Who Says Mommy's Lost Her Marbles?

Who says Mommy's lost her marbles? I know exactly where they are. That can't be said about just anyone, you know.

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The House Of Ill Re-Poop, I AM MOMMY

I live in the house of ill re-poop. And, no, I did not get the saying wrong. Within less than a week my tribe has had a nasty sinus infection, stomach virus, kidney stone, and a mutated stomach virus. I've been covered in poop, puke, and pee. I feel like a human Kleenex, or worse, a CSI case work load.

First and Secondborn have both been on Zyrtec for allergies for ten days. Unfortunately, Firstborn still developed a sinus infection. After a trip to the pedi for antibiotics we arrived home later that afternoon to a yurping Secondborn. Right after supper she sweetly sashed up to me while pointing at her mouth and repeated "poop" numerous times.
"Poop?" Why wasn't the kid pointing to her hiney then? Still, she persisted with the vigorous pointing and repetition. Since I was too daft to figure out what she was getting out, she threw me a bone and yurped all over me, the kitchen floor, and the garbage can, surprisingly not in the garbage can though. She's two. She gets a pass this time.
She continued yurping all the way to bathroom as Hubby led her for a much needed bath while I was on cleaning detail. I was summoned to the bathroom within minutes to be informed that there was indeed a code poopey. Awesome. Poor kid had it coming out both ends.
What? Too much? You read the title of this post. You had to know this was coming. Let me give it to you straight. It ain't gonna get any prettier. So, maybe you might want to take your kids that never puke, pee, or poop rainbow colors to the playground for ice cream while I continue on with our bodily fluid filled week in review.
Have you ever been around a two year old that has a case of the tummy yuck? It's sad. The little buggers have no idea why their body is declaring mutiny. Can you imagine what must be going through their minds? My niece woke yurping one morning and told her mom that she'd pooped all over her arms. That must have been what Secondborn thought was going down. Each and every time my sweet baby girl yurped she would have a complete come apart resulting in an immediate and dire need to be consoled within my arms......often prematurely before the yurping had ended. Being her mommy I obliged.
Firstborn threw up a time or two throughout the week. However, his was from sinus drainage. There have been several times I had the chapter from Rick Bragg's, All Over But The Shouting running through my mind where it detailed him suffocating on snot and his daddy had to shove a fistful of salt down his throat forcing vomiting. My baby boy has choked and coughed all week long on this demon drainage. It frightens me, to be honest. The sound of him sucking it back to make room for oxygen is frustrating not only for me but so much more for him, and rightly so.
This morning we woke with that glimmer of fool's gold in our eyes as we'd made it a full twelve hours without anyone upchucking. Sure, Hubby had a slight sore throat and a more pressing back ache, but, I had made it half a day without pulling puke from mine or anyone else's hair. I had even been so brazen as to publish a sweeping declaration on Facebook that the tummy yuck had been conquered. Oh, me of little foresight. *sighs*
Secondborn came to me shortly after 9:00 this morning crying in pain while pointing to her hiney. As I approached my distraught daughter I smelled immediately the offending issue. A scene that played itself out time and time again today. My poor baby girl walked around for a better part of this day holding her hiney while crying out, "It hurtz. Mommy, it hurtz." My heart broke. My stomach turned. But, more so, my heart broke and my arms ached to make my baby feel that all would be well soon.

But, all would not be well soon. Remember Hubb's pressing back ache? It pressed harder. It also moved. Hubby confirmed that yes, he had yet, another kidney stone making its way down that pain laden path. Oh, boy.
I had Firstborn coughing big balls of wet, choking, snott up, Secondborn painfully pooping anything that wasn't substantially attached to her innards, and Hubby alternating between laying in pain on the heating pad or in the jacuzzi tub.
So much for my sweeping declaration of illness banishment. Sweet Josaphat, our household has some seriously bad juju floating around was all I could think. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I didn't have all that much time to dwell on our past deeds that might have angered those presiding over household well being.
Secondborn was beside herself with her pooping predicament. Keep in mind, we're in the midst of potty training. Pooping her pants continually was not only painful and uncomfortable, but embarrassing and wrong in her world. Firstborn was picking fights with all that crossed his radar since he was still physically uncomfortable. And, Hubby had realized it was time to journey to the nearest E.R.
The rest of my day was spent wiping hineys, mopping floors that had been mopped too many times to count this week, making multiple runs to the market, wiping noses, holding hands, reassuring, taking slight breaks to vent to those few I trust to vent to, and contemplating purchasing large amounts of stock in Lysol.
I am Mommy. Hear me sob silently sometimes. Hear me suck it up, stuff it back down again, and soldier on. I am Mommy. And, I gladly, open armed, silently cursing, accept every mommy poop, pee, and puked covered moment of it. I am Mommy, see me glow and become all that was meant for my ill advised life as I become and not embrace, but swallow and live larger than life the life that only mommies do. I am Mommy and I live for this. I was purposed for this. I am Mommy, awww, crap, let me clean that up for you.
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Meetup.com or Stoodup.com?

Since moving to Texas in May I've had little interaction with other moms. School was out for the summer, I was busy settling us into our new digs, and it was hotter than the surface of the sun. These were just a few of the excuses I gave myself on not getting out and meeting people. But, finally, I could stand it no longer and began cruising meetup.com for groups of interest. After settling upon a group, I RSVP'ed for a meet up at the local splash pad the following morning.
My tribe of natives and I arrived promptly with a picnic lunch, buckets and water toys aplenty to share, and eager to make new friends. The park was really crowded, but I had worn my big girl panties that morning and proceeded to walk up to the first cluster of moms. I bravely introduced myself and asked if they were with the Area Local Moms' Group to Remain Nameless, you know, to protect their identities and such.
No, they replied. They were the "'09ers". A group dedicated to all babes born in '09. If I had been smart I would have said, "Oh, that's what I meant to say." After all, Secondborn is what you would consider an "'09er". But, alas, it's well proven and documented that I am not the brightest crayon in the box. And, I continued on to the next mommy cluster.
Again, I put on my friendliest, happy camper, maybe a little too eager to make new friends face, and asked, "Are you with the Area Local Moms' Group to Remain Nameless?"
And, once more I was informed that no, they were not members of said group. At this point I felt my big girl panties shrinking a size.
Firstborn was now loudly tugging on my picnic supply laden arm demanding, "Where are all my new friends, Mommy? I thought you said we were going to have friends today?"
"We're still looking, sugarbooger. Be a bit more patient, m'kay?"
And, on I continued around the length of the splash pad asking each and every mommy cluster, and there were many that hot and sunny day, if they belonged to the Area Local Moms' Group to Remain Nameless. After the fourth inquiry I had the lines from P.D. Eastman's book, Are You My Mother going through my head. And, that is what it felt like with each and every inquiry of mommy clusters. "Are you my mother's group?" Followed by strange and blank stares.
I have no idea when it began, but at some point out of my peripheral vision I noticed the women putting their hands over their mouths and begin facing inward cluster. I could only imagine what was being said.
"Oh, the poor thing."
"How humiliating."
"I would be mortified."
And, indeed I was. I asked no less than twelve mommy clusters and all gave the same answer. No, they were not my mother's group. I had to explain to Firstborn that his new friends couldn't make it that morning after all, but we were going to have a fun time anyway. And, indeed we did. A few '09ers even came up to chat, but I knew it was the sympathy chat up. I felt like a social pariah.
After our fun filled morning I left my comments in the "How was your meetup" section. I replied that we had a great time but never found the group. I tried to write it off as an, "Oh well. Maybe next time". By the end of the evening I had three different messages from the director of the group apologizing for canceling the event but not posting that it was cancelled. I felt that she was sincere in her apology and decided to give the group another shot.
Last Tuesday I took the natives to the library for story time. I had even commented on the group's calendar what I would be wearing in hopes of avoiding the splash pad stand up.
Before I go any further let me just say that our library rocks! I'm in love with the library and our story time is phenomenal! I should have realized it was super popular when there was a line to enter the library at ten till 10:00, and story time didn't even begin for another fifteen minutes.
Since no one else had posted what they were wearing I grabbed a spot on the carpet with the natives and waited for someone from the group to approach us. I was not surprised that no one ever did. And, once more left a comment in the "How was your meetup" section about having had a great time, but would have liked to have met the group.
By this time I wondered if it were my fault that I kept missing the group. Obviously, the first time was not my fault as the director had cancelled the meetup and failed to list it as cancelled. But, the second time, well, it was possibly my fault. Or, maybe it was nobody's fault given how crowded story time was.

Yet, I intended to give the group another go. That is until this morning. Firstborn stayed home today sick with a fever and we had to miss story time at the library. But, because I was trying to change my RSVP and comment why we were missing, and deal with two hungry children, one of which was running a high fever and very cranky, I accidentally marked it for Thursday instead of for today, Tuesday.
The director made the comment, "I believe you must have your dates confused." Which, I did have them mixed up. No biggie. Then I received notification for a meetup for Wednesday of next week. But, once more I was trying to put out too many fires while tending to the calendar and thought it was intended for tomorrow. So, I changed my RSVP to "no" and commented that with Firstborn being sick I wouldn't likely make it.
Immediately I received a comment on the public board from the director saying, "Laurie, read your emails more thoroughly. You've confused your dates once more."
Did I confuse two RSVPs in the same morning? You betcha.
But, I could think of a few other ways to have worded that if I were the director, and I certainly wouldn't have put it on the public board.
It's become clear to me that I don't think this group is going to be a good fit. There were several groups that caught my eye during my initial meetup.com cruising. The Misfit Moms and Tattooed, Hippy, Pirate Mammas both look promising to me. Anything is better than getting stood up twice and snarked at on a public board. Make way, Misfits, another mama heading your way.
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You Can Lead A Toddler To Potty...And Get Them To Go

A few weeks ago I posted about my daughter treating my like a dog. Nothing's changed. She still does. Whenever she wants me to go with her to a different spot in the house she still pats her leg vigorously, all the while saying, "C'mon, Mommy. C'mon".
I think however, things have gone too far now. A few days ago as I was in the kitchen canning cherry preserves, Firstborn entered leading Secondborn by the dog's leash. They were attempting to make laps around the island until I shoed them off. After all, I had a caldron of hot, hot stuff boiling away.
Last night Firstborn led her to bed by way of leash. Now, before I go any further, no, the leash is not attached to her in any way. They each have one end in their grasp. That's all.
This morning while in the kitchen making yogurt, the pair made their way in, by way of leash, of course. Firstborn proudly informed me that he was walking Secondborn like our dog so she would go poo poo in the potty. Of course! Why had I not thought of this while potty training him two years ago? Out of the mouths of babes, right?
They rounded the island a few times and then headed off to the bathroom. And, this is what I heard:
"Okay. Now sit on your potty. Good girl! You've been walked and now it's time to poo poo. Why won't you poo poo? It's time to put your poo poo in your potty."
I was laughing so hard at Firstborn's interesting take on potty training that I thought there might be a potty visit in my near future as well. And, when I thought I couldn't laugh anymore, he came running into the kitchen with his acoustic guitar.
"Mommy! I'm going to make music so she'll go potty!" Alright, kid. Knock yourself out.
And, she did. My sugar boogers worked as a team and conquered the potty. Firstborn playing rousing rounds on his guitar to accompany Secondborn's potty party. Go Team Potty!
I'm still in disbelief that she actually peed on the potty. She had done it a few times before about a month ago, and then stopped completely. I didn't push it. I knew she'd come to it in her own time. And, while Firstborn's method was unorthodox at best, it worked. Maybe I should ask his for his help in getting Secondborn to wear clothing for longer than three minutes.

Job Title: Native Wrangler

Life has done it again and started rolling along pretty fast. That happens from time to time. Unfortunately, I've not been rolling along as well as I normally would. I've been having some tummy yuck for the past three weeks. And, we went out of town as well. So it's been much harder to get back on schedule this time it seems. But, I think this week has finally been the turning point.

The one area I still seem to be having a bit of difficulty with is writing. All three of my blogs seem to have been neglected slightly, and that bothers me greatly. It's not intentional. I've sat down many times to remedy the situation, but either the words don't come, or the natives need wrangling.

The latter tends to be the situation more often than not. And, that's okay. That's my first job above all else. In fact, I list it as my job title on every application I have to fill out. A librarian once gave pause to eye me with suspicion over that.

It's an exhausting job, but it's one I love. It's one I chose willingly and gladly from that very first plus sign on the pee stick. Never in my wildest dreams could I ever imagine loving this job so much. Or, loving someone so much. Sure, everyone tells you all through your pregnancies that you never knew you could love so much. And, you think, "Yes. Yes I do! I'm the one carrying this critter, not you!"

But, you really don't. You just don't. Not until that first moment Firstborn was held up over the operating curtain did I really know what was meant. And, there is not a day that I forget.

And, then all through my second pregnancy I worried over how could I possibly have enough love left to give to my second child. I didn't have that answer until I reached down to pull my daughter out and up to nurse for her very first time. While my midwife and doula tended to the rest of nature's work I felt something swelling deep inside my chest as I watched my newborn watching me. It didn't have a name, because love just didn't seem enough. No, it felt more like an all consuming need to protect, to foster a great independent spirit and wonderment of her brand new world. A pulling of my insides so strong I still felt connected to her even though I had already cut the umbilical cord.There was great hope mixed in. And, there was magic, sparkly and electrifying magic. A magic that only presents itself during the miracle of birth. So, maybe I was wrong. Maybe, that's exactly what love is. At least that's what love of my children means to me.

I have no answers as to how it all works. It just does. Maybe your heart increases in size much like the Grinch's. Again, I don't know. What I do know is there was an immeasurably void in my life before my natives turned it right side up.

So, while I am frequently frustrated that I can't find the time to write and, when I do the flow is gone, that's okay. The words will come when they're ready to. In the meanwhile, I have plenty to keep my busy. Life is like that.

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What Did Mommy Just Say?

Mommy dreams of a day when she'll stop referring to herself in third person. She dreams of a day when she can once more return to the land of civilized conversation. Until that day those that overhear her must think her amnesiac, or a simpleton at best.
And, how could one not think that given that most of her dialogues consist of any number of the following phrases:
"Mommy said we will not use potty water to brush our teeth and wash our hair!"
"How many times has Mommy told you we DO NOT wipe our boogers on the T.V. screen?"
"Hasn't Mommy asked you not to go through her nightstand? That is a breast pump, not a trumpet."
And, the phrase that would most often leave people scratching their heads,
"What did Mommy just say?"
Because clearly, if Mommy can't remember what she just said, then surely she must be an amnesiac simpleton. Indeed.

Secondborn Treats Me Like A Dog

Secondborn treats me like a dog. No. It's true. And, what's more, she learned it from Firstborn......who I should acknowledge learned it from me.

I guess what comes to mind first is, 'Mommy is as Mommy does'. By now I'm sure I've most of you scratching your heads. So, let me explain.

Before Firstborn and Secondborn came into my life there was another baby. A chubby, wrinkly, black baby, a pug named Lola who was the light of my life for five years before giving birth to my son. And, as so often is the case when your first babies happen to be furry and the real deal arrives, that first baby is sent to the dog house.

Lola has persevered through the years since Firstborn's birth. She has grown older with dignity and many, many pounds. She has lost much of her hearing, but never her faithfulness and devotion. She has endured many jokes regarding having chased one too many parked cars from my father, as well as silly string bombardments from my kids.

My children have closely watched my relationship with Lola just as she has closely watched mine with them. Firstborn quickly picked up on how to call her when needed. Because of her severe deafness one must first clap hands and then slap one's leg loudly while yelling, "C'mon, Lola. C'mon."

Hubby and I both got the biggest giggles when Firstborn began doing this when he was two years old. And, we really never thought much about it until recently.

I would be off somewhere else in the house when Secondborn, now almost two years old, would track me down. She would point down the hall towards her bedroom first clapping her hands, then slapping her leg loudly all the while yelling, "C'mon, Mommy. C'mon."

Somewhat taken aback at first, I tried my best to understand how this came to be. Slowly, it all came to me. This was how I called Lola. This was how Firstborn not only called Lola, but how he called Secondborn as well. And, having learned it from a most reliable source, this was how Secondborn learned to call all those of most importance to her.

Well, I suppose it could be worse. Right?