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.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Oceans and Pools
You'd think with a fully potty trained 3 year old, things couldn't get too bad around our house. I was wrong. Ohhh LAWD! I was wrong. We've crossed over the threshold, made it to the finish line, and now have entered new teritory that I am super unfamiliar with. Let's face it: kids are gross. (I'm almost positive I say that in every post, but its so painfully TRUE!) I think many of us parents have sat, awestruck and dumbfounded, as events have unraveled right in front of our very eyes. I know I have. I've sat there, in my chair, questioning reality, and thought: Is this really happening to me right now?
Example:
Every year for the last 15 years, I have gone to the same beach to camp with my family. The stairs at South Carlsbad can be brutal. There's about 250 of them to get to the beach (I think it's 5-6 flights, maybe more). If you forget something in your campsite, you are cursing every step going back up to the campgrounds. If you have to poop...you're cursing outloud AND running up the stairs.
This year was especially hard for me because Tim had to work almost the entire time we were there. Try toting a 10 month old brick baby on your hip going up and down those bad-boy stairs. Work Out! Add in a whiney 3 year old and a pre-teen 10 year old and whew! You would just LOVE walking a day in my shoes! :)
I asked the girls if they had to go to the bathroom before going down to the beach. In fact, I made them go, even if they didn't have to. That eventually leads to a tantrum of NOT wanting to go..."Because I don't HAVE to GOOOOO right now MOMMY!!!" Ahhh Ellie and her stomping feet tantrums. I pink-fuzzy-heart those moments.
Anyhooo, we're down at the beach on the first day, and of COURSE, 20 minutes after we get down there (I've finally got Mr. W down for a nap) Ellie has to pee. I do not want to go up the stairs for just pee. When I say she has to pee, I mean PEE. She's doing this dance on her tippy toes, spinning in circles, holding her "giiiina" and yelling at me, "I NEED TO GO POTTY MOMMYYYY!!!!" There's no fucking way we're making it up 250 + stairs and getting to the bathroom on time. So I tell her, "Ellie, just go in the ocean, it will be ok." She gave me this look like I had just told her the dumbest joke on the planet. So I take her hand and lead her out to the water and say, "It will be fine, I'll go with you." So we're out there in the water, jumping over waves, and I tell her, "Elle, just stand in the water and go pee-pee, no one is going to watch you." Well she makes it totally OBVIOUS!!! And Im trying to correct her and just tell her to stand up, but noooo, she wants to sit like she's on a toilet, so she LOOKS like she is definitely peeing in the ocean. Grrrreeeat. Luckily, my family is the first one down to the beach so its just us, and they don't care or judge me as a lazy mother. :)
So 4 days of peeing in the ocean water gets me this: We drive to the Ramada Hotel across the street where my Grandma, Aunt & Uncle, 2 cousins and my Mom are staying for the week in stead of at the campsite...and we are going to take a break from the sand (THANK YOU!!!!) and go in the nice cool pool. Excellent. We're sitting poolside and Ellie comes up to me... dancing..."Mommy I gotta go potty really bad." Ok! I bolt up and am about to take her hand and she says, "Oh WAIT!!! I know!" ...Runs, jumps into the spa next to this old man relaxing, squats, and pees. Dude is looking at me like I am a freak of nature baby killer and all I can do (red faced and cursing my stupidness for not explaining to Ellie that we do NOT pee in the pool) is smile.
Can you say Mortified?
I can even spell it:
E-L-L-I-E.
mortified
Example:
Every year for the last 15 years, I have gone to the same beach to camp with my family. The stairs at South Carlsbad can be brutal. There's about 250 of them to get to the beach (I think it's 5-6 flights, maybe more). If you forget something in your campsite, you are cursing every step going back up to the campgrounds. If you have to poop...you're cursing outloud AND running up the stairs.
This year was especially hard for me because Tim had to work almost the entire time we were there. Try toting a 10 month old brick baby on your hip going up and down those bad-boy stairs. Work Out! Add in a whiney 3 year old and a pre-teen 10 year old and whew! You would just LOVE walking a day in my shoes! :)
I asked the girls if they had to go to the bathroom before going down to the beach. In fact, I made them go, even if they didn't have to. That eventually leads to a tantrum of NOT wanting to go..."Because I don't HAVE to GOOOOO right now MOMMY!!!" Ahhh Ellie and her stomping feet tantrums. I pink-fuzzy-heart those moments.
Anyhooo, we're down at the beach on the first day, and of COURSE, 20 minutes after we get down there (I've finally got Mr. W down for a nap) Ellie has to pee. I do not want to go up the stairs for just pee. When I say she has to pee, I mean PEE. She's doing this dance on her tippy toes, spinning in circles, holding her "giiiina" and yelling at me, "I NEED TO GO POTTY MOMMYYYY!!!!" There's no fucking way we're making it up 250 + stairs and getting to the bathroom on time. So I tell her, "Ellie, just go in the ocean, it will be ok." She gave me this look like I had just told her the dumbest joke on the planet. So I take her hand and lead her out to the water and say, "It will be fine, I'll go with you." So we're out there in the water, jumping over waves, and I tell her, "Elle, just stand in the water and go pee-pee, no one is going to watch you." Well she makes it totally OBVIOUS!!! And Im trying to correct her and just tell her to stand up, but noooo, she wants to sit like she's on a toilet, so she LOOKS like she is definitely peeing in the ocean. Grrrreeeat. Luckily, my family is the first one down to the beach so its just us, and they don't care or judge me as a lazy mother. :)
So 4 days of peeing in the ocean water gets me this: We drive to the Ramada Hotel across the street where my Grandma, Aunt & Uncle, 2 cousins and my Mom are staying for the week in stead of at the campsite...and we are going to take a break from the sand (THANK YOU!!!!) and go in the nice cool pool. Excellent. We're sitting poolside and Ellie comes up to me... dancing..."Mommy I gotta go potty really bad." Ok! I bolt up and am about to take her hand and she says, "Oh WAIT!!! I know!" ...Runs, jumps into the spa next to this old man relaxing, squats, and pees. Dude is looking at me like I am a freak of nature baby killer and all I can do (red faced and cursing my stupidness for not explaining to Ellie that we do NOT pee in the pool) is smile.
Can you say Mortified?
I can even spell it:
E-L-L-I-E.
mortified
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
First Place
Graduation, promotion, next level...whatever you want to call it, we are there. Not only has Ellie entered the "why?" phase in her life, but she has also managed to achieve the First Place "Gross kid" prize. She is still super adorable, playing dress up, trying to play the piano, playing hide and seek with Wyatt (yeah, that can't happen quite yet, but she thinks she's doing just that)...but this gross kid phase has a gag factor that I didn't quite have when she was a baby and I was changing dirty diapers. Even while potty training her, I've had some HORRIBLE stories/instances, but nothing has prepared me for this.
As a baby, she didn't know what she was doing you know? Dirty diaper = I changed it. Accident while potty training = I cleaned it. I don't even know what to put on either side of the "=" sign for this one. Let me just give you an example of late:
The scene is set in my slightly new Pathfinder. (Only 6 months old I believe. Not a 2011, but "new" to me. It's an 05 I think. I keep that thing as clean as I can. Washed once every 2 weeks, vacuumed and detailed...STILL manages to look like shit whenever I leave the house though)
We're driving home from dropping Jade off with her Dad for the weekend. I'm spacing out, singing along to some Dire Straights classics, Ellie and I have this following conversation:
Ellie: Mommy! Smell my hand!!
Me: Huh?? What??! Whyyyyy?? (Told you, I was spaced out)
Meanwhile, she's still holding her hand out...it's ALMOST touching the back of my seat. I have the air conditioning on a little bit, and before you know, this smell come wafting up to the front seat. I swerve in my lane because it OFFENDS me SO badly. This smell...it was...disgusting. I can only describe it as sweaty, 3 year old, not very well wiped, butt-crack...ON HER HAND!!!
Im swallowing my bile back down into my esophagus and I choke out, "ELEANORE LEIGH!!! WHAT are you DOING back there???!!!!"
She replys, "I'm.picking.my.BUTT!" (Just like that! With the sassy pauses and EVERYTHING!)
"Ellie, that is so gross and nasty. Little girls don't do that. Put your hands in your lap and DONT.TOUCH.ANYTHING." (And I'm thinking to myself, if she touches Wyatt's face I'm going to pull over and puke)
"I'm going to pick my wiener too" she says, laughing manically because she KNOWS it will just set me off into another 'gross kid' rant. I tell her, "Ellie, you don't have a wiener." (I said it like I defeated her smarty-ass-ness, but damn it all if she came back with a zinger that just shut me up and made me laugh hysterically for about 10 minutes)
"Oh yeah, I have a SCARY VAGINA!!!!" says Eleanore Leigh Phipps, my crazed and winner of the "Gross Kid" prize.
Tell me she doesn't deserve 1st place?!
As a baby, she didn't know what she was doing you know? Dirty diaper = I changed it. Accident while potty training = I cleaned it. I don't even know what to put on either side of the "=" sign for this one. Let me just give you an example of late:
The scene is set in my slightly new Pathfinder. (Only 6 months old I believe. Not a 2011, but "new" to me. It's an 05 I think. I keep that thing as clean as I can. Washed once every 2 weeks, vacuumed and detailed...STILL manages to look like shit whenever I leave the house though)
We're driving home from dropping Jade off with her Dad for the weekend. I'm spacing out, singing along to some Dire Straights classics, Ellie and I have this following conversation:
Ellie: Mommy! Smell my hand!!
Me: Huh?? What??! Whyyyyy?? (Told you, I was spaced out)
Meanwhile, she's still holding her hand out...it's ALMOST touching the back of my seat. I have the air conditioning on a little bit, and before you know, this smell come wafting up to the front seat. I swerve in my lane because it OFFENDS me SO badly. This smell...it was...disgusting. I can only describe it as sweaty, 3 year old, not very well wiped, butt-crack...ON HER HAND!!!
Im swallowing my bile back down into my esophagus and I choke out, "ELEANORE LEIGH!!! WHAT are you DOING back there???!!!!"
She replys, "I'm.picking.my.BUTT!" (Just like that! With the sassy pauses and EVERYTHING!)
"Ellie, that is so gross and nasty. Little girls don't do that. Put your hands in your lap and DONT.TOUCH.ANYTHING." (And I'm thinking to myself, if she touches Wyatt's face I'm going to pull over and puke)
"I'm going to pick my wiener too" she says, laughing manically because she KNOWS it will just set me off into another 'gross kid' rant. I tell her, "Ellie, you don't have a wiener." (I said it like I defeated her smarty-ass-ness, but damn it all if she came back with a zinger that just shut me up and made me laugh hysterically for about 10 minutes)
"Oh yeah, I have a SCARY VAGINA!!!!" says Eleanore Leigh Phipps, my crazed and winner of the "Gross Kid" prize.
Tell me she doesn't deserve 1st place?!
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Poopscapades 3.0
Woke up to new noises today. Wyatt was in his crib babbling, using his tongue on the roof of his mouth and curling it into a little taco. He was so cute. Sort of. Did I mention it was 3:30am?? Did I also mention that he wouldn't go back to sleep until I did a song and dance in the living room, drink 2 cups of coffee, then sacked out in my arms. He's such a cuddle bug.
But even going back to bed at 5:30am isn't REALLY going back to bed.
Irony: I get back in bed at 5:31am...Tim's alarm goes off at 5:35am, and he says, "Are you getting up with me?"
Ha.Ha.Ha.Ha.
Normally, my laughing on the computer looks like this: Bwhahahahahahah!!! And you KNOW I'm actually laughing. So you can imagine what Ha.Ha.Ha.Ha. sounds like in real life coming out of my mouth. (It sounds like this: Yeah Right, Fuck No)
So after I get back to sleep around 6:15am, because let's face it, I've had to get up and draw the curtains a little bit more, because that sun is just peeking in RIGHT into my face. And then I hear someone go to the bathroom...drifting...drifting...asleeeep. aaaaahhhh.
7:15am: enter Ellie
"Mommy! It's time to wake UP!!!"
"Of course it is!!" I throw off the covers. I look to the crib, Wyatt is on his tummy, propped up on his hands, staring at me with the face that says: feeeed meeeee. (He's in a good mood, screw it) I get BACK in bed, pull the covers over my head and tell Ellie, "No it's not time to get up. Mommy is tired." 5 minutes later, all is quiet...a little too quiet. THAT's when I start to worry. You know when it's quiet, they are UP to something. Always. Never fails. Doesn't matter if it's 7am, 1pm, 10pm...too quiet=shit they are getting into. Well this morning...quite literally:
Ellie was in Shit.
I walk by the bathroom, give it a glance, keep walking, then halt. I have to process what my eyes just saw to my brain...and I'm a little slow this morning because I REALLY didn't want to get out of bed. My eyes are telling me that I saw Ellie naked, a fat steamer on the ground in a puddle of pee, dirty pajamas that I just stepped over but didn't realize, poo on the tub, toilet and cabinets... Uuuuuummmmmm. No brain is now telling me: no fucking way. Please no way.
I back up...and sure enough, brain was right. We have a poopscapade. It's level 3.0 (because we've now entered the 3rd year of birth) and it was very messy. I don't think she did it on purpose. I have a feeling she got her jammies stuck (she was wearing the footie ones with a long zipper) and she had to go really bad.
What I love about Ellie is that she tries to solve her own problems. Take this morning for example. She looks at the situation and says how can I fix this?? Pee on the floor, put a towel on it. Pee on the pajamas, take them off. Poo in the panties, take the poo out and put it in the toilet. THIS is where she needs help, but doesn't realize it. This little poopie was quite squishy, so instead of her regular "balls or nuggets" as she loves to call them, this little guy just fell threw her hands, er, poop on the floor, cabinets, hands, tub and her back (don't know HOW that happened).
Solution: lots of bleach, curse words, and now: coffee.
The End. Welcome to my day. Is it Friday yet??? (As IF that would prevent from this happening tomorrow) Until next time folks, have a super duper day, and remember...antibacterial soap. It's your kids' best friend.
But even going back to bed at 5:30am isn't REALLY going back to bed.
Irony: I get back in bed at 5:31am...Tim's alarm goes off at 5:35am, and he says, "Are you getting up with me?"
Ha.Ha.Ha.Ha.
Normally, my laughing on the computer looks like this: Bwhahahahahahah!!! And you KNOW I'm actually laughing. So you can imagine what Ha.Ha.Ha.Ha. sounds like in real life coming out of my mouth. (It sounds like this: Yeah Right, Fuck No)
So after I get back to sleep around 6:15am, because let's face it, I've had to get up and draw the curtains a little bit more, because that sun is just peeking in RIGHT into my face. And then I hear someone go to the bathroom...drifting...drifting...asleeeep. aaaaahhhh.
7:15am: enter Ellie
"Mommy! It's time to wake UP!!!"
"Of course it is!!" I throw off the covers. I look to the crib, Wyatt is on his tummy, propped up on his hands, staring at me with the face that says: feeeed meeeee. (He's in a good mood, screw it) I get BACK in bed, pull the covers over my head and tell Ellie, "No it's not time to get up. Mommy is tired." 5 minutes later, all is quiet...a little too quiet. THAT's when I start to worry. You know when it's quiet, they are UP to something. Always. Never fails. Doesn't matter if it's 7am, 1pm, 10pm...too quiet=shit they are getting into. Well this morning...quite literally:
Ellie was in Shit.
I walk by the bathroom, give it a glance, keep walking, then halt. I have to process what my eyes just saw to my brain...and I'm a little slow this morning because I REALLY didn't want to get out of bed. My eyes are telling me that I saw Ellie naked, a fat steamer on the ground in a puddle of pee, dirty pajamas that I just stepped over but didn't realize, poo on the tub, toilet and cabinets... Uuuuuummmmmm. No brain is now telling me: no fucking way. Please no way.
I back up...and sure enough, brain was right. We have a poopscapade. It's level 3.0 (because we've now entered the 3rd year of birth) and it was very messy. I don't think she did it on purpose. I have a feeling she got her jammies stuck (she was wearing the footie ones with a long zipper) and she had to go really bad.
What I love about Ellie is that she tries to solve her own problems. Take this morning for example. She looks at the situation and says how can I fix this?? Pee on the floor, put a towel on it. Pee on the pajamas, take them off. Poo in the panties, take the poo out and put it in the toilet. THIS is where she needs help, but doesn't realize it. This little poopie was quite squishy, so instead of her regular "balls or nuggets" as she loves to call them, this little guy just fell threw her hands, er, poop on the floor, cabinets, hands, tub and her back (don't know HOW that happened).
Solution: lots of bleach, curse words, and now: coffee.
The End. Welcome to my day. Is it Friday yet??? (As IF that would prevent from this happening tomorrow) Until next time folks, have a super duper day, and remember...antibacterial soap. It's your kids' best friend.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Skunk and Tuna
"Mommy, poo-poo smells like skunk and pee-pee smells like tuna" -Ellie Phipps
Well there you have it folks, from the mouth of babes, Skunk and tuna. I don't know what possesses her to have to tell me, daily, the consistency of her bowel movements. Maybe it's just a fascinating subject to kiddos. Their body made this nastiness and here it is in a bowl of water to look at. It's just magnified for ALL to see! Yeah! (whoaa, totally sarcastic here) I've caught Ellie just sitting on the floor with her chin resting on the toilet bowl, staring deeply into the toilet, having a conversation with her dearly departed shits. W.t.f child??! Wash your damn hands AND your face now.
Recently, I've found myself stepping in puddles. Puddles of pee that is. Gross, yes I know. Apparently, I have a puppy in my house?? No, not a puppy...a 3 year old who likes to use her new found potty training abilities to control me. At first, I used to have to stop what I was doing, clean it all up, be nice and show her where the toilet is and what to do...now, after I found out its a fucking game to her, SHE gets to clean up the mess AND clean the floor. The problem is that she waits to long to go to the bathroom. She refuses to go when I ask her. So then I see her doing THE dance. This isn't your average little kid dance where they are trying to bounce up and down, stomp their feet and clap their hands...No, Ellie's pee-pee dance is quite funny. She runs around in circles. So if you're ever at our house or babysitting her and she starts running in circles...she has to pee. Every now and again though...I step in a puddle.
Moving on to more important topics (This next one is a total Ellie classic)
We've *(and by we I mean ELLIE) had the pleasure of identifying body parts. She loves the song, "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" ... in addition to those, she has asked about her and Wyatt's different private parts. (Already, I know, you're probably laughing because really, 3 year olds and talking about private parts...it's not private. She asks publicly ALL the time, SO fucking embarrassing...but I'm keeping count.)
Ellie: "What's THAT???" (pointing to Wyatt's wiener)
Me: "That is Wyatt's private part, it's called a penis"
Ellie: "PENIS????? HAHAHAHAHAA!!!! WyWy has a Penis!?" (I'm already giggling as Im changing him and she's watching )
Ellie: "Do I have a penis?"
Me: "No sweetheart, girls have a vagina, and boys have a penis"
Ellie: "A gina??"
Me: "Va-va-Vagina" (and then I'm thinking...should I really be teaching her this word?? But whatever, it's the scientific term, and I'd rather her say vagina, then some of the other terms that its called)
She kind of loses interest at this point...until the other day, when we had our friends Julie and Brian over... Ellie asks Julie...whispering..."Do YOU have a vagina?" and while Julie and I were starring at each other, laughing inside and trying not to draw too much attention to what Ellie had just said, she replied...whispering..."Yes, Ellie, I do."
So there you have it. Vagina.
Well there you have it folks, from the mouth of babes, Skunk and tuna. I don't know what possesses her to have to tell me, daily, the consistency of her bowel movements. Maybe it's just a fascinating subject to kiddos. Their body made this nastiness and here it is in a bowl of water to look at. It's just magnified for ALL to see! Yeah! (whoaa, totally sarcastic here) I've caught Ellie just sitting on the floor with her chin resting on the toilet bowl, staring deeply into the toilet, having a conversation with her dearly departed shits. W.t.f child??! Wash your damn hands AND your face now.
Recently, I've found myself stepping in puddles. Puddles of pee that is. Gross, yes I know. Apparently, I have a puppy in my house?? No, not a puppy...a 3 year old who likes to use her new found potty training abilities to control me. At first, I used to have to stop what I was doing, clean it all up, be nice and show her where the toilet is and what to do...now, after I found out its a fucking game to her, SHE gets to clean up the mess AND clean the floor. The problem is that she waits to long to go to the bathroom. She refuses to go when I ask her. So then I see her doing THE dance. This isn't your average little kid dance where they are trying to bounce up and down, stomp their feet and clap their hands...No, Ellie's pee-pee dance is quite funny. She runs around in circles. So if you're ever at our house or babysitting her and she starts running in circles...she has to pee. Every now and again though...I step in a puddle.
Moving on to more important topics (This next one is a total Ellie classic)
We've *(and by we I mean ELLIE) had the pleasure of identifying body parts. She loves the song, "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" ... in addition to those, she has asked about her and Wyatt's different private parts. (Already, I know, you're probably laughing because really, 3 year olds and talking about private parts...it's not private. She asks publicly ALL the time, SO fucking embarrassing...but I'm keeping count.)
Ellie: "What's THAT???" (pointing to Wyatt's wiener)
Me: "That is Wyatt's private part, it's called a penis"
Ellie: "PENIS????? HAHAHAHAHAA!!!! WyWy has a Penis!?" (I'm already giggling as Im changing him and she's watching )
Ellie: "Do I have a penis?"
Me: "No sweetheart, girls have a vagina, and boys have a penis"
Ellie: "A gina??"
Me: "Va-va-Vagina" (and then I'm thinking...should I really be teaching her this word?? But whatever, it's the scientific term, and I'd rather her say vagina, then some of the other terms that its called)
She kind of loses interest at this point...until the other day, when we had our friends Julie and Brian over... Ellie asks Julie...whispering..."Do YOU have a vagina?" and while Julie and I were starring at each other, laughing inside and trying not to draw too much attention to what Ellie had just said, she replied...whispering..."Yes, Ellie, I do."
So there you have it. Vagina.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Onsies: My Nemisis
I have forgotten how nasty a newborn diaper can get. Recently, I've had to alter my diet severely due to my little s.u.n's sissy-lala stomach issues. In "the books" it says that garlic, onions, broccoli, and hoppy beer can give newborns gas and make them extra fussy. Well, they forgot to mention dairy. So not only can I NOT have any of the above, every time I have a glass of milk or some cheese (or CHOCOLATE even), after the next feeding, Mr. W goes to a whole new level of newborn shit status. Usually, his little mustard bomb poops are coming out of the sides, but throw in some dairy and we have it coming out heading north, south, east AND west.
Thank goodness they don't smell.
And What The Fuck is up with dressing newborns in onsies??! I thought I loved them. I don't anymore. Have you ever tried to change a 7 week old, whose just blown the biggest crap that it's at the nape of his neck, out of a damn onsie??? How do I NOT get it in his hair??? Legs?? Arms?? Even face!? I know what you're thinking...how does it get on his face? Oh trust me. It can, and will, and does. He has no control over his pudgy little arms and legs. So he's cooing at me because FINALLY, he's got some relief from his little gassy stomach and blown some major ass. Those little cute hands and feet are a damn nuisance. While I'm trying to get the shit stained onsie off of him, he's doing the wiggliy-piggily dance...so of course, poop everywhere! I've wondered if he's ready for a bigger diaper...but recently we tried a size 2 and he was swimming...so we're sticking with 1's and Huggies for sure, they leak the least.
cant type one handed...will continue poo rant later :)
Thank goodness they don't smell.
And What The Fuck is up with dressing newborns in onsies??! I thought I loved them. I don't anymore. Have you ever tried to change a 7 week old, whose just blown the biggest crap that it's at the nape of his neck, out of a damn onsie??? How do I NOT get it in his hair??? Legs?? Arms?? Even face!? I know what you're thinking...how does it get on his face? Oh trust me. It can, and will, and does. He has no control over his pudgy little arms and legs. So he's cooing at me because FINALLY, he's got some relief from his little gassy stomach and blown some major ass. Those little cute hands and feet are a damn nuisance. While I'm trying to get the shit stained onsie off of him, he's doing the wiggliy-piggily dance...so of course, poop everywhere! I've wondered if he's ready for a bigger diaper...but recently we tried a size 2 and he was swimming...so we're sticking with 1's and Huggies for sure, they leak the least.
cant type one handed...will continue poo rant later :)
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