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.  

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.