Rabbit Poop, New Style of Measuring, and Jelly Beans

So I'm almost a year into doing daycare and I have learned one thing: my child can sometimes be the most difficult child. The biggest challenge of my day is when parents pick up their kiddos at the end of the day, for no other reason than I don't know what is going to come out of my child's mouth or what he is going to do when other parents are here.  And of course the last thing you want is for a parent, who is essentially letting you help raise their child, questioning your parenting style, because your own child is, let’s say, quirky. Let me share a few examples of my humiliation with you...

-So a couple of weeks ago, we were playing outside when parents picked up. All was going well until I was chatting with the last parent of the day. My backyard is fenced in and very child proofed so I let my own four year old wander the yard (kind of like a cow in a pasture). Unfortunately, instead of wandering, he chose to hang by my side. In the middle of my conversation with this parent, Chase said, "I put rabbit poop in your pocket." I didn't believe it so I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out its contents. And sure as shit, I pulled out: a bead, a penny, a Cheerio and a rabbit turd. Of course my child burst into laughter, grabbed the Cheerio and plopped it into his mouth as he scampered off. (I would like to say into the sunset, but I'm sure he was just off to find more bunny poop and contaminated Cheerios.)  There are a couple things wrong with this; 1. My child has no issue playing in animal feces.  2. How did I not notice poop going into my pocket? (Any who, let’s not dwell on that latter of the two).

-The other day during pick up time my child was stacking books. I felt a sense of relief that he had chosen a "safe" activity to play with while others were in my house. You know, safe from my humiliation. Well apparently, my child can make even the safest activities crude. As he stacked the last book, he felt the need to yell to me, "Mom, the books are stacked higher than my penis." I'm glad he is learning the concept of measuring, but for goodness sake, please use a ruler, not your penis and do it after all of the daycare parents leave.

-And lastly, last Friday while a parent was in my entryway, Chase ran past the entryway wearing a potty chair around his knees, as if trying to use it as a hula hoop. All I could do was laugh (and hope they still came back on Monday morning.) 

On a side note: Our family went to the Wisconsin Dells this past weekend so of course our weekend was full with car rides and snacks.  During one outing I was sandwiched in the back seat of my parents’ vehicle between my nephew’s car seat and Chase’s car seat.  Chase and my nephew were sharing jelly beans.  Chase handed me a jelly bean and I plopped it into my mouth, thinking my young lad was just trying to share and be kind. Wrong! After I was midway through chewing the popcorn flavored jelly bean, which was disgusting enough on its own, Chase yells, “I stuck that up my nose first!”  Of course I continued eating it.  But where, oh where is he learning to be a gross boy?

So this is what happens when my child asks me for tape, markers and Popsicle sticks.  I'll know better next time. 

Good-bye Big Words, Poor Mamma Monkey

As a parent, there are conversations you have with your child, or things your child says to you, that make you feel really unintelligent. Some days, during nap time, I need to just look at words. Smart words, big words. You know, to make sure I remember what they mean because it has been a long, long time since I have had to use them.  Here are some of the reasons why my intelligence is feeling low these days.

Conversation with my four year old-

“Mom, come here. I need to wipe something on you.” 

Of course I responded by saying, “No thank you.”

Then Chase said, “But my eye booger is so cute. Oh, never mind, I just wiped it on my pants.”

For head smack.

Randomly, as my child is walking past me he blurts out, “Yeah, I think I need to change my underwear.”

Well, alrighty then child, I will not stand in your way of putting on shart-free undies.  Actually, I encourage it.

And my personal favorite-

“Mom, all you have to do is lick its butt.” 

I had no words, big or small, intelligent or not, to respond to this.

Hmm, of course this one needs an explanation.  And I’m sure the explanation doesn't match anything you are thinking right now.  That was how Chase described how to get a toy with a suction cup bottom to stick to our cupboard door handle.  (Picture below- only to prove my son is not a pervert.)

This is how engulfed I am in child-land.  I haven't watched the news in quite some time (mainly because my television only plays Jake and the Neverland Pirates-or so I'm told by my 4 year old), but as I was reading, "Five Little Monkeys" today (for the 9th time), I felt empathy for the mother monkey and I legitimately thought to myself, Wow, I hope she has good health care insurance because she made five calls to her doctor in one day- and after hours at that.  Poor lady.  Why am I worried about current health care policies for a fictitious mamma monkey, but am completely uninformed on what is going on in the world of politics in relation to Health Care (for real people)? I think my mind is yearning for adult interaction, or enjoys being blissfully ignorant. :)

As I’m writing this, my child is watching Woody the Woodpecker in the other room and I can hear him trying to imitate woody the woodpecker. And it sounds like a seal...dying...twice.  Wow.  He’s really going to be living with me forever and I’m never going to need to use big words again.  

A Murder Plot and a Booty

Have you ever read stories about little kids saying creepy things that come out of nowhere as if they were possessed?  Well yesterday, my child creeped me out, and I strongly believe he tried to kill me.

So yesterday, while Chase and I were playing with Little People, he looked at me with a straight face and said, “Scream, scream. It’s time for you to die.” Then he simply gave me a shy smile and continued playing with his Little People as if what he said was pleasant.  This sent a chill down my spine.  But I shrugged it off and forgot about it until later in the evening…. 

As I was drifting off to sleep, I felt something smothering me and I panic.  I wrestle with it to get it off of my face. Once I finally won the struggle, I look up and see my sweet little three year old chuckling his curly little head off.  That’s right, I think my child legitimately tried to smother me with a pillow.  And he thought it was funny.

Every day, I am seeing more and more of a parallel between my relationship with my child and Norma Bates’ relationship with her son; Norman.  I could stop it, but I would like my life to one day be depicted in a television show (I’m thinking I would like Snookie to play the part of me and Will Ferrell to play the part of Chase).  So really, there is nothing I can do, but try to survive one day at a time. 

On a side note: While Cory, Chase and I were sitting down eating dinner, Chase leans over to me and said, “Mommy, do you mind if I bring booty back?”  Of course I told him to give it his best shot and continued eating.

Any who, despite his murder attempt, I’m off to wrap Chase’s Birthday presents because tomorrow I am going to have a four year old! That’s right, my spunky, chatty, Chasey is going to be four tomorrow!! 

On a side note: People always say that you forget the pain of childbirth.  I say; those people are crazy and must not have pushed an eight and a half pound nugget out of their lady parts.  My lady parts are still crying, four years later.

Happy Birthday my little love- My life goal for you is to love yourself as much as I love you (or more, but I'm not sure that is possible)! 

Urine Soaked Bed and Breastfeeding on the Toilet

We all know that parenting isn't always what it looks like on television. Well actually, it isn't like TV at all.  Family dinners aren't relaxed.  Parents don’t actually sip wine while their little tykes use their utensils to eat their five course meals.  We all know the reality is that we all sit down with a bowl of Spaghetti O’s and a can of Mountain Dew and claim dinner a victory if our little ones only leaves the table four times to have meltdowns on the floor because he wanted a fork, not a spoon or his milk spilt too closely to his bowl or because it’s Monday.  TV never shows these things.  But lucky for me, I'm all about the imperfections of parenting, because frankly, it's those moments that keep me afloat. So I have (bravely) decided to share a couple of my parenting lows.  (Please say these have happened to other people and I'm not the only one.  Although looking back, I may be standing alone.) 

Parenting Low: One morning my child peed my bed at 5 am.  So, I did the only logical thing I could think of doing at that ungodly hour of the morning; I laid a towel over it and slept for another 45 minutes until I had to get up for work.  You think laying in bed with a toddler who’s wearing only his skivvies, laying on top of a bath town to prevent urine from soaking into my skin so, fingers crossed, I didn't have to shower would be an all-time parenting low for me, but no.  My lowest, low came just a few short weeks after my little ball of sunshine was born.  (Here goes nothing, no judgement please.  Well, go ahead and judge.  If I didn't know myself, I would judge the hell out of my parenting skills as well.)

Major Parenting Low: A few weeks after Chase was born, I got the stomach flu.  Having the stomach flu in general is miserable, but having the stomach flu and still having to take care of another human being is awful, especially when that human being has just recently entered the world and relies solely on you to fill his little belly.  With that being said, I sure as heck wasn't going to ask anyone for help because, of course it may take a village to raise other people’s children, but certainly not mine (or so I was, and still kind of am, determined to prove.  But that’s a topic for a therapy session).  So, here I found myself sitting on the toilet, breastfeeding my three week old infant (because, apparently, a three week old doesn't know that mommy is sick and should wait until mommy can properly poop and wipe herself to eat) all while eating a piece of cake (because after all, I was a breastfeeding mom and frequently hungry). So out of this was born our family rule:  You can eat snacks in the bathroom only if you use a fork.  Because using your hands would be inhumane.   The sad part was, at the end of this day I remember thinking, I totally got this. (Where was this chapter in my parenting book.  It must have been chapter, “Too real and disgusting to discuss out loud.”) #don'tpretendlikeyoudon'tmultitaskonthetoilet

On a side note: Cory, Chase and I were driving the other day and Cory was eating some sort of dessert bar he purchased from a gas station.  You know, the kind that are wrapped in saran wrap at the register, glaring at you, making you salivate until you slyly reach out your hand and swipe the bar bringing it to the glass part of the counter, ending up right on top of 20 different lottery tickets (also tempting).  Any who, I had mentioned to Cory that the bar will not taste as delicious as the bars my mom makes.  Then this got me to thinking: Is there any food that Chase will feel that my version of the food is better than anyone else’s?  So Cory asked Chase, “What food do you like that Mommy cooks?”  Chase didn't answer.  There was only silence.  Well silence and the sound of crickets. The silence was unbearable so Cory asked Chase again.  After a few seconds Chase answered, “Flowers and clouds.”  Seriously child?  You couldn't come up with one legitimate type of food that I make well, so you pulled flowers and clouds out of your a**?  Thanks!

Anywho, Happy Tuesday!

Yup. I found Chase sleeping behind his door one night instead of in his bed,  I'm sure he totally thinks he won the bedtime battle.  And yeah, this night he kinda did.

Unspoken Milestones and Sparkle Puppy

There are some unspoken milestones that I can’t wait for my child to accomplish. 

First, I can’t wait until my child learns how to eat French fries two or three at a time like the rest of the population.  Because seriously, trips to fast food restaurants are supposed to be fast. And eating with a three year old is anything but fast.  Look. I’m not proud that I steal my child’s fries when he isn't looking. I’m not doing it because I’m hungry and need more fries, I am doing it so we can continue on with our evening and frankly, I’m ready to leave. 

Secondly, I can’t wait until my child can wipe himself (completely and correctly) after using the bathroom.  Don’t get me wrong, he gives it the old college try, but let’s face it, not everyone is Ivy League.  Recently, after an independent wiping incident that required an entire roll of toilet paper (or so Chase thought), I had to stick my hand into the toilet bowl and grab out three clumps of toilet paper.  It was a split second decision I had to make; either fish out the excess toilet paper (by hand of course) or learn how to plunge a toilet on the fly.  To this day, eight days later, I stand by my decision, despite how disgustingly awful it was. 

Now with all of that said.  There is a milestone I am glad he hasn't reached yet; reading.  I am beyond grateful that Chase has at least a couple years ahead of him before he starts to read.  Do you know how disappointed he is going to be when he realizes that pages of books have more words on them than what he’s used to hearing?  Go ahead, start judging.  Before having a child I would have judged too.  But sometimes I can’t get into the groove of Dr. Seuss and stumble over some of his words.  So I make them up or eliminate them all together.  The tricky part though, is remembering how you edited each book because a three year old will remember how the book was read the previous day.  

This is my child. Petting a pretend dog he made out of an egg carton, paint, google eyes and pipe cleaners this morning.  What a sad, sad life he leads.

Here is a close up of "Sparkle Puppy."  Seriously.  

New Year's Goals and 2014 Highlights

If Chase could write New Year’s goals, I think these would be his:

1.  I will try not to scream when my mom mentions that my Ipad time has expired for the day.  (She always says that if I cry, I will lose my Ipad time for tomorrow.  But, luckily for me, she has a short memory.)

2. I will try not to tell my mom that I don’t like her, every day.  Well, I will cut down from seven times a day to 3.  I mean, hey, a boy has got to set realistic goals, right?

3. I will quit gaging at the sight of my mother’s home cooked meals.  (On a side note: I hope one of her New Year’s goals is to take some cooking lessons. I mean, gaging is a reflex, so I can’t always control it.)

4.  I will stop licking everything in sight.  Well rather, stop licking things when my mom is in sight.  (She can be such a drag sometimes.)

5. I will stop farting when I’m sitting on my Mommy’s lap.  Haha just kidding.  That is like saying the sun is giving up its shine.  No can do.

Highlights from 2014: So, I finally kicked my pink milk addiction.  I secretly despise my Mom for making me kick it.  Given the chance, I would trade my mom for a nice, smooth foamy glass of strawberry flavored heaven. Or even to watch someone else drink it.  Also, my parents finally let me out of my baby jail, aka my crib.  I’ve been rocking my Cars big boy bed for months now.  A whole new world has opened up to me between the hours of 8pm and 8am.  And baby, I’m likin’ what I've seen.

Happy New Year's!

Oh, To Be Three Again and 1234 Sad Story

I spend my days observing and interacting with kiddos, especially my own charmingly, spunky three year old.  And I have come to the conclusion that there are just so many things you can do as a three year old, and get away with it, strictly because of your age. 

The other day, I was watching Chase play with a child his age.  Both kiddos were sitting side by side having a pretend picnic when out of nowhere, Chase leans over and gives his friend a good, hardy, lick on the forehead and continued back to his picnic.  Neither of them flinched.  And I just sat back and thought, Huh? That was odd.  Don’t you wish it was age appropriate to just lean over and give your co-worker a slobbery lick on the cheek during a staff meeting? Or maybe not. (On a side note: I’m glad I’m self-employed and don’t have any co-workers to lick me during business hours.  However, I do get my fair share of licks throughout the day, regardless.)

The other night, my quirky three year old, out of nowhere, fell off the bed while he was sleeping.  He instinctually let out a scream, “Mommy!”  I, also instinctually, simply slithered out of bed myself, picked him up and placed him back onto his bed, all while I’m pretty sure he was still sleeping.  What if I feel out of bed and yelled out for my Mommy?  I’m pretty sure there would be one of two reasons why: 1. I am wasted out of my mind and I need to throw out an anchor foot when I crawl back into bed or I have finally hit my breaking point and need to be checked into a cozy white room with padded walls.  Either way, it would take days to recover from falling out of bed at my age, not simply seconds like a three year old.  

Footie Pajamas.  How come it is so adorable when a three year old struts around in a pair, but as soon as I put on one of my six pairs, my husband immediate has a look of shame in his ruggedly handsome blue eyes?  Why isn't it cute for a women, pushing 30, to zip up her loveable, soft to the touch, nighttime attire?   I mean, do we not all put our footies on one leg at a time? (On a side note: My husband calls my footie pjs birth control.  It’s like I’m doing my part to make sure the US isn't becoming over populated.  #moderndayhero)   

Wouldn't it be nice to be three again?

On an unrelated note:  Chase helped my parents pick out their Christmas tree, like he does every year with his cousins, Holden and Adam.  Well, I guess while driving through the rows and rows of Christmas trees at the tree farm, Chase nonchalantly asks my mom how much the trees cost.  My mom responded by telling him that they cost $60.  Chase put his head down and whispers, "Oh, my family doesn't have sixty dollars." My child sure knows how to kill the Christmas Spirit.  I guess Christmas tree donations can be sent to:

Chase Revermann
1234 Sad Story
Deprived Child, MN 12345

Don’t for one second pretend like you don’t wear pirate eye patches while playing in the snow.  My child cannot be the only one.