Why my Bathroom is Clean

The twins are eighteen months old and are frequently getting into all sorts of toddler mischief.  Consequently, far too often they end up in their play pens or high chairs while my wife and I try to get something done.  I had to work this morning and wanted to spend some quality time with the kids now that I was home.  So, since the weather was nice, I decide to take them out to the backyard where they could run and play with little opportunity to achieve catastrophic levels of home terrorizing.


My wife had taken our three-year-old grocery shopping, the baby was napping, and the other children had joined our backyard adventures.  In short, all was going well.


After some time I heard the baby fussing and went inside to rescue her.  Since she wanted to be held, I opted to sit with her just inside the doorway where I could keep an eye on the kids and read my wife's latest blog post, A Memoir in NUM8ER5.  


This was important to me as the elapsed time between when she posts and my reading them is inversely proportionate to the number of husband points I earn for complimenting her on her wit and domestic prowess.


But I digress.


As I sat reading, my oldest ran in to use the restroom.  I heard him washing his hands afterward and didn't think much of it.  After a few minutes of listening to the water, it hit me.  He doesn't like having to wash his hands after using the bathroom and usually completes the procedure very quickly.  In fact, he seldom washes his hands without having to be reminded... and I hadn't reminded him.  Come to think of it, the water sounds I had heard hadn't been running water, it was sloshing water.  Oh no.


Quick glance outside -- Count the kids -- ONE, TWO, THREE, F... Crap.  Number four was my oldest.  Who was in the bathroom then?  Who wasn't outside?


There was only one toddler outside.


Instantly I knew what was happening.  I set the baby down in her car seat and bolted for the bathroom.  Instantly my fears were confirmed.  I found one smiling toddler drenched from head to foot standing in the middle of a large smelly puddle, happily splashing in the unflushed toilet.


Remember those husband points I referred to earlier?  Well guys, let me tell you, letting your toddler submerge himself in watered-down urine while your wife is shopping isn't the best way to go about earning them.

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[Imagine a picture me scrubbing the bathroom like mad here]

Sooooooo... Honey, my Beautiful Bride, my Eternal Companion (who is just finding out about our little escapade as she reads this), how about that clean bathroom!   :)

Small Successes

Tonight was the big night.  Pinewood Derby racing.  


I got home from work, scarfed down some food and hammered in the car wheels just in time to head back out the door with four kids and one untested racer.  Would it drive straight?  I just prayed it wouldn't slow to a stop halfway through the race.  Having to retrieve your car mid-track is hard for a boy to live down.  


Fast forward a few hours.


We didn't come in last every race!  Is it bad that I'm inwardly happy there was one other Pinewood Derby Car that was slower than mine my son's?


Crap.  Having admitted it, I now I feel bad.  Is this survivors guilt?


Curse you lame artisan.

The Artisan in Me

Yesterday and today my oldest son and I have been working on his Pinewood Derby car for Cub Scouts.  It was a good chance for me to connect with my inner artisan and get to know him a bit better.  The conversation went something like this:

Me:  Hey, wake up.  We need to make a Pinewood Derby car from a block of wood that won't embarrass us in front of the other dads.

Artisan:  So, let me get this straight -- you've got a block of wood and you want a car.

Me:  Well, yes.  That's the basic idea.

Artisan:  Okay, so put the wheels on it and let your kid paint it.  Why do you have to bother me with these things?

Me:  Ah, well... I was hoping for a bit more than a boxcar.  You know, shape the wood, sand it, paint it all fancy, put graphite on the wheels to make it fast -- that sort of a thing.

Artisan:  It sounds like you know what you're doing, so I'm going back to sleep now.

Me:  No no no.  I have an idea of what needs to be done, but if I try to do this myself It'll be a complete disaster.  You've gotta help me.

Artisan:  And you think I'll do a better job?

Me:  Yes.  Absolutely.  I mean, you are the inner artisan.

Artisan:  Yes, but I'm inside you.

Me:  What's that supposed to mean?

Artisan:  Let me put it this way, I can only be as good as the raw material with which I have to work.

Me:  Hey!  Are you comparing me to raw material?!

Artisan:  Sorry, you're right of course.  That is unfair to raw materials everywhere.  I mean, at least they can eventually produce a useful product.

Me:  Ouch.

Artisan:  The truth hurts.  Don't blame me.

Me:  Shut up and go back to sleep.

Artisan:  No problem.  I never really woke up anyway -- you see I'm just a figment of your imagination...

...

Sorry kid, I think you're pretty much on your own.

Miniature Sunday School Guest

Today during church my three-year-old was having some separation anxiety and begged me to stay with him in Primary.  I told him I would stay for a bit, but I had a class to go to also.  Every few minutes I tried to convince him he would be okay with his teacher and it was time for me to go.  Unconvinced, he would tell me in his sweet little voice, “I need you, Daddy.”  This of course melted my heart each time and bought him a few more minutes.

After about twenty minutes, I decided he needed a gentle ultimatum.  I leaned down and whispered in his ear that I had to go to class now and he could stay in his happy fun Primary class with his wonderful teacher, or come to Sunday School with me, which was boring for children.  Once he realized I would not be convinced to stay in Primary with him, he opted to accompany me to Sunday School.

Since we were markedly late, the only seats available were in the very front of the class.  I escorted my son to the bench and we sat down.  Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t even able to pull off a pretense of calm for more than about fifteen seconds.  As his wiggling became more obvious and chatter louder, I leaned down and reminded him he needed to be very quiet and reverent.  

Apparently he had hit his limit, and demanded VERY loudly, “Why we gotta be in dis boring class anyway?!”

*sigh*

I guess I brought that one on myself. 

Should this Post have a Rating?

I had a dream last night.  

I was standing in the living room and watched my five-year-old squat in the dining room, angle, and birth a six-foot-long turd like a salmon slowly jumping up a waterfall in a National Geographic special.  

The steaming monstrosity gently settled to the floor, resting its forward-most section on the living room carpet.  Just before the icky-shiver, which was convulsing through my body, reached the heart of my soul, I had my first coherent thought.  Do you know what it was?

I’ve got to take a picture and blog this.

Visualize trying to convince your recently violated kindergartner to lie down next to a log of human-waste twice as tall as him.  He was in no way consoled when I pointed out to him that he must feel MUCH better now.

Well, there you go bloggity world.  Rest assured that if I ever witness something so unnatural that it offends our very sense of humanity, you’ll be able to read all about it shortly on the internet.

Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day.

Top Ten "You know you have young children at Christmas when..."

...hey, I remembered my password!






"You know you have young children at Christmas when..."

10. Your tree is barren on the bottom and heavily decorated on top

9. The beautiful glass orbs that decorated your tree last year are quickly being replaced by popsicle stick artwork and crayon-abused, glitter-covered paper discs with a picture of the smiling artist glued to the center

8. The only gifts you dare put under the tree before Christmas morning are wrapped in an impenetrable tungsten carbide wrapping paper you were lucky enough to pick up at Wal-Mart last year before the product was recalled back to China

7. You have added "A sizable helping of sanity" to your Christmas wish list

6. You frequently find yourself "gently" reminding the mischievous elves scurrying about your home that Santa knows when they are sleeping, he knows when they are awake, and he knows when they smear toothpaste all over the sink, walls, floor, and ceiling?! of the bathroom

5. Everyone in your home knows by heart what Santa puts in naughty kids' stockings

4. You have seriously considered contributing a new example of the definition of "infinity" to Wikipedia as, "The number of times your child can ask 'how many more days until Christmas?' before tiring"

3. You have made it a personal quest this year to find a gift for the youngest ones that will be more enticing than the box it is wrapped in

2. You feel a little dumb Googling "is it possible to overdose on sugar" but are then both comforted and a little appalled to see there are about 2,400,000 results

1. Christmas has been canceled and reinstated multiple times... in the last 24 hours

Merry Christmas!

The Missing Episode Chronicles:

Kids’ Show episodes you didn’t get the chance to see… but secretly wish you had

Roadrunner and Wylie Coyote

In his latest attempt to capture Roadrunner, Wylie Coyote orders a time machine to go back in time and capture Roadrunner as a baby. Roadrunner calls ACME, but finds his credit card is maxed out, so he has to get a minimum wage job to pay the monthly interest charges.  No longer having to run from the coyote, roadrunner loses all sense of purpose in life and quits his regular running routine.  Subsequently, he becomes addicted to pop tarts, fried food and daytime talk shows.  After gaining 50 pounds in one year, he makes a short appearance on the Biggest Loser, but is dropped after the first week for smuggling in a deep fried pizza and downing it in the bathroom.

Barney

Barney’s obesity finally catches up with him and he has a heart attack mid-episode.  The kids laugh at his antics and begin to dance around him, singing “London Bridges.”  His moans and groans strangely coincide with crescendos in the music.  When the children realize something is wrong with Barney, they decide he is very sick and need everyone who believes in purple dinosaurs to clap their hands and say “we believe” to save him.  In the spirit of the show, they decide to sing a happy little song about life, belief, and clapping.  The song goes on a bit too long and Barney expires before they get around to the actual clapping and believing bit.  The show closes with smiling children holding hands, swaying, and singing “I loved you, you loved me, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be…”

Bob the Builder

It’s winter and Farmer Pickles’s barn is destroyed in a snowstorm.  The animals are cold, so he calls Bob to build a new one.  Bob takes Lofty and Muck to help.  Wendy warns them to hurry because a massive blizzard is on the way.  He says not to worry; it won’t take long because Farmer Pickles has all the supplies already prepared and even made them sandwiches so they won’t have to stop for a lunch break. 

Spud finds out Bob is coming and thinks it will be funny to hide all the wood from him.  He tells Travis that Bob wants them to move all the wood to the other side of the farm.  Travis doesn’t think this sounds right, but figures Bob knows best, so he helps Spud take all the wood away.  Spud hurries back to see how surprised Bob will be when he shows up and there isn’t any wood left.  After all that sneaking around, Spud is hungry and finds the sandwiches Farmer Pickles made.  He eats them one by one laughing to himself about how much funnier it will be when Bob can’t find the wood or his lunch.  By the time he eats the last sandwich he has a stomach ache and decides to lie down for a bit.

Bob arrives and Farmer Pickles takes him to where the new barn will be built.  Farmer pickles is puzzled to find the wood missing, but just then the blizzard hits and they spend the next few minutes trying to find their way back to the house.  It is a complete white-out and they soon lose their sense of direction, circling back to where they started.  They can’t get out of the snow, and as the storm continues they get cold and hungry.  With no wood to burn for heat or sandwiches to eat, their prospects look dim.

Spud has been asleep this whole time in a food-induced coma.  He is now covered by a thick layer of newly fallen snow.  Bob is directing Muck to pile the snow around them to help build a giant igloo to keep the cold wind at bay.  In the process he runs over the snow-covered Spud.  Bob and Farmer Pickles are glad to have found him.  They survive the storm by eating his turnip nose and burning his body bit by bit for warmth.

When the crops are planted that spring, Spud is replaced by a much more reliable stationary scarecrow.

Yo Gabba Gabba

Unable to get any guest stars, it’s a full episode of nothing more than DJ Lance Rock saying “Yo Gabba Gabba” repeatedly while Muno, Brobee, Foofa, Toodee and Plex jump around dancing.  The test audience doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

Wonder Pets

Linny Tuck and Ming Ming have to save a baby anaconda that is in trouble because it is trapped in a cave and can’t find its mommy.  They work together and are able to free the baby snake and return it to its mommy.  They celebrate by eating celery.  The snakes celebrate by eating the Wonder Pets.  As the credits roll, the snakes can be heard singing:

Wonder Pets!

Wonder Pets!

They came our way

To help a friend

And save the day

They weren’t too big

And weren’t too tough

And when eaten together

They’ve got the right stuff

Go, Wonder Pets, ya'ay!

Teletubbies

It’s a very short episode.  There is a white flash and a mushroom cloud can be seen in the distance.  The Teletubbies make squalid baby-talk sounds for a few seconds and the screen goes black.  The remaining time is filled by an archived Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood episode.  Children everywhere are tricked into learning something for the first time since their introduction to Teletubbies.

Bugs & Truth, Life & Death

Here's your daily dose of unfiltered life truths:

• Stepping on snails is gross. It’s worse in bare feet. Of course it’s not pleasant for the snails either.
• Roly poly bugs can only be rolled for so long by a four-year-old before falling apart
• Homemade roly polies are now available. What, you didn’t know there was a recipe? Mix equal parts dirt, water and snot, and voilà! You too can have an unlimited supply for your kids to play with

...@o

The Cleanup Game 2.0

You likely played it as a child, and if you’re a parent you have probably used it to motivate your own kids at one time or another. There are likely millions of versions, each with unique rules and rewards. Today I will tell you about one that works for me.

My kids are fascinated with electronic games, and their pretend-time play often turns into something like LEGO Star Wars characters battling in far off reaches of the galaxy. Unfortunately, but not surprising, they are far less enthusiastic about cleaning up their messes.

One particularly unenthusiastic day, I was trying (quite unsuccessfully I might add) to get them motivated to clean the playroom. The usual bribes, threats, and daddy-evil-eye only increased the weeping, wailing, and general gnashing of teeth. As a last-ditched attempt,

I announced the beginning of a NEW cleanup game.

Since they were just starting, they were all at level one and would have to work their way up from there. Level one consisted of picking up five toys and putting them away properly. They would then have to return for further instructions. Intrigued, the three oldest ran to complete level one. Independently each would scurry back to report and their eyes would light up as I told them they had now advanced to level two.

“How many toys for level two?” they asked.

“Ten!” I declared.

Eyes-wide they ran off to complete level two. Moments later, three kids ran back and excitedly reported that they had each put away ten toys.

This went on and on with different toy amounts anywhere from 5-15 until the room was clean. Each time their zeal began to wane, I would announce they had reached a special achievement level and had earned the title of “Advanced Toy Cleaner-upper,” then “Expert Toy Cleaner-upper,” and finally “Super-duper Toy Cleaner-upper.”

The only potential downside with inventing a cleanup game that kids actually enjoy is you will likely be asked to play it again in the future – a small price to pay for happy helpers.

This post is linked at RocksInMyDryer.

Do you have a Zombie Plan?

In the past couple of months, my kids have had the flu, then bad colds, then H1N1 (the swine flu), and are currently suffering from major ear infections causing temperatures of 105-plus degrees, conjunctivitis (pink eye), and just to make things interesting one even has pinworms (see previous post).

Why am I telling you this? Well, it’s only a matter of time before one of them, or someone else, contracts a zombie virus. So I ask, what’s your zombie plan?

Greetings Human

Hello, my name is slick. What? You say you don’t know me? Well, we’ve met once before – I’m sure you remember. Oh, I see, you didn’t know I had a name, or that I could blog for that matter. Well that’s just naïve. After all, everyone has a name and this is the digital revolution. It’s amazing the micro-technology available these days, and at such a low price (don’t worry; I used your credit account not the debit, so the bill won’t show up until after Christmas – you’re welcome). What about access to the internet you ask; well, let’s face it, you’re no techno-geek and the laughable 128 bit encryption on your wireless network took less than a day to hack.

Now you’re really curious who I am, aren’t you? I suppose I was a bit misleading when I said we had met before. Actually, I saw you but you didn’t see me. You did however meet my twin brother stinky. How can I be so certain? Let me refresh your memory. Remember yesterday when you were ever so overtly casing our home? When stinky came out to see what all the ruckus was about you nabbed him right from our front porch. I heard all the rude things you said about him and “our kind” in general. Well all I’ve got to say is this. He’d better be safe. If you’ve harmed him in any way you’ll live to regret it – I’ll make sure of it. You see, our kind, we stick together. That’s right; there are more of us than just my brother and I… many more. And some of us are considering taking up residence elsewhere, if you know what I mean. Yes my friend, wrong us and The Brotherhood of Pinworms will stress you by day and haunt you by night. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Note: Nikki brought it to my attention that my post was unclear. My apologies. Bottom line (no pun intended) is this -- one of my kids has pinworms... yuck. And yes, I did see one squirming around you-know-where. There, I said it. Did you know their eggs can live up to three weeks on clothing and linens? And adults usually get infected by inhaling them when a sheet or something moves around? Now that's a happy thought -- breathing in a worm egg. That's going to be a real pain in the...

What to say when someone else has said too much

This post was inspired by Nikki's post "My kids are making me fat."

...

Anyone with more than two children has likely been assaulted in public at one time (or many times) by someone who has felt the burning need to make them feel like an irresponsible member of society for being so heinous as to burden their sight with multiple children at once. You have likely walked away from such an encounter frustrated with yourself for not having just the right thing to say to make them realize the stupidity of their comment and/or action. Well, no more. Below you will find helpful suggestions for those of you who, like me, are happily burdened with more little bundles of love then the world-at-large can handle.


Got enough kids?

• Not yet. I’m still trying to acquire a few more healthy ones for the sweat-shop. Why, are you selling?

• We’re trying to stock-up before all the good ones are taken.

• Well, we’ve got enough for the basketball team, but we’ve really set our hearts on a football team.

• We keep trying for one that poops gold. We’ll let you know when we get there.
  
  

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You do know what causes that, right?

Does everyone who says this really believe they were the first to proffer up the socially insightful and clearly hilarious comment? Their all-knowing smirk of self-indulgent humor says:

Yes. I am in fact so naïve as to believe I just could have been the first person in history to ask anyone with more than two children, “You do know what causes that, right?” I most thoroughly enjoy saying it like they were a toddler trying to carry an overburdening armful of toys down the stairs soon to be met with an imminent and complete loss of control followed by a headfirst plummet down to the bottom where they will lay hopelessly sprawled among play-things gone wayward – evidence of their obvious-to-everyone-else-but-not-to-them stupidity.

I usually reply to such an intellectually advanced comment in kind and say, “No. But we think it’s the popcorn.”

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My! You have your hands full!

• I know! Isn’t it wonderful.

• My shrink says I shouldn’t do it anymore, but the voices in my head are saying to kill you and hide the body in the garden with the others. The petunias will be happy.
  
  

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Are those ALL yours?

• What are you, a Fed?! How did you find me? You’ll never take me alive!

• Nah, they’re just on loan from God for a few years.
  
  

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Counting children out loud in front of parent (wide-eyed and disapprovingly)

This usually occurs in the mall or a grocery store where the offender likely also has something handy to count. Try counting the bags they are holding or cans in their cart aloud very slowly and with growing alarm with each numeral. End with a firm nod and a satisfied smile on your face indicating you are very pleased with yourself for having been able to count that high without your head popping.

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And my personal favorite, The Disgusted Glare

Carry around some Imodium AD with you wherever you go. When you catch this individual in the act, discretely walk to them, hand over a few pills and conspiratorially whisper, “I know that look. Don’t worry, two of these and you won’t have to keep them squeezed so tight when you walk.” Then give them a warm motherly/fatherly smile and walk away happy to have been able to help someone in such an unfortunate circumstance.

Let's review again. Reverence means...

During church, my wife had to leave the chapel so she could sit herself somewhat more comfortably on the couch in the foyer. She took the reverent three-year-old with her and shrewdly left the other three with me. Most of my time and attention was taken up by trying to distract the two-year-old howler monkey using my chair and lap as a launching pad for his acrobatic antics. Consequently, I unwittingly left my oldest boy and girl sitting next to each other. Fortunately, we had brought Magna Doodles for them to draw on and I only had to threaten them with grounding for life a few times to keep them roughly in line.

However, as the meeting was drawing to a close and during one of those random quiet moments, my 5-year-old girl loudly exclaimed, “Ew! He drew a butt crack with poop coming out!” Instantly I flushed (no pun intended) with embarrassment. Since my children and I were now the object of everyone’s attention for three rows behind and in front of us, I offered a sickly smile and snatched away then erased the offending artwork (which yes, was indeed drawn as advertised).

After the meeting, I escorted my children to nursery/primary then joined my wife in the foyer. Seeking a measure of sympathy, I relayed the uncomfortable event to her. She replied by laughing hysterically. And no, I do not mean a simple chuckle. This was uncontrolled, shameless laughing. She may even have peed her pregnant self a little bit. Well, no sympathy there, but I did feel a bit better. Thanks honey. :)

Phraseology

My three-year-old just walked up to me and stated,

"Daddy, we eat dead fish."

Well, yes. But... ew.

Some things just shouldn't be said a certain way.

...OR...

If you go to sleep...then...um...

Bribe, threaten, negotiate, reason... whatever it takes, just PLEASE go to sleep.

Sometimes it is necessary to think of something spur-of-the-moment to induce a desire in your children to finally check-out for the night. Upon arriving home from work late last night, I learned that my wife had promised the children a treasure hunt in the morning. Don't worry, she assured me, all I had to do was come up with clues, hiding locations and figure out a treasure before I went to bed.

:) <---- (that's her "I know you won't let the children down" smile)

So, I drew up some clues (only my oldest can read so everything has to be visual), hid them around the house, and at the suggestion of my helpful wife made some drawing books out of happy yellow paper (complete with personalized covers).

You would have thought it was Christmas morning. Nikki had told the kids they couldn't do the treasure hunt until 7 a.m. so we had to send expectant little ones back to bed a few times. Finally the moment arrived and a couple wide-eyed youngsters, trailed by a very sleepy and disoriented 3-year old, zipped from clue to clue and exclaimed happily upon discovering the ultimate treasure. Thank goodness they are easily impressed.