Overheard

With Big Brother at school these past few months, I've been getting to know Girlface's habits and quirks. She and her brother couldn't be more different. She is the slow, observant, focused one. Big Brother is fast, oblivious and unfocused. I imagine Girlface trying to catch a fly with chopsticks (think Mr. Miyagi) while Big Brother uses a baseball bat.

Big Brother chews his gum for five minutes before claiming that the "flavor is out." Girlface chews a tiny piece of gum all afternoon, saving it on her plate for each meal and snack. Girlface quietly stirs up trouble and you may never know what happened. Big Brother is like a fireworks show. They do miss each other, though.

See?

They ran up and slid down the slide together like this for about half an hour one afternoon.

With Big Brother home on break, though, Girlface isn't getting as much attention as she's used to. The other day she sat down next to me and wailed,

Mommy, I haven't been with you. Ouch.

Girlface is a hoot these days. She's chatty and bright and social. And she says the weirdest things.

What's this on my arm? Girlface asks. 
I don't know, honey.
It might be a tick. OR it might be ketchup, she says.

Whatcha making, Girlface? I snuck up on her in the backyard.
Strawberry Tinkerbell soup, she says, cackling. Should I be frightened?

Slushies on the porch

I don't like celery. I don't like chicken. I don't like any of this. Girlface is our resident food critic.  
Oh, well. No dessert.
I like it. Oh, of course, NOW you like it.

I don't want to eat anymore, mom, Girlface says.
Well, no dessert. 
Ooooh. I want to eat. I'm pretty sure I'd mentioned this no dessert thing at least 10 times.

Unless you're here to poop or pee, get out of the bathroom, I tell the kids. 
Oooooh. I didn't get to see Big Brother's poop and The Baby flushed it, Girlface wails. It's like the daily poop exhibit.

We can't go because that lady's car is in front of us, Girlface tells me.
Um, no honey, we can't go because the Volvo won't start.  We were stranded on the side of the road and a very nice woman and her daughter stayed with us until Jim could get there.

You ruined my kiss on my cheek, mommy, Girlface wailed. I'm not even sure how I did this, but I had to give her another night-night kiss.

Also, her secret is out. She does actually like us. For months, I would kiss her good night, tell her I love her and get this:

I love you, poop. Then she would cackle. Well, a few weeks ago, I started getting "I love you, mom." She's even said it first some nights.

A few from the "I can't believe I have to say this" file: 

Stop swinging the underwear around. In the kitchen, no less.

Get out of the bathroom. It's not a museum. 

Don't pick your nose with that carrot.

And from Captain Oblivious ...

I'm going outside.  
OK. Don't bother [the A/C repair guy].
I don't ever bother anyone. This is funny on so many levels.

Napkin, Big Brother, Jim says as he passes around napkins.
No. I never get dirty. Oh, okay.

MOM. MOM. It's 2 a.m. and Big Brother is screaming from his room.
Yes, dear?
I can't zip my sleeping bag, he whines indignantly. (Asshole.)

MOM. MOM. I trudged up the stairs.
What is it, dear?
My blanket. I can't reach it. Guess where it was? Within his reach if he had just SAT UP. (Asshole.)

Mom, The Baby has an appointment and he won't come, Girlface wails. So now I'm supposed to mediate in the land of make believe, too?

I can hear it with my special ear, Big Brother squealed. He heard the train coming. How come his special ear doesn't hear his mother so well?

Oh, look, there it is. I can see it with my powerful eyes, Big Brother exclaims upon seeing the grist mill at the river. Now I just love his confidence, but I can't help but wonder why his powerful eyes don't see the trail of clothing he drops on the floor or the "lost" toy that is right under his nose.

Have a great week. 

Overheard

Life has been busy lately. I barely blink in the morning and suddenly I'm creeping along in the carpool line to pick up the boy at school with an impatient 2 year old screaming "GO, GO, GO" and a 3 year old moaning, "It's a looooong time, mooooooommmmmyyyyy."

They play together very well. 

There's a different feel around here during the day when Big Brother is at school. With two non-ADHD kids, I can stay home all morning and not lose my mind. The Baby and Girlface play remarkably well together and can leave me alone for long periods. I don't even mind that most of the time they are playing with hose water in the backyard and come in muddy from head to toe. (In my world, 20 uninterrupted minutes is a long time.) When Big Brother's home, it's like being poked 20 times an hour by a kid who gives me no time to respond. Here's a sample conversation:

MomMomMOM. 
Yes, Big Brother.
Worms don't have eyes. I'm sure this information will come in handy eventually.

I'm also getting to know Girlface better. One thing for sure is that this little girl is determined and focused and talkative.

Honey, you're arms are not long enough to reach that, I tell Girlface who is trying to reach for the second ring on the monkey bars at the park.
That's poop, she tells me with a determined look. Five minutes later, she reached the second ring. Basically, my daughter looked at me, said the preschooler equivalent of "bullshit," and did it.

Yet she can be rather indecisive. It's maddening.

Do you want grapes? 
No. Yes. And she usually says yes just as I'm turning back toward the fridge.  

Are you going to finish that? I ask. 
I don't like it. I do like it.
Oh, okay.
I like it. I don't like it, she repeats. Sigh. I hope she gets this one under control before she starts dating.

Mom, you have a boo boo on your chin. You need a Tinker Bell Band-Aid, Girlface tells me.

And THEN my pajamas were bleeding, Girlface says. She and The Baby had a head on collision in the hallway. As she said, there was blood everywhere. 

Mommy, I'm singing about vicodin, Girlface says.
Um, what, honey?
VACUUMING. I'm singing about vacuuming. Oh, good.

Even though they are easier on me than Big Brother, The Baby and sometimes even Girlface are adding exponentially to the list of no-nos that I never thought had to be verbalized.

The Baby, get off the drawer. It is not a stool. He pulls out the bottom drawer in the kitchen and stands on it to watch me cook.
 
The Baby, don't jump in the sink. He does this after I change his diaper. The changing table is on the bathroom counter.


The Baby, is there poop in your bed? I ask him.
Yes. Change my sheets again, he says. Lovely. I change his sheets several times a week because he can't keep his hands out of his pants and winds up sleeping with his fire hose pointing up. 
 
Oh my God, are you licking all the clean spoons? STOP.
 
Oooohh, I spilled water, Girlface says. Next thing I know ... 
No, no, Girlface, here's a rag. Don't lick the floor. (I know that I don't own a mop anymore, but seriously?)

Are you going to take a nap today? I ask The Baby.
No.
Are you not going to take a nap today? (I was trying to trick him.)   
Yes, he replied. D'oh. Outsmarted by a 2 year old.

Sit down in that cart or I swear I will glue you to the seat, I seethed at The Baby and Girlface in Target.
 
Mom, can you get the gum off my foot? Want to see my poop? Big Brother asks, all in the same breath. Wow, where do I start?

Mom, I pooped and I didn't flush it. Want to come see it? Big Brother says as soon as I get home. It's curly, he continues. When will they stop summoning me to inspect their poop?
 
I just had underpants on and now they're gone, Girlface wails with her pants around her ankles. I have no idea how that could happen.
 
Do you know how to stop, Girlface? Jim asks repeatedly as she bikes down a hill at the park. She randomly uses her breaks and her shoes.
No, I don't, she called back. Wonder of wonders, she came down the hill AND managed to round a curve without falling.
 
Shit, Jim says as he fixes something with his little assistant, The Baby.
Shit, The Baby repeats.
No, no, I said shoot, Jim replies.
Shoot, The Baby repeats.

What's that? the kids asked when Jim turned the channel to a tennis match.
That's tennis. They play it on a ping pong table, Jim tells them. And, I kid you not, they all yelled at the TV: GET OFF THE TABLE.

Big Brother, did you hear the words coming out of my mouth? I ask after he'd requested one too many repeats that day.
No, he replies. And his father snickered. It's the beginning of man's disease. I pity his future wife.

Have a great week!

Overheard

Girlface's entire second year was marked by spectacular disasters involving, among other things, flour, pasta and poop. I had blocked a lot of it out of my memory until this morning. It dawned on me after cleaning half a dozen cracked eggs off the kitchen floor that we are now entering the third and final 2 year old's reign of disaster.

I just stared at the floor, frozen for about 30 seconds, not knowing what to do. How exactly do you clean eggs off the floor? It was not even 8 a.m. This was a pretty cruel blow.

Shut me in, mommy, The Baby says as he stands inside the fridge. I've had to lock the fridge because he opens it every chance he gets.

Sometimes I forget, like this morning. This kid is an eating machine. His hands literally shake when he eats. I've been keeping an eye on him to make sure that is the only time he quivers. So far, it is. Yesterday, when I called him for dinner, he bolted into the dining room, crawled over my chair and tried to climb over the table to get to his plate. Later when he discovered the fridge locked, he took one panicked look at Jim and bolted back into the dining room to see if there was anything left on the table.

He is also into absolutely everything. It's tough to get a step ahead of this child.

Give me that. The stapler is NOT a phone, I tell The Baby. He had flipped open the stapler and was holding it to his head. A staple to the head would be hard to explain in the ER.
Please get out of the salad spinner. NO, NO, don't touch the microwave, I tell The Baby all in the same breath.

Let's go get a new diaper, Jim says.
No, Nope, The Baby replies as he waves Jim off.

And did I mention he hurts himself a lot?

He's got the belly flop down, a friend noticed as The Baby repeatedly hurled himself into the pool.
Oh, yeah, he's been practicing on the driveway, Jim says.

I need chocolate, The Baby wails after he pinches his finger. A few minutes earlier I had offered him a chocolate covered raisin when he hurt himself. He learns quickly.

The Baby is also now sleeping in a bed. And he rarely gets out. I mean, why would he? All he needs is right there: his thumb for sucking and his penis to play with.

Do you think The Baby is still in the bed? I ask Jim. It was awfully quiet up there. He had just started sleeping in a bed.

The real question is where will he be at 2 a.m., he says. Then he adds, I'm going to chain the doors.

Girlface is pretty chatty these days. She fills the vacuum that Big Brother leaves while he's at school. It never occurred to me just how much that kid sucks the air out of a room. She provides a running commentary from the back seat. 

That lady said it was going to thunder, mom, Girlface informs me regularly on our car trips.

And she's just so eager to talk that her sentences have a string of false starts that leave me on the edge of hysterics or of my sanity, depending on the day.

Mom, before you ... Mom, before you ... MOM, before you ... said we could go to Nana's house.

Why do keep piling everything in your closet? I ask Girlface. I'm rather exasperated that everything falls out when I open the door.
It might rain in my room, she responds. Oh, of course. That's perfectly logical.

Talk the book, mommy, The Baby says. Or, in his more impatient moments, TALK. This is how he asks me to read.

I'm going to put dirt in your Diet Coke. That'll be good, Girlface claims. We were having pretend lunch while real lunch was cooling off on the table.

I CAUGHT A FISH. I CAUGHT A FISH. YES! [hand clap] MY WEEKEND HAS BEGUN! Big Brother says. Yes, fish are necessary to have a weekend.

Well, Jesus was sad that his friend Lazarus was dead, I say to Big Brother.
Yeah and he used his back-to-life wand on him.

Ugh, I'm too fat for all my clothes, I tell Jim.
Big Brother overheard this and suggested: You need to be naked.

Ouch. I cut myself. I'm not having a very good day in the kitchen, I say. That morning, I got a second degree burn on my hand.
Maybe your contact lenses fell out, Big Brother responds. 

Yesterday, Tinkerbell wore this dress so today I should wear it, Girlface informs me. Well, if it's good enough for Tinkerbell, it's good enough for you.

That's all for now.

Lies I can't get away with much longer

My kids seem to ask questions from dawn till dusk. By midday, I'm ready to throw in the towel and tell them that I'm not taking any more questions or offering any more explanations about anything. I usually can hold out until their father gets home. Then I'm on break.  

And no question freezes me in my tracks and causes a mini panic attack like "What's in your mouth?" Here are a few of the answers that they are not buying:

 
I'm just chewing my tongue. 

No, it's not a piece of candy. 

Really, there's nothing in my mouth. 

I'm not eating anything. I SWEAR!

They're not buying it. Any of it.

Also, in an effort to have a clean kitchen at the end of the day, I tell them this: 


The kitchen is closed. My mother used to tell us this. I get it now. Totally. What she really meant was "The kitchen is closed for sticky fingered, crumb shedding urchins like yourself." But for mom and dad? Kitchen is open since we can now eat whatever we want without facing an army of beggars.

Other popular half-truths:

I'm not speeding. Okay. I kind of am speeding. But cops don't usually ticket for 5 miles over, now do they?


That's not a word you should use. At least not in public. Please. Who am I kidding? There are times when that word is totally warranted, like when you accidentally spill a full dustpan after the eighth sweeping of the day, right?

I have eyes in the back of my head. My oldest still believes this. He calls them my back eyes. One day, he sifted through my hair to find them. I told him he couldn't see them because they were closed at the time.

We don't eat before dinner. Translation: You don't eat before dinner. Mommy? She has a secret stash of jelly beans she sneaks while making dinner.

That song? It's about saving energy and keeping your doors locked. I told my kids this when they asked about the lyrics "Baby lock the door and turn the lights down low." I'm getting good at reinterpretting songs.

Do you mind? I'm using the bathroom. I'm not really. I'm reading. And eating a piece of chocolate to avoid the "What's in your mouth?" question.

Overheard

It's been quite hot here, with several days in a row of 100 plus degree temperatures. I can't keep the kids in their clothes and yet I still have mountains of laundry. Could someone please explain to me how this works? The hot weather also means it's potty training season.


Oh, yeah, it's outdoor peeing weather this week, Jim said last week. The Baby is of age. I think that we can start training him now.

Girlface has surprised us lately with her knowledge of letters. I've not been able to teach her directly as much as I did with Big Brother. But one day, she blurted out:

P is for purple. Huh? I didn't know she knew that. And she's been writing letters. Numbers, though, are a different story. She knows them, but it sounds like she's calling audibles in a football game. 

4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 11, 4, 5, 12. And Big Brother flips out because she's not saying the numbers in order.

She also has lots of opinions. 

I like this song, mom, Girlface chirped from the back seat. Bryan Adams "Everything I Do" was on the radio. It's about looking into my eyes. I like looking into my eyes. Well, this is different, a kid telling me what a song is about. Big Brother, on the other hand, constantly asks what each song is about.

How can you breathe through your eyeballs, dad?
Well, I guess if you held your breath it might come out your eyeballs, Jim tells him. A few days later I realized that he asked that question because when I take my contacts out and wear eyeglasses, I tell him it's because my eyes need to breathe.

Let's play the quiet game, Big Brother says.
QUIET GAME, The Baby screams. My kids suck at this game.

Big Brother played a game with me the other day, I tell Aunt Jackie. What game was it?
Yahtzee. Ooooh. I like gumballs. (He had spotted a gumball machine.) Yes, he really did say all of this in the same breath. Ironically, I had mentioned the game playing to show her that his attention span was improving.

And now you know the purpose of basements, Big Brother, his cousin Mia says as she wraps up her 5 minute dissertation.
What? Big Brother says with the same blank stare he'd been giving her for the past five minutes as she explained basements.
Mia, he doesn't know what purpose means, another cousin chimes in.

Don't drink the bathwater, Girlface. Your brothers probably peed in it, I tell her.
I didn't pee, Big Brother replies. I farted in it. Ewwwww.

I don't know what happened, I bemoan to my sister. The two of them were playing so nicely for a few minutes. They were listening to each other's elbows [with a toy stethoscope]. Next thing I know, Girlface whacks him and he tackles her to the ground. 
It's a bipolar match, she replies. Ah, yes. That explains everything.

When Nana sets her house on fire, we can come rescue her, Big Brother tells his sister.
Yeah, because I'm going to be a firefighter! Wait, what? Nana is going to set her house on fire??

Hey, I can put the plate on top of the pumpkin [it was actually a watermelon]. It can balance, Big Brother says. Five year olds havew such great ideas.

Can this plum pit grow? Big Brother asks. 
Sure, but I think it has to be planted somewhere warmer, like California.
Where's California? 
On the other side of the country. 
Can we go there tomorrow?

Why do we have mouths? Big Brother asks after a five minute series of questions about something completely unrelated. It's at this point that I want to bang my head against the wall. Hard.

Are there a lot of mosquitoes in the world? Big Brother asks. 

I'm closing my eyes so you can't see me, Big Brother says to his Nana . Right. If that worked, I'd be eating chocolate with eyes closed in front of the kids nonstop. 

Mom, I passed gas upstairs. It was a fart gas. Can you smell it? Big Brother says from the top of the stairs.  

Ew, did you pass gas, Big Brother?
No, Girlface might have done and it came all the way in here. Sure, that's plausible.

Why did Nana's [bike] tire get flat?
Maybe it got a hole in it. 
Maybe there was too much weight on it and it went down. Nana loved that explanation.

Now, you need to behave at the gym this morning, Big Brother. 
Why?
Because when you don't behave, it doesn't make mommy want to do nice things for you. 
You want to do bad things to us?

Look, dog, The Baby says pointing out a picture of a dog to our dog Molly. I love how kids just think of the dog as just a furry human.

What is that noise, The Baby? I ask him as he whines at me.
Me, he says. Smart ass.

Watch out. He charges, Jim warns someone as The Baby hurtles toward them.

The Baby. Patrick. . Come here, I say.
MEEHAN COMING, he replies as he charges toward me. This kid has linebacker written all over him.

Do babies climb walls, mom?
No, I reply.
Do they have suction cups on their hands and feet?
No. Where are you getting all this?
Dad said that babies have suction cups on their hands. Oh dear.

Mom, let's go bike riding. We can scare them with our face paint power. They had just finished painting each other's faces with water colors.

Have a happy and safe 4th of July!

Overheard

It's been an entire month since I've written anything on this blog. I'm in a rut. Things aren't as funny as they used to be. After an entire month of the stomach virus ripping through our house and, um, intensive behavior modification, my brain is just numb. And I've had near constant back pain for about two weeks. Life is a bit more stressful here lately.

My oldest is about to start kindergarten. It feels like we're in a race against the calendar to get him to a point where his behavior won't mortally embarrass us or get him kicked out of school. A dozen times a day, his behavior gives me visions of forced homeschooling.  I know, I know, it seems totally unreasonable. Who says that about their own child? When you're living three inches from your face, though, it's hard to see him whack his sister without believing that he'll do the same to random schoolmates. 

The middle child is actually responsible for instigating most of the drama around here. Every time I turn around, she is intentionally needling someone.

The Baby, who is actually a toddler going on NFL offensive lineman, whines constantly for food, randomly shouts, growls and roars at us, and tackles me, usually when I'm making dinner.    

The decibel level around here is unbearable. I may lose my hearing soon. Please, God, let me lose my hearing soon.

Mom, does Daddy drive too fast?
No, honey.
Why do you drive too fast?
I don't. Anymore.

Is the man dying in there? Big Brother asks as we pass the funeral home.
No, honey, he's already dead.
Where is his body?
It's in a casket; that's a box that they put the body in.
Oh, so he's a treasure now.

Want fries? The Baby asks me as he drives up on his big wheel.

Look, mom, my boo boo doesn't hurt. See? You can touch and squish it, Girlface says.

This is curious up here, Big Brother says. We were at a restaurant sitting on the upper level.

Speaking of restaurants ...

We don't have to pay at Nana's restaustrant, Big Brother exclaims. (No, I did not misspell restaurant. That's how he says it.)

I don't like daddy, but I like you, Girlface tells me.
Oh, really? Why?
Well, I like daddy outside, but I like you inside. Well, that makes sense. I play with them more inside and daddy plays more with them outside.

The monsters up [in the vent] might get scissors and cut down my sign, Big Brother says. I made him a Do Not Enter sign to hang from his vent. Are there scissors up there, mom? I assured him there weren't.

When I'm big and jump off a chair, it will shake the whole house and the house will explode, Big Brother informs me. A lot of his thoughts these days end in explosions.

Girlface and Big Brother don't wear diapers anymore, I tell The Baby while changing his diaper one day.
Big boy, he replies.
Are you a big boy? 
Yes.
Do you want to use the potty?
No. Oh, well. I tried.

Overheard

It's been a whirlwind around here. Try to keep up.

Big Brother got into a school and not just any school. This was our first choice school, a project-based, child centered environment that mirrors our values. So I've gone from being alternately committed to and resigned to homeschooling to being alternately excited and terrified about sending my first born to school. They literally drew his name out of a hat. He went to a kindergarten screening last week and it seems to have gone well. I gathered that he was asked to draw a picture of a person and he decided that he wanted to draw a car instead. He says he put the person inside the car, possibly inside the wheel. Whatever.

The stomach bug cannot seem to find its way out of our house. It's been going around in vicious circles here for about a month. Luckily, I've had it only once. Although, my husband had it most recently and spent the entire day in bed, so I'm wondering who's really the lucky one here. And the children can't seem to stop wetting their beds in one creative way or another. I've been doing an obscene amount of laundry. The Baby told me the other day when the washing machine was running, Go downstairs. Loud noises. 

My little The Baby is a suicidal billy goat who is still nursing but I convinced him today that almond milk was booby juice. And his language skills are fascinating. He's grasped the concept of "enough," informing me just today that I had not given him enough dip for his carrots. He has thoughts that go beyond mere observation, such as these ones:

Take it outside, mommy, The Baby instructs me when he finds a bug in the house.

Get water, The Baby says when he tries to sit on a hot swing at the park.

Yet, he still babbles. Loudly.

What is he saying?
Gumbo sneet bot, Big Brother says.

Oh. What does that mean?
Throw that stuff in the compost.

Big Brother is officially my new translator. In addition, the boy is a ball of physical and mental and emotional energy that, if harnessed, could probably power New York City for a year.  


Is yellow cheese made from yellow milk, mom? Big Brother asks.

How can I get my freckles off?

When will I get hair on my face? 

Do we have hair on our butts?

Why do girls grow up to be mommies?


How come boys don't have babies? I am so not ready for this.

Look, my watermelon is melting. Um, no, it's just dripping, dear. 

Look, I have milk bubbles on my spoon.

Look, mom, the poop went down into the gobbler, he says. The gobbler, it turns out, is the hole in the toilet bowl.

Big Brother, what are you doing? I ask as I watch him put his ear up to various spots in the bathroom.
I'm hearing the bathroom.

And if Big Brother could power New York City, my 3 year old could probably break every window in the Empire State Building with her deafening, dramatic outbursts.

I broke my celery, Girlface wails.
You mean you bit it?
Yeah. Oh, the drama never ends with this one.

MINE. MINE. MINE, Girlface screams.
Nothing is yours, you just got down here, I tell her.  Seriously, this child has a distorted view of property rights.

In addition to all the drama and noise, the children have utterly fantastic logic:

You need to calm down or go outside, I tell Big Brother. 
No, no, there's a carpet. I am continually amazed at my son's ability to connect two seemingly unrelated ideas as an argument in favor of his viewpoint. Reminds me of a few politicians I know, actually.

Big Brother, please don't yell.
No, no, I have to yell to stop The Baby from yelling. Yep, that's 5 year old logic for you. Or mommy logic on a bad day.

But I need my leotard to play tic tac toe, Girlface explains. Really? I had no idea.

And then there's the burgeoning smart-assery:

I've got to go to the bathroom, Jim announces while we were out to dinner.
Well, go then, Big Brother replies. When the heck did he get a smart mouth?

Dad, are you a man?
Yes.
You need to start fires and go camping. 

File these under things that I never thought I would say:


Big Brother, you don't need a tennis racket to poop. He was sitting on the toilet with a tennis racket and a ball.

Don't yell at the fruit, I tell Girlface. She couldn't stab her kiwi with her toothpick. So she yelled at it.

Have a great weekend. And don't yell at the fruit.

Overheard

Boy am I bad at writing lately. I blame Facebook and Pinterest and the fact that my sister lives in the same time zone and, oh, yeah, the three little maniacs who live with us. I've got a lot on my mind, too. We're waiting on the results of one more school lottery for Big Brother before deciding what to do about school for him in the fall. I'm inclined to just keep him home. We didn't get into either public Montessori school and are number 134 on the waitlist for the state charter Montessori.

I also can barely remember anything that the kids say. Lately, however, it's all sounded like 100 decibel roaring, mostly coming from the nearly 2 year old menace. You see, The Baby has turned into a bit of an intimidating bully. He pushes his siblings around, bites, hits, charges and roars at them to express his displeasure or just for his own entertainment. Of course, it's not without provocation. Girlface is fond of snatching his toy the second he puts it down and laughing maniacally as she runs away. If he's crying, I can always count on her being nearby.

Why is he crying, FiFi?
Because, [pregnant pause, shoulder shrug and head tilt], I didn't do anything. Her other favorite response to this question is: Because I did nothing. Right.

And the kids have just been plain destructive lately. I sent the kids out to harvest some chard from the garden for dinner and they came back with this disturbing story:

We went out the door window, Big Brother tells me. 
Um, we don't have a door window.
Yeah, we do. We broke the screen. Brilliant. I just hope no one saw my children escaping from the front window.

And lately, Big Brother's brain has been telling him to do all sorts of things.

I made a mistake. My brain told me to eat jelly beans, Big Brother says after getting caught sneaking jelly beans.
Well, there's another part of your brain that knows not to eat the jelly beans after Mommy said no. Next time listen to that part. 

What do they do in the karate place? Big Brother asks.
They teach you how to fight and kick.
God doesn't like fighting. Yeah, and neither does your mother.

And if someone is bad to me, I will shoot them with this mop, Girlface informs me. Yes ma'am.

Baby ducks in the street!! Girlface squeals. They're taking a walk with their beaks.

DANNY HIT ME. AND THEN DANNY FORGOT NOT TO HIT ME, Girlface wails. And then she threw her head back and wailed even more forlornly.

Why is your shirt off? I ask Girlface.
My shirt has a runny nose.

No, you can't drink that, Big Brother warns his Uncle Tim. Diet Coke is for girls. If you drink that you will turn into a bad ... , and here he pauses as he catches my eye. A bad what? Mommy?

My hair moves when I wiggle, Girlface says. She's discovered that her hair moves when she shakes her head. I told her it was one of the coolest things about being a girl. (And I mean it.)

Bye, bye pee pee. Bye, bye pee pee. Bye, bye pee pee. Bye bye, Girlface says as she flushes the toilet. Every single flippin' time.

She's a nice girl, Girlface says of Nana as we play with the sticker book Nana gave her. She has a pretty shirt I think.

I can't find pretty pajamas, Girlface wails one night. (Actually, she says this every night.)
Then wear ugly ones, Jim responds. Of course, I usually get sucked into a 10 minute ordeal of sifting through pajamas with her while she summarily rejects every option in her drawer.

Mom, hey mom, mommy, mom, whatever your name is, Big Brother mumbles. Can I change my name now?

Loud noises, Molly, The Baby says to the dog when she's barking. This is what we say to the kids to remind them to tone it down.

Have a great weekend.

Overheard

It's Friday night and we just put the kids to bed. They were outside until dusk, digging in the parts of the garden I haven't yet seeded. It seems we skipped right over spring and went straight to summer. I'm putting seeds in ground and even pulled up my very first asparagus spear this evening. I'm thinking about putting some tomato plants out now. Maybe we can have two tomato seasons. The herbs are coming back: sage, lavender, dill and chives. Some herbs stayed all winter: rosemary, oregano and parsley. In fact, the kids constantly eat the parsley. Bits of dried up parsley tumble out of their pockets while I'm folding laundry.

Ah, laundry. That reminds me -- I've taught the older two how to fold their own clothes and they were fighting me over pieces of clothes. God forbid I should fold one of their articles of clothing. (Those of you with teenagers will tell me not to get used to this. I know, I know.) Big Brother followed my folding instructions exactly. Girlface did her own thing, but got the job done. Lately, they've all been doing a fantastic job with chores. After breakfast, Girlface and The Baby help me unload the dishwasher. Big Brother has decided he doesn't like doing that job because he gets wet. So I send him out to take the compost to the bin and feed the dog. It gets him out of the way so Girlface and The Baby can work together. I'm finding that The Baby and Girlface make a better team than Big Brother and Girlface. Big Brother needs his own space and activities now. He's playing soccer now and I've taken him out of PMO. He just was getting bored there and causing trouble.

Girlface is obsessed with the word poop and the fact that she used to poop on the floor.

I was a baby and I pooped on the floor, she laughs. I am still not laughing about this.

I poop bumblebees, Girlface says. Poop is her favorite word right now.
What? Jim says.
I poop bumblebees, she repeats.
Oh yeah? Well, I put bumblebees for breakfast.
I poop bumblebees for breakfast like you. Not to be outdone.

The Baby now echoes the most prominent word in every sentence I utter. One day, I gave the older two the standard pre-nap instructions.

Stay in your rooms and be quiet while I put your brother down for a nap. Do you understand me? 
Understand, The Baby repeats with a nod of his head. He's like my assistant now.

Cookie monster doesn't have a mom, Big Brother concludes.
Why do you say that?
Because he can make crumbs on the floor when he eats.

I'm going to climb that, Girlface says pointing to a picture of Mt. Everest. And I don't need any help. I don't need a ladder.

Where are your back eyes? Big Brother asks as he sifts through my hair. I'd been telling him for years that I had eyes in the back of my head. I finally had to come clean about this one.

Mommy, nana doesn't have a penis but Big Brother does have a penis. I don't have a penis, Girlface says. She does a daily inventory of body parts. 
Hey, Girlface where does your pee come out then?
On the inside, she replies.

No, no, no, don't put dog food in the water bowl, I tell Girlface. 
I'm making cereal for her. Of course you are.

Mom, I need you to flat out my sheet, Big Brother calls down just after I parked my bum on the sofa.
(Sigh.) There's another adult who is already upstairs and is still awake.
Silence.
Who? (REALLY??)
Your father.

Hold on, hon. I just need to send this email and then I'll help you. 
Is [the email] going into the clouds now? 

Big Brother did it. This is The Baby's favorite thing to say.


Gum, The Baby says when he sees the kidney beans for dinner. I gave him a few and he still called it gum. Cool.

Mom, let's sit down and talk, Big Brother says. So I sit. I know that one day he won't want to sit and talk to me.

Mom said no. She was being naughty, Big Brother tells his father.
Actually, I was being a good parent by limiting the amount of sugar you eat. [Silence] You can thank me anytime. (Like when you're 10 and don't have any cavities? Yeah, that would be a good time.)

Mom, what happened to my umbilical cord? This was the most random question of the day. 
Well, when you came out of mommy's belly, daddy cut the cord and you started to get food from boobyjuice. 
What did I eat before that?
The nutrients from the food mommy ate went through the umbilical cord into you. 
What did you eat? 
Meat, veggies and cheese and chocolate and ice cream and cottage cheese. (Everything but the kitchen sink, actually!)
Girlface then chimed in and wanted to know about when she was in mommy's belly. Then the two of them wanted to know how they got out of my belly. I truly didn't think the conversation would get there so quickly.

Can I play PBS Kids? Big Brother asks.
What did your dad say? My husband had the media room turned inside out due to a painting and reorganizing project, so I had no idea whether it was even possible to play on the computer.
I don't know. My brain told me to come ask you. 

I want the pepper, Girlface wails at The Baby.
NOOOOOOO, he roared. She actually leaned back. It was like watching a cartoon.

Stop making noise, The Baby. 
NOISE. 

Booby. Two of them, Girlface says as she lays her head on my chest. Then she moved her hands down and grabbed my belly fat. More boobies, she declares. Good thing I've been going to the gym.

Enjoy your weekend.  

Overheard

Let's see. What's new here?

A rare truce

We're undergoing a little diet experiment. I've cut out gluten for myself and Big Brother and the rest of the family by extension. I'm only being strict about it with Big Brother and I. I'm hoping behavior improves (and I've already seen some changes). As for me, I've already lost some weight, gained some energy and reduced the heartburn.

I've also joined a gym. As it turns out, I'm coming to the party a little late. Every time I go, I run into one more friend who works out there, too. There's a kick-ass child care room, a sauna and steam room (which I'm afraid to go in because I'm claustrophobic), all sorts of classes and personal trainers. 

We've taken our crew to Mass for an entire month of Sundays. Jim even took all three kids to church alone on Ash Wednesday. It was actually a success, as have been the Sunday masses. The older two go to the children's liturgy. The Baby sticks with us and drives cars up and down our legs.

On Ash Wednesday, Jim explained to Big Brother that our body is a gift from God and when we're done with this life, we return our bodies to the dirt. The whole ashes to ashes, dust to dust thing. He got it. A little too well, actually.

I don't want you to give up your body, Big Brother wailed to Jim at the Ash Wednesday service. After about 30 panicky seconds of this, Jim tells him: Do you know what they give kids who get their ashes? 
What?
Free ice cream. Instant smiles.
Where's the ice cream? he asks.
We have to buy it at Kroger.
That's not free.
Of course, it's free. You're not paying for it. We've inadvertently started a new tradition. Ashes and ice cream.


And speaking of dirt ...

Eww. Are you eating dirt? I ask Big Brother, whose mouth was surrounded by dirt.
Yeah. He opens his mouth.
How does it taste?
Good, he says, grinning. (What is wrong with little boys? Seriously, are they all like this?)

Girlface, on the other hand, has her own world view.

It's soap, Girlface squeals about the sparkling cranberry juice I just made. There was a layer of bubbles on top of the juice.

Chocolate, Girlface squeals as she and her neighborhood girlfriends are stomping in the mud. Only a girl would see chocolate in the mud.

Dad, let's get out the telescope tonight.
Oh, it's too dark for that, Big Brother, Jim says, thinking this will work.
No, no, telescopes are for seeing in the dark.


Is there something wrong with your ears, Big Brother? He had just said to me for the 50th time that day, "What did you say?"
My ears might be loose, he says.

FiFi do, The Baby cries after Girlface accidentally knocked him over. He can tattle now. That's a game changer right there.

I did that, Girlface tells me proudly as I help her put clothes back on her dolls.
Why do you take their clothes off?
So they can be naked and poop on the floor, she cackles.

Look at me. I'm bouncing, Big Brother says.
Stop bouncing off the walls, Jim replies. After all, it's breakfast time.

The paper ripped. What are we going to do? Girlface wails forlornly. 


These pants have holes in them. You can't wear them to church.
No, there's a holy book there.

The Baby is making noise, mommy, Girlface wails. (Really, she doesn't say anything anymore. It all comes out in a nerve-jangling wail.)
NOISE, The Baby replied. BLAH. WAH. DAH. AH. AHHHH. AHHH. (shrieking laughter) 


Would you look at The Baby's face, I say to Girlface. He had barbecue sauce up to his eyeballs. Literally. His nose is running, she says. No mention of the barbecue sauce. Actually, I couldn't even see the snot running out of his nose through all the sauce.


Did you have fun at Josh's house? I ask Big Brother.
Yeah. I didn't say poopy. That hurts people's feelings.


Don't go to fast, mommy. The police will catch you, Girlface says.


Molly licked my butt, Girlface says. Luckily, she was wearing pants. 


Molly knocked over the blocks when I was trying to ride her, Big Brother says.

Oh, really?
I can't ride dogs. I try and try, but I just can't do it. 


Enjoy your weekend.

Overheard

It's been a big week here.

Big Brother is reading now. The first book he read was Big Pig and Little Pig by David McPhail. I hope the copy Nana bought for him arrives before we have to return our copy to the library. He tells me that he doesn't want me to donate his book. He reads more and more words every day when we're reading with him. Just this morning, he read the prayer from our devotion book. He's also noticing everything around him and asking about it.

Hey, mom, that girl has her hands on that guy, Big Brother says of two preteens walking down the sidewalk. The girl had her arms around the boy's waist.

Hey, where's number 11? Big Brother asks, looking at his fingers. I told him number 11 started on his toes.

He's also asking us to repeat everything we say. I hate repeating myself.

Big Brother, just repeat what you hear in your head, Jim says.
I don't hear nothing, Girlface pipes up from the backseat.
Do you hear the wind, Girlface? Jim replies.


Girlface turned three about a week ago. Once again, we had to cancel her birthday party; this year it was due to illness.


So how old are you today, Girlface?
I'm 11. 

The Baby is experimenting with the word no. There's no animosity or drama with it. Yet. It's actually kind of cute.

Come on, The Baby, let's go change your diaper. 
No. 
Excuse me? I sputter.
No. 


And ...


Hey, The Baby, go find dada. Mommy's going to take a shower now. 
No. 

And speaking of no ...

Do you want to get up on the scale for me? the nurse asks Girlface.
No, she says rather matter of fact. (Who asks a 3 year old a question and expects a yes?)


You okay, Big Brother? I ask him as he's sputtering and coughing.
Yeah, [the juice] just went down the push up pipe. 


I peed in a cup at the doctor's office, Girlface proudly tells her dad. 
And we only do that at the doctor's office, he replied. You know, it didn't even occur to me to make this distinction.



Where's The Baby? Jim asks. I go check. 
He's watching TV and playing with his dingaling.
Man, he gets to do all the fun stuff. 


Grapple juice and lemonade make flavors, Girlface informs me.


Mom, what's that red thing they put on my forehead at church? 
Um, I don't understand, Big Brother. 
That red thing. ON MY FOREHEAD, he repeats. Because repeating the same words louder always clears things right up, doesn't it, husband?
OH, you mean the blessing? 
Yeah.

Hey, they said that last week, Big Brother says as Mass begins. Yup, that's what it means to be Catholic.

Your job right now is to shut your mouth and eat your food.
But I have to open my mouth to eat my food. Touche.

Don't drive your mom crazy, Nana instructs the kids as she leaves. 
Yeah, we drive her crazy all the time. 

But that's dangerous, Girlface says right after I catch her jumping from the top rung of the bunk bed ladder. (I'm not even kidding.) 
Then why did you do it?
But we can't do that, she says. Nope.
 
What were you doing, Big Brother? I ask after breaking up yet another tussle.
Playing tug of war with Fi.
Did she want to play tug of war?
No.
Then you weren't playing tug of war. You were being a jerk.

What are you doing, Jim? I ask.
I'm ripping up the bathroom floor before dinner, of course. Seriously? There really are disadvantages to having such a handy husband. Last week, he started replacing bathroom faucets while I was trying to get the kids to bed. Yeah, that means the water was off.


How do I get sunshine on my butt, mom? I want to go outside with sunshine on my butt. Just where did he get this idea? He had seen this photo of his brother:

Have a sunny weekend!

Overheard

Good morning. I actually have the morning to myself. I decided not to spend it grocery shopping or doing things for other people. Okay, well, maybe I did a little something for other people. I promised the kids I'd have lemonade and their favorite, grapple (grape & apple) juice, for them by the time they came home from PMO. I'm such a sucker.

We've all been sick the past week or so. The baby isn't sleeping well and I'm the great enabler who nurses him every time he wakes up. The oldest is trying to kick the pull up habit so our nights are filled with crying, wet children once again. Princess Girlface sleeps through the whole thing. She's my favorite right now. She turns 3 on Tuesday!! (Stay tuned ... I'll likely post something profound and wonderful in the coming week about her.) 

I told Big Brother that I would wake him up and take him to the bathroom before I went to bed.  The first night without pull ups he sat at the top of the stairs shortly after bedtime, holding himself and crying:

You didn't wake me up. 
Well, you weren't asleep, I replied, puzzled.Wait, do you need to go to the bathroom right now?
Yes. 
Then go! (Did he really think he couldn't go to the bathroom after bedtime??)

And this is the kid who wants to learn Spanish. We have one book with Spanish words in it. (I know, I'm a horrible mom. Only ONE bilingual book in the house? Shoot me.) He's memorized and uses a few of the words, leche and zapatos being his favorites.

Mom, can I have some leche in my zapatos? Cute.  I know have the Oxford Dictionary online's Spanish English dictionary bookmarked and whenever he asks what a word is, we look it up and listen to the pronunciation. Homeschooling has never been so easy.
 
Buckle my seatbelt. My hands are full, Big Brother says. Um, excuse me? 
Look, kid, I'm not here to randomly do things for you that you can do for yourself. You got that Napoleon?

STOP SCREAMING, Big Brother screams at his sister.
When you tell someone to stop screaming, you shouldn't scream, Big Brother, I tell him. Do you get it?
I'll take the blank stare as a no.

I get a higher number when I jump on it, Big Brother says. Guess what "it" is? The scale.  

Did you just go through the walls [to get through the maze]? 
Yeah, because I'm heavy. I knock down walls, he replies. Well, that's cool, I guess.

What did that guy do?
[That driver] made a risky move and almost had an accident.
He's a bad guy.
No, honey, he just wasn't being too smart.
His brain wasn't working.

And he continued ...
Someone should call his mommy.
Oh, and what would his mommy do?
Scream. Which is something his mommy never, ever does. Ahem.
That's actually a good idea. Whenever you go before a judge, he should ask for your mother's phone number, Jim says. And we will all be so thrilled to be getting calls from judge's for the rest of our lives, won't we?

Just ask her for it and wait for an answer, I tell Big Brother.
FiFi, can I have that?
No. Oh, boy. I didn't tell him what to do if she says no.
She said No, Mom. 
Well, honey, try again later.
I don't want to do answers, he wailed. Life is so hard when you're sister is 3. 

Look, I tell Jim, I organized The Baby's drawer so I can see all the shirts. 
You know what you're job is, he calls to The Baby. Grrrrrrrr.

We miss Bob, don't we? Big Brother and I were talking about Bob one day.
No, no, I can fly up to the sky because that's where heaven might be.

This food is good and healthy for my belly button, Girlface says.

Good night. I love you, I tell Girlface.
Thanks. Boy do I feel sorry for her future boyfriends.

DiDi, wake up, The Baby says to his sister. Awww.

I'm going to Krogert, Girlface says. I just love mispronounced words.

You doing good? Big Brother asks into a banana that he was pretending was a phone. Hey, why you not there? Well, for starters, you're talking into a banana.

Have a great weekend. I'll try not to be a stranger here.

Overheard

It's been a good week here. I've finally, after five years of parenting, gotten the hang of scheduling a day. In my defense, the first five years have been unpredictable with at least one diapered, preverbal, nocturnal kiddo in the mix. And until now, I've not really understood how to do this without feeling like I was manipulating the kids. Our days have been going something like this: breakfast, chores, story/devotional time, playtime/errands, lunch, more chores, nap for The Baby, table time for the older kids and then a story and quiet time.

(Oh, a quick tip. I found a customizable chore chart application online. You can create your own chore chart with days of the week and whatever chores you want them to do and even put a picture on it for the kids to color. Check it out.)

Table time has been a big hit with Big Brother and Girlface. We do school-type work, crafts or sensory play such as rice, play dough or magnetic chips and wands. The past few days I've been working with Big Brother on handwriting. He likes to use an alphabet stencil that I have and do letter tracing. Today, though, for the first time in a week, we didn't do table time. There was a closet that needed to be cleaned. Badly. However, around 1:30, the two of them spontaneously gathered up notebooks and pencils and began writing and drawing. Big Brother even continued this activity during his quiet time.

That's a little spooky, but I'll take it. Anything to give Big Brother a little focus and direction. Five year olds are full of energy and bright ideas, apparently. At least once a day, I hear this:  

I can do that ... because I'm five.

Are you trying to lick your chest? Yes. Yes, he is. Because he's five.

Um, Aunt Josee, Big Brother's eating dirt. Of course, he is. We told her that it's because he's five.

Why did you throw the bat? Were you angry?
No. I needed to get it out of my hand. So, of course, throwing it and hitting his brother in the head was the logical solution.

Hey, I can make mashed potatoes with the new Kitchen Aid, I tell Jim. Big Brother overheard us and offered his two cents.
Or you can use the can crusher. Five year olds are just brilliant.

Just stop doing anything that you think is a good idea, I told Big Brother after three consecutive poor choices.

You can get up when you stop asking questions. 
I've stopped asking questions now. Sigh. That wasn't technically a question. Outsmarted by a 5 year old.

And he's also experimenting with lying or just telling stories.


Big Brother, did you make this mess? 
No, the monster did it. 
Big Brother, I know you're not telling me the truth. 

He still insisted that the monster did it. This went on for a few days until I realized that I didn't need to be right on this one. So I changed tactics.


Big Brother, did you make this mess. 
No, the monster did it. 
Well, you are the monster's personal assistant, so you're going to clean it up. 

The kids are kind of getting along. While I'm still in bed, I hear Big Brother and Girlface playing together rather well. I just love listening to them play in the morning. Of course, by the end of the day, cooperative play turns conspiratorial:

Why are you guys all holding hands? Jim asks as the three of them wander through the dining room with Girlface in the lead. Aw, man, something bad is going to happen. FiFi's leading them somewhere.


American woomba, Big Brother sings. I told him it was American Woman, but he insisted on woomba.


Big Brother, stop, turn around and look at me.
I don't like that word, he whimpered. He was referring to the word stop. I'm actually stunned that he is so articulate.


You guys need a rest today. You're not feeling well.
I'm not sick, Big Brother says. 
You told me you were sick when we were at Josh's house.
My underwear might have been too tight.

The Baby hasn't been sleeping too well. We've been waiting to see what breakthrough awaits us.

NO. NO. NO. NO, The Baby shouts at Jim.
Oh, no, Jim said. That's what he's been working on. Verbalizing defiance.   

Read this book, The Baby says as he brings me book after book. Pretty soon I have a pile of books on my lap. And then he leaves.

Leave the table, Girlface. You're just causing trouble now instead of eating.
Trouble, The Baby repeated. Trouble, trouble, trouble, he continued, pointing at Girlface.

Speaking of trouble ...

What the heck was she doing up there? I ask Jim after he went up to check on Girlface. We heard babbling.
Talking to herself in the mirror.

Do you know what she was doing up there?
Um, no. I was actually afraid to guess.
Big Brother's fast asleep and she's up on his bed with the radio cranked up. 

I want another kiss ... on the bum, Girlface says. Wait, did she just ask me to kiss her butt?

Have a great weekend.

Overheard

I'm always fascinated by how radically the landscape changes in a year with small children, especially when the most annoying phases seem like they will never end. And yet, changes big and small can happen without fanfare and almost overnight.

The baby sleeps through most nights now. The two older ones come down for breakfast fully dressed. I'm out of the poop loop for the older two. Heck, I rarely have to wipe anymore. And I don't even remember when this happened.

Last year at this time, I was probably wondering when my four year old would stop wetting his pants.  Now I can't remember the last time he did. 
My little girl was barely talking and just getting the hang of potty training. Now she gets up at night to go to the bathroom and I wish she would just stop talking so much.

My youngest was just getting up to speed with crawling. Walking seemed so far away, yet I can't even remember him crawling. And to think that next year at this time, potty training may be a reality.

I took a break from blogging over the holidays. Sometimes I just need to stop talking and analyzing and thinking. But I still listen and laugh because if I didn't, well, I just would take myself too seriously. So enjoy the banter.

The poo ring is at least two hours old, Jim declares as he's changing The Baby's diaper. I'm going to need to call in a forensic poopologist. 


What? It's not me, dude, Jim tells The Baby who's crying over a poopy diaper change. If you'd just poop in the potty, this wouldn't be a problem for you.

Hi guys, The Baby says as he sits next to Big Brother and Girlface on the curb.  The two of them were actually in time out. He's such a kid brother. 


Why don't adults have guys? Big Brother asks as he clutches a new stuffed animal. He calls his family of stuffed animals his guys.

My nose is running, Girlface whines.
And what do you do when your nose is running? I ask. I'm trying to get her to stop telling me and just go get a damn tissue from the bathroom. 
Pick your nose, Big Brother pipes up.


So where do you live, Big Brother? Santa asked him.
North America. I'm actually kind of glad he didn't recite his address, which he can now rattle off, to a stranger.

I match with the mirror, Girlface declares.

What is it? Big Brother asks.
It's ham. You eat it. It's yummy. Fi has a career in marketing ahead of her.

More conversations with Big Brother and Fi:

What do you want to be when you grow up? Big Brother asks.
A FIRE TRUCK. 

Mom, Big Brother says breathlessly, I went poop and it came out straight and not sploosh, so I didn't have to wipe. Oh joy, my 5 year old has discovered hygiene shortcuts.

Stop banging on the ottoman [with the sharp edge of a toy hammer], I tell Girlface.
I'm trying to make a window. Of course you are.

No. You spit that honey out, Big Brother yells about a pretend plate of honey Girlface handed him. Apparently, she had taken a pretend bite of his pretend honey. Maybe he was pretending to be angry?

I wanted to beat Girlface, Big Brother wails. You spit that [food] out, Fi. Oh, please don't.

When our house burns down, we can live with Nana, Girlface says. When?

Santa won't come unless you're asleep on Christmas Eve, guys. You have to be sleeping in your beds, I tell them.
I don't like Santa, Girlface replied with a furrowed brow.

No, the kids are still up. Come back later, Jim tells "Santa," who had just rung the doorbell. The kids scooted right up to bed.

Don't touch me until you tell me where you got that water from, I tell Girlface. She had just returned from the bathroom and her hair was wet. Yes, I was worried that she had put her head in the toilet. It's happened here before.

There's something wrong with this [fridge door water dispenser], Big Brother says. He does it again and water comes splashing over his cup.
Take the lid off, Big Brother, I reply.

I did it. I rode the dog. Then I fell off, Big Brother tells me excitedly. It was such an exciting event for him that he continued: I couldn't ride Bob. I was three then. Now I can.

Happy New Year!

Overheard

I'm losing my edge. I can't even meet my own Friday deadline for this column. I can't imagine why. But for it being the weekend before Christmas, it's surprisingly serene and laid back around here. Christmas shopping mostly done. Nothing wrapped, of course, but it'll get done. Lots of cookies in the house thanks to two cookie exchanges (If you've never done this, I highly recommend accepting an invitation to one or organizing one. It's well worth the investment!)

I the bestest cooker in the whole world, Big Brother says as we're baking cookies one afternoon. Cookie baking this year was a lot more fun with slave labor, I mean, kitchen helpers.

I've not purchased our Christmas meat or made the menu yet, but I'm really okay with it. Whatever gets done, gets done. Whatever doesn't get done probably wasn't that important in the first place.

As for the kids, we'll start with The Baby, who is in the suicidal billy goat phase of toddlerhood. Good thing the Christmas tree is elevated this year atop the kids' train table. He is stubborn, strong and will eat anything. His favorite food? It's a tossup between apples, toilet paper and toddler trail mix, the day-old mixture of food in the high chair that the dog hasn't gotten to yet.

He has a complete inability to predict the consequences of his actions, which, while completely normal, is no less frightening the third time around. Case in point, he is trying to learn how to go down stairs like the big kids. He likes to bump down the stairs on his bum. He also likes to lean way over while sitting on the stairs. Gravity hasn't won yet, but will soon.

The Baby also likes to throw things and clear shelves when he's angry. He curls his lip, looks right at you and swipes toys off a shelf or throws a toy down. It's so pathetic it's funny, but still quite frowned upon. And we got our first sentence out of him.

Put me down, he said. My pleasure, velcro boy.


Hungry, hungry, hungry, The Baby wails while waiving a cup at me. I can't get him to say "thirsty" yet.


Big Brother is still obsessed with cars. Every conversation ends with NASCAR.


NASCARS are a satellite, Big Brother exclaimed after his aunt explained that a satellite goes in a circle around a planet. You know, he's got a point.

You're all set. You've got your light and your books and your guys, Jim tells Big Brother at bedtime.
And I have my Dodge Ram, he replies as he pats his beloved truck.

And he's talking about God:

God is in my heart and underground. He tells me about everything like not hitting my sister, Big Brother randomly asserts to me one day after his nap. That must have been some nap, kid.

And he's a big potty talker right now.


I'm playing a game called poop in your butt, he tells his sister over breakfast. And while girls probably aren't naturally into potty talk, they certainly will be if they have an older brother. Her response?

You're a butthead. 

He comes by it honestly, though.
What's that, dad? Big Brother asks as Jim walks by on his way outside with a poopy diaper on a paper plate. 
It's a poo poo platter.

I've been having a lot of conversations like this one with Miss Girlface:


Mommy, I want MY DRINK. 
It's on the table in the kitchen. 
I want you to get it. 
Um, no. Five minutes later, we happen to both be in the kitchen and I hand her the drink she'd been pining for.
NO. I WANT TO DO IT. And she took the water bottle and put it back where I'd gotten it so she could do it herself.

My nerves are so shot right now.

We also have 100 decibel, 60-second "I want to do it" fits. Jim noticed one day that her voice was raspy.

She's raspy. Is she getting sick, Jim wondered.
Nope. She's just been screaming all day long. The fits start as soon as she wakes up with unintelligible squeals of discontent and end long after bedtime with shrieks for extra bedtime kisses, which is the very last thing I want to do. The terrible threes have begun.

But at least she cleans up after herself.

I have to put these in the hamper, she announces as she walks by with her pants in her hand.
Is there pee pee on the bathroom floor?
I wiped it up.
With what?
Big Brother's jacket. Sigh. The jacket was not in her hand. I sent her back for it.

What is it, Fi? I ask after she crept up on me, wide eyed with an impish grin.
My nose is not on you. Aw. Thanks. A few minutes earlier, I had just begged The Baby to stop putting his nose on me.

Big Brother's going to jail, Girlface tells her aunt while I speak to Big Brother about some infraction.
  
I want, I want, I want, I want, I want [pause] lotion, Girlface chants after bedtime in a little game I like to call Wheel of I Want.

And lastly ...
SOCIALLY UNACCEPTABLE, Jim barks at The Baby, who is yelping and trying to climb on the dinner table. You've got to be louder than them to get their attention sometimes.

Overheard

Geez. I can't even remember how to start writing anymore. Has it really been two weeks since I last wrote? The funk continues, but I'm starting to pull out of it.

We've had a wonderful few weeks here with the weather, the cousins, the family in town, a birthday and finally ... a NEW DOG. (I just said that in my head like Rod Roddy from the Price is Right, just so you know. Is he even still on that air?)

Molly in action

So let's start with Big Brother. He turned 5 on Thursday and grew some facial hair (just kidding. it's chocolate cake batter.)

He got Hot Wheels wall tracks for his birthday and spent all day Thursday playing with them. He barely ate.


Big Brother, do you want a snack? 
No, I have wall tracks.

And he barely went outside.

I'll go out for five minutes to get my five energy out. Gotcha.

Five minutes later. ...

Okay, I'm back. I got my sugar off. (He'd been licking chocolate cake batter off the beaters.) 


Later that evening ... 

I'm in charge of NASCAR hats, Big Brother declares. Jim brought him back a NASCAR hat from his business trip to Charlotte this week.


And there was 10 days of cousins, too.

Don't say bad words to your cousins. Do you know what the bad words are?
Yeah. Shit and bitch.
And don't say shut up either.
Ok. I won't.

And they came bearing hand-me-downs. Yay!


Here's a red barrette for Big Brother, Girlface squeals as we sort through the barrettes from her cousin. She trotted off, saying, Big Brother, red is your favorite color, isn't it? Big Brother wore the red barrette for the rest of the evening.

Girlface is a hot mess these days. She's dramatic and talkative and quirky and adorable.

Big Brother took this photo.

Good morning, Girlface.
NO. Sick. And she pulled the covers back over her head. Well, then.


You're my grandmother, Girlface says. Huh?

I smiled in your coffee, Girlface chirps. And it tasted so much better after that.

Mooommmmyyyyy. I'm having a problem, Girlface wails. She couldn't get her tights on. Most of the hilarity in this statement is contained in her whiny, dramatic tone.

Big Brother's going to glue me, Girlface says. But I don't want to be glued. Big Brother explained that he was just pretending.

It's a surprise. We don't know what it is, Girlface says at the table with that slight head tilt that makes it all the more adorable. Well, thank you Mrs. Webster.

Go sit in the pink chair, I tell Girlface as I banish her to time out for pushing her brother.
The pink one? she squealed happily. Oh, brother. On second thought, go sit in the blue one.

What is is that you do all day? Girlface asks.

We're girls; we clean up, Girlface tells me. I made a point of telling her that boys clean up, too.

And The Baby has found himself a new toy and it's in his diaper. Unfortunately, playing with this new toy has resulted in urine-soaked clothes. So now we have to put onesies on under all his clothes and two-piece jammies are out of the question. As a result, we now have to give him a little extra, um, time with his toy during diaper change time.
   
Bye bye menis, The Baby said as I put his diaper back on. That's his word for penis.

He got up here by himself. Yep. Scary.

He's also giving us two word phrases.

Hold this, The Baby says as he hands me his puppy. Great. He's picking up bad habits from the other kids.

Where's dada? The Baby asks one morning after checking for him in the TV room.

Home, The Baby says excitedly as he pats his dad's leg. Jim had just come home from a business trip.

And I'll leave you with this gem, overheard by my dear neighbor ...

Sometimes when I'm not wearing a pull up, I sleep naked, Big Brother informs his friend.
Really? 
Yeah, I sleep naked like my mom and dad. 
They sleep that way?
Yep.
Every night?
Yep. 


And this explains how we had three kids in four years.

Overheard

I've been really lax on this column lately. I've been in a bit of a fog (see previous post for details). And I'm not totally convinced that anyone really misses my writing, so I currently have half a dozen unfinished drafts laying around. I don't say this to prompt a chorus of affirmations; that's just an indicator of my current level of apathy. 


But for anyone who misses laughing at my funny little family, here you go. Enjoy ...

That's not poop; that's a slug. Poop don't move, Jim tells Girlface. And for that, we are so very grateful.

Oh my God, I'm going to turn off the water and electricity to the upstairs, Jim says one night. Big Brother had been "getting a drink of water" for five minutes.

The Baby, go put this magnet back in the closet. He trots off and then comes back.
Door closed, he tells me. This totally shocked me.

Later I told Jim: I was just shocked.
SHOCKED, The Baby parroted back. More shock.

The Baby has POOP, Girlface said as she grabbed the back of his pants.
How do you know? I asked. He had a onesie on, so she couldn't peek in his diaper.
I'm a girl, she responded.


Poop, Girlface declared as she grabbed the back of Big Brother's underwear.

Dan? I ask after popping my head into his room. There was a pile of comforters on the floor.
I'm hiding, he says. See? Then he wiggled his little fingers out of from under the comforter.
 
I'm walking up the window, Girlface giggles. I turn to find her with her hands on the table and her feet up the window. Seconds later, her brother wants to do it, too, of course.
No, Big Brother. She shouldn't have done that and neither can you. There are perfectly good walls you can climb up. 

Fi, put this laundry away before we go downstairs. 
No, I don't want to. You do it. Deep breath. At least it's better than my response to my mother when I was 6 years old. I asked her when she was going to do any work around here.


Where's the green flashlight?
Girlface broke it this morning.
So I'm going to fix the printer with a broke flashlight. You kids are one step ahead of me. 


Okay, Big Brother, take a deep breath, Jim says. No, no, don't hold your breath. Breath.


What is it? Big Brother asks of dinner. 
It's chicken gumbo. 
Oh, it has gum in it. 

This just in. I found FiFi climbing up to the top bunk and she lost her footing but caught herself. She said "That was scary," Jim says.

Oh wow. Something finally scared her. 
She was being sarcastic. I can't imagine where she gets that. Me, neither, dear. Me neither.


I'm feeding The Baby, Girlface says as she pulls her brother into her chest for what appeared to be a hug. This poor boy is going to have issues.

Have a great weekend.

Overheard

The first truly cold week of the fall and we've already got snot and coughing and wheezing. And it rained on Halloween. Only Big Brother went out trick or treating. Girlface and The Baby stayed in and "helped" me give out candy.

It's been a big week here for gross motor skills, though. Girlface finally got on her training wheeled bike and began pedaling. She careens down the driveway and yells, "Wipe OUT." She hasn't figured out the brakes yet. As for Big Brother, he's learning to ride without the training wheels. I hang onto his seat and let go once he gets situated on the pedals. He's taken a few spills, but has also pedaled on his own for 20 feet at the most and started using his brakes to stop instead of crashing.

Meanwhile, The Baby has joined the "beat you" chorus, so now it's a three-way race. He says it at the top of the stairs every morning now. He's quite adorable these days. He actually plays with cars for long periods, pushing them around with sound effects and making parking lots.

Have you seen this? I ask Jim one night in the kitchen.
Uh huh. 
Look at him. 
I try not to because then he'll come over here. 
Aw, but he's so cute. 
Because he's over there. 

The phrase you don't want to hear after bedtime, or ever actually: There's poop on my foot.  (I liked it better when they just cried; now I go up and know exactly what I'm in for. )


Can I have some sugar? Girlface just comes out and asks. Um, no.

I'm hungry, Girlface wails after bedtime.
There's a piece of [fake] cantalope on your floor. Eat that, Jim told her. (Just so you don't think we're starving our kid, she'd just had molasses milk, a fig newton and an apple. She wasn't hungry; she was stalling.) In fact, you have a kitchen in here. Fix yourself something to eat. And she did.

I'm a girl, Girlface says.
Yes, you are.
And I don't have a penis but Big Brother has a penis and Daddy has a penis.
That's right.
Can you make me a penis? Um, no.

You're tired, sweetie, I tell Girlface, who is sick and has bags under her eyes.
I'm not tired. I'm a girl!


Is it 2 o'clock yet? We were going to a birthday party at 2 o'clock.

No.
Just turn the clock to 2 o'clock, mom.

Dad, look, there's pork in this lollipop, Big Brother says. He had gotten to the center of a blow pop.

Watch out for the midget, Big Brother, Jim says after The Baby tries to swipe his brother's lollipop.

Does your plate look like Big Brother's plate? I ask Girlface who still had some sandwich left on her plate. She then pulled the sandwich off the plate and presented it to me. Perhaps I should have been more specific.

No, no, no, don't close my [bedroom] door, Big Brother.  I had taken up my quiet time perch in the recliner with a clear view of the hallway.
I don't want you to see the mess we're making. Heavy sigh.

It's a light saber, I tell Big Brother as he's questioning me about the Star Wars section of the toy catalog.
Oh, it saves energy, he replies. He's never seen Star Wars. His innocence is just charming.

BULL CHIPS, Girlface is fond of saying.

Girlface is saying bitch, mommy, Big Brother reports. I found her wearing the witch hat and a huge grin saying, I'm a bwitch.

Please get my little spoon off my plate, Big Brother says. Huh? Who am I? Your freaking breakfast butler? Are you hands broken? I am always amazed at what he asks me to do for him.  

The Baby is uncleaning, Big Brother squeals. 

Overheard

It seems that I'm on a bi-weekly schedule with this column lately.

We've been busy soaking up the very last days of tolerable weather here in North Carolina. Except for one day last week when it rained all day and I had a mini panic attack as I realized that I'd soon be forced indoors with these hoodlums. I've been kicking the kids out of the house as much as possible, though. There've been long days in the yard, bike rides in the neighborhood and on the Tobacco Trail, trips to the park. And yet I'm still sweeping floors about a half dozen times a day and every night, I'm picking up toys and laundry and shoes scatter far and wide. I have no idea how this happens.

I am feeling a little like Lucy in the chocolate factory, though, in that I just can't keep up with their antics. For instance, I awoke one morning to  Big Brother and Girlface having a conversation about bridges in his bedroom. How nice, I thought, they're playing together; maybe they're building with the TRIO blocks. I peeked in on them and saw Girlface on the top bunk with her arms reaching across to the bookshelf and Big Brother marching his stuffed animals over her back. The next day, I came in on Girlface climbing up the bunk bed on the desk end, despite there being a perfectly good ladder 3 feet away. They know they're not supposed to play on the top bunk, too. Sometimes I find all three of them up there.

Hey, mom, there's three of us. 1-2-3, Big Brother says with a huge grin. Clearly, he's trying to distract me with cuteness and his academic skills.


The Baby surprises me daily with his language skills. For instance, he tells me when he's hungry by  pointing to my chest and saying Hungry. Charming.

Girlface seems quite enamored with the fact that she's a girl.

I was a baby and now I'm a girl, she tells me about 10 times a day. And sometimes she just randomly blurts out, I'm a girl, and then giggles with glee.

And Big Brother and Girlface seem to fight all the time.

DANNY PUSHED ME, Girlface cried.
Hey, hey, hey, how about this? Jim said. How would you two like to live in an orphanage?


Mom, why is she wearing dance clothes? Big Brother asks of a woman wearing a flowy skirt and scarf at the park.

HEY, her hair is red, Big Brother says as he notices a woman with an obvious dye job.
She probably dyed it that way, I told him.
Or maybe it's a wig, he says. Thank God we were in the van when he saw this woman.

When I get my NASCAR, I'm going to go speedy and go bump, bump, bump over the grass to get there, Big Brother informs us.
And I'm going to take your keys, Jim replies. We have 12 years until he gets his license. And by then, he'll surely know how to drive. He's already a back seat driver.

Mom, you forgot to use your turn signal, he tells me every time I forget.

When I'm a daddy, you can go away and I'll take care of the kids, Big Brother tells us at dinner one night. Excellent.

A few minutes later ...

Hey, I can get my own house, he realizes. Even more excellent.

What's a cape, mom? Big Brother asks as he was putting on his Cape Cod T-shirt.
It's a piece of land that juts way out into the water. There's water on three sides of the land.
No, no, he says, it's something you wear around your neck, like my blanket.

Okay, Big Brother, what do we need to do to not have a meltdown over this? I ask him. He was about to go ballistic because his best buddy was having a camp out with his parents that night. I'm trying to teach him some skills to deal with his disappointments.
Have a camp out. Okay, other than have a camp out, which is just not going to happen.

Have a great weekend.

Overheard

So I took another week off from my little Friday column. I can't even tell you why. The best I excuse I can come up with is that we've been adjusting to my husband's new job and new schedule. For the first time since we've had kids, I am sometimes alone with the kids during that dreaded period from after nap/quiet time to dinnertime.

That's new for me. I have a new sympathy for those who weather that daily storm. Luckily, there are a lot of kids in our neighborhood.

Sometimes Jim is home in the morning, too, which means for the first time in almost five years, I'm not the only adult in the house when the kids wake up. That's new and it totally rocks. And, for the first time in their lives, the kids get to see him leave for work. So they've been giving daddy some special instructions before he leaves for the day.



Don't bite or run at work, Girlface tells Daddy.
Yeah, and don't do anything wrong, Big Brother says. Big Brother has also told him to punch anyone.

We heard a police siren and daddy said that he was chasing you, Big Brother reports. Oh, really. (Daddy is so busted.) I managed to get a continuance on my speeding tickets contingent on my driving record.

Gorilla, Girlface said when she saw a photo of her cousin's hairy back.

Did you have fun with your cousins today? I ask Big Brother.
Yeah, I didn't say bitch or shut up this time. This is the definition of a successful outing these days.

I went to the bathroom and then I told myself to get my shoes on, Big Brother reports. Fascinating. I just had no idea that he was having an internal dialogue.

I can't get THIS in HERE, Big Brother whines while I'm driving.
What is this?
THIS. IN HERE.
I can't see what this and here is. You'll have to use other words.
I can't get THIS in HERE. Okay, mommy's getting off this merry-go-round now.

Bunny is in time out for pushing me, Girlface says. Bunny is a 6 inch tall beanie baby.

This is interested, Big Brother says to his father as they are fixing up the bikes. Saturday morning, the boys had just as much fun fixing bikes as they did riding.

Well, the spinal cord is your backbone, I tell Big Brother. He was asking about the parts of the skeleton hanging on the front door. There is a cord that comes from your brain and sends messages to the rest of your body.
Oh, it can call everybody, he says. So maybe next time he hits his sister, I'll tell him that his brain needs to call his hand and tell it not to hit.

Oh, wait, I've got to go back [to the table], Big Brother says. Excuse me, can I get up now? he asks.
Where did you learn to say "Excuse me"?
From you, he says. Um, I don't even remember teaching him this.

Stuck, The Baby whimpers as he stands behind a border of monkey grass he'd crawled over. And I thought he was the smart one.

I'm happy, Girlface chirps.
Oh, yeah? What makes you happy?
Baby wipes.

The happy girl is also getting a handle on what exactly is and is not sanctioned behavior around here.

The Baby is making a mess and it's not OKAY, Girlface says.

FiFi, is there water on the floor, I ask when I notice her shuffling slowly in the bathroom and looking at the floor.
No, there's pee pee on the floor, she says. And that's not OKAY. No, it's most definitely not okay, but at least she cleans up after herself. And she is self-correcting at the tender age of almost 3. This is more than I can say for my son.

I jumped on Big Brother and that's not OKAY, Girlface says.

As for Jim and I, we've been indulging in a guilty pleasure: s'mores around our new firepit on the patio. We don't intend to tell the kids about it anytime soon.

If the kids ask why we smell like smoke, we'll just have to tell them we started smoking, Jim says.

Have a great weekend.