Rah rah rah!

Tweenie started cheerleading this week and is very excited about it. We had the first practice/orientation and received her uniform, pompoms and megaphone.

There are 9 girls on her squad aged 6-8. The squealing was deafening! Husband was at a business dinner so I had to drag the little boys with me. Rascal was quite overwhelmed and uncharacteristically quiet.

So much estrogen--I can't blame him!

The car ride home was a steady narrative from Tweenie about who she knows on the squad, whether I would buy spangly sparkly new sneakers to match her uniform, and exclamations of "This is the BEST DAY of my Life!" Much of this information was delivered via megaphone.

I quickly invented a rule about megaphone use indoors.

"The problem with a megaphone is that it makes your voice much louder and hurts our ears. It's used on the court to get the audience and team's attention, and so I think you should save it for those occasions."

At home Tweenie pranced around in her uniform shaking her pompoms and making a general ruckus. Eventually the megaphone came out and I had to put a stop to it.

"What did I tell you about that megaphone?"

"Thaaaaaaat... it works?"

Being parented

"I am your mother, that's why!"

This is my standard reply when challenged, especially when the real reason I want my kids to comply is because I don't have a good reason. Ever heard of "just because"? 'Course you can't say that to the shrimps, they can see right through that one.

Sometimes what you say or do comes right back to bite you in the arse. This morning Tweenie missed her bus, so we had an extra 5 or 10 minutes to get ready before I had to drive her to school. I was actually pretty thrilled to not have to run around the house nagging and prodding her to get ready. I must have been acting a little out of character...

"Mom, why aren't you busting my butt to get ready? Don't you know that we're going to be late if you don't?"

"If you already know that we have to hurry, then just do it already!"

"C'mon, mom, do I have to do everything around here? Let's move it, missie!"

So she busted my butt all the way into the van and proceeded to back-seat drive all the way to school. Where DO they learn this stuff?

*****
Epilogue
Rascal is learning this important skill too. Yesterday I was taking too long with Baby and not getting around to his PB&J sandwich.

"What DOING? No dat! Come! NOW!"

Then the funniest part of all...

He started, "One... two..."

That got me hopping.

Yeeeeeeeehaawwwwwww!

Another tale of when Tweenie was just a little Mausie...

Tantie loves her niece, has always claimed to be Mausie's favorite aunt. When Mausie was 6 months old or so, she loved to bounce on laps like a lot of other babies that age. When Tantie heard about this she decided to try it out for herself.

"Bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy!" Mausie was propelled higher and higher each time.

Tantie stopped to coo at Mausie, who at this point was probably thinking about how that icky green bean mash from lunch was digesting poorly. She wasn't impressed, so what should one do?
Well, according to Tantie, the only cure for a crabby baby is to try that trick again.

"Bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy BOUNCY!" Mausie began to howl.

"BOUNCY BOUNCY BOUNCY BOUNCY!" Now Mama had to step in.

I rescued Mausie, who clutched my hair tightly and began to whimper into my ear. She stopped briefly, shot Tantie a scowl and then went right back to tattling. Tantie felt right guilty about it.

Here is a picture, because yes, I was such a mean mama that I took a moment to record this moment for posterity.

Talk about "Shock and Awe"

Where are the WMDs? I know, they're right here at home. Here's a little taste of the arsenal my children employ daily in our house.

1. Biological warfare: Ain't no diaper like a two-year-old's diaper. As if the stink weren't enough, I have found stickers, Legos and LiteBrite pegs in my son's poo.

2. Roadside bombs: Trying to navigate through a darkened house in the middle of the night in search of a lost pacifier or blankie, and stepping on Hot Wheel or Barbie shrapnel. I could have sworn the hallway was tidy a few hours ago! Try not to scream too loudly, k, 'cuz we don't want to wake anyone up.

3. Laser-guided missiles: I was lying on my back with Baby on my legs, bouncing happily. He had a big burp and then, while smiling broadly, dribbled some vomit into my mouth. I was smiling back up at him and talking when the putrid mess was unloaded. That was I think the grossest thing I ever have experienced. The crazy thing is that he was at least 2 1/2 feet above my face. That's great aim.

4. Bogies at my 8 o'clock: Floaties in the tub, oh yeah. Who gets to clean them up? My kids are happy they get to stay up an extra half-hour while I Lysol the tub from top to bottom.

5. Plausible deniability: If Husband doesn't react to my plaintive cry for help, did I actually make a sound? I know, the question is purely rhetorical.

One thing's for sure, my family's strategy is quite obviously to "stay the course".

Twit earns her keep

Anyone who is squeamish about snakes should stop reading right now!


I hate snakes, even the "good" ones like this rat snake. We now live in an area where snakes are a lot more common than at our previous address, and so I have little experience with this.

Twit to the rescue! Well, sort of.

Our screened-in porch is her room; she has her bed and food there, and does her own accessorizing. A few days ago she hauled in two dead baby mice. I can manage that.

Yesterday it was a partially eaten black snake. It was a baby, the uneaten portion was maybe 6 inches long. Unfortunately the eaten part was also there, regurged onto the floor.

Utterly revolted I returned inside with an agenda.

"Your cat left a little something in her room that requires your attention", I informed Husband and Children.

They looked at me expectantly, but when I handed the paper towel over, they knew I wouldn't relent. With a sigh of resignation, Husband shuffled off to clean it up. I smiled triumphantly, reveling in my small victory.

Husband came back moments later with that thing, saying, "You see, it's just a baby, it's no big deal." My scowl sent him over to the outdoor trashcan.

So even though his impudence momentarily landed Husband in the doghouse, Twit was permitted to sleep beside my bed last night. But she still isn't allowed to lick me with her snake-breath tongue!

It's only fun until somebody loses an eye

Let me tell you a story about Tweenie when she was Rascal's age. It's a very popular story in our home, one that never fails to make us laugh. It's also one of those things that wasn't funny at the time, but now... well, you get what I mean.

From the beginning, our daughter was fascinated with eyes. She loved to touch them, especially opened. She also loved to climb into our bed in the mornings and wait for us to wake.

Do you know that feeling when someone's watching you? That was the feeling Husband had one morning, just as he was waking up.

He blearily cracked one eye. He never saw the fat little finger coming. He grunted with surprise and, since his injured eye was streaming with tears, he cracked the other one open. She was waiting for it.

A few days later we were going out for the evening and my sister was coming to babysit. We neglected to inform her of this most recent habit.

When bedtime came, Daughter was restless, so Tantie (that's Auntie's nickname) tried lying down with her in her bed. She gave a really convincing show of being asleep, even pretending to snore gently. After several minutes of Daughter not moving, Tantie tentatively cracked her eyes to see if she was asleep.

She wasn't; she was in position.

10 Things I Love About You

Lest y'all believe that my life races along purely in a state of chaos, there are those little moments that make it all worthwhile. Sometimes all it is, is a funny moment in the middle of a trying one.

1. I am still nursing Baby. He is a very hungry boy and can get a little frantic while waiting for me to get into position. Once my nursing bra is in sight, he usually grabs it with both hands, opens his mouth really wide, screws his face into a look of absolute determination, and goes in for the kill. He won't relax his grip until he's nearing the end.

2. Once the nursing session is in full swing (the other lactating mothers know what I mean here, but I won't elaborate for others who may become squeamish), he gulps and gulps and gulps, rolling his eyes back in his head in true Homer Simpson fashion ("ohhh, donuts"). My brother-in-law used to tease Tweenie when she'd do the eye thing, but now I have the last laugh, as they just had their first child a few weeks ago (mwa ha ha ha!).

3. Rascal's come up with a new way to tell me he's got a stinkie in the diaper. He spreads his arms out like an airplane and zooms around the house, buzzing and yelling "POOP POOP!!" He also announces when others have released spies (silent but deadly) and are trying to pretend they didn't by yelling "POOP!! YUCKY!!" You can't get away with anything in this house.

4. Husband works a lot. There's little he can do about this, so I don't waste my time being angry with him since it wouldn't change anything. But since we've recently relocated far from family and friends, he is my only source of face-to-face adult conversation. So when he provides a little comic relief, I get a week's worth of laughs about it.

Last Saturday Tweenie played her last soccer game of the season. During the game the ball was kicked in our direction and nearly hit Rascal in the head. Husband went after the ball, and in doing so tripped over it. From my vantage point I saw the head go down and the heels come up. I erupted with laughter and am still giggling about it right now. Husband is not impressed. Hey, I don't get out much, ok?

My only regret is that I had turned off the video camera just minutes before, or I would have caught the whole thing on tape...

5. When Rascal does naughty things, he immediately tries apologies and kisses to get out of trouble. It doesn't always work, but it does make me melt. If only he were sincere...

6. Baby loves me best. Sometimes I hand him off to Husband so I can do other stuff, but he starts to howl. Eventually I go to pick him up, and when I do he shoots a triumphant look at Husband and clutches me for dear life. Needless to say, I get very little done most days.

7. Tweenie had a sleepover with BFF the other night (as they do most weekends). She called me at 10:30 just to tell me that she didn't miss me. I allowed the illusion and smiled all the way to bed.

8. Tweenie is at an age where I've decided she should have a few chores. She hates chores. A few days ago I asked her to set the table. When I re-entered the dining room, she had laid out my best china on my best tablecloth, with napkins, the real silverware, and wine glasses. For herself and Rascal she put out the shot glasses. I thought that was really cute!

9. Rascal pretends to be a dinosaur for at least 80% of his day. He roars and stomps around the house, scaring Baby and annoying Tweenie. When I, however, try to be a dinosaur it ticks him off. He gets offended and sits down, sulking. I think this is incredibly funny!

10. My kids' favorite game is to make a mama sandwich. The two older ones climb on top of my back and Baby is carefully clutched against my chest. Then we roll around on the floor, squishing everyone except for baby and the squealing is deafening. We all love this game except for Husband.

****
I was recently out grocery shopping with all 3 kids plus BFF in tow. An older gent stopped me and said, "Good Lawd, missy, is all them kiddies yoahs?" I happily corrected him, but he still walked away shaking his head. I wonder why?

psy·chol·o·gy: (4) mental ploys or strategy

I think I was the only one of my friends who didn't take Psych in my first year of university. They all laughed about the non-cumulative exam and throwaway term papers and quizzes that each represented tiny fractions of the overall score...

I fixed my face in an intelligent frown and thought myself all the wiser for filling first semester with calculus, physics, and chemistry.

So begins my re-education.

pas·sive-ag·gres·sive [pas-iv-uh-gres-iv]:

Rascal is 2 (I may have mentioned this!). We're not totally sure how much he understands. Probably a lot more than we think. I was in the hot tub with him this afternoon and was trying to play a game with him. He wouldn't even make eye contact.

Is he deaf? No, he understands certain things perfectly, like "cookie" or "papa's home". We have come to realize that when he doesn't want to do certain things, he will simply ignore us. Cajoling, threatening, wheedling... no effect whatsoever.

Ok, fine, two can play at this game. I'll just sit back against the jets and relax. My eyes are closed, I'm mentally going through my day and week ahead. Moments of peace and quiet are few and far between.

self-as·ser·tion [self-uh-sur-shuhn]:

Suddenly I'm hit by a spray of water. It's Rascal spitting like a beluga whale on my hair. I'm really ticked but under control, just what he wants. So far my training is coming along nicely.

He's laughing with delight, and after a minute I too see the humor in the situation and lighten up. He says something about a ball, climbs out of the tub, and heads into the house. I assume he's going to get some water toys to play with, and since I know my husband's inside somewhere and can surely prevent anything serious from happening I stay in the tub and relax. Close my eyes againnnnnnnnn.....

Once again ripped back into reality with a splash but am slower to react as I assume it's his ball. Well, as the picture gave away, it was actually his snack from earlier... opened.

He's really cracking up now. Quickly climbs back down and heads for the stack of towels, bathrobes and slippers. I can see where this is going, so I jump out after him, snatch him up and head inside.

I'm really annoyed now, so he's gotta expect to be put in Time Out. But first a brief reprieve, since he needs to be changed into a fresh diaper and clothes. Of course he manages to escape as I'm digging for the necessary items and won't come back despite the extremely effective counting method.

Goes something like this: "You come back here! One, two, two-and-a-half..... ththththththrrrreeeeee....." Very effective.

de·ni·al [di-nahy-uhl]:

I'll get back to you on that.

Rascal's Revenge

Steve Urkel famously asked, "Did I do that?"

Today I made the mistake of giving Rascal orange juice with floaties. But in my defense, this brand has the floaties chopped up so tiny that they are invisible to the naked eye. Unfortunately his tongue uncovered my deviousness.

So Rascal was ticked at me. When he gets mad, he roars like a dinosaur. He roared "YUCKY!" at me during breakfast and refused to eat his cereal. In response, I put him in Time Out where he quickly decided that his interests could be most easily pursued while not in Time Out. He behaved for a while.

Then Baby began to stink.

"Poop, poop!" hollered Rascal.

We went to change Baby's diaper. Rascal had an epiphany while we were there.

Later, I took Baby to the living room to play, assuming Rascal would come too. He didn't, and after a few minutes of silence I had a bad feeling.

I found him perched on the change table smearing Vaseline in his hair. Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean that mess up? The good news is that I've had experience with this, because this isn't the first time he's done it.

Of course I scolded him thoroughly as I wiped him down.

He looks at me calmly and says, "What?"

Like, meet Tweenie!

There is another character in these stories. My daughter is 7 going on 15. So I feel justified in dubbing her "Tweenie".

She recently went from being my sweet and innocent baby girl to savvy preteen in about 4 seconds. She knows how to navigate through most websites without any help, beats me at "Memory" every time, and now refuses to give kisses or say she loves us (mom and dad). Yup, it's confirmed--she's growing up.

She has a very important person in her life, BFF (I am so out of touch that I had to look up that term. For the uninitiated, this means "best friend forever"). Tweenie and BFF spend every possible moment together. Boys not allowed.

Of course Rascal couldn't let this little detail stop him. After being sent away for the hundredth time, he adopted a new strategy--he decided to shmooze BFF. Whenever she comes over he tries to hug and kiss her. Unfortunately for him, he hasn't figured out that he's only making things worse. Apparantly he doesn't know what "Ewwwwww!" means.

Recently Tweenie was waiting for BFF to come over and had been waiting for "like, hours mom!" when the doorbell rang. She began to inhale and jump up and down. I watched her suck the air from the room for at least 30 seconds, then, since she was still in gaga mode, I figured someone should answer the door.

Later, BFF was literally walking up the driveway to go home, and Tweenie already wanted to call her. Because it's been sooooo long already.

Another reason I know she's growing up is her new vocabulary. For starters, every sentence must have the word "like" liberally sprinkled throughout. Yesterday she was telling me about something that happened at school, and it went something like: "so then Ms. Moore, like, she, like, told us that if we, like, collected enough, like, cans for the the, like, food drive our class would, like, y'know, like, um, like, win."

I told her that from now on she needs to think about what she wants to tell me and then say it in a more fluent fashion. I tried to ask her what her class would in fact win, but she couldn't say. Mainly because she was tripping over "like".

She finds my advice on this subject, like, totally lame.

Rascal vs. The Twit

We have a cat.

This was not my choice. My husband and children harangued me for days until I finally gave in. Needless to say, all promises of helping with litterbox duty and Kitten Chow refills were promptly forgotten. By them.

This cat seems to love me best. I just don't get it. I think her loving attention irritates me so much that I feel evil delight when something befalls her. Y'know, as long as it's nothing serious.

So when Rascal gets it into his head to "play" with her, I am honestly conflicted about what my response should be. I'm glad the two of them are playing with each other and staying out of my hair for those few minutes, but still I am concerned that Twit's life not be prematurely ended.

Today he put her into the washing machine. Last week he threw her into the hot tub. But this is in fact an improvement. A few weeks ago while I was mopping the floors, he chucked her into my bucket of Murphy's Oil Soapy water.

This silly Twit keeps coming back for more. I think she likes the attention.

Rascal's Worst Day Ever

I love my son. Really I do. But some days I'm not his biggest fan. Like last Friday.

For all of you childless adults out there, this is a spoiler site. All the little catastrophes that you have to look forward to, should you decide to reproduce.

Here's how it went down.

My son is 2 years old. He loves cars and he loves our microwave oven. Unfortunately the two don't mix. I left him watching an episode of "Buzz Lightyear" to take out the mail; I was gone for about a minute.

When I returned, black smoke was billowing out of the kitchen from the microwave. Yes, some sorry car was nuked. Thankfully my son had chosen one of his plastic models, not a diecast metal one, but the microwave still didn't survive.

I needed to remove the unit from the house, but it was really hot. I found my oven mitts despite the tears streaming down my face from the acrid smoke and carried the microwave outside. Then I returned inside to air the place out.

While I was doing that, he whipped off his diaper and began to run around the house shrieking with laughter. We're potty training now too, so he has a huge fascination with toilets and private parts. I could sense what was coming, so I hurriedly opened the last window and rushed over to ...

yes, it was too late. He piddled on the carpet, 'cuz goshdarnit, peeing on the hardwood, tile or linoleum floors just isn't naughty enough. I was pretty ticked, and the house was still smoky, so I sent his naked self outside for a time out while I cleaned up.

Another thing he loves is my front flower bed. There is a large clay planter beside it. At least there was. Spank #1 followed. I cleaned that up, too.

Finally, he and I went back inside. I could hear little brother wailing in his crib, feeling left out of the action. So I took Rascal and Baby into the living room, which was now relatively smoke free. I put Baby on the couch for a moment to grab a diaper for Rascal.

When I returned, there was a fresh spot on the carpet... of piss. Spank #2, then I put on his diaper. I made him sit on the "naughty chair" while I went to get more towels to clean up his pee.

I walked in on Rascal standing on Baby's chest. I ran at him like a linebacker and plopped him back onto the naughty chair rather firmly. As I frantically checked Baby for permanent damage, I heard Rascal behind me playing with his cars again.

That kid never misses a beat.

So I have to buy a new microwave now and probably should shampoo the carpet again (I just did it a few weeks ago). What a great day!