Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Not for the faint of heart.

So today wasn't really a banner day. I know. I am a total complainer, take everything for granted, blah, blah, blah.

Started with "NO, mommy! Go away! Go feed Henry!" at 7:30 this morning, and has approached its finish (?) with a wired kid doped up on prednisone still yelling up in his crib after 9pm.

In between involved:

GET AWAY FROM ME!!! MOMMY DO IT! (repeated 637 times; the irony of my good morning greeting is not lost on me) Shoes on, socks on, getting dressed, getting into carseats, carseats buckled, carseats unbuckled, snack gotten, juice gotten, pick me up. No one but Mommy.

Two forty minute baby naps, and a third that lasted exactly 4 minutes, resulting in a very overtired baby.

Housecleaners were here - yes, I know I sound ungrateful since we can afford to have housecleaners, and a house to clean, but it is my most dreaded day every two weeks. It means we have to leave, so normally, I have to wake Henry up and get three kids out of the house, who ALWAYS want to leave the house, EXCEPT on the days that the cleaners come. "But Mommy, we want to play!", which is only uttered every other Tuesday.

Required morning outing (due to housecleaners): an attempted rendezvous with Cressy and Co., which ended up being a tearful trip to a parking garage, 8 minutes of Ellie telling me that she wanted her juice, 5 minutes of being sure to let me know that she did NOT want to get a picture taken with Santa, 4 happy minutes looking at a fountain, 15 minutes of nursing Henry in a bathroom, and 15 concurrent solid minutes of the Quinn screaming at the top of his lungs, alternately saying, "I want to go home NOW!" and "I don't WANT to go home!", kicking and screaming and hitting me, and throwing himself on the floor in the bathroom. And then 5 minutes of asking me why we didn't get a picture with Santa.

A bottle of wine (just gifted), shattered on the tile kitchen floor when Ellie pulled it off the counter, hoping it was a present for her. (I considered sucking what I could out of my socks)

A new car that has leaked more oil than the Valdez on the street in front of our house.

A 5:50pm doctor's appointment where Quinn was diagnosed with reactive airway disease, as a repeat infection from his last one, only a couple of weeks ago, which has landed him a prescription of prednisone. For those of you who know Quinn, the prednisone causes insomnia. Again, irony not lost. The good news is that it allows him to breathe. 9:38 and still yelling.

What a day. What a DAY.








Sunday, December 13, 2009

Out of the mouth of Ellie...

A few Ellie-isms from the past few days:

"No, Mommy! I don't want that sweater. Those stripes are making me nervous."

"Don't worry. I'll be hungry again in 5 minutes. I promise..." she said reassuringly, getting down from the table without having eaten enough dinner.

"Look! I found a raisin! Can I put it in your butt?" after picking a very dried out raisin from the sisal rug. Quinn found part of a candy cane in it the other day, too, though didn't suggest putting it in anyone's butt.

"So I clambered onto the jungle gym and the whirly slide...."Clambered? Really?

Or IN the mouth of Ellie: She scooped up a big spoonful of macaroni and cheese, dipped it in ranch, gobbled it up, and followed it with a maraschino cherry chaser.







Sunday, November 22, 2009

Are you talking to me?

So there I was at the OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, for you non-Oregonians) Science Playground this morning, with my dear husband, the three beans, my sister in law and my eight year old nephew. My naked toes were being buried in the sandbox by Quinn while I nursed a very tired Henry, with kind of a dazed look about me, I would imagine (there seems to be a lingering daze, which I'm sure will dissipate with time). I chatted casually with two dads and their 2.5-ish year olds about diggers, backhoes, and twin tankers while I nursed the little man.

Anyway. Henry was done. Done nursing. Done with OMSI. Done being awake. So burp, burp, burp. I rally Quinn, and out we step, still smiling from the feeling of cool sand between my toes and having a quiet minute with my two boys.

And WHAM.

"That is DISGUSTING. You should have a blanket over yourself. You are offending me and with all these children around!! That is DISGUSTING!"

Whaaaa?? I'm sorry, what? Seriously? I looked around to see if she was, in fact, talking to me.

"That is OFFENSIVE! You should be covering yourself - with all these children around!! THAT'S DISGUSTING!"

Much too calmly, I said, "I'm sorry you're offended. Did you not breastfeed your children?"

Really irate, now... "I'm a GRANDMOTHER!!!"

"Then you must have had children. Did you not breastfeed them?"

No response.

Fortunately, in good Portland fashion, four individual women donned their breastfeeding superhero capes and jumped to my defense; one seemed even more shocked and offended than I was, while the other three said they breastfed their children, too - in church, on planes, at restaurants, and shut the woman down. The one more offended than I said something to the effect of, "This is most natural and beautiful thing a woman can give her child! YOU are disgusting!"

I am still a little shocked; I've never had anyone comment so negatively about breastfeeding in public. It wasn't like I was offering my boob to other kids or anything. And none of the three beans have liked having a blanket over their heads when nursing. I wouldn't want a blanket over my head at dinner, either.

Anyway - if you're breastfeeding in Portland, watch out for a middle-aged meaney pants wearing acid washed mom jeans yelling DISGUSTING! DISGUSTING! DISGUSTING! (I think she's friends with Dora). If you run into her, I'll grab my cape and come to your rescue.

PS - Sending good vibes to the four breastfeeding superheroes at OMSI today. Thank you.





Sunday, November 8, 2009

Oh.My.God

So Henry finds it pretty difficult to focus on nursing when there are two very active (read: RUNNINGALLOVERTHEPLACE) preschoolers zipping back and forth across the room, scattering toys, jumping, skipping, hitting each other, yelling and laughing. He gets overstimulated, frustrated, fussy and mad because he's hungry, but there's too much going on. He prefers a dark room. With a little mood music. That would be fine, except for the fact that leaving two 2.5 year olds by themselves is about the stupidest, most ridiculous thing one could EVER do.

Anyway. The other day, I set the little bugs up with play-doh, which is a huge lure, and to have play-doh unattended is even more exciting. They compete with each other about how quickly they can grind it into the carpet.

I came down less than 10 minutes later to find the play-doh abandoned, and... Complete. Quiet. Not a good sign. They had gotten a Ginormous, capital G, Johnson's baby powder down from the changing table, and emptied what seemed to be the entire contents in the den, on the changing table, the train table, the windows (?) and Quinn's collection of about 583 matchbox cars and trains. The good news, they assured me, was that they were cleaning it all up. With an entire package of 100 baby wipes, being discarded on the floor one by one after using them to really work the powder into the crevices of the hardwoods.

Ellie told me she had also been looking for her bathing suit, which was why she had removed every sock, blanket, spit up cloth, sweater, jacket, shoe, washcloth, towel, and SHELF LINER, from each drawer of a five drawer dresser. That was in less than 10 minutes. I can't imagine being that productive in 10 minutes. I wish I had taken pictures. It would make you feel better about your own house and it's cleanliness level. Though ours probably smells better with all that powder.

Ellie is generally the brain behind any serious mischief, like her shenanigans on Friday, squeezing out an entire bottle of shampoo and lotion upstairs in Henry's room, the hallway and the bathroom - and a basket of clean laundry. And that was with swine flu and bronchitis and THREE adults in the house. Still not sure how that got past us.

Anyway. More on the swine flu later.



Sunday, October 25, 2009

Knowing me, Knowing you

So most moms are eventually able to decipher all the various cries of their baby. Now that Ellie and Quinn are all grown up at 2.5 and talk and demand and yell, they cry less, but I can tell from a long way away if either of them are actually hurt, or if someone has just thrown the other's toy in the toilet. When trying to get attention, Ellie will cry her fakey cry and if I don't respond, walk into the room I'm in, look at me, cry louder with slightly more emphasis, and then go back to the room she was in, often laying herself gently down on the floor, waiting for me to tend to her.

I keep encouraging Henry to work on speaking, because I like talking much better than crying, but until then, I'm continuing to work on understanding his cries. His "I'm a little hungry" cry is a bit of a whimper, like look at me! look at me! I might start really crying if you don't do something! His "I'm tired" cry is kind of like his I'm a little hungry cry, except he rubs his eyes, and looks like a crazed deer in headlights if he's really overtired.

Today, I went through my checklist. Hungry, no. Tired, yes, but refusing to stay sleeping. Burped, yes. Too hot? Too cold? Have a small piece of very pointy hay stuck to your junk? That was it. Too bad it took me two cut short naps to figure that one out. Apparently a little hay snuck in there when Chris changed his diaper on a hay-covered blanket in the car while we were at McMenamins for lunch. I felt terrible, kind of like the time he had a very pointy pine cone bit stuck in his back, under his shirt, and I just thought he didn't want to be in his carseat. Um, worst mother of the year award?

Bottom line (at least according to Henry): having a sharp pinecone gouge into your back is more uncomfortable than a pointy piece of hay stuck to a testicle, though the latter can certainly interrupt a nap.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Dora, teeth and twindom

Dora is possibly the most annoying cartoon character that I have ever come across. What's with all the SHOUTING! SHOUTING! SHOUTING! And why is everything repeated at least three times? It may get banned.

Anyway. I hit a new low this week. I have admitted it to several (including Chris and my own mother), so I might as well post it on my blog. I told Quinn to "go brush your fucking teeth." I may have actually said, "GO BRUSH YOUR FUCKING TEETH!" Luckily, he has yet to repeat it. It was the end of a VERY long day, day three of Chris being gone, two of them with me flying solo, and the kids and I were at the end of our ropes. Quinn spit his toothpaste out at me (or at least he seemed to be spitting at me - he may beg to differ), kept biting down on his toothbrush when I was trying to help him, threw the toothbrush out of the bathroom into the hallway, and then went storming off after it toward sleeping Henry's room, yelling and laughing, and asking at decibel 12, "Is that funny, Mommy?", waking little Henry up. I make no excuses, just giving a full picture of the situation. I tell you this so maybe it will make something you said or did seem not so bad.

Tonight, he was a dream. "We're working together, Mommy! I love you, Mommy." while we were cleaning up the three full shelves of books that Ellie had thrown onto the floor. He knew I'd be blogging about him.

Motherhood is hard. Motherhood to three children under three is really hard.










Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Moments.

So I'm working on embracing the moment. I have always tried to do that, but right now I'm trying even harder. I can tell you that there were 2.5 very long hours from about 2:45-5:15 this morning that I was NOT embracing. I have one child who does not sleep. Quinn was wide awake in his crib, calling out to me every 20-30 minutes, waking me, Henry and Ellie up, wanting me to get him some new books to read. And then he didn't nap today. And it is driving me fucking crazy.

So anyway. Back to embracing the moment. I mentioned that I'm reading this book - MOMfulness, Mothering with Mindfulness, Compassion and Grace by Denise Roy - and I really connect with and recommend it. There is a section where the author quotes Herman Hesse, Siddartha:

"But today he only saw one of the river's secrets, one that gripped is soul. He saw that the water continually flowed and flowed and yet it was always there; it was always the same and yet every moment it was new. Who could understand, conceive this? He did not understand it; he was only aware of a dim suspicion, a faint memory, divine voices."

Roy goes on to talk about how her sister recognized that as her life, specifically about her children growing up, watching sets of children on the playground, year after year, just changing faces. I have thought the same thing so many times, though haven't been able to say it as succinctly as Herman Hesse.

Standing at the kitchen window tonight as I was making dinner, I watched Ellie drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, her paisley dress poofing out over her new pink kitty pajama bottoms she insisted on wearing, the early evening sunlight streaming through the Japanese maple in our front yard, making Ellie's little curls sparkle and shine, and I watched her growing minute by minute, just as I'm sure another mom stood 50 or 75 years ago, in our kitchen, watching her own children grow.

The moments are fleeting; I know this. But when I've had such little sleep, it's so hard to remember.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Good enough.

I spend so much of the day thinking about how I could do things better or differently as a mother, or lamenting over what I did or didn't do to make whatever it was happen or not happen. It's so hard living in that state of perpetually not being in the moment that you're in, but rather in the state you wished you were or weren't. Does that make sense?

For example, this morning - Henry woke up about 35 minutes into his normally 1.5 hour nap. My immediate thought - 'Did I not burp him enough? I must not have burped enough. Is that why he woke up early? Now his whole day of sleeping is going to be thrown, which will make for a very sad cranky baby, which will interfere with our outing to the Greek Festival, his afternoon naps, my free time this afternoon (to make dinner), and bedtime. I should have spent more time burping him.' In that one little second, I blamed myself for something I had no control over (I burped the kid over my left shoulder, right shoulder, sitting on my lap, facing out, facing to the left side, then the right, tilted him back, sitting up again...), and automatically defined how the rest of the day was going to go, based on the fact that I screwed the morning up by not burping him enough.

That's a lot of pressure.

I have this extreme want for everything to go as planned - naps, wake up times, outings, adventures, playtime, my time - working out, meeting a friend - whatever it is, I like things to be organized and go according to plan. And the reality is that is doesn't. With three under three, it is so hard to plan anything - and I find that REALLY difficult.

I'm reading this book - I've only just started it, actually - Momfulness by Denise Roy, which is a lot about how to be in the moment, finding peace and spirituality where you are and with what you are doing.

So I am going to try to embrace that.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Am I all set?

So when I changed Ellie's pull-up (aka glorified diaper, because the girl rarely poops in the potty these days), she said two things that make me REALLY think she's ready to be potty trained.

"Wow, mommy, that is a colossal poop." To be completely fair, we at one point had used a rating system of poop size, based on a carton of mandarin oranges we had - "Small, Medium, Large, Jumbo and Colossal," so she had heard it before, but please. (I won't comment on the fact that we had a poop rating system, other to say that with preemie twins, one of whom had a pooping issue, there has always been a LOT of talk about poop at our house).

The second thing she said, after I cleaned up her gross colossal poop, was, "Okay, mommy, am I all set?"

Give a girl a break, would ya? Yes, you're all set.

"Do you think you could go poop on the potty next time?" I asked, smiling encouragingly.

"No-ooooo," she said with a nasal laugh, as though that were the silliest thing she's heard today.

So how does one potty train a kid who is so independent, so willful, and clearly wanting to do it on her terms?

Oh, yeah, and with a twin brother who has ZERO interest in going to the potty, and a four month old to take care of, and only one accessible bathroom, which is upstairs?

Any thoughts are welcome.






Sunday, September 20, 2009

From Thursday - Eggs, breasts, and beef jerky

Note, these were my thoughts from Thursday's trip to Black Butte, written in route.



So we’re on the way to Black Butte again. I work insanely hard, which is ridiculous, because I should just accept the fact that I have absolutely NO control), to time the carride perfectly for the best napping time for all three beans. Case in point:


Here’s an update on the past hour and a half of our lives. Ellie falls asleep within 10 minutes (to wake up 30 minutes later), Quinn FINALLY falls asleep after fighting it for about an hour, then sleeps for 30 minutes, but meanwhile, Henry wakes up and has a poop that weighed as much as he does - have I mentioned he’s a ginormous baby? - and now needs to be changed and wants to eat, based on the progressively louder agitated moans, groans and cries. So we stop at Detroit Lake, rather the minimart at Detroit Lake, and I nurse Henry on the front steps (no space in car, due to tremendous overpacking, and ginormosity of baby). One woman sits in her Mercedes eating her minimart sandwich, and keeps giving me nervous smiles - smiling, eating, smiling, eating. The chubby, aging punk rocker in a black t-shirt, cargo shorts, and socks pulled half way up his calf, who is probably about 40, but looks more like 60 from presumed drug use (when did I get so judgmental?), is lingering a little too long with his beef jerky and Starbucks in a can, hoping, it seems, to catch a glimpse of my boob with about 53 sideward glances. And there are three pretty good looking tan REI guys who are just down from the mountain for a few days, who stop to chat about how the breastfeeding's going. Then the endearing 70 year old man, who just came up and said, Best milk there is. My wife did the same for all four of our children. One minimart, so many opinions.


Anyway - so Quinn wakes up when we stop, angry, tired, sad, screaming, NOT happy. Henry is happy: dry diaper, milk - it’s all he needs, really. Ellie wants a snack, so they all go into the minimart, get snacks, Quinn gets his poop changed (eventually stops crying), and Ellie finds a dozen eggs in the car, which she cracks and puts in Henry’s carseat.


I’ll just repeat that last bit. Ellie found a dozen eggs in the car, four of which she cracked and put in Henry’s carseat. There were an additional four that she sent down the chute between the seat and the wall of the car, presumably to see if they would fit.


Hour and a half to go on the ride. Stress level, like the fire danger level today, Extremely High.




Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Rat

So there's this R-A-T living in our garden. Quinn calls it the Raff, because I don't think he understands what we're saying. 'I wanna see the Raff! Hi Raff.'

He is huge. And mangy. He's so big that he can't run. He just kind of lopes along like he's out for a rat stroll, heading to dinner. And although Chris thinks he is kind of endearing, I have just been more or less horrified by him, and the fact that the kids want to chase him, and was kind of worried that he might have rabies or something. So today, I come back from the grocery store with the three beans, to find that our housecleaners caught him. They've got him in a box of size 5 Car Race pull ups. Seriously. And they want to know what do with him?

I don't know what to do with him. I keep calling it him. I have no idea if it's a him or a her, and I I have no idea to do with it. Feed him poison? Not top on my list of things to do in front of my kids on a Tuesday. Call the humane society for a pick up? Not so sure they're gonna bite on that one. After a quick tete a tete on what to do, I decide I still have no idea. So what does he do? He walks the box out to our back patio, and HURLS it down into the woods. Three stories down. Yeah, I know.

Um. I don't know what the right answer was here: feed him poison, call the humane society, or hurl him down from the patio. Nothing seemed quite right. Ideas?

Of course, I have since had many pangs of guilt, feeling like I should go down and retrieve the poor little bugger, nurse him back to his full rat glory, and set him free. And that dying in a box of size 5 Car Race pull ups is no way to go, and far more inhumane (if he indeed survived the fall), than feeding him poison.

But as Chris said, he will probably just chew his way out of the box, and be back up in the front garden by dinnertime.

We'll see.



Space

Our house is exactly 2498 square feet. I write this not because I want more space or less space, or think that space in a house means one thing or another. But I am BAFFLED by the fact, that with 2498 square feet (which I consider to be a fair amount of space), that I am always within 2.5 square feet of everyone in my family. My ass takes up a good chunk of that these days, so that leaves just a smidgen for three kids and a husband, yet everyone is alwaysrightthereinmybusiness. Today it was just the kids and me; Chris has taken up his own space in San Francisco. Ellie, Quinn, Henry and I were sitting on the couch - a newly cleaned Pottery Barn slipcovered couch - and all four of us took up only one and half cushions. Quinn kept spinning around, trying to get comfortable, elbow in my eye, grabbing my shirt, Henry in my lap, Ellie squeezing into the four inches I had accidentally left between me and the arm of the couch. Do you want to move over? Quinn's answer - No, I'm reading right now. Ellie, do you want to move over? No response. She just looks at me as though I've bothered her beyond belief. Are you squished? Nothing. I often wonder what she's thinking about.

I know I will long for these days, slightly smelly kids clambering to be close, to twirl my hair, to cuddle with a blanket and a book. But right this very second, I just want space.


Monday, September 14, 2009

Out of the mouths...

Upon finding Ellie curled on the couch in the den by herself Sunday afternoon, pacifier in mouth, hand on head twirling hair, she removes paci, looks up at me through her long lashes and says, "I just need some a-yone time."

(Ellie's "l"s are often pronounced as a y: e.g., a-yone, hel-yo)

This morning, my first morning greeting, Henry attached to the boob, no coffee yet, 7:37am; Ellie walks down the stairs:

In her sweetest, most loving voice, "Is today a yoyyipop day? I took a Goooooood rest."

Meanest mother on the face on the planet, "Sweetie, we need to have breakfast before thinking about lollipops..".

Bursts into tears, "Noooo, nooooo, NO!" and climbs back up stairs to hide behind rocking chair in Ellie and Quinn's room. (as reported by Chris who was still on queen sized air mattress on floor of their room)




Saturday, September 12, 2009

All in a day's work

- Relaxing hour window shopping with a sleeping Henry on 23rd.
- Quinn getting poo on several couch cushions, requiring laundering of all couch slipcovers.
- Building a fort out of coverless, VERY feathery couch cushions and a picnic blanket.
- Being hugged and told "I'm so glad you came back to see me, " by Quinn, when he got home from playtime at Ainsworth.
- Having a fabulous husband cook dinner (not involving hamburger helper)
- Ellie pooping on the potty (!), and telling me, "Peas, I need more privacy," when I asked if she was finished.
- Playing Scrabble with fabulous husband for two hours (ultimately ending in my willing defeat)

Not a bad day at all.


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Tired day

Ummmm. I'm really tired. I should be sleeping, but instead, I'm not sleeping. I'm not really doing anything, but I couldn't face my few free moments of naptime for the three beans being naptime for me, because it would go too fast, and then I'd be up again, and probably just as tired.

So I should probably go do something. Like laundry. Or think about what to make for dinner. Neither of those things sound particularly enticing. Read the mail? Clean up the living room? Take a shower? Yoga On Demand? That's probably what I should do, but I'd have to clean up the living room to make room first. Maybe I'll just go eat a brownie.


Monday, September 7, 2009

Just a quick weekend getaway

Sweet jesus. Getting out of the house for a weekend is such is a freaking feat with three kids, even when I have someone helping me. It makes me CRAZY. Dino, bear, fishy, froggy, car blankets (2), blue blanket, pink blanket, dolly with rasta hair, naked baby doll who is not permitted to wear clothes (some bizarre manifestation of Ellie wanting to be naked all the time, I think), baby who giggles the most annoying giggle you’ve ever heard in your entire life (even more annoying at 3 am, I would imagine Chris would agree, when someone has rolled over on it on the queen sized air mattress that is being shared with an adult and two 32 lb mini humans, though not so mini when you’re sharing said air mattress), ipods, ipod speaker docks for going to sleep music and white noise, baby monitor, baby monitor base, baby monitor charger, Sleepy Cadillac book, toothbrushes, toothpaste. And that’s just so we can get the little buggers to bed. Not to sleep, mind you... but at least into bed.


Then there’s the food, the snacks, the shoes, the raincoats, the sweaters, the jackets, the Car Race pull-ups, the pink princess pull-ups, the size 2 Swaddlers. The big kid pacis, the baby pacis, the mini tennis rackets, the grown up tennis rackets, bathing suits, suntan lotion, sunhats, bouncy seat, baby playmat, the 548 outfits that we will need to have all three kids make it through the potential rain, sun and dumped bowl of soup or flung ketchup that will inevitably get on someone or everyone at least once a meal.


Shit, I think I forgot the Sleepy Cadillac book - why did I just remember that? Because we just drove by an RV with a goddamn antique Cadillac on it’s trailer. Seriously, what are the chances of that? You don’t believe me? Ask Quinn. He’ll tell you all weekend. We saw Sleepy Cadillac on a camper. Where’s Sleepy Cadillac, Mommy? I managed to pack the 927 other things that we need. And I forgot Sleepy Cadillac.


I need a beer. And a copy of Sleepy Cadillac.


post script - I also forgot coffee. Life could be over as we know it.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Scattered

So today was one of those days that I was totally all over the place. I kept thinking of things I wanted to blog about, and then boom, someone needed a boob, a juice, a snack, a clean pull up, a.. something. And woo - out of my brain it went.

I managed a trip to Costco this afternoon to stock up on a few essentials (5 lb bag of m&m trail mix, check, Ahi tuna for tonight's dinner, check, 8 heads of romaine lettuce, check), and I was so all over the place, I couldn't stand it. Indecision was the name of the game. I think I got more exercise there than I have in the past 6 months (ok, maybe the past 2.5 years). Back and forth from one end of that godforsaken store to the other and back again about five times. It's a total drug. I don't know what it was - I felt like I needed to consume. And the samples... the samples! Gorgonzola, vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup (I declined - can you believe I declined?), some sort of fake apple cider, garden burgers, beef stew (And you can microwave right in this plastic pouch!, I was told by the poor 73 year old woman who is probably having to work because social security and medicare just aren't cutting it). It's just so much STUFF. Stuff I don't really need, or at least don't really need ten pounds of.

There is seriously nothing minimalist about my life... not one single thing. I'm just as guilty as the rest of em, well, many of them anyway. I do bring my own grocery bags to the store, recycle paper, glass and plastic. But I don't compost and I have used disposable diapers for all three kids... working on my second landfill as I type. But it all felt so ick. So many things that we just don't need.

note to self: I should be shopping at New Seasons in the bulk food aisle with recycled plastic produce bags.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

two poops on a rug

Poor bean #1. Quinn, my firstborn by two minutes, just isn't getting the whole poop (or pee, for that matter) on the potty thing quite yet. You get a sticker for trying and an m&m for going; Quinn is stuck in the sticker stage. Not one m&m to his name. (ok, so we've only been doing it religiously for three days) Anyway, he shocked himself tonight, after asking several of his matchbox cars, 'Cars, do you need to go potty?', by pooping on the living room rug. Twice. The first time, he stood up, looking totally surprised, and exclaimed with wide eyes, 'What is DAT? I... NEED.... MY... PACI!' and burst into tears. Kid, you just took a shit on the floor. What do you think it is? The second time, about five minutes later, he pooed the rest of it while playing with his parking garage. This time, barely a side glance, and he suggested I should take it up to the potty to flush, No, he didn't want to come, then had a fit that I'd taken it to flush because he wanted to flush. (yes, I know you're wondering why he was still naked after the first one. I honestly don't remember, and it was only a few hours ago, but I think I might have been nursing #3. I figured he wouldn't do it again after the shock and horror of the first one)

So today we had a poop and two pees in the potty from bean #2. And two poops on the rug.










Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Whoa, nelly

She's gone and done it - added another to do on the daily todotodotodo list of having three kids under the age of 2 1/2: a blog. A blog! A spot to write, keep track of my 'I did peepees on the rug, Mommy!' moments, and hopefully even find a piece of my long ago self that seems to have temporarily disappeared among the 'No mommy, don't sleep, wake up!, I want my juice NOW!, make breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, bedtime snack, Your milk's not warm enough?, laundry (shit, the poop didn't come out, wash it again), grocery runs, clean up living room (shit, I forgot to clean up the pee from this morning), Sure, you can eat that...dried noodle (?) from under the table, I love YOU, Mommy' daily grind.

Tis the life of having of having three beans - Ellie and Quinn, my twin 2.5 year olds, a chubbalubba three month old, Baby Henry, and one co-nut, my husband, Chris.