Mom Tip #29

It’s okay. We all have days when we hate the sound of our own name.

I mean, makes your skin crawl, want to stab yourself in the ears HATE the sound of your own name. And not just your name but all the other names you go by. Here’s the list of names that I am not a fan of today.

“Honey!”

Hubby’s phone rang bright and early today to let him know that he was needed at the office asap. From there it went something like this. “Honey! Where’s my hairbrush?”
“Honey! Can you pack me a lunch?”
“Honey! The baby’s awake!”
“Honey! Can you get me some clothes for Tuck?”
“Honey! Can you find me a travel mug?”
“Honey! I forgot to tell you something; can you come back here?”
“Honey! Can you pass me the creamer?”
“Honey! Can you put the creamer away?”
“Honey! You have one big mess over here in the high chair.”
“Honey! Have you seen my wallet?”
“Bye Honey! Have a good day!”

I’m changing my name to Elvis.


“Mom, Mommy, and every whiney version of Mom!”

“Mom, can you check my butt?”
“Momma, Meghan stinks!”
“Mooooom! Tucker snatched from me!”
“Mamaaaaaaaah! Mo smacked me on the head!”
“No! No! Nooooo! Mooom! I don’t want to go potty!”
“Ma, I need another snack.”
“Look Mom! We just destroyed your bed again!”
“mum mum mum mum mum mum mum (you see where this is going right?) mum mum mum (Can I help you Meghan?) mum mum mum mum.”

I’m changing my name to Elvis.

I don’t think I would even want to hear my own mother say my name right now. If the lottery people called I’m sure they’d use “Mrs. C” and I haven’t heard that one yet today so maybe I could handle that. Otherwise you may call me Elvis.

And Elvis has left the building.

Mom Tip #26

Potty training a boy equals war. Call up the reserves.

Everyone told me that “training a boy was much more difficult than training a girl.” They didn’t tell me I would need seven battalions and the strength of Patton! Mo? Potty trained at 2 ½ in three days with some help from Grammy. Tuck? He is 3 ½ now and the war rages on. Now like every good war it is fought in battles.

Battle of the Stairs - Getting Tuck to go into the bathroom.
We live in a raised ranch so the basement is actually ground level with a bonus room off the garage that we use as a playroom/office. When I first started training The Boy it was a battle to even get him to go up the stairs to the main part of the house and the bathroom. He would flail, kick, scream, go limp, go board stiff, (and did I mention the screaming?) all the way to the top of the stairs. Then he would dissolve into the carpet like he didn’t have a bone in his body. By the time we got to the bathroom I would be a sweaty harried disaster and more than likely his pull up would already be wet.

Battle of the Seat – Getting his behind to make contact!
In the event that we DID actually get to the potty before he used the pull up we were now up against the sitting part. We tried the small seat that went on the big potty. Nope. We tried just the big potty. Not happening. We invested twenty bucks in a floor training potty. But if you’re sitting on it you can’t push the button to make it sing. Never mind that the potty will sing if you just pee in it! And by now we have used the pull up instead.

Battle of the Poo – Well, that’s self explanatory.
Boys stink. They start stinking with that first poo in the hospital and they don’t ever stop. Now imagine walking into a room and being knocked down by that smell? And nine times out of ten, he’s just sitting there like it’s the norm. Why?! Can someone please explain to me why?! And how?! How can he stand that smell?! We’ve tried treats, stickers, punishments, stopping our attempts only to try later. I even let the boy drop his drawers where ever he wanted while we were on vacation out in the country. Nothin’ doin’. The Boy will not go in the potty.

It is my husband’s idea that you don’t run into grown adults who aren’t potty trained out there in the day to day world so he’ll get over this. Just this once (and don’t you dare tell him!) I hope he’s right. Just this evening I was summoned to the front lines to deal with the enemy. He shows no signs of surrender.

I, however, have started to embroider pretty gold stitching around the hem of my white flag. At least I’ll go down with a flourish.

The Zookeeper's Response

Dear S.M. Rhino,

I understand your frustration with the seemingly useless behavior of Orangutan and Marmoset. Unfortunately Orangutan is correct; they will never leave the zoo. While they may leave the confines of the front gate, their hearts will always be a part of the zoo. And regardless of hunt status and food procurement skills the lion and zookeeper will always be present as well.

I would advise you to make the most of your current living arrangements by learning climbing skills from Orangutan and teaching your dirt construction skills to Marmoset. In moments of extreme frustration may I suggest that you abstain from your headbutting as your horn and very sound skull can inflict pain to others.

Thank you for understanding that the current exhibits are permanent and new or replacement exhibits are not planned.

Sincerely,
The Zookeeper

A Note from the Zoo

{The small male rhino actually.}

Dear Zookeeper,

I would like to express my dissatisfaction with my personal living arrangements. I no longer wish to have the female orangutan or the pygmy marmoset as part of the zoo. I would like them to be removed immediately.

I will keep you in the zoo for food procurement purposes and the male lion may stay as long as he is going on the hunt daily. However since I have no use for Orangutan and Marmoset, they may leave immediately.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

S.M. Rhino

{Zoo keeper's Note: I received this correspondence on the way home from the grocery store. The Orangutan's response: "Too bad Charlie! You're stuck with me!" The Marmoset's response: "Bub Bub Tuck!"}

Mom Tip #2

Your intelligence has just entered a state of constant flux.

It has only been four short years since Molly joined our family and I have already learned that I can be an unbelievable genius or a complete idiot.

Let’s start with idiot. “Why are your shoes on the wrong feet?” “Because I like them like that!”
“Why did you snatch that from your brother?” “Because I wanted it!”
These are matter of fact answers that are delivered in such a way that I can’t help but feel stupid for asking the question in the first place.

In my own defense, I am also a genius. I know the answers to every “Why” and “How” and I can prove it. Ask me anything. I am the smartest woman in the world.

“Why is that man running, Mom?”
Because he wants to exercise.
“Why does he want to exercise?”
So he can be healthy.
“What does healthy mean?”
You feel good; you don’t get sick and your body works right.
“Do I need to exercise?”
Yes, so why don’t you go outside and ride bike?

See! I am a genius! But it won’t last long. I predict that when she turns twelve my IQ will begin to drop and I eventually won’t have any of the answers any more. I predict that by 2021 (She will be 18.) I will be a complete moron.

I will remain a moron until approximately 2028 (give or take a year or two). At this time she will be right around twenty-five and may be starting a family of her own. She will call me and ask why the baby won’t stop crying. She will ask me for dinner ideas and the recipes to make them. She will call me crying because Price Charming just turned back into the ugly old toad. I will begin to regain IQ points at this point and we will come to a mutual respect of one another’s intelligence and ideas.

This too may not last long. Soon I will begin to lose my way and I will look to my daughter to guide me. She will have the answers for the doctors and the list of medications for the pharmacy. She will become the teacher.

And I will think she is the smartest woman in the world.

Mom Tip #28

You don’t really want to know “how?” or “why?”

How did the fully clothed baby end up back in the bathtub?

Why is the dog wearing my bra?

How did you get the monkey wrench and why are you trying to tighten your brother’s head?

I have learned that there are absolutely no circumstances under which you should ask any questions in the bathroom. “How did THAT get THERE?” is one that I avoid at all cost.

Why is the garden shovel in the middle of the living room?

How did the dog dish end up in my bed? And why is it upside down?

How did the baby get on top of the washing machine?

Why are there cornflakes all over the playroom? And how did you get them off the top of the refrigerator?

I stopped asking who did it a long time ago. The only culprits in this house are Mr. Nobody and Ms. Shrug. “What happened?” is entirely too vague and any answer that starts with “Well, see Mom…” can’t go anywhere good.

“What is that smell?” is one that never gets a good answer or one that I want to know anyway.

I know you’ve heard it before but it rings particularly true for mothers. Ignorance is bliss!

Mom Tip #12

If you take a horse to the grocery store, make sure you take plenty of rope.

“Okay,” you are saying to yourself. “You have officially gone off your rocker!” Loosely translated this means, your children will choose the most inopportune and embarrassing moment to play pretend. Please allow me to illustrate from my own life.

Since becoming a stay at home mom, I have altered our schedule to avoid going to the grocery store when it is terribly crowded. Tuesday is “G” day and is approached much like a reenactment of D-Day. Grocery list – check. Children fed before going to the store – check. Comfortable shoes on everyone – check. Last minute potty break – check. Then we set out. You would think that I would be prepared for anything. You haven’t met my son.

One happy Tuesday we were almost done. Produce and the deli counter and it’s game over. Tucker had a spring in his behind and had a hard time sitting in the car cart but was holding on for me. Then he decided that he wanted to walk alongside the cart. “I promise me, Ma. I tay wif yoo.” This had a 50-50 chance of coming back to bite me but I was in a good mood so I gave in. Then it happened. He let out the loudest “whinny” you have ever heard and started to “gallop” in circles around me, the cart and the sweet little old lady who was in the aisle with me. My head dropped on to the baby’s car seat and I heaved a sigh that they had to hear at the checkout. Thankfully this angel in the aisle was a mother of boys and just smiled at me and burst into hysterical laughter.

You will hear – more than once, I promise – “It’s okay, hon. They’ll outgrow this and then you’ll wish they were babies again.” I’m sure this is probably true. I’ll let you know in 20 years.