I always say that once you have kids, you lose all modesty, or at least I did (read
death of my modesty ). That still doesn’t keep me from occasionally surprising myself with just how unembarrassed I am by what most would consider to be absolutely horrifyingly embarrassing. Most parents want to crawl into a hole somewhere when their kids misbehave or throw a tantrum in public because they worry they are being judged; not me. I know I’m being judged when my kids do this, I see the looks on all those self righteous people who act like their kids would never do that and they certainly didn’t act that way as a child, but I don’t care. I give those people the “oh blow it out your ass” look because I know that anyone who has ever been a parent has been in a similar situation and if they haven’t yet, they will be one day. So when my oldest child threw the nutty of all nutties the other day while dining at Chick-Fil-A (yes I know they are evil, seerage against the machine) I could care less about what all the judging gawkers thought of my parenting skills as I dealt with him and his behavior; that didn’t embarrass me. I wasn’t embarrassed the day earlier either, when I had an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.
Maybe malfunction isn’t the correct term to use. My wardrobe was functioning as it should, it was my child that caused the problem. We were in the observation room at my oldest son’s swim lesson when my middle son decided that he wanted to go swimming and ran off towards the pool door. I ran after him and picked him up to bring him back to the room. I was wearing a spaghetti strap dress with no bra under it because, well it is 100 million degrees here in the summer and I just couldn’t deal with more layers of clothes than absolutely necessary, plus I’d been home all afternoon nursing so it didn’t even occur to me to put one on before leaving the house. In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best decision because when I picked my son up, he pulled on the top of my dress. I brought him back to the room and put him in time out for running off and not listening. As I turned around to grab my phone and set the timer, my husband motioned for me to fix my top. When I looked down, there was my left breast hanging out in all it’s glory (did I mention I was right in front of the window to the pool). Being the unabashed person that I am, I pulled my top up, put Lefty back in her place, and went about my business. It wasn’t until I looked up at the faces of those around me (my husband’s included) that I realized I was the least embarrassed person in the room, and it was my breast.
I guess after dealing with some of the things that go along with being a mother, I’ve learn that anything can happen (and often does) and to just roll with the punches. I’ve got so many other things to worry about that I don’t have time to worry about what strangers think of me. Besides, if Miss Jackson can bounce back from a wardrobe malfunction, so can I.
My middle child is just a little thing, always has been. He is over 2 1/2 years old but still wears 18 month pants because his waist is so small and he’s so short. Of course, none of this tininess comes from lack of eating. That boy eats all day long and eats almost anything. His favorite food is probably fruit, which, though healthy, keeps him very regular (like 7 plus poops a day regular), which isn’t fun for me. Maybe this is part of how he stays so small while eating so much. Who knows? My husband and I often joke that this kid’s first words out of his mouth in the morning and last words he whispers at night before falling off to sleep are “I want food.” There is some truth to this joke. He usually does hop out of bed in the morning and make a beeline toward the kitchen muttering that he wants food and one of his ploys at night, to try to stay up long, is also to ask for a snack. So the joke isn’t too far from the truth. Today, however, I witnessed a whole new truth to the joke.
My middle son has been taking swim lessons in the morning and they tend to really wear him out, so he often falls asleep on the ride home from the pool. Today he must have been really tired because he slept for almost three full hours, which lasted through lunch. He’d eaten a snack just before he fell asleep, but apparently it wasn’t enough for him. His hunger built all through nap until just before the three hour mark he erupted. One moment my son was this sweet, serene, sleeping angel laying next to me, then next thing I knew, he bolted straight up and screamed “I’m hungry!” I’m not even sure his eyes were open at the time, I think his own screaming might have startled him awake (it certainly startled me). He then began crying, walked toward the kitchen, and cried some more. I began making offers of what he’d like me to make him for lunch, to most of which he just replied with more crying until eventually he was just laying on the floor in tears. When I finally struck upon something that sounded good to him, he passed back out on the floor for a few minutes only to wake again demanding food.
I’ve never witnessed anyone wake up this way before. It does have me wondering if my son dreams about food in his sleep. Whatever he dreams of, I guess I can now honestly say that my son is hungry so often that he literally wakes up yelling for food. I just hope this doesn’t translate to eating or food issues later in life.
My oldest son had a rare but wonderful day on Friday. He was so good that I’d begun to wonder if he’d been a victim of the body snatchers or maybe I’d picked up the wrong kid at camp the day before. I love when he has these rare moments and even rarer days. Unfortunately, the next day is usually worse than usual, as if he’d used ever ounce of good he had the day before and didn’t have any left in him. To make it even worse, the day after just happened to be a Saturday my husband had to work, so I was on my own with the three boys. The day was more than a little trying and I was exhausted. By the end of the day my oldest had gone from slightly annoying to full on meltdown mode and I no longer had the patience to deal with him. Thankfully, my husband removed him from the situation and took him to go pick up the take-out we had ordered that evening. During the car ride, they had a little talk about his behavior.
Dad: “You know, you weren’t very nice to Mommy today, right? You need to make it up to her. What do you want to do?”
My oldest: “Ummmm, I get her a ‘mato to say sorry! No, a CUCUMBER!”
When the two returned from picking up the Chinese food, my oldest ran to to me with a bag, gave it to me, hugged me, and said sorry for driving me nuts. When I opened it up, there was my “I’m sorry” cucumber. I was a little confused until my husband told me the story, then I knew my good little boy was still in there.
I’m a little worried that the only people looking at my blog are pedophiles with poop fetishes. The searches that lead viewers to my page this week where “poop off boy” and “pictures of boys poop.” I’m now glad I never include pictures of my kids or their actual names.
If you aren’t a pedophile and you are looking at my blog, please leave a comment so I know someone is actually reading and enjoying it still. I know I’ve been infrequent with posts lately, but hopefully I’ll find more time when school starts back up. I do appreciate those that follow.
Boys seem to have a strange affinity for poop that girls don’t tend to have. I’m not saying that boys like poop or something weird like that, I’m just saying that they deal with it in a different manner than girls. Personally, I want nothing to do with it and can’t wait for all three of my boys to be potty trained and wiping their own butts.
Unfortunately, potty training my two and a half year old has not progressed much, not that I’m really pushing it yet, but my son has picked up on an equally important skill, one which my four and a half year old has yet to completely master; the skill of wiping ones butt. Now he hasn’t mastered this skill and the butt he wants to wipe isn’t always his, but it’s a start. It started the other day after I discovered that he’d pooped in his diaper. I asked him why he hadn’t gone in the potty so he could get jelly beans and then told him to get me a new diaper. He returned and proceeded to strip off his clothes and then lay down like he was ready for me to change him, but then he began to take off his diaper and reach for the wipes. I stopped him here for fear of a pooptastraphy. He freaked out a little and insisted I give him some wipes to hold and then attempted to wipe his own butt as I changed his diaper. The next day he insisted on wiping the babies bum when he saw that he’d pooped. Maybe once he’s finally potty trained he’ll have this whole wiping thing down and I won’t constantly hear a shout for me to wipe his butt at the most inopportune times, like I do now with my oldest child
My oldest son, on the other hand, might not have completely mastered the art of butt wiping, but he does seem to be discovering something else about poop; poop is hysterical. My son has learned the age old wisdom of males that poop is always humorous and has begun to broad his poop humor forte. He has moved beyond fart jokes and pooping sounds. The other day I heard my oldest giggling hysterically down the hall and found him in the bathroom, standing over the open toilet, my camera in hand. When I looked at the pictures he’d been taking, sure enough, there was a picture of his tiny turd floating in the toilet. Today, he alternately screamed for me to come wipe his butt and for his two and a half year old brother to come to him. When I came in, I asked him what he wanted his brother for. He told me with a giggle that he wanted to show his poop to his brother.
I’m not sure what it is with boys and poop, but I’m glad I’m a girl. On the other hand, I do have three boys. I think their dad should be the one to deal with this, of course, he might just encourage it.
I love having three boys who are only two years apart. I feeling like they are so close and I hope they will be all of their lives. Most of the time they love playing together. The two older boys often want to help with or play with the baby, and he seems to really enjoy them. Every so often I get to witness one of those moments that you wish you could capture forever that just seems to speak to what brotherhood really is.
Like I said before, my two older boys often want to help with the baby. Often times I find them helping without having been asked. Sometimes this isn’t a good thing, like when they try to pick him up or drag him by the foot across the room. Most of the time, however, not only is it helpful, but it is down right cute. I’ll be out of the room trying to finish up a task and hear the baby crying when suddenly he’ll stop. I’ll race into the room expecting to see one of the older boys sitting on his head so that he is unable to cry any more, only to find my oldest singing to the baby or my two and a half year old showing him a book or toy. And even though the baby is just barely 7 months, I think he gets that what his brothers are doing for him is pretty cool. He’s begun to laugh, or cackle I should say, at his brothers constantly, incredibly entertained by them. He lights up when he sees them enter his sight or hears their voices, instead of being terrified of them like you’d think he’d be. He seems to understand that he is loved by his two older brothers and he loves them, and last night he showed it.
For whatever reason, the baby woke round 4:00am and decided to be awake for a little while. I put him in the middle of the bed beside me and a pillow. On the other side of that pillow was not my husband, but was one of the more usual occupants, one of my sons. In this case, it was my two and a half year old. He was sleeping in his favorite position, sprawled horizontally across the bed. His head was resting on the pillow next to the baby and his arm was under his head so that his hand dangled over the pillow. While the baby was playing, he noticed his brother laying there and smiled. Then he saw his brother’s hand and decided to grab it. He laid there staring and smiling at his brother, hand in hand, for 15 minutes, while his older brother slept there completely unaware. It was so sweet that, despite how tired I was and how much my eyes wanted to close, I couldn’t stop watching him.
My two and a half year old then showed his love for his older brother later that day. The two older boys had fallen asleep in the car so I put them both to sleep in the same bed. My two and a half year old woke up first and I told him to go wake up his brother so he didn’t nap too long. Next thing I know, I hear crying for the bedroom. I come running, expecting to find that my oldest son had hurt the younger one for waking him. Instead I find my middle child standing next to his older brother crying because he is still sleeping and won’t get up to come play with him. I couldn’t help but laugh.
I guess, despite all the pushing, shoving, punching, and kicking, my boys really do love each other. Sometimes one of them just needs to be asleep for the other to show it. I can only imagine what life will be like around here as they get older. As long as they remain close, I’m willing to put up with all the fighting.