Toilet paper, headless dolls, and other ways kids are like dogs

A friend of mine says to me, I don't know how you do it--I have a hard enough time taking care of my dogs. Kids and dogs are strangely alike. Of course there is the warm and fuzzy things about how they are loyal, and loving. But no, those aren't the things I am referring to.

• They enjoy unrolling the entire roll of toilet paper.
• They require  you to buy paper towel wholesale.
• They enjoy rolling in the grass/dirt.
• Your bed is always preferable to theirs. 
• Shredding the newspaper and flinging it about the room never loses its entertaining factor. 
• They go bazerk with excitement when the doorbell rings.
• There is no understanding of the concept known as “sleeping in.”
• They will run at maximum speed towards any large body of water.
• They want to catch a squirrel. 
• Even though their clothes are super cute, they don't want to wear them.
• They follow you from room to room, as if you are leading a parade.
• The toilet water is one of the most interesting things in the house.
• When you talk they just stare at you, trying to figure out why you are talking to them.
• They constantly want to climb on you and lick your face.
• Removing the stuffing from a toy is more fun than actually playing with the toy.
• If something falls on the floor, it is still okay to eat it. 
• They want to stick their heads out of the car windows. 
• If you are eating something, then it must be something really really yummy and they should get to eat it too.
• Often, it is nearly impossible to tell what they are saying.
• You worry about their teeth.
• Every time you say the words “I am going” they run towards the door in hopes that they are going too. 
• When you walk down to the mailbox, they will sit in the front window and stare at you to make sure you are coming back and not making an unannounced get-away to somewhere they are sure is going to be infinitely more fun than what they are doing.
• If you leave a pen out, they will chew it to bits making sure that they get ink all over themselves, the floor and the furniture.
• They make the couch smell.
• They enjoy the contents of the garbage can.
• They eat the heads/arms or other extending parts off of plastic toys.
• A french fry on the floor of the car is a great snack.
• They stand next to you while you vacuum under the furniture in the hopes that you will find something wonderful that they’ve lost. 

O.C.D. at the Ghetto-Store

This morning was spent in a total O.C.D. manner. I reviewed the Meijer grocery ad to the point that the pages were falling apart.

I then searched out coupons from my coupon binder (BINDER!!!) and searched online for printable coupons matching sale items. To ensure that I bought the amount fitting the fine print of on my coupons but also matching up with the “10 for $10, get the 11^th free” I made a spreadsheet (SPREADSHEET!) I warned you that I spent the morning in total O.C.D. Did you think I was joking?  Excel was made for people like me. I thought about adding the aisle next to each item and sorting it, but that would just be getting carried away.

I was so geeked up about my geekiness that I asked the kids in my “yeah” voice, “Who wants to go grocery shopping?!” This was the second time in my history of mother-of-3 I have taken all of the kids to the grocery store. In fact, I usually make it a rule to take NO kids to the grocery store.

In addition to being a freak for spreadsheets, I am also a freak* about my kids being kidnapped and become a total nut about safety when there is any sort of population clustering. Add in the fact that I shop at Ghetto-Meijer on the south-side and you will begin to comprehend the full level of my craziness at being excited about grocery shopping.

Just as I issue my invitation for a big outing I realize its lunch time, which is usually followed by nap time. Hmmmm… what to do? What to do?! Three hungry, tired kids at the ghetto store, I mean grocery store, when I am trying to make sure my spreadsheet and coupon binder are in perfect sync. This is looking like the perfect storm!

No. I CAN DO THIS. I have a coupon for free chicken tenders from Burger King, the kids can eat on the way. I didn’t even have that one on my spreadsheet. Bonus!

There were a couple of details I forgot to work out…First, half way through the store I start sweating profusely, and this is not just from being a human kangaroo with one kid strapped to me. What did I eat today? Well that is easily solved. I have a coupon right here for a protein bar.

Second, when we get three-quarters of the way through the store Greyson starts complaining that the boxes are poking him. Clearly his is not feeling the saving-endorphins. I don’t know why they don’t make bigger carts. I sincerely doubt that I am the first person to try and tackle the dilemma of three kids, kidnapping paranoia AND grocery shopping.

Three hours later, we return home having saved $8.50 in coupons and $35.00 in-store savings with a receipt 1.5 feet long. I hung it on the fridge...and took a picture.

*This is where Kinsley’s God-Father, Andrew, puts in some smarty-pants comment about all of the things that I am a total weird-o on. Having been our neighbor for 6+ years he’s got some dirt. This is where *I* issue the warning of “Don’t even get me started. What goes around, comes around.”

Monsters Are Allergic to Hot Dogs

Several years ago our family doctor told me that when your children lie that it is a sign of creativity. Makes sense. Long before the brain develops the ability to “make believe” an entire plot including mommy’s, daddy’s, Disney and Spiderman, kids are able to lie. It’s a mini version of make believe, a whole lot less to develop and remember. 

There are the boring lies... I don’t have to go potty. I didn’t spill that. I didn’t hit them. I only hear about 10 gaga-billion of those in a day. Perhaps if I heard one or two, I would just give the "are you kidding me?" look and tell them that I know the truth. What fun would that be?

As part of my occupational abilities, I take great enjoyment out of pulling lies from my kids and spinning some of my own.These fly out of my mouth without any preparation. I think it is a gift.

Me: Did you go potty?

Greyson: Yes.

Me: Strange, you were in there for a half second. Are you sure you went?

Greyson the one whose lip twitches when he lies: Yes.

Me: Well I am going to go ask the potty if you want. Did you know I can talk “potty?” He will tell me. And if he tells me that you didn’t go, and you say you that you did, you are going to go to time-out. Do you want to try again?

Greyson turns and walks out. Yup, momma can talk potty.

Me: Kinsley, did you color on the wall with crayon?

Kinsley the stone face under extreme pressure liar: No.

Me: Kinsley….did YOU color on the wall with crayon?

Kinsley: No.

Me: There is crayon on my wall. Who did it?

Kinsley: The leprechauns.

Me: No they didn’t. This crayon is blue. Leprechauns like GREEN. Did you color the wall?

And she caves under the pressure. Score for the mom!

Me: Did you feed your hot dog to Parker Dog?

Greyson: No.

Me: Where did it go?

Greyson: The monster ate it.

Me: What monster?

Greyson: The one who eats the socks from the laundry. He likes hot dogs too.

Me: Monsters are allergic to hot dogs. That monster is going to get very sick if he eats a hotdog and drinks your milk too.  You better drink your milk before that monster does. The monster hospital is closed on Tuesdays. (Realize that you are telling this story on a Wednesday, stick to the story.) And Wednesday too.

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.