Fixitmommy’s Weblog

The Little One is a scavenger, a*hem, I mean explorer. She will find the smallest piece of trash, dirt, grass, thread, fuzz, or food and put it in her mouth. Yes at 15 months old, she is still very much in the oral stage.

I’ve tried to be very aware of her treasure hunts and celebrate each time she turns the treasure over to me before putting it in her mouth. I hope to train her that it’s way more fun to hand over whatever it is that she finds to me versus trying to eat it.

So this afternoon I saw her zero in on her prey and got down on the floor with her to try and figure out what it was that she was so intrigued by. I had seen her searching the area before, but figured she couldn’t get to whatever it was so I let her explore.

But this afternoon she seemed more determined than ever.

She wasn’t giving up easy. What was she after? {Notice the graham cracker she is already munching on. Did I mention she is a bottomless pit? The kid could eat for 24 straight hours and still want more.}

Ahhhh…. the elusive Cheerio. She doesn’t eat enough of these during the day. She had to have this one.

She finally went in for the kill:

And finally victorious… and eating her prey.

I have no idea how long the Cheerio had been under the refrigerator, but she worked so hard for it, I had to let her keep it.

So the Big One has been potty trained for the last couple months (for the most part). She has never gotten up in the middle of the night to pee. She always waits until the morning and never has a problem doing it.

Last night, the Husband’s grandpa stopped at our house in the midst of a crazy few days of projects up near our neck of the woods. So at about 2 a.m. I hear, “I have to go potty…. I have to go potty.” A bit annoyed I got out of bed to see the Big One and her great-grandpa passing like ships in the night through the bathroom door.

Poor grandpa is 83 years old and just had to pee. For whatever reason, the Big One had to pee at precisely the same time. I’m not sure he even heard me coming, he was trying to hard to get out of her way. She made it fine to the potty and all is fine. But seriously what are the odds that she would have to get up last night to pee at the exact same time as her great-grandpa?

I imagine she heard him get up and it triggered the pee reaction.

So it begs the question… {my version of the chicken and egg quandary} do you wake up because you have to pee or do you have to pee because you woke up?

Oh how I remember the first time the Big One called me “Mommy.” My heart skipped a beat that first time. I got all warm and mushy inside and just gushed with pride at this little creature and the fact that she called me “Mommy.”

You see I used to think “Mommy” was just a wonderful term of endearment. It meant she thought I was the greatest person ever. I could fix anything (hence the title of this here blog). I could make anything better. I could make the best treats and snacks, play the best games, do the best Dora impersonation and make generally everything bad go away.

Now I know that Mommy is merely the word that flows the easiest off of her little tongue no matter what the occasion. If she is hurt, tired, happy, sad, cranky, grumpy, angry, or just plain bored, “Mommy” is the first word that comes out of her mouth.

I suppose it’s better than some words that could come tumbling out of her mouth. I just wish for once that when she pooped in her pants, puked in her bed, bumped her head or scraped her knee that “Daddy!” would be the first word she said.

Who am I kidding? I would probably cry if {when} it happens. But this morning when she had been awake all of 10 minutes and I had heard varying forms of “Mommy” at least 100 times, I wished that Daddy was home to take the brunt of whatever she was whining/crying/screaming/laughing about.

… When the middle of the night pukies begin. UGH! Why-oh-why-oh-why do kids puke in their beds. Why can’t they be dignified enough to get to the bathroom and do it in the toilet?

I hate cleaning up the puked on bed, while listening to the whimpering child in the bathroom, crying “I don’t wanna be sick…. I don’t wanna be sick.”

I hate trying to calm a puking kid down when all I really want to do is crawl back in bed and pretend that she belongs to someone else.

I hate running the bathtub in the middle of the night to clean said puke off of the sick child.

I hate my washing machine’s agitator. C’mon one twin flat sheet, one twin fitted sheet and one twin mattress pad should not be enough to throw the whole sense of balance off on the dumb machine. {or it should be enough to maintain enough balance in the dumb thing, depending on how you look at the problem… was the washer too full or too empty? Really who cares, it was 2 a.m.}

I hate the feeling of helplessness as I listen to her whimper quietly, “Mommy, I don’t wike being sick.”

I hate trying to calm down the Big One once she has been cleaned off and there is nothing left in her system to expel. And now she feels great and thinks it’s time to play. Again, it was 2 a.m.

I hate lying in bed once I’ve finally gotten the Big One back in bed, and waiting anxiously to see if she is going to puke again or if she will drift off to sleep.

Yes, it was just another exciting Friday night at our house. The Husband is still out of town, so yes, I blame him!

After two (plus) weeks with the Parental Unit, I was relieved to finally be home. I love the parents and I know the girls love being with them and visiting the rest of the family, but it just wears me out.

At home both girls sleep relatively well. They certainly don’t scream all night long or cry when they are put to bed. Yet at grandma and grandpa’s house these are regular occurrences. Of course, my mom doesn’t believe that they don’t act like that at home.

In addition to not sleeping well on their couch, I also struggle with the fear that the screaming and fussing will disturb my parent’s sleep. As a result I am hesitant to let the Little One “work it out” on her own. The problem is if you go in to try and calm her down, she become hysterical when you leave her.

My other challenge being at their house is that as soon as the Big One or Little One makes the slightest peep or indication that they may not be in a deep sleep, my mom or my niece are quick to “rescue” them. I, on the other hand, am more content waiting to see if they are actually ready to wake up or not. Quite often, they are not ready, yet when Grandma or Niki opens the door they get up anyway.

One of my biggest “rules” is if they wake up crying, I try to leave them alone for a bit to see if they go back to sleep or work out whatever they are crying about. I know that if I get a crying kid out of bed, chances are it will be a very, very, very long day.

So as I lie in bed listening to both girls fuss yesterday I began to think about the wonderful tools that I have at home to get me through it. {that is, the tricks I use to drown out the noise so I can rest a bit more!}

White noise machine ~ Oh how I love to listen to the waves crash gently on the shore. I am adjusting to the seagulls squawking {I must have gotten the cheap version of the waves track. Yes the seagulls have woken both the Husband and I up from a deep sleep with the feeling of being under attack by birds.}

Air conditioner ~ Our A/C unit is in the attic and is located in the portion of the attic at the end of the hall closer to the girls’ rooms. So when that sucker kicks on, it does wonders to cut down on whiney children noise.

Shower~ When they are really loud and fussy, I can retreat to my shower. In addition to loving being in the shower and getting clean to feel refreshed and ready for the day, the noise from the water and especially washing my hair can make me sometimes even forget that I have children. Ahhhhhhh, bliss.

Downstairs ~ Going downstairs is a wonderful trick to escape the noise without really escaping. I merely go downstairs, turn the baby monitor off and enjoy the silence.

I know there are others. What tricks do you use to drown out your kids’ noise?

I love the Little One to pieces. She truly is the sweetest, most easy going child in the world. Yes, it could be that she is my last baby. Or it could be that she is not talking yet. Or it could be that she is not really walking yet. No matter the reason, she rocks.

She is a champ at going up the stairs, going down the stairs in another issue all together. We are working on getting her to go backwards down the stairs. It’s taken several months for her to get the concept, but she seems to get it now… almost

The problem is that she doesn’t fully understand the concept. You see when we are upstairs, and she decides that she is ready to go downstairs, she turns herself around and starts scooting backwards. It doesn’t matter if she is actually at the top of the stairs or 10 feet away from the top of the stairs or even if she is at the opposite end of the hallway. She turns around and starts scooting backwards.

Being the good mommy that I am, {once I stop laughing} I pick her up, carry her to the top of the stairs and help her go down them backwards.

I know, I know, I know not another poop story. But c’mon who decided that wearing diapers was such a bad thing? Why in the world is it a big deal to teach our kids to go on the toilet?

I know that I really don’t have anything to complain about. I have read enough poop stories and potty training nightmare stories on Babycenter to last me a lifetime. The Big One has been relatively easy and “accident-free” in the realm of potty training experiences. But there have been a few instances when I really thought that I would much rather meet her at school and change her diaper every couple hours that deal with the training.

So what was it that brought me to this horrific fantasy of packing diapers in a lunch box?

This was two days ago, yes it has taken thing long for me to stomach reliving it. We were two weeks into our stay at the Parental Unit’s house and the Big One was supposed to be napping. I don’t sleep well on the couch, so after two weeks of it, I was exhausted. I actually decided to lie down and take a nap. I dropped off instantly (which is unheard of for me) only to be startled awake by blood curdling screams from the Big One.

I got up and walked gingerly to her room {that’s another story about my mom’s dumb arse housekeeper who puts some kind of super slip-inducing crap on the Pergo}only to find the Big One standing on her bed, both hands covered in poop. She was crying and sobbing incoherently about poop in her pants.

I was thinking screw the poop in your pants, we are getting her hair cut NOW! You see she has long scraggly hair. It’s never been cut. {exhibit A below or at right, depending on your browser!}

Apparently after pooping in her panties, sticking both hands in said poop, she then decided that her hair was in her eyes and brushed it behind her ear.

My guess is she tried to “hold” the poop in and that’s how it got all over her hands. We’ve all seen kids do the “pee dance” and the penguin walk as they desperately squeeze their butt cheeks together. I assume since she was in bed lying down, she couldn’t stop the poop despite the hands in her pants and that’s how it got all over her.

The kid really doesn’t eat much other than chicken dinos and toast. Both don’t smell so bad going in, but I guess the bowels do some strange stuff to the chicken and toast, because I can guarantee they didn’t smell so good on her skin, panties, shorts, forehead, hair and ear.

Oh the joys…. Definitely fun times at our house. {Yes, I know she will love this when she is 16!}

So today I am a bit distracted. My mom is having surgery to remove a cataract, and I admit I a bit worried. It’s only natural, they are poking around with her eye and she has a history of not doing so well with any type of anesthesia.

Of course prior to getting her surgery scheduled, she agreed to host the extended family tomorrow for July 4. So being the good daughter that I am, we are sticking around a few more days in San Diego to help with the party etcetera.

The girls and I went to the grocery store so get supplies for tomorrow and to make swiss steak (a favorite of mom’s) for dinner. The girls were “driving” the blue police car cart, the Big One loves blue remember. As we are checking out, the Big One asks if she can put the rice cakes that she covets up on the belt to pay for them. I say sure, so I unbuckle her and realize the Little One has picked something up along the journey. I honestly couldn’t tell what it was. And today was one of those days where the checker is scanning faster than I am putting things on the belt, someone is waiting in line behind us and the Big One is having a really hard time putting her bag of rice cakes up on the belt. She is not quite tall enough for the ones at this particular Vons. So in my haste I just grabbed whatever was in the Little One’s hand and threw it up on the belt.

Once we got home and I was unpacking the bags I discovered the random item… a corn brush. Seriously does anyone use a corn brush? I guess it’s supposed to help remove the silks from the corn. Thankfully it only cost $2.49, but still what am I going to do with it? I think we should be getting some fresh corn from our co-op box over the next few weeks so I may give it a try.

I am shocked that it took this long for the random item to appear in my cart. So tell me what have your kids snuck past you at the store? Or let me know if you’ve got a corn brush, and if it works.

So we’ve all heard women lament about how clothing sizes vary drastically from brand to brand. Let’s just say for example that you wear a size 8 in Old Navy jeans, but then you go to a Levi’s store and the size 8 is huge on you. {I have to say “you,” because my butt hasn’t fit in a size 8 for more than a decade!} As women we come to expect these discrepancies and I guess we just sort of accept them because short of starting our own line of clothing there isn’t a darn thing we can do about it.

Silly me and my naivety, I thought it was something that only affected women’s clothing. I know some kids clothes are the same way, but for the most part they seem to be fairly consistent. That is until we hit the realm of little girls’ panties.

For clothes, the Big One is pretty much in a 4T. She can still wear 3T pants {she’s got no butt and a tiny waist, yes I am jealous of my three-year-old} Truth be told I discovered that she can actually still wear 12 months shorts. You see we left grandma in charge of the children, the Big One had a poopy accident and grandma somehow confused which bag of clothes belonged to which kid. But I digress.

So now that we are pretty much potty trained, panties are very important. To the Big One, Dora panties are a must. So the majority of the ones she has are size 2T/3T. But they are getting a bit tight. A few pairs actually leave red lines around her little legs. So I figure we need to move up to the 4T.

We were at Wal*Mart yesterday and the Big One spotted some Dora panties that she didn’t have yet. Yes, she has the patterns memorized and knows exactly which ones are clean and dirty on any give day. I think she’s a bit OCD like the Husband. Anyway, since these that she found were a different pattern and a size 4T, I figure what the heck she’s going to need bigger ones anyway so I agree to buy them.

We get home and I do some laundry because she must wear the new panties right now and she puts a pair on. I kid you not, these look almost a big as my cotton sturdies would look on her. They are huge, baggy, saggy and pretty much falling off of her. But will she agree to take them off and wear the smaller size? No way, she walked around all afternoon yesterday in huge panties; most of the time with one had holding them up.

I can’t figure out how the 4T pants/shorts/skirts all seem to fit her fine, but the 4T panties are huge. And what in the world am I supposed to do with her when the 2T/3T ones start cutting off her circulation, yet the 4T are huge? Put a belt on her?

Hmmmm, I just had a thought, I already admitted that I can’t wear size 8 pants, yet when I think about the size of my cotton sturdies… you guessed it a size 8. Who in the world decided that the underwear sizes and pants sizes would be so far off? I guess the manufacturers of little girls panties are just trying to prepare the Big One for what’s to come.

So usually this is all about my kids and their silly antics, but tonight I am a bit peeved. You see I live in California and as of midnight, it will be illegal to hold your cell phone to your ear and drive at the same time. How many freaking studies will it take for the idiots in charge to realize that crappy driving has more to do with talking period, rather than with holding the darn phone in your hand?

I am seriously more afraid of crashing my ~BRAND NEW MINIVAN~ while trying to figure out the damn Bluetooth than I am of crashing my car because I am holding the phone with one hand. I am pretty technologically savvy. I can figure out most computer programs, electrical products and cameras with relative ease. But the freaking Bluetooth is eluding my brain’s miniscule capabilities.

I get the dumb thing “paired,” then call myself using the house phone. I answer it and feel a bit smug that it was so easy. Then I tried to turn the Bluetooth off. I pressed and held the power button for about three seconds. I release the power button and suddenly the house phone rings. My damn cell phone is calling the house phone. CRAP!

So I hang up and try again. This time I hold the power button for about five seconds. CRAP AGAIN! Same result.

So the third time, I figure I’ll just hold the damn power button until it shuts off. After about 8 seconds the blue light starts flashing rapidly and I figure EUREKA! I figured it out. It is going to shut off. Then what happened? The damn house phone starts ringing. Just as I am about to throw the Bluetooth through the nearest window, the talking caller ID on the house phone declares that it’s my cousin, Jay, calling. {actually it said “private caller” but it was my cousin} So Jay, Aunt Susie thanks you for calling and saving the kitchen window. {Yes, we are still visiting the parental unit}

And yes, the damn thing finally shut off.

So tomorrow if you call me and after we hang up, I call you back 18 times. I’m sorry. I am just not smart enough to figure out how to turn off the Bluetooth.

I’m not the only one who’s not onboard with this crazy law. These people did actual research to prove their point.

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/bottleneck/2008/06/what-might-the.html

http://smallbizthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/06/new-cell-phone-law-dont-be-stupid.html