's dangerous,"  I told him.

"I know.  We were just playing a game,"  he said. 

"Did you tell your teacher that the other boys were playing like that too?"

"No."

"Why not?"  I asked.

"Because they're my friends and I don't want to get them in trouble,"  he said.

And he's right. No one likes a tattle tale.

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The Limp

Last week Rio hurt his ankle.  He twisted it while my mom was picking him up from school.  He came into the house hopping on one foot.

"Mom, Rio's hurt!"  Amaya called out with panic in her voice, as they entered the front door.

Rio told me what happened, not leaving any detail out.  As I removed his shoe and sock the expressions on his face told me to be very gentle.

"Let me go get the ankle brace for you,"  I said.

"Do you think he really needs it?"  my mom asked.

"No.  But if he's okay after it's on, we'll know it's not serious."   

After the ankle brace was on he hopped around, limped, and still grunted with pain. 

"Maybe he's not faking,"  I thought.

A couple hours later it was time for soccer camp.  Guess who was miraculously healed.  Rio's limp was gone.  It didn't bother him on the field or inside the goal.  It didn't stop him from spinning or doing cartwheels when he was supposed to be paying attention.

At home after soccer the mysterious limp returned.  He hobbled down the hall to his room to put on his pajamas. 

"Rio, why are you limping?"  I asked.

"Remember..."  he drew out.  "I hurt it." 

The next day, same thing.  The following day after that, same thing.  The day of his soccer game, same thing.  So on and so on.  I thought he had forgotten about his ankle until last night, when I saw him hobble past the office. 

"Rio are you okay?"  I asked.

"Gese, what does it take to get some attention?"  he asked while limping towards me.

Apparently bleed.

Vaguely Defined

Vocabulary is important.  It's important for children to learn the correct meanings of words so that they can articulate those words in sentences properly. 

When the weeks vocabulary words come home with loose definitions provided by the school,  my mom gets irritated. 

"Don't these kids use a dictionary at school?"  She asks shaking her head.

"Amaya what does crossly mean?"  My mom quizzes her.

"To look angrily at something,"  she answers.

"What does elegant mean?" 

"To mark with good taste,"  she answers.

"What does godmother mean?" 

"Someone who acts like a mother,"  she answers.

"Wrong!"  my mom tells her.  "Nikki, do you ever read the definitions she brings home?"  she calls out from my kitchen.

"Well that's what our teacher told us to write Grandma,"  Amaya defends herself.

I grab the dictionary.  Before jumping to conclusions, we look up the words to see if by some chance the definitions are correct.  But mainly to prove that we were.

cross•ly: adv. in a cross or angry manner.
el·e·gant: adj. 1. Marked by elegance 2. A high grade of quality
god·moth·er: noun a woman who sponsors a person at a baptism

Our assumptions turn out to be correct.  The vocabulary words are vaguely defined.  Except the word godmother.  There's only one definition.  It makes me wonder if the definition was changed because of it's religious nature.

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Magic Sponges

I've had a box of Magic Eraser sponges for about a year.  I've used one.  I wondered where the magic was.  I could do the same job in half the time with a rag and some multi-purpose cleaner.

"Mom can I clean my door?"  Amaya asked.  "There's something on it."

"Of course you can, it's your door."  I was excited, it's not every day that she wants to clean.

"Can I use one of these sponges?"  She asked.  Her eyes getting big while emptying the box out on the table.

"Go for it!"  I tell her.

Twenty minutes past and I hadn't seen or heard from Amaya or Rio.  That's usually a dead give away that they're up to no good.  So imagine the shock on my face when I turn down the hall to see them scrubbing away all the dirt and grime from all the doors and baseboard.

I guess those sponges are magic after all!

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Healthy Choices

The school lunch menu approved by our School District and The Child Nutrition Department is lacking to say the least.  Where are the healthy choices?

I let my kids buy lunch for one week .  This was against my better judgement, but I wanted to see what they ate if the school was in charge of their nutrition.  Their lunch diet consisted of corn dogs, pizza bread, chili-cheese fries, chicken nuggets, mozzarella sticks, and grilled cheese with seasoned fries.  All foods that I deem part of the fast food group. 

Still schools take the nanny position and practice "do as I say, not as I do" with our children.  They ban food item fund raisers, they prohibit cupcakes for birthdays, and they eliminate P.E.  All while telling parents that the above lunch menu is healthy and approved.  Who are they kidding?