Another One For The Gremlin Files

While many things have occurred over the months that made me want to put pen to paper (fingers to keys?), this was the first that truly begged to be shared...

About a week ago, Andy followed Gremlin into the bathroom first thing in the morning and found a small puddle.  Upon discussion, Grem verified that he'd waited too long and hadn't had enough time to get everything working in the right order.  We remembered allowing him to drink about a half gallon of apple juice at bedtime and pretty much blamed ourselves.  A day or so later, I noticed there was still a faint pee smell in the bathroom so I pulled up the bath mat, changed out all the towels, wiped things down (see? motherhood = glamour!), the usual. 

Mothers of boys, you know this is certainly not the first time one of the men in my life had missed the bowl, however, this odor wouldn't go away.  I remembered an old boyfriend's mom telling me a funny, exasperated story about having to twice replace the baseboard heat next to the toilet in her downstairs bathroom after her four sons had rusted them through.

I started to worry that the liquid had seeped into the bead board on the wall behind the toilet or the wood of the vanity located next to it.  Wonderful.  I was going to have to replace my six year old bathroom because my six year old child urinated all over it.  Coincidence?  I think not.

As it turns out, I don't have to replace my bathroom.  I may replace my younger child.  Again, lucky Andy went into the bathroom after Gremlin and again discovered a small puddle.  Being (sick of hearing me complain) a model husband, he took it upon himself to clean up the puddle and cover half the bathroom in scrubbing bubbles.  As he moved the toilet brush and holder from the corner behind the toilet, he noted that there was a liquid level in the little cup/toilet brush holder thingy. 

Quite the opposite of missing, Gremlin has apparently been perfecting his aim by peeing into the toilet brush holder! Is there no freaking end to this boy's disgustingness??

After things were explained to me and Andy had gently chided Gremlin, I stepped in, a little less calm.  My son, the king of plausible deniability didn't say one word as I shrieked at him "Why would you do such a thing??  What were you thinking???"  On and on I went, ending with "and if you EVER pee anywhere but in a toilet again, I'll make sure you wear diapers until you're 40!"

The bathroom has been sterilized, the offending receptacle has been recycled (what would you have done with it??) and a new brush has been purchased.  As I pulled it from the Target bag, I showed it to Gremlin, with this parting shot: "Could you do me a favor and not pee in this one?".

Wrap It in Bacon

Remember that email that went around a few years ago about how to give a cat a pill?  It went on and on with steps including massage cat's throat, remove cat from drapery rod, then apply direct pressure to lacerations.  Then there was "how to give a pill to a dog."  Answer: wrap it in bacon. 

Gremlin has been experiencing some significant constipation issues for about the past month.  Basically, he refuses to poop.  This is different from his usual "I don't have to go - I'm too busy playing" refusal and has now migrated to his school day.  We've instituted mandatory "trying" periods throughout the day and returned to the sitting-on-the-edge-of-the-tub, potty training model.

Friday, while in Target (why do I always get this call when I've got a full cart?), the school nurse calls stating she's got Gremlin in her office doubled over with stomach pains.  I'm on my way but it's going to be a few minutes.  She calls back seconds later asking me to please bring a change of clothes as well.  Awesome.

As I arrive at school and the nurse waves me toward the bathroom where she has left my 5-year-old to clean himself up following his accident.  I find him naked and covered, wiping ineffectually at his body with dry, brown, industrial paper towels.  Thankfully, it didn't seem to be bothering him. 

The pediatrician starts writing before I've finished my first sentence.  Gremlin has encopresis and needs a laxative.  Here's where we get to the bacon part.

We opted to wait until Saturday morning vs. Friday evening to begin the regimen for obvious reasons. Andy and I sat at the kitchen table for in excess of 45 minutes trying to teach, convince, discuss, cajole, explain, threaten, and ultimately bribe Grem to swallow an Exlax pill resembling a blue M&M.

He eventually allows the pill to completely dissolve in his mouth complaining the whole time that it tastes like sand, yet refusing to swallow or take a sip of any of the 6 different beverage selections we have offered him.  Also, he is now the proud owner of SpongeBob Atlantis Squarepantis DS game. 

And all for nothing.  Based on his chosen method of absorption and the complete lack of results, I'm guessing that none of the medicine actually made it to the boy's lower G.I.

This morning, I returned to CVS and going against the advice of the pharmacist Andy spoke with yesterday, got Exlax in chocolate form.  I came home, said "hey Grem, here's some chocolate medicine!"  He ate two pieces and we're done.

Wrap it in bacon.

Harsh

Scene:  MM and The Daddy preparing for bed.

Daddy:  Babe, I gotta tell you, in the realm of "harsh" tonight, you cracked me up.

MM: Smiles beatifically. 


The boys have always had their own rooms but given a choice, HRH would rather share space with his brother.  From Mom and Dad's standpoint, HRH camping in Gremlin's room increases the chances of a full night's sleep for everyone.  IT's called a win-win - except the obvious fooling around, blanket disruption, tossing of stuffed animals, and moving of beds (really?) that accompanies shared sleeping space.  So in and out the parents go; cajoling, threatening, ultimately separating. The problem is that Grem actually prefers to sleep by himself so as the instigator, he's got nothing to lose and I've lost hand.

Last night, post-bath, as the boys were engaged in their pre-bedtime ritual of coercion and bribery attempts for co-sleeping, HRH bumped into his bedside lamp, sending it crashing to the floor and breaking the bulb.  I react like a medic on the battlefield.  Clearing the barefoot boys from the scene and going down on hands and knees with a dustpan and brush, then the Dustbuster. Cleaner than it was before 'the incident'.

I then tell the boys that because of the danger of glass, I think that HRH should definitely sleep in Gremlin's room tonight.  This was of course, not the concern. The shake-down had gone on for nearly half an hour and I was simply tired of hearing it.  We tuck in and do God Blesses. 

And I leave them with this warning;  "If there is any fooling around,  the person that started it will be sleeping in HRH's room.  With the glass."

Not a word.  Not a sound.  Straight to sleep.

Memorial Day Weekend Plans

So many captions, so little time:

A Boy and His Dirt.

Five-Year-Old Heaven.

With Apologies to My Neighbors.

King of the Mountain.

At Least He's Wearing His Old Sneakers.

Dirt Devil.

or

He's Already in the Tub.

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

"Mom, I was trying to find my bathing suit and I left my bottom drawer open."

WWSD - What Would Stimey Do - Part 3-ish

Well, Stimey might be taking a vacation from her Junk Pyramid but here at my little cabina contenta, clutter and odor know no holiday! About a week ago, I started to notice a little puddle developing on the top shelf of the fridge, near the orange juice. So I did what most busy moms would do; I ignored it.

Next, I noticed that the bread (stored directly below the OJ) was also damp. This time, I went out on a limb, mopped it up and took a peek around; finding nothing but assuming (my children) someone had spilled something at some point.

We were away overnight Friday into Saturday and upon our return yesterday, the fridge smelled like we'd left it unplugged for a month, with a couple of gallons of ice cream in it, in July. NOT acceptable.

So today, I put on my Stimey cap (don't I wish I really had one!) and did the unthinkable. I took every single item out of the fridge, removed every single shelf and bin and scrubbed the em effer down.
Even the door!
At least I did it right before shopping so there was less to put back.


Alas, the fridge was squeaky clean but I had not discovered the cause of the leak and thereby, the odor. So it was on to the freezer. After pitching piles of petrified, freezer-burnt dinosaur chicken and syrupy Popsicles, I discovered one lone ice pack jammed against a vent-type thing way in the back. I peeled that off then chipped away at the layer of permafrost on the bottom of the freezer. And hope that I've resolved the issue.

Isn't this exactly how I wanted to spend my Sunday? In the process, I think I have found my all-time least favorite housewife-ly duty. So I have that little bit of enlightenment. Which is nice.


What is your most hated chore?

If Ever...

If ever I would leave you,
How could it be in spring-time?
Knowing how in spring I'm bewitched by you so?
Oh, no! not in spring-time!
Summer, winter or fall!
No, never could I leave you at all!

But if ever I would kill you,
It would be for this,

Not Wednesday, But Still Nearly Wordless

MM: You're not in trouble. I just want you to tell me the truth.

Gremlin: Annabelle did it.

MM: Annabelle's at school. Try again.

Gremlin: No, they just came and picked her up.

MM: Okay. Now you're in trouble...

AfterDad

To my wonderful, supportive, intrepid husband, I can't properly thank you for all that you did in allowing me this time and space away. So I won't.

Rather, I thought I would offer a little constructive feedback - both positive and otherwise on your care and feeding of our progeny and home this past weekend:

1. Kudos on figuring out the dishwasher loading/unloading scenario! Next, I'd like to invite you to view the wonders of Cascade gel in action. Said gel can be located under the kitchen sink. Simply extrude the gel into the marked containers on the inside of the dishwashing device, close the door, and press "Start". Performing this simple operation will mitigate the sour milk/syrup/smell-of-unknown-origin odor emanating each time the appliance door is opened.

2. At some point a meal was made! Or reheated! Or defrosted! Cue applause!! I am aware of this, not only through your insightful and informative guest posts but because of the melted remains for said food items coating the inside of the microwave. It is unsavory at best and carcinogenic at worst.

A Clorox wipe or even a paper towel (both located to the left of the sink) swiped across door, roof, and carousel of the microwave has been shown to prevent said food preparation residue from dripping down onto the stove top beneath. (ps: It is also a good idea not to leave things you intend to eat in the microwave until they explode. But that's a lesson for another day.)

3. You know how much I love the smell of Acqua di Gio on you. Less so on the boys but again, "A" for effort. You handled this issue of their hygiene with creativity and questionable judgment!

Again, not a criticism, just a friendly reminder for future use: If you will hearken back to your own personal care routine, you may call to mind vigorously applying toothpaste to your own teeth at regular intervals throughout the weekend. Our children, too require this action to avoid the carrion/death breath spewing from their smiling mouths when I scooped them into my arms in the baggage claim of Terminal B.

I know I've given you a lot to digest so I'll end my summary here. But rest assured, my absence and your tenure at the helm has provided discussion topics to get us through awkward silences and long car rides for years to come.

Next up: "The Broom and Vacuum: Where they live and what they do."

Happy Easter

May you color your days with happy memories this Easter!

WWSD - What Would Stimey Do (Part Deux)?

How incredibly timely that I chose today to tackle this job only to log in to find that it's Stimey's Junkiversary! I should be receiving the restraining order from her any day now. Seriously, it was a coincidence - I swear!

Anyway, the canned goods cabinet has been the bane of my existence for a while now. Those who've recently been in my kitchen are probably saying "Really? That's the part that's bothering you?"

The answer is yes, and here's why. Behold,

Before:

Do you know what's in there? I didn't. Thus the problem. I can definitely tell you now that a bunch of it was expired (and that I went through a mad iced tea phase awhile ago):

Add one industrial size Lazy Susan for the stuff we use regularly (yes, we go through a TON of peanut butter)...and voila!

After:

I almost forgot how good a place for everything and everything in its place made me feel. I even cleaned out the "extra drinks" cabinet beside it. I can't wait for recycling day!

What Took You So Long?

When he left the kitchen, I was loading the last of the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. Then I noticed that the paper towel roll was empty.

I started to go down to the basement where I keep the extra paper towels. Then I noticed that one of the Wii controllers had made its way to the counter.

I grabbed the Wii and went downstairs. Once in the playroom, I turned off the TV, put the Wii games that were were strewn about back into the basket, moved the bean bag chair that was on the love seat, put another chair back where it belonged, grabbed a sippy cup off the floor, shut off the space heater, switched over a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer, and brought a clean hamper of laundry upstairs.

But I had to go back down for the paper towels.

Holy Dustbunnies!

My boys have finally reached that magic age; they're trustworthy enough to come downstairs ALONE in the morning, eat peanut butter out of the jar, and watch cartoons, while Mommy and Daddy get a few more hours minutes of very light sleep with one ear open. Cue the choir of angels, and yet...

Last Sunday, Andy and I are enjoying a few more minutes' sleep when the boys appear on my side of the bed (aside: my side of the bed is farther from the door than Andy's. They never start on Andy's side of the bed.) to inform me that they were going down to the playroom and noticed a 'fuzzy thing' at the bottom of the basement stairs. I slip out of my coma long enough to tell them, oh, honey, that's called a dust bunny, don't worry about it, I'll vacuum it later.

HRH is not convinced but RC pipes up with the very clever idea to sweep it up with the dustpan and brush. RC just loves him some dustpan and brushing. And they exit to tidy up the fuzzy thing.

Fast forward about thirty minutes. I open the lid on our kitchen trash to drop a tea bag in. And staring back at me from the top of the trash is a fuzzy thing - also known as a bat with no wings. Aghhhhhhhhh!

I call Andy over. He calls HRH over. My questioning goes something like this; Didyoutouchit? Didyoutouchit? Didyoutouchit?? You'renotintrouble. Did. you. touch. it!?" HRH's answer was no. RC was required to pantomime out exactly what he did when he swept it up. I'm reasonably certain they were telling the truth. Nonetheless, I Purelled their hands, twice, then washed them in antibacterial soap. I may have burned their pajamas.

Near as we can figure, the bat was looking for a warm place to stay. He somehow got into the house, was met by our bloodthirsty cat, and met his demise. The Bink left the de-winged carcass as a 'present' for us. He's thoughtful like that.

For future reference, Poison Control states that rabies must be spread by injecting saliva through a bite. We then had the pleasure of triple-wrapping the remains and freezing them overnight. On Monday, I took the carcass to our vet, who had it tested by the state lab. I'm very happy (and pretty surprised) that the results were negative. No rabies here.

I haven't found the wings yet...

Wordless Wednesday

Do-it-yourself scarecrow kit?

Look here for more Wordless Wednesdays.

Like The New Girl Always Says: "Ask the Internets"

I hate potty training. It's like Groundhog Day for mommies; discuss, cajole, bribe, clean, repeat. Dozens and dozens of times.

I had fooled myself early on. The boys often take baths together and of course, HRH always uses the potty prior to entering the tub. RC was always fascinated with the process and HRH was only too happy to show off his skills in the art of urination. I said to myself and Andy, "potty training with this one's is gonna be a piece of cake". Um yeah. Pride cometh before a fall - or in this case, summer. For a while, RC has clearly displayed all the signs of readiness and I've half-heartedly tried to introduce him to using the toilet. He is not interested. Let me repeat; he wants no part of it.

Last week, RC stepped it up a notch. In addition to removing his own diaper if it was wet, he's begun to take it off immediately after he poops as well, sometimes allowing the contents to drop onto the floor. Upon the first such incident last week, I was dealing with the diaper and the floor while he started running around trying to back into everything - and practically sitting on our poor dog, saying menacingly "I'm gonna get poops on you!"

So now we've got the sticker chart, I've purchased the Halloween sized bags of M&Ms as a bribe for sitting on the potty, I've told him kids with diapers can't go to preschool, and I've promised the kid a BIKE once he's done with diapers.

He's just plain not interested. If it weren't for the shitting in the house thing, I'd probably just blow it off for another month or two. But clearly this activity has upped the ante and it needs to be addressed. The problem is that like so many areas of RC's personality, I'm out of ideas. I don't want to make it a negative but clearly he can not relieve himself where ever he damn well pleases.

Help me Obi Wan; you're my only hope.

Signed -

Pouting About the Potty

Going to Hell in a Laundry Basket

Lest you think I have only been ignorning all of you as we transition from school schedule to summer schedule, I give you exhibit A: This is our playroom loveseat, rendered completely unusable for its given purpose. Need a clean t-shirt, hon? Oh, I did a bleach wash. Go check the basement...

Why I Spell Kenmore with an F

Before:

After:

I can't even blame the boys for this one. Just really cheap parts.

Why Can't I Find the Time to Blog?

WWSD - What Would Stimey Do?

Has everyone been over to see Stimey's inspirational chronicle of her quest to rid her house of unwanted items, The Junk Pyramid? It's like porn for organizational freaks. I used to be an organizational freak, now I fear I'm just a freak. I have lovely, labeled fabric cubes for all the kids' toys but sometimes, I'm paralized by my own anal-retentiveness. Wherein, I don't have the [inclination] time do do it right, so I don't do it at all. And the clutter grows...

Well, since The New Girl turned me on to Stimey's truly awesome blog, whenever I'm trying to clean up and run across say, a McDonalds toy, I ask myself, "what would Stimey do?" Inevitably, the answer is pitch it, donate it, or recycle it. And so I've been ridding our little Cabina Contenta item by item of unwanted/unloved/unused or just plain, unknown crap. One piece at a time.

Saturday, we had a quiet at home day, which was a nice change of pace from the parade of preschool birthday parties that seem to fill every weekend (this is not a slam; RC's is the end of April). Anyway, Andy was down in the basement with the boys building a fort so I got to do this. This is a before shot of (one of) our kitchen junk drawer(s).

In the process, I found belt clips for cell phones we no longer own, batteries of every shape, size, and voltage, a zillion little felt pads for the bottom of furniture, a useless DVD cleaning kit, tons of fasteners of all sizes and descriptions, and enough birthday candles to celebrate clear through my retirement.

Oh, and I also have this from my Nativity Set (given to us by my Auntie Marie at our wedding shower).
Each year, I try to find the little cut out in the styrofoam where poor Gloria belongs and each year, she ends up back here. And here she stays for at least another year.

At the end of the cleaning, I arrived here. Sorry about the poor light but obviously, the Junk Drawer is by the window. Take my word for it; it's a work of art.


Then, just for good measure, and because the fort-raising was still in progress in the basement, I took a swipe at the wraps and [weapons cache] sharp stuff drawer. This picture gives me vertigo.

As an added bonus, while Andy and the boys were playing around down in the basement, he straightened as well.

Ahhh. Music to a organizational freak's eyes...

You Can Call Me Al

Dear Mr. Gore,

Please excuse Christine from environmental global good citizenship today as she was cleaning the bathroom.

During this exercise (in futility), she utilized no green cleaning products. Resulting, in the senseless deaths of untold good bacteria and weakening the immune systems of not only her household but also everyone they will ever come in contact with. Furthermore, we believe the mustard gas created by the mingling of these chemicals has caused an actual hole in the Ozone Layer, the size of a juice box . Said hole is currently positioned directly above our house, as viewed by Google Earth.

Additionally, Christine used no less than 3/4 of a roll of 0% post-consumer recycled, white, paper towels, placing them into a plastic trashbag for pick up by a carbon monoxide-emitting waste transport vehicle (garbage truck). These, and numerous other potentially recyclable materials will then be shipped to an unknown landfill, where they will begin the slow process of decomposition, which will last well into the 22nd century.

Lastly, she ran water in both the tub and sink (sometimes simultaneously) and flushed the toilet approximately 40 times.

Sincerely,

Christine's Remaining Brain Cells (not wiped out above-mentioned mustard gas incident)


ps She also uses plastic applicator tampons.