Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Confessions of a 7-year-old Girl - and more poop updates

The ongoing saga surrounding the littlest one pooping in the toilet took a turn for the worse when he made a deposit in the bathtub, just two short steps from the damned toilet. This is a new low for the boy, who continues to impress with his ability to "stay dry" throughout most of the day, only to continually disappoint in the evening. The bribe behavior chart, such an effective tool for the first two children, has had no impact on the stubborn third child. What do you get the kid who apparently has everything and doesn't poop?

Meanwhile, the girl had her First Confession (capitalized for effect) tonight, even though technically in seven years, she hasn't done anything wrong, at least that I could see. Certainly nothing sinful, and definitely not coveting her neighbor's house or ass. Perhaps she bore false witness those handful of times she tried to get her brothers in trouble. Maybe she failed to honor her father and mother a time or two...maybe forgot to remember the Sabbath and stayed in bed and prayed at St. Holy Mattress of the Sheets. OK yeah, confess your sins, girl. So she did, and without incident. When her little brother's turn comes up, he'll probably be pooping his pants somewhere...which by then will be in violation of our house's unofficial 11th Commandment.

Oh, and today was Veterans' Day, so thank you, vets. Come on, New York Stock Exchange, capitalism won't die if you close one more day. Better this day for our next major national holiday then the day after the Super Bowl.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

9 Completely Unrelated Thoughts

One week down, three to go in the Post a Day for a Month Challenge. Whatever doesn't kill you, may still hospitalize you.

Quick thoughts on a Saturday night:

--Days after trying to poop 10 times in one setting to quickly earn some toy trucks, the youngest has since soiled his drawers twice while only peeing on the toilet. This negative-two effort now means he must poop 12 times on the toilet before getting his toys. If he were smart, he'd take up prune juice. He also still finds ways to poop in his sleep at night, which may explain why his brother comes over in the middle of the night. You can practically see the little squiggly marks emanating from that room the next morning. I jump in the shower and pretend not to notice.

--Any time we eat out, the over/under on number of items that hit the floor is 8.5, the number of kids who spend time under the table is 2.5, and the number of trips to the bathroom we make is also 2.5.

--Sometimes it's not unreasonable to expect the fort to hold itself down.

--When I have to share a room with someone who snores all night, then hear them say the next morning that THEY didn't sleep well at all last night, I want to throw them off a balcony.

--We don't have a "house cleaner" because nobody else really wants to set foot in this house. We also don't have a Roomba because it would have suffered a concussion by now.

--Our oldest, the self-proclaimed "Boss of the Children" doesn't realize that, in her role as middle management, she gets blamed for all of her younger brothers' missteps, which includes the potty training fails. She may soon relinquish that role and resume just being a seven-year-old.

--We're raising our kids Catholic, and so minutes after having a frank discussion with our oldest about her First Reconciliation and the importance of asking God's forgiveness for her sins, we tell all our kids that the boxes the mailman brought to their door (containing some of their Xmas gifts) aren't for them. Later we'll tell them they were brought by a fat, jolly elf who operated a reindeer-powered sleigh.

--Nothing that has black olives on it should ever be called "Supreme."

--The iPad screen is quickly replacing the crack between the bed and the wall as the go-to place for kids to wipe their boogers.

Friday, November 7, 2014

We Are the Dishwashers

Our dishwasher broke several weeks ago, so we are now the dishwashers. Makes us realize the dishwasher is something you don't realize you love until it's gone. Like gluten. (Thanks, Rice Chex.)

The green light at the top won't stop blinking. It's trying to tell us something?
Still, there is an opportunity here. The youngest, of all people, has noticed that we are spending more of our ever-diminishing free time washing everyone's dishes and has even offered to help wash them himself. That presents us with the ongoing conundrum of letting him help and splashing water all over the place and making the process way more tedious than it already is, or just doing it ourselves and finishing it in under five hours.

The kid has also suggested that the Easter Bunny wash the dishes. The Easter Bunny? Where did that come from? While we would appreciate a make-believe animal coming through and doing our work for us, the Easter Bunny comes but once a year. Actually, we're on the same pace, so why not?

Meanwhile, the poor dishwasher seems to want to help...lights blinking all over the place, gives you the impression it wants to live but just can't, but won't give up. It fights the good fight but ultimately it died doing what it did best, saving us a few minutes each

Thursday, November 6, 2014

What Did I Miss? November 6

Another day when my kids hit the sack before I get home...sigh...this is what happened...

We finally brought out the armada in the war against pooping our pants. Tired of listening to how continent our youngest can be within the walls of Day Care only to have him come home and slide away and hide under the kitchen table to load up, we bribed him with offered him a fleet of toy trucks. (Retail Price: $5.88)

The toys that will keep our house from smelling like poop. Pictured at bottom: A two-year-old pic of the Easter Bunny.
He declined for six weeks, opting instead to suddenly disappear and quietly soil himself instead of going through the rigors of pooping on the toilet. We suspected something was amiss when he started disappearing. He never disappears, he's always in our faces, making himself available at all times and leaving a trail of toys in his wake, which we find in the middle of the night with our feet.

Tonight he found the trucks and decided he wanted to play with them. This, shortly after once again smudging up the face of Jake from Jake and the Neverland Pirates.

"Ohhhhhh, no," my wife said she said, before explaining that he can't have the trucks until he poops on the potty at home ten times in a row. He seemed so agreeable to the deal that he immediately went to the can and tried to poop all ten times right then and there...nearly giving himself a childhood hernia, if there is such a thing? Or bursting a blood vessel in his anus. We'll see if the enthusiasm continues or wanes, but if trucks are on the line, then these days might be over (I hope you took the over.)

For Christmas and then his birthday last year, we got the middle one the complete set of mini-NFL football helmets. (OK, maybe they were for me, too.) Every week, we organize them in order of the week's NFL matchups, and each week, when I ask for the Seahawks, Texans, Bears, Falcons, Jaguars, Panthers, Ravens, or even Buccaneers helmets, he always hands me the Broncos, and I have to say a variation of "That's not a bird, that's a HORSE."

So now he has become obsessed with death, which always unsettles me when he speaks so frankly about it. Tonight he asked what people are like when they're dead. When my wife responded that they don't do anything, he insisted that Dad (who apparently will go first) will still eat with us, go to work, and, most importantly, move the football helmets. Somebody PLEASE move the football helmets for him when I'm gone.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

What Did I Miss? November 5

Today was yet another day when I didn't see my kids to ask them how their day was, so I got the scoop from their mother, who reported as follows:

The youngest continues his quest to extend Halloween into November by riding around on a broom. He also rushes to his mother's side after she blows her nose and asks, "Do you have boogies?" He has a way with women...

The middle child, who is trying to learn the piano, will be getting a holiday song book courtesy of his teacher. His teacher says he has never seen anyone that age with the attention span of my son. I'll take his word for it, since his attention hasn't spanned wide enough to actually practice at home, ever.

And the oldest, the girl, reprises her role as the supreme agitator. Time and again, we question why she refuses to be totally happy until someone else is completely miserable. She usually tries to make the middle child cry before the car has left the Day Care parking lot. She is at her best when she's the only kid in the room. When the other two are around, there is a quick, definite degradation in behavior.

We are very thankful that the public rarely sees these sides of our kids, but they're there. We'd invite you over to see it firsthand, but our Roomba is busy giving itself a concussion. Nobody wants to see that.