I went to give Stanky a hug the other night at bedtime. He smelled like a$$. Really. He smirked at me, so I asked him why he smelled like butt-crack. He gave me that knowing look, stared straight into my eyes and shoved his finger against my nose. 'Because I stuck my finger in my itchy butt-hole! Bwahahahahahahahahaha!' He then proceeded to fart as much as possible without actually pooping on himself. Now, to a 5-year old boy, this is insanely funny. To a AHEM-year old mom, it's disgusting, and honestly, I threw up in my mouth a little. WHY is it so funny to stink? Gross.
Last night, I walked into the little boys' room to find PigPen with his pants around his knees, also groping his own butt. What the WHUCK? What is this obsession with butt-picking that these boys have? Once he was finished with the butt-picking, he sat down and started sniffing his toes. Apparently, one was particularly odiferous, because he stuck it in his mouth to "clean" it. Again, a little barf in my mouth. WHY?
I have to thank the good Lord for the ability to purchase new shoes. Because Dramasaur had some seriously rank tootsies. Like Swamp-man rank. The way I imagine Swampfire from Ben10 smells. The smell would make me gag every time he walked by. He is 7, and hasn't even gotten close to the disgusting, rank adolescent stage. I shudder and gag every time I think about that stage. For now, we got smelly hand soap for him and made him wash those nasty piggies every time he took off his shoes. That helped. A LITTLE.
I washed his shoes and socks in vinegar. I tried bleach. OxyClean. Baking Soda. I tried it all. I even tried to make him soak his feet in apple cider vinegar, though he wiggled out of that one. Nothing worked to get rid of that STENCH. I mean, stink is ok, because everyone stinks at some point. But this was over-the-top, follow-you-around-the-house stench. But, I was not about to replace a perfectly good pair of spendy shoes just because of the sneeze-inducing, eye-watering funk. I mean, seriously, these kids go through shoes quickly enough without having to replace them for purely cosmetic reasons! Then I spotted a hole. On top of the big toe of each shoe. And then Stanky showed up with a torn fastener that I was not going to be able to repair.
So, off to Payless we went. For an HOUR. I kid you not. I told those boys that if they truly wanted/needed shoes, they could find some at Payless because I was not buying spendy shoes again less than 3 months after their last pair was purchased. Hence the hour of whining, trying on, whining, checking for speedy-ness, whining, measuring, and just generally driving store staff and mommy crazy.
Dramasaur earned his name. His "old" shoes were a size 3, and still fit him well with room to spare. But, for some unknown reason, his foot measured at a 4 (I felt really sorry for the girl bent over his feet - I saw her turn her head to breathe!), and every size 4 shoe he tried pinched his toes. So, after 20 minutes of hemming and hawing over those shoes, he switched focus to the smaller selection of size 4 1/2 shoes. What's that? Why couldn't he just take a pair he liked in a bigger size? You've not met my Drama, have you?
Each shoe had to be tried on both feet, then compared WHILE ON against another pair that might be better. He walked forward. He walked backward. He asked my opinion on which looked better both coming and going. He sprinted to the end of the store (no people were harmed or annoying during this process - we were totally alone in the back!). He turned and contorted in front of the mirror. He relaced in different patterns. I'm dead serious people! And what did he end up with? The very first pair I showed him, that was dismissed without a second glance! SERIOUSLY!
Stanky was much simpler. He scooped up the red/black/grey/white everyday value sneaks and never took them off. And, he is the one who really needed shoes, since we discovered four rather large holes in the soles of his shoes when he sat down to try new ones on. Rainy weather would have been his undoing. FYI: All of his whining was in direct proportion to the theatrics of his big brother.
Readers, we headed to the counter not once, nor twice, but FOUR times. Drama changed his mind that much. I was done. I'd had it. I informed my minions (ratherly loudly, so as to have witnesses) that, once I swiped my card, there was no going back. There was no Shire to go back to. Wait, sorry, got caught up. There was no changing of the minds. No whining at all. And, to ensure that my edict was adhered to, I had the very nice (though I'm certain she talked crap after we left) sales girl throw those nasty shoes away for us.
Of course, when we got home, Grumpy informed the kids they would not be wearing new shoes to play, resulting in crazed flailing, gnashing of teeth, and, you guessed it, WHINING. Then I had to tell him I threw away the old nasties. He was not pleased. But, I don't have to smell swamp muck anymore.
On a somewhat unrelated note, why do boys insist on using their toes to stop a moving bicycle when there are perfectly good hand brakes and pedal brakes available?
Why do they insist on finding the single trickle of dirty gutter water and bathing in it with Hot Wheels cars, light sabers and nerf guns? Then trailing that funky junk into my garage and kitchen?
How do boys not feel the 7 pounds of sand and wood chips in the bottoms of their shoes? Or avoid dumping it all on the floor when taking said shoe off, leaving you to discover it when helping them don those same shoes at 7 am in preparation for school?
AAAANND, why can't boys SEE THE PEE they sprayed all over the seat, lid and floor? Or even halfheartedly attempt to wipe it up? I never knew the potty-training phase would end with a neverending wiping-with-bleach wipes phase!