My New Kids Book...If You Have Dirty Banana's

I have a new children’s book “If You Buy Too Many Bananas”

You might think it’s a good idea to buy lots of the frugal fruit banana’s. But if you buy too many banana’s…

They are going to get over ripe before you can eat them. And if they get ripe before you can eat them…

They will start to get big brown spots that are extra soft. And if they get big brown spots that are extra soft…

The kids won’t eat them because they are “dirty bananas.” And if the kids won’t eat them because they are dirty banana’s.

You are going to have to mash them. And if you have to mash the overripe, dirty bananas, because you can’t throw away $1.60, your grandfather grew up in the depression and not everyone had unlimited amounts of banana’s. He also worked for Detroit Edison, he didn’t own it, so shut the bloody fridge door already and stop looking for something to eat that’s better than the over-ripe dirty banana’s. 

Where were we? Oh yes, if you have to mash the overripe dirty banana’s then you have to figure out what to do with them.

You can turn mashed bananas into a) banana bread or b) baby food. If you make banana bread then you’re going to screw up your diet. So you have to use the 12lbs of mashed bananas to make baby food.

If you make banana baby food, then you need to feed it to the baby.

If you feed 12 lbs of mashed bananas to the baby as every solid meal over 3 days, the baby is going to have diaper explosions.

If the baby has diaper explosions, then you are going to have to take off all of his clothing while trying to figure out how to not smear diaper explosion all over him. 

If you take off all of his clothes, you know have diaper explosion clothes on your bathroom floor for 4.5 seconds.

If you have diaper explosion clothes on your bathroom floor for 4.5 seconds, then you’re little helper is going to help you clean them up.

If you’re little helper is going to help you clean them up, she will pick them up and carry them through the house towards the basement steps and throw them down to the laundry as she has seen you do. 

If you’re little helper carries them through the house and throws them down the basement stairs, you will have diaper explosion drops across the floor and the diaper explosion will land on top of the clean clothes you placed at the bottom of the stairs to bring up to fold. 

If you get out the mop to clean up the diaper explosion, the big will now want to use the mop as a dragon sword. You still have the diaper explosion in the clean laundry to deal with so just give him the dragon sword.

If you give him the dragon sword, he will go around chasing his sister, who will start to cry, follow you downstairs to tell “I NOT A DRAGON” and find the diaper explosion clothing. 

If she finds the diaper explosion clothing, she will pick them up to bring them to you and kindly throw them in the washer…where more clean clothes are.

Just buy some damn apples. Everyone likes applesauce.

Hookers In The Closet

My kids jabber jaws all day long. They are little me’s, non stop blah blah blah. I am so used to what they are saying and understanding their little toddler language that I know that they asking for fish crackers and not flap happers. Still there are times that they say something that totally snaps me out of my half ear zone and makes me think what the…?

Kinsley: Mommy I want to do a crap.  

Me: WHAT?

Kinsley: I want to do a crap. With glue. I want crap with glue.

Me: Okay, we can do a cra-F-T afer lunch.

Greyson: Where is my space shit?

Me: On the moon?

Greyson: No. My space shit can’t fly to the moon without me.

Me: That’s true.

Greyson: Me and the astronauts want to fly in the space shit.

Greyson: Mom, will you hang my coat up on the hooker?

Me: We don’t have any hookers in our house.

Greyson: The hooker, in the closet.

Me: Hmmmm…who put the hooker in the closet?

Greyson: Daddy. He put the hooker there with the screwdriver. It’s on the door.

Me: Oh look. There is a hook THERE.

Kinsley: I want some pot.

Me: No POP is for grown ups only. So is pot. You can’t have that either.

Greyson: Mom do you have stupid powers.

Me: No just daddy has stupid powers. Mommy has SUPER powers.        

Greyson: The lepers came and turned the milk green.

Me: Oh look the LEPRECHANS did make the milk green! Happy St. Patty’s Day!

Me: What does the big bad wolf do then?

Greyson: He pusses and pusses and blows the house down.

Me: It’s no wonder that little pig didn’t want to let him in.

Kinsley: I want to go suck her.

Me: Hmmmm…

Kinsley: I want to go suck her.

Me: Hmmmm…

Kinsley: MOM. I WANT TO GO TO SUCK HER. AND KICK BALL.

Me: Ohhh SOCCER!!! Yes, we go to SOC-CER on Thursday.

Apologies for the Mall Outing

I feel a little bit like a hermit crab sometimes. Just hanging out inside my shell and not venturing anywhere. You should go walk around the mall hubby says. Since he is going to be working late this evening which forces me to have two additional hours of solo child management added to our daily routine, I thought about it. Then I rethought it. It always leaves me feeling like I need to issue so many apologies…

There is the woman in the Younker’s bathroom who passed gas. I am sorry that my child shouted through the stall that you should say excuse me. I am even more sorry that my other child shouted even louder that you made a stinky toot. Perhaps when they told you that if you made big poopies you could have an M&M amended the situation all on its own.

To the guy who runs the kiosk that has all the candy. I owe you several apologies. First of all, I am sorry that my kids ran to your booth and started madly pulling things from your shelves (although, I am sure this is not a new situation. May I suggest that you don’t keep chocolate at ground level? Just sayin.) Second, I am sorry that I misled you to believe that I felt guilty enough about the candy pulling that I was going to try to redeem myself through a purchase. All of this occurred before I realized that it was $2.25 and for a Kit Kat bar.

To the mall walkers. My children really do have excellent manners. You can just ask the lady in the Marshall Fields bathroom who was reminded to say excuse me. They generally say excuse me for walking in front of someone. I am sorry that they turned your speed walking session into something more like maze running as you attempted to dodge around their muchkin running. It is a great inner and outer thigh workout to move side to side like that. Oh, you just had a hip replacement? Well then perhaps you should take a seat next to the candy kiosk and buy yourself a mashed up kit-kat bar.

To the employees in the shoe department at Marshall Fields.  Your shoes really are very pretty. They also really are great walkie-talkies. I hope that the Bigs demonstrated a new selling feature for you by picking up various pumps and placing them against their faces like a telephone as I madly snatched and replaced them to their proper homes. Oh those weren’t their proper homes? We left didn’t we? Okay then, let’s be over it.

To the man leaving Victorias Secret. Please don’t take it personally that Thing #1 told me you were buying pretty pull ups and shirts for your buttons.

To the woman with the glittery shirt…they were telling you that they liked your sprinkles in reference to your shirt sparkles. They were not telling you that you had nice tinkles. Unless you were the same woman who was in the Marshall Field bathroom…if so, I already told you I was sorry.

Mouse in the House and Fork Tag

Oh winter. Will you ever go away? I try to refrain from complaining about the cold, snow, rain, sleet, ice and general frigidness of life in Michigan. It isn’t like we all don’t know this is what it is like for Michigan winters. But enough is enough already.

It was so nice last week when we could all go outside and soak up the sunshine. The kids were completely self entertained, which meant I felt completely sane! There was no stopping people from tackling one another, no removing of the couch cushions to use as a boat, no ransacking the sock drawer to make confetti. They just ran around the yard picking up sticks, poking the ground, going down the slide and other pleasant engagements that made me smile and think “My kids are so wonderful.”

I do realize there is no law preventing us from going outside when it is cold. But since my kids believe they have to be within 4” of me at all times this would mean that I have to go outside with them. No thank you. First, I am not a person who likes to be uncomfortable (shocking I know!) I need an appropriate temperature for the activity. Second, it takes about a hundred years to get three kids in winter wear. Meaning, by the time we actually get out there we probably have 20 minutes before it is time to return indoors for snack/lunch/dinner or whatever other food engagement that mandates our schedule.

It’s pretty safe to say we are all suffering from a bit of cabin fever. You can tell that the kids are tired of everything that is at their disposal when they start to look for new things to entertain them.

Greyson saw a mouse run across the back deck and wanted to invite him into play.

Me “No. Absolutely no.”

Greyson: But whyyyy mommmy?? I’m tired of playing with Kinsley.

Me: Go jump on the bed. You may not invite the mouse in the house.

Greyson: Can we give the mouse a cookie?

It would seem that in addition to new play friends we also need new books. I am going to check the library to see if they have one to counter “If you give a mouse a cookie.” I’m thinking something like “If you give a mouse food they will take over the house and mommy will freak out.”

It’s not just Greyson. A month ago Kinsley was entertained for an entire morning by climbing in and out of the potato cabinet (so named because the only thing that is in there is potatoes. Very creative, I know.)

The potato cupboard used to be a great hang-out. Kinsley would take her calculator/cell phone in there to make a call and yack it up. When that was done, she’d go grab her bag and pretend that she was going to the store to buy some chocolate milk. How cute!

She has now moved a little to the right in the kitchen and is enthralled with the Ziploc bag/aluminum foil/saran wrap drawer. Here’s a new game for the TV Show “Minute to Win It”: unroll the plastic wrap and wind it through the entire house, including over and under the dog. You don’t get a whole minute. You get 15 seconds.  I’ve seen it happen so I know it can be done.

That only leaves 4 hours, 29 minutes and 45 seconds of time between breakfast and nap time in which trouble can occur. There is still an entire drawer full of silverware that they can use to poke each other’s eyes out while trying to play “Fork Tag.”

Boy Parts and Girl Parts

In the past week Greyson has realized that there are those with boy parts and those without. This is a pretty interesting concept to him and one that provides a string of daily questions.

No, your sister does not have boy parts, she is a girl. 

Yes, I am a girl. 

Yes, your brother does have boy parts, he is a boy.

No, the cheerios do not have boy parts. No, they are not going to grow boy parts when they get big. Cheerios are not alive. 

What does alive mean? Well... things that are alive breathe and grow. 

Yes, Libbey dog is alive. No, Libbey dog does not have boy parts. She is a girl.

Yes, flowers are alive. No, they do not have boy parts. No, they do not have girl parts. 

Why? Because they are not boys or girls, they are flowers. 

No, the moon is not alive. Yes, I know you can see the moon. No, you can not see the moons boy parts. 

The moon does not have boy parts. It is not alive.

Yes, sometimes the moon does grow bigger, but it's still not alive.

Why?  Because the moon grows big depending on the rotation of the earth…Here is a cheesestick, go watch tv. 

Oh look! Dora is on. Yes, Dora is a girl. 

Who wants a cookie? YEAHHH cookies. Go eat your cookie and watch Dora now sweetie.

No cookies are not boys or girls, because they are not alive. I already told you what alive means...

G Wow Forced to Clean Own Bum

Not that I am keeping track or calculating the cost of pull-ups used daily, but we are entering month #3 of potty training G. I’ve heard parents say what a nightmare it is to get their kids to poo in the appropriate spot, but it’s kind of like labor—you don’t realize what that REALLY means until you are there. 

What it REALLY means is that I have been spending an insane amount of money on pants that get cold and hold a much smaller amount than a diaper, supposedly to create an uncomfortable feeling and encourage the kid to use the toilet instead of themselves. Here is where the post-potty training parent delusionally reports to me that they did not use pull-ups, it’s just not effective, and I should put him in regular underwear. Riiiiiight.

It sounds wayyyy more practical to have them pee themselves, their clothes, the floor and furniture so I can wash all of them. Then have them go to the potty training toilet, go there; then I can wash that too and everything trickled on between point A and point B. 

I’ve tried just about every bribe there is. Yesterday there was the incentive of “Cars” macaroni and cheese if he didn’t wet his pull-up all day. It wasn’t like I was going to withhold food, I would just give him something entirely lacking in preservatives and artificial food coloring…like chicken and broccoli. The fear of having to eat something that did not originate in a vibrantly colored box instilled enough fear in him to have 100% success.

I will give him "Cars" mac n cheese every day if that is what it will take. But oh-no. This morning the familiar scent of stink filled the living room. In denial even though I can identify the stink maker as if I am part blood hound, I smell butt of Thing #3, nope; Smell butt of Thing #2; Nope. For the love of coffee you have got to be kidding me!

Now the real fun begins. I kindly inform Greyson he will need to change his own poopy pants from now on because I am simply done with all that. All is fine and dandy until I advise him that he will also need to wipe himself.

Niagra, you ain’t got nothing on this waterfall of tears that is taking place inside my bathroom. I’m pretty sure there isn’t this much drama on Jersey Shore!

Which makes me think that maybe I should approach the Snookster’s mom to for some advice. Maybe she’ll toss in a bump it for me too.  

My Reality TV Show

A woman who I think is fabulous and beyond told me that I remind her of Bethanny. You know. Bethanny? The Real Housewife, the Skinny Margarita girl, got married, had a baby, has another reality show? Well that is a compliment to make my size 10 head swell for a month. It has been decided that I totally need my own reality show.

It would be totally unique. I wasn’t picked to live in a loft with 10 strangers; I only have three kids, not 19; My entire wedding budget wouldn’t have bought me a dress at Kleimenheimer’s or whatever the name of that fancy pants store is; I only have one spouse and we met at a party, also, I found it horribly romantic when he gave me a coffee pot for Valentine’s one year—not a single red rose; I am not vertically or horizontally challenged; I am not a former wrestler or rock star; I am sending people to time-out for tantrums and not to jail for missing bail; I am not a supper nanny, in fact most of the time I think I have no clue what I am doing and make it up as I go along; You won’t get a million dollars for doing some ridiculous act in a minute—I’ve got lots of people who can empty a box of Kleenex if given the chance; and I actually am a housewife, not like a fake boob, wearing 20 carats of diamonds kind of house wife. No I am the “yoga pant wearing, did I eat lunch today?” sort of housewife.

That will be a good name “The Real Yoga Pants Housewives of Michigan.” But hopefully soon I will have the glorious privledge of returning to work full time in which I will need to re-title the show. That is something that I am more than willing to work on when the situation arises.

Here’s my plan-I am going to have a video camera system installed on a track to run across the house. I can’t be having a camera crew following me around. I already have two toddlers and two dogs following me everywhere I go in out itty bitty lovely home. Even after having half the staff at Sparrow Hospital see all my goods I am only willing to let so many people go into the bathroom with me at one time. This isn’t an East Lansing bar here, we have limits on the number of people pee’ing in one room.

Not to mention, the lighting guy would probably trip and fall over a Buzz Lightyear toy and then sue me. That totally would defeat the purpose of having a reality show to make me rich and famous without having any real Hollywood or New York talent.

The Bravo channel will also need a mini-van so I can haul my three littles all over the world. Don’t tell them that we never really go anywhere because it takes me half the day to get ready to go to the mall for 15 minutes. But I just might for the sake of television. I mean who wouldn’t want to watch me pushing one kid in the stroller, have another slung under my arm wiggling for freedom to put something from the floor in their mouth and a third wailing and hissy-fitting all over in protest of leaving that we are already leaving because Mommy has used up all of her patience during the “let’s leave the house” workout.

Who wouldn’t want to watch that?!