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Monday, January 10, 2011

Pee is NOT Trash

Our downstairs bathroom is the most frequented in the house. It’s proximity to both the family room and the kitchen makes it a busy area, to say the least. So I wondered, why on EARTH does this bathroom stink like the cat peed in the corner?

The room is wiped down several times a day (I have 3 boys for crying out loud!), and the trash routinely emptied. So why oh WHY does it smell like pee?!

I visited this room recently, and happened to glance at the trash can, conveniently located rightnextto the toilet. Hmm, I mused, so that’s where all the TP is going. Interesting that ½ a jumbo roll is needed to swipe a runny nose.

I looked (eeeuuuwww) closer. Why did the TP look (ick, shudder) wet?! I dared to lightly sniff the air; if I was a dog, I’d have been shaking my head and pawing my nose what a stink!). AhHA! So that’s where the pee smell is coming from!

Wait…WHY is there pee in the trash? Who could possibly think that it is ok to pee in the trash can when the toilet is rightnextto it?!

Of course, nobody knew anything about such a heinous crime. Just like Idunno was responsible for peeing all over the seat and neglecting to wipe up after himself. That poor Idunno guy gets a really bad rap in my house.

Fast forward 2 weeks. I’m emptying the trash daily, washing out the trash can and contemplating some kind of trash receptacle that has a snap-shut lit to discourage little penises from spraying. Too bad the can won’t fit under the sink. Besides, the child lock on the sink cabinet kind of defeats that purpose.

Last night, one was caught in the act. Whinemaster was gleefully spraying both the can and the toilet, apparently to find out which one would fill up first. Well, after having to scrub out the toilet, trash can, and the entire bathroom floor, I’m pretty sure he won’t be pulling that disgusting stunt again. At least not in that bathroom.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

More growing pains

Thing has learned how to strip.  As in naked.  And to scream BAFF!!!! BAFF!!! while he's doing it, probably assuming that I'll chase his little naked butt-cheeks up the stairs to indulge his bath addiction.

Thing has also mastered the art of the temper tantrum.  As in nasty squincy face throwing self forcefully to the floor and writhing around like an eel tantrum.  OH. JOY.

Whinemaster has apparently forgotten how to dress himself.  MORE JOY.  And I can never choose the right clothes, but he needs help.  Hello Rock, Hello Hard Place.  I've missed you two!

Aaaaannnnd (drumroll please!) Divo has discovered the wonder of hurling insults at his mother when being punished.  I've recently learned that I suck, and that I am the meanest mom ever.  Which, truthfully, I already knew, because, as all moms will tell you, it is our mission in life to me as mean as possible to our children ;)


Thank God It's FINALLY OVER!!!  As in the holidays.  I love 'em, but I love waving buh-bye even more.  While it's true that I still have some decorations to box up, and ALL of the boxes to stuff back into their respective closets, I've just about eradicated the absolute CRAZY that is HalThanChsmas (hal-thanks-mus). 

You know, the crazy that starts about October 29th, when you realize you still haven't found the perfect (insert any superhero name here) costume, bought any candy or figured out which sugar-orgy parties to attend with your little whacked-out sugar-loaded crack babies costumed angels.  That you were supposed to RSVP for a week ago.  Yeah, THOSE.

Then there is the sorting of the kid-crack Halloween candy that happens in the middle of the living room rug at 10 pm on a school-night to repeated whines of "but that's my favowite!"  Little do they know that those favowite's are going to show up in their Christmas stockings.  If I can keep my fat grabby stressed-out fingers out of the stash until then.

Aaaaaand then there's the 3.4 weeks of kids begging to wear their costumes again "Justthisonceprettyplease I SAID prettypuhleeeese!"

Not to mention the hurdle of deciding whom to grace with our presence for Thanksgiving.  Which is not really such a big stretch, seeing as how no matter how often we invite them, Dlite's fam has never once accepted an invitation, nor extended one of their own.  Snitches.  Which means the kids get to have fun making a huge salad that nobody is going to eat and egging on the babies when they start smearing mashed potatoes and gravy into their ears/hair/eyes/nose/every mur.thur.fur.kin. crack & crevice of their bodies & high chairs.  But at least it's not at my house.  Yet.  I'm sure that lovely distinction will come in the next couple of years.

And then, OH SCHMIDT!  Babe!  Whuck do the kids want for Christmas?  We need to look at the budget - what budget you say?  The one we keep ignoring, THAT budget!!!  What do you mean layaway has to be paid for by the 13th if we want it by Christmas?  Shipping you say?  Why can't you just slap a sticker with my name on it on some shelf in the back and load it with all of my afterthoughts & oh-schmidts he wanted that's carefully selected merchanise?  Help me understand, because I have holiday-induced idiocy.

Awwwwwww!  What a cute card!  Wait!  CARDS!! Oh SCHMIDT!  Well it's to furkin late to do one with a cute photo cause SOMEBODY has (insert disfiguring wound or bad haircut here) and it would be SO lame.  I guess I could always do New Year's cards, but who am I kidding?  I don't have time for this.  Maybe next year (again, kidding).

Ok, it's the 15th and we still don't have a tree up.  HOW can anyone expect me to get in the Christmas freakin' spirit without a damn tree? 

$60 bucks, one tree, a heavy-a$$ tree stand, 3 whiny kids and 1 disgruntled husband later, we have a tree.  In the house, up on a table where THING cannot topple it.  However, Christmas trees are apparently naked without Hot Wheels and Bakugan shoved into the boughs.  That you never knew were there until said tree is hauled out the front door to the recycle bin.  Just goes to show there are too many friggin toys in my house.

So, the big "Santa" gifts are on layaway, several others secreted in Nana & Papa's attic, and the "elves" are visiting nightly to fill the advent calendar.  Lesson 1: Thing ADORES chocolate.  Lesson 2: Telling him no more chocolate will make him growl at you and make horrible squinchy scream face.  Lesson 3: MomFail failing to fill the advent calendar = very creative craftiness i.e. "phoning" the north pole with one of my 3 free calls to rectify the situation (as in, no mr elf, my boys were not screaming heathens yesterday and can you please come at naptime with some kid-crack?)  What have I done to myself?

So anywho, this post was supposed to be about how glad I am that the holidays are over.  Which I am.  Except for the naked house.  I hate that naked house feeling when all of the glitzy gorgeous-ness of the holidays gets packed back into the closets and the lack of cool decor is painfully apparent.

But I'm still glad it's over for another 354 days.