survivingmyboyz

tales from a stay-at-home mom of four boys

Archive for the tag “poop”

Mom, her four boys, and the heinous, horrible, no good, very bad day

Of course there is poop on your shorts. Somehow, magically, there is poop on your shorts in my freshly cleaned bathroom, even though you are nearly 7 and haven’t had an accident of any sort in about 4 years. That’s just the kind of day I’m having. The kind of day where everything goes wrong from the moment you wake up. The kind of day in which you question why you had kids, let alone four of them. The kind of day you just want to be over, but everyone refuses to go to sleep despite being beyond tired. The kind of day you want to forget, but feel compelled to write about.

The heinousness of this day had been foreshadowing for at least two days prior to its arrival. That’s not to say that the two days leading up to it were anywhere near as heinous as today was, but it was definitely a “well, what did you expect?! You should have known this was going to happen!” kind of day. I had set my alarm earlish this morning, but it was a rare morning in which the kids didn’t actually both me for the hour leading up to my alarm and I was enjoying a blissful dream in which I had a totally different life, one way less stressful and kidcentric, one in which I actually got to make decisions for myself and eat warm meals. Apparently, immersed in this blissful dream, I’d managed to hit my snooze button not once, but twice, waking me 20 minutes later than I’d planned. I came downstairs to find the mess of toys I’d been yelling about needing to be picked up for two days now, still all over the floor. The boys were in different stages of undress and completely engrossed in a show that had more time left to it than we could sit in watch. They ignored me as I gave them the same two commands over and over while trying to get breakfast made for the four of them (despite the fact that two of them are perfectly capable of making their own). After about the 30th time of being ignored, I flipped the TV off and gave them the same two commands another 30 times. No one was listening and I felt like I was a ghost in the room that they couldn’t see or hear. I had a 10:30 class at the gym this morning and I’d missed every class I tried to get to so far this week because of the kids and last week we were on vacation, so I missed the gym completely, I wasn’t going to miss class today even if I had to leave to kids home to fend for themselves (okay, fine, I couldn’t do that, I’m pretty sure it isn’t legal).  We had about 30 minutes to get those who weren’t dressed yet dressed, brush everyone’s teeth, get the toys picked up enough for the cleaners to come today (yes I have cleaners, I couldn’t possibly keep up with the disastrous mess my four boys make all on my own. Don’t judge!), get four kids and myself fed, load the car for the day, and get out the door. This would be doable if my kids didn’t sabotage my efforts at every turn. There was the kid who didn’t like the breakfast he asked for and wanted something new, that same kid also peed on his shirt while going to the bathroom (personally I’ve never had that problem, but somehow it happened) ,the kid who kept returning to the trampoline to bounce after each toy he picked up, the kid who couldn’t tie his shoes, but wouldn’t wear his flip flops, and the kid who spilled his bag of Kix all over the carpet in front of the door just as I was about to walk out it.

Fortunately, we made it to the gym and I managed to get everyone into day care so that I was only 2 minutes late for class and there was still room in the corner for me to squeeze into class. I thought maybe this meant that my day was going to turn around, but boy was I wrong. After the gym, we had some time to kill before it was our time to swim at the pool. I needed to get the boys lunch, which you’d think would be a nice thing that they’d appreciate, but instead they just whined and complained because two of them wanted Panda Express and two of them wanted Taco Time. I took them to a local sandwich shop I’d been wanting to try. They all whined and complained that they wanted brownies and cookies and chocolate milk. Then the oldest messed with everything he could get his hands on to make a mess while my youngest darted for the open door and attempted to kill himself in the parking lot. We sat outside to eat where it was “too sunny,” “too windy,” and “too cold.” My youngest tried to kill himself in the parking lot again while the older ones chased him and encouraged him to run to his death. There were also food issues, crow issues, and sticky issues. I should’ve just loaded them in the van and taken them home right then, but no, I was determined to make this a better day.

So, stupid me, I took them back to the gym after lunch to get bands so we could swim. I’ve been promising to take them swimming at the gym for two months and we hadn’t gone yet, so today as going to be the day. We had a half hour to kill, so I brought mad libs to do with the boys, only I didn’t have a sharpened pencil with me. So the boys entertained themselves by running around like idiots, climbing on things, and the youngest tried to go up the stairs every time I looked away. When it was finally our time to swim, I told everyone to go to the bathroom before going to the pool. My four year old refused because he had gone after lunch. My two year old attempted to flush himself down the handicap toilet after escaping under the door of the stall I was in. I took the two older boys to do their deep water test so they could go down the water slide and play in the more fun section of the pool. Unfortunately, they wanted to boys to swim a lot further than their swim instructor had made them, so they couldn’t pass the test. I was then informed that you are only allowed to have two kids per adult that are “non-swimmers” and since my older two boys couldn’t pass the test, they really weren’t supposed to let us in the pool (despite the fact that both older boys could touch in all parts of the pool and were going to be required to wear life jackets too – I think it is a racket to get people to sign up for more swim lessons). I must have given her a “you’ve got to be shitting me!” look, so she allowed us to do it just this once, but we had to stay in the toddler section of the pool. Well that went over like a ton of bricks with my older boys who have been eyeing the water slide for two months now. I was instructed to stay within arms-reach of all four boys at all times while in the pool. Let me tell you how easy that wasn’t, especially since I only have two arms. It didn’t help that we had just returned from vacation where the two older boys swam all around the pool at the hotel and went down the waterslide without me needing for be arms-length away. Even my four year old was swimming all around the pool with his life jacket by the end of the trip. So these restrictions naturally lead my oldest to melt down and cry, partly out of frustration and partly out of embarrassment that they didn’t think he was as good a swimmer as we knew him to be (I’m sure he felt disappointed after working so hard at his swim lessons the beginning of the summer too). While he melted down, my two year old decided that he wanted to jump in unassisted, and my four year old decided that he suddenly needed to poop…NOW! I had to get all four boys out of the pool, but couldn’t convince the two older ones to come into the bathroom with me so I told them to wait outside the bathroom and not to go near the water. Of course, none of this was quick enough and my four year old and he crapped himself just before I could get him on the toilet. Luckily, my boys have a fear of wearing swim suits without underwear, so all the crap landed in his underwear, not his bathing suit, so I just threw them out. As I dealt with that crappy situation, my two year old decided that it would be fun to play with the soap dispenser in the bathroom and get it all over himself and wouldn’t stay away from it no matter how many times I pulled him away or yelled at him. When we were finished in the bathroom, I came out to find that my older two hadn’t changed their usual behavior of not listening to me and were in the pool. That was it for me! I told my younger two that they had three minutes and then were out of there, vowing to never bring them back. My oldest ran off to the locker room without his dry clothes, so I had to herd him back out and the three others into a private changing room so I could get them all showered off and changed. That was a fun experience, said no mother ever.

We left the gym all unhappy and angry. I looked at the clock and realized that we still had an hour and a half until the farmer’s market opened and it was too late in the day to drive home without kids falling asleep. I also felt bad that the pool had been such a disaster, so, still determined to turn this day around, I decided to take my kids over to the library for a bit because, you know, that’s where you take four, rowdy, pissed off, tired boys. That went over better than I expected. My oldest was actually good and took a real interest in researching computers and technology, take many books out on the subject. My six year old also found some good books and practiced his reading. I only had to yell at my four year old a handful of times not to run or scream in the library and my two year old only had two or three full on screaming melt downs.

Thinking this might be a turning point, I took the boys to the park for a bit before the farmer’s market opened. I was feeling renewed hope by the time we walked up to the market. “This is it! We are finally going to have the nice day I’ve been striving for all day. We’ll get food, have fun, make good memories that will overshadow the rest of the day, and then head home for an early bedtime.” I mistakenly thought. It quickly became apparent though that these kids desperately needed food because they had only pretend eaten at lunch. So as I waited in line for quesadillas for some of the kids and then walked my six year old to every food stand trying to convince him to pick something, my other kids dug ice cubes out of the drink coolers at the food stands and threw them at people. Once my six year old finally decided to get dumplings (which were only supposed to take 5 minutes, but took 20 to cook), I got my kids seated to eat their quesadillas, only now they all wanted dumplings. As I went back and forth to the various food stands we had bought our food at, picking up the food, my kids sat quietly in the grass. No, that didn’t happen at all. What happened was, they chased each other, threw shoes at each other, and eventually my four year old threw a container of soy sauce at my six year old and got it all in his eye. I’m sure the people who were sitting not so close to us were all thinking that my kids had just escaped from some wild zoo exhibit. My oldest, who ate most of his own quesadilla, then circled the six year old like a vulture once he finally got his dumplings. The cries for dumplings from those who got quesadillas began again, so I ordered more dumplings for them to split. When they were finally finished eating, they all acted surprised and indignant that I wouldn’t let them get some Hawaiian shaved ice, like their shoe and soy sauce throwing behavior shouldn’t be held against them.  Despite everything, I still braved more of the farmer’s market with the goal of being there late enough that it would be okay for the littler ones to fall asleep on the care ride home. So we wandered the venders while the kids touched things they weren’t supposed to, ran off on me, whined more, fought over popcorn (yes I bought more food), and were just generally exhausting and irritating. I knew it was time to go when the two year old melted down for the 97th time that day. We made one last stop at the bathroom, which I had to force my four year old into and good thing too because he clearly needed to pee, braved the gauntlet of the parking lot, and made it to the car. The kids were given strict instructions that it would be a quiet ride home. Knowing I had them all at least temporarily contained, I took the long way hope and silently prayed that at least two would fall asleep and stay asleep once we got home.

Two kids did fall asleep before we got home, but fate was not kind enough to me to allow them to stay asleep for me so we could have an easy bedtime.  Instead, my six year old began talking loudly the minute we got hope and then the UPS truck made a loud noise as it put out a ramp to deliver several packages to a neighbor. I finally managed to get the youngest back to sleep and sneak out of the room so I could deal with the other three, but by then, the other child who was sleeping was awake and hungry. Then the other boys were hungry too despite eating their weight in food from the different food stands at the market! It was as I doled out snacks to those awake that I heard the six year old call me from the bathroom to inform me of the mysterious poop smear on his shorts. At that point I about completely lost it, but I held it together just long enough to herd the boys upstairs and hear the youngest wake up.  Perfect, just perfect!

Shit happens

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Shit happens, sometimes in my bath tub.

Brotherly bonding

My two oldest sons bonded tonight by jointly desecrating their bathroom which we had just spent good money to have cleaned. They both went to bed without any stories or cuddles; two sad boys. When my husband asked my almost five year old if he would ever do what he did again, the response was “no.” I’m not sure that means he learned his lesson though because when my husband asked him if he knew why it was wrong to poop on the bathroom floor the response was also “no.” I guess I should just be happy that they are bonding.

When vacations go bad: tales of a toxic trip

TMI warning: do not read if you cannot handle human bodily functions.

I need to get the toxins from this last “vacation” out of my system. So as a sit in the bath, trying to wash away the memories of the last few days, I decided that the best way to do that was to put it all out into cyberspace.

With only a week left until we move into our new home, the three boys and I ventured off on a “family vacation.” It was only a family vacation because we were traveling back to our previous habitat in the desert to meet up with family that still live there and more family that were coming in from out of town. Our family, however, was not complete because my husband stayed behind to work and we would not have chosen this location for our vacation had it been a true family vacation. Of course, after the events of the past few days, I’m not sure any of us will choose this location as a vacation destination again.

The trip started off beautifully, a little over a week ago. All three boys behaved nicely on the airplane back to the desert. The fact that the boys behaved so well on our first flight without Dad since the third son was born should have been the first sign that something was amiss and that I would pay later. Upon arriving in the desert, the two youngest and my sinuses instantly flared with allergies that we thought we had left long behind. Our skin began to shrivel and dry as if we were never once accustomed to the desert climate. Noses ran like faucets, throat stung like cacti, and hacking coughs sounded throughout the night like a coyote’s howl. Yet we sallied forth knowing that they were only allergies and could not keep us from the once a year rendezvoused we had with our cousins. Everyone was getting along. Sure there were the usual family squabbles; grandparents becoming overwrought with too many grandchildren in their house at once, siblings razzing siblings, arguments over who had dibs on the next margarita out of the blender; but everything was going well. that’s when the second omen occurred. It snowed in the desert (or at least in all the surrounding towns but where we were). Not quite as biblical as raining frogs, but we’re talking about a place where the slightest bit of rain garners breaking news updates as if it were the hurricane of the century, so snow is kind of a big deal. That’s when I made, what I believe to be, my crucial mistake; we went to the kid pit at the mall. We didn’t stay long, but I forgot to bathe my children in sanitizer when we were finished and then fed them a snack. After that, things took a real turn for the worse.

My kids went to sleep relatively easily (which I should have taken as sign #3), so I thought that I’d actually get to hang out and have drinks with my siblings. By 9:00, my middle child woke up very unhappy. I went into him just in time to move him away from the mattress that his two other brothers slept on before he vomited all over me and himself. I quickly moved him to the bathroom where he vomited more before I could get him near the toilet. I screamed for help, unsure if he got it on either of his brothers or had woken them, and waited an eternity for my befuddled mother to come in to help. Apparently once you get your kids through childhood, you don’t deal much with other people puking and begin to lose that quick response and sense of know-how that parents of young children seem to have. So I began barking orders like a drill Sargent while quietly praying between breaths that it was just food poisoning. Once we thought he was done, I changed both our sets of clothing and brought him out to the greatroom area (living/dining room combo for those of you unfamiliar) and began trying to figure out what to do about sleeping arrangements. That’s about when he projectile vomited all over the floor and us again. My dear old dad didn’t miss a beat, he looked over at the mess and promptly turned up the volume on the crime drama he was watching. Some shuffling of sleeping arrangements was done (thanks to my sister), more silent prayers were said, and I took my two youngest to bed with a puke bucket in hand. A few hours later, we did a similar song and dance. My mom came in to help, this time with her “puking child” wits about her, and for good reason. Apparently she had already dealt with my oldest puking all over himself as he sleep in her room several times. I still secretly held out hope of food poisoning since the two of them shared the same thing for dinner, but even more secretly, I was trying to keep down the possible reality of the situation along with my own dinner. Fast forward several restless and sometimes puke filled hours later to late the next morning. I was roused from my second attempt at sleeping by my middle child spewing strawberries slices in the hallway and my youngest reacting with an incredibly scared shriek. I then receive confirmation that it was not food poisoning. My poor youngest niece had puked in the car on the way to breakfast, while sitting in the restaurant during breakfast, and then again on the way home from breakfast. After another change job, I take my son and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach back to bed. Fast forward a few more hours and it is my turn with the puke bucket. Back to sleep again and I awake to an empty bed and voices from the next room asking my middle son if he is okay and my niece saying “I think he’s going to puke again.” I scramble to get out of bed as I hear my son puking across the room in what feels more like a museum of things kids shouldn’t touch than a living room. Now where exactly the puke landed, I will not say in case my mother reads this, but I will say thank god for my sister and her powers of cleaning. It is a good thing that my parents are old and therefor slow when they go out to the store (I love you mom). That day was topped of with yet another of the clan following victim to the stomach virus from hell when my oldest niece took to the puke bucket.

The next day we thought we were all on the mend. My oldest niece was still weak, but had stopped puking. So we all headed off to the zoo with multiple strollers for puke weakened children. Sure, not the best idea, but it was our last day in town and we had more family to meet up with. It was a tiring excursion, but no major problems. On the drive home my two youngest fell asleep. When we got to the house, my middle child wanted to continue sleeping, but instead, wandered around the house until after everyone was bathed and then threw up all over us both again. I treaded lightly with him that night, fearful because the next day was our flight home. He ended up being okay, despite a few scary moments, but my nephew then started throwing up, as well as having it come out the other end, all over the bed. Him seemed better by this morning, but then it was my brother-in-laws turn, only hours before a six hour flight with a layover. I don’t think any of us could get out of there fast enough. With only the memory of the last few days, I’m not sure any of us ever want to go back. My middle child is so traumatized that he now associates Nana’s house with throwing up.

By some miracle, we all made it to our final destinations without incident. My sister texted me that they had gotten home okay, but now she was feeling sick. I breathed a sigh of relief that it seemed to be done for at least my family. Ten minutes after my sister’s text, while my husband was at the store, I hear my oldest yell to me from the bathroom “Mom, I pooped myself.” This is when we get the shit cherry on the puke sundae. I go into to find that not only had he pooped his pants, but he must have tried to take his pants off after making this discovery. There was poop everywhere, all over the freshly cleaned bathroom. Not to be overly graphic, but it was in his underwear, on his jeans, his socks, all down his legs, on the floor, and all over the white towel. My stomach was just starting to feel better, but was still a little queasy after lunch today, and this did not help the cause. I began to retch as I attempted to clean it up and end up running for the other bathroom before getting very far. I called my husband frantic, praying that he was close, but he wasn’t close enough. So I ventured in again, trying to come up for air frequent enough that I didn’t puke all over my son. Despite this tactic, I was overtaken again and ran for the other bathroom only to find my 3 year old pooping on that toilet. Luckily I managed to keep myself from puking all over the only other bathroom and my husband finally showed up.

So now the kids are bathed and I am too and I really hope that this is truly over. Hopefully neither one for my parents end up with it and if my sister does get it, it moves quickly. I think we all just need to have a little selective amnesia and forget this toxic trip, or at least the last half of it. I say instead of meeting at my parent’s house for our annual family vacation next year, we take a real vacation and meet at an all inclusive resort where the only reason someone might get sick is from too many drinks, not that that’s any fun when you are parenting, but that’s a story for another time.

Potty training: Round two

Well here we go again. We are attempting to potty train our second child. Why I say “we”, I’m not really sure, since I do the majority of the work, but that’s probably a good thing, since my husband has no patience. Anyway, my middle son is about a month and a half shy of 3 and has been showing all the signs that he’s ready, so I decided to give it a go. I probably could have tried a little sooner but my first son wasn’t potty trained until almost 3 1/2 and, well, it is a pain to potty train.

Training a child to use the toilet is hard when it is just one kid, but now I have three. Okay, so one is pretty self-sufficient when it comes to using the bathroom and the other isn’t quite walking yet so he’s still pretty portable, but still, with three kids, I’m busy. I’m constantly on the go, taking the kids to school, lessons, play dates, and activities. We aren’t always around bathrooms and my oldest is so good about holding it and going to the bathroom on his own that I never really think about it anymore. I drive a minivan, I can always change a diaper in the back. Plus, it isn’t easy to drop everything and run a kid to the bathroom when you are out with three kids either. I trust my oldest, Who is almost 5, to go into single occupancy bathrooms on his own. Not to mention, for the first few months, during and after potty training, you have to carry extra clothes and the portable potty everywhere; that takes up space in the purse and I have enough stuff in my tote bag already. Then of course, there is the extra laundry to do from all the “accidents”. None of that is as bad though as the accidents themselves; especially the poopy ones. This is what I’m most frightened of. My oldest had a hard time with making it to the toilet for poops for several months after he was completely out of diapers. Luckily, most of his poops were nice solid nuggets that easily dumped into the toilet, so the occasional soft one was just thrown out with the underwear. My middle son, however, well…he loves his fruit, and that doesn’t translate well for potty accidents. I think this was the biggest factor that made me hesitant to potty train him.

Of course, I finally had to just tell myself that no matter how much of a pain it was going to be to potty train, it had to be done. Besides, once it is done, I won’t have to worry about my middle child’s horrible fruit poops, or carry around diapers for two kids anymore and I’d be saving money. Once it is done, life will be a little easier, at least until I have to potty train the third one. By then I should be an old pro at this though and maybe it won’t be so bad. In the meantime, I hope going through this for a second time isn’t too bad and doesn’t provide me with too many stories to blog about. A mom can dream right?

Pedophiles not welcome

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 and their poop

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.

The worst part of my day

Let me just say that I love my boys, I really do.  I couldn’t imagine life without them.  That being said, there is no daily activity that raises my blood pressure more than getting the three of them ready and into the car to go someplace, especially if we have to be there by a certain time.  This is a process that can not be done in under an hour (20 minutes if it is just getting them from the door into the car).  I know that sounds extreme and parent out there are saying, “bull shit, I get my kids ready and out of the house in less time than that!” To those parents I say kudos to you, but I’m not talking about your kids, I’m talking about mine.

The whole process starts with the attempt at getting all three of them dressed in appropriate clothes for the weather and event of the day.  I say attempt because it often times ends with a lot of little naked bodies running round the house.  On a good day, my oldest son will get himself dressed all by himself, but that is often where the appropriateness of the clothing becomes an issue.  My four year old doesn’t understand temperature’s relation to how you dress, or what shorts are versus pants (or short sleeves versus long for that matter).  He often comes out dressed for the wrong weather, but insist on wearing that bathing suit bottom and t-shirt on a rare day when you can see your breath, or more commonly, the sweatshirt and fleece pants when it is going to be 102 degrees.  As far as appropriateness goes, most things, with the exception on pajamas to school, I let him get away with.  Once he’s dressed, it is on to my middle son, who makes getting him dressed  into a rodeo event.  I have to chase after him and practically lasso him to get him undressed and his diaper changed.  If I make the mistake of letting him go before I’ve gotten his clothes for the day on him, we are back to chasing and roping, as he giggles the entire time.  The baby isn’t too hard to dress, but it can be a little disheartening.  As soon as I’ve changed his diaper, wiggled him into his outfit, and snapped all the snaps, one of two things will happen (or on a really good day, both will happen).  He will either proceed to spit up all down his front (and possibly mine) until the shirt or onesie (usually it’s a onesie) will be soaked through, or I will hear a sudden growling as a rumble makes it’s way through his digestive track and deposit all that he’s eaten in the last two hours into his diaper.  Awesome, time to do it all over again.

Once everyone is finally dressed, myself included (which occurs between dealing with crying and screaming from three children who choose that moment to need me), we need to brush teeth.  Most days my four year old can handle this task with minimal supervision, but not minimal mess.  I have to brush my middle son’s teeth, which results in more of the same rodeo-style antics.  Then it is on to shoes.  For this task I try outsourcing.  I tell the boys to hunt down their shoes and put them on while I try to pack up everything we need.  I’ve given up on carrying purses or diaper bags and now carry a full size back pack, which is usually stuffed to it’s full capacity.  I know some of you are thinking, “well here is your time suck,'” but I assure you, this is not true.  Most of the vitals are already packed, so I’m not actually packing the bag everyday (though it feels that way).  However, there are certain things I need to add, take out, or replenish before we leave.  So I go down the check list: two different sized diapers (or three if we need a night time diaper), wipes, extra clothes in case my four year old has an accident, extra clothes for the boys if we are going to be near water of any kind or might be back late and possibly fall asleep in the car, small toys to entertain in case of melt downs, binkie for the baby, burp cloth, baby blanket, extra outfit for the baby, hats and sunscreen if we’ll be outside, my wallet, my sunglasses,  and my phone.  Then we need water; we always need water.  We live in the desert and when you live in the desert you quickly learn that you don’t go anywhere without water.  So I fill up to bottles of ice water and put one on either side of my overstuffed pack back in the drink holders.  By the time I get the back pack on, I look like a turtle whose shell is way too big.

Once, the boys have found their shoes and  have them on,  we are almost ready to leave the house (even if my middle son is wearing his favorite Batman rain boots and both kids have their shoes on the wrong feet).  Now I just have to get the baby into his car seat, except his stomach is making that familiar grumble and there is a rumble in his diaper.  Awesome, time for another diaper change, it never fails.

Once that’s done, I remind my oldest to use the potty, but he swears he already did when he brushed his teeth.  We finally make it out the door.  Now I just have to load my back pack and three kids into the car, that simple right?  The baby isn’t a problem, I just plop the bucket set in.  I dread the day he leaves the bucket seat and becomes part of the next scene.  Unfortunately, the two older boys aren’t as easy.  There is fighting over seats, crying, and running away with attempts to hide in the far back corner of the van where it is nearly impossible to grab them from the front because of all the car seats, and just as hard to grab them if I open the back because I have not just one, but two different strollers in the trunk area (don’t ask).  Eventually I just have to grab a child and force him into the nearest seat, readjusting straps constantly.  My oldest will yell that it is too tight and I’m squishing his penis.  My middle child, well, he’ll just smell like poop; awesome.  So now I’m pulling him out of the car and running in to wrestle with him on the ground while I try to change his diaper.  I come back out to a crying baby and screaming four year old who wants to watch a movie.  I allow them to watch one, for my own sanity, if we are going any distance.  Now I have to rummage through the massive amounts of books, trash, toys, grocery bags, blankets, and nameless other crap on my floor to find the head sets, all the while praying that the batteries in them are still good.  Next, there is the fight over the movie and waiting through the FBI warning so I can skip the previews and get the movie all set up and started before we leave the driveway.  When I finally get into the driver’s seat, buckle my belt, and put the van into reverse, my oldest yells from the back that he has to pee.  So back into park we go, up goes the garage door, out of the five point harness goes my son, and back into the house so he can do something he swears he did only 5 minutes earlier.  By the time I get him back into his seat and everyone settled with what they need, the baby is crying because he’s tired and hungry.  So I pop a pacifier in his mouth and pray he falls asleep once we start moving, promising to feed him as soon as we finally get where we are going.

Finally, I get us out of the driveway and on the road with only five minutes to spare to get somewhere that is 20 minutes away; awesome!  And now you also know why I’m always late everywhere.

Poop report

So my plan for my two year old to only poop when his dad is around has far from worked. Today he took at least six horribly disgusting poops just for me. Apparently he’s not hip to my plan.

Oh, and my four year old pooped on a tree at the park tonight. Awesome.

Poop happens

Potty training has got to be one of the worst parts of raising young children. Don’t get me wrong, I hate changing diapers, especially poopy ones, but there is something infinitely more easy about changing a diaper than teaching a child to use the potty. I mean, sure it is no fun wiping my child’s butt while he lays there, hands clasped behind his head, smiling like he’s enjoying it. However, the mishaps during the exhausting potty training period are grosser than the smelliest, yet contained diaper.

My oldest son is the only one of my three boys potty trained so far and soon I will need to embark on that harrowing adventure again with my almost two and a half year old. I admit that my oldest son wasn’t fully potty trained until shortly before turning four despite having started the attempts at it before he was two. Even now he still has occasional accidents, as well as the occasional “screw you for sending me to my room” non-accidents.

Our potty training journey was ripe with “incidents.” For instance, there was the time my son, almost two at the time, was taking a bath, which promptly ended when we peed in said bath. I took him out of the water and wrapped him in a towel, but before I could get a diaper on him, he was off like a shot, shedding his towel in his haste. He ran into the kitchen where his father was, knelt down on all fours and crawled over to my husband barking like a dog. He then proceeded to stop in front of my husband, squat, and poop one solid turd in front of him, then he was on his way again. I have to admit, at that moment I was proud; he’d managed to hold his poop until the end of the bath. You have to celebrate even the smallest victories when potty training.

Even just a few days ago we had an “incident.” Even though my son poops on the potty now (most of the time, occasionally he prefers near a tree in the backyard), he has trouble with the whole bum wiping. Nothing delights me more than to be just sitting down to a quiet moment, finally getting a chance to eat lunch, when five treasured little words are hollered down the hall, “I need my bum wiped.” Oh yay! Upon entering the bathroom, a greeting like no other is given, as a tiny little bare bottom faces the door with hands spreading cheeks and aforementioned butt awaits wiping. As I relished in this wonderful event the other day, I couldn’t help but notice the poop to be a little, well… squishier than usual. I began to ask if my son was feeling okay, when, mid wipe, I received a sudden surprise of more poop deposited into the wipe. “You’re pooping again!” I yelled as I as tried to figure out how to get the tiny bottom back on the toilet without the poop getting all over the freshly cleaned bathroom. Eventually I resigned myself to my fate, realizing that I was better off just catching the poop in a wipe or two than risk getting it everywhere and creating a big mess that I would have to clean. This was not one of those moments to celebrate.

So I admit, when I questioned my two and a half year old yesterday, as I changed yet another fruit induced near blow out, if he wanted to start pooping on the potty and he defiantly shouted “no,” I breathed a little sigh of relief knowing that his answer had just bought me another month before I’ll need to start down the potty training road again. In the meantime, I will just encourage him to save most of his pooping for evenings and weekends, when his father is home.

 

 

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