Belly B's

So yesterday, while I was driving my son (kid #1) and daughter (kid #2) home from preschool, we started talking about belly buttons.
Yep...belly buttons.

Kid 1: "Why do I have a belly button?"
Me: "Well, when you were a tiny, tiny baby and you were inside my tummy, there was a tube that connected us and that's how you got food" (which, as we all know, is the truth...but sounds really creepy and science-fiction-ey when you say it out loud...so that's nice).
Kid 1: "Oh"

Long pause.

We've been talking about families a lot lately (who is mama's daddy, who is daddy's daddy, who is daddy's daddy's daddy...you get the point. In fact, over Thanksgiving kid #1 looked at my mom and said "Who's your daddy?" I had to assure her that he did, in fact, want to know about Grandpa Bill and was not just setting her up for an inappropriate punchline. But I digress).
The point is, the next part of this conversation wasn't a huge surprise.

Kid 1: "Why do you have a belly button?"
Me: "Because when I was a tiny, tiny baby and was in my mama's tummy, that's how I was connected to her."
Kid 1: "Does Yaya have a belly button?"
Me: "Yes"
Kid 1: "Why?"
Me: "Because when she was a tiny, tiny baby that's how she was connected to her mama."
Kid 1: "Does Grammy (my grandmother) have a belly button?"
Me: "Yes."
Him: "Why"
Me: "Because when she was a tiny, tiny baby that's how she was connected to her mama."

And just as I'm welling up with tears up over the marvel that is motherhood; that we were actually physically connected to our mothers and how freaking amazing that really is, I hear "Poop!"

Followed by a round of giggles.
And then again "POOP! Mama, I said poop. That's a potty word!"
More giggling.

Sigh.

Sh*t my kids say....

You'd think I'd have lots to talk about after traveling for A FULL WEEK with two kids in tow. Perhaps I'm still in shock?

At any rate, a little something to fill the time...shi*t my kids say...

This past weekend while playing with one of those balsam wood (read: very, very thin and fragile) airplanes....
Kid 1 (decisively): "I need a bat"
Daddy: "Why?"
Kid 1: "There's a bug on my airplane"

This morning while groaning and moaning getting dressed for school....
Kid 1: "I am NOT going to have a fabulous day today"

Throughout the day...
Kid 2: "I like" (while nodding her head)
(This means I DO in fact like something)

Throughout the day...
Kid 2: "I like" (while shaking her head)
(This means I DO NOT in fact like something)

Kid 2: "I gotta poop" 
When I take her to the bathroom..."I GOTTA POOP" (whil vehemently shaking her head).
Apparently,the first time she said it she was shaking her head internally. So really it was more like a basic status update (as in "hey Mom, I don't have to poop right now").
Hey, fun fact kid 2...I will assume you DO NOT have to poop until you tell me that you do ACTUALLY need to potty. Also, if you could learn to use your "don'ts" verbally that would really help things out. M'Kay? Thanks.

the air show is the party...

We have been saying that (ad infinitum) for a year now. It all started at last year's airshow (there is a big one here every November) and for a long while following,  my son (kid 1) would say "There's the airshow" every. time. we. passed. the. airport.
My husband (who is oh so helpful and believes in clarity above all) explained to kid 1 that we were actually passing the airport and that the airshow is like a PARTY where the airplanes all get together and have some fun.
So then we said "There's the airport and the airshow is the party" every. single. time. we. passed. the. airport. Awesome.

But I digress.

This year my husband could attend the air show with us (he had to work during last year's show). Oh and his parents came down (no seriously, it was loads of fun. loads.).

His (the hubs) magical plan was that we would go sometime around noon and hang out until around 5 or 6. With a two year old and a three year old. And no nap. Oh...and he would go golfing with his dad that morning. Did I mention the no nap thing? When questioned about it, husband said "Can't they just go down early?". Yes dear, I'll put the kids down for their nap at 9 AM. Yahoo.

His reasoning was that a list of events hadn't been posted and he REALLY DIDN'T WANT TO MISS THE BIG JETS. REALLY, REALLY, REALLY.
At which point I assured him that those were the finale (silly man) and OF COURSE we'd get to see them!
So we agree to a shortened nap. Yay..mama happy.

We throw everyone into the car around 1.30 and head out. Immediately we get caught behind other awesome parents heading post-nap to the airshow (and driving brake-on the entire way so they can watch the planes over head. Good times.)

Finally, we get to the lot where we are helpfully directed through the gate. And by helpfully, I mean there are approximately 27-36 volunteers milling around and rather lethargically waving their arms around (although not in any particular direction, hmmm....maybe they missed their naps). Once we get through the ticket check, our FOUR lanes merge (and I am using that word loosely here) into ONE. All of the 57 volunteers are no where to be seen (so its a bit of a 2 mile per hour free-for-all).

And guess what is passing over to our right. THE BIG (farking) JETS. Seriously?! Seriously.

Husband begins to very quietly and maturely strain to see the planes (and by that I mean he leaned his head ALL THE WAY OUT THE WINDOW AND LOOKED DIRECTLY AT THE SKY WHILE DRIVING A MOTOR VEHICLE).

Its at this point that I decide he should get out and start walking while I park the car. He gratefully agrees, hops out and almost RUNS to the entrance. I yell at him to get the boy-child out already so HE can see it too and off they go. I think they got a few minutes in before the jets left (TO LAND AT THEIR AIRPORT 45 MILES AWAY...what?). So, the only thing husband wanted to see was now over. And we'd been there 3 minutes.

And that's how I killed joy in 2012.

Had a really awesome post for today

Well, I thought it was funny.
Witty even.

But I had to use spell chek (notice I've given up on spelling properly now). Because I went to edit it, clicked on a word and the WHOLE DAMN THING DISAPPEARED.

Of course, I DID NOT SAVE.

Blegh.

Blogging.  Think there's an app for that?

Update: O. M. G. I found it! Luckily, google accounts for stupid!
YAY!

Now, everbody comment and tell me it really IS funny.

There's a little game I like to play...

I call it "Who Brought the A**hole".

The kids go to pre-school three mornings a week.
The morning routines usually go something like this...

The kids get out of bed sometime around 7am. I tell them its time to get dressed, they lay on the floor (sometimes there is gnashing of teeth and flailing of limbs) and we get to play another of my super-fave games "Let's Pretend to be Overcooked Pasta". Sometime between 7.30 and 7.45 the dressing/teeth brushing/bed making marathon has been completed and we sit down to breakfast (well, the kids usually sit while I pack lunches, brush my own hair, run around like an idiot looking for keys...you know, the ushz).

This morning they had peanut butter/honey toast and half a banana. I know, sounds good right?
I packed myself a little cup of yogurt with some nuts and honey for the car.

We get loaded up and ready to (and MAY actually be on time...miracle of miracles!). Both kids (who have finished their breakfast), see mine and request politely beg for a taste.

Me: "I'll give you a bite when we get to school".
Kid 1: "I want some yogurt"
Me: "I told you, I'll give you a bite when we get to school"
Kid 2: "I want some yogurt"
Me: "OK...I've already said...I will give you a bite when we get to school. Now, this is Mama's breakfast, so PLEASE stop asking about it"
Kid 1 (plaintively): "Well, don't eat it all"
Me: "THAT'S ENOUGH"

8 minutes later, I'm licking my spoon when I realize, apparently that WASN'T enough...because I have the memory of a goldfish and ATE ALL THE D*MN YOGURT.

Yeah, so now you know...I brought the a**hole.

It's not just rainbows and unicorns around here...

There's vomit too!

So last week, I picked my kids up from pre-school (called that only because it sounds sooo much better than day-care for a semi-working-stay-at-home-mom) and we went to the grocery store (which is probably the most fun thing I can think to do with two small children. Woot. Woot.).

A small sample of our trip...

Kid 1: Maaamaaa, I want some water.
Me: I'm sorry?
Kid 1: MAAAMAAA...may I have some water, PLEASE?
Me: Yes, just let me finish and I'll get you some in the check-out line.

And repeat.

FINALLY, we finished and I got the poor, dessicated child a bottle of water. He promptly glugged it down, in between making "bubble noises" (not spitting, he assured me) and pretending to share with his sister. After my THIRD request for him to just DRINK THE D@MN THING INSTEAD OF BLOWING INTO IT...I turned to him and said/shrieked/whatever "What are you doing?".

He promptly threw up; apparently that particular round of blowing was actually gagging (and yes, I am currently accepting Mother of the Year noms).

So I got us home as fast as I could, unloaded both kids from the car, and told Kid 2 to IMMEDIATELY go potty (if you'll recall...we are potty-training her and its a bit touch and go), while I ushered Kid 1 into my shower so I could clean him off.

Kid 1 is fairly calm, with the exception that he doesn't want to shower, he wants to rinse in the tub..so now there are vomit clothes in the shower stall AND vomit clothes in the tub.
Kid 2 is quiet for all of about 3.6 seconds and then she begins to SCREAM HER HEAD OFF. Awesome.

APPARENTLY, I need to be VERY CLEAR about the order one is to use for going potty. APPARENTLY, it seems as if the washing hands portion of the potty trip should happen BEFORE the going potty portion. So she climbed on the stool. And promptly peed all over the floor.
Double Awesome.

I now have groceries slowly melting in the car, vomit all over my backseat, shower and tub, and pee all over the other bathroom floor. Oh...and the dog is barking anxiously to get out of her crate.

Sometimes I wish I lived in the sixties. A lovely time. A time of youth and innocence and, most importantly, the afternoon cocktail.

No, no, ladies and gentlemen...thank your

Friday and Saturday were gross. Windy and gray and gross. On the plus side, it actually felt like a normal person's "fall" (a rarity here in South Florida).

The hubs stayed home (his job is mostly outdoors, so on rainy days he is usually with us).
Around 10am, after four mind-numbing episodes of Dino Dan (don't judge...they are in 15 minute clips so it was onlllyy an hour of tv...unless you count the two Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episode before that...aw crap, I'm a terrible mother), I decided to break out a rainy day favorite. PLAY-DOUGH!!
Actually, we use generic so its really Doh-Pate (yeah, its french. I'm fancy).

Anyhoo, I got out the little plastic mats to cover the table (because SOME YAHOO picked a dining room table with GROOVES in it! Moron. Oh wait, I picked it. hmmm...). Then I got out the spatulas (for mashing) and the forks and knives (butter knives! Jeez..I'm not THAT bad) for forking and kniving and a few shape cutter things for shape cutting.

Four minutes later...the kids were bored. Back to square one. Well, really negative 6, since I now had to put away Doh-Pate paraphernalia.

But WAIT...I suddenly remembered I had a magic closet-o-goodies that I keep extra toys, crafts and doo-dads in. Yahoo! So, I laid out some paper on the table and we got these out (well, sort of these, but the cars were already assembled).

Then I very carefully explained how they (kid 1 & kid 2) could mix colors on the table (the table that had been covered in paper), but they had to wipe off their brushes before re-dipping into paint. Kid 1 immediately double dips his brush into the red and the green (leaving us with a lovely shade of beigey-brown), I shriek like a monkey, hubs says "does it really matter?", kid 2 sees that the green has been contaminated and begins to wail (because of course that is the color she desperately needed for her car) and I give hubs a decided "see...it does matter look".
But I digress.

Kid 1 and kid 2 happily spend at least 15 minutes painting their cars...then we wait. Don't worry, it was only 2 hours before they are dry enough to apply stickers. The kids busied themselves with removing all of their clothes from their dresser.

Then I made lunch, while they did stickers. As they were almost finished, hubs said "Now, don't we need to thank Mama?" (Oh, sweet sweet man). To which kid 1 replied..."um, no".

Husband: "Yes, we need to thank her for getting us these awesome cars".

Kid 1: "Oh no Daddy...I picked them out. Mama...I need for you to say Thank you".

Mama: "Clearly, that's how this should work"

Kid 1: "And then I say you're welcome".

Well, at least he understands manners, even if he doesn't really apply them so much.

and that's why being 3 is a total bummer...

Kid 1 was brushing his teeth this morning. He happens to be an excellent brusher. Lots of scrubby-action (in fact, I'm a little concerned we may be wearing through the gum line...but I digress).
At any rate, all that scrubbiness does generate some foam (imagine your child beginning to resemble a rabid dog).

Instead of spitting into the sink...he uses his fingers to push the foamy-watermelon-flavored-grossness BACK INTO HIS MOUTH!

Me: Uh-uh...don't do that. That's yuck. Spit it out instead.

Him: Blank stare.

At this point, I have a flashback to dinner two nights ago...when I sent him to time out for spitting out some food he didn't like. When he came back to the table, I explained to him that we must chew wht is in our mouth, even if its not our favorite (I believe my words were "Uh-uh...don't do that. That's yuck.")

Oh my poor, confused boy-child. I am so very sorry.

what's that smell?...

Oh, wait IT'S ME.

So we (me+hubs+kid 1/boy child+kid 2/girl child=we) went to a church softball game last night. Kid 2/girl child has been doing surprisingly well at potty training (and its about gosh-darn time...she's like 15. Well, really, she turned two over the summer, but I am WAY over diapers).
Anyhow, I (in all my infinite geniousity) decided we should go full-force and put on our big girl panties. Yeah, I said it, I'm a genius.

Things started off swimmingly. Kid 2 decided she had to go potty riiiggghhhtt about the time I was in line for a burger. Luckily, I am surrounded by awesome people and my good friend offered to take her for me.
Turns out the potty was three soccer fields over and across the main street entrance to the park. So 45 minutes later they return (success!! dry pants!!) and kid 2 eats her hot dog.
(Well, she takes her hot dog off the bun, takes at least 1/5 of a bite and then mushes the bun around so that its no longer recognizable as a food product. Then a SHRIEK "all done". And another, "I DO IT!" as I attempt to wipe her face. And another, "I-I-I-I DO IT!" as I attempt to wrap the hot dog remains so we can toss it....turns out the hot dog must be placed NEXT to the bun prior to wrapping in order for it to be done properly. Awesome. Thankfully, kid 2 was around to prevent me from botching up the cleaning process.)

So now we must potty again. Um...OK. So I'm off on the trek (across three soccer fields and the main park entrance). We go inside the restroom and she potties. About .0006 milliliters worth. But I digress. After the cheering and clapping, I boost her on my knee so she can get some soap and turn on the water...and that's apparently when she finally felt comfortable enough to REALLY go. On my knee.
She peed on MY KNEE. Double awesome.

Back on the potty we go.

Several minutes and rinsings in the sink later, we are ready to walk the approximately 6 miles back to our game. Of course, this is South Florida. And its kind of hot and sticky. So I didn't want to  out her in wet (albeit rinsed) undies. So I just pull her skirt down and we start the walk back over. And I'm holding her underwear. And did I mention that she peed on my knee?

Finally, we are back at the truck. I put her in a fresh pull-up (my delusions of grandeur have just been shot to hell after all) and we return to the game.

Where kid 1 promptly tells me he needs to go potty.

i'll buffo your frog....

My mornings follow a fairly predictable routine. I love routines. I like to think of myself as this spontaneous, wild-flower sort of a being but it is completely not true. I like routines and order and most of all I like coffee.

So...my routine is this. Every morning at around 5.15 my alarm goes off (so I can do Pilates, obviously). I then hit snooze. TWICE. The phone (which is my handy-dandy alarm system) gives up all hope of me ever getting out of bed much less doing an actual crunch and we all go back to sleep (me and the phone that is, Hubs has already left for work at around 5...yeah, that's AM folks).

Then sometime between 6:15 and 6:30, I groggily pull myself out of bed and stumble off to fill the coffee maker (which as a responsible, coffee-requiring adult I SHOULD have done the night before). As it is, I have to tip-toe to the kitchen, measure out the coffee grounds and fill the pot with water, then navigate my way back to my bedroom where I have oh-so-cunningly hidden the coffee-maker (in a vain effort to keep my eagle-eared youngling from hearing it and deciding its time to rise and shine).
All of this is in the dark mind you (I mean, I COULD turn on the lights...but we are clear that I haven't actually HAD my coffee yet), so I inevitably stumble over a child's chair, or shoe, or once (and this was a good one) a tow-truck whose sirens and lights kicked on (so now I'm cursing, hopping and trying to get back to the coffee maker ASAP).

Once I begin to hear the soothing tones of gurgling and whooshing, I breathe a sigh of relief and go to let our long-suffering puppy out.
I (again, very quietly and on my tippiest of tippy toes) take her outside, feed her and give her fresh water.
Then I can come back out with my delicious, steaming, way-over-sweetened-and-that's-why-its-awesome cuppa joe. I have at least 6.75 minutes to myself before the kid's are up and all hell breaks loose.
Oh blessed routine.
Alas, not today.
Today, I got to revel in the joys of nature. Mother-f*^$ker.

Loki (that's the dog folks) seemed a scotch twitchy when we got outside this morning. Turns out there was a frog the size of a small Mercedes be-bopping around under our grill. She (the dog) was jazzed. She (the frog) was not. So, in an effort to protect all forms of life currently residing on my porch, I started to edge her (the frog) towards the grass. She (the frog...hmmm, maybe I'll start calling her a him since its really hard to gender check a frog at 6:45 in the am), begins to hippity-hoppity her way TOWARDS the dog. Stupid frog. The dog begins to salivate with glee (apparently she doesn't remember vomiting the LAST time she ate a frog). Stupid dog.

So I circle. And then I circle again.

After 5 or 6 minutes I almost have her/him/it at the edge of the porch, when it makes a final herculean bid for safety and JUMPS THROUGH MY OPEN SLIDER DOOR. Awesome. I have now chased a 47 pound amphibian INTO my house.

So we scuttle around in there for a few minutes. I finally get up the gumption to JUST PICK THE DAMN THING UP ALREADY and take it outside. At this point it begins to ooze some sort of white gunk out of its gills ONTO MY HANDS, so I have just SAVED LOKI'S LIFE BY PREVENTING HER FROM EATING A POISONOUS TOAD but she's all crankity that I wouldn't let her have a second breakfast.

And I still haven't had my coffee.

My son's light flicks on.

let's try this again...

My little boy started the "big boy" class today...3 yrs and potty-trained only.

So yeah...I started that post, the one riiigght up there oh-i-don't-know roughly THREE months ago. Awesome. Not even my first post and already an EPIC blog fail.

Such is the story of my life. I am a stay-at-home (ish) mother of two. Little boy is 3(ish) and baby girl turned 2 in July. I say stay-at-home ish because I am determinately (almost doggedly, bull-headedly) trying to work from home as an interior designer (holla!).

I have a few clients here and there...but mostly it's dirty diapers and PB&J sandwiches. Occasionally we get crazy and add some chicken nuggets to the mix. I know, I know...I'ts hard to control the excitement.

I've been toying with the idea of this blog for (let's see...how old did I say my son is?...oh, that's right, THREE YEARS now and I've decided it's time to get on the share too much about my life bandwagon).
PS...the wheels on this bandwagon are broken. Its gonna get a little bumpy.

Here's hoping we all enjoy the ride!