Monthly Archives: April 2011

Reasons Why I Can’t Go Hide in a Closet Somewhere for the Next 10 Years

  1. My family might start to wonder, “Where the heck is that lady that makes the most delicious Pizza Rolls EVER?” 
  1. No one else would ever remember to check the front and back doors to make sure they are locked.  They would be happy letting the boogie man in for ice cream and movies every night.
  1. No one can get the tangles out of Marissa’s hair like I can.
  1. Jadon would not have Mommy’s shirt to wipe his snotty nose on, and he would therefore be forced to use (gasp!) a tissue.
  1. Jordan’s pants would remain full of sand at all times, and I’m pretty sure that would start to chafe.
  1. No one else believes that Micaela runs into the weekly misfortune of breaking her school binder.  I’m sort of wrapped around her finger, so see, she needs me.  For the binders.
  1. Who else if going to get poop balls out of the dryer?
So it’s for these reasons—and many more—that I heft myself onto my two feet and continue to trudge forward.

Oh So Literal

After dropping the girls off at practice yesterday, the boys and I picked up their new prescriptions—because, as it turns out, green snot running down to your lips isn’t normal—and we returned home.
Upon walking in the door, Dumb Mommy says to her ever-so-literal little boys, “Let’s all go potty now.”
It really was a fine idea in theory.  Jadon headed for the downstairs bathroom to take care of business, and Jordan stood in the hallway and peed down his leg.
Um.  Yeah.  Maybe I should have explained myself further.  I meant go potty in the toilet, kid, not just let it all loose wherever you happen to be standing.
So I mopped.
Then I gave them their medicine.  Jordan took his dutifully—but then again, he’s pretty used to his meds in the evening, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.  Mr. OhYesDoctorI’mBig! went to take his medicine, which was ground up in peanut butter, and barfed it right back up onto the floor.  Along with the entirely-consumed Happy Meal from just a half hour before.  This included the pickle, which I have to say is the nastiest thing I have seen in a long, long while.
So I mopped.
And as soon as I finished mopping, Jordan and Evil Dr. Porkchop did a Kamikaze fly-by of the table, and Dr. Porkchop’s fat ass knocked over an entire glass of chocolate milk.  Onto the floor.
So I mopped.
And, so help me God, if my husband asks me why the floor’s sticky when he gets home, my eyeballs might pop right out of my head.

A Letter to Our Pediatrician

Dear Doctor,
I would like to thank you for allowing my boys the time to explore your very small exam room so thoroughly yesterday afternoon.  Although they truly enjoyed their Extreme Exam Room Makeover session, I feel I must warn you that you might have difficulty in locating your stethoscope in the near future.  In an effort to simplify your search, I believe it might be stuffed somewhere inside the table, along with the foot stirrups I was so creatively able to explain as foot-checkers.
 Also, while the 6” long Q-tips were very interesting to look at, I must admit, they are quite difficult to remove from 4-year-old ear and nasal cavities, so I would like to suggest that maybe such items be placed out of the reach of little people.
I would also like to offer my thanks for the very lengthy and informative details you were able to give regarding their newly acquired prescriptions.  I’m not sure whether you noticed the small child that was head-diving from the exam table, but that is the one that has ATTENTION.SPAN.ISSUES.  While I tried to maintain an interested look on my face while you were explaining the new meds, I was really just thinking, “Good God, man, hand over the prescriptions already so I can peel my child off the ceiling!”
This is also a fine opportunity to mention that the boys did not care for their new medication.  Although substantial in size, the meds seemed more appropriate for, oh say…a 4-year-old HORSE.  Those things are huge!  I have seen smaller hard-boiled eggs, for God’s sake, yet you sent me off to the pharmacy to pick up this prescription like the oblivious and foolhardy parent that I apparently am.
After thinking about how to administer the time-capsule-sized tablets (and discarding the idea of suppository-style dosing), I deduced that I should crush them and mix them with peanut butter, as this is the preferred method for one of the boys already.  And that worked quite handily for one.  However, you’ll remember that there were two boys in your office yesterday.
It’s the second boy I would like to talk about for a moment.  As you may (or clearly, may not) recall, he has a horrific gag reflex.  While I am not complaining, I would like to let you know that when mixing this pill, peanut butter, and a previously-consumed Happy Meal, the result is a train-load full of kid barf and the need for ultra-absorbent mop heads.
I would like to suggest that in the future you prescribe the boys’ medication in the form of a Reese’s peanut butter egg, preferably with no aftertaste or pesky medicine chunks to taint its perfect consistency.  The gagger would much prefer medication that is, in fact, nothing remotely similar to actual medication.
In conclusion, I hope we can schedule another meeting in the near future, and next time I will plan on bringing nap cots for the boys and a small dose of Valium for myself.
Yours truly,
Medicated Mama

A Brief Conversation

Mommy:  You boys are making me mad.

Jadon:  We makin’ you mad?  (Cue big, brown eyes that make it almost impossible to get mad at him.)

Mommy:  Yes, you guys are starting to make me mad.

Jadon:  You almost there?

Mommy:  Ummm…(confused pause as I consider the actual destination of “mad”)  Sure, yeah, I’m almost there.

Jadon:  You fru-ter-ated?

Mommy:  Maybe a little.  (But really thinking Not sure I could get much more #$%$^^ frustrated than this.)

Jadon:  Oh, ok.  Wuff you, Mommy.  Can we watch more SpongeBob?

Seriously, kid!  I’m trying to be mad over here.  How can I get mad at that?

Eau de Poo

You know how the Bounce fabric softener folks fairly recently came out with the long-lasting thingie that sticks to the inside of your dryer?  I think I know how they happened upon that brilliant idea.  Or maybe my discovery is a sort of backwards way of getting to it, but nonetheless…
Yesterday was a big laundry day.  Huge.  Epic piles of laundry were systematically filtered through the system to ensure that every little Stahl had clean-smelling garments to get through the upcoming week.  And things were going smoothly.  Until…
That pesky little word always finds a way to insert itself into perfectly seamless moments, doesn’t it?  “Until…”  It’s always followed by stories of doom and near-apocalypse.  And this remained true yesterday.
Let me just say that Mommy was not-so-pleasantly surprised by the appearance of a gooey brown mass adhered ever-so-stickily to the inside of the dryer wall.  It seems that a certain 13-year-old babysitter (who shall remain nameless) thought the best course of action—after her little brother pooped his pants—was to throw the entire mess into the laundry bin, thereby effectively removing any and all unpleasantness from her babysitting duties.
Now, me being a reasonable human being, I thought I was safe in assuming there would not be a load of fresh boy-dung in the laundry pile.  So I hefted an armload into the washer and started the load that will heretofore be known as the steaming-load-from-hell.
Nothing seemed amiss throughout the wash cycle.  Which is most likely how the entire load of now-crap-coated laundry made it into the dryer.  And it wasn’t until about 10 minutes into the drying cycle that the entire upstairs of our house started smelling like a horse stall.
“Hmmm,” I said to myself.  “Something smells suspiciously like @#$#%!”
So I opened the dryer and inspected every stitch of clothing.  Every article smelled foul, but I couldn’t locate the source of the foulness.  It wasn’t until I emptied the entire dryer full of wet, steamy, poo-smelling clothes into a basket and poked my head into the dryer for a closer inspection that I saw the large baseball-sized mound of poo-putty that was firmly adhered to the inside of the dryer wall.  (My children learned new words yesterday, that I later told them should not be repeated at school or on the playground.)
So I think this must have happened to the person who invented the stick-‘em-to-the-dryer-wall Bounce things—except, hopefully for them, the item that got stuck in the dryer was better smelling than my little surprise.
Needless to say, Mommy conducted a “Do Not Make Your Problem My Problem” seminar from the laundry room door yesterday.  Heads hung in shame, and I’m pretty sure I saw Jason almost laugh.  But he was wise enough to keep that bottled up inside.

Parental Love

This can be defined in so many different ways.  But I’m pretty sure today sums it up pretty nicely.

When you forget to take underwear to the gym and end up going commando all day long BUT remember to leave a pick-me-up note for your daughter before school, then that’s love.  There are priorities in life, and evidently underwear is not one of them.

(And if my friends and family are reading this, I’m very sorry to have traumatized you with this mental image.)

Played

The child who usually wakes in fearful fits of eardrum-bursting, high-pitched wails of desperation whenever he hears a leaf blow across the yard after bedtime just slept through the first big storm of springtime.
We’re talking hail the size of golf balls flinging itself in a wild frenzy into the sides of our house, the windows, everything.  We’re talking lightning streaking the sky and lighting up everything like it’s daylight.  We’re talking parents whispering things like, “Oh crap, that’s gonna wake him up” as we tiptoe around the house trying not to add to the cacophony already waking up kids all across the city.
Um, yeah.  Señor Jadon slept right through it.  Right.  Through.  It.
We were already prepared to make a soft bed of blankets on our floor, waiting for him to set of his fire-siren wail.  But there was no wail.
My first thought was Oh, my Gawd, someone has kidnapped our child!  The one who is terrified of hopping grasshoppers and farting frogs and any other such horrendous noise-making creatures of the night!  But nope.  Nope, there he was, all snuggled in his little bed, snoring away.
Which made me think that all these nights of terrified screams and soft blankets on the floor and calming his fears have been nothing but a sham.  That kid is not as scared as he would have us believe.  My friends, I think we have been played.
We have been conned by a master con artist masquerading as a sweet, innocent 4-year-old boy.  Score 1 point for Jadon, but just to be clear, we are onto his little game now.  Oh yes, we will be fooled no more.  Well, okay, we probably will, but for today, I am putting my foot down.