An eye for an eye...

Here we go again...the shower! I swear, it's just amazing to me how much tomfoolery roots from this very location. I don't know why this is still surprising to me, it just is.

So today it's just me and The Moose. Princess sassy pants was consumed with watching Cars in her Tinkerbell "ensemble" and just couldn't conceive of it. Funny how she is torn between being a boy and a girl. I suppose I am still wrestling with that very concept so it only makes sense that she would as well. Just funny to see it proliferating so early on. And I digress...

Since the shower was a little under occupied in comparison to its normal capacity I decided to sit down and let the little man play. I also saw this as a good time to introduce him to my favorite bath time game of "Water Spicket." Actually it isn't just a bath time favorite...truly a game that I can't help but play in any body of water, be it shower, bath, hot tub, swimming pool, lake or ocean. Fill your mouth with an abundance of liquid and shoot at the nearest unsuspecting target. This game gained popularity with me in age-group swimming and carried on in fondness all the way through college water polo. If you've never swam competitively you must know that there is a bit of boredom associated with it (at least for a spaz like me) and in the boredom games must be played. I think the reason I enjoyed it so much was because it generally irritates the victim of deluge and I seem to find some semblance of joy in life simply annoying others. I also enjoy playing this game with Hubba Hubba though he finds it less than amusing. It grosses him out actually so what better reason to teach the miniature man these shenanigans? This way he can irritate my husband through me even when I'm not present. This is a true win-win in my eyes.

So I embark on my aquatic antics and proceed to spit water all over my son. His reaction is jovial so I continue. He looks at me as if to say "Hmm, how can I join in on the fun?" So he proceeds to try to fill his mouth with water but with little success. He keeps getting water in his eyes and face as he hasn't quite figured out how to breath AND ingest water AND hold it in his mouth all at the same time while getting pelted by the ceaselessness of the shower head. This is a complex concept so I just go on with my "show and tell." I continue to bombard him with my spicket and he suddenly starts looking at me with a look almost identical to that of his father...the "I'm gonna get you sucka!" look--the look of sweet revenge. Interestingly, it instills the very same fear and worry that his father's look instills in me because I know once this look is issued there will be significant action to follow. All bets are off because this look is a look of business--there is no consideration of love, compassion or attachment. It is officially "ON!" The fun part of this all is these boys are quite creative by nature and being that the midget is my man's offspring I can only expect the same level of creativity. I can see the little man's frustration climbing because with each attempt he is, again, unsuccessful in his fulfillment. He tries to catch some of the water in his hand and bring it to his mouth but this, he quickly finds, is NOT the way it is played and does not fill the oral cavity with the desired quantity of water for effective sprinkling. So he looks into my eyes with almost a toddler-esque "huff" and embarks on none other than The Golden Shower. He pees all over my leg with such a look of pride and satisfaction. He laughs. Then he starts up again as if to say "See, I get how to play the game. I just made up my own rules and upped the ante to make it interesting!" Dumbfounded (and quite constricted), I could do nothing but sit there and take it.

I guess after being a mom for almost 4 years now I figure I've been barfed on, crapped on, snotted on and tooted on--getting peed on in the shower is really the least of my concerns in the realm of disgusting. I was half tempted to correct his actions and impress upon him that urinating on others (however fun and good to release stress) is not a kind display but figured my words would fall on deaf ears. He had successfully rendered me speechless and exhibited his first clear understanding of "an eye for an eye!" This was something to celebrate, not discipline. Pee on, my sweet boy! If this is how you continue to handle life's little injustices I will continue to bellow, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!"

Raise your hand if you're SURE!

I spent almost the entirety of last week working my ass off to heal my children's eye goo. I ran around the house with a damp rag and eye drops, swarming them at every given opportunity. When I was able to pin one of them down and complete the mission, I would jump up (in victory, of course) run to the nearest sink, wash my hands vigorously and proceed to kill any remaining bacteria with hand sanitizer. If I touched ANYTHING near their faces, same drill. I washed sheets multiple times, pillowcases, every stitch of clothing that had been worn, touched or even looked at (because you know if you LOOK at something whilst cursed with pink eye, that object is now infected) Wash cloths, towels, rugs, stuffed animals, books, door knobs...you name it, I disinfected it.

By mid-week I was gloating! I was so proud that I was kicking this thing in its teeth and managing to remain pink eye free. At one point it even breezed though my mind (jokingly, of course and at the risk of being sacrilegious) that I was like Mother Teresa in a leper colony. That was the thought that probably did me in. The proverbial nail in the coffin, if you will...

The Hubba surprised me Friday morning with a note on the kitchen table telling me that he had previously arranged for our niece to come out that day and watch the kids while we had an early surprise Valentine's night together. A whole night alone with my husband complete with dinner and an overnight stay at the fancy St. Julien in Boulder. WOW! WHAT a surprise. All this to say is that this man is just too good to me and I have literally hit the "Spousal Lottery." Being that this was an ultra special night I wanted to look super fancy schmancy and went the whole nine yards--at this point in my life my definition of "the whole nine yards" is characterized by the fact that I actually put on make-up! Now since I rarely wear make-up anymore when I actually do it's quite a nuisance. It seems that my eyes have acclimated to NOT having mascara on them and when they actually do get graced with the goods strange things happen. Eyelashes retaliate and start falling out right and left...probably because I am so preoccupied with the shit on them that I am messing with my face and touching them profusely. They itch and irritate and are just generally a pain in the ass...the lengths we women go to in order to look good for our men. And when I do don the optic decorative I find that I spend the next 2 days trying to remove it. It doesn't come off nicely with one wash in the shower. I invariably am called to duty when I reach for the eye make up remover so I walk around looking like a raccoon until the next shower opportunity. And when this cleansing comes there is some vigorous scrubbing and high contact leading to further shedding of the lashes. It's a wonder I don't have bald lids after such madness.

And this is where things go awry. In my flurry of linen washing and disinfecting I happened to nicely wrap up a sheet that was on the little lady's bed. I tucked it away in the laundry room in the most unsuspecting of ways. Truthfully I should have put yellow caution tape around it and put it in a bio hazard bag but we were fresh out of those. So as I am finishing up the last of the laundry for the weekend I toss the sheet in the wash without a second thought. Shortly after a pesky lash made its way into my eyeball and needed to be retrieved. Without even thinking I jumped right in with my middle finger for acquisition and the rest is history. Within hours the symptoms set in. At first I was in a fair bit of denial. But about 2 hours before bed I made the confession to the Hubba. He gasped "WHAT!? Noooo!" and vaguely looked at me like a leper--like a leper that I had previously been impervious to--I was now "one of them." There was a physical distance growing between us. He didn't realize it but I sure did. He took at least one step back (even though he was clear on the other side of the room) He said "How do you know? Are you sure!?"... "Ummm, YA I am sure." I've pulled about as much snot out of my eye in the last 2 hours as I've pulled out of either kids nose in the past week. I'm surely sure!

So now it starts ALL over. The incessant washing, disinfecting, laundry, neurosis...my hands are already on the verge of bleeding from washing them so much in an effort NOT to get this crap and so it begins again. I now must try to ensure that I don't return said nastiness to my kids or pass it along to the hubby. Sheets, towels, clothing, oh my! It feels like an epidemic has struck and there is no end in sight. I have already started using the kids' eye drops (at the suggestion of my daughter) though I am not certain they are of maximum effectiveness for adults. And so the journey continues. Can I make it through another week? Will my epidermis survive? Will I need skin grafting when this whole endeavor is complete? Will this contamination make its way over to the other side of my face? Will I give my Hubba a Valentine of his own in the form of a bleeding red eye just in time for his business trip? Will the dog contract it like last time and keep the circle of love in full effect for yet another week? All these questions and more to be answered at a later date. But for now, with 100% certainty I can raise my hand cause I'm SURE! I'm positive. Woke up feeling like I was part of a horror film, eyes sewn shut and unable to see the light of day, sure that the body snatchers had taken what was within and used them for martini garnish. Luckily that was just my imagination getting the best of me and in actuality it was only the curse of the Pink Eye! Happy Monday & Happy Valentine's :0)

The Standoff

Suddenly "The Rock" has started to waffle. What was once a fantastical sleeping boy is now turning into a very consistent nightmare. Granted he has been ailing with the Pink Eye I don't see that as a reason to wake me up in the mid-night.

He was crowing last eve at 10PM...I had just fallen into that nice REM sleep when I was jostled by his wails of "Moooommmmmyyyy!" Being that he has been piddle-filled in the previous nights I figured this was just another diaper debacle. When I got into the room and asked him what was wrong he just sat there. No claim of bad dreams or being scared. No need for food or drink. So I opted for the snuggle. This usually does the trick. A little rocker time and he is soon enough asking for his "Nap." So I went through the motions, laid him back down, returned to my quarters only to have him screaming 30 seconds later. I thought to give him a minute and perhaps it would stop...it didn't. Fearing that he would wake both the Hubba and the Princess from their sleep comas I ran back upstairs to comfort.

I opened the door and whined "Whaaat!?" This time he claimed hunger. He said "Sompin to eat?" Knowing that this kid kicks down as much food in the course of a day as I do I figured he meant business. The doc said that this pink eye non-sense makes them lose their appetites. This has been true...during the day. He eats what I like to call a "Snot Lunch." Disgusting but true. I guess since he is horizontal at night the snot doesn't quite make it down to his stomach and he is no longer satiated by mucosa. Bleh! Needless to say I brought in the buffet for the second night in a row. I spoon-fed him a cup of yogurt, left him a cup of water, rubbed his back with my severely-hand-sanitizer-chaffed hands and told him it was time for sleep. I further explained that everyone in the house was sleeping and his screaming was waking them up. I proceeded with the fact that it was nighttime and he needed to get good rest and be nice and quiet. All to which he sobbed "OOOO KKKKK." But I've come to find that negotiating with a not-quite 2-year-old is like reasoning with a Russian spy. They hear the words, ingest the message, agree to the terms but once that door is shut all bets are off and the old shenanigans start right back up. The only way to stop said shenanigans is to go back in there! Well, I wasn't back in bed for 2 minutes and he was wailing again! GRRR!

This time I was REALLY going to stick it out. I was not going to lose this standoff. He was just testing me. He wasn't wet, wasn't hungry, wasn't thirsty and wasn't hurt. WTH? Then the howling got louder. I started envisioning a night like the previous where one kid was crying so loud it woke the other and I was caught doing The Bedroom Boogie. In one door, out the other, lather, rinse and repeat just trying to appease, calm and get back to bloody sleep. So I held out for another couple minutes until the screams hit a new octave. For a third time, I ran up the stairs. This time all he said was "Nugggle" and really, how does one disregard this?

So I picked him up and did just that. We sat in the chair and started rocking, however uncomfortable. At almost 3 feet in length (about half my body measure) and 30+ pounds he doesn't exactly fit, head on my shoulder, like he used to. His legs are all cramped and kicking me in my ever-full nighttime bladder and we are both pretty miserable. It feels kinda like a clown car. Or like when you put on last season's jeans and they are just a bit too tight. You want them to fit. You think they should fit...and they should...but they don't. You feel defeated but keep trying anyway, certain that this is just a case of drier shrinkage...you do squats, bend over, contort your body in any way just to make those bastards fit--but they still don't. We did this dance for a few minutes and then he finally bellowed "Turn around?" which means he wants to sit on my lap as though I am Santa Claus. I acquiesce his request and flip him to face forward, trying to get comfortable cuz we're gonna be here for awhile. Contorting my head to one side, allowing him to lean up against my chin with the back of his head, we settle in. We rocked for no less than 30 minutes at which point I decided enough was enough. I told him that I was going to bed, put him down and walked away...it is now 12:08AM.

Now all this is fine and good. But being that I had been up the stairs 3 times to answer his calls I was now certain that there would be a 4th. Why wouldn't there be? So I lay awake in bed with what can only be described as fine-tuned, ultra keen mom hearing--clearly the Hubba possesses none of this as he has slept through the whole endeavor. But suddenly I morph into Superman and can hear things miles away. I hear things that aren't even there. The whistle of my husband's nose somehow becomes a cry. The dog's snoring is a reason to jump. I am certain that the siren that is shrieking 15 miles from my ear-shot is the boy calling for me. The train chuggin down the tracks-you know the drill. It's ridiculous how instantly every little noise in a 17 mile radius is another call to duty. And this is when I finally kiss my good night's sleep goodbye. Even if I do get back to sleep it won't be restful. I'd rather lay awake with my neurosis waiting for the next sob...which, as Murphy would have it, never comes. Luckily Princess Happy Pants is up at 5 stomping like a gorilla and slamming every door in the upstairs region. Why on earth would I get to sleep in?

So today I embark on the 3rd day stuck in the house. 1 part pink eye, 1 part cold as balls outside (at present 5 below), 2 parts unfit to be amongst the living. I'm saying pleasant wishes for a nap when the kid decides to sleep off his all-nighter, knowing full-well that this is just a pipe dream. But that's OK. Getting to claim super hero powers and holding the key to kiddo contentment far surpasses any 8 hours I've ever slumbered! Happy Groundhog Day people! It can only get better from here!

The Trip

It came as a bit of a surprise when my dad told me that he and his wife would "see us this weekend."  He lives 1,200 miles away and we weren't expecting him at least until summer.  The kids could not have been more fired up.  "Papa" always seems to bring a smile to their faces.  So it was quite an unfortunate turn when I started getting sick 2 days prior to arrival.  I figured I would kick it quick and all would be good by arrival time.  Boy was I wrong.  They weren't here 24 hours and my voice was completely gone!  I don't just mean a little bit, I mean totally inaudible.  The only thing I could do was whisper.  And that wouldn't have really been a problem except for the fact that my dad can't hear shit!  He is upwards of 70 and working around heavy equipment all of his life has taken a toll on the old man.  Again, normally wouldn't be a problem but the Ox (the original Ox) refuses to wear hearing aids.  I guess somehow it looks "unmanly" to need hearing assistance.  I don't think it has occurred to him to check what a guy looks like yelling "Huh!?" at every utterance issued him but whatever.  So the first day was spent doing just that.  It was a mess.  He would ask me a question, I would try to answer and he would shrug his shoulders and say "I can't understand you!"  A true nightmare for anyone who talks as much as I do.  I don't know how else to communicate.  He hasn't been around for the kids younger months so he hasn't had the opportunity to pick up on the sign language that has been taught in this house so we were at an impasse.  The only way we could communicate was through a translator (his wife, Virginia).  I would whisper to her and she would pass along the message.  I shake my head at the lunacy!  It was a loooong day!  Luckily by giving the old vocal chords a day of rest they seemed to come back around the next day.

This was a good thing because this day was the main event.  The reason for their 1,200 mile trek...The Denver Stockshow.  Virginia's granddaughter came out to show her prize-winning sheep at the show and she and dad came to see the affair.  I thought it would be fun for the female midget to see all the animals and such so we tagged along.  I wasn't expecting anything big.  Just a few heads of livestock, a couple peeps and a corn dog or two...Holy shit did I fall short in my estimations!  It took us 20 minutes just to get in the door.  There were people EVERYWHERE and animals of all shapes and sizes in mass quantity.  I also fell short in my estimation of the gals excitement of said animals.  We weren't in the sheep barn 5 minutes and she was already asking to go home.  It was 11:30AM...the showing didn't start until 5PM!  This kid was in for a rude awakening.  She didn't want to pet anything and didn't even want to hear of visiting the cow barn.  We sat out in front of it for about 10 minutes trying to coax her in to look at them and she was hearing nothing of it.  Dad tried everything.  She dug in her heels.

So we decided to take a walk and see what else the place had to offer.  We came upon the Miniature Mecca!  There was a whole section just for kids.  She found the motherland.  There were games, prizes, exhibits, and train rides.  She even got a chance to use a real loom.  She was too short to reach the peddles but she insisted that she get a turn too.  The lady was nice enough to oblige and force all of the 8+ year olds to wait patiently.  Luckily she didn't even want to sniff a pony ride because the line for that was easily 150 kids deep.  It was insane.  At one point she requested a "treat" which I later came to regret accommodating.  They had huge lollipops about the size of an adult fist in circumference and filled with rainbow swirl color.  She was so smitten with these that she just "had to have one."  I figured with all the hours of waiting we were going to be doing this might be a nice distraction.  She certainly wasn't going to finish the dam thing in the course of the day but it would give her something to work on while she was surrounded by animals that scared the bejeezus out of her.  I told her she could eat it after lunch (which happened to be a corn dog the length of my forearm.)  I still don't get why fair food has to be larger than life.  There were people walking around by the hundreds with these HUGE, I'm talking GIGANTIC turkey legs.  They were just mowing them down.  They must have been good because every other person was carrying one but to see so many carnivorous beasts devouring these barbecued bird legs just kinda made me puke a little.  It was like they had just scored a "kill" and were feasting on what was left of the carcass.  Just a little too "Wild Kingdom" for me and I had to avert my eyes when someone walked by with one cuz I truly thought I might lose my lunch.

Anyway, the child impressively consumes her meal and is panic-stricken for the pop.  Being a mom of my word, I unwrapped it then and there and let her go to town.  With each lick she had a different exclamation..."Mmmm goooood!", "Delicioso!", and "This is fantastical!"  I was applauding my decision to buy the pop.  But then the pop started to become a nuisance.  I picked up the gal and it got stuck to my shirt.  She would bop the pop into my leg and look up with the eyes and say "Oops! Sorry mommy!"  Being as big as it was, the thing was top-heavy and the wrist of this 3-year-old was just not up to par in keeping it steady.  I should have accounted for this later in the day...

We got to the sheep show a bit early so we could actually sit down.  The bleachers were packed with other sheep-peeps.  Parents, enthusiasts, kids and spectators.  We landed a seat at the very top.  Once we got seated the pop was requested again.  Dad pulled it out of the bag and she was back making work of it.  We made small talk with the people around us and the mini was making friends with them all.  They were commenting on her glitter shoes, pink princess cowgirl hat and larger than life lollipop.  She was prancing up and down and holding on to strangers for support.  She looked kinda like a drunken gnome.  Losing her balance, holding on, giggling, and huggin on anyone willing.  She was sitting so sweetly, face full of sugary sin and she suddenly lost her balance...again.  Only this time her beautiful, spit-laden pop ended up in the highly processed hair of the lady in front of us.  There was no brushing this off or acting like it didn't happen.  She fell forward and the sucker STUCK!  I instantly panicked.  I had NO idea what to do so I instinctively reached over and yanked it out of the lady's hair.  As I pulled, my jaw agape in mortification, I noticed that there were plenty of pieces of hair stuck to the pop.  I also noticed the "rainbow of fruit flavors" that colored the back of her head.  I seriously wanted to crawl under a rock and DIE!  I would have happily jumped in the ring to show a sheep sight unseen if I could just get out of this place!  I immediately started apologizing frantically (and so did my gal) and I tried to "fix" her hair to no avail.  She could not have been cooler about it.  She didn't get mad, she didn't say one ill word.  She was a total angel.  At one point I almost started crying.  I felt soo horrible.  She looked at me and said "Oh my gosh honey, your face and chest just turned beet red.  Please, stop!  Don't feel bad."  I could feel "the red" and I was sweating profusely.  I just didn't know how to undo what had been done.  Then I realized I couldn't.  This lady was so amazing about the whole thing.  Mya went about eating her lollipop like it was no big deal--hair and all.  I figured I should go on and do the same. (Don't you love taking life lessons from your kids?)  After all of the apologies were over my sweet girl looks up at me and says with complete nonchalance, "Mommy, don't be angry at me.  It was just an accident!"  That was the nail in the coffin.  She summed it all up in a few short words and she was right.  What would have, at one time in my life, ruined my evening and made me leave the premises was now just "an accident" and something to be forgiven.  I sat in awe that it took me 34 years and a child to figure this out.  It also gave me a flash of understanding that I am not my daughter.  She is her own person and will no doubt make bigger mistakes than dropping a lollipop in someones hair and I am going to have to learn to accept that, deal with that and love her in spite of her screw up's.  Easily said, not sure how easily done.  But this definitely gave me a glimpse at the road ahead of me and the work I will need to do in separating "her" from "us" and by "us" I mean ME!

All in all it was a great trip.  It wouldn't have been a family trip without a little more embarrassment though.  As Dad and Virginia were gathering up their last few items, making their list and checking it twice, shuttling things out to the car for departure, I figured I would help.  It's easier for me to sweep the house with the guest to find things that "don't belong."  So I search the kitchen for road trip food, the laundry room for forgotten clothes and the bathroom for toiletries.  I always seem to forget my shower stuff wherever I go so I make a habit of checking the shower for our guests.  I am running around the top floor willy nilly, throwing doors open right and left.  I run into the bedroom, throw open the bathroom door, only to find my dad atop the porcelain throne!  Talk about turning 15 different shades of red!  I screamed so loud and in such an octave that I startled myself.  In 34 years I have NEVER walked in on the man and now this!  Why God?  WHY!?!?  I really could have gone my WHOLE life without that.  But thanks for the laugh Big Man!  Ugh!

So we gave our hugs and said our "good bye's" and "thank you's."  Dad is snuggling on my gal when he nuzzles to her ear and says "Now it's YOUR turn to come and visit US!"  Her eyes light up and she promises she will!  They aren't gone 10 minutes and this kid is already packing her bags!  I explain to her that we would need to take a plane to California to go see them and that it would be some time before we would be able to do that.  "Some time" to a 3-year-old is obviously arbitrary terminology.  She gets to quick work creating an art piece to take on the plane...she thinks we will be departing that afternoon.  GRRR!  So now I am met with the daily question of, "Is today the day we get on the plane to see Papa?  He said it is our turn.  We have to take our turn, Mommy."  Thank you dad for coming here and planting the seed to grow eternal!  This will be one that will not go away until we are on that plane.  Bravo!  Your work here is done!

Turd Burglar!

I don't know how but it seems like a great many of the shenanigans in this house start with a shower.  Last night was another prime example.  I guess I like showering with the kids because it is a time saver...we all get squeaky clean simultaneous and then I am not forced to go into the Bathtub Wars with them.  It's getting to the point where there is as much water outside the tub as there is in it.  So opting for the shower seems like the easy resolve. 

I say the word "shower" and they both run with freakish speed to the bathroom and start stripping off clothes.  The male mini still isn't outta diapers though he isn't quite 2 yet so I suppose that is normal.  Hubba Hubba was kind enough to assist the venture yesterday and offered to disrobe him.  I'm workin on de-clothing the female, warming the water, preparing the washcloths...

Upon removal of the boy pants Hubba asks the kid if he pooped.  He says "ya" then quickly changes his answer to "no"...this back and forth is not uncommon as he is still working on grasping the English language.  We give little thought to it.  Hubba makes a bold gesture and proceeds with the removal...nothing really to write home about other than the coined phrase of my cousin--a "fart blossom."  In layman's terms, this is nothing more than a colorful addition to the diaper which did not actually leave physical evidence.  Previously known as the "skid mark."  That being said, he gives the boy the all-clear.

Hop into the shower and get all soaked and warm.  The kids are playing with their toys, splashing and such, when I suddenly get a glimpse out of the corner of my eye...NO...it couldn't be...it IS!!!  Almost immediately the other occupants notice what I notice and we all take a half of a step back from "it."  The three of us stood there in awe of this specimen for longer than a moment.  I, all the while, wondering what the hell to do.  I've been told you can pee in a shower but this?  This must be unfounded territory.  I am not willing to succumb to my urge to whoosh it down the drain as it makes me throw up a little in my mouth just considering such.  I am half tempted to yell for the "Customs Agent" who cleared this young fellow fit for showering and tell him he has some work to do on his nether region frisking, noting that we have a turd burglar in our midst and there has been a breech of security in the area of smuggling.  I hold my tongue. 

There is a tangible change of mood in the shower and the female variety starts to panic.  She has searched her mental Rolodex and has in fact positively identified the nugget on the floor.  There is no doubt in her 3 year old mind that she is standing amongst poo and she is NOT pleased.  She is clearly not comforted by the fact that she is surrounded by both water and soap.  This means nothing to her.  There is a niblet in her presence and something needs to be done about it.  I can honestly say I don't blame her as I am still debating a call to Customs and for some reason can't bring myself to touch.  Wipe the kids bottom no less than 3 times a day but somehow this is different.  The boy just looks at it like any boy would.  Minor inconvenience but nothing to get your panties in a bunch over.  Then I realize he may start looking at it like he does most kernerbals on the floor...as food fare.  I decide Customs is out of the question and I am going to have to make a go of it on my own.

I gingerly stepped out, soaking wet, and grabbed the toilet paper.  If you've never grabbed toilet paper while your drenched give it a shot and see how well said paper stays together.  That, in and of itself was a challenge.  But I unrolled a handful and scooped up the excreta for disposal all the while to the tune of the feminine "Ewwwwww! Chase pooped!" 

It was a lovely experience.  Luckily it was a quicker "clean up" than I am used to as previously mentioned we were surrounded by soap and water.  But bringing the story full-circle, I have to say the whole endeavor left me to wondering if I was really being judicious with time as there was now just as much water OUT of the shower as there was in it ever reminding me that as a parent, just when you think you're getting the hang of it and you've got yourself a system, someone tells you the truth!

Acceptance

I'm not sure where this latest phase is coming from but it is one that has made me chuckle on more than one occasion.  The female mini has taken to saying that she is willing to "accept" certain things.  These "certain things" are as follows:

On Christmas morning we gifted our children with a Little Tykes Bounce House.  The Hubba and I discussed what "big" gift we should bestow upon our mini's and he was emphatic about the bounce house.  He saw it in the Toy's R Us circular about 2 months prior to the big day and he just HAD to get it for them.  Being that it requires them to actually get off of their rumps and DO something I was game.  Especially since winter in Colorado with small kids who are sensitive to cold seems to be the never ending season of doom where at the end I would like nothing more than to shave my head and freak out like Britney Spears did.  The phrase "cabin fever" takes on a whole new meaning for me and anything involving an expenditure of pent up energy for the wee ones is certainly a great idea in my book.  That coupled with the fact that my daughter is a bounce house junkie made this all the merrier of an idea.  So, Christmas morning we inflated the monster and led the kids downstairs for the unveiling.  At first the gal was a bit scared.  She didn't really know what to do with the fact that there was a bounce house IN her house.  Loud and ready to swallow her, she wasn't quite sure.  Being the insistent mother I am, I pushed her in.  And boy you could just feel the joy.  They jumped and fell and squealed and ran...it was a morning of delight.  About 20 minutes into the tomfoolery she turned to Hubba and me and said "Thank you for this bounce house guys.  I accept this gift!"....Come again?  You ACCEPT this gift?  Are you serious?  I should hope f@(^%ng so!  This is the best gift a child of your age could ever hope to get aside from perhaps a pony which just ain't gonna happen!  You accept it?!  Sheesh!  I didn't make a big deal about it.  Just laughed and figured she had her words mixed up and wasn't quite clear on the true definition of the word "accept." 

Then a couple of days later we were having one of our infamous "Chats from the Throne" wherein she spills the beans both figuratively and literally.  I'm not quite sure why but that bathroom seems to be her verbal, expressive mecca and I (or any other human who is lucky enough to chaperon this expedition) get a full dissertation of her thoughts and feelings on a plethora of subjects ranging from death and heaven to butterflies and the okapi!  You just never really know what you're gonna get but chances are pretty good it will be interesting.  So on this eve in particular she shares her love for me.  This is a topic I can truly never get enough of probably because most of the time she is managing to show me with her actions that she feels quite the opposite.  So I am soaking up her compliments when she says, "You know mommy I wouldn't accept any other mommy than you.  You are my favorite mommy in the whole world!" (making me think that there might be other mommy's in the running here but whatever) Then she continues with her acceptance.  She states "I love our family and would accept no other family than this.  Our family is cute and friendly and kind to one and all.  I would accept no other family."  Then just for good measure she includes her love of our house and how she would accept no other house than this. 

All of these disclosures point to the fact that she is quite clear on acceptance and just what that word means.  So now I am left with the knowledge that while my girl is happy with all of the things in her life she is also QUITE particular and direct about what she will and will not allow in it.  This will be a tough act to keep up for the rest of eternity...

When it rains it pours.

I like to call what I have "dumb luck"...I define this luck as: "only someone as dumb as I could have luck like this."  Murphy has officially set up shop in my life and made himself at home.  I have learned to accept this fact and almost embrace it.  I don't know how.  Purportedly because it gives me something to write about and therefore can't be a total loss.  If I can make someone else laugh (even if I  am the only one laughing) at my misfortune then it can't really be considered a "bad" thing, right?  Friday was one of those prime examples.

My kids enjoy taking showers with me.  Another chapter in what I am sure could be called "Too Much Information" but this is where the story starts and omitting it is just not an option.  I don't bark about this shower imposition too much because I have the two of them wrangled in a confined space for at least 15 minutes and I am almost certain nothing bad can happen to either of them.  They splash and spit and wash and I actually get the opportunity to dig myself out of my previously acclaimed "troll" status.  I see it as a win-win.  But Friday was a special day.  I wanted to get some extra "work" done after said bath session as Hubba Hubba and had a hot date set for the following night.  Being that I generally feel less than lovely I thought I would take some extra steps on Friday to ensure loveliness on Saturday .  Nothing major.  Just a little facial of sorts.  So we hop out of the shower and there are towels all around.  The male midget quickly throws his to the wind and takes off streaking.  The girl follows suit.  So this gives me approximately 2.3 seconds before things go awry.  But because Saturday was a special day I assume that the planets will align and all shenanigans will be put on hold for the measly 30 seconds that is required for applying this facial exfoliating mask.  Boy was I wrong.  I slathered the mask on lickety split and then ran out in the other room to make sure that the minis were in line.  The girl I don't fret about...it's the boy who worries me.  So I walk into the living room to find 2 naked munchkins standing over a dumped bowl full of foam and felt fish.  My first reflex was "whew"...not 2 seconds after that sigh of relief did my boy embark on pissing out those fish like they were a forest fire and he was Smokey the Bear!  I dropped my towel and screamed out "Noooo!" like only a frantic mother could.  The girl jumped back about 5 feet and was begging "Mommy why is Chase peeing on the flooooor?"  Upon our hollering he sucked it up and stopped "the rain."  Then as I sat explaining to him that we don't pee on the floor and that we do it in the potty what does he do but unleash again.  I tried to stop the "stream" by holding his shirt over it but that just caught the slurry and back washed it more than stopped anything.  So I scooped him up and ran him to the toilet and sure enough once I sat him down he looked up at me with his sweet little man voice and said "All Done!"  GRRRR!  Seriously?  In follows princess to make sure she let's her brother know that she is "sad at him" for peeing on her fish.  These fish obviously had to be thrown in the trash and she was none too pleased with this repercussion.

So I continue on my "theme" of cleaning and break out the Little Green Machine.  Truly the best invention ever--gets more action around here than anything else.  Best $80 I've ever spent.  And I digress.  So I take to this carpet cleaning caper (all the while the face mask is burning the shit out of my skin) but I can't think to stop because with my luck Boy Wonder will get down on all fours and suck the carpet dry.  I wish I didn't have to go there with my thoughts but he has brought things to the table that I had never dreamed possible.  Never would have even foreseen as an option.  So now I am forced to dream big when it comes to him.  There is no attempt too grandiose and no act too outlandish.  I am shocked on the daily with the things he finds to be acceptable.  That being said I needed to act fast. 

Whilst I am on my cleaning-capade with the noise of the handheld wet vac creating a barrier I feel like I hear a scream.  I'm not sure it's a scream but it sounds like one.  I halt my mission, flick the switch and try to distinguish which child is in distress.  It's usually the boy crying about some injustice that his sister has issued.  This cry was LOUD, it was strong and it was worsening.  Towel still in hand I turn the corner expecting blood...and I got it!  Baby girl was walking toward me with a hand over her mouth and tears flowing freely.  (this kid RARELY cries from pain so I knew this was no joke)  Once she got close enough she took her hand from her face and all I could see was blood.  She was in a sheer panic.  It was all I could do to calm her down enough to tell me what happened and all the while I was just hoping and praying that all of her teeth were still intact.  There was so much blood pooling in her mouth and around it that I couldn't tell at first.  She finally screamed out that she was running from her brother and slipped and fell on her face in our bedroom (a cement floored bedroom).  The lip swelled so much she suddenly started to look like Dumb Donald from Fat Albert.  She was in hysterics and I was feeling like a jerk for going into neurosis over the pee-carpet.  Not that my intervention or presence would have kept this unfortunate mishap from occurring but at least I could have seen what happened in order to determine if a visit to the doctor was in order or not.  So all I could really do was wipe and wait.  She calmed down after about 30 minutes of disorder and finally decided that it would eventually feel better because amidst a crisis she is a fan of the phrase "It will NEVER feel better!  EVER!"  And so this glimmer of hope was a good sign.  Once I got all the blood washed away we determined that she would be losing no teeth and that they only hurt a little bit.  After a Hello Kitty cold pack to the face she is now only looking as though Mike Tyson got ahold of her for 1 round instead of all 10!  Luckily for me it's bad enough that I will be battling the "child abuse" leers from the folks at the store and other public locales for at least the next 5 days.  Thank God.  I wasn't sure I could get through this life without at least one situation where I was looked at as a psychotic mom who lost it on her kid and hauled off and punched her in the mouth.  Let me release yet another sigh of relief...WHEW!

So needless to say I finally got to wash MY face and remove the mask...after sitting in it for an hour.  I was hoping that all that extra time would just lead to extra pretty :)  Not quite sure it works that way but that was what I was telling myself.  It always seems at the crux of preparing for a night away from my kids they bust out with madness of this caliber making me feel either A.) guilty for leaving them or B.) guilty for asking another human being to submit themselves to this nonsense.  The shenanigans on Friday left me feeling a tinge of both. I sit wondering if this is by design or if this is a cleverly thought out and plotted plan by the miniatures.  I suppose I am giving them WAY more credit than they can rightfully take at this age.  But when antics like this hit the fan it just seems this way.  Maybe I am alone on this one?  But even if I am the only parent in the free world who feels this way, at the very least I hope that all who read this take note from the entry that, when buying or renting a new place you ALWAYS have the carpets cleaned before moving day!

**One month post-accident, the gals tooth roots actually died and she is now left with a grey Chiclet until this one falls out :( At least the tears/pain were validated by something!**