Poo Et Al

This next subject is a little ... strange.

Toddler poop habits. Yes, toddler poo. Maybe I'm strange, but with each of my kids, I have never been able to avoid noticing their poo as I change their diapers, and remarking on abnormities. I picked up this habit when my youngest son was in diapers, because he bit a toy, got a hunk off of it, and we had to watch his diapers for about a week to make sure he passed it. (Yes, the 'old wives' tale' about being able to pass a LEGO is true. As is the one about DUPLO's, FYI.)

Potty Training

My 4-year-old child is mostly potty trained (and in my head, I hear Billy Crystal from The Princess Bride.) 'Mostly potty-trained' equals 'mostly trying.' If someone asks her if she has to go potty, she'll go in the bathroom and go potty, than call, "Mommy, I need you!" which translates into, "Mommy, come wipe my ass!" This is my life, ass-wiper extraordinaire.

Dog Bowl

All of my kids have chores of some kind to do. The three oldest rotate between doing dishes (well, loading and unloading the dishwasher, this isn't a sweat shop, although if you ever heard my kids bitch, you might wonder) and trash. Man, you would not believe the amount of trash we put out in a week, mostly diapers and what-not (hence the name, "Screaming Diapers" - Hey, I see what you did there, you are surely thinking, because you're smart like that. Yeppers...anyhoo...chores.

Pig Tails and Sparkles

When I thought about having a little girl, I kind of pictured her with long hair, french braiding it and putting it in pony-tails, with pretty hair ribbons and sparkly shit all over it. Or maybe that's my rosy/sparkly glasses. Anyway, I when I dreamed of having a girl, it was always a little angel who hung on my every thought and listened to me when I talked, treating every word out of my mouth as a revelation of Biblical proportions.

Red! Red! Red! Green! Blue!

It seems that sometime within the last month, my youngest daughter has really started talking up a storm. She actually answers when I call her (ok, not understandably, but it's a start.) She still gets super-pissed when I hold her and she wants down, and still screeches when she doesn't get her way, but she seems to actually be trying to communicate at other times. When we got her (and the rest) back from my mom, the first thing my mother told me is that she was saying, "Mommy."

"It figures," I told her. "I'm not there to hear it, so why not try to please you and say what you tell her to."

"No, really, watch: Daphne, say 'Mommy!'"

Horses and Elephants, Oh My!

One day last summer, I saw a flyer for free horse-back rides at a local horse ... farm/boarding house/place, or whatever you call it. I made arrangements to take my then 3 year old. I don't know what I was expecting, maybe that Golden Book moment, where she develops a life-long love of horses (queue cute music here,) or a Black Beauty-like thing who would capture her little girl's heart and she would suddenly decide to work with horses when she grows up. I mean, a princess is a fine vocation (and I'm pretty sure that's her current goal) but being a princess doesn't pay the bills (or it better not anyway!) Every little girl loves horses, right?

One Color Wheel Coming Up

It seems as though a period of my life (pun intended) is ending, and another beginning. Peri-menopause is evidently what a 'woman my age' starts as her 'fertility cycle' winds down. (Yes, that's a lot of 'air quotes') But after five kids, my body is probably putting it's little foot down, stating no more. But, I whine at my body, our tubes were tied, crimped, burned, and cursed after the last baby. I don't need menopause to ensure no more babies, you freak!

Spider-Fest

I got up to get the girls lunch today. The boys were playing xbox (summertime = videogame time) and they can fix their own lunch food, so I start on the girl's lunch. Hot dogs, pickles, blueberries, yogurt pretzels - the lunch of champions! (I want spaghetti! Diana tells me. Take off your new shirt, then I tell her. Nevermind! she says. Guess she didn't want spaghetti that bad.)

And So It Goes

She's back. My precious little ... mini-me. She had been home about ten minutes, when she noticed that her dress-up clothes were not where she left them (we had cleaned) and she comes into the living room, "Mommy, I need my princess dress. I can't find my princess dress anywhere!" with her hands on her cheeks in a comical over-done version of child shock. "Oh, no!" I'm telling you, she personifies drama, and makes it her own.

The Trip From Hell

Well, it's summer time - you know, when kids (and I have a gaggle of them, or would it be a passel? Whatever) are not in school, bored and generally suffering from insanity. Bored kids are dangerous (two words - fingernail polish) If you're not careful, an experiement gone wrong could burn your garage down. I remember summer as lazy time, sleeping in, no homework, etc, not as a time to learn what items in the garage are flammable, and which ones blow up. Someone whose name I won't mention (but you know who you are) got the boys some sort of book dedicated to driving a mother crazy, and it included many interesting shop experiments that last summer, my hellions ... improved upon, we'll say. Well, long story short, burn marks on a garage floor stay there pretty much forever. Especially if they're from paint thinner.

A History of Mental Illness. (0r, The Terrible Two's)

One day a year and half ago, I was at work and I got a call from my honey. "Just to let you know," he starts out, and I think, Oh shit! All of his You're-going-to-freak-out-because-I'm-freaking-out stories start with that phrase.

"What?"

"Well, Chris was making Ramen soup, and Diana pulled it over on her," he says. "I rinsed it off with cold water, but her shoulder where she spilled it is red. What else do you want me to do?" He's not an overt panicker, he is controlled and focused, kind of like how he is now. He's got this under control, so I have him give her Tylenol, and tell him to call me if she develops blisters. I have sunburn crap in the closet, and I have him rub it on her shoulder.

Silly Mommy!

At least once a week, I get notice from my honey that his parents want to keep the girls overnight. He always asks me if that's ok, as if I would have any possible reason to say no. I mean really, show me parents who don't want a night away from the kids, and I'll show you a cult. To me, a happy, well-adjusted child should do what my daughter does when I leave her at Grandma's house - wave bye, and say, "I love you and I'll see you later." Even my youngest has no problem with leaving me behind, and to me this is great. Does it somewhat hurt my feelings? Yep. But do I think my children's actions should be dictated by my feelings of loss? Absolutely not. That, and after five kids, being childless for a day makes me insane with joy.

Step Puppy

We used to have a pit bull mix named Sidney. He was white and tan, a chihuahua-pit bull mix (picture chihuahua head, pit bull body, with a neck smaller than his chest, and ugly as sin) who probably should have been red-headed, because that dog was super fucking annoying, and everyone in the family (except me, I guess) hated him. He farted constantly, barked in an octave that was so high-pitched other dogs would howl in pain, and he barked constantly! Every time some neighbor three houses down even thought about walking near our house, Sidney started barking. A mouse farted next door, he barked. I can't even say he had a good personality - he bit the other dogs with tiny chihuahua-like jaws, and pushed them around with his 75 pound shoulders. No joke, he weighed 75 pounds, and wore a 13 inch collar. But he was our dog, and since I'm a dog person, dogs are like children - once you get them, they are family for life.