Monkey See Monkey Doo Doo

By Vanessa Shepherd

 

Let me just start this out by saying that I wouldn’t wish potty training on my worst enemy.  It is my least favorite part of parenting… Bar. None.  And as much as I think babysitting is a great form of birth control, babysitting a two year- and not just any two year old but one who is potty training- would be the very equivalent of sterilizing teenagers for years to come.  It is that bad.

 

I have noticed that many of the stories on this blog have revolved around the subject of poop, and while I would love to say this one is different we have been potty training so there’s your first clue, and between Caitlin and I we have five boys so an epic poop story it will be.  Because let’s just be honest, boys’ love poop… and it happens on the daily.  So for us to get out our computers and document an “occurrence” is a dead giveaway to a gagging nail biter (you’ll get that pun more as you read on).

 

I would like to begin this story 6 years ago when I had my first son.  I had been clipping his nails for the very first time and slipped- cutting his little finger.  I am pretty sure I cried more than he did seeing his finger bleeding, knowing I was the cause.  Because of this I opted to bite his nails from there on out, knowing that I could trust my own mouth to decipher between nail and finger.  So there you have it.  For as long as I have been a mom I have only used the nail clippers once.  Both boys in fact would on occasion jump into my lap and lift up their hand, falling asleep to me biting off each nail.  It was our thing.

 

Fast forward to this last week.  Death week.  The week I decided that I would potty train my little albino terrorist that I love with all of my heart.  The week I started said task with my husband heading out of town on a trip that had been planned for some time but I had already set my mind to getting it done so I would go it alone.  The terrible no good very bad week that every parent experiences while potty training.

 

 

Jake had been doing decent at peeing in the toilet.  I mean I spent half my day in the bathroom with him so pee was bound to get in that porcelain bowl.  But poop… yea no.  Jake would have none of that on the toilet.   He would hold it in, after being on the toilet for an hour because I just KNEW that he had to go, and as soon as he’d get off run to an inconspicuous place to do the duty.  Every. Time.  For nine days I scrubbed floors, threw away chonies (because I would rather spend a few dollars on a new pair than wash that crap with other clothes- literally), bribed with every candy I could imagine, and barely held myself from knocking my head against a wall over and over.  Day nine, oh day nine, it took the cake.

 

 

After spending another hour in the bathroom bribing my strong willed second born to no avail, I sent him off for naptime.  Sometime later I heard him crying.  The pain cry.  As a mom there are many cries (attention cry, whining cry, tired cry, hungry cry, and the painful cry) and this one got me up and in his room in no time.  I swung open the door to find my son sitting in his bed with a handful of poop.  POOP!!!! Poop in your underwear, fine, but hold it???? WHY CHILD??? I swiftly picked him up, dumping his handful in the toilet, and sat him on his throne in case he had more in there, while I hurried off to get a soapy wash cloth for his hands.

 

It could only have been a minute that I had been away but that minute was all it took for my child to make the worst decision of his two years of life.  I walk in with washcloth in hand to find Jake BITING HIS NAILS.  HIS POOP INFESTED NAILS.  I almost threw up all over that bathroom.  What would possess you to put the very thing that smells of crap IN YOUR MOUTH.  That is the very moment I regretted ever opting for not using those nail clippers.  My child would now be diseased because of a decision I made six years ago I just knew it. 

 

To my relief, he is still alive.  And even better that was the last time he ever pooped in his underwear.  I may have scared him into now going in the toilet.  Whatever works I suppose.

 

Children… they always copy your behaviors at the worst opportune time… FOR THE LOVE!

Target Audience

I am sure when you read the title you are thinking that this post will be about crazy shenanigans in our beloved store, Target, but this my dear mom friend is a different kind of story.  A different kind of target.  This post is about advertising and their incredible ability to reach their intended audience with pinpoint accuracy (which, I will give you a hint, is not us)!

Mom, you NEED that!

A phrase that has come out of my six year olds mouth more times lately than I would like to admit. 

 

Yes, I need that shampoo for dry, damaged hair. 

 

Yes, I probably do need that face wash for dark spots on my skin. 

 

Yes, I need that lotion that will make me look like the tiny and tan half naked lady you see on TV. 

 

Yes, Michael.  Mom probably needs all of that.  Thank you for pointing it out to me.
 

Companies today are doing an excellent job with their advertising because they have somehow  convinced my son that miracle shampoos, face washes, and lotions really do exist.  That I will magically transform from this sleep deprived, stretch mark ridden mom into a beautiful butterfly that has time to rub lotion on her freshly tanned skin for ten minutes... while smiling.  But I don't.  I am lucky to have two minutes to myself to put makeup on without Jake wanting to play in it. And tanning, yea... no... there's none of that happening. 

 

 The closest thing I get is waiting for sweater season so I don't chance burning my white-as-snow child while we lay in the grass watching for birds while the sun hits our face. 

 




Wrestling... per usual. Boys will be boys!

All five minutes of it is glorious until they realize they actually want to do something because they are boys and lying down is for bed time!

 













However, my favorite advertising win so far happened a few months ago.  And ironically it was one of the few times that it wasn't directed at me!  I was watching my oldest play, getting frustrated as he sometimes does not being able to solve all the problems in the world, and out of no where he says "Like a good neighbor State Farm is there".  And then he waited.  Seriously.  He waited and looked around and upon seeing that in fact no one appeared to help him, began to throw a tantrum.  I know I should have talked to him about his attitude in that moment but I was laughing too hard to talk.

 

So I did what I thought was best, I told him that it was pretend- like Santa Claus. 

 

And that's when I ruined his childhood.

 

 

I guess that is what it is like to have faith as a child, like the bible talks about.  To hear something and without any doubts or reservations claim it as reality... our very own reality.  To read of peace that surpasses understanding and have it.  Or joy that comes in the morning after a night of mourning.  Or our strength being renewed if we wait on the Lord.  Or any other promise He gives us in His word.  He said it so it is true.  And not only is it true, but it is true for me!  Oh that I can have just a fraction of that kind of trust in our great God.  I hope that my life can be a great advertisement that convinces people of His goodness and His faithfulness.  So when people see Christ in me, they will be compelled to say "I need that".

 

Children... the best at pointing out our baggy eyes and teaching us about faith... FOR THE LOVE!

There are funner things...

School starts for my little first grader tomorrow, and like any well-organized mother I have waited until the last minute to get said child ready for his school year... as best as I can.

 

I took him school clothes/supplies shopping two nights ago and was thrilled when he reached for a "United States Army" backpack (it is camouflage but cannot be referred to as such because it's his United States Army backpack, Mom!) instead of the weird charactered ones that creeped me out a bit. We waited way too long and our selection now consisted of knock off versions of real cartoons with geometric heads and giant eyes or patterned ones that were not cool enough!  Thank God for that last USA backpack in the bottom of the seriously destroyed pile.  Thank GOD!

 

After what seemed like forever in line with a child who seemed to have ants in his pants that I am coming to find out is just typical boy behavior, we finally were able to check out.  I watched as my big six year old helped an elderly man pick up his cigarettes that he had dropped on the floor as I paid for our loot, holding back every grossed out comment that kept trying to leak out of my mouth to prevent such a sweet gesture.

 

My part was done and now I handed the baton off to dad who would take him to get his first non-mom cut since who knows when at a real barber shop.  I had planned to meet them later into the cut with the golden child (aka the albino terrorist) knowing that vandalism may ensue... and I was not disappointed. 

Jake walked up and down every inch of that 10ft by 10ft room, rolling on the hair covered floor, and playing on the very chair that Michael was sitting in to get his hair cut. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

At the end I had both a freshly groomed soon to be first grader, and a second child who was graciously given a neck shave by the incredible Evan Boling!  Success!

 

 

 

 Alas we were finished and it was now time to take the boys home; Jake securely nestled in my arm like a football as to not smack my face or kick me  repeatedly because we are leaving and he doesn't want to.  Michael walks beside me and starts talking about his excitement for the first grade.  We talk awhile and then that moment happened; the one when I wish I had had my phone on record to capture exactly how wonderful having children truly is sometimes. 

 

I can't wait to tell all of my friends about my summer.

 

Oh yea, Michael.  What was your favorite part?

 

I really liked going camping with Aunt Lisa. We went on the boat and I fell in the water.  Good thing I had my life saver on. 

 

Yes, the life jacket.  I bet you thought it was fun to float around in that.

 

Yea.  But mom, I don't want to do that again.  There are funner things to do... like playing with wrestlers or petting a cat.

 

OR PETTING A CAT.  That was a legitimate more fun experience than boating in Shaver Lake. My six year old is by far the least of my worries when it comes to taking risks or getting hurt.  I would be very surprised if he attempts anything bone-brakingly dangerous before he graduates high school.  Especially if his idea of most fun things to do during summer break tops out at petting a cat.  As far as AT (albino terrorist) goes, well I will probably be writing from a hospital ER one day soon.  Keep posted!

 

Children... they have a way of making you laugh... FOR THE LOVE!

 

 

Poopy Pool

There are no words for what the last two hours consisted of.

This morning I thought of how I missed my friend and was longing for some woman chat time. Even if it meant the kids made a mess or watched an insane amount of TV, endless treats, and iPad use just to make it possible.

So I sent a text... and voila we made it happen. 

                                                                                           Of course all of the above mentioned craziness ensued quickly. But we managed to microwave our coffee and fit in bits of conversation and connection amidst the chaos of four little boys four and under.

Then some of the unthinkable happened... The volume was just too much to stay inside our little ransacked living room. So we made our way outside. There is our small kiddie swimming pool, which at the moment was filled with mud and muck. It was pretty disgusting. Little Brooklyn (not quite one years old yet) kept wanting to splash and play, so we eventually let him get in. Which led of course to Caleb & Connor taking off their clothes and jumping in. So we have four little boys playing in this disgusting pool. We had to stop them from drinking the water multiple times... but hey-- we are in this together and getting to connect... well worth it.

I kept eyeing little Brooklyn's diaper as in enlarged rapidly (not a swimmie diaper we were going with the flow here folks.) I kept wondering is it brown in there from all the muck and dirt in the water or did he actually poop. So finally we take a peek... it's poop alright and it's filled up. So I'm holding Cade trying to keep Brooklyn up while Mel runs to get wipes. It was some of the nastiest baby diaper filling I'd seen. We managed to clean up, get the sopping diaper in the trash, manage the boys and figured what every normal mom would right?!?!? Just go ahead and let him in now, he's already pooped, he's good to go.

WRONG. Very very wrong. Minutes later Mel spots a lovely little "log" at the bottom then we realize along with the dirt floating there are some carrot chunks. We go into crazy mommy mode and get him and the rest of the boys out of the pool. Try playing catch with the log in the pool.. until we realize we just have to dump it all. We set the babies down and try to drag this heavy load of a pool into the grass area.

And the story really should end there. But instead we realize while dragging and dumping the pool and all of its chunks into the grass we somehow riled up a pile of ants and they are crawling all over us. I mean literally all over my feet, my legs... on boys. Then I look over and Caleb is peeing all over the door, ground, fan, etc. Cade is crying. And what can you do but.... LAUGH.

As we're finally cleaning up and getting inside Connor decides to throw handfuls of MY organic corn flakes all over the ground inside & out. Sort of the icing on the cake.

So we survived, as you can imagine we were both ready for naptime and I rewarded myself with a quiet lunch by myself in bed rather than attacking the piles of laundry and dishes. And writing this craziness down, because we do it all FOR THE LOVE and I want to remember these crazy stories to share with them one day and just LAUGH about the poopy pool and all.

"Be sure to celebrate the many small things.. bright days, good friends and anything with sprinkles."  Mel & I saw this on my counter and commented on how good this is and what we're doing... celebrating life. (Even with dirty feet and dirty floors!) This is good living.

Moms Know Best

It is summertime and blazing hot outside so in light of Rich already having a beach trip planned with our interns, we decided to pack up the boys and all go with him as well.  The forecast, 71 degrees; the perfect weather for our little albino to run in the sun without mom having to plaster him several times in sunscreen.  Because there are no two things that pair worse together than sand… and sunscreen.  Unless you count lipstick and couches, which is a story for another day but I digress.

 

The beach.  Perfect summer bliss.

 

That was until we got there and it was really 90 outside, thanks weather people, which meant that once again half of the time I would be fighting my little one to cover every square inch of his very pale body with sunscreen that lacked the magical powers it would need to possess to really protect it from the death rays that most of us call sunlight.  He doesn’t know it now as he pushes away- screaming and yelling- but mom really does know best.    

 

At first he wanted nothing to do with the “pool” (also known as the ocean) but soon found how wonderful it was to have the waves brush over your feet and he was hooked.  “Throw sand, play in water, have mom douse me in sunscreen, repeat” that was his day.  At one point we even buried an intern and Jake found it quite comical to sit beside him covering his mouth and throwing dirt at his face.  Who am I kidding; we all found it quite comical.  Even passersby would get a good chuckle out of it as they stopped for a few minutes to watch the commotion. 

 

 

As the day began to wind down we headed for the cars and that’s when I spotted it.  The sun burn.  Not just any sun burn but a giant red raccoon-eyed sunburn.  He had rubbed his eyes so much (from crying, being exhausted from skipping a nap, and hating that horrid sunscreen on his face) that he had wiped off any thing standing between him and the Death Star.  (Star Wars reference for the sun, my mom will appreciate that one)

 

So here we sit the next day.  Fighting with him to spray aloe vera all over his puffy lobster-colored eyes in hopes that it can help to keep them from peeling; which of course feels great I’m sure as we rub it over his barely scabbed forehead from falling out of a hammock only a few days before.  And of course we get the pleasure of reapplying every few hours… again. 

 

 

Children.  They fight the very things that were created to help them.

 

 

 

  

 

FOR THE LOVE!


 

The Many Faces of Mom

"Excuse you?!"

"Grossssss" 

"Watch it Mister!"

"Please no." 

"Don't even think about it." 

"Why me!?" // pure exhaustion 

So I realized that without saying a word, just by my look-- sometimes my boys will run and hide, apologize to myself or their brother, cry, scream, laugh, etc.... Oh what a "look" is capable of. 

It's especially nice when no words that are raging through my mind would be quite appropriate, that a look will do. 

For example, when we are in a public place and my boys are being crazy and nothing that is currently running through my mind would suffice– Without getting me an assortment of dirty looks and judgemental glances (as if their behavior isn't already doing that enough)– like when we're at our favorite sushi restaurant and they decide their chopsticks are really drumsticks and that everyone who came to dine tonight actually was coming to hear their extraordinary drumming. 

Or like when Connor takes his paint brush meant for the "paint wall" at the children's museum and decides to paint another mommy's leg! 

There. Are. No. Words. 

Minus the good 'ol fashioned full name calling. "Connor James Zick!!!" 

Or a more light-hearted one yesterday–

when I caught Connor red-handed with my Starbucks–I gave the "excuse me sir" look and his response was kind of funny (the kind where you're trying to hide your laugh as to not give allowance for it)... He giggled, kept drinking and said in the cutest two-year-old voice, "You'll never get it nowwwww." 

So for now I will continue to work on my repertoire of "looks", all... 

FOR THE LOVE!

Nakey Jakey

This new naked trend isn’t really new at all.  From the dawn of time toddlers have rioted against clothing of any kind and have run amuck in houses everywhere, free as a bird.  This of course is acceptable when you are in the comforts of your own home.  But children never abide by the “culturally acceptable”.  In fact, on my last trip to my parent’s house my youngest son (age 2 1/2) decided that it was too hot for clothing once again and stripped down to his birthday suit in their backyard.  No big deal, I thought.  No one will be offended by a little Nakey Jakey back here, and if he has to pee… well, there’s grass.

 

Distracted, as I was, cleaning the patio area before my sister-in-law’s graduation party- I began to see the downfall of this decision.  I realized that my son had found some glass decorations to play with and instead of prying them from his tiny fingers which would have immediately sent him into a tantrum of epic proportions (because these days there are no such things as small tantrums), I opted to watch him closely by playing with him.

 

We being shoulder to shoulder on the cold cement, Jacob standing and me kneeling, the thing I thought would never happened did.  After a split second grunt, which sounded more like a raspy hiccup, down fell a chunk of poop.  A CHUNK OF POOP.  ON THE CEMENT.  A whole field of grass and he decides to not allow his need “to go” disturb the glass bird and cage he was playing with.  He just continued playing.  He didn’t even flinch. 

 

My eyes widened as I smelt what had just happened, and as calm as possible looked to my mother and asked for a piece of toilet paper. 

 

“What do you need it for?” she asked.

 

Still in shock I simply replied, “Do you smell that? Jake just pooped on your patio.”

 

We all had a great laugh, but for the rest of the evening as guests began to show and I look down to the spot where that little thing was planted I couldn’t help but feel queasy wondering if there were any remnants left.  I scrubbed that spot as best I could, but there’s no feeling clean after that.

 

Children.  They get poop everywhere.

 

FOR THE LOVE!