February 17, 2011 at 8:18 am | Posted in Misc. | 3 Comments
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The King of All Wild Things has suddenly become quite the parrot. I say “cute,” he says “cuuute.” A car honks, he says “bop bop.” The Other Sister says “cheese,” he says “cheesch.” Mike takes the Son of God’s name in vain, he says “Geesch!”


And even though our brains say not to react when a small child uses inappropriate language or else he’ll continue saying it to get a rise out of everyone, our mouths said, “No, Max! Don’t say that!” And thus my almost-two-year-old discovered the power of the word “Geesch.” Great.

But we didn’t hear tiny blasphemous utterances after that one instance, so we thought we were in the clear. So one evening Max and I made our weekly excursion to shop the rhymes-with-spit out of the best grocery store ever. And there we were in the family planning aisle when an older gentleman slowly pushed his cart past us and said hello to Max. Nothing out of the ordinary. I realize how obnoxious this sounds, but my little man truly is pretty darn and people constantly stop to chat with him. It takes us forever to go anywhere in public. Hoodles, the man said hello to Max. And Max looked him in the eye and yelled “Geesch!”

I did my best to keep a straight face and said, “OK, Max, we’ll go get you some cheese.”


Max Learns A New Trick

July 26, 2010 at 8:59 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment
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Kids. They grow up so fast. I am constantly amazed at how quickly Max learns to do new things. Like last week, when he demonstrated a skill I’d kind of hoped he wouldn’t learn.

The day was going better than great. No whining all morning. We had a play date at the playground with Mike’s cousin and his family. Max actually ate real food for lunch without a single complaint. OK, so it was a container of Beechnut mac & cheese smeared with ketchup, but at least he ate it. And if you have never had the pleasure of a mealtime meltdown courtesy of my little man, then you have never truly wanted to pull out your hair strand by strand. Hoodles, I should have known something was up when I started thinking to myself how wonderful a day we were having.

I had finally gotten around to baking mini loaves of chocolate chocolate chip zucchini bread when I heard the first squawks signaling the end of nap time. But my bread wasn’t quite ready to come out of the oven, so I decided to let Max hang out for a bit longer. That may have been the proverbial nail in my coffin.

When my bread was done (only about 10-15 minutes after Max’s first stirrings), I went upstairs to get the baby. There he was, sitting next to his empty diaper, which he had removed himself.  And as I thought to myself, “Oh good, he’s now able to take off his diaper,” I realized that something certainly did not smell right in his bedroom. And that’s when I noticed little piles of poop all over the crib. Not only had Max taken off his diaper, but he then pooped all over his bed. And he was sitting in the only truly clean spot in the crib. Fortunately, the paralysis of my initial shock lasted but a few seconds and I was quickly able to toss the surprisingly non-poopy toddler over my shoulder for a mad dash to the tub. Because I’ve learned to never trust a diaperless baby.

The bath part was easy. It was the bed clean-up that wasn’t. And not so much because I had to attempt to scrape as much poop from the crib sheet as possible before even removing it from the crib, but because the entire time I was making said attempt, Max kept running in and out of his bedroom yelling “Uh-oh!” Uh-oh, indeed. Although that helped put the situation in perspective and actually made it pretty comical. What can you do but laugh, right?


And Then He Peed On The Sink

June 24, 2010 at 8:39 am | Posted in Misc. | 3 Comments
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Since having Max, I’ve had many experiences with bodily functions that were surprising to me only because of how unfazed I remained. Things that once would have drove me screaming straight into a shower now rarely warrant so much as a shrug. Like the time when Max was just a few months old and he peed, pooped, puked and sneezed on me all in a 24-hour period.

The other day was as much an adventure of being a SAHM (that’s Stay At Home Mom for those of you not up on the lingo of the Interwebs) as any other day. While I was changing the poopy diaper of a squirmy little boy who hates having his diaper changed primarily because it takes time out of his busy schedule of streaking through the house screaming like a banshee, said little boy was as wiggly as ever. And he somehow managed to smash his right hand in the worst part of his diaper.

“Awesome,” I said. So I was forced to hold his filthy hand as far away from his still-squirming body and our cream-colored carpet as humanly possible while wiping off his butt with my other hand. Why we have cream-colored carpets in the first place and the havoc that wreaks on our daily life is another story altogether.

But I was beginning to lose the battle with the poop-hand, and I knew I would never be able to encase his little tushie with a clean diaper using only one hand. I’m good, but I’m not that good. So in my apparently delusional state, I decided it was safe to take a naked-from-the-waist-down, unpotty-trained, 15-month-old boy to the bathroom for a thorough hand washing. I was incorrect.

As soon as I stood that little boy on the bathroom counter and ran the water, he peed. He doused an entire half of the counter. What could I do but laugh? And when I relayed the story to Schmommy later that day, she laughed and said, “Five years ago, did you ever think you’d be laughing about something like this?”

And no, I never imagined I’d be laughing all day about a story that culminates with someone peeing on my bathroom counter. I know exactly how you, dear reader(s), feel as you commute to your (hopefully) urine-free offices, wishing you didn’t have to work. And how sometimes (or maybe constantly, I don’t judge) you daydream about the “life of leisure” of a SAHM while staring intently at your computer screen so as to give the illusion of the ultimate worker bee. So while you may be thinking that the grass is greener over here, allow me to remind you that your 9-5 schedule does not involve copious amounts of urine and feces. Unless you work at a daycare or the zoo. Or you have a really, really, horrific job.


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