Friday Funnies – The Staples of Four-Year Old Humor…

I’m convinced. Somewhere between the ages of three and four kids become obsessed with their asses and the gases that come out of them. If I had a dollar for every time I hear the word “fart” or “poop” I might actually be able to afford the private school Boo’s traipsing off to next year.

I get a great magazine, Wondertime, that had a great article this month about the whole potty talk thing. If you’re dealing with this issue. Check it out. If nothing else, its good for a laugh.

Speaking of laughs, here’s one I’ve been waiting to post and now’s as good of a time as any.

Thursday Thirteen – Things I love about my Doodle

Boo gets a lot of play on this blog. Since she’s four, she has a lot to say. Since she’s the oldest, nearly everything she does is a) amazing; b) brilliant; c) aggravating d) a new experience for us.

Lest her little brother grow up and dig deep into the archives and think he was adopted or completely neglected, here’s thirteen things that I love about Doodle (in no particular order):

1. His passion – both the good and the bad
2. His bright blue eyes
3. His low-maintenance haircut that I make into a sunscreen mohawk
4. I can dress him in two nanoseconds
5. His smile
6. The fact that he has an odd number of teeth
7. The way he eats blueberries
8. His belly laughs when I tickle him
9. The way he splashes me in the bathtub
10. His incessant curiosity with the mundane
11. Sitting on the front porch with him and watching cars go by.
12. He goes to sleep on his own and stays down (most of the time) through the night
13. The way he looks when he sleeps

You are my little man Doodle Dude. I can’t believe how much you’re changing each day. Will you stop for a minute and let me catch up? I’m enjoying the view this time. You’re the second level on a double-decker bus – a wild ride at a whole new level and from a completely different perspective.

Wordless Wednesday

The inmates have taken over the asylum

I’m upstairs in my bedroom blogging. I just needed to get away. It’s not even 9 a.m. and I just couldn’t deal. How sad is that? Want to know why? Here’s a slice – my conversation with Boo at the breakfast table:

Boo: Mommy? I’m done.

Me: Okay – take your bowl to the sink.

Boo: Mommy, Missy (our cat) pooped in the bathrooom.

Me: When?

Boo: This morning. I stepped it it?

Me: When?

Boo: When I got up (two hours ago), I played Arthur (her computer game) and had to go potty. I went and then I stepped in it.

Me: Did you wipe your feet off? Did you clean it up?

Boo: (incredulous) No! That’s gross!

Me: And traipsing about the house with poop on your foot isn’t gross? Ugh!

I proceeded to send her upstairs to wait for me in the shower while I cleaned the bathroom floor. Let me tell you, I’ve changed my share of diapers on two kids over teh last 4.5 years and there’s nothing that gets my gag reflex going like cat feces.

My day is slowly descending into complete madness. I just wanted to document it so that when the men in white coats rip my tinfoil hat off my head and drag me away, you’ll have at least this to remember me by.  Maybe if I wear the robot costume Boo and I made last night (see above), they won’t be able to find me.

Move over, Mel, here I come.

One Book, Two Blogs and Two Boobs

Here was my Mother’s Day present from Homer this year…

Notice the painstaking care he took to wrap it in Saturday’s junk mail.
No matter. I was happy. I got what I wanted – Rockabye: From Wild to Child by Rebecca Woolf.

She’s the voice behind Girl’s Gone Child and From the Bottle. If you’ve never read her, you should – even if you don’t have kids. If you do have kids and you know me, expect to get a copy of this from me for your next birthday or Christmas. (Sorry to ruin the surprise. Let me know if you already have it.) I liked it that much.

She tells motherhood like it really is – the ugly, poignant truth that it really is. Moms judging each other for their choices and getting their backs up for getting called out for being out of the norm. Lying to pediatricians because dealing with the truth is too scary. Fighting with your husband because you don’t think he loves you or your child the way he should.

Here’s a brief sample:

When a guy hits on me in the elevator on my way to my daily monitoring session, I want to have sex with him right then and there. I can’t believe he would even think to court a woman with a face resembling an elephant’s ass.

I thank him, tell him I’m married, but I would like to get his number just in case. You never do know.

…
I want to have this baby as soon as possible. That’s my birth plan. And I’m not going to fight The Man on this one. Nope. In this case, The Man is my friend.

There is one thing, though. I’m not sure how autobiographical it is. I saw a lot of similarities and consistencies between her blog and her book, except when it came to the references to her boobs. Yes, I know, girls notice boobs probably more than guys do. Any other time, I would rack it up (excuse the pun) to something that’s really none of my business, but when you blog about your boobs AND put them in your book, how can I NOT comment?

Here’s what I mean. A few months ago, she blogs about being flat as a board. In her book, she claims,

I was sixteen the summer I went from from a B cup to an E and my hormones went berserk…I had always wanted boobs when I was flat-chested, and here they were. It was like in the movie Big, when the boy wakes up as Tom Hanks, checking out his new, larger penis, like Whoa! This thing’s awesome!

The fact that this is the one apparent inconsistency that’s nagging in my brain probably says more about me than the author. I guess I spent most of my teen years (and pretty much every day) waiting for boobs like my daughter waits for our house to turn into a castle. There’s something to be said for optimistic cognitive dissonance.

Maybe my interpretation of the difference in stories can be chalked up to a chronological misunderstanding on my part. Stranger things have happened. I won’t let that get in the way of my recommendation. Get your hands on a copy. I really think you’ll like it.