Poop, Pants & Playtime

My family. Bless their hearts. They make me laugh, they make me cry {happy, sad and unbelievably mad tears}, but they also bring me to the point of shouting, ‘What in the world?’ numerous times a day, although a few other phrases may or may not pop into my head, depending on the gravity of the situation. I really do believe I have a sense of humor but evidently not as large as it needs to be to survive these lunatics that call me Mom and Wife.

Sunday night, D1 and I were doing bath time. We work some killer tag team action and have a pretty standard routine established. One washes while the other picks up the dirty clothing {scattered to and fro in their mad dash to the tub} and lays out the jams. This particular night, I was on Mommy Maid Duty and as I was lifting a pair of undies {poor McQueen - those racing stripes should be black, not brown}, I noticed a spot on the bathroom rug, a spot strangely resembling poop. Based on the fact that the spot is dry and hardened, I figured it must be mud. When I tell D1 that I thought it was poop, he said, ‘Oh, no. You're right. It is poop. I forgot about that. It happened a few days ago.’ WHAT.IN.THE.WORLD. You forget your lunch money, maybe even your kid at daycare. But POOP on the RUG? I just can't get my mind around how one can forget that. It’s kind of, oh, I don’t know, SIGNIFICANT.

Let’s not forget about my incident yesterday. I had agreed to swing by and grab some files from a practice located near our house and then meet a colleague, J, to hand them off. Instead of driving home, dropping d2 and d3 with D1 and finally heading out for the files, I decided it would just be easier to take them with me. I could just run in, get the files, run out, drive to the meeting place and hand the files out the window. They would never even have to un-buckle. What could possibly go wrong? Clearly I don’t give my children enough credit. As we are sitting in the parking lot, waiting for J to arrive, d2 was reading a book in the backseat. Next thing I know, J pulls up and starts toward the car. Just before she gets to my window, I turn around to find d2’s pants around his ankles. WHAT.IN.THE.WORLD. Oh, his undies were on, thank goodness, but what was I supposed to do? I could draw attention to him and yell, ‘Pull up your draws, boy!’ or I could pretend I didn’t know and hope she doesn’t poke her head in to say hello. I went with plan B and am hopeful she didn’t sneak a peek at my ‘precious children.’ I'm also grateful that d3 held on to his copy of 'Fox in Socks' and didn't hurl the board book at my head until after J got back in her car. I would like to keep up the facade that my boys are well-behaved and that I've got it together for as long as possible. Note to self: never underestimate the potential of a preschooler to mortify their mother.

Since we’re {not} on the subject of precious children, does anyone else have to play some crazy games at 3am with their itty bitty? The other night d3 woke up crying. Based on his increased whininess, chronic clinginess and fingers-shoved-in-the-mouth syndrome, my professional diagnosis is protruding molars and I’m assuming that’s what caused him to wake up in the middle of the night. As experienced parents know, there’s not a whole lot you can do for them during these times. We’ve tried teething tablets {eh, they’re okay}, Orajel {disgusting and NEVER helped our kids}, whiskey {or so I’ve heard…..} and Motrin. We usually only go with the latter {Motrin, NOT whiskey – unless someone tells me it helps?!?} if he’s inconsolable but usually with a little rocking and a lotta lovin’, he’s able to get back to sleep. Well, on this particular night, that was just not the case. I rocked him until I fell asleep, which I then felt certain HE was asleep. When I put him back in his crib, he started squirming and, though he wasn’t crying, he was on the verge. I didn’t have to be holding him, I just had to be there touching him. So I sat on my knees and stroked his hair until, again, I was SURE he was asleep. As I removed my hand and started to stand up, my good ole’ 30-almost-31-year-old knees made some awful cracking noises and d3 sat straight up. There went that. Back to my knees I went but this time I was forming a plan. Since my legs were too noisy, I decided that I was going to crawl. Because I was afraid he might still see the shadow of my back as I crawled out the door, I went out on my belly, slithering like a snake. WHAT.IN.THE.WORLD. {....and I was a little sore the next morning - you don't really practice 'the slither' in Zumba} I guess this is one way to get Mommy to play Jungle Animals. It's too bad we don't have cameras in his room. We just might have won a few bucks on my 'sneaky' exit.

I like this last story. It makes me sound like an incredibly selfless mother that can’t stand for her child to cry. In all actuality, crying doesn’t bother me. I can usually sleep through it. I just had no burning desire for the other two boys to hear him wailing and wake up any earlier than usual to join us for the BIG fun. After all, 6am is early enough. And maybe, just maybe, during that rocking session, I started thinking how my ‘baby’ will be TWO next week and that, soon enough, he won’t ask me to ‘wok’ him anymore. Though d3 was a bit of a 'surprise,' God certainly knew what He was doing. His plan continues to unfold everyday and we are simply amazed at what He has done and continues to do in the 'D' Family.

Stay tuned......