Toilet water and how to avoid it

How many of you have ever TASTED toilet water???

Well this MAY or MAY NOT have JUST happened. (I swear if you bring in up to me in real life I will deny! deny! deny!) ...but here's a little story for you that I think you will want to throw up to. Grab a bucket.

I'm writing an email to a buddy of mine, (we're planning the most spectacular baby shower at the moment for my sister in law) and I have my glass of quality H20 on my desk... I've finished the water and had been munching on the ice for 10 minutes (I knoooowww, its so bad for your teeth, whatever, I'm a biter...I need something to bite from time to time.)  

Anyhoooo, Wyatt...little stinker that he's been for the last MONTH it seems like, comes into our room and sees my cup of water. He looks at me (with these big ol' beautiful baby blues that I just want to steal and put in my own eye sockets) and nods his little head like I'm going to automatically approve because of his cuteness or something... takes my water and says, "Mine?" 


I say, "suuuuuure, what's mine is always going to be taken by you kids anyways...goooo for it."

So he walks away with my cup, reaching his grubby little hand into the ice and I hear him munching away down the hallway. Five minutes goes by... he comes back with my cup. It has maybe 4 inches of water in it. I look at him and say, "Ohhh Thank you WyWy! You got Mommy some new water!!?"

(Now KEEP in mind he's been able to activate the fridge for a month now as well. Just pushes the little button and water spills all over the fridge and floor... because he just LOVES to push my buttons (pun intended). So that is where my brain was... thinking "fridge" the WHOLE time.)

I take the cup from him, and take a BIIIIIIIIG ol' gulp. IMMEDIATELY my brain says "Oh fuck, this is SOOOO not refrigerator water!!!" and I lurch it all back in the cup, hacking my brains out, thinking to myself, "Noooo! Noo! NOOOOO! Aaaaahhhh NOOOO! Please don't be what I think that is!!"

Wyatt is looking at me like I am bat-shit-crazy-momma-lady and I said hoarsely, "Wyatt, where did you get this water??"  He just GRINS at me. Little Fucker! I knew it!!! I'm wracking my brain, thinking: I don't remember hearing him climb the stool, don't remember the sound of the water from the sink...it is definetly not refrigerator water... so I get up. I have to. My shoulders are slumped, I'm dragging my feet...because I just KNOW what I'm going to find in the kids bathroom!

Door is open...*(he figured out how to de-kid-proof those too in the last month)...so Door is OPEN...no stool in the bathroom, which means it's in Ellie's room being used as a diving board for the Barbies, so he couldn't use the sink....looking towards the toilet...

Toilet seat is up. That is all. Open.

Toilet water taste like shit by the way. Pun absolutely INTENDED. It was "clean" water... and by clean, I mean no floaties or mellow yellow from Ellie-The-Toilet-Training-Failure.

But seriously, if you're ever over here at my house, don't take anything that Wyatt hands you and put it in your mouth. He doesn't really want to poison you...he JUST wants to watch you grin and eat shit.

Role models

I'm listening...not for the sound of the birds outside my window, not for the beeping of the coffee maker to let me know my second batch of coffee is done (wellllll, that takes a very close second actually), not even anticipating the sounds of screaming children as they fight over the remotes their not supposed to touch, but do anyways, and it drives me up a wall when the batteries fall out from someone losing the back of the fucking remote...no...I'm listening for the falling of the diaper pail.

We are introducing a new player into the poopscapade war here at Phipps Casa del Rancho de Poop! (I REALLY don't know any Spanish at all and I'm half Mexican, so if I just called our house the Phipps House of Ranch Poop, then we're kinda in the same ballpark me thinks)

Its been almost a year since my last blog...but not without incident I tell you. NOT without a NUMEROUS amount of incidents. Life is just so damn busy these days. A little summary: we bought our dream home, YES!!!! and moved out of that shit-hole of a renter with slum lords and crazy neighbors...here, in Fallbrook, we have SUPERB neighbors...albeit a crazy or two, but not crazy-crazy, just a little quirky. And quirky is cool with me. I can deal with fucking quirky. What I can't deal with is fucking nuts crazy. So we've been bat shit crazy getting the house in order; painting, gardening, unpacking boxes...and this has gone on for almost a year...looking, touring, writing offers, not liking one house, loving THIS one, moving, my Dad passing away (yeaaah, that really sucked), getting Jade switched over to a new school, Christmas, New Years, and dammit, now Easter! (Happy Zombie Day by the way). So to say the least...Ive not time to write as much as I've liked..but I did document! Pictures! A few gems for your pleasuring eyes later, I promise.

Anyhoo, back to the fucking point: shit.

Its always about shit.

Wyatt Clyde is 18 months old now. Ellie is 4. Jade Marie is a whoppin' 10 (Holy crap!! Im old)

Wyatt is my little love. He is just about the sweetest thing every. He is talking so much. Saying all these precious little one word sentences. He's just getting into saying 2 words at a time. But this morning, Easter morning, right after the Easter bunny came and left some beautiful baskets filled with round little chocolates and jellybeans...Wyatt brought me a little brown chocolate present of his own.

Now before I get into details...just think about this: HOW do they KNOW what will TOTALLY gross you out??!!! At 18 months?? HOW do they know??!

And I figured it out this morning while plunging the kids toilet (for the bazillionth time this week):

Role Models.

And WHO is Wyatt's role model???

Fucking Eleanore.

It was SUCH an Ellie thing to do today. I have a bunch of cooking to do, lots to clean up, 3 loads of clean laundry sitting on the couch to fold, coffee in hand, about to get my day going...and a bomb just drops on my lap...literally.

My little sunshine man brings me his softball sized turd he fished out of the diaper pail, holding his little hand out towards my face and looking up at me innocently, saying:

"Eeewwwwwwwww."

Yes. Ewwwww is right.

Role Models.