Self Esteem Boost

Recently, there were several errands to be done. As is usually the case, I headed out with kids in tow. Tops on my list was heading to a local maternity store ... seems that the "normal" undergarments are a bit snug these days. You know it's time to upsize when the victoria's secret cotton undies serve the same function as a pair of spanx! I explained to an inquisitive Diva that we had to go the the "Mommy Store," which seemed to suffice.

As we entered the store, Diva asked if this was the "Mommy Store." I distractedly said yes and headed towards the back of the store. Several items were chosen and we made our way back to the register. While waiting in line, Diva noticed the dressing rooms across from the register and questioned their purpose and then why I was not trying anything on. Attempting to explain such things to a four-year-old is a waste of time, but the effort was put forth.

My beautiful baby girl's response:
She held up the undies, looked at them for a moment and proclaimed "These will fit you because they are big mommy panties?"

Nice baby, very nice.

Dressing for Dinner

Anyone that has ever let a toddler feed themself will completely understand. The best approach involves stripping them down to a diaper and concluding dinner with an immediate trip to the bathtub. We have used this approach with both of the kids, with the "mess" potential determining the level of clothing removal. As they got older, we could typically manage with just taking off a shirt.

As Diva has gotten older, I have been trying to break her of the habit. I have visions of my teenager sitting down in the cafeteria and removing her shirt to eat a cheese sandwich "because that's what we do at home." For the most part, excepting spaghetti and other such offenders, Diva stays fully clothed for dinner. Mission accomplished!!!

Fast-forward a bit:
Not too long ago, Diva's beloved Kiki came for dinner. If you are unaware, Kiki is my 21 year-old sister. She played with the kids until I announced dinner was ready. Without missing a beat, Diva turned to Kiki and said:
"Come on Kiki, lets take our shirts off so we can eat."

Um ... mission not quite accomplished. Guess we will keep working on that one!!!

Pop Goes the Diva

A little background information:

In our house, passing gas is referred to as "pops." When Diva was little, she was quite scared by the prospect of passing gas, especially if this act was to occur in the bathtub. In an effort to make it okay, we explained that this was just her booty's way of talking ... thus "pops." This worked great for a two-year-old, but she has not remained a two-year-old.

The fear has passed. In fact, the comfort level has gotten a little too high lately. In an effort to instill some semblance of manners in Diva, we have set up some rules. "Pops" are not allowed at the table, in front of company, etc. If possible, she is to go to her room to "pop." She is surprisingly compliant with this ... and as an added bonus, it is also funny to watch. In mid conversation, she will take off running saying "I have to go to my room to pop." We get the concept that some things shouldn't be done in public, but not quite that we should be discreet about such things. It is a work in progress.

Fast-forward to the first day of school:
All of the family piles in the car to see Diva off on the first day of school. Pictures are taken as she walks into the building and makes her way towards her classroom. Her classroom is at the bottom of the stairs. As she started down the stairs, she paused. There were lots of people in the hallway and she was clearly blocking the flow of traffic. In an effort to speed her up, I called her by name and then attempted to nudge her down the stairs. I should know better by now ...

Feet firmly planted, she glared back at me and said:
"Hold on Momma, I was popping!"

Wow, really ... did we just announce that in front of the entire school and assorted family members? And it was an announcement, as we only have one volume level for sharing "personal" information ... and it's just a hair shy of screaming.

A New Growth Chart

It is that time of year again - annual check-ups and vaccinations for the kids. We had an appointment scheduled for Tuesday. Since I felt no need to make things hard on myself, I waited until Monday night to notify Diva of our upcoming plans. We talked about going to the doctor so we could see what a big girl she was and how much she had grown. No, I made no mention of the shots ... I am a wimp and make no apologies for it.

I went to work that night and didn't give it much more thought, aside from how tired I was going to be. But, the wheels had apparently been spinning in Diva's head all night. When I got home early Tuesday morning, we had the following conversation:

Me: We need to hurry up and get ready so we can go to the doctor.
Diva: When I get to the doctor and take my panties off ...
Me (interupting): What? You don't have to take your panties off at the doctor. Why would you think that?
Daddy: No, just let her finish. This is good!
Me: Why do you need to take your panties off at the doctor?
Diva: So I can sit on the booty measuring 'sheen and we can see how big my booty is. 'Cause it keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger.
Daddy: What exactly did you tell her they do at the doctor's office?
Me: Well, not that!!!

As expected, while several measurements were taken at the doctor's office, there was no measuring of booties. They are still more concerned with height and weight, not the size of one's booty.

I See London, I See France ...

It case it isn't clear from previous posts, I have a two-year-old. As a child of this age, he is prone to doing certain things that are expected of him. They usually involve a crowded public place, a high decibel level and are often directly related to the time frame between said event and naptime. I have become quite good at scooping him up and exiting a crowded (and suddenly silent) restaurant in under five seconds. I will even confess to cranking up the radio to drown out a hysterical scream when things don't go his way. It honestly takes a fair bit to leave me speechless when it comes to my Little Man. Today was a fair bit.

We started the day with our usual Friday routine ... gym classes for both kids. Little Man was unusually cooperative for his. Next it was Diva's turn. Since Little Man has difficulty sitting around for Diva's entire class, we ran errands for half of it. After we returned, his teacher was getting ready to leave. He watched her walk out, waved to her and saw the car drive away. At that point, reality struck. He was still standing in the gym. He turned to me and screamed. This much I was expecting ... the next one threw me for a loop. I explained that we had to wait for Diva. He screamed again ... and then pulled off his pants!!

Really?!?
Is that how we settle a disagreement around here.
He who drops his drawers first wins.
Where does one go from there? How do you continue to argue or reason with him at this point.

So, I did the only thing I could in this situation. I calmly scooped up my son (and his pants) and headed for the door!!!

Don't Drink the Water

We had house guests over the weekend. Miss C is roughly Diva's age and her mother and I swear they could be twins ... strong-willed and opinionated to say the least. Both girls are potty-trained and have been for some time. However, while Miss C wears "big girl panties" to bed, Diva still relies on a pull-up. Diva has always been quite content in her pull-ups, until she realized Miss C would not be wearing one. Although I insisted that she could not sleep in panties, I didn't hold out much hope of being obeyed ... this is Diva we are dealing with!!! After bathtime, I began to get all four kids ready for bed. Feeling certain the pull-up would be replaced with panties at some point in the night, I reminded Diva she needed to potty.

Our conversation went something like this:
Me: "Diva, you need to pee-pee before you go to bed."
Diva: "No Mommy, I already did!"
Me: "That was before your bath. You need to go again."
Diva: "I already did in the bathtub!"

Okay, so most kids pee in the tub at some point. In fact her brother has adopted this practice as his favorite new hobby. No big deal, right? But, as mentioned earlier, we had company this weekend. There were three other kids in that bathtub with her!!!

I will take this opportunity to say something I never thought I would. To Miss C's mom, I am so sorry my kid peed on your kid.

I can hear it years from now: "Yeah, I've known Diva since ..."

Beauty Isn't Easy

This week was to be quite busy around our house ... two birthday parties in two days. Halfway through the week, I had the sudden realization that I would be in sandels (or more likely barefoot) in pictures. Not a big deal - until I looked down at me feet. A pedicure had to be added to the "To Do" list. Having pawned Little Man off on Daddy, Diva and I set out on our spa adventure. We have a standing deal for such outings: If she behaves, she gets to pick the color. So far it has worked out well for me, but she does keep eyeing the neon orange.

When we arrived, there was no one waiting so we headed straight for the massage chair. Diva is fascinated with it, although she refuses to sit back against it. She was on her best behavior, the color she picked was a tolerable pink and we had a good time discussing her impending party. Time passed quickly and soon it was time to get up from the chair. Per our usual routine, I lifted her down and then followed. As she began to walk away, she did what only a kid can get away with. She reached back and picked her pants/panties out from where they had crept. Because there were several other people in the store at this point, I quietly asked that she not touch her booty.

My baby girl turned around, sighed loudly and said:
"Mommy, I not touching my booty. My booty ate my panties!!!"

I had on flip flops ... there was no need to hang around for nails to dry. Although, I'm not sure I would have stayed any longer regardless of the footware!!!

Bumps and Bruises ... Oh My!!!

Accident-prone ... it's really just a nice way of saying clumsy. My kids are clumsy, plain and simple. More than one person commented on my name choice for "Diva" - it just didn't seem to suit a child of mine. You see ... I am not exactly the most graceful person. So, why would I expect anything less from my kids?
In our four short years as parents the injuries have been frequent. There have been the normal cuts and bruises, a chipped tooth with a lesson learned about dancing on the table, a black eye/nose combo that put an end to coffee tables in our house, numerous busted lips treated with popsicles ... and on and on. I have no doubt that we will get our money's worth on that accident insurance policy. We also learned a few things with Diva - Little Man had dental insurance before he had teeth. When asked at a well-child visit about Diva's bruises, I gave a honest answer. "I have no idea where they came from, but I don't remember these either," showing my own bruised legs. You see ... it runs in the family.
However, today I have to wonder when Family Services will be paying a visit? I have two children with goose eggs on their foreheads at the same time. I mean, really, what are the odds that happens to someone? She fell out of bed, landing on her head. Hysterical screams at 5am and her very sleepy mother scooped her up, but didn't notice the bruise until daylight!! As of today, it was fading nicely into a light yellow-brown. Ever the competitor, Little Man had to out do her. I have no idea how it happened (although I have a vague idea it involved climbing) ... I heard the screams after the fact. At least I noticed his, right? Hard to miss ... center of the forehead and purple/blue within a minute. I think he wins.

Scissor Skills

During Diva's first year of MDO, her scissor skills (or lack thereof) were a sticking point between Mommy and the teacher. As the mother of a three-year-old, I was quite happy that she didn't know how to hold scissors ... much less, actually use them. However, Ms. D seemed to see this as a problem. She even sent "homework" to further Diva's use of scissors. After feeling that my child had failed as a three-year-old, I gave up and began encouraging supervised use of scissor. Although it took awhile ... it finally came back to bite me.

Diva was practicing at the kitchen table. A friend recently suggested that I let her cut out coupons as practice, which seemed like a great idea. She was "helping" me and doing quite well. Little Man, in a moment of poor timing, was in desperate need of clean pants. I was only gone for a minute ... long enough to grab a diaper and some wipes. When I returned, I noticed Diva's green ball was missing some of its spikes ... and there was a neat pile of spikes laying in the chair.

Me: Diva, did you cut your ball with the scissors?
Diva: Yeah
Me: Are you supposed to do that?
Diva: No *starting to pout*
Me: "Scissors Are For Cutting Paper" lecture

I thought we were making real progress here. She repeated back the proper use of scissors and then stated that she didn't want to play with me anymore. Apparently, I am mean. I chose to ignore that statement and turned to walk away. It was then that I discovered the true extent of the problem ...

Diva held up her hand and asked "Mommy, what about this?"

In her hand was one perfect blonde curl ...

Her MDO teacher, Ms. D, would be happy to know that she held the scissors correctly and used the open-slide-close method when SHE CUT HER HAIR!!!!

A Little Pink Never Hurt

In honor of summer, Diva selected two bottles of nail polish during our last trip to Wal-Mart. That evening we painted her toenails using the "sprankles." Little Man watched intently and then climbed up beside me ... "Toes Momma, toes." What's the harm, right? ... he's not even two and just wanted to be like his big sister. I obliged and painted his right big toe. He proudly showed it to Daddy, who was slightly less proud. The pride diminished further when he learned little man wore flipflops the next day and said "Toes, toes" to anyone that would listen.
Last night, I bribed Diva - pink "fingerails" in exchange for letting me cut her nails. While Daddy was busy getting ready for work, deja vu struck. This time I tried to ignore Little Man's request. Diva was quick to serve as her brother's translator, in case I just couldn't understand him.

Our Conversation:
Little Man: "Momma toes, toes Momma."
Diva: "Momma, Little Man wants you to paint his too."
Me: "I know, but I don't think Daddy would like that."
Diva: "But Momma, Daddy is going to work. He won't see the pink."

I guess there is no denying that's my girl ...
sometimes it really is better to ask forgiveness instead of permission!!!

And no, Little Man does not have pink toenails ...
but he does still have the sparkly big toe.

Noah's Ark ... In My Own House

Bathtime is always a wet adventure in our house ... but today we took it to a whole new level. As is our usual routine, after dinner the kids headed to the bathtub. I usually let them play until the fighting starts and then go in to bathe them. Yes I know, I should not leave them unsupervised ... but I am not that perfect mommy, so I leave them alone in the tub, approximately 50 feet away and check on them often. I use this time to recover the kitchen from our eating adventures. Tonight they were playing so well together so I let them play longer than usual. There was lots of laughing, not the usual bickering after 5 minutes together. I cleaned up the kitchen and then started down the hall to the bathroom. Halfway down the hall, I noticed a problem ... my feet were wet. Sneaking around the corner, I caught them!!!

My two adorable, well-behaved children dumping trash cans full of water out of the tub. The water level in the tub was at least half what it had been ... but, it was almost an inch deep on the bathroom floor, rolling down the hall and into Diva's room. The scene continued - soaked bath mats, a previously dry pile of dirty clothes, a narrowly missed Pottery Barn rug and some very wet hardwood floors. Thank goodness we don't have carpet!

I guess Mommy's face said it all. Little Man was the one actually holding the trash can when I came around the corner. His response was classic: Pouting followed by, "I sorry Momma." But really, what else are you going to say after flooding the house?!?!

Walt Disney Could Never Have Imagined ...

Diva has had the problem for some time now. Some things I can understand ... knit pants are pretty easy to confuse front and back on. The flip flops puzzle me a bit. How does one not only put them on the wrong feet, but then wear them like that and successfully walk? While both of these are funny ... the panties are the funniest by far.

We refer to this look as the "Toddler Thong."

Way too much fabric in the front ... itty bitty bit of fabric in the back. This is what happens when the panties are put on backwards. Diva has even been known to state "My booty ate my panties." Yet, this is still a common occurrence in our home. However, this week I saw a new side of the problem. Diva greeted me as I returned from work, wearing nothing but panties (also a common sight in our house). I could tell they were on backwards, but didn't realize the real problem until she turned around.

These were her Tinkerbell undies. So, when they were put on backwards ... Tinkerbell was in an unfortunate position. All that could be seen of her were the wings. Apparently Diva's booty had eaten the rest of her!!!

A Conversation About God

The Diva's MDO class is having the End of the Year program this evening. For the Christmas program, the kids dressed as snowmen complete with stovepipe hats. Picking her up today, we began the usual after school conversation about her day. Then I asked what I thought to be a logical next question:

Me: Are you wearing a costume for your program tonight?
Diva: I wanna wear the God costume.
**long silent pause** Wow, I was thinking she would say flower or something else with a summer theme. Maybe I just misunderstood her.
Me: What costume?
Diva: The God costume. We need to go to the costume store and get my God costume.
Me: I'm not really sure we should do that. I don't think that's a good idea.
Diva: Why?
Me: Wanna go to Taco House for lunch?

So I took "God" to Taco Bell for lunch. Do you think that was okay? Maybe I should have sprung for something a little nicer.

Is This Your Kid?

It all started with me running late - something that was never a problem until I had kids. I got stuck in town, unsure I would make it back in time to pick Diva up from MDO. Mother-in-law to the rescue. The call was placed and she agreed to meet Diva at MDO and wait with her until I arrived (I was only going to be about 5 minutes late). I made pretty good time driving back and actually got there on time. As I arrived at Diva's classroom, her teacher was gone and another mom was minding the class. She was holding a child (remember this, it becomes important soon), but I was too focused on finding Diva to notice much else.

I scanned the class and not seeing Diva, began this conversation:
Her: Who are you looking for?
Me: I don't see her, but her grandma may have beat me here
Her: What's her name?
Me: "Diva"
Her: This "Diva"? **with funny look on her face, pointing to the child she is holding**
Me: Um ... yeah, that's my "Diva"

Not that there could possibly be any defense for not recognizing your own child
but ... I left home early that morning and didn't get her dressed. On top of that,
her hair had not been fixed because her Daddy doesn't do hair. So, I paid no real
attention to the random child this woman was holding because Diva would never
look the mess that she did that day ... mismatched clothes/wild hair/face turned
the other direction. And my beautiful baby girl just looked at me like I had lost
my mind ... pretty much the same look the other mom gave me.

Surprisingly, I was able to take her home without producing any identification and Family Services has yet to show up at my front door.

Poison Control 101

It was bound to happen eventually. We made it almost four years into the journey of parenthood, but clearly our time had come. The morning was going way to well and it simply couldn't last. Both kids had eaten, were dressed with hair fixed ... and I had a good 20 minutes to spare before we had to leave. I might actually get to wear make-up today!?!?

And then it happened ...
D walks up to me holding Baby Q and quite calmly says "I think he might need his mouth washed out?" He then holds up a bottle of nail polish thinner, circa 1999. I have no idea where it had been hiding - it clearly predates my married with kids life (I don't currently own any nail polish, unless you count the sliver of pink on my big toes from who knows when). Wherever Q found it, he had managed to chug about 1/2 an ounce of the stuff. Pretty amazing considering it smells like acetone. So yeah, there would be no make-up for Mommy this morning. It was replaced with a call to our local Poison Control Hotline.

The lady was quite nice - "it's nothing to be concerned about, just give him lots of milk or water to dilute it and keep him upright for the next hour or so."

And then she took my name and number ... do they put you on some sort of Bad Parents List on your first call or is it a freebie???

OCD - The Toddler Version

Miss E was asked to be a flower girl in a family wedding last Valentine's Day. This was not something we had tried before, but it was to be a small informal ceremony so we agreed. With much excitement and anticipation, she put on her "pretty dress" and posed for pictures. She did so relatively easily, so we assumed the rest of the ceremony would go just as smoothly. As the music began she walked down the aisle, tossing red rose petals along the way. The bride followed and Miss E quietly stood there, watching in awe. As the music stopped and the officiant began talking, she seemed to lose interest. She began picking up the rose petal and putting them back in her basket. No big deal - at least she was being quiet. Then ... well, poor Miss E has just a touch of OCD (all things have a place and everything must be neatly in its place) and it got the better of her. She tried her best to pick all of the petals up, but she could not reach the ones the bride was standing on.

In the middle of the prayer my sweet baby girl shoved the bride, said "move ___," and picked up the last few petals.

I didn't know whether to laugh or crawl under my chair!!!

Conversations With a Three-Year-Old

After picking the diva up from school, we set out on our typical bimonthly adventure ... lunch and a fun activity to pass the afternoon. Being at the house is not an option, as diva is terrified of the housekeeper. Mind you, she is quite intimidating - 5'2", maybe 110lbs, always smiling and talking to diva, and she has been a regular around here since diva was 6 months old. None the less, we must run screaming from her every 2 weeks ... and the adventure begins.
Diva was quite talkative today - no big surprise to those who know her father!!!

Our conversation went something like this:

• Diva: Mommy why are we taking this path
• Me: This is the path we have to take.
• Diva: Why
• Me: Because it is. *this went on for several minutes*
• Daddy: "Diva," why don't you want to go this way?
• Diva: Daddy, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Mommy
• Daddy: Why?
• Diva: Because I am.
• Daddy: But why? *you get the idea, but Diva finally had enough*
• Diva: Daddy I done talking

Silence ... oh the beautiful silence. Until it started all over again!!!

Around the Dinner Table

I remember, once upon a time, quiet romantic dinners. These are now just a distant memory. Dinner is somehow never the same after the kids arrive. The nice dishes are replaced by plastic 4/$1.00 Wal-mart plates. Dinner is served much earlier. Mac and cheese is considered an entree, not a side dish. But all of this pales in comparison to the drastic change in dinner conversation.

This is a list of things said at our dinner table (many of them more than once):

• Don't growl at your brother!
• Stop digging in your stuff! followed by...
• Go wash your hands, again!
• Stop peeing on the floor!
• Don't feed your (fill in the blank) to the puppy!
• We don't put our feet on the table!
• Don't stand on the table!
• Did you pops? (our word for passing gas)
• We don't wipe boogers on the table!
• You have to wear panties at the table!

And, that was just this week!!!

Floppy Buns

For reasons that remain a mystery, Miss E refers to Chick-fil-a as "Floppy Buns." Yeah, took us forever to figure that one out. So, Miss E and I took an adventure to our local mall. It just so happens to contain a Floppy Buns. We were waiting for the elevator - innocent enough, right? So, the door opens ... and there stands a um, sizeable woman holding a Chick-fil-a cup. In her best three-year-old voice (read "nearly a shout"), Miss E says "Momma she has floppy buns." Just kill me now. Really, can I just melt into the floor right here? I am certain this poor woman understood what was said, but is she really going to believe the comment pertained to her coke? So I did what I do alot these days ... grabbed my kid and headed in the other direction, my face several shades redder than when we started the day.

Potty Training ... Rewind

This is taken from an email sent around Thanksgiving. Forgive the rewind, but it's definately worth repeating:

I worked wednesday night and Aunt K kept the kids. At work I found out at 0630 Thursday morning that there was to be a potluck that night (and D. would be working, so something would have to be sent). When I got home, I quickly mixed up a cake and put it in to bake. I laid down for a nap and K. pulled the cake out to cool on top of the stove. She woke me up around 1130 and said she was leaving. Miss G was watching tv and Baby Q was taking a nap. I was still tired and snoozed on the couch for a little longer. Miss G woke me up at 1200 with "mommy I need wipes." This is never a good statement in our house!!!. So as I sleepily headed for the wipes, I noticed something all over her face (don't get ahead of me here). When asked what it was, she replied "mommy I eat cake." After taking care of the wipes, I set out on a mission to find the missing cake (I had noticed on the way to the wipes that I had only one 9" cake, where there should have been two).
She ran off to the playroom - let me paint a picture for you ... cake smeared all over the face, nothing on below the waist as she had pooped her pants somewhere along the way, yet to be determined. Quite a picture - would have been funny if I hadn't been so mad. So she comes back to me with a cake pan, minus half the cake. The playroom has an area where clearly she has been eating the cake. It is in several of her dishes, divided up for her babies and animals (and of course herself). Beside the cake ... the missing pants and a poop patty smeared into the ottoman and rug. keep in mind it was a chocolate cake, so it was quite difficult to distinguish where cake ended and the other began.

Yep ... a poop cake.

Welcome To Our Blog

I have never been on the cutting edge of technology. Now that it seems everyone else is well established in the blogging world, I guess it is time for me to jump in and get my feet wet. As the description suggests, the blog will be comprised of the funny happenings of Miss E and Baby Q. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Here we go .... !!!