Public Intoxication

Have you ever had one of those situations that was so embarrassing and horrific that you were CERTAIN it had to be a dream and that there was no way this was going down in real life? So caught off guard and taken aback by the production that you have no doubt, at any moment you will wake up and go "Wow! That was weird." but knowing full well this IS actually happening and there will be no awakening? This was my yesterday.

I was so excited to have the opportunity to meet my beautiful niece for a bite and some adult conversation. Boy Wonder and I dropped the fe-mini off at school and we hooked up with her after Pilates class and a quick trip to the store. Everything seemed within sorts, in retrospect, there was no reason to believe anything would go awry.

My niece decided she wanted a bite from a local Boulder eatery (which will remain unnamed for the sake of anonymity and any further embarrassment) so we took a leisurely walk inside and luckily were about the only people in the place. Out of nowhere my boy became very irritated and whiny. He put his arms up and asked to be held which he NEVER does. That should have been my first clue that something was off. So I picked him up and when he got face-level his whining increased. My niece was finishing up her order and stepped aside from the line. Then the boy cried to me, "My teeef hurt!" and arched his back, drew up his legs, threw his head backward and started really crying. Being that this boy rarely cries from pain my brain was processing, trying to figure out what was wrong all the while the stoned cashier was looking on as if to say "Are you guys going to order something or what?"

Two seconds into the mental processing, the crying halted and was replaced by a fully opened mouth of flowing stomach lava that was evicted ALL over everything in a 3 foot radius--a chocolate milk extravaganza. I can still see the whole thing in my mind's eye--in slow motion. My hair, as luck would have it, was for once NOT up in a pony tail and was blown backward with sheer force of stomach contents. I, again, think of Lard Ass from Stand By Me shooting projectile excretions onto every object in range. Once it registered that this boy was, in fact, embarking on a Barf-o-Rama my horrendous & poorly tuned maternal instinct to put him down and let him defile the floor kicked in. As I write this I cover my face in embarrassment that this was my gut. I guess in that split second I figured that it was better the floor than my entire person. The floor was going to have to be cleaned up regardless. After I put him down I reached for a fountain drink cup on the counter top and put it under his chin but of course, by that point he was done. All that was left was the wake of disaster and one very sad toddler. The cashier kind of "huffed us" as though to say "Are you serious right now!" He seemed more irritated than anything else. And I felt the blood rush to my face and felt like I was going to cry of humiliation. I assessed the damage and noticed he had barfed out an entire section of snack chips that sat on the rack at the register. Awesome! My boy was standing in the middle of this puddle of doom looking like he had just polished off a fifth of Jack Daniels. Poor guy looked totally glazed over and out of it. He just looked drunk. How do you even START to clean up something like this? It was a literal hazardous waste zone. They passed some paper napkins over the counter and my niece and I got to work pushing and pooling the mess on the floor. We tried to wipe him down but he was just covered. My niece removed his shirt as I pushed puke on the floor, and all she could say was "Do you think we could get a mop out here!?" I was too horrified to speak any directives. I just kept saying "I am soo sorry! I am soo sorry!"

Finally the guy with the mop rounded the corner. I have never been so happy to see anyone in all of my life. PLEASE just erase this mess from the floor and remove any evidence of its occurrence from the premises. Times like these I wish there was a mind eraser to eradicate such from my memory. I continued to clean the floor and the guys behind the counter continued to look on with apathy mixed with irritation. The dude with the mop finally said, "I'm going to have to ask you to pick up the napkins." I almost said "No shit!" but didn't want to push my luck and piss him off...clearly I was not long on luck this day.

As he mopped they were nice enough to issue us a garbage bag for our clothes. Thank GOD I wore layers and could at least remove the larger, outer portion of puked on paraphernalia. This would be a much different blog had I been forced to walk the windy streets of Boulder in puke pants and a sports bra. Another fortuitous mention is the fact that I miraculously had a spare set of clothes in the diaper bag for the boy. Poor guy had been through enough. Making him chill in vomit attire just seemed too much to ask. The only misfortune of the clothing crisis was that the outfit belonged to his sister. I was desperate. He was going to wear these clothes and that was the end of the story. Running around Boulder trying to find an acceptable outfit for a 2 year old boy that doesn't cost $300 seemed like a stretch at that point so I was down to cross-gender my son for the sake of cleanliness and hygiene. At this point he really seemed no worse for the wear. His cheeks had regained color and he didn't mind dressing in drag one bit. My beautiful, God-send of a niece had hosed him off in the bathroom sink, washed his shoes, hands, face--being every ounce of mother that I was not--while I was washing my hair in the opposing sink as well as my hands and face, removing my clothes and any trying to wash off any trace spew from my apparel. There's just something about regurgitated, previously digested milk that emits a smell unlike any other. I finally looked at my niece and said "Would you mind if we went back to your house and showered?" There was just no getting away from the stench short of a shower and a washing machine. Interestingly the only thing that didn't stink were his shoes! Hats off to my girl Suzanne, a diligent employee of Vans footwear, who sent Chase some Christmas Kicks this year. They were COVERED in splatter and cleaned up perfectly. My niece who has the nose of a bloodhound bravely raised them up and declared "I can't smell a thing! Amazing!" I am still in awe at how she handled the whole situation as though this was her child. Completely unphased by all accounts and was a sheer genius in keeping me calm. I am forever indebted as I don't know how I would have fared without her. As she put it, "You would have been crying your eyes out." True story! Instead I was apologizing profusely and trying to push aside the humiliation. At the end of the day, "Shit happens. Buy toilet paper!"

This gives new definition to the phrase "Walk of Shame." I have done this walk before but never under these pretenses. We surfaced from the bathroom and I walked back to the register, hair dripping wet, to pay for the "damages." The guy gave me the look like "NOW what do you want?" I sheepishly apologized yet again and stated that I wanted to pay for the cup and the chips that my kid rendered unsellable. His face looked kind of surprised and he said "We'll get a tally for you. One minute." Soo, 3 minutes and $20 later he sweetly says, "Would you like your receipt?" All I could do was laugh! Did you seriously just ask me if I want black and white proof of this situation to take home with me? I replied "Yes, I will frame it and hang it in his bedroom." Finally he was laughing. He then went into a dissertation about how he didn't believe that this was a "sick" vomit but instead an "I ate too much" vomit. I almost inquired as to where he received his medical training but again, didn't want to stir the hornets nest. I just confessed to him that he had never done such a thing, wasn't sick this morning, caught me completely off guard and flatfooted. He seemed relieved. He then chimes in "Ya know, we can't sell those chips for obvious reasons but you can certainly take them home with you." Again, I laughed. To me this sounded absurd! If you can't sell them why on earth would I want to consume them? That is just disgusting! I imagined the Hubba's reaction to a box full of "Chuck Chips." And even after hosing them off I would be constantly reminded of the situation--I just didn't want to go there. I told him I'd pass. He insisted "They are vacuum sealed so really they should be fine to eat. We just can't sell them." Again I took the hall pass. Upon going out to tell my girl about the ludicrous proposition I jokingly asked: "You wouldn't eat them would you?" She mulled it over for a second and then piped up "Sure. I don't see why not. It'd be a shame to just throw them away." I pictured us out on the streets trying to peddle our puke chips to the bums and getting turned down on basic merit. I was actually relieved that she agreed to take them as I did feel bad being so wasteful but truly couldn't come to a place of peace in serving previously spewed upon snacks.

As we showered off at my niece's house I could hear her in the kitchen diligently disinfecting the packages of chips and I had to laugh. Not in a million years did I foresee the outcome of this day. I learned many valuable lessons about my child, myself and my family. "In it for the long haul" came to mind. We all survived the situation without spontaneous combustion and I combated my biggest hurdle of pre-motherhood angst. The thing that worried me most before having kids was that if one of them puked I would run for the hills. Puking is my Kryptonite. Always has been. How on earth could I tell a kid "I love you, but not enough to stand by and watch you puke. That's where I draw my line." I begrudgingly admit that I wasn't the Super Mom I was hoping to be in the situation as I didn't hurl myself in front of the "bullet" and take one for the team but I also didn't throw him across the room so I am going to have to be happy with little victories. Even though I will never be setting foot in this eatery again, I left with the knowledge that it could have been MUCH worse and I took the nugget that when my kid says his "teef hurt" I best be heading for a trash can!

Another adventure in the life and times of a Mommie!

You'da never know the kid had puked an hour earlier.
Still looks like a boy even in girly-man clothes :)

Who is THAT?

I just recently had something very odd happen. It was one of those "Wow!" moments that I had previously never experienced and the impact of this experience was a lot deeper than I had initially given credit.

I ran into a fellow mom friend of mine that I had met at a Mommy's Group out here in Colorado. She and I became fast friends at the group and we bumped into each other after the fe-mini's dance class. Just to give you a little background for this story, in the beginning of our friendship we had one of those "small world" moments. We discussed where we were from--did the "Oh ya me too!" Then moved on to the "Where did you go to college?" which brought out her response of, "Oh ya? I had a really good friend who went there too." Which manifested into swimming speak and led to, "Oh really? She was an athlete there too!" and bam, 6 degrees of separation rears its head once again. Just when you think you can move to a new state and get totally lost in a bunch of people who will never know who you used to be you are shown just how foolish you are! Needless to say, I did a good bit of shit-disturbing, hell raising, boy chasing and just all around trouble making with this co-friend in college. We had lots of fun together and it was kind of cool that my new friend knew her. All this transpired oh about 3 years ago.

So fast forward to present day (if I haven't totally confused you already). We were doing the Mom catch-up..."How are the kids? The Hubby? How's life? Anything new?" when she tells me that she recently went back to California for a visit and spent some time with our co-friend. I responded, "Ohh how great! How is she doing?" Mom friend proceeded to say how well she was doing and how cute her little boy was etc. etc. Then she said, "Ya, she asked about you too. She said, 'So how is KatieKascht doing?'" Now being that my mom friend has only known me as a mom she was not familiar with my maiden name. Nor was she aware of the fact that when pronounced it sounds more like the name of a Johnnie Cash offspring but nonetheless she paused for a moment and asked our friend "Who's that?" and then finally got her bearings about herself as to who I was and resumed speak. Now all of this seems very trite, boring and unremarkable until we get to the place of her saying the name "KatieKascht" and my first gut response was: "Who is that?" as well! I was too embarrassed to admit this right then and there but this freaked me out! I heard the name, processed, couldn't draw it up. Processed again, nothing. Processed one more time...Ahhhh--ME! THAT is who she is talking about! Seriously? Should it take THIS long to get there? And should the first, natural response be that of confusion and non-familiarity? There must be cause for this...Have I eaten today? Check. How did I sleep last night? Well enough. Did I suffer a severe brain injury on the way over here? Not that I can recall...So, what the hell?

Am I so far removed from who I used to be that I have no conscious recollection of her? So different that it takes me a good 5 seconds to realize that I haven't ALWAYS been a mom of two kids and actually DID lead a life of opposition for quite some time? This lead me to do an inventory of sorts of pre-mom/post-mom personality traits and this is what I came up with:

           Pre-Mama                                   Post-Mama
1. Partied all the time                                Haven’t been to a party in almost a year
2. Drank constantly                                  Was pregnant/breast feeding for 3 years
3. Slew of friends                                       Can count them on one hand
4. Social butterfly                                     Homely recluse
5. Loud & Obnoxious                                 …this is still intact but solely for the kids'
                                                                           benefit
6. Light Heavyweight @ 170lbs             Featherweight @ 130lbs (odd!)
7. Read only when forced                        Read anything I get my hands on
                                                                          (how backassed is THAT?)
8. Did laundry once a week                          Do laundry once a day
9. Washed dishes when all went missing      Again, with the daily
10. “Sleeping” was a sport to me               Sleeping: such a distant memory it hardly
                                                                  hurts at all anymore
11. Lived on pancakes & peanut butter      Eat from the food groups daily
12. Bedtime= at least midnight                    Bedtime= 7:30-8PM
13. Waketime=4:30-5AM                         Oddly, still the same
14. Naptime=always                                   Naptime=You’re funny!
15. Fave pastime-Lounging by the ocean     Fave Pastime-Pastime? What's this?
                                                                   I’m confused.
16. Fave TV Show-Seinfeld                               Fave TV Show-TV is a waste of valuable
                                                                                       time
17. Fave Color-Baby Blue                                  Fave Color-Sleep
18. IQ-130                                                                IQ-105 (on a good day)
19. Cleaned when we had company              Clean at any given opportunity
20. Knew EVERYTHING about kids           Don’t know $h!t about kids

All this to say is, I am clearly not the person I used to be. But strangely I have abandoned her with blatant disregard. No funeral, no mourning, no bon voyage--just gone. Is this what all mom's go through? Is this a "symptom" or "side affect" of the condition that is becoming a parent? Or have I fallen prey to a classic pitfall of motherhood that no one ever tells you about? One of those dirty little secrets that people like to keep under wraps cuz no one told them just so they can snicker under their breath while they watch you go down in flames? Like the one about morning sickness. How the hell was I supposed to know that it could start at anytime and last ALL day and night? BITTER! Or is this one of those pieces of the puzzle that you don't get until after you have thrown the whole puzzle away because you just couldn't find it, only to find said piece under the couch one day and say "$h!t! This is the one I have been looking for all along...well, I threw the rest of it away. I guess this piece will go in the trash too." I feel like I have metaphorically "trashed" KatieKascht. She is a distant memory of my psyche known only in lore by those who claim to have been her cohorts. Without their existence she may not even live in the recesses. She is an enigma; a mirage so to speak. I guess my next question is, will she ever come back? Certainly not in the above pretenses, but in any form? I suppose this is a question for the ages. Only time will tell and I suppose the fun part about it all is that I can re-create Katie 4.0. Ditch the not-so-cute qualities and adapt some more admirable ones. Figure out what I really like as opposed to what I think I am supposed to like. Maybe I will go back to school and pick my own major this time versus letting my friends do it for me in the interest of remaining eligible for swimming. Novel concept. With that, of course, goes paying for my own education as well which would probably lead to higher class attendance, subject interest, material retention and subsequently GPA. Well, it looks like I have successfully mapped out the upgraded version of myself. I guess I've got some work to do! Even though I don't know who I am, I am intent on getting that figured out. Hope this gave you the time to assess the question, "Who are YOU?" Enjoy! :)

Moronic Mommy Moment #902

So last night before I ushered the big boy off to sleep I embarked on our nightly routine...milk, diaper, jammies, teeth, books, rocky, bed. When we got to "jammies" portion of the act I was greeted with major disapproval. He simply yelled "Nooooo! Hooooot!" Being that it is presently snowing, "hot" might have been a bit of an overstatement but I am his mother after all so this was not really met with any surprise. The kid does run rather hot but you would be hot too if you were constantly digesting yet another 700 calorie meal. I honestly think this kid could give Michael Phelps a run for his calorie-consuming money. I shudder to think of what grown man version of Boy Wonder will consume. He also moves non-stop and he IS from his father's family lineage so I am giving a bit more credit to the "hot" claim than others might. I asked "Are you SURE you want to go to bed with just a diaper?" he said "YES!"..."and NO clothes?" he barked "YESSS!" so I obliged. What really could go so wrong with this?

The fe-mini woke me promptly at 11:45 screaming of growing pains and her ever prominent need for medicine. Needless to say, being startled from a slumber makes it less than leisurely to get back to sleep so after tossing and turning for an hour I gave in to the urge and went out to the couch. Stayed there til almost 2am and crept back to bed. As I was dozing off I thought I heard whimpers but I couldn't be sure. I seem to hear them whether it be 2pm or 2am as my inner mommy monologue somehow has crying instilled on those "tapes." I proceeded to fall asleep. About 20 minutes later I hear the cries again but this time they are coupled with "Moooom! Where are you? Where is my mudder?" (Obviously we've been reading "Are You My Mother?" a bit too much these days) Being that he is having vivid and lucid conversation I decide these beckonings are worth looking into.

When I walked through his door I should have realized that what I stepped on was foreign but being that my brain was still half sleeping, like a dolphin at sea, it didn't really register. When I got close enough to pick him up in this pitch darkness my hands recognized that I was picking up a child sans pants. There was nothing. Needless to say that didn't speak for the remainder of the situation.

What I lifted from the crib can only be described as a urine-soaked newt with cold, clammy, reptile-like skin that almost felt like it had been submerged in a pond overnight. And he STUNK! My first response was OH NO! I reflected back to what I had stepped on 30 seconds earlier and realized it was his pee-free diaper. This only left one option...his whole evenings-worth of urine was what I was feeling (and smelling) at this present moment. Evidently he ripped that sucker off and threw it overboard in hopes of having a night of Fanny Freedom. Said freedom left him a bed literally dripping with wizzle. His pillow, all four blankets, the fleece crib sheet and all associated stuffed animals were drenched. I was awestruck.

After rescuing him from the confines in his attempt to Flee the Pee, I started baby-wiping him from bald head to tiny toe. Clearly this did not suit his fancy as he was already cold enough the way it was but I just couldn't conceive of putting him back in bed with tinkle stench and a bath was simply out of the question at 2am. Then I had to blindly feel about the bed to gather up any pee-soaked garments or accessories. I was beginning to think the kid just stood up and "whizzed out" all of his crib articles as though they were on fire. We did read his firetruck book before bed so perhaps he was bringing literature to life. I then clothed his chilly, damp little body and sat him in his rocker so I could get to work. The pillow went in the trash as I couldn't convince my mind that it would ever truly be clean with all of the covered stuffing. Some things are just better left to the garbage. The rest was swiftly encapsulated in the aforementioned pee-sheet and sent to the laundry. I kid you not when I say he saturated every last square inch of fabric in wee-reach.

So all in all it was a relatively cheap illustration of the fact that he is clearly not ready for potty training and obviously not capable of handling the temptation to drop trou at any given moment. And I am clearly in no position to be accepting any "Mother of the Year" trophies as I knew this was going to happen. Maybe not in full detail and with as much piddle but I knew. When will I learn to trust my maternal gut and know that some things are just NOT a good idea? Why must I allow an act to play out while my subconscious knows full-well what the grand finale will look like? These situations always leave me feeling like a dumb a$$ because my conscious mind told me not to. But I guess the part of me that wins out is the part that tells me "Just because you know how it is going to end doesn't mean you shouldn't give them the opportunity to experience it." This is entirely strange because that was not at ALL how I was raised. Someone told me not to do something, I didn't do...I might DIE! I was the kid who was so petrified of the: "This is your brain on drugs." ad campaign that snorting cocaine literally NEVER crossed my mind as an option as I was certain I would spontaneously combust. I also had the idea that if something could go wrong with an "experiment" it would go wrong with me. But for some reason I don't think Boy Wonder has this gene. He seems to be one of those "try and see" types. Yikes! I am already shaking my head as I have been warned that there is so much more to come in this arena. When I think of all of the stupid shit my brothers used to do and know the same of my Hubba it really shouldn't come as a surprise. I'm just hoping that I have the mental constitution to cope with it. And then I come to the place where I feel this is all by design. It starts with them treating their sleep place like a urinal so when they manage to do it after a night of partying it all makes logical sense. Gradual building as opposed to baptism by fire. I get it. And perhaps I am at the place where I feel like if I am somewhat controlling the experiment then it is a safer environment than if he were off willy nilly on his own. Either way I am certain that the M-cubed quotient will far surpass 902 and luckily I have the wherewith all to see it, laugh at it and expect that there is so much more to come!

Food Fanatic!

I should have known better than to make fun of people with wheat allergies. I recall a few months ago giving a ration of shit to the makers of Play Doh for touting the fact that wheat was an ingredient in the magical clay concoction. I suppose this is where the foot is inserted into the mouth, the crow is being eaten, the humble pie has been served. I HATE that damn pie. And the crow and the foot don't taste much better!

For quite some time I've had issues with food. Take a couple bites, feel like barfing, end of meal. The Hubba finally got sick of it and sent away some of my vein nectar for analysis. Low and behold I am "reactive" to just about every fricken food that I love. I was given a list of 35 offenders and of course, wheat was the biggest one. Why wouldn't it be? I love and crave it the most. I love bread, pasta, cereal--the more wheat the better. Evidently this is a major indicator of a reactive food--craving. If you crave it, it's probably reactive in your body. (with this knowledge I can't help but reflect on how many people I know who are "allergic" to alcohol!) I'm sorry but doesn't that just seem mean? Why should the food that your body wants be forbidden? And then I am brought to the answer. The lesson I am taking from this is "moderation." Even though I wouldn't consider myself an over eater, I definitely eat over and over. I guess we all do. But I was getting to the place where I would eat the same exact thing every single day...cereal, yogurt, cheese, sandwich, fruit, peanuts & dinner. Day in and day out, little variance. So in addition to the list of shit I can't eat I have luckily been given a list of things I can. I am presently on week one of this "diet" which consists of only 15 food items-no more, no less (and none of which are on the aforementioned list). I guess the concept here is to change it up and keep the body on it's proverbial toes. Eat outside of the box, so to speak.

Now I suppose 15 items sounds liberal but it truly isn't. The 1st few days I was ravenous. I just wasn't aware of how many cantaloupes, plums and pinto beans it would take to keep a momma movin'. Clearly a LOT more than I had purchased. And the truly shocking piece of it all is the mental response. I have become acutely aware that I have never been deprived of anything! EVER! (Insert spoiled brat here) I've never really dieted in my life so I have never had the feeling of deprivation. The feeling of wanting something SO bad and not being able to have it. And I suppose it is so profound because the number of things that are off limits are so abundant and my allowances at this point are so few. I have to say I was a mean cuss for the 1st three days out the gates (low blood sugar will do that to ya.) I was just trying to adjust mentally and physically to this concept. And in this whole journey I was given a glimpse at the other side of the coin--how people with true eating disorders may feel. That compulsion, that habit, the draw...it is insanely strong. I just never knew how strong it could be because I have always just given in to my urges and cravings. I can now see how hard this "habit" is to give up because it's everywhere. Everywhere you turn there is food, commercials, pretty boxes, appetizing lures tempting you to buy, to eat, to indulge...and most of this crap is HORRIBLE for you. But being that the "horrible" was completely eliminated from the diet and was replaced by 15 precisely chosen items, I have also had to deprive myself of the healthy stuff which is super weird. Making a salad for my family and finding myself jealous that they get to have tomatoes, carrots and cauliflower is a new one for me and it feels absurd. Not being able to finish off the uneaten portion of banana or pineapple feels wrong. But it is also giving me insight to the depths of our habits--be it food, recreational substances or personality defects. These habits are deep and they are real. I am such a creature of routine. It isn't until I force myself to do something differently that I realize just how embedded these old ways are...and how uncomfortable it is to do away with them. Even if habits are bad they feel "normal." They have become so much a way of life that they feel "right" even when they are wrong. Luckily I was gifted this awareness with something small, instead of something colossal.

But I also must say that in doing things differently, as it is such a challenge, I find in myself a new fire. An energy that I thought was lost. An ability to succeed and conquer that I thought left me on the pool deck or playing field. It has also presented a mental challenge and shown an ability and willingness to change. To change and to mean it. Lots of people say they are going to change and then, like most of us, stop that train. The perpetual New Year's Resolution. I guess when my health and digestive well being are on the line I feel "forced." But it is good to know that when push comes to shove my brain is capable of overriding my habitual hand. This is an accomplishment as far as I can see. It also gives me pause to reconsider or I should say reclassify what I call an accomplishment. Used to be, if it wasn't HUGE it didn't make the list: sports accomplishments, going to college, pushing out a 9+ pound baby...all these were list-worthy. I have now come to the place where I can see true success and worthiness in things that aren't so obvious and societally praised. Things that most people can't see: inner progress, growth as a human being, victory over past transgressions and desire to change the very fabric of my being in regard to "other" old patterns & habits.

I've never been a big fan of applauding the minuscule or awarding mediocrity but I have now come to feel that accomplishments are relative. And just because someone else can do something with ease and lack of exertion doesn't mean that I should rate myself against their benchmark. But don't we all  do this? Gauge our success against that of our peers? It's no wonder everyone feels inadequate. There will always be someone "better," skinnier, prettier, smarter, funnier--but who CARES!? My take home message here is that I am going to try to stop worrying about what I can't control and start focusing on what I can--ME! Clearly there is a LOT of work to do in that arena. I will feel accomplished for my outwardly inconsequential successes and relish in proficiency in progress. After all, how many people do you see who are just happy to do nothing? We are constantly faced with change--little in life ever stays constant. Why, as people, should we be satisfied with yesterday? Not huge leaps. Small steps. Huge leaps are my surefire recipe for failure. Although small steps are not as noticeable they are definitely more effective when eliciting change, growth and maturation.

So this little food apocalypse has brought me to a deeper understanding about the inner workings of the human habit. It has given me more compassion, tolerance and grace. It has also shown me that I don't need to climb Mount Everest to feel like I've done something--like I've grown or changed or achieved. So this begs the question, "What are YOU proud of?" (I hope your list is as long as mine) as well as, "What are you going to change?" directly followed by "What are you waiting for?" :)

Good luck and Happy Transformations :)

NOW I've seen everything!

After practically hearing e-crickets after my Crash Test Dummy post I am admittedly VERY hesitant about this next segment. I am getting some idea that this boy may not be just be a "cookie cutter boy" but I'm going to give it one more shot in hopes that someone out there has had something remotely similar occur. This is a very large risk as after the situation at hand I actually uttered the words "Now I've seen EVERYTHING!" Either someone will say "Oh that's nothin'!" or I will be sent oodles of numbers to child psychologists ready and capable of  looking into the mind of this midget. My hope is that I don't eventually become so desensitized to these antics that I miss my window of intervention for mental help. Having these things documented when they are fresh in my mind should prove helpful for any diagnostic process they may embark on. All this to say is I am SO happy that they didn't have the Internet when I was growing up because if even half of his antics are genetic my mom's e-diary of my misdeeds would have no doubt been lengthy.

So again, this one takes place in the shower. One of Hubba's co-workers kissed him yesterday and as she snuggled in she noticed his smell. Her words were, "Ohhhhh you smell sooo good! JUST like a boy!" She went back for a second sniff and looked to be in maternal bliss. I had to know what she was smelling. I questioned if he smelt like"baby" and she said "No, he smells like poop and I love it! Reminds me of what my boy used to smell like." I have to say that I was a little confused but I suppose one day I will read this again and know exactly what she is talking about. Needless to say this left me with the urgency to wash off that "Cute Boy Poop Smell" in exchange for some Burt's Bees loveliness.

Right when we jumped in I scrubbed him up and took care of the necessities. The kids have shower toys so they can be entertained while we actually get some time for cleanliness as well. Unfortunately, the toys were a bit limited yesterday. A tiny pretend plastic frying pan from the play kitchen and a tiny pretend drinking cup about the length of your middle finger with the circumference of a golf ball. Not big but I guess, big enough.

So he is sparkled and rinsed and I leave him to his play tea party down below. I filled his cup a couple times with water and he continued to requisition more. I finally left him to fend for his own water and started in with my cleansing. I got as far as my hair before I looked down to see what he was up to. It's always a good sign that when things have gone quiet attention is needed. But he was literally 3 inches away from me. The shower noise couldn't drown anything out that much, right? HA.

What I encountered next was something of the show Jackass. Evidently he had grown tired of waiting for his little cup to fill with the hit-or-miss droplets from the shower head above and decided to "fill er up" on his own. When I looked down I noted that the color in the cup matched NOTHING that he had access to--I took pause. My eyes MUST be playing tricks on me. Then he raised his goblet for a taste of the "home brew" and quickly removed it from his lips in an erratic way leading me to KNOW that my eyes were not deceiving me. I hastily snatched the cup from him and begged to know, "Did you pee in this!?!?" He just looked up at me, eyes flushing with shower stream, lashes drenched and heavy. So I asked in another manner, "Is this pee in your cup?" No look this time. No words. I tried to "feel" it through the cup but clearly any liquid, be it shower water or urine would have the same relative temperature. The cup that it was in was gray in color so I couldn't positively ID this substance in its container. I came to the place where I realized pouring it down the drain was the only way. As I poured the "tea" out of the cup and it fell against the stark whiteness of the shower floor the circumstances were revealed--the kid peed in his cup...AND tried to drink it.

Ugh even as I write and re-read these words I wonder if he is OK. 1st his myriad of solid "food" offenses, now this. I was just in an ultra long post office line by myself on Saturday morning and got to talking to a lady in front of me who had a little ornery boy of her own. The 80 year old woman behind us joined in the conversation of kids as well and shared her history and experience with the boy vs. girl varieties. The younger woman told of some minuscule thing her boy ate (it was so mundane I don't even remember it) then the elder said "Oh dear, my boy used to eat the dog food." and then filter less me jumps in with: "Well, mine at the dog's poop."  You could have heard a pin drop. Oh no! Once again I have shared too much! They both looked at me like I needed to have my head examined (and I probably do) and I then began the backpedal. After 3 customers in front of us had ushered through the line I was still trying to explain. I finally said to myself, "Screw it. Why do I care what these women think of my weird kid and horrible parenting skills?" This was just another prime example of the distinct feeling I get that lots of what he does is not "run of the mill." Someone PLEASE prove me wrong!

The Hubba thought this whole Pee Party was hilarious--go figure. Thank God the fe-mini sat this shower out because I don't think she would ever be able to look at him the same given her uber fairy-princess demeanor. For a split second I saw the light at the end of the Diaper Days tunnel and was trying to see this through my rose colored glasses because if this boy can point, aim and make a cup he can certainly hit a toilet. But then I quickly came back down to reality as my doctor told me "You can start training him now and he will be trained at 36 months or you can start training him at 35 months and he will be trained at 36 months." If he had just peed in the cup there would be a MUCH different dance that I'd be doing but being that he actually tried to drink it takes a bit of the wind out of my sails. I guess regardless of circumstance I am going to chalk this kid up to being hugely inquisitive, exploratory, interested, tactile and fearless. I guess I am just likening these actions to the likes of Johnny Knoxville & Bam Margera and wondering if I am going to be seeing him on some YouTube video years from now attempting some stunt or dare that no one on the block, in the city limits or on this side of the state line would even remotely consider. I suppose there is no point in worrying about it now but being the spaz that I am you know I will. If this is what Monday brings I really can't wait for Tuesday!

Crash Test Dummy

Over the past year I have watched my midgetiest boy embark on some serious head scratchers. Now perhaps it's because of that Y chromosome which I like to call the WHY chromosome or maybe because I'm not totally insane (yet) that these things look so puzzling. But as I have grown with this littlest of men I am left with wayyyy more questions than answers. What I have come up with on this front is as follows:

With all of the $h!t that this toddler boy is capable of breaking why are large industrial companies spending top dollar on quality control? I have a 2 year old that will let you know in 5 seconds flat just exactly where your product is faulty, where it lacks structural integrity and the likelihood of said item failing for the small price of FREE! I seriously could have set up my own personal mad laboratory and been conducting research on the durability and constructional value of hundreds of products within his lifetime.

I have watched him attempt on numerous occasions to take my eye glasses and tear them from limb to limb. It is an act that literally brings me to about barfing before I get to him to retrieve. At the time of writing I will have to give Kate Spade and DKNY a passing grade for durability. The manufacturer of the Hubba's sunglasses gets no such flying color. Those went up like fireworks on the 4th. It was really quite a display and this was last summer when he was only about 15 months. Needless to say, not a happy day in the Casa de Cunningham.

And who could forget the Verizon flip phone that he was playing with? Open, close, open, close..."Hey how far back does this thing go?" SNAP! A proverbial yard sale of cell phone parts and exposed wiring. I was left awestruck. I truly wish I had a head count of the various and plentiful variety of toys we have had to throw in the trash on his account. I think his sister would like the same so she could requisition a tit for tat type retribution program.

Then we move on to the obvious and most numerous offender and that would be the plastic headband. After having bangs cut last summer this has been the only viable way for me to get anything done without having hair in my face so at best estimate I can say that I have purchased no less than 984 of these--they drive my man batty because there is literally one "hiding" in each room of our home as you never know when a hair emergency might strike. Moose will find one of these gems and then find me to make eye contact. It has now become a game of cat and mouse. He will lock eyes from across the room, a hand on either side of the band, sit back and watch the show. Now I know that the cost of these articles are about a buck but it's to the point that it's the principal of it all. The funniest part (and no i don't mean funny "ha ha") is that once he has demolished the band into smithereens and has also clearly and thoroughly ticked me off once more, he looks up and says "Look what I do!...All my self!!" as though it was some sort of unparalleled accomplishment! This makes me wonder if we need to get his vision checked because if this kid can't see that the vein in my forehead is about to jump out of my skull and eat him whole there is obviously something wrong with his eye sight.

In reference to his sense of accomplishment there is a yin to that yang. There is a palpable sense of defeat when he cannot break something. If he smashes two things together and they cease to explode into a million tiny pieces the color of red this kid turns is recognizable. He will try again, this time with an audible of some sort. In the olden days it was "Battle!" Not sure where he picked that one up but it was the cry for a good 6 months. In recent times it has been "High-ya!" (in Ninja tone) This was gathered from an unfortunate episode of the Backyardigans that he watched with his Gpops (Godfather Darren) where the characters were pretending to be covert Ninjas. After that show it seemed as though that was the only word he knew for the next 24 hours. Gpops and cousin Kam thoroughly rewarded each "High-ya!" issuance with loads of laughter and applause. It has now carried over into his "experiments" so I know that if I hear this battle cry from the next room I had better run, mach speed to find him if I hope to keep whatever it is he is holding. I have seriously gotten to the point where, when making a purchase I will say to myself, "I'm not going to get it because The Ox will just break it!" I have conceded that we will not have anything nice until this boy is grown and out of the house.

The thing is, the fe-mini never and I mean NEVER did this. I truly have to wrack my brain to come up with something that she has broken in her 4 year tenure under this roof. So my question is: Is it the kid or Is it the chromosome? Do all boys do this or just mine? Is this something to harness or to sternly discipline? When we went to his 1 year check up last April I told the pediatrician that I needed a resolve for all of the throwing he was doing. He literally threw everything that ended up in his hand. The Hubba got a swift sippy cup to the eye socket one night and we held our collective breath to see if it would bruise. He had broken many things in this manner as well and I was desperate for it to stop. I was appalled when the doctor's reply was, "Well, you don't want to squelch his throwing. For all you know he could be a major league baseball pitcher in the making!" WHAT? She then suggested giving him only things that would not break when thrown...so that brought me to foam and air. GREAT! So I now fear that if I go in with this complaint she will tell me that he is destined to be the next Tae Kwon Do expert and I should continue to allow him to break whatever the hell he wants. I suppose then we are then back to foam and air again. I would just like to hear from you as to your WHY chromosome experience. Do they all go through this? Is each and every toddler male a crash test dummy, capable of breaking, busting and brutalizing all that they touch? I'm looking for direction in focusing my emotions on this one. For some reason hearing that it is just a phase, they all go through it, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, etc. etc. somehow brings me to a place where I don't get as miffed. Please share with me your knowledge on this unknowable species and the antics they embark on so I can live a life in peace and serenity...or at least with direction and purpose as opposed to inconsistent discipline. Thank you in advance for your input. It is greatly appreciated! :)

Bouncing Baby Boy

My sweet boy turned two on April 1st and I figured that in all fairness we would re-do his sister's 2nd birthday to keep an even playing field. Gave about the same gifts, ate about the same meal, we even took the exact same game day excursion...Bounce Town. Now I'm sure you're saying, "He wasn't even around for his sister's 2nd birthday and his sister probably doesn't remember her day either." Both semi-true. He was in the belly for it and I'm just waiting for the day that she confesses that she remembers being born. I cannot leave this to chance.

As with almost all big holidays in this family for the past 365 someone was sick. The Hubba had been diagnosed with Strep (again) and pericarditis (holy yikes!) so the poor guy was mostly out of commission for the big day. The kids and I ventured to the bounce park on our own. Luckily we were the first bouncers through the door. Had the place to ourselves for about 10 minutes before the deluge set in. For those of you who have never been to this place or any place similar, Bounce Town is a huge warehouse full of inflatable, highly colored and interactive bouncing apparatuses for kids big and small. If you don't leave this place exhausted there is something seriously wrong with you.

After about 30 minutes the kids settled in to the crowd. Being that we were there first they had the feeling that all of the stuff was "theirs" and they were just being kind enough to share with others. During this same period of time I had been "scoped out" by a group of rowdy 8 year old girls. I'm not quite sure how this happened but I'm thinking it had something to do with the fact that I was one of the only parental types actually bouncing. One of the cuties came up to me and said "Is that your kid?" pointing to Chase. Upon claiming him she meows, "He is cuuuute! How old is he?" and then quickly follows him up the massive inflatable slide. Erring on the side of drama, I'm going to hazard saying that she was hitting on my boy! She is 6 years his senior! Seriously? I was half tempted to bark back, "I suppose you want his phone number too, huh?" but I refrained knowing that this is only to get worse as the years progress and this was merely a minor, subliminal infraction in the grand scheme.

As another 20 minutes lapse the girl group had moved to playing tag and one hastily decided that I was "base." I seriously hadn't thought of this term in almost 20 years so I had to work fairly hard in the vocabulary Rolodex for the definition of "base." This day the word base equated to being the safe zone for all involved in this violent game of tag. At one point one of the little girls was holding on to my butterfly t-shirt, stretching it to its limits, while another was on the floor pulling her friend's leg out of socket. I was just waiting for something to tear--my shirt or her hip. I had no clue that girls played this rough, or perhaps I have just forgotten. Eventually the brute on the floor won the battle and it started feeling a little like a "Girls Gone Wild" video. I just sat there, jaw-dropped, wondering if my daughter would one day be doing the same with her friends? Again, wracking my brain for any evidence of this happening in my past and coming up empty. Eventually one was beat so badly that she started crying and then the aggressor quickly started cuddling her and rocking her like a baby to try to quell the tears that would no doubt lead to them having to leave the bouncing bonanza. They didn't seem to have parents, just a dude they kept calling "Joe" whenever one of them felt the need to tattle for excessively violent behavior. At one point they wrangled me in to bounce with them, insisting that we hold hands. They all begged me to "bounce" them like one would on a trampoline. After about 10 minutes I thought I was going to puke. One of them said to me, "Are you tired? Why are you tired?" I really wanted to wax intellectual with her about the quickly dwindling cardiac capacity of a woman who rarely engages in such savage forms of exercise but thought better of it feeling I may have lost her at "cardiac." After we exited the bouncer one of the girls sat down next to me on the floor and professed, "Ya know, you're a really nice girl." GIRL? I haven't been called a girl in roughly 25 years! Even when I was a girl no one called me that. Evidently the patrons of the jump city had been adequately fooled.

Chase taking on the Jump Slide

When we got home the little man needed some energy recoup and I honestly was hoping for the same. I still had a dino cake to decorate and some homemade mac and cheese to fashion and I couldn't see where the energy was going to come from. Luckily for me my dear gal chose this day to make it known that she would be having her first hair cut. Four years of life and not one taking of scissors to the tresses. She chooses her brother's birthday to say "Today's the day!" Being that we again had to entertain her request just last weekend to shave her head like her daddy and brother I was going to hold on to this opportunity with both hands. There she stood holding on to the knob of the front door saying "Moooom, I'm ready!" (I had thought she was joking) so I responded, "Ready for what?" as she enlightened me to the fact that today was the day and no other day would do. SERIOUSLY!? This kid kills me. But knowing what an emphatic individual she is I knew there was no denying this. It was now or never. She kept repeating to herself "It won't hurt that bad." as I sensed the nervous tension surrounding the whole thing. Unfortunately she has seen others (namely two of her male cousins and her brother) receive hair cuts from her dad that looked less than comfortable. There is always palpable uneasiness in these cuts, making her a wee bit nervous about the whole endeavor. After hitting up three jam-packed salons on a Friday afternoon, I realized we were in for slim pickins. With the wind quickly dissipating from her sails I knew I needed to act quickly--Smart Style it was. She wouldn't know a hot shot, fancy pants haircut from a cheap one anyway so why go through any further headache of finding a cute shop. This girl wanted it cut and cut now and I wasn't going to push my luck.

 

Pre-cut dancing:Always necessary





Needless to say, the hair dresser was less than gentle with her baby fine hair and after she washed it the knots were extremely apparent. It usually takes me a 30 minute Nick Jr. show to complete the process of knot eradication and this lady got it done in about 5. At one point I thought my gal was going to start crying. She kept saying, "Mommy this hurts! My neck hurts. She is hurting my hair." as though somehow the lady couldn't hear what she was saying to me. Or perhaps she didn't CARE that the lady could hear her. Or perhaps she WANTED the lady to hear her in hopes that she would ease up a bit. It gave me good fuel for later in reminding her that the combing of the knots might take forever but at least she didn't leave the situation with whip lash! Silver lining :) But after all was said and done she really liked her hair cut. She chose bangs and to be honest I can't believe we didn't do this sooner. It has made such a difference in the knot-to-hair ratio. Yippee!

 

Finished product



Sooo still!



 

 

The rest of the weekend was spent opening presents, playing with said presents, eating cake and healing the Hubba. All in all it was a good time and both miniatures were left with that fresh, new gifts glow. This weekend we are off to Denver to hit up a Nuggets game and have a night without children. God bless my niece Krystal for eternally bailing us out and watching our kids for us. It's always good, after a weekend of flourishing attention on the midgets to remember why we brought them into this world in the first place...our love :) That is what we will be celebrating. Hope you all get the chance to have a celebration of your own.



Playing with the Dino Cake decors, sure that that Stegosaurus was actually a fork made for cake consumption.

                                          Breaking down some dino knowledge...