Biting Back My Wishes

You know when you wish for something and then after it happens, you regret it?

Deeply.

Over the past couple weeks I've been thinking occasionally that I wish something interesting would happen so I could blog about it.

So dumb. Sooo dumb.

Last Friday we were at my best friend's community pool for her son's birthday. Swimming, presents, cake, happiness.

After a while I heard Noah calling to me from a bathroom. I stuck my head in and he said "Wipe me, Mama."

As I walked further into the bathroom, I started seeing things. Horrible things.

Let me back up a bit.

Noah doesn't just sit back onto the toilet. He does it with style. He plants his left foot on the seat and swings his right leg over to the other side, like straddling a horse.

Unfortunately, this time he miscalculated, just a bit.

He began his bowel emptying as he was swinging his leg.

That's right. Poop all over next to the toilet.

On the trash can.

On the floor.

On the wall.

On the outside of the toilet.

I stared in blank horror for a few seconds then slowly walked out of the bathroom and called to Matt, where he was talking to some friends.

"Maaaatttt?"

He comes in and we both stare in blank horror for a few seconds.

Matt starts sputtering - "What...?  How did you...? What...?

"Are you sick?" I ask Noah.

"No," he replies, almost cheerfully from his view on the toilet (there is nothing in the toilet - nothing.).

We start the arduous (odorous?) process of wiping everything down with the only thing we had available - paper towels.

"Noah, how did this happen? This doesn't even make sense. I've never seen anything like this before."

"Holy heck, it's in the grout. How the crap do I get crap out of the grout?"

At one point, Matt stops and looks up at the ceiling.

"Why did I come to this party? Why was I born?"

While washing our hands at the sink, Matt asked Noah, "So what did we learn today?"

Noah, "It was bad."

Indeed it was.

As we were exiting the bathroom, holding the trashbag (that was ruined because Noah got poop all over the bag, as it was rolled down from the can), a friend remarked, "Well, at least you got a blog post."

It's a very thin silver lining but it's there, I suppose.

The Days All End in Tears

Matt and I took the kids to Stone Mountain Park in GA last week and had a great time.

After we did the activities in the park, we took the cable car up to the main attraction at Stone Mountain Park, which is - wait for it - a mountain made of stone.

The kids were running around and Matt and I were talking when I spotted this guy not far from us. He had on athletic shorts (with a hand towel tucked into the waistband) and no shirt on. And he was holding a jump rope. He paced for awhile, holding the jump rope. I could tell he was fighting an internal battle whether to jump rope or not. Because who, on God's green Earth, exercises in such a spectacular location without someone else to record it to post on social media? What's the use of jumping rope on top of a mountain if Instagram will never see it?

So I was half listening to Matt while keeping an eye on this guy, ready to snap a picture when he did start jumping because it was just so funny to me.

*interrupts Matt's talking about financial stuff*

"Oh, wait! It's happening!"

Ok, you can't really see him. He only jumped for about 10 seconds, disheartened, I'm sure, by the fact that he was doing this really cool thing for no other reason than that it was good for him and enjoyable to do.

Had I thought of it, I would've offered to take a picture of him with his cell phone. Then he could post and add a bunch of hashtags: #jumprope #onamountain #sunshine #exercisepostoritdoesn'tcount

Because everyone knows that you have to post your workout for likes and comments or it's wasted. Poor guy.

On the way home with 2 3-year-olds who had missed naps, Matt and I again expressed our desire to one day buy a limo with a soundproof barrier behind the front seats as our family car.

Oh the crying and arguing.

Noah is especially potent when he's tired. He's so illogical it's hard not to laugh. I feel like I'm on a police jumper squad, trying to soothe a dangerous person.

(As I put him into his bed for a nap):

Noah, screaming, crying: "This is not my room! This is Katie's room! (Here he holds up his stuffed salmon). This is not my salmon!"

Me: "Of course not. You don't even like salmon."

Noah bursts into fresh tears, frustrated by the fact that I'm agreeing with him when he wants to argue.

Noah, screaming: "I'm going to turn into a giant and carry you out of the house!"

Me: "That's nice of you."

Noah: "It's not nice, it's mean!"

He turns away from me and cries for a minute.

Then he pulls the blanket over him and says softly "Mama, I want you to hold me."

Another crisis averted.

To Pee or Not to Pee?

Last week my bestie and I took our kids to a local corn maze. We quickly ushered the kids to the hayride as we watched the school buses descend on the parking lot like a horde of bees. After the hayride we decided to eat our packed lunch before said school groups took over the picnic area. The eating area at this farm is a long, covered but open on the sides building filled with picnic tables and plastic swimming pools of raw corn kernels for the kids to swim in, throw at each other, and shove up their noses before eating lunch. The floor is covered with hay, which is really where this story begins.

Rosie took the older boys to the car to get our food while I stayed behind with the younger kids. The trip to the car takes maybe 4 minutes so I didn't see a problem with 6 young kids and pools of corn. Surely that would keep them occupied for 4 minutes. 20 seconds after Rosie and the boys left, the little kids got bored. Suddenly I had 4 toddlers to keep an eye on, making sure no one ran out to the adjacent playground or grabbed one of the chickens pecking around in the hay.

I hear an innocent little voice behind me - "Mama, I can pee here?"

As I turn to answer, I see that Noah has pulled down his shorts and underwear and is already peeing onto the hay/floor, right by a picnic table.

"No!" I tell him but he's not at an age where he can stop once started. He stares at me with crystal blue eyes and continues to soak the floor around us. Really, I can hardly blame the little guy. If there's one thing he loves, it's peeing outside. Anywhere he can make his mark on the earth while feeling the cool breeze on his behind is a happy place. Also, there are chickens. And as the saying goes "Where there are chickens, there is chicken pee." Once you realize the chickens are peeing, you begin to think to yourself "Am I all that different from a chicken? They're allowed to pee here, I should be too. What makes them so special?"

I feel myself prickle with sweat as voices of school group move closer, the excited din that accompanies children about to dine on lunchables and juice boxes. Noah is not stopping no matter how much I order him to stop, nor does he seem fazed - indeed, he has the slack look of relief that accompanies emptying one's bladder.

I pick him up and try to figure out which direction I could go where we won't draw attention to ourselves but still allows me to keep an eye on the 5 other children. I'm turning in different directions, slightly panicked while he pees on -  like a ghastly helicopter of pee. Finally I set him down next to the building, facing the playground. He is still peeing (Moons of Jupiter - how much liquid has this kid consumed today?), the front of his shorts now damp from our relocation. I stand in front of him, trying desperately to mop my glistening brow and look as nonchalant as I can. Trying not to look like I'm shielding a person urinating by the picnic tables.

It seems to be more of a boy thing (although Tali tries her darnedest to pee outside with Noah), this desire to pee outside. I have friends who nod their heads when I tell them about these incidences - their sons love nothing more than a good tree, waiting to be christened.

With trick-or-treat approaching, I just want to conclude by asking parents to be extra vigilant. Kids, especially boys, will be bombarded with nicely trimmed hedges and inviting lawns. Tomorrow night, ask yourself - It's Halloween, do I know where my toddler is peeing?