Dear Santa ...

Tis the season ...
Screaming, crying, clinging to your mother or breaking free and making a run for it. Worse than any slasher movie, roller coaster or natural disaster ever imagined. The dreaded SANTA VISIT!

Our last picture with Santa was two years ago. An adorable picture of my kids ... and their tonsils. Last year we were all big talk, until we were next in line. Then it just fell apart. I was parked in what seemed like the next town. It must have taken hours to drag the traumatized children out of the mall. I am sure someone along the way considered calling CPS on me ... or offering a stiff drink.

I was prepared this year. Reinforcements were recruited, bribes were given and an escape route was planned in hopes of avoiding a scene when the inevitable happened. Screaming and crying I was prepared for, but that was not what I was given ...

As we were next in line, it went something like this:
Little Man: "My booty's stretching."
Me: "What, I didn't hear you?"
Little Man: "My booty's stretching. I need go poo poo!"
Me: "You are going to have to wait!"
Little Man: "But, my booty's stretching!" *now sitting in the floor, holding his bottom with both hands*
"I NEED TO POO POO!" *and now the entire mall knows*

Um, uh ...
You sure you don't want to just throw a big screaming fit?

Oh the Power!

I am very lucky when it comes to work. I only work two days a week and my hours spent away from home occur when the kids are (or should be) sleeping. This affords me the luxury of missing very little in the way of birthday parties, dance recitals, etc. Generally, the only thing missed is a little sleep on my part. As an added bonus, I sometimes return home with donuts for breakfast the next morning. Because of this, there are rarely complaints when I leave for work.
Recently, we had an exception ...

Diva: "What are you doing?"
Me: "Mommy has to work tonight."
Diva: "I want you to stay home. You don't have to go to work. Someone else can take care of the babies."
Me: "Mommy is the boss tonight." *attempting to sound important and irreplaceable*
"I have to go to work and make sure that all of the babies are taken care of."
Diva: "I want you to stay home." *insert dramatic sigh here*
"You aren't the boss of the whole world!"

Indeed
Nothing like the honesty of a five-year-old to put it all in perspective for you ...

Tis the Season

It was a typical weekend morning:
I came in from work to be greeted by Diva and Little Man eating breakfast - "toaster pasters" for all involved. As noted previously, for whatever reason, clothing appears to be optional in the K house. This morning was no exception. Both kids were happily eating ... wearing nothing but their underwear. In honor of the upcoming holiday, Diva had added a Santa hat to her attire.
Thirty degrees outside and my daughter is eating breakfast in Hello Kitty panties and a Santa hat!

The conversation went something like this:
Me: "What are you eating?"
Diva: "Cherry toaster paster"
Me: "I like your hat, but aren't you missing something?"
*she looks around and thinks for a minute*
Diva: "My milk! I need my milk!"
Me: "Your clothes, sister! Where are your clothes?"

So, what did I do?
Got her milk.
Sometimes it just isn't worth it!

Scary Little Cars

Like many, we are a two car family. There is the SUV that could house a third world country and the smaller, older car used mainly for commuting. While it serves the intended purpose well, no one is a particularly big fan of the smaller car. It is older, has more miles and less "luxury" features (i.e. there is no DVD player). It does get significantly better gas milage, so it is the go-to vehicle if I am alone or only dragging one child along for the ride.

Being kids, they don't grasp this money-saving concept ... only the "no DVD player" part stands out in their minds, as evidenced by a recent overheard conversation:

Diva: "You are going with Momma and you have to take the little car."
Little Man: "No! I take the big car."
Diva: "You have to take the hond-ted, cause hond-ted is spanish for little car and we are taking the big car."

I feel the need to point out:

• little car is a honda
• it is in no way haunted
• we watch entirely too much Dora

Frankels and Moles, Oh My!

My children take after their mother in many aspects. The fairness of their skin is a perfect example. My diaper bag has always contained sunscreen and there is a spare in the car ... just in case. There is no such thing as a tan line, but freckles are never in short supply. Little Man has a "frankel" on his arm. It is a source of great pride. Fall always signals a battle of wills as the long-sleeved shirts will cover the beloved "frankel." Occasionally, he forgets which arm it is on. Panic sets in ... and then he checks the other arm!


Recently our favorite gym teacher, Ms. E, had quite a story to tell.
The conversation went something like this:
Little Man: "Ms. E, you got a frankel!" *pointing to her arm*
Ms. E: "No, it's a mole."
Little Man: "I got two moles!" *pulls his shirt up, pointing to his nipples*


If only I could have seen the look on Ms. E's face for that one!

School Rules

Diva started school this year ... and we all held our breath.
She's smart, sometimes too much so for her own good. She typically behaves well, although her "moments" are usually pretty memorable. She always has an opinion. Sometimes she shares it at entirely the wrong time. In short, she is her mother's child.

At school, the behavior system is based on a star. If your star stays on blue all day, great. If if progresses to yellow, red, etc. you lose an increasing amount of recess time. If you end up with a purple star, a field trip to the principal's office is on the agenda. Every afternoon, as she gets in the car, Diva and I discuss the star situation. Most days it is a smooth conversation. Blue star, end of story. Most days ...

Me: "Did you have a good day?"
Diva: "I got my star pulled."
Me: "Why did you get your star pulled?"
Diva: "I left the playground"
*insert long speech as to why this is a dangerous thing to do*
Diva: "Mrs. A told me to come back and counted."
Me: "Then why didn't you come back when she told you to?"
Diva: "I heard her, but I was tired of walking."

Nice to know I'm not the only one she ignores. I should point out that the punishment for getting your star pulled ... is walking!
She's very smart, but sometimes the whole logic thing really trips her up. As I said, she is her Momma's child ... bless her heart!

Another Place We Will Never Visit Again

Anyone with kids nows this much to be true: anything is possible when kids are put in the mix. They will say and/or do anything and never miss a beat. We, however, are left scrambling to recover graciously. Sometimes we succeed ... sometimes not so much.

We recently ventured out for an evening of fine dining - I believe it was Hamburger House, as the Ackdonald's playground had a broken A/C. The rules are simple. In order to play, you must first eat. There is no bargaining, no exceptions are made.

On this day, things were going smoothly ... way too smoothly. It was bound to happen, it was just a matter of time.

The conversation:
Me: "Little Man turn around and sit on your booty."
Little Man: "I can't"
Me: "Sit down and finish eating or you don't get to play."
Little Man: "I can't. My booty's stretching."
*I chose to ignore this, hoping that no one had understood him*
Me: "Sit down now!"
*At this point, he was standing up, voice increasing in volume with every word*
Little Man: "I can't my booty's stretching! I NEED TO GO POO-POO!"

Sweet! Anyone care to guess how long it takes to pack up three kids and find the door?
I bet it's not nearly as long as you think!

But She Has Bandaids ...

I received the dreaded phone call a few days ago:
"Mrs. K, this is the school nurse"
I cut her off before she could say anything else
"What's wrong with Diva? What happened?"

I was assured that she had simply taken a tumble and had a small bump on the head (of course she did, we had pictures scheduled for the next day!). It was nothing to worry about, no need to come get her ... she just wanted me to be aware of what had happened. Several years ago, I would have rushed to the school and then straight to the ER and demanded an MRI ... but that was several years ago. Instead, I did what a woman with three kids does ... calmly finished my lunch date with a friend and ran some errands.

When I picked her up that afternoon, our conversation went something like this:
Momma: "Diva, what happened to your head?"
Diva: "I fell when the kids pushed me."
Momma: "Why did they push you?"
Diva: "I don't know. I went to the school nurse. She has stickers and bandaids!"
Momma: "Was she nice to you?"
Diva: "Yeah"
Momma: "Did you know that's what Mommy does when she takes care of the babies? Mommy is a nurse."
Diva: "But she has stickers and bandaids!"

So after four years of nursing school and eight years of critical care experience ... the school nurse is cooler than me because she has stickers and bandaids? Clearly we have our priorities, and they come in the form of stickers and bandaids. Nice!!!

Momma's Education

My job requires that I complete a certain number of education hours each year. As with most things, the classes available are typically not offered on off hours. Because of this, I am not a regular at such classes. This morning was an exception.

Aunt Kiki agreed to spend the night and watch the kids this morning, providing the chance for me to attend a class. I made no mention of my plans as the kids went to bed - they would have been bouncing off the walls for hours.

As I was getting ready, Diva had a few questions:
Diva: "Where are you going?"
Mommy: "I have to go to school."
Diva: "Where is your school?"
Mommy: "At my hospital. Even Mommy has to go to school sometimes."
Diva: "What do you do at your school?"
Mommy: "Learn how to take care of the babies."
Diva: "But you know how to take care of the babies."
Mommy: "Yeah, but I still have to go to school sometimes."
*very serious look on Diva's face, really concentrating on this one*
Diva: "Do you not do a good job taking care of the babies?"
Mommy: "Um, well ... I try to ..."

Nothing like a five-year-old to provide a well-placed blow to the ego!

Dinner with Diva

Once upon a time, I was new to this whole "Mommy" thing. I was often surprised by what my kids could do and how great the level of embarassment could be. Times have changed - it takes alot these days.

So, rewind a few years:
We live in a relatively small town, in a dry county. As a result of this, non-fastfood dining options are severely lacking. Not long after Little Man arrived in our lives, a new restaurant opened - nothing fancy, but new and different. It was decided that I would venture out with two small children to have dinner with my sisters and mother at said restaurant. *It should be noted at this point that I was attempting to potty train Diva at the time.*

Upon arrival, we were seated at a table in the main walkway of the restaurant - we were in plain view of anyone entering. Things went smoothly for awhile, but Diva got restless and decided to sit in Kiki's lap. Shortly thereafter, Diva announced she needed to pee. As anyone that has potty trained knows, once the announcement is made you have approximately 10 seconds to act. I was holding Little Man and missed that vital window.
Diva jumped down from Kiki's lap, stood at the end of the table and a puddle began to form. Now this would have been bad enough, but remember our location in the restaurant ... Realizing her clothes were wet, my beautiful baby girl calmly stood there and removed all of her clothing from the waist down.

How do you respond to that? Naked ... in the middle of the restaurant ... a crowded new restaurant at the height of the dinner rush. I did the only thing I could at that point - smiled, scooped up my naked child (and her clothes) and made a frantic search for the bathroom.

Just when it couldn't possibly get worse, the door to the bathroom opened ... and there stood my sister, with a very large wet spot on her leg!
So, crowded restaurant ... naked child ... puddle on the floor ... pee on my sister ...

Check, please!!!

What's In A Name?

From the time they start talking, kids seem to have a language all their own. Mine are no exception. Many of the names given to things are based on their function or what can be found in them. It makes sense to us simply because we are around it all the time. We get accustomed to hearing certain names and phrases, eventually even finding ourselves using them.

Some examples:

• Floppy Buns - Chick-fil-a (don't ask, we have no idea.)
• Ackdonalds - Mickey D's
• Taco House - Taco Bell
• Hamburger House - Burger King
• The Circle Store - Target
• The Mommy Store - Old Navy, Ann Taylor, Motherhood, etc (anywhere that has women's clothes and/or no toys)
• Money House - Bank (further differentiated as "Mommy's" or "Daddy's")
• Big Car & Little Car - the family SUV vs the smaller second car
• BBQ House - Papaw's Catering Trailer (guess what he caters?)
• Apple Juice Slush - Sonic (hmm ... wonder what we order here?)

As you can see, most of the names make perfect sense ... no matter what your age. However, if you aren't familiar with the language it could present a bit of a learning curve initially. Because of this, Daddy has set about trying to make a point of using the correct names. Last week we were at Burger King - gotta love the indoor playgrounds when the outside temp is hovering at 100.

The conversation went something like this:
Diva: "I like the Hamburger House playground."
Daddy: "Hamburger House's name is Burger King."
Diva: "No, it's Hamburger House!"
*this went back and forth several times before he gave up*

Later that evening:
Diva: "Momma, can we go back to King Booger the next day?"
Momma: "Where?"
Diva: "King Booger. I wanna go on the big slide!"
Momma: "Mmm ... go ask your Daddy."
Diva: "Daddy, can we go to King Booger the next day and play on the playground."
Daddy: "Where?"
Diva: "King Booger!"
Momma to Daddy: "So, was Hamburger House really so bad?

We haven't worked on the "proper" name for anything since then.

The Power of Chocolate

We have been trying for quite some time to get Little Man potty trained. At this point, there is only one sticking point - he refuses to "put the poo-poo in the big boy potty." I really can't complain too much about this. He also refuses to put it anywhere else, except in a pull-up. There have been no accidents in months, although we do see an impressive potty dance on a pretty regular basis. It isn't like I am having to rinse out undies or disinfect the floor. He waits for a pull-up at bedtime.

I have tried all kinds of bribes, even offering him "whatever you want" to use the potty. His most recent choice was chocolate. It is still sitting on the counter and is mentioned on a regular basis with hopes that the promise of chocolate will produce the desired result.

Today, as happens all too often, my words came back at me. There is no privacy with a two-year-old around. Shutting the bathroom door merely serves as a suggestion not to come in ... one that is typically ignored.

Today's conversation went something like this:
Little Man: "Momma, where are you?"
Me: "In the bathroom. I'll be there in a minute."
Little Man: "What are you doing?" *voice moving closer, door opening*
Me: "I'm going potty. Shut the door and go back to the table."
Little Man: "Momma, you want chocolate? You go poo poo in the potty, you can have chocolate."
Me: "Go back to the table please!"
Little Man: "You get chocolate Momma! You such a big girl!"

So clearly he gets the concept of the reward system, he just chooses not to use it.
On the upside - I got a piece of chocolate cause I'm such a big girl. Some days you just have to take what you can get!

You Put What on Your Lips?

In our house, make-up is highly valued by the "under five" group. Clearly, this was not inherited from Momma. Full make-up for her consists of eyes and lips ... at the same time! The love of make-up was never a big issue until a certain Little Man entered our lives. Poor kid. The only role model he has is a prissy girl - he didn't stand a chance!

Since Daddy has issues with his boy wearing lipstick, we have had to get creative. Little Man does get to wear lipstick. You and I just happen to know it better as chapstick. It's all the same to him and it makes my life a little easier. For Christmas, Santa left each kid a "lipstick." A few weeks ago one of these was rediscovered. Unfortunately, only one was rediscovered. This usually results in a fight. I was braced for the fight - screaming, hitting, throwing - I was ready for any of it. However, I was not quite prepared for what I got. It should be mentioned at this point, the "lipstick" was called Vanilla Blizzard.

Overheard in the Playroom:
Diva: "It's mine!"
Little Man: "I want lipstick!"
Diva: "This is mine. It's vanilla lizard."
Little Man: "Divaaaa, I want nilla lizard!"
*Did I really just hear that? Lizard?*
Momma: "What are you doing in there?"
Diva: "Putting lipstick on my lips."
Momma: "What kind of lipstick?"
Diva: "Vanilla Lizard."
Little Man: "Momma, I got nilla lizard!"
Momma: "Okay"
*sometimes it's really not worth the effort. Vanilla Lizard it is!

Look Before You Shoot

You may or may not know ... we have several pets. Of particular annoyance is an elderly cat named Sophie (Soapie to the younger crowd). She has endeared herself to the family in numerous ways: climbing on the counters, stealing food and vomiting in main pathways during the night just to name a few.


In an effort to deal with these problems, we sometimes use a spray bottle of water. Ideally, said bottle of water is kept close so that the sprayee can be hit by the sprayer with minimal effort. Often just a shake of the water bottle is sufficient to accomplish the goal.

On a recent night, I was attempting to watch the news - anyone with kids knows this is a lost cause, but I still continue to try. Sitting on the couch, the familiar sound of a cat landing on the counter caught my attention. I grabbed the water bottle and aimed in the general direction of the kitchen, still trying to watch the latest big news story. The trigger was pulled and followed by "Hey!" from around the corner.

Little Man walked into the living room ... with a large wet spot in his hair and a very confused look on his face.

Oops!

Sharing Is Overrated

My kids hear it constantly. It is probably one of the most repeated phrases in our home. Because it doesn't happen consistently, it requires what seems like an almost constant reminder.

"Share (insert approriate item) with your brother/sister!"

The above phrase is usually met with some variation of "I had it first!" or "it's mine!" Clearly sharing is still a work in progress around here.

This week we had visitors. Well, not exactly visitors, the kids are roughly the same ages and have grown up together. They typically play together well and sleepovers are as smooth as they can be at this age. A late night case of the giggles aside, this visit seemed no different from previous ones.

The kids got up way too early and we headed to the table for a healthy breakfast of PopTarts. After breakfast the girls headed to the bathroom to start getting ready for the day. Diva's toothbrush, complete with toothpaste, had already been laid out. I explained to Miss C that I couldn't find hers, but she could brush her teeth at home that morning. As things appeared under control, I headed to the other room. After dressing the boys, I realized the girls were still in the bathroom. Two little girls, a room with a ready water supply and silence ... I was a bit concerned.

I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted at the bathroom door by a lack of obvious damage. And then I noticed it ... Miss C was holding a toothbrush and there was a ring of toothpaste around her lips.
Diva proudly announced:
"Momma I let her use mine because she didn't have one."

Fabulous! We don't believe in sharing toys or food around here ... but toothbrushes are perfectly fine. As previously stated, sharing is a work in progress around here.

Baby Boy McMichael

The newest addition to our family will be here in a few short weeks. The kids are excited, if a bit unsure of what it all means. Watching them attempt to process the information has been an adventure of sorts.

There have been the typical, expected questions:
"When will he be here?"
"Where is he now?"
"How did he get in your tummy?"
"How are we going to get him out?"

Admitting to being somewhat of a coward, I have answered some of these and avoided others entirely. However, not everything can be avoided!

A recent conversation with Diva (in the midst of complete strangers) went something like this:
Diva: "What is our baby's name?"
Me: "Baby Boy"
Diva: "No, its McMichael."
Me: "No, remember it's Baby Boy."
Diva: "No Momma. That's his first name. His next name is McMichael."
Me: "Diva, what is your next name?"
Diva: "K****"
Me: "Baby Boy will have the same next name that you do, just like Little Man and Mommy and Daddy."
Diva: "No Momma!" *in a very frustrated and insistant tone*

I should also note that she is quick to share this information with anyone that will listen. Try explaining to acquaintances (or relative strangers) why your third child, that you claim to be your husband's, will have a completely different last name. I'm sure that will go over particularly well in the Baptist MDO program we use!

I just have a couple of questions:
Does anyone know Mr. McMichael?
Is he a nice guy?

The Birds & The Bees ... Kinda

When Little Man was born, Diva was three days shy of two-years-old. We never had a "Big Sister" conversation with her. When the day arrived, she was brought to the hospital and presented with the new baby ... end of story.

This time around has been slightly different. The kiddos will be almost five and three when baby #3 makes his grand entrance. Clearly, some sort of announcement had to be made. Considering our complex pregnancy history, I was in no hurry to share the news in case things didn't go according to plan. As time went on, there just never seemed to be a "perfect" time to tell them. I was constantly asked "You really haven't told them?" and "They haven't noticed your belly?" or some variation. The answer: no. They seemed quite oblivious and we were content to go along with it.

Finally, at 29 weeks we took the kids to an ultrasound and presented their new baby brother ... on a big screen. If you know Daddy, you understand just how fitting that is! Little Man was less than impressed, but Diva was absolutely mesmerized. She watched the screen for awhile, taking it all in and letting that little mind process it all. Then came THE QUESTION.

Diva: "How do we get him out of your tummy?"
Me: "We just do."
Diva: "But how?"
Me: "We go to the hospital and get him out?"
Diva: "How does the hospital get him out?"
Daddy: "They say abracadabra and get him out."

Okay, sure that is one approach - personally, I prefer complete avoidance. But, confusing them can be a good route too.

So, if she has an aversion to magicians later in life or decides to forgo an epidural in favor of "abracadabra" ... blame her daddy!

There has been a real problem around here lately with spitting and talking back. While I appreciate a good smart a** as much as the next person, it really isn't as well-received in a four-year-old and I have no patience for spitting. Time out and loss of privileges has made little difference in the problem - time to go old school.

With fond memories of my childhood encounters with a bar of Ivory soap, I decided it was time to mix up a batch of "Sassy Spray" - aka vinegar and water in a spray bottle. I was certain this would be the cure for the current problem. Have I mentioned over-confidence is also occasionally a problem in our house?

It wasn't long before we had the opportunity to test out the spray.
The encounter went something like this:
Me: "Little Man, go to time out!"
LM: "NO!" (followed by spitting)
*Little Man placed in time out*
Me: "We don't spit! Do you want Sassy Spray?"
LM: "Yeah" (opens his mouth and smiles)
*Sassy Spray used, small amount of foaming noted as he smiles and swallows it*
LM: "I like Sassy Spray." (spits and opens mouth) "I want Sassy Spray!"

Okay ... this isn't how it's supposed to work! Guess I should have stuck with the Ivory ... but, even after all these years, I still can't bring myself to buy it!

Fine Dining

I have never been the fancy restaurant kinda girl. After becoming a mother, the concept of "fine dining" is practically nonexistent. My idea of dinner out ... actually going into McDonald's instead of hitting the drive-thru. Meals fixed at home also tend to be quick and easy. This is not to say that I don't cook ... it just tends to be in a crock pot or casserole dish.

A few nights ago was no exception. After running errands with the kids all afternoon, five o'clock came much sooner than I had anticipated. Reaching for something quick and easy, tuna salad sandwiches became dinner for the night. Kids plates were prepared, although there was no real hope of them actually consuming said food. However, the promise of a Little Debbie "heart cake" after dinner was on my side. Little Man refused to touch his sandwich, but surprisingly Diva actually ate a few bites from around the edges. That heart cake was sitting on the counter taunting her ... she really had no choice but to eat the tuna.

As we were finishing dinner, I hear:
"Momma, I like my sandwich ... next time can you put less skunk in it."
Huh? Surely I misunderstood that one?
"What baby?"
"Can you put less skunk in it? I don't like skunk."

I will admit to some "creative" cooking, especially early in my marriage. We have eaten dry chicken, crunchy rice and mushy pasta as I learned how to cook. There was an unfortunate incident when a can of jalapenos was mistaken for green chiles. However, I have never served skunk ... ill-prepared or otherwise!

Boogie Monster - Circa 2010

My children watch too much television. I admit this, am not particularly happy about it, and have thus far done nothing to change it. In light of a recent conversation, I just might have to change my stance. It was not about the brain cells lost by watching television, the lack of creativity because of it or the link to an increased risk of obesity and ADHD. It was about ... booger people.

Wanting to fit in with their peers, my kids have been sporting snotty noses for the past several weeks. I am fighting a loosing battle against snot in inappropriate places - sleeves, couches, my clothes, etc. After observing the offending material being placed on the furniture, I pulled Miss E aside for a discussion.

Our conversation went something like this:
Me: "Don't wipe boogers on the couch. Go get a tissue."
E: "Why?" (with finger firmly planted in nare)
Me: "Get your finger out of your nose! That's just gross!"
E: "But Momma, I have booger people in my nose. They are having a party."
Me: "What?"
E: "I have booger people. I trying to get them out."

Anyone else familiar with the Mucinex commericals? Clearly my four-year-old has a decent grasp of the concept.

Time Out ... Mommy Style

Help, I have a Diva ... and she's out of control!

Time out is a regular occurance in our home. Some days we stop there before making it to breakfast in the morning. If we can get through the morning without a visit, there is cause for celebration ... or the feeling that something must be horribly wrong with my Diva.

The rules are really quite simple:

• You must actually sit up in time out and remain in one spot.
• Your time begins when you are sitting quietly.
• If you begin screaming, your time will start over.
• After the timer goes off, you must go to the person that put you there and talk about why you ended up in time out.

Recently, Diva was on her way to that all to familiar place. As is usually the case, she felt the need to throw a fit and take off her clothes (not sure why those always seem to go together) before settling into time out. I reminded her of the rules and laid down on the couch to wait out the screaming.

Fastforward about an hour ...
I realize, looking at the clock, apparently I had fallen asleep. The house is remarkably intact, there is no screaming and I can hear both kids playing ... all good signs after an unintentional nap!

At this point, Diva (still sans clothes) comes up to me and says:
"Mommy I got out of time out when you were asleep."

Yeah, I got nothing!!! If Mommy falls asleep before you can make it to rule #2, it is kind of hard to continue on to #3 and #4.

Learning Your Place

In an effort to avoid two kids in diapers, I have begun an all-out campaign to potty train Little Man before our new arrival comes this spring. This has been done with much hesitation, as Diva took the better part of a year to master this task (no doubt, due in part to a particularly strong stubborn streak).

Hoping to shorten the time required this trip, there have been some changes to the process. We picked a day to start and began the countdown several days before. When the big day finally arrived, all diapers were removed from view and Little Man was told "Big boys don't wear diapers, they put pee-pee in the potty." Taking a cue from what worked with Diva, I then stripped him down and said pull-ups were only to be used outside of the house and at bedtime. That first day was a dream: no accidents, taking himself to the potty and a dry pull-up after a four hour outing.

That was the first day ... not to be confused with the second day.
Early the second morning, we were snuggled up on the couch watching cartoons. Pajamas for me and Little Man in his birthday suit. As a side note, this is the newest couch in the house that sits on a room-sized pottery barn rug ... you know that can't possibly end well!
Cozy on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket ... then the realization of something warm and wet on me. It takes a moment for it all to sink in. The still peeing child is tossed off of me and onto the rug (because it would be way too easy to just let him finish and then change my clothes!)

While cleaning up the mess (him, me, couch and rug), he discovers that the beloved geen bainket had been hit. Hysteria ensues. Big tears. "I pee-pee geen bainket." "Geen bainket nasty." Anger gives way to feeling sorry for my little guy. After being assured that geen bainket can be fixed, he begins to calm down.

I take this moment to do a bit of potty training reinforcement:
Me: "Where to big boys pee-pee?"
Little Man: "In da potty"
Me: "Where did you pee-pee?"
Little Man: "On Mommy"
Me: "Why did you pee-pee on Mommy?"
Little Man: "Because" with no hint of remorse
Me: "Do you think Mommy likes for you the pee-pee on her?"
Little Man: "Yeah" with a great big smile

It now occurs to me, he was absolutely crushed at the thought of peeing on his blanket, yet doing the same thing to Mommy made him smile.

No longer feeling sorry for him!!!!