My Latest Conquest
Since the original prowess for this Blog was to share my mad skills at fixing things, I figured it was time to share my latest victory.
The Big One is obsessed with fire trucks. She loves them and can spot them from three miles away when we are outside. If we are inside and she hears the sirens she will stop whatever she is doing and shout, “WAIT! I hear somefing… a fire truck!! They are going to help someone.” And then jumps around excitedly.
So several months ago as I was driving past a children’s re-sale shop I spotted this bed outside. I am a sucker, paid $80 for it and became a hero in the Big One’s eyes. It was missing its siren light, so I called Step 2 and ordered a replacement.
The Big One was ecstatic when the light arrived. We put some batteries in and it worked like a champ for about 3 weeks. Then it started working intermittently. I kept assuring the Big One that I would try to fix it or buy a new one.
Eventually the Big One started to play on the bed more than sleep on it, so now the fire truck bed is in our playroom and the Big One sleeps in a twin bed. Since it was now a toy and not a necessary tool for sleep, I admit I forgot all about the broken light.
Fast forward about 7 months (yes, I am a slacker sometimes), the girls were playing on the bed and the Big One asked me again to fix the light. So I gathered my tools and took the light off, changed the batteries and hoped that’s all it needed.
This wouldn’t be a very good story if that worked. So I took my screwdriver and delved a little deeper into the light. I heard something rattling inside and discovered the problem. The little purple plastic button that you push to activate the light had become detached from the little metal plate that triggers all the electronic magic inside the light.
I dug deeper into my tool chest (junk drawer in the kitchen), found the super glue and am once again the hero in the Big One’s eyes.
Yes, it took me 7 months to super glue the button back on. But before you start judging me, I know there are several of you who would have tossed it in the trash and bought a new one right off the bat. Now some of you may have changed the batteries and then thrown it in the trash. But how many of you would have opened the thing up to expose all the magic wires and circuit board inside to try and determine the problem? Yes, the Fixitmommy rocks! {at least in my 3 year old’s eyes}
I Hate the Highchair
Oh my gosh. I hate the high chair. Actually I hate how it seems to be a dang-blasted magnet for toes, especially little bitty pinky toes.
Yes, the dumb thing has been in pretty much the same spot for the last six months or so. But that doesn’t mean the my toes remember it each time we walk by. I know the Husband has stubbed his toes on it a number of times and so have I. But today it hurt really, really bad when I kicked the dumb thing.
You know how bad toe pain can be, as soon as your foot makes contact with whatever object it is, you feel it down in the pit of you stomach. Your entire body lurches as you try to avoid the impending impact. But it’s no use, the foot is in motion, the rock solid object is not budging and there is nothing you can do but brace yourself for the pain and try to control the stream of four-letter words that you want to shout.
It’s been several minutes and my toes are still throbbing. OUCH! The Little One needs to get a bit taller so we can move on to a booster and sell the damn toe magnet highchair to some other unsuspecting family.
Where do They Learn This Stuff?
When will the Big One learn that she cannot pick up the Little One by the head? I love that she wants to hold her sister or bring her into whatever room she wants her to play in, but when will she get that the Little One’s head is not a handle?
It’s not like the Husband or I grab the top of the Little One’s head and carry her around. Where in the world did the Big One get the idea to grab the Little One’s head and pull with all her might?
Yes, when the Little One was itty bitty and looked more like a baby doll, okay I can see how it would happen. But the Little One is 15months old and hardly the size of any baby dolls that we own.
I keep trying to tell the Big One that we pick her up under her arms, not by her ears. But she just doesn’t get it. I just hope she learns before the Little One’s head does actually pop off.
The Hunter and Her Prey
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.
What are the Odds?
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?
I Hate Being a Mom
… 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!
A Little Slow, Part II
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.
Potty Training Stinks… Literally
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!}
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