Sunday, April 25, 2010

Kids are so gross!

As soon as the oldest turned two, he started to love to be "maked". All daily tasks were now being performed sans clothing. Eating lunch, dancing to The Wiggles, collecting rocks... it didn't matter. He also started showing us all of the signs that he was ready to graduate from diapers. Hooray! we thought, as we proudly took our first-born son to Toys R Us to pick out a new potty. Look at us! Our son is potty training!! A year later and a year wiser, we have now decided that our littlest one will stay in diapers until he is old enough to move out of the house. There is NOTHING fun about potty training.

So having never done this before and completely unsure of what to expect, we brought home a brand new frog potty, stripped The Boy (as he has been fondly referred to as since birth) down to nothing, and hoped for the best. Surprising enough, the best was what we got! He was so proud of his new skill that he would sit on that thing and force something out about every five minutes. O.M.G. Could this be true? we thought. Did our brilliant child just potty train himself in one day?!?!!? And so it went, for about 3 days- this little "maked" boy would run in and use his potty and we would clap and dance and sing as if he had just won an Oscar. And then the novelty wore off.

At this time, the baby was about 6 months old, and was sitting up but not quite crawling. It was summer and we spent most of our time outside. We were out in the front yard and I put the baby down on our front sidewalk so I could run in for 2 seconds to get his exersaucer so he wouldn't have to sit on the ground. When I came out, The Boy was digging in the mulch and the baby was happily sitting exactly where I had left him, only this time, he had a mouthful of something, and a handful of something else about to go in. What could he possibly have in his mouth? He was not close enough to the mulch to have grabbed a piece, and no one had any snacks. Holy crap! (no pun intended) "CJ... did you poo-poo on the ground?" "Um, yup" was the little response I got, as he didn't even look up at me. Wow... the baby ate his brother's poop. (which is worse here- that he ate it, or that he was completely happy and was about to put another fistful in his mouth? hmmm- debatable.)

As I'm pretty sure any mother would, I jumped in to freak-out mode and rushed him inside to the sink. As I tried to force water into his mouth, I realized that it was still full. Before I could give myself a chance to actually think about what I was about to do, I made a hook with my finger, and scooped the rest out. As I tried my best to hold my breath and stifle my gags at the same time, I reached in again and again, scraping against the cheeks, and dislodging the pieces that were stuck up in the roof of his mouth. And just as the action was dying down, my nanny pulled up. "hejustateatonofpoopandidon'tknowwhattodoshouldicallthedoctor?poisoncontrol?911?" I frantically wailed, before she had both feet out of the car. And this woman, this wonderful woman who was teaching me how to manage my new life with two babies, no job, no down time, and a husband who worked crazy hours, just stood there and laughed at me. "There's no poison in poop!" she said. "Kids are just gross. They all do gross things! My daughter brushed her teeth with it once!"

I calmed down and gathered my sense back. Of course it wasn't poisonous, I knew that. Duh. Whoa, brushed her teeth with it, huh? I guess a little sampling on the front lawn was no big deal after all. And I looked over to find the little guy just sitting there, as fat and happy as ever. Like nothing had ever happened.

The more I told my story to people, the more people started telling their stories to me. Apparently, poop-eating is a common thing. As is touching it, reaching in to a diaper to show it off, and smearing it on the walls. I'm thinking of writing a coffee table book of everyone's disgusting tales of poo-poo. Even writing it now grosses me out. Yup. Kids are SO gross!

Monday, April 19, 2010

The great fridge give-away

I used to be cool. I used to be fun. And I used to know that pink was the new black (or was it brown? whatever.) What happened? Oh yeah, that's right- I bought a house and had kids. Not that my kids aren't cool and fun, because they are, but WOW.. life sure has changed.

We have been talking about redoing the kitchen for a while now. we talk a lot about a lot of things, but that doesn't necessarily mean they'll ever happen. Well, fortunately, (or unfortunately if you are the wallet), this happened. Not the whole kitchen- just the refrigerator. my ever-generous husband promised our's to a friend from work who was moving and needed appliances. nice, right? well, yes, but the only problem was that we actually still needed that refrigerator. So he nonchalantly went to Lowe's last weekend and then proceeded to text me 1000 times about what kind of fridge he was about to buy. (since he already promised our's to a new home, so there was no turning back now). Side-by-side or up and down? Freezer on top or bottom? Water and ice maker, or just ice? HOLY CRAP -who cares?!? and seriously, this is what we talk about now? Boo.

So yesterday comes and he states in very matter-of-fact type of way that I need to prepare the fridge for its departure. What?? Scrub it inside and out. Sure, no problem I said, as really I was thinking about the last time I did it- oh yeah, NEVER... and all of the food that was probably lost behind the twelve thousand yogurt containers, half-enjoyed drink boxes, and last night's pizza. And then I started filling a bucket with Mr. Clean. Boo.

He conveniently left to run some other important house related errands and I trapped the boys upstairs to play and got to scrubbing. It started out not as horrible as I originally thought. I only threw out about 3 bottles of crusty salad dressing (you know it MUST be old if it starts getting crusty), 2 Tupperware containers of unidentifiable dinner from who knows how long ago, and 1 used-to-be lemon that was hiding on the back of the bottom shelf. And then the boys' alone-time had been maxed. So I brought them down and they instantly wanted to help. One started dipping his hand into the now brown sudsy Mr. Clean bucket and licking the bubbles off, and the other one picked up a sponge and started "washing" the floor. Fantastic.

Just as I was starting to imagine myself slipping on the now soaking wet tiled floor on my way to hold the baby over the sink so he could throw up dirty soap water, I found it. There it was, in all it's glory, hiding underneath the vegetable drawer that I had never even tried to remove before. The most disgusting crusted over spill of something that resembled solidified Jello and barbecue sauce all at once. Perfect, I thought. I was really hoping for something else to make this task more enjoyable. So I started scrubbing away at this beauty only for it not to melt, smudge or budge an inch. This was going to require some serious work. So I started chipping away at it with the closest tool I could grab. A butter knife. Yes, I was chipping away at a 5-year-old spill with a butter knife as the boys had moved on from the initial excitement of the water bucket and were now becoming well aware of the fact that their mother hadn't really paid attention to them in close to a half an hour. I started to sweat as I realized that time was running out. Once the melt-downs start, even a beautiful Saturday afternoon in a city that hardly ever sees the sun can become ugly. OK, no problem, I thought: There's only food EVERYWHERE in the kitchen that could start to melt or spoil within minutes, no shelves or drawers in the refrigerator, puddles of standing water on the floor thanks to my floor-washer, and this gorgeous spill that is refusing to be set free. Must be time for a few rounds of "hide-and sneak". And so I abandoned my job and played. Fantastic.

And before we knew it, the clock struck it's magic hour of 1:30. And right on cue, they both started arguing, crying and whining for no reason, and asking to be picked up. Ah yes, nap time! On a normal day, something glorious happens once they're in bed. But not on this day. No, on this day, I had to resume my chipping (which was now accompanied by cursing) and scrubbing. Yet finally it was done! I stood back and admired my work as this beautiful food preserver shone back at me. Three years ago, I would have celebrated by grabbing a Corona and my husband and sitting out on the front steps to enjoy the afternoon, but that was then. This was now, and the longer I stood there, the fewer minutes I had to savor the silent house. I looked at the clock and headed upstairs to my own bed. Pink may be the new black, but nap time is the new happy hour. And anyone who knows me knows that I'm not one to miss that.