Friday, December 03, 2010


Some weeks, it's like Animal House around here.

One morning this week, I woke to a half-naked Fiona peering into Owen's crib, saying, "Owen. Owen. Owen" and Owen clapping his hands and laughing. My morning prayer was, "Please God, don't let there be poop on the floor." That's a good prayer for every morning, you know?

One day this week, I looked around and saw three shoes with their match nowhere in sight, several pairs of socks, a pile of discarded and soiled clothes and several utensils on the kitchen and living room floors. My prayer was for the laundry fairy to come to at least collect it all in one place so I wouldn't find dirty underwear under the steps when company is over.

Most days this week, I've had to wipe my feet on the back door mat after walking through my kitchen. My prayer was "Please God don't let my 7 month old eat anything off the floor." I had already spotted a piece of a paper wrapper and an apple seed in his diaper this week.

Another day this week, I very carefully plucked a half-naked Fiona from the recliner with a piece of poop hanging from her bum. Bum over head, I carried her to the bathroom, plunked her on the pot and shook her a bit to loosen the, ahem, dingleberry. Technically, it was her first poop in the potty. So hooray for that. A few hours later, however, I was scooping stray pieces of poop of our bedroom floor. My prayer was "I guess that's a 'Not today' on the poop on the floor request?"

Yet another day this week, I returned to the kitchen after putting Owie down for a nap to find two kids throwing potatoes. There were milk-soaked Cheerios all over the floor. Danny's response as he's about to hurl a potato across the kitchen?

I'm cleaning up. Oh, you will be, my child, you will be.

Later that day ...
Ouch. I just stubbed my toe on a Cheerios.  As it turns out, when wet Cheerios dry up, they stick to the floor (and the cabinets and the wall.) And, daggone, it actually hurt!

And speaking of daggone ...

My daddy says daggone it, Danny informed the mother of one of his classmates as we were walking into preschool the other day. Boy, did we luck out. He could have told her what mommy says.

Damn, Danny says.
Danny, that's not a word we should say. 
I'm talking about a beaver dam. That's right, he says.

You can open one present on your birthday, Danny.
What is it?
It's a surprise.
Is it gum?

You'll be okay, Owie. There's a whole in [the Cheerios], Jim says. Owie was coughing up a Cheerios. Poor third child ... next we'll teach him how to heimlech himself.

No, Owie, stop that, Fiona tells him after he pulls her hair from behind in the bathtub.

Owie's pulling up on things now, I tell my sister.

 I reject your reality and substitute my own, my incredulous sister replies.
Oh, can we really do that? In that case, my new reality is the one where I get plenty of sleep and a pedicure once a week. Instead, my reality is a 7 month old who is trying to climb stairs. Crap.

I pretty much think any singer who's had panties thrown on stage at them should not be singing Christmas songs, I tell Jim, who had just described hearing Neil Diamond singing Away in a Manger. 
 Not songs about baby Jesus anyway, he said.

Danny, Santa is the only person in the world who it's okay to ask for something when you first meet them, Jim tells Danny. We had just talked to Santa Claus on our Santa Train ride. 

Have a great weekend.

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