The day that peed on me...

I don't usually say things like "Damn it" but I found that muttering it under my breath somehow made things better. Gold star for me.

I also don't USUALLY find Doodle splashing gleefully in a puddle left by her big brother on the floor, but that's the reality of this day of days.

It started out pretty good. My nieces were over for a couple of hours. The kids were getting a band together. Things were hectic but good. My sister in law stayed a little while and we chatted and discussed the creative differences of the band. We were mediating if you will. We were trying to keep the band together. My BFF called, during a particularly heated debate about how lame my Kazoo is, and I missed the call. At one point the boy came out from under the piano a little too fast and *whammo* hit the back of his head on his way up. Big horizontal goose egg of doom. I comforted him as best I could and went to the kitchen to get the ice pack and a pillow. I turn around and the boy is standing in a puddle of pee. This is particularly impressive because he has the trainer pants on, you know the super absorbent undies. I don't usually get puddles with these. OK, but he hit his head, he was confused and delirious. Obviously the band breaking up was hard on him. So we go change him. He lays on a pillow with an ice pack under it for about 12 seconds and he is back to playing. Someone mysteriously throws up chocolate milk, it stinks in here. It's one of the nieces. Hooray bodily fluids!

I am not exactly sure when it was that the second pee puddle made an appearance. Again, super absorbent underoos, and yet the world stopped as I watched my grumpy daughter splash and play with a song in her heart and joy on her face. Big puddle folks. real big. The problem is, the boy is really hard to discipline. He just doesn't take you seriously and it doesn't really matter what you do how you say it or anything. He doesn't care. Lake big pee and a ner could care attitude from the boy is just not a winning combination. Cleaning ensues. Muttering ensues.

I suppose it doesn't help that Mr. loud mouth Mgee and the up all night band were having a wailing good time last night, I was also tired. As a side note, I am waiting for the day that E buddy in all of his loudness and glory actually has a serious crisis and I, being the gold star mother that I am, ignore it because I think it's a lost pacifier. He's the boy that cried, I would say wolf, but he's really just the boy who cried loudly, very loudly.  I'd call it a blood curdling scream.

Anyway, somewhere lunch happened and grumpy happened and nap time happened, glorious, wondrous nap time.  Or so I thought, The boy pooped his pants, oh and peed some more. Added bonus he broke the side rail right off of his bed so that it is splintered and shattered and broken and dangerous and must be fixed right now. *toss of confetti* *insert muttering here* Here's the thing about potty trainees, they pee or poop in their pants, they still want to go sit on the potty for like 15, 20 minutes. See, it's not nap time in the bathroom. Cleaned everything up, found an Allen wrench, duct tape the bed back together. There. That looks niiiiiiiiiiiiice. So much for selling that in the future. This is why we can't have nice things. Get the boy to bed, in a diaper. I am done with bodily fluids at this point in my day.

On any given afternoon you could very well see me out in my backyard with the power hose spraying poo out of pirate underwear. This afternoon was no different.

Then there was the part where I had the audacity to step on a scale. Why did I step on that scale? Take this day and gently fold in self loathing. There, that should be good.

Remember that diaper? Yeah, that backfired, I tried really hard to rectify what my impatience and frustration had done. I knew, I shouldn't have put him in a diaper. This morning I accidentally tried to put a diaper on him and he looked so offended, "I a big boy mama, I a big boy, no diaper!" Now he was running through the house exclaiming triumphantly " I A BABY! I A BABY! I A BABY!!!"

At this point my BFF called, she felt that I was going to have a taxing day. It was, she's very clairvoyant. I told her that if I had been able to talk to her this morning, I wouldn't know what she was talking about. Phone calls from BFF's are good. Husbands coming home from work so I can lock myself in the back bedroom and talk to my BFF, they are great to have around.

And that's it. The day that peed on me. It ended with me mopping the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, giving my stinky children a bath, Eskimo kisses,butterfly kisses, snuggles and really, that made all the crazy of this day kind of melt away. We will just skip over the part where I sat in the dark corner of the hall with the potty reward bowl. After all, tomorrow IS the first day of the rest of my life. And maybe, just maybe, we will get some pee in the potty tomorrow. Here's hoping.

E buddy...

Sometimes I feel like E buddy doesn't get the love from the camera he deserves. It's not that I don't take pictures of him it's just that he's busy.
When he's not super involved in his in depth study of pine cones.

 He's super involved in his in depth study of the camera...

Or he's on the move and blurry, or he's conducting a study of whatever is around and he won't look up at me.

He's a mover and a shaker and I love him. I am going to try to do a serious study of getting more pictures of the little go getter.

The problem with boots....

I do this as a public service.  I wish I had pictures of my son's feet. Here's the thing, boys, and probably little girls love boots. They can put them on by themselves, the are cool.  If your kid happens to fancy himself a pirate, they are a necessity. 

But folks, they stink.  Plastic boots sink heaps and heaps worth of stinky units.  We can smell where the boy has been, like a little skunk,  and that's with the boots off. He wore them on the wrong feet without socks and his feet look burned.  He had horrible blisters, does this deter him? Not at all. 

So now, being the good mother I am, I am forced to hide the stinky pirate boots under my bed so his feet can heal.  I am in for a boat load of tears and searching, but his feet cannot go on in this condition.  I am also going to be smelling him in my dreams.

He loves them so. Maybe they should hide under dad's side of the bed?  Thank you brain. :)