Balls to the wall

There’s a moment in parenthood when your child crosses over from baby, to not baby. It happens really quick so if you’re catching up on Walking Dead and Homeland episodes you’re liable to miss it. That moment when being naked in their presence was once acceptable is no longer, acceptable.  You don’t realize it happened until a situation arises and you’re forced to get all up in their sacred places. 

Logan had been scratching at himself for a couple days. I finally came to terms with the fact that I needed to have a looksie. (Shivers) So I awkwardly make the request that he let me look at his wee-wee. His petrified expression assured me we had entered the I’m too old for you to see me naked stage.

Upon further review I determined he did in fact have chapped balls. Now, I’ve never had chapped balls in the literal way, but I have in the hypothetical way and can imagine the literal way is much more unpleasant. I’m just guessing.

Despite what my enemies might say about me, I’m not a ball expert and have no idea what to do with such things when they’re damaged. Fearful I might be arrested for researching toddler wiener help on Google, I opted with Vaseline. Applied that for a couple days but the itching persisted. Only now, there was a light pink rash spreading everywhere. Oh my balls  stars! 

After taking his junk to a professional to assess the damage he was diagnosed with a yeast infection. Apparently yeast is does not discriminate towards the female sex.  Who knew? I could have cured this myself with a little Monostat. Knowledge for the future. So, he’s prescribed some cream and we are instructed to apply this cream, twice a day for 14 days. With our hands. 

Each time I go to put this cream on his no-nos he screams, NOOOOOO! DON’T PUT IT ON MY WEE-WEE!!! Well excuse me son, where would you like me to put it? Your ear? Trust me, I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather rub cream on and my toddler’s junk ain’t one of em. This isn’t a day at Disney for me either. He puts up a valiant struggle; Limbs and other things go flying everywhere. He finally succumbs to the awkward realization that this is gonna happen. He assumes the wishbone position, and our decent into hell begins. We don’t make eye contact. He looks away, up and backwards like women do at gyno visits.  This cream must be completely rubbed in for it to really work. So basically I’m forced to do a Swedish massage on his stuff and it’s so, so terrible. 

Repeat all of the above twice a day. 

This time a few weeks ago after school I would ask, “How was your day buddy?” Now I’m asking, “How’s your wiener today?” 

This goes against nature. Nothing about this is right.

Halloween, this and that round up post.

Well thank the heavens that is over. That being the kid’s (separate) birthday parties, the Halloween parties, the classroom parties, the Halloween projects and Halloween itself. I’m really looking forward to the 7 and a ½ days that I don’t have to be prepping for holiday.  

Texas weather failed us this week and a lot of the Halloween plans we made were cancelled and/or rescheduled. We ended up going to a trunk or treat with some friends. All of those festival things are the same. Waiting in long lines to throw a ball into a box to get a piece of candy; trying to convince the kids that it’s fun and worth the wait. It usually isn’t. But the candy compensates for their disappointment. But not mine. Now-a-days 97% of kids are allergic to peanuts, peanut butter and everything else delicious.  So needless to say there was a severe shortage of Reeses, snickers, Butterfingers and Twix for me to steal from their buckets. Great! There goes my motivation to participate in Halloween. Logan redeemed the holiday for me by mispronouncing WOLVERENE with Nuva-Ring. The birth control ring. Look mom, it’s a Nuva Ring! Awesome. 

We are gearing up for a camping trip next weekend with some friends. My enthusiasm and gung-ho-ness about a family fun trip is transforming into overwhelming TO DO lists and I can sense the early onset of panic beginning to nestle its way into my mind. Its gonna be ok. Its gonna be fun. We won’t forget anything. This is the mantra that I repeat in my mind. It isn’t working yet but it should kick in any day now.

The latest news with the kids and life, in no particular order:

The kids have eased up on making my life a living hell at dinner time and started to eat what we cook. I think they sensed my give a damn with dinner function had busted. Either way, praise God!

Kylee was moved into an IP math class for Identified Potential. Clearly the math gene skips a generation as I need a calculator to see how much I’ll save on a 2 for $5 special.

Logan has finally stopped peeing on the seat. For the most part.

Isaac remembered to wear socks on with his tennis shoes. 

I can’t remember if I wrote about my car issues or not. But in summary, it broke, it cost $900 and 7 days to fix. The day I picked it up we rode home with the windows down then they wouldn’t roll back up. Are you firggin kidding me? I had to duck tape a trash bag to the window. A TRASH BAG YALL! My boss wrote “Getto” (misspelled on purpose) on the trash bag thus making it more humiliating to drive. I took it back to the dealership and displayed my give a damn is busted attitude. They fixed the windows. Ahh well they got them to roll up at least. The point is my paid off car is working again. Just don’t try to roll the windows down. 

Have a good weekend friends!

I spy with my tiny little eye....

I hate little kid games. You do too. Let’s just all be honest about that one. I used to love little kid games, when I was a little kid. But now, running in circles, carefully selecting whose head to touch, hiding in a closet waiting to be ‘seeked’ and spying things with our tiny little eyes. Nah I’m good. Really, I am. 

Unfortunately the kids love the kid games and alas, I must participate or risk wearing the worst mother of the year t-shirt. It’s still at the cleaners from last year. 

This morning on the shuttle to daycare Logan cordially invites me to play I spy. Something about the sound of the last child I will ever have’s voice makes me very agreeable to pretty much every request he makes. Can we snuggle? Yes. Can we play? Yes. Can I have sugar in the raw? Yes. Can we live together forever? YES. (Calm down Kurt, not literally forever. But close) Ahem, anyway…

.

Playing I spy in the car is not safe. Looking for colors instead of construction ahead signs? Not good. But we do it anyway. So here is my convo this morning with lil dude.

Logan: I spy with my tiny little eye… mom my eyes aren’t tiny because I’m four now right?

Me: Right.

Logan: I spy with my….tiny little EYE something orange.

Me: The air freshener?

Logan: What’s an air freshener?

Me: This right here (I’m pointing to the air freshener)

Logan: Oh ya!

Me: Was that it?

Logan: Ya! I spy with my eye more stuff.

Me: More stuff?

Logan: Yeah, cause my eyes sees lots of stuffs. BLUE!

Me: The car in front of us?

Logan: Where?

Me: In. front. Of.us…. (not a proud mommy moment)

Logan: Oh yeah!!

Me: Logan what did you spy that was blue?

Logan: I didn’t.

Me: You said you spied with your eye something blue and I guessed the car.

Logan: Now I spy something golden.

Side note: nothing inside of my car is golden

Me: Um…..  I don’t know…

Logan: Me either. I don’t want to play anymore.

Then I spied with my tiny little eye, THE DAYCARE!

I win.

My baby can RRR-EHHH-AAAHH-DDD.... Read.

I have truly underestimated how much patience is required to teach a child to read. It’s like watching paint dry. In slow motion.

I highly recommend if your kid is learning to read that you NOT attempt to help them if you are trying to cook dinner, rotate laundry, or have anything on your TO DO list that is pressing. Because your full attention will be demanded.   The stress of repeating sound it out in increments of hundreds will intensify if you have a task lingering over your head. Bring your wine.

1^st grade level books aren’t the most mind stimulating pieces of literature.  But the kids gotta start somewhere and I get that.  What I don’t get is how we can read a book that is so damn redundant about Jim can jump. Jim can spin. Jim can fly. Jim can, Jim can, Jim can… Then with 4 pages left Kylee calls him Jeff. I correct her, it’s Jim. She rolls her precious baby blue eyes at her stupid mother. All snippity, she continues. 

Kylee: Jiiiiiiim can walk. (in a sarcastic, make ya wanna slap her in the forehead tone of voice) Jeff bounces the ball.

Me: It’s Jim, not Jeff.

Kylee: I know!

Me: Then why did you call him Jeff? Do you see an F in his name?

Kylee: Jiiiiiiim grabs his bag. (again, in a I’m smarter than you and how dare you correct my reading – tone of voice) Jeff….GAH I KNOW DON’T EVEN SAY IT!

Me:

Told you to bring your wine. Just wait, I haven’t even told you about the silent E’s. What evil sonofa-B invented silent letters anyway?

Book: Sally got to create her own pumpkin face.

Kylee: Sally - - - Why does her name end with Y if the Y makes the YA sound?

Me: sometimes the letter Y makes the EEEE sound.

Kylee: - - - Sally got to……

Me: Sound it out

Kylee: CAAA---RRRR-EHHHH-AAAAHHH-TA-EHHH…. Karate?

Me: No that E on the end is silent.

Kylee: CAAA-RRRR-EHHHH-AAAAHHH-TA…. Karat?

Me: No, it’ Create….

Kylee: ….. Sally got to create her own pumpkin…..

Me: Sound it out

Kylee: FFFF-AHHH-CAH-EHH…. ?? Faughk?

Me: That E is silent on the end.

Kylee: Seriously?

Me: Ya.. But that C makes the SEE sound not the CAH sound.

Kylee: FFFF-AAAAHH – SEE… Faucy?

Me: Sorry, the A makes the AY sound.

Kylee: Just tell me.

Me: Face.

Kylee: Can I start over?

Me:  

It makes the EEEEEE sound!

The Logic of Children: I'll never get it

I could easily make this the longest post eva. But I'm almost off work so I will make it short, sweet and silly.

I don't understand children's logic. Period. I just don't.

So this morning, just like every morning I ask Logan what he wants to eat for breakfast. Since he usually eats it in the car his options are limited to a breakfast bar, Go-gurt, pop-tart, etc. He says he wants string cheese. Uh... Really? I'm not one to argue or debate with his weird choices. Especially in the AM when being late is a daily possibility. I shrug it off and grab him a cheese. I am immediately greeted with resistance. Ahh the joys of children.

Logan: Not that kind! The Spiderman kind!!!
Me: (Inner voice)The Spiderman kind? WTH is he talking about?

I search the fridge and have no idea what he's talking about so I tell him to stick that cheese in his mouth and lets hit the road.

More resistance.

Logan: NOOOOO! I gots the Spiderman cheese at the store with you. 
Me: (Inner voice) When did I take you to the store?
Logan: Member? Da stoooore!? I want the Spiderman cheeses!
Me: Show me....

He digs into the bottom drawer. Low and behold, a string cheese with different super heroes on the wrappers.  Ahhhh great! Grab one and lets go!

He has this cheese unwrapped by the time I can lock the door. I get him into his seat and strapped in. Before I can even get the car turned on I hear from the back seat:

Here ya go mom!

He hands me the wrapper.

Me: What do you want me to do with this? 
Logan: (Very matter of fact) Throw it away.


 

The 4 kid weekend round up.

Oh sweet Santa Clause I am glad that weekend is over. Talk about over stimulation. Not the good kind either. The kind that demands a long hot bath with a cold glass mug of wine and some Mumford on the Pandora kind of stimulation. Which I didn’t get. Mainly because I was too exhausted. I didn’t trust myself to enter that level of relaxation without falling asleep in the tub and drowning half to death. 

So this weekend was our weekend with the kids, plus I had previously agreed to keep my 4 year old, hyper active nephew so my sister could grab some much needed time to herself.  GO ME! I ROCK! Auntie of the year, that’s me!… Wait, was this a good idea? I clearly underestimated the level of anarchy 4 children under one roof on a rainy day could generate. 

Throughout the weekend I observed the way kids interact with each other.  It’s like a cross between something you see on the Discovery channel where it’s kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, and the reality shows where people are forced to live together and form alliances to survive.  

There’s the 1,2,3 NOT IT game. This is the preliminary step to the ever so fun game of Tag. See the point is to not be it. So you say, 1,2,3 NOT IT over and over, louder and louder until you aren’t it. It’s not really a fair way to determine whose “it” because what I discovered is generally anyone can start it… and if you don’t like the outcome you start it again… 1,2,3 NOT IT…1,2,3 NOT IT….1,2,3 NOT IT… Repeat until someone concedes to being “it.” Usually it is the youngest of the group. Poor Logan. 

Another rule to the game of Tag is base. In theory base is where you can run to be safe and take a little break from all the running. But yet again, this is not a fair aspect to the game because the base is constantly changing. The runner will touch anything and claim it as base. The bed, the table, the lamp, the dog, heck even I became base at one point! I should have locked the bathroom door. Dang it!

The inconsistency in the rules of Tag create sibling warfare like you’ve never seen. NO THAT’S NOT BASE, THIS IS BASE. I TAGGED YOU, YOU’RE IT. NUH-UH, 1,2,3 NOT IT… 1,2,3 NOT IT… Moooom, whose it? Like I know! All I know is you claimed my bed as base in the first round, then busted into my bathroom (without knocking )and claimed my thighs as base and it was uncomfortable for everyone. So my solution is to go outside and figure it out but for the love of all things holy leave me and my thighs out of it. 

I don’t know the magic number to create harmony and peace amongst brothers and sisters (and cousins). But I’m fairly certain it’s not 4. 

The Sunday morning round-up consisted pretty much of the same junk the day and night before plus a can of cinnamon rolls. Then a gladiator style battle broke out over who got to lick the bowl of icing. It was him against her, her against him. I saw it first, I wanna press it, I wanna do it, it’s my turn, no its my turn, that’s mine, no this one’s mine. My nerves were totally shot. 

Sunday afternoon another round of Tag broke loose which turned into hide and seek. The kids found one helluva good hiding spot… My closet. It wasn’t until later that afternoon when I was putting away 4 loads of laundry and hanging up an estimated 197 items that I discovered what those little shit wagons did to my closet. My shoes were everywhere. Not placed neatly in their spot on the shoe racks… the clothes hanging up on the lower section of the closet were all half falling off the hangers, some completely off the hangers and scattered over the heap of shoes. 

I could physically feel my last nerve snapping like a twig. I could almost hear a branch snapping in the dark corners of my mind… All the tangled hangers, the un-hung clothes I had to re-hang. Something happened yesterday in that closet. Something dark. Something I’m not proud of. Something I would take back if I could. It looked like this.