Last weekend I was in the shower and I looked around the curtain to see The Boy walking by, cleaning his ear out with a Tampax.
For some reason, if The Boy even touches a tampon, his father reaction borders on requiring medical attention.
D: EEEETHHHHAAAANNNN!!!! That is not a QTip.
With that, the boy is in a run. He has a QTip fetish. He hoards them away for a rainy day. I am aware of this obsession and make sure to always keep the hall closet closed. His father, however, is not so facidious. Whatever made The Boy grab a tampon instead is irrelevant. He apparently needed to clean his ears.
K: Actually, babe, it’s kinda like a QTip. For a tyrannosaurus maybe. It’s really the same materials.
Dear Lord, you would have thought I kicked him in the balls. Excuse my french. He flipped. Ripping the tampon out of The Boy’s hand, he walked away muttering under his breath. I don’t get it. It was still in the package. If a boy’s gotta clean his ears, he’s gotta clean his ears.
Then I tried to take a shower without Dad present. Not that I can’t take a shower without Dad present. I’m actually very good at washing myself. It’s just that with Dad home, the odds are raised (if only miniscually) that Ethan will not burn the house down or feed the dog an entire loaf of bread or call 911 and ask to be connected to Child Protective Services.
Always an adventure, I stood there trying to scrape the scum off my body as the lights in the bathroom flashed like a rave. I felt like I needed a glow stick in my mouth to complete the experience. But then the water went really hot, really fast. Then cold then hot then cold then hot then cold.
K: Get OUT OF THE SINK AND STOP TURNING THE WATER OFF AND ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I leaned around the curtain to find him bending over to turn off the water. With that he stood back up and continued what he was doing.
He was staring into the mirror intently and flossing his teeth.
I swear to you, he had a piece of floss (dangling from the floss container, of course) in between his teeth and with both hands was flossing his teeth.
My dentist will be very quick to tell you that he absolutely DID NOT learn that from me. I should have taken a picture but then again, I needed to get the shampoo out of my hair.
Last weekend I was in the shower and I looked around the curtain to see The Boy walking by, cleaning his ear out with a Tampax.
This morning I made the mistake of trying to get some laundry done. OK, my real mistake was letting The Boy wander around while I did laundry. I told him to come down to the basement with me but he kept wandering away. I heard him up on the landing and then heard the tell-tale sound of the diaper being taken off.
He wandered down the stairs a couple of minutes later butt ass naked.
K: Go get your diaper NOW!!! What is the rule? You have to wear you DIAPER!!! Why did you take it off?
E: Ga va ta os.
K: Whatever. Go up and get that diaper RIGHT NOW!
He wandered off and moments later I heard him coming back down the stairs. I heard a “plop” of the diaper on the floor and turned around to find him standing behind me, holding a very small poo up in his hand to me. He was talking a mile a minute. I have no idea where he gets that. It didn’t matter anyway because I didn’t have a clue what he was saying. I just dragged him back to his diaper, made him place the poo in the diaper and then carried him upstairs to wash his hands. All the way I was lecturing him. He was trying to talk but I was having no part of it. I helped him wash his hands and he was still trying to tell me something. Suddenly I understood what he was trying to say.
K: Ethan, do you want to get on the potty?
Os is the new “yes.”
I put him on the potty and he proceeded to fill it up. Oops. Upon relaying this to my mother, she very kindly yet firmly reminded me that I had told Ethan that he needed to go to the bathroom in the big boy potty and not in his diaper so that’s what he was doing when he took his diaper off. Apparently he realized at the very beginning of his bowel movement that he was doing the wrong thing and was trying to do the right thing. And his mother wasn’t listening to him.
My mother rebuked me for not potty training a child who was clearly giving up on me and trying to potty train himself. What kind of mother am I? Lazy. In case you were wondering.
As a side note, Marelle called me and left a message saying that while she was talking to her mortgage broker on the phone, she turned around to find 4 year old Faith attempting to put sanitary napkins in her underwear.
Faith: Mommy, which way does it go in my panties?
Marelle’s comment to me and by far the best line of the day…
“Is it wrong that I want my pads to only touch my vagina? Is that so selfish?”
Today I walked into the living room to find that The Boy had liberated the liquid vitamins from their box packaging. We have liquid vitamins because my dear friend Renee gave them to us yesterday with promises of “we have several other bottles and we’ll never use this one.” Really I think it was because she was so mortified that I was eating 2/3’s of a Flinstones vitamin and handing the final 1/3 to Ethan. Hey, the box says a half of a vitamin for 2 year olds. I think I’m being pretty cautious by only using a 1/3.
He looked at me and gave me a proud “THIS” and handed it over. Right after he made a fake cough sound. “Bwa, BWAHHH.”
He gets liquid medicine when he is sick. Only when he is sick. So I guess he figured out that a fake cough might guarantee him a hit of whatever was in that bottle. The kid gave a fake cough so I would give him the vitamins.
This act of brilliance should not be confused with the other day when I refused his request to watch “Ellll—OOOOO” and he ran over to the TV and turned it on himself. But he got crazy and pushed the channel down button which yielded him a screen full of snow. Derek looked at me. What did I care if he got stuck with snow?
The Boy became very frustrated and climbed under the TV table and unplugged the TV. He crawled back out and started pushing the buttons again. Thwarted and male, his attention was lost a millisecond later and he was off to peel the paint off the walls or to relieve the wine rack of all its bottles.
The next morning, however, he asked to watch Sesame Street again. And handed me the clicker. He then ran over to turn on the TV himself. Which didn’t work because it was unplugged. He ran back to me, grabbed the clicker and started pushing the power button to no avail. Then, as if in a cartoon, you could see the light bulb go on over his head. He ran back to the TV, crawled under and plugged the damn thing back in.
We are so screwed.Share on Facebook
OMG, it was my husband’s brilliant idea to have a Fantasy Football League with my sisters and friends. I thought that this might be a bad idea because I vaguely remembered my behavior from two years ago when D was in a league at the firm. I read reams and reams of pages of scout reports, I was on the internet for hours a day, I watched more NFL that year than I have in my collective life. And I drove him to a resounding 3rd out of 12th. Behind every successful man is an even more successful woman… Last year, I had a baby and I didn’t care if every football player got arrested for DUI or for conducting drive by shootings.
But this year I succombed. D sent out the email and we got 8 team members. Little did I know that BOTH my sisters never even logged on. This shocked me because thanks to automatic draft, they have the two best teams in the league. When I called my baby the first night to discuss how she was kicking my ass, she confessed that she didn’t even know the website, her players, anything. She then asked me for the family recipe for green bean supreme, which I refused to give her because I was mad.
So for 2 hours last Sunday morning (well spent, I’m sure) I stressed over whether I should play Kurt Warner or Trent Green and my sister didn’t even KNOW there were football games happening. Apparently my obsessive compulsive disorder payed off because Warner earned me a healthy 31 points and Green was carried off the field with a possible broken neck. It was only a concussion (drama queen) so I’ll be back in my dilemma in 6 more days. Kate managed to beat me by 2 points. I hate her.
I got a phone call from another sister, saying she was glad she had the next two weeks in between jobs to get into this because we had all better beware. Something about once she figured out how to use the system, she was kicking everyone’s ass.
B then called to tell me that I had created a monster. She said that not 2 minutes before, she was screaming at a quarterback who was not on her team to throw the ball to one of the TWO wide receivers who WERE on her team and to stop throwing the damn ball to the RUNNINGBACK, who was on her opponent (my sister’s team) for heaven’s sake.
B: I swear to you, if Eli Manning doesn’t started giving the DAMN BALL to someone OTHER THAN TIKI BARBER, I’m going to go right down to Giants Stadium and kick his ass.
This week has not been much better. I was up against one sister and she called to cry that she had played the wrong quarterback. Unfortunately she was calling when my quarterback had negative points. Mercy was not high on my list.
Derek got his ass handed to him by Cath, who forgot to even log in and played a player that didn’t even get on the plane with the team to go to the game and she still beat him. He has been moping around ever since. I can’t stand the drama. It’s a game, for heaven’s sake.
But maybe I’m saying that because I won this week. IN YOUR FACE!!!!!
It only took 2 days because I am such an overachiever.
Last night I noticed on the preschool carpool sheet that a kid in Ethan’s class lived not far from us. I had talked to his mom several times and she mentioned that she was concerned about getting back to pick up another child from school after she picked up the smaller one. I told Derek that maybe I could help her out by giving her son a ride home sometimes.
I ran into her at school this afternoon and this is how it went down…
K: Hey, I noticed last night from looking at the carpool sheet that you guys live in our town. I know you had said that you were concerned about getting to your other child’s school in time to pick that one up. I was thinking that down the road as we got to know each other, I could give Junior a ride if that would help you out.
M: I know that our address says (insert lesser city name here) but really we practically live in (insert swanky city name here). I don’t think we live near each other. Where do you live?
K: We live off of Main Street.
M: We live off of Elm. I mean, we really almost live in (insert swanky city name here). That isn’t anywhere near you.
K: Well Elm is the way I go home.
M: No it’s not. Don’t you live over by the mall?
I thought for sure the sign said “Elm” when I turned on it for the last 5 years, and she may as well have said “ghetto” rather than the mall.
K: Not really. I just thought I would offer because it seemed like you had to rush.
M: Well I am already in a carpool with the other child’s school and the mothers over there would be really mad if I did this. And we practically live in (insert swanky city name here).
K: (wondering how I had somehow ended up in this alternate universe) OK, I just thought I would offer to help. No problem.
So THIS is how preschool is. I had heard about this phenomenon but never believed it. Kind of like playgroup hell, but without the cocktails to smooth things over.
I then went to the door to get Ethan. Miss J mentioned that I must have known that The Boy needed a bowel movement so I sent grapes for the group snack today.
Apparently I helped 8 children have bowel movements.
I am so not getting invited to the school Christmas party.
I called Marelle today to discuss what I am referring to as “The Carpooling Incident” and she flipped out.
Marelle: So what the hell was that all about?
K: I think she was saying that she had enough friends and didn’t need anymore.
Marelle: You just offered her kid a ride. What the hell is up with the minivan comment? Like you aren’t a good mother and can’t carpool because you don’t have a minivan. You think she could have just said ‘no, thank you’ rather than give you the laundry list of every reason WHY she didn’t want to do it. You mean I have to put up with this crap at Faith’s school too?
K: No, because Faith is in 4 year old preschool and you work full-time. So you don’t have a SHOT at having anyone even acknowledging your presence let alone attempting to be your friend.
Marelle: Thank God. I can’t believe she said you lived in the ghetto.
Yesterday was The Boy’s first “full day” of preschool. Only 2 hours and 45 minutes, but it’s the 2 hours and 45 minutes I have been anticipating for quite some time. In fact, it’s all I have talked about since I up and enrolled him a week ago.
I couldn’t WAIT to take him. For days and days I have read all these sweet blog posts about how traumatized moms have been to drop off their children. I scoffed. In fact, I was slightly ashamed that maybe, just maybe, I might be one of those moms that would drop her child off at preschool and then forget to pick him up because she was having a high old time. I called my friend Renee (i.e. The Ueber Mom) and made my confessions. Ever the kind and generous person, she told me that she was sure that it might be just a little bit harder on me than I expected.
I knew he was going to cry because he has to be peeled from either my leg or his father’s leg on Sunday mornings at church. I was gruff. He was just going to have to suck it up because he and I needed a break from each other. What if I didn’t even care that he cried because I was so glad to be away from him?
As I handed him over the door to the ever gracious Miss Jo Ann, he began to cry his best “I-Can’t-Believe-You-Are-Leaving-Me-You-Bitch-If-You-REALLY-Loved-Me-You-Would-Take-Me-With-You-To-Starbucks-And-Get-Me-A-Whole-Milk-Grande-Hot-Chocolate-With-Extra-Whip.” Not to confused with the “My-Heart-Will-Break-If-You-Desert-Me” wail. And all the sudden it hit me like a ton of bricks. My eyes started to well up with tears and I choked out a “I’ll-Be-Back-I-Love-You” and ran down the hall and out the door. I cried in the car the whole way home and felt miserable. Until I got out the ice cream, laid on the couch and picked up a smut novel to read. Oh how peace and quiet heals all wounds.
I came back at the alloted time and stood behind the woman who had to retrieve her child that had clearly been crying hysterically for all 2 hours and 45 minutes. I stepped up the door and said, “I’m hear to pick up the OTHER Ethan.” Miss Jo Ann looked around and couldn’t seem to locate him. I heard a “Hell-OOO” from around her knees and looked down to find my son standing on his tippy toes, trying to open the door. Not upset but clearly seeing an opportunity to leave, he was plotting his escape. And he had some of the dryest eyes in the group. I reached down over the door and picked him up. He grabbed onto my neck as tight as he could and gave me a wet kiss on the nose. “Did you have a good day at school?” I asked. “YES!!” was his reply.
I was never happier to see his smiling face. Sometimes being “on a break” is good for a relationship.