Things Boys (And Their Mamas) Think About

Out of the blue, while we were driving to Kindermusik, the punk's voice sounded from the back seat: "If I peed on my face... that would be funny!"

-~-

After giving the punk more than sufficient time to complete his business, I walked into the bathroom to hurry up the flushing, pulling up of the pants, and washing portion of the task. Of course, I entered to find him standing on the counter with the toilet unflushed, his underwear and pants on the ground. I asked, "Calvin, why don't you just put your underwear back on after you go to the bathroom? Why do you just stand here naked until I come find you?"

"Because I want to."

-~-

We are remodeling two of our three bathrooms. So when the toilet - the only working toilet in the house - started ominously filling instead of draining after the punk filled it with half a roll of toilet paper, I started pleading, "No, no, no, no... Crap, crap, crap, crap!"

Then of course, the punk asked, "What's a crap?"

Oh crap.

[This photo was taken a few days ago when the pink bathroom was still intact.]

A Three Year-Old Boy

A three year-old boy holds out his hand to feel the purple and pink padded bras as he walks by them at the department store and exclaims, "Oooh! What are these?"

A three year-old boy points at a man pushing his kids in a cart at the grocery store and says loudly, "He's a stranger!"

A three year-old boy coughs up a bunch of phlem and then informs his mama that he "didn't swallow a snail."

A three year-old boy gets out of bed four times to "fix" (rearrange) the lone present under the Christmas tree.

When his mama peeks her head into the bathroom to ask if he is done, a three year-old boy matter-of-factly says, "No. I made one poop. I'm going to make a loooooooot of poops."

The bathtub of a three year-old boy is accessorized by a man-eating crocodile.

Another Tuesday

"Is it worth it?"

This is the thought that repeatedly came to mind as I was preparing to get the two boys and me out of the house this morning. Yes, our outing to Barnes & Noble was going to be worth it. It would distract all of us for at least an hour and give us something to look at besides each others' faces.

We parked in front of the store and I made the necessary preparations:

• I took my wallet, phone, and keys out of the diaper bag,
• hid the bag under a blanket on the floor of the back seat (because I didn't want to lug that thing around with me; it's like having to keep track of a third child),
• unbuckled a sleeping basher, stuffed him into the Snugli, and strapped him onto my front like a marsupial, and
• went around to the other door to unbuckle the punk.

This is when he decided to tell me that he "has a poop." So I:

• uncovered the diaper bag,
• retrieved a diaper and the wipes,
• laid a crying baby on the floor of the front seat in his Snugli,
• reclined said front seat, and
• changed the punk's diaper right there in the parking lot.
• Then I sanitized my hands and the punk's (at his request),
• strapped the baby to my person,
• grabbed my wallet, phone and keys,
• locked the car,
• threw away the messy diaper, and
• went into the book store.

I read a couple books to the punk and otherwise let him wander in the children's section. The basher made it known that he did not appreciate when I stopped moving, so I told my tired body to keep walking even though all I wanted to do was lie down on the floor and take a nap. A very long nap. A "wake me up in a few months" kind of nap. But since that wasn't an option today, I just walked.

The basher did fall asleep for a few minutes, so I sat on a bench while the punk made a mess (which we cleaned up before we left - my mild sleep deprivation hasn't left me completely devoid of manners). After a very short rest, I stood up to get the punk started on the tidying process, and a fellow parent noticed the bundle on my chest. "Wow, a brand new one!"

"Yes," I said as I started heading toward the punk.

"Don't forget your wallet," he said. So I turned around to see my zebra wallet sitting on the bench, waiting to be abandoned.

"Oh, thanks," I sighed.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "You'll sleep in about 9 months."

"Ha! Yes, I'm looking forward to it!"

Another Poop Story

Yesterday, I was changing the punk's diaper. I laid him on the changing table, undid the velcro tabs, and then realized there were no diapers in the cupboard. So I took one step over to his closet to grab a new package, and before I could get my hand on them, the little man had grabbed the diaper from in between his legs, and pulled it out from under himself.

Now if this had been merely a wet diaper, it wouldn't have been so scary. But of course, you know by the title of this post, it was not. As he pulled the diaper up into the air, the large nugget landed squarely on his chest. Curious, he picked it up to examine the item that had fallen. In a panic, I took it out of his hand... with my bare hand. Gag! I placed the token back in the dirty diaper and feverishly proceeded to wipe his hands and my hands with wet wipes. Then I slathered hand sanitizer all over both of us. Then, I found two smaller turds lying next to him, and gathered them. After changing his poop-smudged shirt, we both visited the bathroom sink to thoroughly clean our hands with anti-bacterial soap. Then more hand sanitizer.

And now, to clear your head of the awful story I just told, please enjoy these photos of the punk and his pal Bogey (Grandma Lynn's doggie). They share a favorite hobby: playing with "la-la" (water).

Do you feel better now?

Poop

The punk is adding new words to his vocabulary every day now. Among other things, he can now say "cereal," "truck," and "snack." One of the most recent additions to his repertoire is "poop." After he suddenly stops whatever he's doing and stands, red-faced, in the middle of the room, grunting and concentrating, he will involuntarily shiver and then look up with wide, blue eyes and helpfully exclaim, "Poop!"

The other day, he was in the other room wrestling with his dad. I heard the play stop and then my man whisper to him, "Go tell mama." A second later, the punk appeared at my bedroom door. He pointed to his bum and said, "Poop!" I yelled into the other room, "Nice try!" and heard a hearty burst of guilty laughter.

He also knows another word that rhymes with poop: