And They Lived Happily Ever After

Taking time out to back track today. It’s a very special day to me…

Let’s flash back 10 years…

July 2000

Dating Guy, went to a party with Sister of Guy and Sister boyfriend at Sister boyfriends cousins house. Saw cousin. Ohhh he’s a cute guy (hence forth referred to as Dream Guy ), wanted to talk to Dream Guy, but had Guy so let the whole go. 

January 2001, New Years Eve

Said boyfriend dumped me, (I know right?! I got dumped AT A NEW YEARS EVE PARTY!)

End of January 2001

Went to a party to see ex-boyfriend (please insert eye roll at 20 year old stupidity here). Upon entering saw dream guy. 

Dream Guy’s friend asked me for my number. Mad at ex-boyfriend, gave dream Friend my number. Friend began calling.

February 14, 2001

 Friend sent flowers on valentine’s day. Ohh that’s nice. Actually I still have the card because I thought it was just so thoughtful of Friend to send. Went to Nuthouse Sports Bar at request of Friend to hang out with friends of Friend. Oh what a sweet guy Friend was (is), but I loved his roommate—Dream Guy. 

Sat next to Dream Guy and commenced conversation. O.M.G. (I realize that this was all prior to this popular catch phrase, but it fits so shut-it, I’m telling a love story here). My knee was touching his knee under the table. Eeeeeekkkkk!! MY KNEE IS TOUCHING HIS KNEEE!!! And he wasn’t moving his knee away. Did Dream Guy love me too?!! Could it be?

Told Friend, “Sorry I love another.” Since Friend had been calling  me for all of one-week, I don’t believe he was heartbroken. Friend remains a friend and is quite the ladies man. I am sure I was easily replaced so don’t go painting me the mean girl in this picture.

February 17, 2001

Went to study session (I feel guilty putting two parties and a bar in one story, so we’ll call it a study session) and tried to flirt my way into the heart of Dream Guy. Hit major road blocks upon my route, but feeling as though there is still a chance. Friend of Friend and of Dream Guy asks me for my number. Noooooo!! I like Dream Guy! I want Dream Guy to ask for my number!

“Sorry, I am actually interested in someone else.” Friend of friend leans over and barfs off side of porch. Apparently friend of Friend had done too much studying that night. Dream Guy leaves with friend of Friend who is feeling under the weather. 

Now we arrive upon February 18, 2001…Morning.

Call Dream Guy’s house. “Did you guy’s all get home okay last night?” 

Dream guy, “Yes.” 

Awkward silence.

Dream guy, “Hey, I heard you like someone. I hope it isn’t me.” Did he just say I hope it isn’t me??!! Awww heartbroken. He was my dream guy. 

Me, “Oh no. Don’t worry about it.”

Sad. 

5:00 pm February 18, 2001…

AOL Instant Message from Dream Guy. “Hey.”

O.M.G. Flirty instant message conversation begins…flirty instant message conversation continues for hours. 

10:00 pm February 18, 2001

Dream Guy messages, “Can I come see you?”

No, it’s too late. 

Dream guy “please?” 

I cave. “Okay, but you can’t stay long. I have to work in a.m.”

Dream guy arrives at my dorm. My insides are about to explode. Be cool. Be cool. EEEKKKK. Be cool.

Face to face, one on one conversation with Dream Guy. The more we talk, the more I think Ohhhh!! I LOVVVVE him. 

Dream Guy says “I’d like to kiss you.” This would be my very last first kiss.

Dream Guy leaves to go to his home. Dream guy stays in my heart forever and ever, for several years dating, for proposal at Pentwater, for wedding, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for three beautiful healthy babies, two homes, several jobs, and for happily ever after. 

Dream Guy I Love You!

Potty Mouth Itis

My smart, sweet, beautiful, darling daughter suffers from potty-mouth-itis. If you are deeply offended by the taking of the Lords name in vain, please do not read any further and please-oh-please please please do not spend any time with Kinsley.

This all started several months ago. There is a parent in our house, not to be named, who suffers from his own version of potty-mouth-itis. I believe it was through this connection Kinsley contracted her illness. I remain firmly convinced that for a women, when she has children who hormones change in such a way that she uses words like poo, geez, darn and dang in her regular vocabulary.

I’ll admit the first time I heard her tiny sweet little voice saying “G. Damnit” I started cracking up. Then tried to regain composure and sternly said, we don’t say that—it’s not nice. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, we all know that if it is a big NO, then it is way more fun to participate it.

There was the day I took all the kids to the grocery store. Despite being totally brain fried and dripping with sweat from this outing (what in the world was I thinking?!)  I am sure that I was still using words like dang, darn, and poo. Still Kinsley must have sensed my stress and felt it the perfect time to drop her own feelings of frustration, G.D .it! (Abbreviation was not used vocally). So what happens next? Oh Greyson replies with the same—G.D. it! Back and forth, back and forth they go. They got a good three speed rounds in before I firmly announced they were NOT going to get M & M’s in the checkout lane if I heard that one more time. Issue resolved.

We reached a new level of potty-mouth-itis when Bo let out a big “grrrrrr” in frustration. Kinsley immediately blurted out what she thought should follow. Super. We have utilized the philosophy of Pavlov’s Dogs to train our 2 year old to respond with swear words when she hears someone being frustrated. Looking on the positive, great job making an appropriate association! On the downside, the chance that she is going to give a big ole’ swear word in the company of someone who is going to be deeply offended therefore forcing me to retract into a hole of shame is increasing. Parent suffering from potty-mouth-itis ceased foul language at this point.

Kinsley sensed the absence of swearing in our home and felt the need to fill it. “G.D. it I pee pee’d in my pants.” “G.D.it, Dora all done.” “The fishies swam and swam all over the G.D. it.” SERIOUSLY???!!! Confession part #2: it is STILL funny each and every single time. I have a terrible sense of humor that loves when my children behave inappropriately. Every time she says it, it’s like I have the good angel and bad angel on each shoulder. 

Good Angel: This is not okay Mom. Step up. Be a parent here.

Bad Angel: hahaha!! That was hilarious! Don’t worry, she’ll just outgrow it. Probably every kid swears.

Good angel wins. “Kinsley stop it or you are going to get soap in your mouth.” Kinsley has never had soap in her mouth but she is smart enough to know soap does not equal yum.

The potty-mouth-itis currently remains an issue. It was no surprise when my Mom called to report that Kinsley (who has been having a long weekend at their house) was going around singing G.D. it, G.D.it, G.D. it. UGHHHHH!!! Have no fear—my mother is a genius! Every time Kinsley says it, my mom says in the same emphatic tone, “That’s right. GOD LOVES IT!”

Maybe now people will think potty-mouth-itis daughter is singing praises. I have a feeling the phrase “God love it” will need to be further reinforced before the issue is resolved.  Sigh. It could be worse…Greyson could still be declaring in a very LOUD voice, “Mommy, she has a BIGGGGG butt!”

The Lack of a Helping Hand

Do you ever NOT want your kids to do something for themselves? Not because it wouldn’t be good for them, or even that you don’t want them to know how, but simply because you just want to hurry up and do it yourself? 

I realize this makes me sound horribly mean and lazy, but I am pretty sure there is not one parent out there that hasn’t stood clenching their teeth while their kid tries to wiggle into their own socks when you are already 10 minutes late for a doctors appointment. For me, this is the biggest test of a parents patience. 

Kinsley is my “I do it myself” child. I don’t know if it is a girl thing, a second child thing or just a Kinsley thing but absolutely everything she must do herself.

She is committed to changing her clothes at least 3 times a day. This is not an issue for me at all. Rock on with your fashionista self girl! She loves, loves, loves clothes. She loves folding them (or rolling them in a ball) putting them in her dresser, pulling them out of her dresser, carrying them around the house, and of course wearing them. (Don’t worry, I am not ruining the planet by doing excessive amounts of laundry. I don’t put each change of  clothes in the laundry, I do an inspection to determine clean, clean enough or dirty.)

Like I said, changing her clothes over and over no issue. Picking out ridiculous ensembles, again no issue. Even having to repeatedly pick up all of the discarded clothes no issue. The issue lies in the “I do it.” 

Kinsley is INSISTENT on getting herself dressed. If you are even thinking for a nanosecond, why don’t you just tell her no and do it yourself? Then clearly you do not know my daughter or the stubborn gene that I have passed down to her. To OFFER help would be to ask for a complete and total tantrum of monumental proportions. “I do it. I do it. Self. Self. No. No. No.” 

If you dare to tackle her (pardon me, I mean tackle like gingerly holding her on your lap and cooing “let mommy help you darling.”) and manage to hold (hug) her long enough (5-10 minutes) to get her dressed (in the chosen panda bear pants, butterfly shirt and light up tutu) then she will start struggle to free herself from the clothes that have been tarnished by your touch and start the process all over again.

This can go on the entire morning. Generally the process begins again after nap time. So instead of tackling (hugging) her I patiently sit there while she again puts two legs in one pant hole and shoves her arm through the neck of her shirt.

Then comes the pay off—the beaming smile from a two year old who believes she did it all herself. For a moment I feel like I am such a great mom for just sitting and encouraging her, ever so softly putting forth a guiding touch...then she see's the kitty pant, looks down at the panda pants, pulls the kitty pants out of the drawer and I just walk out of the room.

I'm Super Mom. Pleased to meet you!

Hello, I would like to introduce you to super-mom. Yes, that would be me. Today I made baby food. The fact that we were out of baby food and I forgot to buy it when I went to the grocery store *may* have been a factor, don’t judge.

So I opened the can of sweet potatoes (again, here you go with the criticism, I did indeed use canned sweet potatoes instead of peeling, dicing, boiling fresh ones. There is only so much time in a day!) Then popped them in the food processor (okay now, you are getting picky. Mashing by hand does mean I love my child more; that is the way things went in the stone-age, before they invented the wheel. We have gadgets for things now.) Pushing a button to make baby food is the way to go! Ti-da!!! Baby food is made! That only took 10 minutes to make me the most fabulous parent in the whole wide world. 

There I am feeding my home-made, canned sweet potato, food processor-ized baby food to Little Man and booming with pride.  He is digging it too. I am AWESOME. 

THEN, I realize all is quiet in the kitchen. Uh-oh.

Sweet Mom la-di-da sing songy voice. Me: Greyson?? What are you doing?

Inquisitive toddler in la-di-da sing songy voice. Greyson: Playing with the silverware.

Remain calm. Channel the calm, cool, collected voice. Ommmmm.

Me: Greyson you can play with the spoons and forks but leave the knives* alone.

Greyson: I’m already done with those ones Mom. I put them back.

There goes my supermom award. I was in the kitchen 3 minutes ago! They are going to come and take my cape and everything. 

*Before you report me to CPS, I was referring to butter knives not steak knives. I am not THAT bad. 

The Case of the Missing Purse

Today I was on a hunt for my purse. Not like shopping for a purse, I mean my actual credit/debit, ID and money containing purse. This was day #3 that it had been missing. I figure it was about time to look for it. Obviously on day #1 I looked in all the obvious places, places where it SHOULD be. On day #2 I looked in the places it could be—under the couch? Hiding under something on the counter? Left in the car?

As an FYI—I carry a wristlet not a full size purse, so when it is lost there are a lot more places it can go. Yes I did just say “when it is lost” indicating this is not the first time. This is about the ten-bazillionith time. Kinsley has a fondness for things that are mine, particularly things that she should not have. The purse and cell phone are favorites (if you recall the story about  her eating the space bar off of my cell phone TWICE.) Naturally, I am pretty sure I know how it came to be misplaced.

Generally she doesn’t take the entire purse, she just grabs it and starts emptying it, tossing cards throughout the house. It’s like a game of Hansel and Gretel with plastic. If this were a game on Minute-To-Win-It, we’d be rich!

Kinsley is in the “stashing” phase, you know the one where it is just oh-so-very-very-fun to put things places. Unfortunately, she has not yet acquired the skills to remember where she has stashed the goods. It wasn’t too surprising when I found a cheesestick inside of the flashlight—this is the kind of crazy house we live in. You just never know what you are going to find! 

The other day, I went in a cupboard (her favorite cupboard that she climbs and sits in at least a dozen times a day) and there was a small blanket, two calculators, a dump truck, an empty juice box and a remote. It was clear I had discovered her favorite stash spot. No purse in there.

Last Friday I found the television remote inside of the giant stock pot, lid nicely replaced. The same day I found a plastic hippo inside of the cereal box. Two more good places to check-nope and nope. In her bed? No. Under the bed? No. In her dresser? Laundry basket? No. Inside of a boot? No. Alright we are getting serious  now. 

Think Elyse. Think. Where could it be? I am now a good 20 minutes into the search and every time I move onto a new place to look you can bet that Greyson and Kinsley are a half step behind me to ask “whatcha doing?” 

Me: I’m looking for my purse. 

Kinsley: It’s hiding.

In my nice mommy voice, Kinsley do you know where mommy’s purse is hiding?

Kinsley: YES! It’s down there! 

Me: Down where?

Kinsley: There.

Me: Where is there?

Kinsley: Hiding.

Clearly this line of questioning is not going to be helpful. 

I’ll just keep looking. Fridge? No. Bathroom drawer? Under the kitchen sink? In the arts and crafts bin? Toy bin? No. Nope. Nada. Zip. Zilch. 

Alright, I give. It isn’t like I ever go anywhere. Who in their right mind is going to dress, pack, and load three kids in the car in the winter? There is no where that interesting! It will turn up eventually. Besides I really don’t think I can stand to hear “whatcha doin?” one more time.

Fast forward to 6:00pm. 

Me to Bo: I STILL can’t find my purse. Are you sure you haven’t seen it?

Bo: You need to take care of your things.

Glare. 

Ten minutes later Bo hands me my purse. MY HERO!! “Where was it?!”

Bo: I had put it in the bread box.

OHHHH!! Why did I not think to look in the bread box?!

The Benefits of Many

When I go somewhere with all three kids it is inevitable that someone will look at me and say something along the lines of “Wow. You must be busy!” And you ain’t kidding!! Some days I feel like I don’t even have time to sit down. I have learned to like cold coffee because the cup I pour at 8am is most likely still going to be in my cup at 10am when I finally getting around to having a sip. But the truth is I think that having multiple kids might actually be easier than having one. 

They are willing to inform you what everyone else is doing. Just in case I tuned it out and wasn’t aware they are there to tell me….

They said shit. They colored on the walls. They are taking things from the trash. They took my truck. I’m talking to Daddy and he can’t hear me.  The baby is crying. The baby is sleeping. I woke up the baby. I have poop. They have poop. They are looking at me. They won’t let me have the glue. Wait, what???? We aren’t doing a craft. Why do you have glue out?! 

This proves to be very helpful if I want to leave the room. You know who could go to the  bathroom without someone outside the door reporting what everyone is doing. 

Additionally you can kind of tune out the noise so that you don’t have to listen to Elmo la-la-la in Elmo’s world for the fifteenth time. Someone will most definitely tell you if someone else needs to go to time out. 

Follow the noise.

Whether it is crying or giggling, you can tell where the kids are in a heartbeat. They are never more than 6” apart from one another and when there is more than one there is certain to be an abundance of noise. No need to go looking to determine if they are in the living room, bedroom, closet, cupboard—just stop and listen then they will be found. 

Similarly, when things are quiet it is strange enough to jolt you into awareness regardless of what you are doing. Where are they??? Undoubtedly they will be deeply engaged in something they shouldn’t be. Oh there they are…hiding in the shower eating M & M’s. Since they are being nice to one another I think I’ll just pretend I don’t know. 

They really do love and enjoy each other. I think. Maybe. Kinda.

Greyson: Kinsley will you draw a picture with me?

Kinsley: No.

Greyson: But you’re my best friend.

Kinsley: No I’m not.

Greyson: Yes you are.

Kinsley: No I’m not.

Greyson: Yes  you are…

I think you can see the pattern the conversation follows from here. 

If one doesn't want it the other does. 

If one person doesn't want their pineapple because they want another string cheese, it is pretty likely the other is looking to have some more cheese but won't eat their pineapple. Enter bargain and trade. Already they are so well versed in economic principles. 

The idea of one person having one thing and another having something else is also a great parenting tool. Kinsley picked up all of her toys in under a minute. Do you want to race her? Hello competition.

You can lower your standards.
You can lower them really, really, REALLY low. When Greyson was a baby his shirt, pants, socks, bib all matched. If he spit up then I would change the entire outfit. Oh it makes my stomach hurt from laughter to think about doing that now. I already have 7+ loads of laundry in a week.

Currently Kinsley is wearing pajama's. No, not the pajama's she slept in but different pajama's--that is what she picked to wear today. Arlo has sweet potatoes on his shirt--it brings out the blue of his eyes. Greyson has a brown and orange shirt, khaki pants and red socks. He wore the red socks to bed and didn't want to take them off. Whatever floats your boat little people!

It’s like an assembly line.

Henry Ford should have teamed up with Nanny Jo Frost to write the ultimate parenting book. I literally line them up-change shirt, change shirt, change shirt, change pants, change pants, change pants, drink, drink, drink, tuck in good night, tuck in good night, tuck in good night. Etc. 

When I sit down (I know weird, right?!) it is gauranteed that I will have a friend to sit with me. If I am going to have one kid on my lap, might as well have 3. I recognize that as they grow this could become a problem. We’re working on adding a rotation system to our assembly line. 

When it comes to having a family, for us the thought was go big or go home!

The World Through Their Eyes

I know all parents think their kids are fabulous. But mine really are the funniest little beings ever! I am constantly laughing at the way they see the world.

Me: Greyson, why are you putting the spatula in the toilet?

Greyson: I’m catching fish.
Me: There are no fish in the toilet, stop doing that.
Greyson: But you said, I need to stop flushing the potty all the time or the fishies will die.
Me: I meant the fishies in the lake.
Greyson: Mom. (in the duh voice.) There is not a lake in the potty that's at the beach.

Me: Kinsley, why are you putting the mustard bottle in your noise?

Kinsley: I sucking my boogers out.

Me: Why  are you following me around everywhere?

Greyson: I’m a choochoo train. You’re a caboose. You’re a BIG caboose.

Me: Thanks.

Me: Kinsley if you don’t stop putting that in your mouth then you are going to go to time-out.

Kinsley: I want to go to time-out. It’s fun there.

Me: Greyson that ponytail won’t stay in your hair. You don’t have enough hair.

Greyson: Oh. Like Papa?

Greyson: I like Santa he brings me presents.

Kinsley: I like Papa. He brings presents too!

Kinsley to Libbey (the dog), hands her apple to Libbey who is eating a bone: Here Libbey, I trade.

Takes the dog bone which she is now using to take up space and give weight to her purse and gives the dog her apple.

Me: Kinsley we don’t take the dogs bone.

Kinsley: I traded. 

Greyson to Kinsley: stay away from my cup, I’m drinking my coffee and it’s hot, it’s not for little people.

Kinsley: I not little. I big girl.

Greyson: You ARE little. You’re two. I’m big, I’m 3.