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?".

WWSD - Dipshit Friday

I'm sharing a similar thought with Sarah, in her Trenches of Mommyhood, "If a blogger blogs but every other blogger is at BlogHer, will anyone read it?" 

So, as I sit in my kitchen *not* at a bar in NYC, I thought I'd live vicariously by linking to two of my favorite bloggers, one of whom (Sarah) is also *not* at BlogHer but with whom I have shared a drink, and one who is, Jean, Queen of Stimelyand, rodent aficionado, and friend with whom I had dinner at BlogHer '09. One of Jean's newest, funniest, and (IMHO) most brilliant ideas is Dipshit Friday, in which we lay it all out there and share one of life's blunders.  Shall we begin?

Every year, Andy's family plans a week together on Cape Cod.   Nearly every year, we have rented the same house. It's a lovely cottage with plenty of private space for us, the boys, and my mom, who enjoys her own little suite on the first floor away from the chaos that is my immediate family.  One of its best features is a gorgeous deck right off of our 2nd floor bedroom, with a fantastic view of the beach from the side and the river and salt marshes in the back. The Cape tradition started when everyone was in town for Andy's and my wedding, 10 years ago and subsequently, our anniversary frequently falls during our vacation week. 

A few years back, my mom kept the kids so Andy and I could enjoy a nice anniversary dinner, which we did along with a bottle of wine.  Upon returning to the house, we decided to share a romantic drink on the deck, in the moonlight.  Things progressed nicely and maybe a half hour later, Andy and I reentered our bedroom through the open door to (ahem) continue celebrating our anniversary only to find....every surface of the room covered with flying bugs of every description!

For the next hour, we two dipshits jumped across the bed, swinging beach towels, ducking dive-bombing mosquitoes, itching like mad, and spraying anything aerosol at the disgusting (and quite resilient) creatures.  Let's just say that the mood died long before the last of the bugs did and I left Andy to fight the good fight, choosing to sleep on the family room couch.

I was awakened the next morning by my rather confused but smiling mother who admitted that, judging by the racket coming from the ceiling of her bedroom, it definitely sounded as if we had very much enjoyed our anniversary...

No Stupid Deed Goes Unpunished

My wonderful gay boyfriend, Jason, a teacher, posted a truly technicolor set of stories about kids in his class puking through the years. Coincidentally, I was with my dear high school friends over the weekend and we were reliving one of my own favorite puke stories:

We were seniors in high school and my friend, Chris' parents were away for the weekend. As you know, this means a party. So we all headed over and commenced with the drinking. Mary was the first to fall. One minute, she was mid-conversation with Chris' sister, Donna. The next, she's face down in the kitchen sink, losing everything she's consumed in the last (month) day. God love Donna. Without missing a beat, she casually walks over to the sink, turns on the water and the disposal, and continues with her story.

Unfortunately, Mary has not gotten sleep-over permission and it's too late to call her parents. We brilliant, drunk adolescents decide to bring her home. I can't remember what we thought about nearly-unconscious Mary getting past her parents. I would assume they were asleep.

As luck would have it, our friend Sue's boyfriend, Chris, had worked that night and had arrived shortly before Mary's puke-fest. He became our designated driver. I was slightly more sober than the rest, so I was the Wing Man. We trundle Mary into the car with Chris driving, Mary in the passenger seat and me, sitting on the bench seat between them. Mary's getting the spins so we decide to recline her seat, forcing me to scootch a little closer to Chris.

It was at a red light on Winter Hill after midnight that we look over to see Sue's mother (aka, Chris' future mother-in-law) pull up to the light next to us. We wave. She stares. The pieces...click...into...place. Uh oh. The light changes and we take off.

The next day, Sue's mom comes into her room, closes the door, and tells her she has something to discuss with her.


*** Please heed this warning: Never, ever, ever, ever do a Google Image search for "puking". Ever. ***

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...

Potty Mouth

Psst, Clorox:

Wanna make a mint? Invent a non-toxic, drinkable bleach product. And here's why:

Item 1: We are at my sister's house and RC has just completed his first successful peep of the new potty-training season. Manic Mommy is at the sink washing her hands after assisting with said endeavor. RC spies the plunger parked next to Auntie's toilet. Before MM can reach him/screech loud enough to wake the dead, RC has upended the plumber's helper and licks. it. Various washing and rinsing ensues. But where's the bleach?

Item 2: First Day of preschool. Andy has taken the day off to accompany RC to orientation while MM attends HRH's Welcome Mass. After we pick up HRH, we take the boys to Friendly's for an ice cream. Except for RC, we each order what turns out to be a pretty meager portion and consequently begin taking little bites from RC's massive make-your-own-sundae.

It is with the taste of hot fudge and Reeses Pieces still upon my tongue that Andy suddenly remembers the men's room incident that had taken place not ten minutes earlier:

RC is standing in front of the toilet having already fondled caressed lifted the toilet seat and is attempting to simultaneously hold the seat up, keep his shirt tucked under his chin, and aim. He is one hand short, and so, he leans forward and places the edge of the toilet seat between his lips to hold it up and proceeds to urinate.

Andy acted fast but of course, the damage was already done. He proceeded to make RC rinse his mouth out and wash his face/lips/hands with Friendly soap. But again, where's the bleach?

Did I mention that I was eating RC's ice cream as the story unfolded? What's a mom to do? I buy fluoride-free toothpaste for him because that's dangerous if ingested. How about the most germ-laden surfaces know to mom?

Please tell me your worst. Am I the only mother with a really, gross little kid?Let me know that his immune system is strong enough to handle it - and that it. will. stop.

Sincerely,

Manic Germaphobe Mommy

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

Ask Me If I Give A...

For some reason, I have thus far escaped the humor that is all things scatalogical with HRH. With RC, really not surprisingly, he immediately got the joke. And finds it hysterical. So now, we're listening to the golden oldies of poop humor:

Old McDonald had farm.
E-I-E-I-O
And on his farm, he had a POOP!

and also this one:

There was a farmer had a POOP!

We also have new (super-creative) nicknames,
Mommy-poop
Daddy-poop
HRH-poop

And his answer to everything? You guessed it:

MM: Guess what we're having for dinner, RC.
RC: POOP!

The thing is, when he does it (probably because it's a somewhat new phenomenon), we tend to laugh. I laugh because it's so funny watching RC find humor in something. Andy laughs because he's a guy. And all guys find poop jokes funny.

Can I interpret this as a sign that he's ready to potty train?

You Kiss your Mother with that Mouth?

Yesterday afternoon:

MM to RC: Bubba, will you give me a kiss?

RC: Sure, Mommy. I have lots of kisses in my mouth for you.

All together now: Awwww.

***************************************
Fast forward to this morning:

Sitting in his carseat, RC crosses his right foot over his left, picks something off the bottom of his sneaker, puts it in his mouth and swallows it. All the while I'm yelling "Spit it out! Spit it out!" and grabbing his cheeks. What was it? Your guess is as good as mine.

I don't know if I want those kisses now...