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.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, October 22, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, October 1, 2012
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.
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.
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