Poor Mommy...

Oh Poor Mommy...

So I'm standing at the sink washing dishes from dinner.  I watch the cat scamper by into the laundry room where her food and water are (up high of course.)  I watch Brayden toddle into the laundry room.  I scan through my brain of what if's.  I really don't think there's anything in there within his reach that could be a problem.  I remain at the sink washing dishes.  Suddenly I hear a thump, a giggle and a very loud screech.  I shut off the water and race into the laundry room to find Brayden (my sweet, innocent (giggle) 2 1/2 year old) grasping the cat around the tummy and spinning her around with glee (his only of course).  I yell in my oh so patient voice, "BRAYDEN!!  Stop!  You're hurting the cat!"  I pry her from his grasp and he protests loudly.  "Poor kitty," I say.  To which he reaches out and swings his fist at the cat.  That's it, my mommy "I've had enough" button has been pressed.  "Let's go Mister," I say, "you're going to time out!"  I hold his little fist and drag him very unwillingly to the time out chair.  He sits and pouts and glares at me.  I very dutifully as any good Mommy does, set the timer to two and a half minutes.

He sits, and sits, and sits.  When the timer goes off I walk over to him, squat down to get eye to eye with my sweet baby and say, "Brayden, do you know why you're in Time Out?"  "Yeth," he replies.  "What did you do?"  "I thwung the cat and huwt her."  "Yes you did."  As I am having this conversation with my toddler, the cat comes walking by and rubs her face against my leg in gratitude.  I look at him and then at the cat and I say, "Brayden you need to tell Coral that you're very sorry."  He glances at me in confusion and shakes his head.  "Yes, Brayden," I say patiently, "when you hurt someone, you have to say you're sorry."

He glances up at me, takes his tiny hand and pats my arm ever so gently and shakes his head so seriously.  "Mommy," he says very patiently as if talking to a child who doesn't understand and giving me direct eye contact, (pat, pat, pat).  "Mommy, Cowal is a keecat.  Keecats don't tawk." 

I quickly place my face down towards my shirt trying desperately to hide my smirk.  Oh this kid is gonna kill me, I think to myself.  However, after much insistence on my part,  Brayden finally stands up from the timeout chair and walks over to Coral squats down eye to eye with her and says, "Cowal, I'm sowwy I huwt you" and pats her head.  He then looks at me as if to say, "There crazy lady.  I did what you asked, even though the cat doesn't talk!"

Mission Accomplished.  Phew!  Till next time...

Mohawks...

Mohawks...

If you work with me or know me to any extent, you see this word and instantly cringe.  I know I do. 

Potty training is so not my favorite thing to do.  But, I'm doing it for the third time.  Brayden in all of his obstinence is by far the most challenging of the the three.  On this fine Sunday afternoon, with church successfully attended, lunch eaten and cleaned up, laundry almost done, the house picked up...I'm beginning to get giddy about the possibility of taking a nap. 

I notice a slight clench in my stomach and the sweat breaking out on my brow.  Hmmm, I ponder.  My older two children had a stomach bug over the past two days.  I've managed, as usual, to avoid it, Thank God!  But the sweat has me worried. 

Brayden looks up from his block tower demolition session and announces, "Mommy!!!!  I need to potty!"  "Yay!" I scream, more so that he's actually recognized it and told me before I figured it out on my own.  I take his hand and run him to the bathroom.  As I enter, my stomach reaches out to me and takes hold of my shirt collar and says, "Listen Lady, I've been warning you!  But you never listen!!!"  I double over in pain.  Oh my gosh!  I think.  My husband is at Home Depot.  I yell for my older two kids.  "Camden, Allison, come quick, I need you!!"  "Coming" they yell in unison.  My daughter is the first to appear.  "I'm sick I say, can you please just sit in here with Brayden until I get back.  I just need a minute."  My son meanders down the hall and listens.  "You don't have to wipe him or anything, just sit here and watch him.  I'll be right back," I yell as I run to my bathroom. 

Head in my hands, I rerun the images in my head.  I used gloves, bleach, etc...  I washed my hands.  I can't believe I got this!  Ugh!  Just as I resign myself to the fact that nausea is going to accompany this bug, but I can make it 24 hours, my little guy from guest bathroom yells, "Mooommmmy, I'm dooonnnneeee!"  "Okay," I yell back, "I'll be right there."  Then it hits me, if his brother and sister are sitting in there with him, why is he yelling to me?  "No," I think, I told them they didn't have to wipe him, just sit there, so that's why he's yelling. 

I walk back into the hall and before I see anything, I notice the smell.  It's bad, really bad.  I glance at the floor and realize that I don't see any feet sticking out of the doorway of the bathroom.  "No," I think to myself.  As I come around the doorway, I finally see....  Oh yes, see....  My beautiful Mediterranean yellow bathroom with the explosion of Hobby Lobby items on each wall, is now covered, yes I said COVERED from floor to ceiling, wall to wall....POOP!  Not only has he flung it monkey style all over the bathroom, the walls that he could reach from where he was sitting have swirls and designs created in true toddler finger painting style. 

Once he realized that he didn't really like having poop all over his hands, he decides to get it off.  I can see where he's wiped his hands on the toilet, the sink, the toilet paper dispenser, the magazine rack and finally in true desperation to rid his tiny fingers of the offensive substance, he has taken his hands and starting at the base of his ears, rubbed his hands up the sides of his head repeatedly, essentially creating a poop MOHAWK! 

My heart sinks, my nose protests, my stomach clenches and tears threaten the sides of my eyes.  Our eyes meet, temporarily, then he looks down at the floor refusing to meet my stare again. 

"Camden, Allison," I yell.  "Coming!" they both say, yet again.  I step back from the bathroom door and meet them in the hall.  "Do you remember when I asked you to just sit with your brother?"  "Yes," they say, not meeting my eyes.  "Where did you go?" I ask.  "There's a new Disney show on," my daughter rationalizes with me.  "Oh," I say.  "Do you know what happens when you leave a two year old unattended on the potty?" I ask.  "Ugh," she cringes.  "No, but I bet you're going to tell us."  ( I don't know where she gets her wit. LOL)

I invite them both into the bathroom, which might not have been the best decision in retrospect.  Allison, poor weak stomached Allison begins to dry heave.  Oh great, I think vomit too??!! Really?  Camden my 12 year old, steps back into the kitchen and emerges with two sets of large rubber gloves.  "Go sit down Mom," he says bravely.  "You're sick, we've got this."  I shock myself and laugh quickly and shortly and maybe a little maniacally. 

"We'll get him to the bath and then we'll do the bathroom."  "No," I say, "but you can get him to the bath while I clean the bathroom."  They each pull on their, shoulder to fingertip rubber gloves.  Camden grabs Brayden under the arms and Allison grabs his feet.  They carry him to the uncapped drain tub and place him in to the warm running water.  "Don't forget his ears," I call.  Allison heaves yet again, but completes the job.

I fill up my bucket of bleach water and paper towels and spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing every tiny inch of the guest bath.

I despise Mohawks!!

Snow!!

My children sure do get creative on Sundays. 

I am folding laundry on the couch as I listen to my children play upstairs.  Power Rangers have nothing on them.  I smile to myself.  Sooo cute.

I grasp Brayden's stack of clothes and begin the trek up the stairs to put his clothes away.  As I arrive at the top of the stairs, my eyes are drawn to the billowing cloud erupting my my toddler's room.  Oh my gosh! I think as I race down the hall.  Turning at the door, I cough and sputter as I am met with another huge billow.

My eyes catch the hot wheels track with cars stuck in their tracks in the thick white piles.  Lincoln log houses are "snowed in".  There's not a tan or blue patch in the room to be seen.  Everything is covered in WHITE. 

Brayden stops his gleeful shaking of the economy sized Baby Powder container and looks at me with dread.  Removing it from his hands, I carry him out into the hall to force clean air into his lungs and mine.  "It was snowing, Mommy," he says.  Isn't it pwetty?"

He helped me vacuum that day and then I sent my husband to Walmart to find me a new vacuum, because for some reason, the filter and all components of our current vacuum no longer functioned.

The Talk...

Going back in time....

I am pregnant with my third and last child.  My son is ten and my daughter is seven.  She has asked me countless times how the baby got in my tummy and how it was going to get out.  I have assured her that God put the baby in and when it's time, the Dr. will open up this magic hole in mommy's body and take the baby out.  At her age, I can only hope that magic lasts for a while.

On this fateful day in August, after picking her up from after school care and driving to my son's campus to pick him up, she says, "Mommy, I'm going to ask you a question and I need the real answer."  I freeze.  "Oh no," I think.  She's been talking to someone at school.  "Okay," I say.  "Go ahead and ask and I'll give you the real answer."  "Is the magic hole where the baby comes out in your privates?"  Oh God, I sigh.  "Yes honey, it's in my private area."  "I knew it," she says triumphantly!  "Do you have any other questions," I probe hoping to find out what else she was told.  "No," she says, "that's all." 

"OK.  Now Allison, because we're discussing privates, I want you to know this is a private conversation that you don't need to go tell everyone at school."  I hope to save any other child who doesn't know this little tidbit from finding out from Allison.

"I understand," she says, thrilled that I've let her in on some deep dark secret that I trust her not to share.  I can see her shoulders sitting erect and her satisfied face staring out the window.

I pull up to my son's school and he sees me.  He runs to the car, hops in, buckles his seat belt and says, "Hi Mom."  "Hi buddy," I say, "How was your day?"  He smiles.  "Fun," he says.  Allison looks over at her brother with a huge smile on her face and says, "Right Mom, we know something that we can't tell Bubba!"  "Allison, that's not very nice."  "Well, you said it was private."  "Yes, honey but you don't announce to someone that you know something private that they can't know.  That's not nice."  "Oh," she says scowling. 

I turn out of the school parking lot and head onto the street.  I turn the radio down almost off.  "Camden, Allison had some questions about how the baby was going to come out and I answered them.  Do you have any questions?"  He gives me a horrified expression and stares at me.  "Yes," he says adamantly. 

"Ok," I say  steadying myself for his much older, more mature question. 

"Can you turn the radio back up?" he asks.  Ha ha ha....I laugh internally.  "Yes," I say, instantly calmed that I can procrastinate "the Talk" just a little longer.

Sweet Boy

Brad has the kids contained.  I'm steeping in my hot steamy bathtub.  I think I'm in heaven as I close my eyes and lean back against the tub. 

I hear the door to the bathroom jiggle then pop open.  "Go back to Daddy," I say without opening my eyes.  No response comes.  "Go!" I say a little more forcefully.  I open my eyes to see the stripey, furry tail of Coral the cat bobbing along the side of  my tub.  I sigh.  "You need a break too?" I ask smiling.  She leaps onto the side of the tub and purrs as she begins licking her fur.  I close my eyes again.

I hear the door pop open again only this time is bangs noisily against the wall.  My eyes pop open to find Bradyen standing at the side of the tub with a smile.  "Hi Mommy," he says, "what are you doing?"  "Bathing," I say quietly.  Coral begins to meow noisily.  She flattens her ears and glares.  I laugh.  Brayden dips his hand into my bath water and then pets Coral with it on the head, leaving drops of water dripping down her nose.  She meows again noisily flattening her ears even further, I laugh.  She meows.  "I know girl," I say.  "You're such a patient cat."  Brayden says, "Mommy why is she meowing?"  "She's talking to me," I respond.  "That's how kitties talk.  They meow." 

"I wonder what she's saying," I say to Brayden.  He smiles sweetly at me, and as if to make up for all of the things he's done in his short three years on this planet, he says, "I know what she's saying Mommy.  She's saying that you're beautiful."

My heart melts, my lips smile.  With that he turns around and says, "I'm going back to Daddy now Mommy.  Don't forget to wash your hiney."

I laugh, close my eyes, apologize to the cat and lean back to enjoy my bath.

Thinking...

We are all alone, Brayden and I.  Daddy has taken the two older kids to the ranch for some hunting time.  Brayden and I have spent the day at the park, playing and trying our best to wear the kid out.

We stop for dinner and as the sun begins to set, we head home.  Bath time extends into the early night hours and Mommy appears to be way more worn out than Brayden.  As exhaustion sets in, I find solace in Netflix.  "What would you like to watch Brayden?" I ask as I scroll through the many many icons.  Brayden doesn't answer.  "Brayden, what do you want to watch?  Barney?  Power Rangers?  Bob the Buildier?  Go Diego Go?"  Again, silence from Brayden.  I turn exasperated towards him, "Brayden!"  He sits on the couch, tapping his chin with his finger.  "What...do....you...want...to....watch?"  "Mooommmmyyyy," he says back to me in his exasperated tone.  "I'm....thinking....with....my....face!!!!"

I pick the first movie closest to my mouse, lay back in the floor and close my eyes.

pièce de résistance

pièce de résistance...

Through many artistic creations, Brayden accomplished the ultimate!

I am making stew.  The smell of the simmering "comfort in a pot" wafts throughout the house.  It used to give me that peaceful, easy feeling.....no longer.

My husband is watching the bloopers from American Idol on TV and laughing hysterically.  "You have to see this," he shouts from the living room.  I spoon a heaping serving of steaming hot stew into my bowl and set it on the counter to cool.  Brayden is sitting sweetly at the refrigerator creating words with his Word Wammer.  I step around the wall to the living room and watch one short clip of self inflicted nationally aired humiliation.  Camden gets up to go make himself a bowl of stew.  Very calmly he says, "Mom, where are the paper towels?"  "They're on the roll, I say."  "Yes, but I need more."  "More?" I question.  "Why?"  "Ummm," he stalls. I begin to head back into the kitchen.  "No Mom," he says trying to stop me from entering the kitchen.  "Just tell me where the paper towels are and then go sit with dad."  I eye him suspiciously and walk past him into the kitchen.

I see Brayden's tiny feet below the open refrigerator door.  "You need to close that door, Brayden and get out of the refrigerator."  "Ok," he says.  As I look closer I see that near his feet are two shiny wet yellow egg yolks broken and oozing between his toes.  "Oh, Brayden," I sigh.  I walk around the island and see what can only be called the pièce de résistance.  He has taken an 18 pack of raw eggs and pelted the kitchen cabinets, the underside of the island, the inside of the refrigerator, inside the drawers, the pantry door, the wall, and every other surface that he could reach with raw eggs.  The eggs that happened to land with a whole yolk, he joyfully stomped on it so that yellow protein splattered into every nook and cranny of my kitchen.

"Oh my Gosh!!!"  I yelled!  My son tries to diffuse the situation.  I say, "Please just go put him in the bath while I clean this up."  My husband comes to investigate.  "I'll get him cleaned up," he says.  I spend the next hour bleaching my kitchen from top to bottom.  Brayden runs into the kitchen with his pj's on and his hair smelling of baby shampoo.  He's lucky he's so cute!  "I'm sowwy," he says with my husband standing behind him with his hands on his hips.  "I know buddy." 

I strip off my yellow rubber gloves and place them into the sink.  I grab my cold gelatinous bowl of stew and sit down wearily at the table to eat.  I pause as I hear tiny footsteps upstairs.  I scroll through the reasons that he may be upstairs.  Bed, I conclude.  Daddy is making him go to bed early.  Phew.  But then I hear it.  My husband's chuckle from the living room.  "Brad," I call...."is Brayden upstairs by himself?"  "Ummm," he ponders.  "I'll get him," he says. 

The tiny footsteps get louder and then all is suspiciously silent.  I hear large footsteps coming down the stairs.  Brad stands in the kitchen door holding Brayden under the arm pits.  He's dripping with white goop.  "What did he do?" I ask slowly.  "He wanted conditioner in his hair," Brad said as he dripped white goo from his toes.  "Oh God," I sigh.  "It's allllll over the bathroom," Brad says.  I sigh again.  "No, Daddy," Brayden corrects him.  "I cleaned it up."  "Oh yes," he says "and he used the toilet brush to clean it up."

Oh God, I sigh.  "I'll get him cleaned up," my husband sighs and heads to the tub.  I grab my gloves, bucket, bleach and head upstairs.

Yes, pièce de résistance is what I would call that.

I didn't have the strong mental health to be able to laugh and take a pic, so here's the one he made the following day.