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


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.


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


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.