Happy New Year! Our fam decided to ring it in with a case of the pukes. At 5 am, The Kid hears Husband tossing his cookies, comes running to her door yelling, "There's a bear in the house!" And, just now as she snuggled up to me with the iPad, "Oh, man, mama, you smell bad. Really, really bad." Awesome.
Is there a rule in the 3-year-old code of conduct that says that even if you have to speak jibberish, you should still make some sort of noise at ALL TIMES?
The Kid talking to herself: Oh, man, where are my undies with the triangles on them?! Here they are! I'm so glad I didn't panic!
The best thing about living in southeast Texas: Old dudes who literally run past you in the Chick-Fil-A parking lot so they can open the door for you, claiming, "Well, I knowed your hands is fulled up, ma'am."
Our neighbor was throwing away a small table, so I grabbed it for The Kid for a "craft table" (meaning a place to play play doh):
The Kid: Look! I got a Craps table!
Me: Oh, really. And what are you going to do with it?
The Kid: Make all kinds of craps!
Me: Well. Yeah. I guess that's about right.
Had a dream last night that I got a job at the hospital as a breast pump tester. I sat in the basement of the hospital hooked up to random breast pumps while sitting in a recliner eating ice cream. All in all, not a bad gig. Do you think that job really exists?
Had the Maintain Don't Gain post holiday weigh in at the gym this morning. And despite the fact that I had cookies for breakfast (they had nuts in them...totally healthy), I rocked it. It might have something to do with the fact that when I weighed in, I was 37 weeks pregnant, but whatever...
Went into The Kid's bedroom to fetch The Tater's baby bath when I noticed a suspicious, sloshy, smelly substance in the bottom:
Me: Hey, dude, what's in here?
The Kid: Oh. That's pee.
Me: YOU PEED IN HERE?
The Kid: Nope. Tater did.
Me: I don't think so. Tater wears a diaper.
The Kid: Well, his diaper musta leaked, I guess.
FYI: Zumba at 6 weeks post c-section = waaaaaaaay more difficult than Zumba at 40 weeks pregnant. Just so you know.
The Kid: Mama! We have apple juice in the fridge! Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Because if you are, it's a berry good idea!
I am so grateful for kind strangers. If you wanna feel awesome about yourself, head to Sam's on a Tuesday morning when it's nothing but you and the old people - they stop to help you load up your flour, tell you how cute your screaming kids are, and praise you for publicly feeding your baby on the outdoor patio furniture (PS Sam's, I'm sorry that The Tater puked on the rust colored one).
I have a dream: more than one day where someone in this house isn't sick and snotting all over me. Also, I'd like someone to bring me a chocolate buttermilk pie.
Dear The Tater,
Here's a novel idea: if you're tired, why don't you just go to SLEEP instead of crying about being tired?! I love you, but you're making me bloody crazy!
While watching TV:
The Kid: Why is that girl so sad?
Me: Well, because that boy left.
The Kid: She's sad because he went to the grocery store without her?
The Kid: Oh, mama, if only I could have a jackhammer!
The Kid comes to me with her daddy's belt wrapped around her a few times:
The Kid: Look, I'm Jupiter!
Me: Like the planet?
The Kid: Well, I hardly have enough rings for that.
Me: Yes. Hardly.
The Kid: Apples have juice and oranges have juice and people have juice.
Me: People have juice?
The Kid: Yeah. It's called blood. I'm full of it.
Me: I have to go to the doctor for a check up.
The Kid: Well, I hope they don't smash you flat. Because no one wants a flat mommy.
Nothing like a baby who screams for two hours straight for no apparent reason.
Dear The Tater,
While I enjoy frolicking, laughing, and chatting with you, 5 am is an inappropriate time for such merry-making. Please try back during regular business hours.
Your Exhausted Mother
Thanks to some cartoon, The Kid has discovered the library. I am thrilled about it except for one thing: I seriously doubt my ability to keep track of and return books in a timely manner. It's going to be even more difficult since the librarian messed up my evil plan by telling The Kid that she can check out as many as 10 books at a time (I told her three...because I can keep track of three). I curse you, librarian!
The Kid: I need a grown up to help me. I'll ask daddy.
Me: Well, I'm a grown up.
The Kid: I don't think so. I'm asking daddy.
Singing church hymns to The Tater, trying to get him to calm down when The Kid runs into the room:
The Kid: Seriously! What's all that racket?!
Got out of my car and came into the house for a full five minutes this afternoon before coming to the realization that I'd forgotten to bring The Tater in with me. I'm such an awesome mother.
Had a dream that I was at the Olympics to run the 200 but was mistakenly entered in the 22,000 meter. In the end, they stopped the race because I'd been lapped too many times. But, then they gave me a piece of pizza and a slurpee, so it's like I was a winner anyway.
Teacher: How do you follow Heavenly Father's plan for you?
The Kid: By going to Popeyes!
Got out of the shower to a screaming Tater and The Kid trying to comfort him with this gem, "Do you want your mommy? I'm sorry, but she's not available right now."
In other news, I've finally found something that will stop The Tater's crying: the theme song from A Team.
The Kid: I'm going to do a somersault on the couch.
Me: No, daddy doesn't want you to do that.
The Kid: But I have a secret. Daddy isn't here.
Made lunch including four pieces of sausage and The Kid says, "OH! Excellent! Looks like three for me and one for you!"
"We don't eat Doritos for breakfast", I explain to The Kid this morning in my voice of authority. Then, I help myself to several bites of chocolate pie straight out of the pie plate. It's awesome being in charge.
Let the medical bills come rolling in! Just tried to call to set up a payment plan on one and they said my "minimum payment" had to be THREE times as much as I can afford to pay. Doesn't it make more sense to accept what I can pay (I'm totally good for it) than to tell me it's not enough and discourage me from paying at all??
Dear The Maintenance Man,
In the future, please knock a little more loudly. Because I think both of us got a little more than we bargained for this afternoon. The Tater also didn't appreciate the interruption.
According to the scale at the doctor's office, The Tater is the same size as "a medium size turkey". Well. We'd expect no less. He comes from good stock.
A conversation between Husband (in the shower) and The Kid (holding vigil outside, because heaven forbid anyone in this house should be able to do ANYTHING in the bathroom in peace):
The Kid: Daddy, why didn't you make it snow?
Husband: I don't know.
The Kid: Daddy, did you cry yourself to sleep last night because you missed me?
The Kid: Do you want to build a hang glider today? Would that be cool?
The Kid: Can you make me some cheese toast?
Me: Didn't daddy already make you sausage and eggs?
The Kid: No, apparently he didn't.
The Kid: Can I have Doritos?
Me: No, we don't eat chips for breakfast.
The Kid: Can I have some for lunch?
The Kid: Ok, let's have lunch now and breakfast in five hours.
used to wonder why women who had children opt for butch haircuts. Then, yesterday, I found puke in my hair three separate times. Now I totally get it.
Husband just told The Kid that all he does all day at work is have parties, eat candy, and open presents. She's already decided she'll be going to work with him every day from now on.
Every Sunday morning, I wake up thinking I have magically gained the ability to do good hair. Then, I mess around with my hair for 30 minutes, and it ends up looking exactly like it does every other day
I blame Texas.
If we're ever in another war, they should forget about spying or strategy. Just ask a 3-year-old where they should attack - they have get-in-the-way GPS, I swear it.
Trying to use the cold as an excuse to get The Kid to put on het jammies and snuggle up with me. She's refusing to do either stating, "Naked is better when it's cold. Jammies make my tummy feel wobbly."
The Kid as she grabs the back scratcher, "Mama, I'm gonna need you to move. I've gotta practice my golf swing."
Well, yes, naturally that's what you have to do.
Husband is training for a new job and is being hit on by some trollop who apparently digs his suspenders. Good thing I'm not there or I'd talk about her behind her back and throw out some idle threats I'd never be able to make good on. As it is, I have to settle for doing it on Facebook. Take that you hussy!
I just washed my hair with baking soda and apple cider vinegar. Because apparently being a baby wearing - baby wipe making - public breastfeeding - essential oil using lady was not enough to solidify my position as a hippy. Next up: cloth diapering, finding out where to score some LSD, and one of those broom stick skirts.
The Kid: You and daddy went to the temple and then you got married and then daddy told you to have a baby.
Me: Yes. That's how I remember it. Do you want to get married?
The Kid: Nope. Is it ok if I just stay little?
Me: That would make me very happy.
One thing: Sleep regression SUCKS.
And that's all I have to say about that.
The Kid: I wish I could use a hula hoop and a skipping rope. Then I could be the awesomest person ever.
Me: Yeah, but I think you have to wait till you're six to use those.
The Kid: Well, what can I do till I get six and get awesome?
While at Sam's yesterday I needed to feed a baby, so I sat down inside a tent looking dealie in an effort to be inconspicuous. Fat lot of good that did. Anybody and everybody took a peek inside including one old dude who loudly exclaimed, "Oh, MAN! I didn't even need to see that!" Just as a PS, we were at Sam's for 2.5 hours - apparently, The Kid thinks it's better than the park.
The Kid totally just caught me lip syncing to Clay Aiken in the bathroom mirror:
The Kid: What happened? Are you hurt?
Me: No, why?
The Kid: Well, why does your face look like that, then?
When you've got a screaming baby, angels should descend from heaven and close the mouths of your other children. Kind of like Daniel in the Lion's Den.