Bonding and Poop Dodging

Picture taken AFTER hosing down

The bigguns are at a sleepover. As I type this, I'm sure they're on a sugar high, zoned out in front of Saturday morning cartoons. I'm guessing they're in heaven, and I'm not too dishonest to admit that I am too!

Max and I had some sweet bonding time yesterday before Ryan got home. He seemed so big as we walked into the house alone. He was happy and hyper - probably thrilled to have Mommy to himself. We sat side by side on the floor, dancing to iPod tunes, sticking a million stickers on paper, playing Play-doh, and analyzing the Common Core State Standards. (Both parties didn't participate in all events, but they did giggle at each other frequently throughout). We cooked sloppy joes together. Then, Ryan and I got to have an entire conversation at supper with only a few interruptions! Bed time was a breeze.

And, even though I didn't get my wish that Tiny would sleep in, Saturday morning has been sooooo peaceful. We headed out to the porch to enjoy the cool time of day (6:40 a.m. - ughhh!). I graded papers and wrote lesson plans (and so it begins...) while munchkin squirted poop with water guns. Yep. As much as I love these guys:

and I really do love having a fresh supply of these:

...we also get a healthy dose of something else from the hind ends of the chickens and ducks. I'll spare you the picture, but you can see a small sampling in our priceless back to school pics (nice, huh?) This week, especially, they've decided to hang out on our porch while we're gone. So, Max and I had to step carefully this morning. He decided to help "hose off" the deck - something he's seen Mom and Dad both do this week, though you couldn't tell they did if you were looking at the porch. 

When he tired of the clean-up doody and had a little jaunt on the trampoline (with no big brothers to knock him off balance), he asked for his matchbox cars. I'm sure the porch would've made a great obstacle course, but I didn't relish the thought of him scooting around all that nastiness, so we busted out the hose for the third time in four days (it's been that bad!) and cleaned 'er up. I turned off the hose and came back just in time to see him slurping water off of the porch. I'm really hoping he doesn't get salmonella--partly because that would be really miserable for him and partly because I'm guessing severe diarrhea might interfere with the whole potty training roll we've been on lately! 

Heathens

Every summer, a coworker and friend of mine invites our boys to her church's vacation Bible school. VBS is their church's biggest outreach event, and my friend is the director. She's an all-star teacher, so she puts on a great VBS. We've been several years, but this summer, I was especially excited because Max is old enough to leave. This year's experience would be two free hours of babysitting a great opportunity for him to learn about Jesus, too.  Like always, my friend and her church put on a great program and the boys really enjoyed themselves. Tonight, when I picked them up, she came over to me to share something that happened. "I asked the kids if they knew what diligent meant and Calvin..." she began. I immediately begin mentally patting myself on the back. Just a week ago, we had discussed diligence in great detail because it was the hero trait of the day in a comic book devotional my Dad had given us. Go on, go on and tell me how brilliant my five-year-old is, I thought to myself, and how spiritually well-trained my kids must be. And she went on. "Calvin raised his hand and said that when you're diligent you do your best job and work hard and don't do a crappy job." Crap. Guess my penchant for potty humor is coming back to bite me in the butt bottom.

To fully appreciate my humiliation, let me share with your a little about the parishioners at this church. It's a small, country church with a small congregation. I'm fairly certain several of the families homeschool. I'm also fairly certain most of the women wear dresses to church every Sunday. At least one woman (my friend's mother-in-law and the late preacher's wife) wears skirts every day. There is some debate about the King James version being the only acceptable version of the Bible for believers to study. I think the thys had it. And I'm not sure, because I read the NIV version, but I'm guessing "crappy" isn't in the King James vernacular.

And now, let me tell you about another experience this congregation had with my lovely middle munchkin a few years ago. On the final VBS family celebration Calvin managed to defile both the painstakingly-crafted watermelon cake (with his fingers) and the side of the church (with his urine).

Now I'm starting to think that there's another reason my friend invites my boys to VBS every summer. It is their church's biggest outreach event.

Blueberry Delight

I have a new aspiration in life. 

I want to be a blueberry farmer. 

With an Amish-looking husband (start bearding up, Baby)

And a sweet little cabin where we'll weigh berries and show off my stained glass artwork and the his and hers willow chairs that Amish Ryan and I will make together at a weekend retreat/willow chair-making class. 

As well as a honkin' huge cabin (made with logs hewn from the trees on our property) with a gorgeous side deck overlooking the blueberry farm and a way-cool BRIDGE CROSSING A GOLDFISH POND LEADING TO OUR FRONT DOOR! 

In other news, we picked blueberries this weekend at an amazing place. The proprietors were amazing as well. They told the boys before we started that it was fine to sample the berries while we picked, but not to eat too many, or they'd be in the bathroom all night. Brilliant line to use to discourage giving away pounds of berries to all your little pickers. Reed ate four blueberries. After the fourth one, he was sure he could start to feel the effects. Calvin ate a few more, but still not more than a handful. Max.... 

Well, Max doesn't quite understand what's wrong with being in the bathroom all night - after all, that's where the toilet candy is. So, he spent the day hiding from his bossy brothers who were super worried about his digestive health. When we had our berry weigh-in contest, Max had all of six berries in his bucket and no telling how many in his belly. 

We walked away with just a few pounds of berries, but we could have gone away empty-handed and I still would have felt full. (And without having to be in the bathroom all night!) 

Paid in Full

Dear Mom and Dad,

Remember how I used to talk incessantly? About really pointless stuff, I'm sure. Remember how you used to ask me if I could please stop talking for two minutes? And I never could. Remember when I'd eavesdrop on your conversations and then ask you eleven thousand questions about them?

Remember when I argued with you every time you spoke a command? And sometimes when you didn't, just for fun? Remember when my debate tactics and loophole finding skills had you convinced I would be a lawyer? Remember when I would hold to a lie so hard that I convinced myself it was true?

Remember when you had to go in the broom closet "phone booth" because of my ability to impeccably time all my needs to correspond with your phone conversations (and bathroom breaks, I'm sure)? Remember when my favorite word was "no" and I practiced saying it often. Remember when I chose the exact opposite of whatever you wanted me to do?

Remember when you said you were praying I'd have a child like me to help me pay for my raising?

Consider yourself paid. With 300% interest.

P.S. I don't remember if I ever got in a habit of tooting in your general direction and then wishing you a Happy Birthday, but if I did, I've paid for that, too.

Score!

I was on a roll today! While running double car trouble errands, I managed to kick butt and take names. At the grocery store, I happened to notice a stockpile of empty clear plastic “jars” for candy. I knew they’d be perfect for organizing, which I’ve been doing a lot of since school let out. So, I asked the manager if they would sell them and he let me take six (SIX) for free (FREE!) The only thing that could’ve made it better would be if they were way-cuter glass, but considering the demographics of my household, I think plastic is probably for the best. I have big plans for a super-cute, super-organized, Pinterest-ful craft nook in the corner of my bedroom and these jars are gonna bring it to a whole new level. 

Then, I stopped at a junk shop to ask about a dresser I’ve been eying for a couple of weeks. It’s been sitting outside and it’s definitely seen better days, but it’ll be perfect for this other big plan I have for a super-cute, super-organized, Pinterest-ful, entryway by our front door. 

Sidenote: Did I mention that I have a lot of projects lined up for the summer? Darn you, Pinterest! On my first day of freedom, I was spazzing out to Ryan about it because, “I don’t even know where to start!”  The hubs, ever the practical one, told me to just make a list of everything I wanted to do. That’s the problem, Babe. I already did, and it’s three pages long! Literally. 

Anyway, I’ll be loading up the dresser I’ve been coveting tomorrow with my wallet only $20 lighter. Boo. To. The. Yah!

So, I was telling the boys about my sweet scores because they still care about that kind of crap (or they’ve learned the age-old man secret of pretending to care). They got really excited with me and asked me where I was going to put said sweet items (ftr - they clearly didn’t learn their pretending to care skills from their father). So I described the craft area and the entry nook and how we would keep our shoes in a large basket under the dresser because it had awesome tall legs and how we could store our hats and gloves in one of the side cabinet thingies in the winter and our sunscreen and beach towels in the summer and how I was going to sew a little curtain to cover up the missing drawer, etc. etc. etc. Then, Reed said something that showed what a perceptive little fellow he is. “Mimi will say you're so organized!” Perceptive, because his comment showed that he understood what I valued, and who in our life would most appreciate the decorative arts.  I got a chuckle out of that because I had instantly thought of my Mom’s reaction to the “after” when I saw the “before.” Calvin, reacting to my laugh, had to up the stakes as only he can, “Yeah! Mimi will scream and pee in her pants!” One can only hope, Cal-cal. One can only hope. 

There’s just a tiny problem. I don’t know a thing about refinishing furniture. And I haven’t gotten my new sewing machine out of the box to see if I remember how to use one. And I have three more pages of other projects to do first. I might just have to settle for a Mimi gasp when she sees the "before" and dreams of the "after" possibilities with me. By the time I actually get it done, she may be peeing her pants on a daily basis. 

Update - I did it! Check these projects out - dresser and craft room containers and craft nook. 

Potty Memories

Like the duct tape? No diaper wasted around here, Baby!

This little munchkin peed on the potty tonight. It was two tiny driblets, but I'm still counting it as a step closer to NO MORE DIAPERS EVAH!!!! When his brothers heard me squeal and clap, they ran into the bathroom clapping, did the "potty dance" and made up little songs to cheer their baby brother on. Sweet, huh?

Well, it would be if it weren't for this little known information. There is a jar of candy on the back of the toilet (appetizing, huh?). Max gets a piece every time he sits on the potty. To appease the bigguns, I told Reed and Calvin they could get a piece when his toilet experience is productive. Considering he's been sitting on the potty for months now and we've yet to experience anything other than a toot, a couple of accidental dribbles, and a turd falling out of a diaper, I didn't feel like the candy stash was in jeopardy. But if big brother cheer leading is effective, this boy'll  be fully trained in no time. The whole experience takes me down memory lane...

Reed:
- Finally figured out how to open the valve on the potty seat. Made a big production of dumping it in the toilet and flushing it down. Repeated the whole process with ever-decreasing amounts of urine. Eleven times. In a row.
- Regressed and didn't want to sit on potty after awhile. Put him in undies, let him wet himself one time, and he's been dry ever since.

Calvin:
- Spent HOURS sitting on the potty reading a book about bears, cats, wolves, and monkeys. Homeboy had an impressive knowledge of species ("speck-ackled bear," "asiaaatic bear," "tarseeeir," "nooo - that's a macaque").
- Went on potty strike until we resorted to bribery. Placed a jar of "Starbur" in the bathroom. Let Reed have one every time Calvin did. Heard lots of, "Calvin, do you want to go paaah-tee?!"
- Finally had his big moment. We caught it on film. Cutest ever. He sat there with a look of concentration, then would start a high-pitched inhalation squeal-type sound, clap, and dance on the potty seat while big brother danced in the remaining 1 square foot of bathroom space (Ah, the circle of life...)

Max:
- Super interested at 18 months. Total disinterest after second birthday.
- Resorted to bribery. Still depends on the mood.
- No potty epiphany yet. Tonights dribble was a total accident and was followed by, "It's all gone! I can't! I get a candy!"

In case you're wondering... Heck yes, I get a candy every time they try. If reading the same book a bajillion times a day and maintaining enthusiasm through the eleventh round of the potty dance doesn't deserve a treat, I don't know what does!

Why I'm Not Up for Mother of the Day Today

1) I made a walk sound boring so that Reed and Calvin would decide to stay home with Daddy and I could just take Max, who doesn't talk nonstop and want to brake for every puddle.
2) I was obviously happy to learn that Calvin had kicked out Reed's stubborn front tooth (it was so hanging by a thread that it had turned black) on the trampoline while I was gone.
3) When Max asked me to jump with him on the trampoline, I told him no because I was enjoying high speed Internet.
4) We ate cereal for supper tonight (sugary stuff -- like Colonel Crunchberries)
5) It was 7:30 p.m. when we started supper. Bedtime is 8:00.
6) I called daddy a "buttface" repeatedly in a sing-song voice because he was bragging about getting out of school a week earlier than the rest of the family.
7) I reminded the bigguns of a funny, yet inappropriate thing that Calvin did last summer.
8) Laughed at the "butt toot" contest that naturally followed. Potty humor runs deep here.
9) I thought the day was perfect.

Duckling Dynasty

We're straight-up homesteadin' it up in here. Until recently, we were drinking our milk straight from the goat (well, not STRAIGHT from her) and even making butter and cheese. We birthed a lamb last weekend.

Call me Caroline Ingalls. Then, Pa borrowed an incubator and got 7 billion duck eggs. Ryan was all diligent about checking them, adding water to the incubator, candling the eggs every so many days, etc. I thought it was kinda cute, but honestly, I didn't really see the thrill. Until two days ago when the first little piplings started peeping from inside the eggs. Soon they were poking their beaks out. We went to bed with four cracked eggs and woke up to three fluffy ducks and one soon to be arriving. After school there were seven. Then tonight, we saw one just about to break free. It was after lights out for the big boys, but we had to call them in. We all watched in amazement as the little duckling struggled to finish pecking a circle around the base of the egg, then wrestle his way slowly out. I barely wanted to leave to grab my camera, but the action was slow enough that I made a break for it.

Reed and Calvin stood perched on the back of the love seat (which we reminded them was usually a major no no) for a better view. Reed said, "He's gonna be outta there for SURE tonight!" Calvin encouraged the little guy with, "Come on, little buddy, you can do it." Then he put his arm around Reed. I quickly raised my camera to get the shot, only to get this:

It wasn't a sweet "let's share this magical moment of life's wonder, brother" embrace, but rather a "this is getting kinda old, let's wrestle for a little while in between pecks" take down. Daddy got onto the boys, and Reed, picking himself off the love seat and out from under brother, echoed, "Yeah! This is a midnight privilege!" The things that boy comes up with sometimes...

The duck finally emerged, but his hiney was stuck in the skinny part of the egg. It was so pathetic. He looked like a wet weakling with his butt stuck in a bucket. Calvin asked him if he had to pee in there before he came out. When that got a good laugh, he upped the ante to pooping. We all agreed that we just wanted to pull the eggshell off for him, but Daddy explained how it was good for him to struggle to build up strength (that'll preach...) Then we checked out the new hatchling's way cuter siblings. Reed thought I should, "Take a picture of the fluffy duckies. Mimi will pass out!" (He knows his Mimi so well!) Calvin added that she would "scream like a little girl," to which Reed replied, "She IS a girl!"

This one's for you, Mimi

Where was Max during all this? Well, it wouldn't surprise me if he fell asleep on the floor. He's been undergoing a struggle of his own. He's conquered the baby gate we've borrowed to corral him at bed time. We've had to back it up with a chair so he can't push it down. Tonight, he figured out how to climb over the gate beside the chair. So, I added a second chair. Take that! Only it took him about five minutes to find the space between the chairs, shove his little beak through and wiggle his way to freedom. For some reason, though, when I watched this little Maxling trying to emerge from his home, I wanted to shove him back in the egg and tell him to stop peeping. No midnight privileges for that one...

Wipe Out

I’m still wiping one little tushy, butt I thought I was done having to give a “final wipe” to the other bums in the house until the other day. 

We had snuck out while Max was sleeping to jump on the trampoline, because after a while butt busters and “lotsa butt busters” and “Hold me!” get kinda old. So we were doing “combinations.” This activity originated last summer as a cool way to show off one’s athletic prowess through a series of moves - pike, splits, back-buster with a twist, etc. and daring others to copy it--sort of the HORSE of the trampoline (minus the letters - there are no winners and losers in this PC game). Now it consists of one person putting on a stupid little show about their favorite video game or movie and everyone else trying to remember who comes first, King Gooba or Yoshi. So when it was my turn to make up the combinations, I decided to break from my “cool to boys, but still sweet-looking” Ninja kicks and instead give them a taste of their own medicine. My combination included a ballerina, princess, butterfly, and fairy - all four-letter words to my rambunctious crew. Reed took it like a man, sucked in his cheeks (that’s his embarrassed face), and pirouetted with his eyes permanently rolled. Calvin was having none of it. He made a mad, trying-not-to-smile face, crossed his arms forcefully, then turned around and mooned me.

Besides his butt-cheeks, Calvin also revealed to me that maybe I should still be giving him a final wipe. I know I should have given him a serious talking to about voyeurism, but like the conscientious mom I am, I decided instead to laugh - and make fun of his striped tail. He denied it, but when we went inside for Wiping 101 class, the proof was on the paper. Piece after piece.

I always said that boy has an ornery streak. I just didn’t know how wide it was.

Uper-say Annoying-hay

I’d like to apologize first to my parents for all the hours I spent speaking Pig Latin. Then, I’d like to extend that apology to anyone who has had any contact with my children this week. For some reason, I thought it would be a great idea to teach them the language that I had so much fun using during my own childhood. Oly-hay ap-cray! I never imagined they’d become fluent in the language, much less that it would become their primarily-spoken tongue. Reed speaks it as good as any grown up. Calvin is a little sketchier, but he’s got “upid-stay utt-bay” down to a tee! Potty humor is SO much more hilarious in a foreign dialect.

At a recent outing with Aunt Tavia (an outing that already involved time-outs in a separate restaurant booth by a certain medium-sized someone) I did what Ryan and I have had to do every day since – institute a English-only policy for the rest of the day. I explained that Pig Latin could get very obnoxious, so we weren’t going to use it ANY MORE! Reed replied, “Orry-say.”

Fine Form

Well,apparantly the bruised foot had no effect on Calvin’s spirits. Today he was bustin’ out all kinda jokes and bad behavior. I finally had to jot them down, there were too many:

-          Ran around the house chasing Max, saying, “You’re Carrie Underpants! You’re Carrie Underpants!” When we told him 1) Enough is enough, 2) It’s only funny the first time, and 3) Quit talking about underpants, he improvised and renamed Max Carrie Underwear, Carrie Underbutt, and Carrie Underpeepee.

-          On a walk at a wildlife refuge, I read something about a toothed elm leaf off of a sign. He interrupted, “Like a butt toot?” When I didn’t answer, “You mean a toot like this?” then bent over, grabbed his britches, and ripped one. (Ryan walked on, but I couldn’t even try to disguise my laugh.)

-          When we drove up to a lily pad, cypress tree, and great blue heron-filled pond, “Heaven will be even more supriser than this… This is my favorite place in the whole world! Actually, Six Flags, then this…”

-          When he was the only one in the whole truck who didn’t see the two fawns peeking from the woods, “This was one of your bad ideas. We had to be in the truck!”

-          When I was singing everything opera-style and claiming to be an angel (don’t all moms antagonize their kids this way?) he ran up, bent over, ripped one, then scooted right up to me and wiggled his butt around. I asked him (in mezzo soprano) why he was doing that and he answered, “To get the toot permanent on you.”

No lie, these are all from one 12 hour period. I pretty much gave up on potty patrol after the walk. Guffawing kinda makes you lose your credibility as a potty police. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. It’ll bring a trip to day care if it gets much worse…