It's been more than forever since I've really written anything, yet the boys somehow continue to shovel out material like free manure. So in light of my growing piles, here I am. "Spread the stench," that's what I say. Enjoy.
Where to begin... I could never have imagined that after having children, a trip to the dentist would be like a vacation. Talk about your 180's. I go and enjoy the discomfort, the lovely pineapple tooth polish and the awkward attempted conversation with my mouth wide open. I swear up and down that I'll start flossing more often (and even mean it a little), and leave with a new commitment to spend more time caring for my gums. This resolution lasts all of 20 minutes until I get home and my life's reality sets back in.
It's not that being with the kids is a bad thing, just a bit complicated, and off-putting occasionally. Certainly inconvenient. I have to remember that if nothing else, at least they're entertaining. For example, about a week ago Jesse fell backwards off his mini trampoline and into a small plastic bin. When he rolled over and stood up the bin was still stuck on his butt. A real Steve Urkel move. The day before that he fell off the exercise bike and immediately shouted, "I'm OK!" ...So he's a bit clumsy. I still like him.
Right now J's getting some molars so he has a perpetually running nose, and of course we're going through box after box of tissues. A couple days ago I called him over for yet another wiping and he instantly issued me a look of refusal. When I persisted he finally gave in and headed toward me. That is, until he got a better idea. He proceeded to wipe his thick, opaque nose sludge all over my pile of freshly folded towels. Thanks a lot. And it would be really nice if that was the only inappropriate place he smeared his face slugs. Unfortunately, Gabe is smaller (slightly) than Jesse at this point, and therefore Jesse is obliged to use the baby's FACE as a Kleenex. I've actually witnessed this. I believe I was far more horrified than even the victim himself. Matt assures me that this type of exploitation is just another cross little brothers have to bear. Well not while I'm around. (Not anymore, I mean.)
Matt says lots of things I don't want to accept. Like, if I were to dress the baby in a somewhat nerdy outfit- (hey, it fits, it's clean, and he's about to outgrow it), Matt would tell him he looks like a little fagot. I, on the other hand, would say he looks like a cute little boy, dressed in a faggy outfit. See the difference? I do.
Back to Jesse's behavior. Has anyone else's child developed the clever skill of hampering nap time through oratory distraction? Without exaggeration- Jesse will prattle on through the list of appeals: I need a new diaper. Take off my shirt? My pants? Put on lotion? I need a different blanket. Can I wear a hat? Can I wear shoes? Socks? Check on Baby. Read. Please give me water, and on, and on... You've got to credit the effort. But in this department, Mommy is finally in charge. (I take 'em where I can get 'em.) He also employs this tactic when he doesn't want to do what I ask of him. Say he's supposed to put the box of wipes back where it belongs. Sudden amnesia sets in. OK Mom, here? No? Do they go here? How about over there. Ohhh, you mean HERE? I know, you mean right here! Every single spot but the proper place.
Other things he does are somewhat more endearing. Every once in a while when he thinks I'm not looking I catch him sharing his prized possessions with Gabriel. He even defends Gabe from other kids who occasionally try to take his toys. And anytime Gabe drops anything at all Jesse runs to his rescue. These are some of my favorite moments. There may be nothing sweeter than the sight of my kids loving each other. Gabe laughs in his high chair when Jes runs up to him and then slowly sneaks around the side of the chair, launching a spontaneous round of peek-a-boo. Although not far behind all this on the list of Kodak moments, a two year old wearing nothing but a pull-up and a super-cool (if somewhat nerdy) forehead light strapped to his noggin must surely rank someplace respectable. Oh- he was also wearing an adult belt adjusted to fit his waist, with a two-foot length fed through the buckle and hanging at his side. Impressive? I think so.
There's so much more to tell, but by the sounds of it there's a dying baby to be rescued, so this will have to wait.
3 stinky boys and their uber-smelly dad, and me- a happy girl.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Matt's Latest...
Hello All. I'm starting to wonder if perhaps I should just record every word that leaves my husband's mouth and play it here for you all to enjoy. Here are some of his most recent.
Self explanatory: "Honey! What the crap!? Someone like, swapped Gabe's fingernails out for tiny razors and they're stuck in my face! Help me!"
I commented one morning as he was on his way out the door. "Nice butt!" I yelled. His response? "Oh yeah? You should see it when it's going (farting sounds) and poop's coming out!"
A couple weeks ago Matt was sitting on the floor in front of the couch and I was rubbing his shoulders. When I walked away Jesse took over the job and began squeezing his dad where I'd just rubbed. Matt commented to me later about it; his words were, "...I mean, granted he was just pinching my skin, and it kind of hurt, but the kid is so cute!"
The other day Matt was saying everything as though he was a gangster. Everything. All Day. It was really freaking annoying, and when I'd finally had enough I told him he'd better stop or I was gonna explode. He whipped right around and spouted, "What's the matta, Ho? You don't like the G in me?" Heaven bless me, I wanted to punch him.
Now, Gabey's a puker. (Uncle Luke, aka "Puke" would be so proud!) Ever since about a month ago, he just spits up all the time. Well one evening Matt (after having been slimed yet again) remarked, "OK now he's just doing it for attention." Seriously.
And another development around the house- anytime Jes passes gas through his lower region (which he does with pride), Matt's quiet comment: "Nice push, Bud."
And now my favorite, which really explains itself, and in my opinion should be printed on shirts to be worn by husbands everywhere: "You know Sweetie, every once in a while you should shut up while I talk." I about peed my pants.
Self explanatory: "Honey! What the crap!? Someone like, swapped Gabe's fingernails out for tiny razors and they're stuck in my face! Help me!"
I commented one morning as he was on his way out the door. "Nice butt!" I yelled. His response? "Oh yeah? You should see it when it's going (farting sounds) and poop's coming out!"
A couple weeks ago Matt was sitting on the floor in front of the couch and I was rubbing his shoulders. When I walked away Jesse took over the job and began squeezing his dad where I'd just rubbed. Matt commented to me later about it; his words were, "...I mean, granted he was just pinching my skin, and it kind of hurt, but the kid is so cute!"
The other day Matt was saying everything as though he was a gangster. Everything. All Day. It was really freaking annoying, and when I'd finally had enough I told him he'd better stop or I was gonna explode. He whipped right around and spouted, "What's the matta, Ho? You don't like the G in me?" Heaven bless me, I wanted to punch him.
Now, Gabey's a puker. (Uncle Luke, aka "Puke" would be so proud!) Ever since about a month ago, he just spits up all the time. Well one evening Matt (after having been slimed yet again) remarked, "OK now he's just doing it for attention." Seriously.
And another development around the house- anytime Jes passes gas through his lower region (which he does with pride), Matt's quiet comment: "Nice push, Bud."
And now my favorite, which really explains itself, and in my opinion should be printed on shirts to be worn by husbands everywhere: "You know Sweetie, every once in a while you should shut up while I talk." I about peed my pants.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Useless Ponderings on Life These Days
Today's life sure is different than it was in days gone by. I think a few humble observations of mine warrant a mention.
First of all, let's start with the changes in definitions. Seriously. A "tragedy" is now defined as an accidental death for which there is no one to be sued. And what ever happened to common sense? You know, there aren't many genius scientists alive who used to go around sticking metal things in electrical outlets or wonking their noggins on unpadded fireplace corners. I believe they call it something like, "Perpetuating the species" or something. There's something to be said for survival of the fittest; that's all I'm saying.
And you know, there are things I wonder if even my mother's generation had to deal with. Like avoiding a midnight snack in front of the t.v. for fear of early morning brain wash sales propaganda. Am I the only one who falls into their trap? I HAVE always liked those songs. Eighties music really IS timeless. With only three easy payments my life really can be so much richer. Thirty-five complete cd's, how can I afford NOT to call?
The kids and I were recently in a very minor accident (which, for once, was NOT my fault), and while the car was in the shop I of course drove a rental. Despite my uneasiness about the whole "Rental" situation (wrecking it, kids maiming it beyond repair, misjudging size while trying to parallel park) it worked out really well! Matt was out of town at the time so I had it all to myself (and the kids, duh). There we were- living the Minivan Dream. It couldn't have been more wonderful. Contrary to my high school notions, I was instantly in love. And it was a Kia for Heaven's sake! But seriously. Awesome. And I was just thinking, do you think cave women, too, dreamed of spacious middle row captain's seats and plenty of cargo room?
But not all differences have evolved over thousands of years. Some are as recent as weeks or months. For instance, I officially had to accept my maternal "loserhood" when I caught myself rocking out in front of the mirror to those familiar lyrics, "Sunny day, Sweeping the clouds away, On my way to where the air is clean!" Seriously. With the hairbrush microphone and everything. Didn't even realize it was weird- just a normal, everyday occurrence for me. So now I'm wondering, are we loser moms truly that rare a breed? Or perhaps, can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?
First of all, let's start with the changes in definitions. Seriously. A "tragedy" is now defined as an accidental death for which there is no one to be sued. And what ever happened to common sense? You know, there aren't many genius scientists alive who used to go around sticking metal things in electrical outlets or wonking their noggins on unpadded fireplace corners. I believe they call it something like, "Perpetuating the species" or something. There's something to be said for survival of the fittest; that's all I'm saying.
And you know, there are things I wonder if even my mother's generation had to deal with. Like avoiding a midnight snack in front of the t.v. for fear of early morning brain wash sales propaganda. Am I the only one who falls into their trap? I HAVE always liked those songs. Eighties music really IS timeless. With only three easy payments my life really can be so much richer. Thirty-five complete cd's, how can I afford NOT to call?
The kids and I were recently in a very minor accident (which, for once, was NOT my fault), and while the car was in the shop I of course drove a rental. Despite my uneasiness about the whole "Rental" situation (wrecking it, kids maiming it beyond repair, misjudging size while trying to parallel park) it worked out really well! Matt was out of town at the time so I had it all to myself (and the kids, duh). There we were- living the Minivan Dream. It couldn't have been more wonderful. Contrary to my high school notions, I was instantly in love. And it was a Kia for Heaven's sake! But seriously. Awesome. And I was just thinking, do you think cave women, too, dreamed of spacious middle row captain's seats and plenty of cargo room?
But not all differences have evolved over thousands of years. Some are as recent as weeks or months. For instance, I officially had to accept my maternal "loserhood" when I caught myself rocking out in front of the mirror to those familiar lyrics, "Sunny day, Sweeping the clouds away, On my way to where the air is clean!" Seriously. With the hairbrush microphone and everything. Didn't even realize it was weird- just a normal, everyday occurrence for me. So now I'm wondering, are we loser moms truly that rare a breed? Or perhaps, can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)