Just Say YEAH

I am convinced that all you have to do to get your kids, or anyone else, to think that something is a grand idea, is after you say it you clap your hands and excitedly shout YEAH! There is the 80's phrase "Just Say No" which remains applicable in so many situations. But I also subscribe to the parenting model of Just Say Yeah! 

On Monday I announced we were going to wash all of the windows. YEAH! Here is your own paper towel to wipe them up and down. YEAH! I am not one of those people who are concerned about things like my windows getting streaks on them from not using the proper window cleaning cloth. I figure that if I am not concerned that the kids are licking the windows a millisecond after I just saw the dog stick their nose  to the glass, then streaks should not be a priority. Therefore, it is perfectly acceptable to have two toddlers cleaning them. YEAH!

Oh c’mon on now, I am using the cleaner that says “natural” on the bottle, and I am the one spritzing everything. It's not like I am handing them a bottle of chemicals and saying "go to it." This is a group effort. 

They are just going about smearing the window dog boogers about so that there is a more even distribution. The EPA may be alarmed that for every square millimeter they request a new papertowel, but I am teaching RESPONSIBILITY, there needs to be a trade off. You know what I say about responsibility? YEAH!

I have also unknowingly taught them to "Just Say Yeah!" to the point that it has become a tactic to tease one another. This morning I heard Greyson yelling to Kinsley, "Stop saying YEAH. I MEAN IT. You are making me so mad right now."

What do you think she did? Oh you know it!

Just say Yeah!

Are You Stupid?

When I announce that we are now going to wash the dogs and both kids stare at me with the “Mom? Are you stupid?” look it should have thrown up a red flag.

But nooo. I was still riding high on the guilt trip I sponsored for myself after I spent the weekend not cleaning a darn tootin’ thing.

I get to double mommy guilt-free points if I can engage the kids in what I need to do. It’s fun and productive.

There I am pushing the rump of a 900 lb. Labrador through the doorway when Greyson says, “Do you think we should wait for Daddy to be home?”

Whhhhatt?? I might have been in my late 20’s before I learned how to start a lawnmower, but I am fully capable of giving the dogs a bath.

Dog in bathroom. Now Parker dog, get in the tub. I said GET. IN. THE. TUB. Parker Dog remains four paws rooted to the ground and offers me the sidelong glance that asks again, “Are you stupid?”

Okay mommy is just going to lift 900lb. Parker Dog into the tub. YEAHH!! One. Two. Three. Lifffffffffffffft. No wait. Lifffffffffffffffffffffffffft. Okay front paws are in, push the rump again…dog in tub.

Greyson and Kinsley remain standing with the A.Y.S. expression on their face.

Do you guys want to help me? Here is some soap. Rub it on the doggie.

Greyson starts crying. His hands are dirty. It’s okay, dirty hands are fun.

He is carrying on in such a manner that I momentarily pause in the dog scrubbing to hand him a towel. In that second, Parker Dog believes that I am done tormenting him and gives the wet dog shake, with dog shampoo and all.

Now Kinsley is crying and screaming that Parker sprinkled her and he needs to go to time out.

No honey, playing in the water is fun. You don’t cry when you get splashed in the pool?

Kinsley whimpers, but he’s stinky. Point for toddler. He does stink like wet dog. I stink like wet dog. The whole house stinks like wet dog.

Now there are two screaming kids, dog hair and shampoo all over the bathroom floor/walls/ceiling/shower curtain and kids. Did I mention that we have TWO dogs?

Libbey Dog has remained in the doorway starring at me. I know what she is thinking “Are you stupid?”  The answer seems to be yes.

Soccer Moms and Stripper Moms

The kids have soccer tomorrow and I can hardly wait! Yes I am excited to see them running around with other kids and trying to kick a moving target that is not one of their siblings. But mostly, I am just excited to see if the other parents have come to their senses and if the stripper is there again.

We were at the supreme advantage of being “experienced” parents at the first soccer class. Community Ed forgot to tell me the previous session ran over, so we went to what was supposed to be our first class and found that it was actually the session making up a snowday. No video cameras. No picture taking. Most of the parents weren’t even looking at their kids, just lolly gallying around and chatting it up with one another. I wasn’t about to be the fool who busted out the Kodak when no one else did.

Foolishly, I assumed our real first session was going to be much the same. It seems that it takes several weeks to train the parents.

First of all, there was 50 people running around on the gym floor. That would be 20 kids between the ages of 2 and 4, each with their own soccer ball, and 99% of the kids accompanied by at least one parent out there with them.

I had every intention of NOT participating. That is how the parents do it, right? Besides, closed environment with only one visible escape route, no nooks and crannies for you to hide in, nothing on the floor for you to eat, and a level surface that makes it less likely that you are going to fall and require stitches.

Go.

Run.

Be tired.

Don’t lick the ball, it’s dirty.

They should have handed this script to the parents upon registration.

Instead, most of the parents were out there chasing after their littles, trying to get them to stay focused on their own ball when the other 29 were obviously much better, properly kick the ball rather than picking it up to throw at one another, and trying to hide the fact that their kid just ate a booger…another kid’s booger. There was of course an abundance of video cameras capturing their child’s first steps in their destined path of professional soccer player. I was that parent two weeks ago, it’s old now.

So there I am standing on the sideline, trying to redirect Kinsley back to the playing zone every time she came running over crying and wanting up-up-up (she wasn’t the FIRST kid to cry). Then I started to feel self conscious and second guess my lack of participation.

Maybe in this class parents were supposed to play too? Maybe the other session that we crashed was the “advanced” toddler class? No, there are other parents standing around too. Look right next to me there is a stripper mom. A stripper mom?

Go ahead judge me that I am assuming that she is a stripper. It is totally appropriate to wear PLATFORM stilettos, false eyelashes and a halter top under your trench coat to your kid’s soccer class. She probably just got done with her job as an accountant, it IS tax season, so she must have worked late and dashed right there without having the opportunity to change into her barf stained stretchy waist jeans, like the rest of us.

Yeah, so me and the stripper mom are hanging out on the sidelines.

Shit.

C’mon Kinsley, mommy will go play soccer with you.

Poo Poo Vader Head

My parents have returned to the position of dog owners. I asked the bigs what Mema should name her dog.

 

Kinsley believes the dog should be called Poo-Poo Head. 

Greyson likes the name Stinky. No Steve. No Darth Vader. 

If anyone is pregnant and unsure of names for your child, please feel free to contact me and I will ask the Bigs what they think. They are full of great suggestions.