Well hello there, Little Miss Potty Mouth

And no, I'm not talking about the usual four letter words most parents are shocked to hear tumbling out of their precious, sweet lipped babies.

Because, let's be honest here. I'm prone to dropping a few of them myself. If Claire were to say, drop something on her foot & rip off a sh**, I'd probably snicker before I got on to her. We quickly broke her of her habit of saying "Oh, momma...das a dammit iddn't it?" whenever she did something she knew was wrong.

When the kids finally turn front facing in their carseats? I'm going to have to think of something constructive to do with my hands so they don't catch me flipping the proverbial bird when someone makes me mad in traffic. That's the last thing I need...Claire showing her teacher & all of the kids at school the new sign language she's learned.

The potty mouth I'm talking about is STUPID. Stupid, dumb, idiot, fool, retard...to me, those are worse than any curse word that Claire or Carter could utter. I have zero tolerance for name calling. Which is why I'm unsure of where she picked this up. TV? School? I don't know. I do not call Chase or the kids any name like that.

I've never had tolerance for people belittling another person's intelligence. Even more so after I was called stupid by a teacher, in front of the entire class. I couldn't tell you now what we were learning that day, just that it was math, which has always been a weak spot for me. I'd asked for help 3 or 4 times, trying to solve the problem in each way she explained it. Finally, after my last plea for help, the teacher loudly announced: "Are you stupid or something? This is not a hard problem!" The entire class heard, the entire class snickered.

That was, quite possibly, the most humiliating moment I'd ever experienced in school. Worse than the time I puked all over the lunchroom table. Worse than finding out a teacher had purposely not been grading my papers, which resulted in her & my mom getting in an argument & me being pulled from her class. Worse than any time I tripped over my own two clumsy feet & crashed in front of large groups.

If it was that humiliating & upsetting to me, try imagining how hurtful words like that are to someone who is trying their hardest yet they know that they aren't the smartest-whether it be book smart or every day smarts.

That is why, today, as I was getting dressed & the kids were at the table eating lunch, when I heard "stoooo stoooo ahahhaa Cahwah, you stoooo" my blood started to boil. I tried to keep my cool & asked Claire: "What did you just say?" She responded: "I tell Cahwah he stooopid hahahahaa." I pulled out the sternest voice I could find & firmly told her: "You do not, DO NOT call people names like that. That is a naughty word & I don't want you to ever say it again. That word hurts Carter's feelings & it hurts Mommy's, too." I felt bad, speaking to her so sternly, but that is one behavior I will not tolerate from my kids. Once she apologized to Carter, I told her if I ever heard that word again, she would be getting soap in her mouth. I've never done that to her before, but from the look on her face, it was as if she was conjuring up memories of which soap tasted the worst.

Having said that, I'll go ahead & apologize in advance now for the times you might hear my kids slip up with a curse word while our kids are playing together. But at least I won't have to make them apologize for calling your kid a name & hurting their feelings.

Wordless Wednesday

AKA-I'm too lazy to come up with a real post.

Wise words from my 2 year old

Me: "Claire, you're my best friend!"
Claire: "Yah, momma. Move. Elmo."

Me: "Claire, I love you so much."
Claire: "I know, mom."

"I tooted in my bottom, momma. It's really stinky."

"Das my brubber. He has a wienie. Claire doesn't have a wienie."

"Claire tooted. I tooted in my bottom. It was on you, mom."

"Mom, you stop pressing those buttons, mom. Don't smash my buttons, mom. Dat makes me mad."

"Momma, I no like dat weggie. Don't put my panties in my bottom again."

Still truckin' along...

We're here. Hanging on. Sick of being sick.

The kids shared their sinus infections with me. And Chase shared his poison oak with me, too. I have such a generous family.

So other than all the doctors appointments, sickness, & lack of sleep, there's been nothing going on. Nothing.

I can't think of anything to write about. Most of my thoughts are negative, woe is me type thoughts & that's not exactly what I want to be spreading around the internets.

So, until I get back in the groove, here's a few pictures from Carter's birthday weekend.

{Cake by the awesome Ashley, again}


{Birthday boy enjoyed his little frog cake}


{Claire loves to be "shocked". No matter what she's doing, if you tell her it's shocking, she'll make this face for you.}

I probably got another cyst as punishment for hitting my kid in public

Carter's evaluation went fine, no seizures, nothing to worry about. The neurologist tried to tell me he's delayed on his verbal & motor skills. I told him I disagreed, that I think it's more a case of 2nd kid-itis. His regular doctor, Chase, & pretty much anyone else that has any interaction with him agreed, too. Heck, if you could get what you wanted just by pointing & grunting, would you put any effort into talking? I didn't think so.

Both kids are little sicklets. It's awesome. Between sick visits, regular checkups, Claire's surgery for tubes, the surgery on my hand (and the possibility of a 2nd one), periodic orthopedic visits for the kids hips, & all the other doctor related stuff we've had this year, our ridiculously high deductible was met by the end of July. That is impressive yet disgusting at the same time. And yes, you read right about my hand. About a week after having my stitches taken out, I found another cyst. Same hand, different finger. My doctor didn't even look at it, just referred me right back to Dr. Hand.

Carter's birthday was awesome. It wasn't as big or complicated as Claire's party, which was great. Very few toys were received, which was even greater. And the few we got were quiet...no singing, talking, or flashing lights. Pictures coming soon.

And since I was too busy lazy to get around to writing a Random Tuesday Thoughts yesterday, I leave you with these little nuggets of love:

Claire secured my nomination for Mom of the Year yesterday while we were at the library. I got onto her for something & swatted her hand. Claire, sensing that the entire library had fallen quiet, chose that moment to shout "Mom! Don't hit me, mom!" Well played, daughter. Well played indeed.

I am debating writing to the board that licenses all new doctors & petitioning for a new test to be added. I think all doctors need to be able to pass a breath test before their license is handed over. Now, I'm not saying your breath needs to smell like unicorns & sunshine, but c'mon. A little Mentos never hurt anyone. For an hour & forty five minutes on Monday, I was only able to take tiny little gasping breaths because it smelled like the doctor dined on baby skunks for lunch.

So after a year & a half of having my car, I've got it pretty much figured out exactly how many miles I can get on a tank of gas. Yet it still annoys me to no end when Chase doesn't reset the tripometer after every fill up.

Finally, you never know what will pop out of Chase's mouth. Last week, after leaving Carter's appointment, we stopped at Starbucks since neither of us got much sleep the night before. Claire started whining for a chocolate chip cookie. "I want the cookie. Mom, I want the cookie. Mom, please? Please? I like chocolate cookie, Mom. Dad? Cookie? I like it." Chase pops off & says "You know who else likes cookies, Claire? The devil. That's who." Claire didn't say anything for about 20 seconds & then in this tiny little voice said "Uhm. Cookie? Please?"

Wordful Wednesday

The girl's got a wicked sense of style. This was what she wanted to wear to the fair on Sunday night. In case you can't tell? It's her Abby "Dabby" birthday outfit, paired with neon blue legwarmers with multi-colored stars & pink Hello Kitty rainboots. Nevermind the fact that it was 95 degrees out.



And this little squeezable ball of goo is going to be one in 37 days. Those chubby little cheeks & big blue eyes melt my heart all over again every single day.

She's Abby Dabby!

So, Sunday was Bear's big party. She kind of knew she was getting a party but didn't really get it. We waited til the kids were napping to do all the decorating & then when she woke up, I told her she got to dress up like Abby for the day.

Can you say excited?

She kept saying "ooh, pitty" & twirling around, but it wasn't until about halfway through present opening that it really clicked in her little brain.

And then she screamed "I ABBY DABBY!"


The kid? Made quite the haul. This is probably the closest to a full shot of all the unopened presents I've got.


That enormous box in the back? The Step 2 Up & Down Roller Coaster. She freakin' loves it. We put it together after we were done eating the cake & the kids were all over it. Right now it's still set up in the hallway between the kids' room & the playroom. Eventually it'll make its way outside. You know, when it's not 912 degrees out. Before noon.

Speaking of cake. My friend Ashley is fracking amazing. I made cupcakes to go along with the cake. Initially, we thought it might be overkill because the cake I ordered was enough for 32 people. Lets just say...there was not a single slice of cake nor a stray cupcake at the end of the day.

The cake:


And apparently I can't count. I thought we had 35ish people at the party. I talked to Chase's mom today & she said she counted 48. Forty Eight. Seriously? That is crazy.

And what party would be complete without the birthday girl singing happy birthday to herself?


So now I'm off to finish cleaning up from the party. That's right. I still have decorations to be taken down. And two baskets full of toys to be put away.

Blog? What?

Hello? Is this thing on? Hello?

Remember me? You know, the blogger who likes to talk about the embarrassing things my kids do? Or things that my husband does that annoy me?

I'm still here. You'd think with all the sleepless nights I've been having lately, I'd be blogging up a storm, since I have nothing better to do, like, oh I dunno...sleep.

I'm in a vicious cycle right now. I lay down, stare at the ceiling for 30-45 minutes, get up, waste time, maybe clean a little, collapse in between 1 & 2, get maybe a good 4 hours before Roo wakes up for his bottle, consider myself lucky if I get another hour of uninterrupted sleep, & then start my day. Monday was the worst night by far. I laid in bed til 4am (couldn't get up & roam around since we had company) & then was wide awake at 7am. Tuesday? You rocked.

My brain just hasn't been shutting off lately. I lay down & start thinking about what I'm going to do the next day. What happened today that I haven't told Chase about yet? I start up a mental Wal-Mart list, just to forget it all when I'm actually there. I sing my ABCs, Twinkle Twinkle, You are my Sunshine, If you're happy & you know it. Mickey Mouse & the Imagination Movers have taken up permanent residence. Wonder Pets are slowly creeping back in. I question when the last time I watched a show I want to watch was.

We're having Claire's big birthday party on Sunday, so that's part of what I'm thinking about all night. Because you know. She's worried about whether the pinks & purples of the flowers will match the rest of the Abby Cadabby decorations. Or whether I'll be able to find a pair of leggings at Wal-Mart to go under the Abby outfit I bought her on Etsy. She can't stop thinking about how to get the center of the artichoke out to put in the veggie dip. And she's totally excited about carving the watermelon & scooping the insides out with the melon baller so we can put all the fruit inside. And I totally have to give her credit for thinking of the fact that we should serve orange punch instead of red so in case someone spills, it won't stain the carpet.

So far the guest count is between 20-30. It just depends on what day you ask someone if they're coming. I'm sure the main motivation for some is just to see the new house. Sorry, folks...hope you're not expecting anything bright & shiny on the inside. Because instead of the new living room furniture I've been trying to get for the last year, we have a massage chair sitting in our bedroom. And a dog being delivered to our house Saturday night. Oh, I can't forget...the shotgun sitting in my in-law's basement. Priorities, people!

But hey, at least Carter is easy to please. All he cares about is getting to eat cake. He's like that old saying about the fat kid & his cake. Except for the fat part. If I ate as much as him? I'd weigh 372lbs. He eats probably twice as much as Claire does & still drinks about 30oz of formula a day. And tops the scales at an unimpressive 18lbs. My left butt cheek weighs more than that. He's still hanging out in a size 2 diaper. Except not really. Because we switched to cloth. I'm sick of shelling out the dough every week for diapers. And for butt cream. The poor kid always has a diaper rash. And this week he managed to pull off a nasty yeast infection. Until they all get here, he's been suffering in the dreaded gDiapers. We used those until he was about 4 months old. I tried to like them, really. But that's a story for another time.

The little punk. Pretty sure he's going to say Dada first. It's ok, though. We all know who he loves best. That's right. The lady who wipes his butt & brings him food.

So internets, can you please forgive me for disappearing this last week? I'm really hoping that after everyone clears out on Monday, life will resume to a somewhat normal state & I can get back to the important things in life. Like blogging. And watching Carter try to take a few steps. And probably cleaning up more dog pee than I can imagine.

I'll leave you with this little gem. Because like I said, it's all about recording the embarrassing moments.

Someone thinks I'm doing something right!

The lovely Kyooty over at Kyooty Center has decided I'm a pretty good momma & sent me an award for it!

Thanks, Kyooty, for my first award!

I do love my little beastlets. Some rare pics of me with the terrible twosome :)

Momma & my precious TWO YEAR OLD! Happy birthday, sweet Bear. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone & you are the sunshine of my day. You drag me out of bed way too early every morning, keep me laughing all day long, & send me crashing into bed every night. And I wouldn't have it any other way.


Momma & sweet little Roo baby. My little surprise, you continue to do just that every single day. You keep me on my toes, whether it be from crawling over to the table & getting stuck underneath it, pulling up on something & panicking when you can't get down, or trying to mimick what Bear is doing & getting hurt because you suffer from "little dog" syndrome. Don't rush, little man...one day, too soon, you will be a big boy, mobile & running all over the place, no longer my little booger butt.

Why I love my tile floors

Alternative title:

Who would like to come teach my children proper table etiquette?

I do believe I've mentioned in the past the hideous, completely pointless, completely horrid white carpet that was in our rent house? I may have failed to mention that this carpet extended into the dining room.

Sure, I hated that carpet. Hated it in the rest of the house. I totally, utterly, completely detested having carpet underneath my dining room table. That would be a common-sense FAIL right there.

The ridiculous carpet necessitated a sheet being kept underneath Bear's highchair at all times. And that sheet? Had to be washed pretty much daily because, well, she wasis a slob.

Which leads me to my love of my tile floors in the dining room & kitchen. Bear's still a total slob & Roo's just starting to get the hang of eating something that doesn't look like pureed dog doo, so he's lucky if he gets 50% of the food into his mouth.

It usually works like this:

• 7:00am: Start out the day with beautiful shining floors, clean table, clean highchairs.
  
• 9:00am: Feeding time at the zoo has begun.
  
• 9:15am: Step on some puffs, curse because it is totally smushed into my foot & I actually have to scrape it off.
  
• 9:20am: One of the beastlets has decided they are done eating, so whatever food is left on their plate is dumped.
  
• 9:21am: Take a peek at the floor, think Bear actually did a decent job of eating & that there isn't much food under her chair. Take a peek under Roo's highchair, wonder why I bother to put food on his plate at all. He'd be happier if I scattered it across the floor a la Hansel & Gretel & set him free to act as a human vacuum.
  
• 9:22am: Get kids down from table. Depending on what was served for breakfast, either herd them into the tub or herd them into the playroom.
  
• 9:23am: Walk out of kitchen & leave the mess on the floor.
  
• 11:45am: Repeat scene from breakfast. Except now it's lunch, so the food is a little messier.
  
• 12:15pm: Again repeat scene from breakfast. Remove beastlets from chairs, decide between bath or diaper/clothing changes & naptime wind down.
  
• 12:45pm: Beastlets are in bed. Whip out the trusty broom, dustpan & mop. Proceed to clean up approximately 2/3 of all food I painstakingly unwrapped prepared for the terrors.
  
• 3:30pm: Snacktime. Why did I bother sweeping & mopping?
  
• 7:45pm: Dinner. Repeat food scene played out through entire day.
  

So there you have it. I'm lazy. I don't sweep and/or mop after every feeding. If I did, my schedule would look like this: Feed, sweep, mop. Repeat 4x.

But it can't be that bad you might be saying to yourself. Ha! would be my reply. Still don't believe me? Here's photographic evidence. This is from breakfast & lunch today.

Here it is, still all spread out:


And here is the massive pile once it's been swept up:


I know...you're just totally clamoring to come eat with me & my kids. Right?

Seriously though. Those pictures? Proof of why, when we go out to eat, we tip based off of how big of a mess the kids made. Your service sucked balls? If they made a mess like the one above, you're still getting $10.

Why I don't get naps-Part Deux

Please excuse the gratuitious baby nudity. Blame it on my lazy, unsupervising 'ol self that I dared to try, yet again, to take a nap. It should be noted...this incident occured a mere 15 minutes after the fake poop scheme I blogged about yesterday.

Oh & while I'm apologizing? I am honestly, truly sorry if my accent makes your ears bleed. It's been years since I'd heard my voice recorded & I died a little inside when I heard just how bad my accent had gotten. You can't say I didn't warn you...

Oh. No. She. Did. Not.

Dear Kansas Child Protection Services:

I'd like to file a formal complaint against my mother.

This morning, after deciding we'd woken up too early once again, she decided SHE needed a nap! Selfish, right?

You won't believe what she did next. After putting my brother down for a nap, she told me I needed "quiet time." Sir, I'm not sure if you are aware of what quiet time entails, but let me assure you. It is borderline torture.

First, she put up the dreaded gate. The one that keeps me from entering the living room. Next, she had the nerve to turn the TV on in my playroom. Seriously-who puts a TV in their kids' playroom? As if it wasn't bad enough to be stuck inside a room filled with all of my favorite toys, she then dared to turn it to my current favorite TV show: Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I don't know if you've ever sat through the entire 25 minute length of this show, but for a 2 year old? It's miserable.

Don't you worry, though, Mr. State Officer. I found a way to get her back.

You see, since our bedroom & playroom are all the way on the other side of the house now, in addition to putting up a baby gate, my mom decided she needed to use a baby monitor as well. She doesn't think I pay much attention, but I've put many hours of study into this contraption. I've figured out that if I make noise, she can hear it from wherever she's at & the noise usually sends her running.

I decided I could handle being good for about 10 minutes. I bided my time carefully. I suffered through my TV show for a few minutes, played with a few toys, and found my stickers & promptly plastered them all over the walls. After giving my mom some time to fall asleep, I walked out into the hall between the playroom & my bedroom. I knew this would work, you see, because when she put my brother down for a nap, she didn't shut the door all the way. (Plus she made the mistake of leaving a toy in the hallway.)

Once I got settled with the toy, I started to play loudly. Right at the volume level where the monitor would pick up my noise. The purpose behind this was to make just enough noise to make my mom's half-asleep conscience wonder what the heck was going on. Once I figured she was half-way awake, I proceeded to stick my foot into an opening on the toy. Oh Sir, don't be too concerned. In all actuality, there is plenty of room for my foot in this toy. Anyways, back to the story. I stuck my foot in the toy & started screaming "Ow! Ow! Owwweeeee Momma. HURT!" When those first few rounds of shrieks didn't send her running, I decided to throw in a much feared word around our house. I picked back up with the Ow's & towards the end of the refrain, threw in a few "Uh oh. Poo-poo"'s as well.

Sir, I'm not sure if you've ever seen my mom. Yes, she may be on the thin side, but she is incredibly unathletic & honestly, downright clumsy. With this in mind, you should know that I often take advantage of these facts & purposely do something to make her run, just so I can enjoy the show. So, once she heard the dreaded "P-Word" across the monitor, a-runnin' she came.

So, Sir, I'll wrap this letter up. Naptime for my mom didn't go over so well, I'm still bitter about being forced to play with my toys & watch a show I love, and now, mom is punishing me for my fake injury-poop scheme I pulled in order to wake her up.

This is a valid reason for writing you a letter, is it not?

Sincerely,
Bear

Bear's Story

As Bear approaches her 2nd birthday, I sit here dumbfounded, wondering how she could be two already.

If things had gone according to THE PLAN (of course it's in caps...doesn't everyone have THE PLAN??), we'd probably just now be thinking about starting a family. What fun would it be, though, to stick with THE PLAN?

A month after our 1st anniversary, that time of the month came. And then it went. And I double checked my pill pack. Yep...everything was in place (or I guess in this case, missing), just like it should have been.

I gave it another week because even after getting on the Pill, my body still had its own opinions about what should be going on. And then overnight, my booblets exploded. So I promptly went out & helped raise Clear Blue Easy's stock prices.

We made the expected phone calls, scheduled doctor's appointments, all the usual. And then about a week later, I started bleeding. Off we went to the ER where I was violated by what The Doctor lovingly calls "the Death Wand". They didn't want to talk about it, rather they said they'd send the results to my doctor & he'd be in touch.

One day later & I found myself in the hospital, being prepped for a D&C.

After my follow-up a month later, The Doctor (husband...not my actual doctor) asked me how I felt about trying again. Even though he still had 2 years of school left, he'd fallen so in love with the idea of a baby in the 2 short weeks we knew about it, he was prepared to make the sacrifice.

Seriously? Baby-makin' isn't so fun when it's planned.

My pregnancy was mostly uneventful. We had a nice, long 3 month worry when the US Tech thought she saw fluid backing up in Bear's kidneys. We had to wait until I was 7 months pregnant to have a repeat US. Apparently, girl just had to pee.

The night before my final appointment, I got a phone call no one ever wants to get. One of my close friends had delivered her son a week before Bear was born. She took him home & was back in the ER that night. She called to tell me he'd passed away.

To say I was a nervous wreck, a mess, is an understatement. I cried the entire hour & a half drive to the doctor's office. I cried through the entire appointment. I couldn't stop shaking, stop asking "What if?"

The Doctor couldn't have been more supportive, a better advocate for me & his soon-to-be baby girl. As soon as we checked into the hospital, he took my first nurse outside & explained the situation. He proceeded to do this with every new nurse we had.

My doctor had told me he'd be by at 6:30am to break my water. At 6:15, I woke up The Doctor & told him to go get a nurse because I thought I might have wet the bed. Oh my was I a wimp the 1st time around. I was barely at a 2, begging for the epidural.

Labor with Bear went surprisingly fast. My water broke at 6:15, I had the epidural by 8:30, I pushed for less than an hour, & Bear made her screaming arrival at 3:00pm on the dot.

3:00pm. When I checked into the hospital the night before, the last I'd been told was that the funeral for sweet baby boy was to be at 3:00pm that day.

We have a DVD of the first few minutes after Bear's arrival. They show the clock, then show Bear being placed on my chest. Every time I watch the DVD, I hurt through that part because my tears? They were not simply tears of joy at meeting my sweet daughter. Mixed in are tears of sorrow for my friend, tears of sorrow for the sweet boy I will never get to visit again, tears of absolute terror because I am fearful of the unknown.

The Doctor did the same routine with every nurse who came in contact with Bear. Told them the story, told them my fears. We could not have asked for a better team of nurses to be taking care of me & Bear. They were so thoughtful, so kind, so very understanding. The Doctor was allowed to go with Bear every time she was taken out of our room (we didn't realize this was unusual until we were at a different hospital with Roo, where Doctor wasn't allowed to accompany Roo when they took him out of our room). (Silly side note: The best nurse we had for Bear? Anyone remember Ross the Intern from The Tonight Show? Yeah. He could have been his twin brother.)

Bear's first month was a blur. I try to think back, to remember what the time was like, but all I come up with is a fuzzy screen. The first month of her life, I was so on edge, so fearful, that I couldn't relax, couldn't enjoy my sweet, quiet moments with her.

As happy as I was to have my precious girl in my arms, I was so very angry. Angry at the circumstances, angry that sweet baby boy had passed. Angry that I felt like I wasn't able to enjoy Bear's first few days because I was so scared. Angry that I couldn't enjoy my first moments with her because I couldn't stop worrying. And then I felt ashamed. Who was I to be angry when I had a healthy baby girl in my arms?

So that's the story of Bear. Of my feisty, spunky, sassy, back-talking, non-listening almost two year old. Sometimes I wonder, how much of it is her story & how much of it is the story of sweet baby boy? Does she have her own story? Or is it too intertwined with that of sweet baby boy? Regardless, some day I will tell Bear "her story".

Remember that time I talked about poop? This time, it's not mine.

Trust me. I'm quite aware of the fact that yesterday's RTT sucked. Quite possibly the least entertaining one I've done so far.

So what. Everyone has a down day, right?

I could entertain you with another story about how bad I hate this rent house & how I can't wait until the closing is done on Friday & we can start moving into our new house.

Or I could tell you the story about how when The Doctor got home last night, his car decided to go ape-shit crazy & continue to run even after he turned the car off & took the keys out of the ignition.

Instead, I'll tell you what is The Bear's best potty story to date.

I do believe I mentioned just how well potty training is going 'round here. She's recognizing on her own when she has to pee, going without any prompting from me, & letting me know when she's had an "assdent."

Last Friday she was running around "snakey" like usual. She'd used the potty a few times already that morning & was quite proud of herself.

Well, Nature called for Momma, too. I was in the bathroom & heard the music on the potty chair go off, followed by Bear's deafening "YEA!!!" she lets out every time she pees. She came running into the bathroom to let me know "I PEE! I PEEEEEEE!". She ran back out & I could hear her telling Roo "I pee bruddah, I pee."

It got quiet for a few seconds, which as anyone with toddlers know, when you are not in the room, that's usually not a good sign.

The next thing I hear is Bear's sweet little voice asking "Momma? Comb hair?"

Who can guess where this one is going?

I immediately say "Bear! You come here! Right now!"

She runs into the bathroom & I see that the top of her head is wet. Dripping wet.

"Bear? Why is your hair wet?" "Comb hair Momma?" "Bear! You come here right now!"

And then I proceeded to do what any good mom would do. I took a big 'ol whiff of the top of her head.

"BEAR! Is that...is that PEE PEE in your hair???"

"Momma. Comb hair. NOW."

I grabbed her hands, which were quite dry.

"BEAR! Bear, did you? Did you...Bear, did you stick your head in the potty???" (It should be noted, by this time I am laughing so hard I can barely get the words out.)

"MOMMA. COMB. HAIR. NOW."

After I got her bathed, I called The Doctor at work & said "I'll give you three guesses as to why I just bathed your daughter at 10:00 in the morning."

In other potty training notes...

She woke up from her nap completely dry & told me she needed to potty. Way to go, Bear! So we took her diaper off & she used the potty. Good, good...we're getting the hang of this.

Soon after, I smell poop. "Bear, do you need to poop?" "No, momma." "Bear, are you tooting?" "No toot, momma." "Bear, are you suuuuure you don't need to poop? Something stinks." "NO Momma."

Not being able to stand the smell, I pull her little butt cheeks apart & see the tell-tale streaks. Way to go, Bear! You poo-pooed in the potty!

And then I did what any good mom would do. I took a picture of it & sent it to The Doctor at work.

Yeah. She's gonna totally love me when she's a teenager.

Hurry up & wait...

It's Saturday morning, too early o'clock. My thoughts are still random. But that's only cool on Tuesdays, when you can give Keely a shoutout, right?

• After reading Keely's comment from RTT, I figured I'd better clarify. Roo's naked booty isn't actually scooting across the floor, thus potentially leaving hard to clean streaks across my living room. He's perfecting his army crawl lately so it's the man-bag that's draggin', hence my worry about rug burn.
  
  
• Bear has been a tiny terror lately. Two is a beast. Yesterday she decided the dresses at the bridal store made the perfect hiding spot. She also tried to knock over the half-naked mannequin. And dear Lord has this girl developed some kind of super strength. She almost managed to pull me down on top of her when she decided to suddenly become dead weight as I was attempting to pull her up off of the ground.
  
  
• I'm attempting to be resourceful with the Hubband's money & my time, so I decided to be all adult & stuff & actually sat down & made up a menu for the week. And then even got all thoughty & checked the fridge & pantry before I made up my grocery list. And whaddya know? Grocery shopping was a little less of a hair-pulling, baby-screaming affair because I had a list, we were in & out, & I saved about $30 because I wasn't just randomly tossing stuff in the cart.
  
  
• I'm relieved to know I'm not the only one who doesn't feel like bein' up in the PW's biz all the time. I was starting to feel like maybe there was something wrong with me, being from Oklahoma & all, not thinking she was just ohmygodtodiefor.
  
  
• So like a good wifey, I got up redonkulously early with the two tiny terrors so the Hubband could sleep in. Now we're all sitting around, waiting on him to decide to wake up & join us. I probably shouldn't complain too much since I asked begged demanded we go to Wichita to do some shopping today.
  
  Actual news coming later today...oh, I know...you're on the edge of your seat waiting for it...

Daycare? FAIL.

Dear Miss Sassy Pants (almost) 2 year old:

Oh sweet child, why do you think daycare is your own private hell? I've been there, I've seen the other kids. And the lady who runs the daycare? Unless she's a master of disguise, never once did I see a pronged tail or little nubbins that transform into horns.

Perhaps you thought mommy (yes, mommy...apparently you have decided "Momma" is too immature for your vocabulary) was leaving you so I could traipse around town, shopping in all the cute little stores here. Or even, heaven forbid, indulging in some "chaclleee" without you.

Did you think I was trying to punish you? Trying to exclude you from the oodles of non-existent fun you imagined Roo & I were having?

Ahh but quite the contrary my little leg-clinger. Although I had the best laid plans of enjoying my three hours twice weekly, it never happened. I chose to use those three hours doing the very things you complain about (quite loudly, I might add) when you are home with me.

Paying bills? Waahh. Laundry? Boo hoo. Cleaning & vacuuming? Screeeeeeeeeech.

So you see, shadow? I wasn't out painting the town red-or in your case, pink-while you were at daycare.

Why then, did you persist in attempting to convince me that daycare was torture? I mean, I realize I am pretty awesome & all that, but you need a break from me as desperately as I need one from you.

Instead of enjoying your time with other little people that speak your cuh-razy language, you chose to spend the majority of the time crying & running to the door to ask "Mommy? Here? Now?" And then, when I would come to pick you up, you would immediately dissolve into a small puddle of tears & demand "Bye Bye. Now. Carter. In car. Seat, peeeaaassee?"

So, Little Miss Sassy Pants, you win this round. Daycare no more. I have to admit, a tiny little piece of my narcissistic ego is maybe, just a tiny little iota, just a smidgen, inflated knowing that you love & adore me so deeply that you never want to be separated. And then the part of my brain that dies every time I walk past the laundry room & see the mammoth pile waiting for me, that little part of my brain begs for more than an hour & a half of solitutde per day.

So there you have it, little Bear. No more daycare. No more break from that crying, screaming thing on the floor that missed your memo that he should be crawling after you, not trying to steal your baby.

Love,
Your mean momma

(P.S. If I'd known a few weeks ago that the daycare lady considered you to be her "most challenging kid ever", I never would have made you go back there. Anyone that thinks you are challenging doesn't deserve you.)

Not at all...

Nope. They don't look alike at all.

Bear:



Roo:



They are both right at 6 months old.

Wordless Wednesday...Butt Paste

Upon discovering that pesky baby acne, Bear turned to the cream that had thus far solved all of her skin blemishes...

Bear pays too much attention...

Phrases I've heard from her in the past few days:

ENOUGH Cah-uh
Stop (with her hand held out...oooh, sassy little thing)
HEY HEY HEY!
Oh maaaan
Oh my!
Gosh!
Poo poo balls

All proof I need to watch what I say.

All before noon...

12:45am: Roo starts fussing, flips himself over in bed, decides he must.eat.now. Stumble into kitchen, grab bottle from fridge, heat, trip over toys on way back to bedroom, shove bottle in mouth. (Baby's mouth, not mine).
12:53am: Drop bottle off side of bed, immediately fall back asleep.
4:30am: Bear sneaks into our room, gets 2 inches from Hubband's face & lets out ear piercing scream to let us know she's awake & in our room.
4:31am: Roo is now awake, thanks to big sis, demands another bottle. Repeat scene from 12:45am.
6:30am: Bear is wide awake. Dig around in bed until pacifier is found, tell her normal people are still asleep at this time.
6:32am: Bear gets in Roo's face, demands he "hiccup" (wake up), manages to wake him up.
6:33am: Friggin' great. Both kids are awake before their normal time once again.
6:35am: Hubband demands to know when I'm getting up with the kids. Princess needs his beauty sleep, ya know?
6:40am: Shut up. Both kids fell back asleep.
6:42am: Roo spits out his bink, rolls over, gets pissed & screams. Scramble for the bink & his "blue", get him back to sleep.
7:00am: Bear is awake again. I think my luck is running out.
7:05am: "Daddy, HICCUP"
7:06am: "MOMMA HICCUP. CUP? Pink? Bink? HICCUP"
7:15am: Give up. Drag kids out of bed.
7:18am: Get coffee pot going, make cup of milk, make bottle, all with one hand.
7:25am: Try to catch the local news break, hoping the weather is good. Try to hear the forecast over ever loudening demands of Dora? Dora? Diego? Ming Ming? MING Ming? MING MING! Give up, change the channel.
7:30am: Change diapers
7:35-8:20am: Try to keep my eyes open
8:20am: Hubband's alarm goes off. Bear runs to bedroom, bangs on door & yells "DADDY HICCUP" Hubband ignores her.
8:30am: Alarm goes off for the 2nd time. I shout "It's getting late" which is answered with a "hmmppphhhh"
8:32am: Hubband wants to know where his clothes are. Bite my tongue to keep from responding "in the closet dummy". Get up & toss his clothes onto the bed.
8:45am: Hubband is out the door for work. Look at the kids already going crazy & wonder how early is too early for our daily Wal-Mart run. Why isn't it Tuesday so we can go to playgroup???
9:00am: Breakfast for Bear. She demands "starros" (strawberries). Meltdown ensues when I inform her she ate the last of them at dinner.
9:15-10:00am: The kids are playing. Attempt to get the kitchen cleaned up & get out of my PJ's.
10:05: Both kids are rubbing their eyes. Gee, guys, here's an idea...SLEEP PAST 6:30 & you won't be tired so early!
10:15: Two babies in bed. Clean or catch up on emails & blogs? Eh. I can clean around them later.
11:15: How do they manage to wake up at the exact same time every time? Even when neither one is loud enough to wake the other up, they still get up at the same time.
11:30: Decide we need (scratch that, I need) to get out of the house. Wal-Mart here we come. Swing through a drive-thru to pick up some lunch for Hubband. As soon as Bear realizes there's a bag of food in the front seat, she begins saying "Uh huh. Food. Uh huh. Food."
11:35: Pull into Wal-Mart. Answer requests to "See Dad? See Dad?" with "Yes, as soon as we get inside." Try to reassure the demands for "NOW" with "Yes, Bear. We're going now."
11:40: Try not to beat my head into the handlebar of the cart when I realize the overly friendly door greeter is working for the 10923808123 day in a row. This means we'll be stuck in the doorway for 5 minutes as she tries, once again unsuccessfully, to get Bear to say something more than "Hi. Baby? Cah-uh. See Dad."
11:45: Manage to get to the pharmacy. Bear says "DADDY!" All 10 customers waiting in line let out a simultaneous "Awww!" When Hubband doesn't respond immediately, Bear pulls out her new trick. "HEY CHASE!"
11:46: Here comes one of the techs with yet another cookie for Bear. Whatever. It keeps her happy while we're shopping. Leave Hubband's food on the counter, tell Bear we'll see him later.
11:55: Diapers? Check. Wipes? Check. Baby food? Check. Chocolate? Check. Get stuck in the slowest checkout line ever invented. Load the kids up & head home.
12:05: Sweet silence. Sleeping babies. Promise myself to get started on the house before Hubband comes home at 1:30.