The Devil's in the Details

Anyone who's been a parent long enough for their kid to start talking has had to answer questions. Lots of questions. Loads of crap-you've-never-thought-about questions. Everything from "how did God make the world" to "where do babies come from?" Personally, I've gotten to answer everything from "do you think it would be hard to walk on the ceiling" to "what is that pink thing under my pony's belly that he keeps sticking out?" Every day is filled with questions, some of them unique and super important "teachable moment" questions, and some of them the same one I've already answered at least a million times.
This morning, one of my five year olds came into my bathroom and said what sounded like, "Mom, what's pee?" Oh, great. Here we go again, I thought. Another weird, never really thought about it, who cares what the answer is question to start my day. Maybe if I ignore her, she'll forget about it and go away. Yeah, cause that always works. In my dreams.
Daughter: Mom, what is pee?
Me: What?
Daughter: What is peep? (Side note: one of my girls has always called urinating "peep." Peep and poop are celebrities at our house. Toilet humor is big. Really big. Sigh.)
Me: What do you mean, what is peep? Like what's in it?
Daughter: No! Like what is it?
Me: (Deep breath here) Well, it's the liquid produced after your body digests what you eat and drink. It's the leftover or waste products of your diet. (Yeah, a scientific explanation with big words. That ought to shut her up! Good job, Mom!)
Daughter: MOM! I said, what is PETE? You know, on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse! PETE! That big fat thing that has hands? Is he a dog or something?
Me: Whew! Oh...um, yeah, sure. He's a dog. Sounds good to me! (Question answered, crisis averted. Hooray!)
Daughter: Oh, a dog. Okay. Then why does he have HANDS?
Me: (Silently: Dammit! I hate you, Disney Channel!) I don't know. Are you ready for breakfast?
Daughter: Yes! Can I have a Pop Tart?
There you go, Mom. Change the subject. That works every time! Okay, some of the time. Alright, alright, it almost never works, but this morning I got lucky.

The Funny One, aka Mr. Sunshine

It seems that after only a few short weeks of blogging, my secret is out. My husband is the funny one in this family, not me. He keeps me laughing every day, whether he intends to or not. When we were dating, a friend of the family warned me about "older men." I must be careful, she cautioned, because older men were more sophisticated and mature. They were looking for different things in a relationship than teenage boys.
Somehow, the wonderful man that is my husband missed the memo. Don't get me wrong. He is a hard-working, responsible person who does a fabulous job providing for our family. But mature and sophisticated? Not my first choice for adjectives used to describe my hubby. Cartoons, inappropriate jokes, fart humor, you name it. He makes me laugh until I cry almost every day. His ultimate goal is to make a drink come out of my nose, but it still eludes him. Keep trying, Babe.
The other day, a repairman in our home informed me that I could buy a new toilet (and no, not a Mr. Potato Potty) for what it was going to cost to fix the high priced one in my guest bathroom. It's not really broken, it just takes some effort to flush it. You have to push down hard on the handle, which my girls are not crazy about. Other than that, it works perfectly. Like all good husbands who don't want to deal with something, when the guy called him with the estimate, he said something along the lines of, "Whatever my wife wants to do. Just make her happy!" Sounds pretty sweet, huh? Yeah, right. I'm onto you, Buddy. Make me the bad guy.
I made the executive decision that we will limp along until the toilet breaks completely, because I have other things I would like to do with $100 than spend it on toilet parts. When Mr. Sunshine rolled in from work and asked what I had decided, I told him and here was his assessment: "Yep. Cheap toilets, cheap horses, and high priced women. That's how I roll!" How do you argue with that?
One of the most endearing things about Mr. Sunshine is the outfits he wears to the barn. I'm not sure which are my favorite, the summer or winter ones. I have to say, my personal favorite winter outfit was a pair of parachute (I mean, "athletic") pants, tall buckaroo boots, a goose down jacket, and a toboggan. Basically, he picks up what ever is on top of the dirty clothes pile to wear while he feeds the horses. Until we rented our guest apartment last summer, his go-to outfit was underwear and boots. I figured the renters' two tween daughters would be scarred for life if they busted him in his drawers, so we had to make some changes. Sacrifices, man, sacrifices.
A couple of mornings ago, he came into the house after feeding wearing a light blue scrub shirt, red Speedo, and boots. I'm totally kidding. It was a red pair of swim shorts, not a Speedo. But the mental image made you smile. I saw you. While a scrub shirt, swimsuit, and boots was not one of his most creative outfits, it was definitely interesting. I immediately said, "Have you been playing Baywatch again? You were running down the beach, I mean the pasture, weren't you? I knew I heard cars honking on the interstate." He immediately gave me a demonstration, which caused me to break into song. "I'll be ready..."
The other night I was running a bath when my mom brain kicked in and I remembered something I had forgotten to tell him about the barrel race. I headed into the kitchen half dressed and proceeded to tell my not particularly important story. Teenage boy, I mean husband, stared at my chest and pretended to listen.
Me: So what do you think? Isn't that stupid?
Husband (out loud): Focus, focus. I'm sorry what? Were you speaking?
Me: Yes, I have a head!
Husband: Not right now, you don't.
See what I'm dealing with?  

Mr. Potato Potty

This is one for the "things I've seen that were so strange I just had to tell someone about it" file. During my travels, I have had the occasion to visit quite a few gas station bathrooms. While they gross me out like nothing else, and cause me to ask the question, "Why, WHY do my kids have to touch every surface in there? Can't they just go pee and not touch anything?" Ugh. Gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it, although I have to say that gas station bathrooms are far superior to Port-a-Potties. I mean, being shut up in a tiny, 100+ degree room with other people's feces is enough to make my slight OCD issue a major  OCD issue. Throw in my claustrophobia and the imminent danger of suffocation and you will see why I avoid Port-a-Potties like the plague.
But the other day I saw something I've never seen before. I even had to give it a name: Mr. Potato Potty. Okay, okay, fine. I admit it: my husband came up with the name. But it was only after my fantastic description. And, yes, I freely admit that I should have taken a picture with my cell phone. Dang that "mom brain!" Why didn't I think of that? Oh, yeah, because my kids suck my brain out of my ears in tiny pieces at night. I almost forgot. I promise to do it the next time we stop there and post it right here.
Anyway, we were on the way home from somewhere that required us to pass through Houston (MS, not Texas. Did you really think we drove to Texas with my three kids? What are you, nuts?) So I headed inside to the bathroom, and here's what I found. A toilet assembled from what can best be described as...spare parts. This pristine round toilet featured a non-matching oval seat. Gross, but not such a big deal, right? Although my daughter did learn the age old toilet rule yesterday: an oval seat on a round toilet will pinch the back of your leg if you aren't careful! After the wails of pain and agony coming from the bathroom, I'm pretty sure the whole restaurant thought I was beating her in there. Just waiting on CPS to show up today.
Anyway, my favorite, never-seen-it-before part was the tank. Instead of a tank lid (guess the junkyard didn't have one of those,) someone had carefully placed a white laminate shelf (stolen from a bookcase, perhaps?) And since it stuck out a little on both ends, why not use it to display three lovely plastic plants?
Wow. A spare parts toilet with foliage. Now that's something you don't see every day. Almost made it feel like you were at home. Or not. And since my husband and I had just been discussing things that we had as kids that our kids don't, like Mr. Potato Head, when I described the art project, I mean toilet, he immediately christened it "Mr. Potato Potty." Made me laugh so hard I had to pee. Again.     

Times Have Changed

I knew that my children's childhood would be different than mine. This morning it hit me just how different their childhood is going to be when the repairman at our home asked me for a phone book. As I left the room to get it, I heard my child ask him, "What's a phone book?" I guess she's never seen one before. If her dad or I need a phone number, we grab a smart phone or look it up online.
I've tried to explain to them before that when I was really small, there were only three channels. I can remember when we got cable. There were commercials, and you couldn't fast forward them. If you went to the bathroom and missed the most pivotal moment in "Days of Our Lives," you just missed it! (On a side note, I swear you can watch that show once every five years and totally keep up with what's going on. I knew Will Brady was gay before he did. And talk about some well-preserved people. Wow! I don't know if they have a makeup artist or a mortician on staff at that show!)
I remember when we got a VCR. Very few people actually knew how to program them, and if you did figure out how to set it and then forgot to leave the TV on the right channel, you STILL didn't get what you wanted! But hey, at the time that technology was freakin' amazing! Video cassette rental stores popped up on every corner, and you had better rewind that sucker before you took it back OR ELSE! It seemed like the new releases were never in stock, and you could even get a reduced price if you would agree to bring them back the next day.
I can vividly recall the first cell phone I ever saw. Anyone else remember the giant phone purses? It was the latest, greatest thing...if you were willing to carry a small duffel bag everywhere you went, and you happened to be close enough to one of the two cell phone towers in the state, there was a possibility you could make a call. My dad had one for work, which was considered a huge step up from the lowly pager. Over the years, the bag and the phone got smaller, and before long you could plug the phone into your car. That opened up a whole new world of possibilities! Incidentally, I also remember the first hardwired phone I ever saw in a car. My dad looked at a BMW with a phone...which was basically a house phone, curly cord and all!
Then there was the first cordless cell phone, a giant brick-like thing that got so hot you couldn't hold it after a few minutes. Many models later, when the first flip phones hit the market, we really did think we'd made it onto Star Trek! Now my phone does so much, I really don't think they should even call them phones. They're just computers that can make calls. And I love mine. Apparently I talk on it often, as my baby will now hold any object up to her head and walk through the house yelling, "Hello!"
The invention of cell phones also brought about the phenomenon of cell phone manners (or lack thereof.) When reception used to be really horrible, many people were convinced that if they simply talked LOUDER, the person on the other end could miraculously hear them. Always reminded me of a tin can telephone. Now they're even talking about letting people use cell phones during flights, which I think is a horrible idea. Can you imagine the racket in an area that small if everyone's on their phone having a different conversation? Then I really am going to have to get some of those sound proofing headphones. Oh, who am I kidding? Like I'm going to be flying anywhere any time soon! Bahahaha.
Anytime I start pondering on how much things have changed since I was a kid, I sit down and have a conversation with my 84 year old mother-in-law. Now SHE remembers when times were different! I mean really, we've got everything now but the hover boards and flying cars from "Back to the Future," and those can't be far behind. Then I can really make myself sound old. "I remember when cars didn't fly and smart phones only did 50 things instead of 500!" Yes, indeed, times have changed! 

House"work"

Am I the only one who didn't realize until they were older and got married just how much mothers do around the house? Working moms, stay at home moms, or stay in the road moms like me...it doesn't matter. Just moms. They do the crap that no one else wants to do. I mean really, how do you walk past the same mess forty-seven times and not feel the urge to clean it up? And don't let the cat/dog/hamster/add pet here crap on the floor. That will cause every other person in the house to lose their ability to smell and become temporarily blind. It's just like Jeff Foxworthy said, "Let's pretend we don't see it and let Mom clean it up!"
 Moms deal with vomit, snot, poop, spit, pee, and any other bodily fluid or function you can think of. I have one child who becomes nauseated by the smell of clean sheets. To the best of my knowledge, the only place she's ever puked is in her bed, typically around 3 AM. Dealing with sheets and a child covered in vomit while still half asleep definitely falls under my least favorite parts of parenthood. Add to that the fact that my husband and I are both sympathetic pukers and you can see why the words "stomach virus" strike fear in my heart like nothing else.
Moms clean toilets, sinks, showers, and the refrigerator. God bless those of you with sons. My husband is very neat and remembers to raise the seat. I can't imagine what the toilet looks like in a house full of little boys. Although I do have to say, I have a hard time figuring out just how my girls manage to defile the toilet in some of the places I have to clean. Athletic little turds!
Speaking of boys, I have a friend who once wrote a blog post about finding her boys' booger wall. I'm not sure if they were saving them for later or having a competition. I wanted to puke just reading about it. And do you know what she did? She laughed about it and then cleaned it up. Oh, and took pictures so she could share it with the world. Thanks, Kelly. Thanks a lot! Your booger wall made my girls' crayon drawings on the windows seem practically boring.
Moms clean sinks, drains, and bathtubs. My children don't seem to grasp the concept that if you bathe in a dirty tub, you STILL aren't clean when you get out. Don't get me started on bathroom counter tops. How do you spread toothpaste all over an entire vanity? I mean, that takes talent. And those expensive towels you hung there for decoration, those are to wipe your face on, right?
Moms do laundry. LOTS of laundry. Laundry is the one thing you can do every single day and never finish, which I find more than slightly depressing. My children are the Stain Masters. You just thought it was a brand of carpet. When it comes to stains, I'm not sure which ones are worse, the ones I can identify (and avoid touching) or the mystery stains. The possibilities there are infinite, especially if they've been to school. Moms sweep and vacuum. If you are anything like me, this often happens in the middle of the night. Before I had children, I used to wonder why my cousin cleaned house at 11 PM. Now I understand that it was because that's when she had time to do it! Cleaning house with small children is an exercise in futility.
Would you like to know why it always looks like a giant wandered through our home vomiting toys? It's because my kids can drag it out faster than I can clean it up. Sweeping my kitchen is fairly pointless when the short people are spreading out my pile before I can get it in the dustpan. When a visitor showed up unannounced, I used to apologize for the condition of my home and then spend the whole visit cleaning up. Now I assume that if they have eyes, they can see that we have three small children. Sometimes it looks like a toy bomb went off in here. Okay, okay, most of the time it looks like a toy bomb went off in here. If it doesn't, it's because my children are gone or asleep. Just wait a few minutes. The toys will come back. They always come back.

Things That Go "Bump" In The Night

Sleep is a very valuable commodity at my house. The ability to do it soundly is something that I gave up when I became a mother. My husband and I are like superheros: at the slightest sound from upstairs, we can be up and on our feet in seconds. A few nights ago, we were both sleeping as soundly as we are able when we were both startled out of our slumber by the same loud thud. It's not unusual for me to wake up in the middle of the night, but it takes something pretty impressive to wake him up.
I could feel my heart pounding in my chest while I tried to deduce where the sound had come from. Maybe it was a dream. No, that can't be right. It woke him up, too. Oh my gosh, what if there's someone in the house?!
Me: What was that?
Husband: I dunno.
Me: Well, did you hear it?
Husband: Am I awake? Yeah, I heard it!
Me: What if there's someone in the house?
Husband: The dogs didn't bark.
Me: That's really what you're going with? (He has a lot more faith in that pack of "watchdogs" than I do!)
I swear, if a burglar walked up on our porch, the Corgis would ask him for something to eat and the German Shepherd would show him where the key was. So after some more convincing, my big, strong, manly man of a husband stumbled out of bed and retrieved the pistol from the closet. "Stay there." Um, yeah, no problem.
After what seemed like hours, he came back to the bedroom and announced that the doors were all locked from inside, all of the children were safe in their beds, and he could find absolutely nothing to explain the crash. "And all of the dogs are still asleep on the porch." Oh, good. I feel so much better now!
When I heard him coming back downstairs all I could think was: gee, I hope the kids didn't wake up. I'm thinking that waking up to a man in your bedroom wearing his underwear and carrying a pistol is probably something you will need to discuss with your therapist at a later date.
Naturally, I had trouble going back to sleep. I spent hours going over potential causes for the crash in my head. Thunder? A picture falling off the wall? Pots and pans falling off the rack over the stove? A thief who had hidden himself from my husband and was still in the house? A dream? No, not a dream, stupid. You both woke up. So it had to be something. But what? It was going to drive me crazy until I figured it out.
Obviously, we all survived the night. The next morning, I walked into our bathroom...and found the culprit! I am slightly ashamed and more than a little amused that my husband pulled a gun on a TOWEL RING. Several weeks ago, I bought some really cool wrought iron towel rings with silver stars. Trying to get them even, I stuck them to the wall with those 3M Command picture hanging strips. My husband has been promising to screw them into the wall for me. Apparently the weight of my cool towel ring overwhelmed its Velcro attachment...at 3 o'clock in the morning. When considering possible causes for my terror, I have to admit that one wasn't even on the list. Nothing like things that go bump in the night!

It's the China

There are lots of things you think about when you become a parent. What will I do the same way my parents did? A fairly extensive list. What will I do differently? Sometimes a much longer list. One decision that I made early on was that I would be upfront with my kids about their bodies, how I felt about what they should or should not do with those bodies, and the proper anatomical names for body parts.
With veterinarians for parents, they have probably seen a whole lot more than most kids their age in the way of reproductive organs of various shapes and sizes. After watching their dad castrate a horse for the first time, I asked what they learned. My daughter looked at me and said, "That horse tentacles are gross and they come out of their butt!" I'm thinking we are going to need to revisit that topic at a later date. I mentioned once that a woman in our church had prayed for a baby and now she was expecting. My child immediately deduced that babies come from prayer and you won't get one unless you ask for it. Yet another topic that is going to require some further discussion.
I confess that I fully expected a call from the kindergarten teacher asking me to have my children refrain from sharing the proper names for body parts with their classmates, but fortunately it never came. We did get more than we bargained for regarding our girls' education this year. The second day of school we learned that little boys pee standing up (and don't know how to lock the door on the class bathroom.) Thank you, Mississippi public education system.
I have had multiple conversations with the girls about what the parts of their bodies are called (not a big deal) and why those parts look different when we are adults (a less comfortable, but necessary conversation.) Ever tried to explain stretch marks to a five year old?
The other night the girls were in the bathtub with their baby sister. Now that she's old enough to defend herself, at least partially, she loves nothing more than to take a bath with the big girls. Naturally, the bathtub is where we have most of our discussions about anatomy. For instance, during a bath I was informed that "little boys and mans have a kenis, Mom, and that's why they can pee standing up!" Thanks for letting me know.
A few nights ago, as the three of them were sitting in the tub, the following conversation took place.
Sister 1: Look at the baby's little tiny brown breasts! Aren't they cute?
Sister 2: They are! I think that's what makes girls different from boys.
Sister 1: What is? Breasts?
Sister 2: No, that's not right. Mans have those, too. So what is it?
Sister 1: It's the china! That's what makes them different. Girls have a CHINA! That's what makes them different from boys, right, Daddy?
Daddy: Sure. That sounds right to me!
So between the kenis, the tentacles, and the china I guess they were sort of listening when we went over the body parts. I must say, girls, in my life I've heard it called a lot of things, but never a "china." Just can't wait for the sex talk. That one should be a doozy!