If you are
HERE,
You need to go
HERE.
Same Rambling, Same Awkwardness, Just a New Name on a New Blog.
Enjoy.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
My Nugget
My nugget turned 9 months today.
My nugget got 2 shots today.
My nugget has like 73 teeth coming in at one time.
My nugget is a little sick with some nasty cough and an infection in both ears today.
My nugget weighs 23 pounds.
My nugget is 30 inches right on the dot.
My nugget has a very large head. 97th percentile.
No matter how hard I try, the pediatricians never listen. All of my children have large heads, I have a large head, you should see my aunts head, my Pop Pop had the largest head of all! We have large heads. I have to pull with all my might to get turtle necks that are 2 sizes too big over their heads. They don't fit in the appropriate size hats for age. They don't even fit in their father's hats, (pin head). When Kendall puts on a head band it slowly rises up the size of her head until it pops off. I gave birth to those heads. I know quite personally how large those heads are. For some reason, the doctors always seem to think that there is something wrong with their heads. Well there is something wrong, it is extrememly large and I don't think they make fitted hats in my size. So what will we do about baseball hats for the boys?
I don't know.
But my big headed nugget is 9 months old. This people is almost older then how long he lived inside of me. He is growing and I do not like it, not one bit. He must stay small forvever. I tell you I think I am going to lose the battle with this one. I think he is going to be the largest of all. Big Foot. Sasquatch. But will always be my little nugget. And his cheeks, they kill me, they melt my heart. His eyes, big and blue, they make me swoon and never want to leave his side. He is not for sale.
My nugget got 2 shots today.
My nugget has like 73 teeth coming in at one time.
My nugget is a little sick with some nasty cough and an infection in both ears today.
My nugget weighs 23 pounds.
My nugget is 30 inches right on the dot.
My nugget has a very large head. 97th percentile.
No matter how hard I try, the pediatricians never listen. All of my children have large heads, I have a large head, you should see my aunts head, my Pop Pop had the largest head of all! We have large heads. I have to pull with all my might to get turtle necks that are 2 sizes too big over their heads. They don't fit in the appropriate size hats for age. They don't even fit in their father's hats, (pin head). When Kendall puts on a head band it slowly rises up the size of her head until it pops off. I gave birth to those heads. I know quite personally how large those heads are. For some reason, the doctors always seem to think that there is something wrong with their heads. Well there is something wrong, it is extrememly large and I don't think they make fitted hats in my size. So what will we do about baseball hats for the boys?
I don't know.
But my big headed nugget is 9 months old. This people is almost older then how long he lived inside of me. He is growing and I do not like it, not one bit. He must stay small forvever. I tell you I think I am going to lose the battle with this one. I think he is going to be the largest of all. Big Foot. Sasquatch. But will always be my little nugget. And his cheeks, they kill me, they melt my heart. His eyes, big and blue, they make me swoon and never want to leave his side. He is not for sale.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
One of those Days
So my Monday rolled out like this.
Baby seems to have developed a fever the night before and the inability to sleep because of it.
I get out of bed because I didn't sleep, and start to get things together because the oldest needs to be at school, and the baby needs to be taken to the doctor, and the middle one needs to just go along with it all and stay happy.
Have I ever told you about Kendall in the morning? Most especially school mornings? She is a beast. I kid you not. You would think that you are asking a 17 year old adolescent who has been up until 4 am at a slumber party to get up at noon the following day to help with chores. The outcome is never short of what might occur at the end of the world. I can remember this feeling of not wanting to get up and everything in the universe being threatened against me. I also was 17 years old and up until who knows what time, doing, well things I will divulge of um, maybe later. Because after all we are speaking about my 4 or almost 5 year old daughter, ok? Now don't be silly and think I am going to let you know what I was doing all hours of the night at 17. I was an angel anyway.
Regardless of all of that, let's keep in mind that this child is only in preschool. We have 13 years ahead of us before she goes away to college and can choose not to pick 8 am classes. Let's keep in mind that she isn't up all hours of the night. Let's keep in mind that she does not yet have the freakish teenage hormones that require you to sleep all the time. So each morning I awake the beast, again and again, and again. And she will get up. I pay for this school, and she will go there and learn and she will be happy about it.
So this Monday like any other Monday, she would not get up, but on this Monday the baby is screaming his head off because he does not feel well, Ethan is screaming because he cannot hear his shows because the baby is screaming, and I am screaming because Kendall just put her head under the pillow and is still lying in bed. I then strip the blankets from her bed, open the blinds, and now she is screaming because she is more tired than any other day in her whole entire life, and I am the meanest Mom ever for not letting her just sleep. It's a scream fest all over the place, and it is awesome.
We somehow all manage to get dressed, we get baggies of cereal and head out the door, not before Stanley goes running out with them and jumps into the van. So now we are all in the van.We drive to school where there is no parking because of the piles of snow that was plowed into open parking spaces, and so I break all the rules and pull up to the sidewalk and put on my flashers. Rebel. All the preschool Mom's of the Year look at my wild self in complete horror for committing such a sin. When a terrible day comes upon us, we must do what we can to survive. I just smile and shuffle them in. I want to give a big props again for not having a drop off lane because I now have to get a sick child out and back into a carseat, a child who needs all of his guys in his arms before exiting and entering, and yell 'Stay,' to a dog that hardly listens, all while getting the student into the school hair kempt for 2.5 hours. This process would take 30 seconds without the extra cargo I have to take with me, but now it takes 15 minutes, and the baby is left screaming because I am jostling him and he is sick. He looks at me like, 'Don't you get it!??!!?! Leave me be, woman!!!'
So we get to the doctor, getting out of the car, Ethan, in typical fashion becomes impatient. He always becomes impatient when I am stressed, its like the triggers in me set off the triggers in him, and we are crabby patties all day. So he yells, 'Come on!' Which you guessed it, remember the extra passenger? Yup, jumps out of the van into the parking lot with his given cue, and proceeds to run around. Stan quickly realizes he has no idea where he is and panics and continues to run because he knows he has set me off. So baby screaming, in a parking lot with impatient 3 year old who just wants to get inside and push the buttons on the elevator and panicking dog who is instilled with flight instincts. Finally corner him in some bushes, now snow is up to my knees, filling my shoes.
We get in there. I ask about using potty in waiting room, of course not. We go back to the room, start to undress baby while Ethan attempts to get on examining table with him sending diaper bag, coats, and whatever else is in his way onto the floor. Baby screaming. Fever of 103.1. Rad. Ethan dangling off table trying to get up. Lift him up, grabs the wenis, proclaims he has to go pee pee real bad. So screaming baby in diaper, child running in circles holding wenis, find bathroom, go in, look at myself in mirror and gasp in horror. I look like I was run over by 32 tractor trailers. Seriously? It was bad. Child washes hands because that is what we do even though I tell him we will wait to get back to examining room because there is no paper towels. 'Don't worry Mommy,' child proceeds to come to me with wet hands and dry them, the dripping wet hands on my shirt. So now I look like I get hit by 32 semis in a rain storm.
Why do doctors take forever. Really? Really, why do you schedule me and make me wait 20 minutes, why not just schedule me 20 minutes later. Because having children in that small space with nothing to do for that long makes them crazy.
Dx: double ear infection with some crazy virus going on that is making him have some sores in his mouth. 'It's going around.' Must be nice to just say that and leave. So we get the order for the meds, baby is hungry and wants, 'ba-ba,' so we go out to the waiting room where they play movies. Of course today they are playing some stupidly boring movie that E has no interest in. No Toy Story, really? Grant me one blessing? No such luck. So I sit to feed the babe. The room smells of poop. I mean disgustingly smells of poop. It was making my stomach turn. And you know, you look around trying to find the culprit, you look at all the other parents, who like you, are smelling their child's butts. Then you zone in on the one mother who is too busy texting to smell her child's bum and you have found your answer. And you say to me well give her the benefit out the doubt, maybe she is updating her hubby on her kids status, maybe her house is on fire and she is telling her neighbor where the hose is, maybe, maybe, maybe not. She is smiling, laughing to herself, really self-immersed, and you can be like that sometimes. Sometimes you need to be like that. But not when your toddler has a ripe douce in his diaper that is smelling up the entire room. Ethan keeps pronouncing that it stinks, she keeps on texting. Then karma. Jake begins to toot. And not some polite little lift the leg and let out a little puff. It was like, lift both legs up, turn face red, tighten belly muscles, and let it rip for 30 seconds. And they kept coming and getting louder. I start to gather our things. Because if I am going to be that Mom that gets annoyed about a kid stinking up the waiting room and his mother not paying it any mind, then I need to be the Mom that gets up and leaves when her child is adding to the mix. Then just as the elevator door is opening, he lets is really rip, followed by the sweet sound of moisture being released, and then a sigh of relief comes from my child. And it smells ungodly. 'Mommy, this elevator stinks too, everything stinks in this place like poop!'
As we are exiting Ethan decides to run into a snow bank, gets his foot caught up and falls to the pavement. Awesome. So now I have got some skinned knees and a poopy diaper to clean up. We get into the van, shut the door to quiet our screams, and I apply band aids and turn to the stinker. I begin to change him and then realize that this poop, this one is similar to the one the other day. This poop is an explosion. I have no other clothes for him, and the only way to contain it is to keep it in. I place him into the car seat, apologize to both of my little men, crack the windows and turn up the heat.
To Target, getting prescription and milk. Ethan, beg, beg ,begging to look at toys. I say no, we have to go and get Kendall. He revolts. Have I mentioned my sweet little Ethan has found his individuality, his voice, his opinion. He chooses now to exercise this new thing. 'Nope, I am going to go and look at my toys, because that is what I want to do!' And proceeds to walk in the other direction head held high. I scoop him up, tell him I am sorry, but we do not have any time for this today. And we have a yelling protester and a funky smelling baby, never mind me, who looks like I have been hit by the 18 wheelers, remember? He proclaims for all of Target to hear, 'Well you know, I think you are the meanest Mom ever, so, so what?!?!'
We get to the school, parking again in my rebellious spot because it worked well as it could the first time, go in and get Kendall and as she is walking in my direction I see spots. She has red spots all over her neck. I get her out into the hallway, out down smelly baby, lift her shirt and they are all over her belly. Terrific. She gets these crazy hives every once in awhile and I have no idea what causes them. The doctor one time said that it might be the way her body expresses a virus, or something she is allergic to. And since it happens so infrequently we are not sure. All I know is that we have got spots, poop, and an angry middle child.
The poop is beginning to leak.
And this all would be great right if we could just go home, feed Spots and the Middle Child lunch with a movie, and put the babe in the tub, put him down for a nap, clean the carseat and laundry and call it a day. But I have to work at 3. So I take them all upstairs to my room, do what every great mom does in a crisis, and put on Sponge Bob. My kids would love to be able to watch Sponge Bob all the time but I don't let them because then we have crazy potty talk all day everyday for a week. But I need them quiet, I need them focused, I need to clean the baby, and I need to get things together. The baby gets a wipey bath, the kids get to watch 15 minutes of the show, they get lunch, I give the baby medicine and put him down for a well needed nap, shower, and I am out the door.
I drive to work to collect my thoughts. I am starting to settle and breathe.Then I smell something. Poop. The car seat is out of the car, sprayed down, where is it? I showered!?!?! But it is me, its my coat. The wet leakage went onto my coat. Typical.
One of those days.
One of those days I would have broken down and cried about had I not had a pity party this weekend. A night with the girls, to make the stories sound funny. To remind me that I am not alone. That they too are the meanest moms in the whole entire world. That their kids get spots and leak poop. And they do it all in one day also.
Details to follow.
Baby seems to have developed a fever the night before and the inability to sleep because of it.
I get out of bed because I didn't sleep, and start to get things together because the oldest needs to be at school, and the baby needs to be taken to the doctor, and the middle one needs to just go along with it all and stay happy.
Have I ever told you about Kendall in the morning? Most especially school mornings? She is a beast. I kid you not. You would think that you are asking a 17 year old adolescent who has been up until 4 am at a slumber party to get up at noon the following day to help with chores. The outcome is never short of what might occur at the end of the world. I can remember this feeling of not wanting to get up and everything in the universe being threatened against me. I also was 17 years old and up until who knows what time, doing, well things I will divulge of um, maybe later. Because after all we are speaking about my 4 or almost 5 year old daughter, ok? Now don't be silly and think I am going to let you know what I was doing all hours of the night at 17. I was an angel anyway.
Regardless of all of that, let's keep in mind that this child is only in preschool. We have 13 years ahead of us before she goes away to college and can choose not to pick 8 am classes. Let's keep in mind that she isn't up all hours of the night. Let's keep in mind that she does not yet have the freakish teenage hormones that require you to sleep all the time. So each morning I awake the beast, again and again, and again. And she will get up. I pay for this school, and she will go there and learn and she will be happy about it.
So this Monday like any other Monday, she would not get up, but on this Monday the baby is screaming his head off because he does not feel well, Ethan is screaming because he cannot hear his shows because the baby is screaming, and I am screaming because Kendall just put her head under the pillow and is still lying in bed. I then strip the blankets from her bed, open the blinds, and now she is screaming because she is more tired than any other day in her whole entire life, and I am the meanest Mom ever for not letting her just sleep. It's a scream fest all over the place, and it is awesome.
We somehow all manage to get dressed, we get baggies of cereal and head out the door, not before Stanley goes running out with them and jumps into the van. So now we are all in the van.We drive to school where there is no parking because of the piles of snow that was plowed into open parking spaces, and so I break all the rules and pull up to the sidewalk and put on my flashers. Rebel. All the preschool Mom's of the Year look at my wild self in complete horror for committing such a sin. When a terrible day comes upon us, we must do what we can to survive. I just smile and shuffle them in. I want to give a big props again for not having a drop off lane because I now have to get a sick child out and back into a carseat, a child who needs all of his guys in his arms before exiting and entering, and yell 'Stay,' to a dog that hardly listens, all while getting the student into the school hair kempt for 2.5 hours. This process would take 30 seconds without the extra cargo I have to take with me, but now it takes 15 minutes, and the baby is left screaming because I am jostling him and he is sick. He looks at me like, 'Don't you get it!??!!?! Leave me be, woman!!!'
So we get to the doctor, getting out of the car, Ethan, in typical fashion becomes impatient. He always becomes impatient when I am stressed, its like the triggers in me set off the triggers in him, and we are crabby patties all day. So he yells, 'Come on!' Which you guessed it, remember the extra passenger? Yup, jumps out of the van into the parking lot with his given cue, and proceeds to run around. Stan quickly realizes he has no idea where he is and panics and continues to run because he knows he has set me off. So baby screaming, in a parking lot with impatient 3 year old who just wants to get inside and push the buttons on the elevator and panicking dog who is instilled with flight instincts. Finally corner him in some bushes, now snow is up to my knees, filling my shoes.
We get in there. I ask about using potty in waiting room, of course not. We go back to the room, start to undress baby while Ethan attempts to get on examining table with him sending diaper bag, coats, and whatever else is in his way onto the floor. Baby screaming. Fever of 103.1. Rad. Ethan dangling off table trying to get up. Lift him up, grabs the wenis, proclaims he has to go pee pee real bad. So screaming baby in diaper, child running in circles holding wenis, find bathroom, go in, look at myself in mirror and gasp in horror. I look like I was run over by 32 tractor trailers. Seriously? It was bad. Child washes hands because that is what we do even though I tell him we will wait to get back to examining room because there is no paper towels. 'Don't worry Mommy,' child proceeds to come to me with wet hands and dry them, the dripping wet hands on my shirt. So now I look like I get hit by 32 semis in a rain storm.
Why do doctors take forever. Really? Really, why do you schedule me and make me wait 20 minutes, why not just schedule me 20 minutes later. Because having children in that small space with nothing to do for that long makes them crazy.
Dx: double ear infection with some crazy virus going on that is making him have some sores in his mouth. 'It's going around.' Must be nice to just say that and leave. So we get the order for the meds, baby is hungry and wants, 'ba-ba,' so we go out to the waiting room where they play movies. Of course today they are playing some stupidly boring movie that E has no interest in. No Toy Story, really? Grant me one blessing? No such luck. So I sit to feed the babe. The room smells of poop. I mean disgustingly smells of poop. It was making my stomach turn. And you know, you look around trying to find the culprit, you look at all the other parents, who like you, are smelling their child's butts. Then you zone in on the one mother who is too busy texting to smell her child's bum and you have found your answer. And you say to me well give her the benefit out the doubt, maybe she is updating her hubby on her kids status, maybe her house is on fire and she is telling her neighbor where the hose is, maybe, maybe, maybe not. She is smiling, laughing to herself, really self-immersed, and you can be like that sometimes. Sometimes you need to be like that. But not when your toddler has a ripe douce in his diaper that is smelling up the entire room. Ethan keeps pronouncing that it stinks, she keeps on texting. Then karma. Jake begins to toot. And not some polite little lift the leg and let out a little puff. It was like, lift both legs up, turn face red, tighten belly muscles, and let it rip for 30 seconds. And they kept coming and getting louder. I start to gather our things. Because if I am going to be that Mom that gets annoyed about a kid stinking up the waiting room and his mother not paying it any mind, then I need to be the Mom that gets up and leaves when her child is adding to the mix. Then just as the elevator door is opening, he lets is really rip, followed by the sweet sound of moisture being released, and then a sigh of relief comes from my child. And it smells ungodly. 'Mommy, this elevator stinks too, everything stinks in this place like poop!'
As we are exiting Ethan decides to run into a snow bank, gets his foot caught up and falls to the pavement. Awesome. So now I have got some skinned knees and a poopy diaper to clean up. We get into the van, shut the door to quiet our screams, and I apply band aids and turn to the stinker. I begin to change him and then realize that this poop, this one is similar to the one the other day. This poop is an explosion. I have no other clothes for him, and the only way to contain it is to keep it in. I place him into the car seat, apologize to both of my little men, crack the windows and turn up the heat.
To Target, getting prescription and milk. Ethan, beg, beg ,begging to look at toys. I say no, we have to go and get Kendall. He revolts. Have I mentioned my sweet little Ethan has found his individuality, his voice, his opinion. He chooses now to exercise this new thing. 'Nope, I am going to go and look at my toys, because that is what I want to do!' And proceeds to walk in the other direction head held high. I scoop him up, tell him I am sorry, but we do not have any time for this today. And we have a yelling protester and a funky smelling baby, never mind me, who looks like I have been hit by the 18 wheelers, remember? He proclaims for all of Target to hear, 'Well you know, I think you are the meanest Mom ever, so, so what?!?!'
We get to the school, parking again in my rebellious spot because it worked well as it could the first time, go in and get Kendall and as she is walking in my direction I see spots. She has red spots all over her neck. I get her out into the hallway, out down smelly baby, lift her shirt and they are all over her belly. Terrific. She gets these crazy hives every once in awhile and I have no idea what causes them. The doctor one time said that it might be the way her body expresses a virus, or something she is allergic to. And since it happens so infrequently we are not sure. All I know is that we have got spots, poop, and an angry middle child.
The poop is beginning to leak.
And this all would be great right if we could just go home, feed Spots and the Middle Child lunch with a movie, and put the babe in the tub, put him down for a nap, clean the carseat and laundry and call it a day. But I have to work at 3. So I take them all upstairs to my room, do what every great mom does in a crisis, and put on Sponge Bob. My kids would love to be able to watch Sponge Bob all the time but I don't let them because then we have crazy potty talk all day everyday for a week. But I need them quiet, I need them focused, I need to clean the baby, and I need to get things together. The baby gets a wipey bath, the kids get to watch 15 minutes of the show, they get lunch, I give the baby medicine and put him down for a well needed nap, shower, and I am out the door.
I drive to work to collect my thoughts. I am starting to settle and breathe.Then I smell something. Poop. The car seat is out of the car, sprayed down, where is it? I showered!?!?! But it is me, its my coat. The wet leakage went onto my coat. Typical.
One of those days.
One of those days I would have broken down and cried about had I not had a pity party this weekend. A night with the girls, to make the stories sound funny. To remind me that I am not alone. That they too are the meanest moms in the whole entire world. That their kids get spots and leak poop. And they do it all in one day also.
Details to follow.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The U-Haul is Here!
There comes a time in life when one must separate itself from things of the past...
I really have no idea what I am talking about, just trying to sound intellectual. What is really going on is that within the next two weeks I will be moving to another blog site. Everything will be the same for you. My old posts are getting packed in boxes, the pictures are being put in tubs, all my links will be wrapped in plastic bubble wrap, we are all going over. Phew, you don't have to take some Xanax, calm it, breathe.
The reason is quite simple. I now have 3 children. How bout that? We decided that he has passed the required tests and that we are going to keep him.
Not only that there are some new layouts that I really want to take advantage of, and you know everyone needs a change once in awhile.
If you are a follower of my blog, please head on over to the new place. Please be cautious as to where you walk, it is under construction, and things will be changing. However, there is a follower link on the page. On the right hand side there, right at the top.Please click on that and become a follower. If you are not a 'follower,' I want to encourage you to become one. Now keep in mind that this is not high school I still think that you are an individual...it's just a fancy title. I hope to start working on some giveaways, and so to do this, you will need to be a follower of my new blog...no pressure, just a bribe.
I hope that this move goes well, and please remember that you are welcome at anytime and yes, we do like casseroles.
So here it is, get your head start...I will be posting on both until I shut this baby down, but you will have plenty of warning.
CLICK HERE
And for those of you who just want to know the new name, you know if you want to google me or something stalkish like that. It's Freckle Faced Mama, cause you know, I've got some of those. www.frecklefacedmama.blogspot.com Pass it on. I promise to be just as random, just as embarrassing, and just as blunt as I usually am. Just making it my own. You know so it should look something like this:
I really have no idea what I am talking about, just trying to sound intellectual. What is really going on is that within the next two weeks I will be moving to another blog site. Everything will be the same for you. My old posts are getting packed in boxes, the pictures are being put in tubs, all my links will be wrapped in plastic bubble wrap, we are all going over. Phew, you don't have to take some Xanax, calm it, breathe.
I hired these kids right out of 1992 to help with the move, the minimum wage was much much cheaper then, so you know. They have some good hairspray too.
The reason is quite simple. I now have 3 children. How bout that? We decided that he has passed the required tests and that we are going to keep him.
Not only that there are some new layouts that I really want to take advantage of, and you know everyone needs a change once in awhile.
If you are a follower of my blog, please head on over to the new place. Please be cautious as to where you walk, it is under construction, and things will be changing. However, there is a follower link on the page. On the right hand side there, right at the top.Please click on that and become a follower. If you are not a 'follower,' I want to encourage you to become one. Now keep in mind that this is not high school I still think that you are an individual...it's just a fancy title. I hope to start working on some giveaways, and so to do this, you will need to be a follower of my new blog...no pressure, just a bribe.
I hope that this move goes well, and please remember that you are welcome at anytime and yes, we do like casseroles.
So here it is, get your head start...I will be posting on both until I shut this baby down, but you will have plenty of warning.
CLICK HERE
And for those of you who just want to know the new name, you know if you want to google me or something stalkish like that. It's Freckle Faced Mama, cause you know, I've got some of those. www.frecklefacedmama.blogspot.com Pass it on. I promise to be just as random, just as embarrassing, and just as blunt as I usually am. Just making it my own. You know so it should look something like this:
I have no idea what is going on in this picture, but it looks just terrible. But it looks like the U-haul won, so they get our business.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
It's Stanley's 3rd Birthday...he has a few things he would like to share.
So I am 3 today. Let me tell you how fabulous that is.
They gave me a 'birthday' bath. Still the same bath, but with grape flavored bubbles, still torture, can't fool me dummies.
They say the sun is out, how fun I will have on my walk. There is still ice on the ground...do you know how terrible it is to walk on ice with bare feet just to find a place to pee?
They say it's Victoria's 7th Birthday and since she now lives in California, they are going to Disneyland...what is up with that? Did anyone ask me if I wanted to see Mickey on my birthday?
Missionary work my curled up tail...
They say they have a BIG surprise for me later. Unless it is free reign to chew the noses and eyes off of every stuffed animal and being able to chase the cat around until she passes out...they can keep their silly surprises.
You may wonder why I am so grouchy on my 3rd birthday.
Let's see...
1. I am not a girl
2. I am not a human
3. I look like a fool
4. Please come from Culver City and rescue me Charles...I can't bear the propped photos anymore!
5. You would be grouchy too.
Stop Laughing.
They gave me a 'birthday' bath. Still the same bath, but with grape flavored bubbles, still torture, can't fool me dummies.
They say the sun is out, how fun I will have on my walk. There is still ice on the ground...do you know how terrible it is to walk on ice with bare feet just to find a place to pee?
They say it's Victoria's 7th Birthday and since she now lives in California, they are going to Disneyland...what is up with that? Did anyone ask me if I wanted to see Mickey on my birthday?
Missionary work my curled up tail...
They say they have a BIG surprise for me later. Unless it is free reign to chew the noses and eyes off of every stuffed animal and being able to chase the cat around until she passes out...they can keep their silly surprises.
You may wonder why I am so grouchy on my 3rd birthday.
Let's see...
1. I am not a girl
2. I am not a human
3. I look like a fool
4. Please come from Culver City and rescue me Charles...I can't bear the propped photos anymore!
5. You would be grouchy too.
Stop Laughing.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
It's Coming...bring on the Pity...
In less then 2 weeks, I will be hosting, The First Annual Pity Party. I kid you not. If you were not invited, don't feel sad, my little lab rats will let you know how it went, and hopefully, if all goes right, this event will become an annual event, hence the title.
The idea for a Pity Party has been sitting in my head for awhile now. I tell my offspring often when they are whining, cranky, all is wrong with the world, 'well let's just go and throw a pity party.' Such is the life of a mom. It is in no way for the light hearted or the weak hearted, it is just plain tough sometimes.And in throes of it, in your worst of days, because you will have them, someone could possibly turn to you and say, 'well why don't you throw a pity party.' Because it's easy to complain, it's easy to say, 'whoa is me,' it is easy to want to run away with a pint of ice cream and hide in a closet. It's easy to scream, 'But you don't understand they took away my sanity!!!'
And I will tell you what, during most of these moments if we would just stop and pick up the phone, type an email, meet up with a friend for a playdate, you will find that you are not alone. They too couldn't get the baby to, 'latch on,' they too have children who sass, they too have had snotty noses to wipe for months on end, they too have babies who won't sleep and just cry. They too have experienced poop explosions clean ups so many times that you swear you just smell like poop all the time, they too have the child who would much rather pee and poop in his or her pants instead of using the potty. They too have children who want to grow up too fast, they too have children wanting to hang out with their friends more than you. They too have felt at the end of the day like just crying because they were too hard on this one or that one, because they spent more time with this one over that one, they too have maybe made the wrong decision, disciplined and it didn't work. Because let me tell you what...your failures, your struggles, your experiences as a mom your friends gain. It's not all for nothing. And your failures, your struggles, your experiences as a mom can be easily fixed from the advice from another 'been there done that,' mama.
The Pity Party title is just to be funny. Because beyond it all, there is not a shadow of a doubt that this what we were meant to do, be mothers. This is what we love to do, be mothers. But admitting that it is tough, and escaping it all for just one night to sit back with your friends, other mothers, and eat dessert, and drink some big girl beverages is well deserved.
There will be silly games, and silly competitions, but beyond all that there will be a sense of camaraderie. A sense of another soldier along with you in the battle of motherhood. Lordy, we all love our kids, but if we come across as perfect, that our kids do no wrong, that we know all of the answers in regards to child rearing, we are fooling no one, not even the rugrats. What better way to connect with someone that over a story that we would typically cry about but instead turning it into laughter because the child getting into the vaseline in your bathroom at the end of the day when no one napped and tore the place apart and she smeared it all over her lovely locks leaving them greasy for months on end, and when you went in there for just a moment of peace you slid across the tile because it is so slick from the lube, and you land face to face with the mess that she is, is in fact funny when shared with a friend.
The Urban Dictionary provides the definition of a 'Pity Party,' as such:
Pity Party: A way of experiencing grief, in which you spend your time feeling sorry for yourself and whining endlessly about how crappy your life is.
Pity parties can be just for one or for many people, such as maybe your friends and close people, who will try to comfort you or just be there for you while you keep asking yourself what did you do to deserve whatever it is that made you so sad in the first place.
Pity Parties require the proper outfit, which is usually pajamas cause you don't get all dressed up during those feeling-sorry-for-myself moments. Also you should have no make up on or just the one from the night before; hair undone as well.
It also involves tissues, comfort food such as ice cream; chocolate; potato chips; cookies; cake; and candy. Low fat food is banned.
Alcohol might or might not be allowed (if alcohol makes you go wild, no alcohol should be brought to the pity party in that case since the point is not exactly to have fun). The purpose of a Pity Party is to dump the pity.
Music is also very important at pity parties, including songs like "One is the Loneliest Number", "All by Myself" and any other song that makes you feel like throwing yourself from the nearest cliff.
Pity parties usually end after you are done whining or if someone breaks it up. This will usually be a cynical loved one who will not let you drown in self pity and will take you either to have the best time ever, drinking and partying or will just make you crawl out of bed by making you see how pathetic you look and how you should cut the whining and just do something to make things better.
I must laugh...because although there will be some comfort food, and a little friendly competition for the best 'war story,' none of this will take place...well the pajamas bit...that does sound like a bit of fun. What better then an expanding waist band when you are eating dessert after dessert and sipping beverage after beverage from the Hot Chocolate Bar?...yup I did say, Hot.Chocolate.Bar...mmmm...yummy...
But it's the idea of it. Because sometimes as moms we are so afraid to complain about it, so afraid to admit that children can get the best of you, so afraid to admit that hey sometimes I have bad day...sometimes we want to throw a Pity Party, and this party is to remind us as we will look around the room, that we aren't alone, and with that we will promptly take another bite of the Red Velvet Cake, and sit back and relax by the fire...knowing that we don't have to worry about it tonight. They can wipe snot anywhere they want, they can eat candy to their hearts content, because this party goes way past bedtime.
...And I can't wait.
**Details of the above said party will follow, but please take note that this is a private party with very very serious matters to discuss...and so not all information...what was that special sauce in the hot chocolate per se, will be up for grabs. Apologies...but not really, in advance.**
The idea for a Pity Party has been sitting in my head for awhile now. I tell my offspring often when they are whining, cranky, all is wrong with the world, 'well let's just go and throw a pity party.' Such is the life of a mom. It is in no way for the light hearted or the weak hearted, it is just plain tough sometimes.And in throes of it, in your worst of days, because you will have them, someone could possibly turn to you and say, 'well why don't you throw a pity party.' Because it's easy to complain, it's easy to say, 'whoa is me,' it is easy to want to run away with a pint of ice cream and hide in a closet. It's easy to scream, 'But you don't understand they took away my sanity!!!'
And I will tell you what, during most of these moments if we would just stop and pick up the phone, type an email, meet up with a friend for a playdate, you will find that you are not alone. They too couldn't get the baby to, 'latch on,' they too have children who sass, they too have had snotty noses to wipe for months on end, they too have babies who won't sleep and just cry. They too have experienced poop explosions clean ups so many times that you swear you just smell like poop all the time, they too have the child who would much rather pee and poop in his or her pants instead of using the potty. They too have children who want to grow up too fast, they too have children wanting to hang out with their friends more than you. They too have felt at the end of the day like just crying because they were too hard on this one or that one, because they spent more time with this one over that one, they too have maybe made the wrong decision, disciplined and it didn't work. Because let me tell you what...your failures, your struggles, your experiences as a mom your friends gain. It's not all for nothing. And your failures, your struggles, your experiences as a mom can be easily fixed from the advice from another 'been there done that,' mama.
The Pity Party title is just to be funny. Because beyond it all, there is not a shadow of a doubt that this what we were meant to do, be mothers. This is what we love to do, be mothers. But admitting that it is tough, and escaping it all for just one night to sit back with your friends, other mothers, and eat dessert, and drink some big girl beverages is well deserved.
There will be silly games, and silly competitions, but beyond all that there will be a sense of camaraderie. A sense of another soldier along with you in the battle of motherhood. Lordy, we all love our kids, but if we come across as perfect, that our kids do no wrong, that we know all of the answers in regards to child rearing, we are fooling no one, not even the rugrats. What better way to connect with someone that over a story that we would typically cry about but instead turning it into laughter because the child getting into the vaseline in your bathroom at the end of the day when no one napped and tore the place apart and she smeared it all over her lovely locks leaving them greasy for months on end, and when you went in there for just a moment of peace you slid across the tile because it is so slick from the lube, and you land face to face with the mess that she is, is in fact funny when shared with a friend.
The Urban Dictionary provides the definition of a 'Pity Party,' as such:
Pity Party: A way of experiencing grief, in which you spend your time feeling sorry for yourself and whining endlessly about how crappy your life is.
Pity parties can be just for one or for many people, such as maybe your friends and close people, who will try to comfort you or just be there for you while you keep asking yourself what did you do to deserve whatever it is that made you so sad in the first place.
Pity Parties require the proper outfit, which is usually pajamas cause you don't get all dressed up during those feeling-sorry-for-myself moments. Also you should have no make up on or just the one from the night before; hair undone as well.
It also involves tissues, comfort food such as ice cream; chocolate; potato chips; cookies; cake; and candy. Low fat food is banned.
Alcohol might or might not be allowed (if alcohol makes you go wild, no alcohol should be brought to the pity party in that case since the point is not exactly to have fun). The purpose of a Pity Party is to dump the pity.
Music is also very important at pity parties, including songs like "One is the Loneliest Number", "All by Myself" and any other song that makes you feel like throwing yourself from the nearest cliff.
Pity parties usually end after you are done whining or if someone breaks it up. This will usually be a cynical loved one who will not let you drown in self pity and will take you either to have the best time ever, drinking and partying or will just make you crawl out of bed by making you see how pathetic you look and how you should cut the whining and just do something to make things better.
I must laugh...because although there will be some comfort food, and a little friendly competition for the best 'war story,' none of this will take place...well the pajamas bit...that does sound like a bit of fun. What better then an expanding waist band when you are eating dessert after dessert and sipping beverage after beverage from the Hot Chocolate Bar?...yup I did say, Hot.Chocolate.Bar...mmmm...yummy...
But it's the idea of it. Because sometimes as moms we are so afraid to complain about it, so afraid to admit that children can get the best of you, so afraid to admit that hey sometimes I have bad day...sometimes we want to throw a Pity Party, and this party is to remind us as we will look around the room, that we aren't alone, and with that we will promptly take another bite of the Red Velvet Cake, and sit back and relax by the fire...knowing that we don't have to worry about it tonight. They can wipe snot anywhere they want, they can eat candy to their hearts content, because this party goes way past bedtime.
...And I can't wait.
**Details of the above said party will follow, but please take note that this is a private party with very very serious matters to discuss...and so not all information...what was that special sauce in the hot chocolate per se, will be up for grabs. Apologies...but not really, in advance.**
Friday, January 14, 2011
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Darling
There are those that I am close with that have their beautiful first child. They are beaming from head to toe on most occasions...I really just think this is pure insanity from lack of sleep. Seriously. The brain does some pretty whacked out stuff when it is sleep deprived, putting on a continual smile of elation is one of those things...you are going crazy, it's just the beginning, don't try to fight it.
In this point of mental health absurdity, they will turn to me and ask...so do you think it is easier to have them close together? Now that I have done both, which is the easiest. 'Honey, it ain't easy, no matter what way you slice, now stick with your one cause you just had to have it, and call it a day.' No, I would never say that, never ever, well on a bad day I might start...ok, no I would never say that, that's just terrible.
But Lordy, remember those Saturday mornings, you could just roll out of bed when you wanted to and just do whatever? Now we are awoken at 6 am by someone demanding waffles and juice in your one ear, another childs foot in your other ear from wandering into your room at 3 a.m., 'oh this place looks so much more cozy, let me go and give them a wretched nights sleep.' And then a baby, sitting on top of you with pee leaking out of his diaper through his sleeper, onto you. Then its go time. It's awesome. Sometimes I make them look out the window when we get downstairs. I ask, 'hey look out there, what's going on out there?' They will stare, squint, look up and down the road, then answer, 'um, nothing.' And I will pronounce, 'Exactly! Now can someone tell me why we are not doing the same exact thing?' 'Um...can we watch our shows?'
If you didn't read the back story, I went and got myself knocked up with Ethan when Kendall was 4 months old. I have said it before, it was God's little practical joke on me. 'You begged and begged...now have at it.'
So do I think its just grand to have them this close together? I will be honest and say that during the first year it is rough. One is doing one thing, the other catches up, only to have the oldest moving on to the next. This is across the board developmentally, intellectually, and just for plain every day life, like playing toys. For instance, Ethan would want a bottle, just as I was finishing that Kendall was hungry, and you have to watch a 13 month old eat, then Ethan would want a nap, and Kendall would want a book read...it is constant busyness all day. One is walking, one is mad he can't move around. But then one day you turn and they are playing together, they are entertaining each other and you can get something done. This is its plus' and minus'. If one doesn't want to do it, chances are the other isn't going to want to either. If one is going to the store with you, well the other one wants to come too. If one won't eat mashed potatoes, the other one won't either. They are also each other's best friend and worst enemy. They can play together for hours and one wrong look and the one is socking the other in the gut.
They will always love to be the one in my favor if the other is in trouble. 'Oh Mommy, I will help you with that,' while the other sits punished on the step for not helping me clean up. But now since Ethan is getting it, catching onto nuances, phrases, the way people act for certain reasons, it's an open playing field with Mommy dearest.
Kendall, for reasons I will not divulge in, is under punishment, and she is not permitted to watch her beloved channel; 5-5. It's 55, the Disney channel, but she says it like she has to punch it into the remote, five, five. I told her that the amount of time this is under punishment for, depends on her behavior. As I was doing the dishes this afternoon, she came up to me and asked if she could watch 5-5. I told her that.' one day is not enough to prove to me that you can behave well enough to be able to watch 5-5, please continue with your good behavior and we will see about tomorrow.' Ethan then saunters up to me and says, 'you know Mommy, Kendall has been having some good behavior, and I think that if she is being nice to you, you should be nice to her.' I replied, 'Uh, thanks for the input pal, I will take that into consideration.' He then saunters away over to Kendall, and in a low voice says, 'Kendall, I told Mommy that you were being a good girl, and she should be a good girl too, so maybe she will let you watch 5-5 in a little bit. Mommy said that she is going to take it to sideration' Can I stay in sideration, are you allowed naps while you are there?
So needless to say, the defending of the other has begun. This is certain to go on for the rest of their lives. Because being that close in age is just that, close. You are going to run into the same things, the same wants, the same issues with Mom and Dad, the same social circle, etc, and in the end, it is best, they will find, to be a united front. This can be a fabulous thing. It can also be terrible for me, as you can see as evidenced by Ethan's plight to stand up to his Mama, his beloved Mama, for his sister.
So is it easier to have them close in age? That close? 13 months apart?
To each his own. Why are they asking me anyway? I still smile with insanity.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
“If you treat a sick child like an adult and a sick adult like a child, everything usually works out pretty well” ~ Ruth Carlisle
As I lay encircled in tissues like I am doing some seance to the gods of mucinex, I started to really think about the sheer reality of these colds we have had. It is as though someone took a large vat of snot, hooked it onto a helicopter and then dumped it onto our home. Because seriously, I have been surrounded by snot. Surrounded by cold symptoms. Surrounded isn't even a good word, because it has overtaken me also. We have been invaded. So much so that it is almost like second nature to have some snot dripping down your nose and instead of listening to the sweet slumber of slight snores, I am invaded by post nasal drip coughs.
The three year old with the chapped face. He put lotion on it last night with his little palms and it reminded me of that scene in Home Alone when McCauley Culken is putting the after shave on his face and it begins to sting. It was a tragedy at it's finest.
The 4 year old with the post nasal drip and the wacked out hair, somehow they go together.
Our lips are chapped, ours ears are itchy. We have been coughing at each other as a means of communication. "Cough three times if you want a cough drop, four for some peppermint tea."
This time of year is just terrible. Germs. I seriously walk around with Lysol with bleach in a holster. You sneeze, I am spraying everything in your general vicinity.
Our noses are raw from blowing and we smell of Vapor Rub.
The three year old with the chapped face. He put lotion on it last night with his little palms and it reminded me of that scene in Home Alone when McCauley Culken is putting the after shave on his face and it begins to sting. It was a tragedy at it's finest. But I tell you when something invades our home, like a cold. I like a freakin storm trooper going into battle. I focus in on it and go to town. I know just what angle to tilt the head and neck so that the post nasal drip does not irritate all that bad. I know where to position the humidifier so that the person benefits the most from its steam. I know where to put the vapor rub. I know at what point the child needs to be taken into the bathroom with the shower going at its hottest temperature encasing us in steam(by the way this is really good for the pores). I watch the color of snot, and I think now that it is back to clear it might be moving out, snot phases from clear to yellow to green back to yellow and then clear again. Consistency of snot varies too. From thin to thick to paste and back again. You know, no need for WebMd, I got you covered.
The 8 month old teething child who presently seems to be at the tail end of this one...as evidenced by clear snot and a smile.
Andy's son, because he is certainly not mine when he does things like this, has now taken to creative ways of wiping his nose to spice things up a bit. Some kids find their sleeves handy. E finds just about anything absorbent fair game. Like your pillow. Like a stuffed animal. Like the cat. Like the carpet. It's disgusting, I completely agree with you. Now how do you think I feel. "Ethan, if you wipe your nose again on the carpet you are in timeout. " Seriously? Who raises these animals? FYI: Look before you touch, snot looks like glue when it has dried, has that sheen to it, typically, two long streaks of it. Please let me know about it, so I can blast it.
And that throat tickle. You know the one. You used to get them in school, during class. You don't want to cough and draw attention to yourself and spew germs all over, but that tickle, it won't stop. So you let out a little cough, it does no good. Your eyes are now watering. You try to constrict your throat muscles and release in hopes of getting the itch. No luck. You let out a little bit more of a cough and all h-e- double hockey sticks breaks loose. Your face is bright red, you are hacking, you raise your hand, the teacher looks at you like you have four heads, can't she see you need to rush into the hallway, to the nearest water fountain, to hack at the top of your lungs??!?! Instead she makes you ask. So you are coughing, eyes watering, face bright red, sputtering out key words, everyone is looking at you like you are some hacking freak, and you make a bee line to the door. FREEDOM! Or was that just me that happened to? I don't know. But whenever you have that cough it comes at the worst of times it seems...in the middle of church, in line at the store, at the movies, it's terrible.
Did I mention colds suck?
What is worse is the stomach bug. Now if I know you have the stomach bug I will avoid your presence until it has run its course. I'm sorry. Because worse then snot, worse then the throat tickle, worse then living in a pile of tissues, is vomiting. It is probably the worst thing ever, well besides the pain of a living thing coming out of your hoo-ha, but that at least as a wonderful end result. When I am puking I get the cold sweats, my fingers tingle, it is the worst, mostly because I hold back. I lie on the cold bathroom floor when I in the throes of vomiting. It's comforting, and it's clean, I know so, personally.
I fear vomiting. Is there a diagnosed phobia for that? Kids have it good. They need to throw up, they do it, they move on, as if no one is the wiser. They don't really even have to think about it because they have no idea what is happening. On sick days they get to vomit, watch all the movies they want, vomit some more, suck on some Popsicles, vomit, play a quiet game with Mommy, and then it is all better. I seriously act like I am in the midst of a total body take over by aliens who want to push all of my insides out in both directions. I can't talk, I can't focus, I can't think straight for fear that it might make me vomit again.
It is inevitable. One night someone in this house will wake up vomiting. Why do you vomit first at night? And then it will go and attack, victim after victim, and I will lie in bed with each one of them, defeated. But until then, I will do all I can to avoid it. If I find out you had it and I was just with you, I panic. Last week my husband brought a child to my house from a home that had the stomach virus in it. 'You brought a carrier here.' I love this child with all of my might, but he is a carrier. He then informed me that he had driven another friend home from where he was because this friends wife had gotten sick and had to leave. In my van, a carrier, in my van! Because once you know you were exposed every time you feel a little funny you are convinced you have the bug. I thought twice about eating tacos last week because if I was going to throw up that night, I didn't want it to be spicy. How nice to have that luxury.
And I don't care that you think I am overly paranoid. Like you like to go ahead and puke. Like it's nothing. Right.
So in the season of germs, know I have snot on my carpets, know that I love you and all but if you or someone in your home has vomited in the past week, we can stick to communicating via phone or internet. I will pay you the same respect when it comes here.
Go gather your hand sanitizer, your lysol, your ginger ale, cough drops, and tussin. We are in it for the long haul. Spring...Spring? Where are you?
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
'THAT' Toy
If you have kids you have got one. You dread it coming out. You dread the fiasco it causes. You dread the mess it leaves behind. It's 'that' toy. The toy that you have no idea why you have it, but you do because what is life without this toy? They beg of you to let them play it and after you put it off for days and days it becomes impossible to put off, for after all you allow this toy in your home, and you seriously would be a terrible mother if you did not let them play with it.
My culprit...Play Doh.
I cringe a bit when my children ask to play with it. The pieces, the little speckles of doh left all over the table top, the floor...it's horrifying.
I have such great intentions surrounding Play Doh, I purchase the supplies for them. Opps, nevermind, error, Santa brings the supplies for them. Each time I, he, whatever, decides to put it under the tree and in the stockings, I say to myself, 'Look how fun it is, a burger maker, an ice cream sundae shop, a pop corn maker, the press that releases strings and strings of doh, it will surely bring them such excitement, live a little, it's just play doh.'
And it would be grand, but it is also extremely frustrating. Do they do a test run? They must. You know, putting children in a room surrounded by the new toy enabling them to use it and play with it, and then asking them how they like it. Are they using children with super human strength and patience? Can I meet them? Because if you play with play doh with your children you will know that those press things are nearly impossible for a child. You have to manipulate a huge chunk of play doh into a little itty bitty space, and then you have to press down on a lever that does not budge for them, and then there are tears of frustration because they just cannot do it themselves. Thanks Play Doh.
What piece I detest the most is the sprinkle thing for the sundae shop. Seriously? The child is supposed to crank a knob with one hand, after cramming play doh into a little tiny space again, while the other hand is supposed to hold the 'ice cream cone,' to gather the sprinkles on that are flying everywhere but onto the 'ice cream.' These tiny little pieces only adding to the wonderful mess.
I am about to suggest to Play Doh that they put a warning on their boxes it is only fair, they do it for cigarettes. Wait for it, I am going to tie the two together. The Marlboro Man does in fact warn people that smoking will in fact kill them in an untimely miserable and painful death...just a friendly reminder to all those smokers out there.Play Doh, has also for sure shortened my life span due to the high blood pressure and rapid heart beat that overcomes me when my children are melting into a crumpled tantrumming mess on the floor because they can't get the play doh to come out of the press because the play doh that was left in there from last time has become a hard rock refusing to budge blocking all fun and play doh spaghetti noodle making. No, I'm serious. So a warning would be nice. Because, man it does look like tons of fun, it's cool and all the kids are doing it, but oh the problems it causes are day ruining life changing. We are talking about me on all fours with a little tiny knife willing the playdoh out of the little slats in the wood floor that it has smooshed itself into.
After days of begging, of suggesting we play Play Doh, I must give in. I mean it is there, what fun am I if I don't let them play with something that seems as harmless as Play Doh? What a fool I am, and Play Doh creators love me for it. I think this time they are a little older then last time, a little stronger, a little more tolerant, I mean they let Jacob pull their hair and slobber all over them and don't even make a peep to object, they are more mature. And look at this new toy for playing with Play Doh that Santa brought, surely they will LOVE it. It doesn't matter. Play Doh brings out the worst in every child. I am 100% convinced.
Not only that here are some words of wisdom to all of you Play Doh novices: It is a proven fact that Play Doh takes longer to set up, then they actually play with it before there are meltdowns and plastic pieces flying everywhere. And apparently, according to Ethan and his expert palate, 'Play Doh does not taste bad, it's just a little too salty, like boogers.' Good to know.
What's 'that toy' for you?
My culprit...Play Doh.
I cringe a bit when my children ask to play with it. The pieces, the little speckles of doh left all over the table top, the floor...it's horrifying.
I have such great intentions surrounding Play Doh, I purchase the supplies for them. Opps, nevermind, error, Santa brings the supplies for them. Each time I, he, whatever, decides to put it under the tree and in the stockings, I say to myself, 'Look how fun it is, a burger maker, an ice cream sundae shop, a pop corn maker, the press that releases strings and strings of doh, it will surely bring them such excitement, live a little, it's just play doh.'
And it would be grand, but it is also extremely frustrating. Do they do a test run? They must. You know, putting children in a room surrounded by the new toy enabling them to use it and play with it, and then asking them how they like it. Are they using children with super human strength and patience? Can I meet them? Because if you play with play doh with your children you will know that those press things are nearly impossible for a child. You have to manipulate a huge chunk of play doh into a little itty bitty space, and then you have to press down on a lever that does not budge for them, and then there are tears of frustration because they just cannot do it themselves. Thanks Play Doh.
Then there are the teeny tiny molds you can put the play doh in and they are supposed to become these teeny tiny cutest little things ever to put on your play doh burger...yeah right. Again, I repeat, children cannot do this. Well children of the appropriate age for Play Doh. And the mixing of all the colors and shapes after one use. Why do they even bother? Green will never be just green again after the first use, it takes on shades of brown, pink, blue, much like what I find in Jake's diaper...ok, so not the butterfly, but that would be a nice surprise one day.
What piece I detest the most is the sprinkle thing for the sundae shop. Seriously? The child is supposed to crank a knob with one hand, after cramming play doh into a little tiny space again, while the other hand is supposed to hold the 'ice cream cone,' to gather the sprinkles on that are flying everywhere but onto the 'ice cream.' These tiny little pieces only adding to the wonderful mess.
I am about to suggest to Play Doh that they put a warning on their boxes it is only fair, they do it for cigarettes. Wait for it, I am going to tie the two together. The Marlboro Man does in fact warn people that smoking will in fact kill them in an untimely miserable and painful death...just a friendly reminder to all those smokers out there.Play Doh, has also for sure shortened my life span due to the high blood pressure and rapid heart beat that overcomes me when my children are melting into a crumpled tantrumming mess on the floor because they can't get the play doh to come out of the press because the play doh that was left in there from last time has become a hard rock refusing to budge blocking all fun and play doh spaghetti noodle making. No, I'm serious. So a warning would be nice. Because, man it does look like tons of fun, it's cool and all the kids are doing it, but oh the problems it causes are day ruining life changing. We are talking about me on all fours with a little tiny knife willing the playdoh out of the little slats in the wood floor that it has smooshed itself into.
After days of begging, of suggesting we play Play Doh, I must give in. I mean it is there, what fun am I if I don't let them play with something that seems as harmless as Play Doh? What a fool I am, and Play Doh creators love me for it. I think this time they are a little older then last time, a little stronger, a little more tolerant, I mean they let Jacob pull their hair and slobber all over them and don't even make a peep to object, they are more mature. And look at this new toy for playing with Play Doh that Santa brought, surely they will LOVE it. It doesn't matter. Play Doh brings out the worst in every child. I am 100% convinced.
Not only that here are some words of wisdom to all of you Play Doh novices: It is a proven fact that Play Doh takes longer to set up, then they actually play with it before there are meltdowns and plastic pieces flying everywhere. And apparently, according to Ethan and his expert palate, 'Play Doh does not taste bad, it's just a little too salty, like boogers.' Good to know.
What's 'that toy' for you?
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