Spare Parts

So, here it is, a fact of life: babies and toddlers play with their "parts." Their own usually, and hey, it's not a big deal. They are just curious and fascinated with a body part that usually only appears at bath time and diaper changes. I am okay with that. Sometimes I giggle, but I am okay with it.

Today, during one of E's diaper changes, S decided to fiddle with E's part. Not a big deal except that E had poos in that "area" and it stressed me out. Had to disinfect little S. .....

AND!

I came up with some strange solutions to this problem, but after I published them Prince Charming said I shouldn't have, so sorry, this was a lot more interesting before he censored it.

Of course, you might have stopped reading my blog if I had let the original content go unedited.

Poem

I saw the most beautiful sight in the world tonight--
I'm lucky to view it every night--
My little boy asleep.
I couldn't help but crawl into bed beside him
A few moments, and then away,

But I'll be back tomorrow.

Forgotten Confession and Tip Day Tuesday

Kathryn has asked that today's tip be on how to get rid of telemarketers. I have just signed up on the national do not call registry. No more silly calls.

Okay so I forgot to make a confession yesterday. Here it is, number 6:

I derive small pleasure from seeing other people's homes a mess.

This is not because I am like, "Ha, ha, yours is dirty mine is clean." Far from it! It's just that it makes me feel good-like I am not the only imperfect one. Even if I drop by a friend's and her house is not what I would define as "a mess" I still feel a wee bit gleeful if she thinks that it is. Messy homes are an equalizer. They make me feel like my friends and neighbors are more real. At least, it makes me feel more normal. It also helps me to realize I am not living in some kind of sparkling clean countertop, ne'er a toy in sight, twilight zone. Real life brings mess. Real people--real moms anyway- cannot always be in control of it. So I just want to say to everyone: Yea for your messy house! You are normal! Your messy house boosts your neighbor's self esteem! Of course mine probably REALLY boosts self-esteem, but that's missing the point I think.

Monday Morning Confessions

Fessing up again. It's Monday morning.

1. I like chocolate cake for breakfast.
After my birthday party, we still had about half of my half sheet of cake left. This is not a good thing. Well, it kind of is, because I love chocolate cake for breakfast. And lunch. And after dinner. I know, "say oink." Oink, oink.

2.I have warts
Gross, yes I know. I have had a big plantar's wart on the bottom of my foot since I was pregnant with my son, over three years ago. It's disgusting-- and I have tried everything, outside of consulting a physician, to make it go away.

3. I would rather go to the gynecologist than the dentist.
It's true. I can't handle all that scraping and picking inside my ever so sensitve mouth. I get the jibblies just thinking about it.

4. I think underground parking garages are scary.
Have you ever noticed that in movies and on tv, nothing good ever happens in a parking garage? Every time I am walking to or from my car in a parking garage, I get a little anxious about being mugged or shot at. Is that weird? I don't know. But yes, I find parking garages a little unnerving.

5. I have unintentionally taught my children to kiss us on the mouth
Maybe it's weird, but I remember kissing my parents on the mouth. E started doing it about a year ago, and I just thought it was cute. My husband won't let him do it to him, but I don't really mind. S does it too-- only hers are open mouth. (I keep mine shut!) She's only 14 months, but I'm still thinking we need to curb this little habit...

Well, there you go. If you have decided to give up on my blog because of these "skeletons" well, I can't say I'd blame ya. (Well, maybe I would. If I thought these were really bad, I don't think I would have disclosed them HERE.) Well, Happy Monday! And may all your confessions leave you feeling lightened of your load.

Birthday

Well over all, today was a great birthday.

Checked my email this morning to find birthday wishes from Clairol and also an actual person friend. Somewhat disappointing (happy for Christy's email), but the day improved.

After buying the cutest baby dress ever, we went to a baby shower for my husband's brother's wife, Kali. We played baby shower pictionary. I got to draw "rectal thermometer."

Then we came home and cleaned up the house and had my party. Some friends from high school came, some college roommates, and my good friend Andrea came with her family. Everyone came at kind of staggered intervals, so I got good one-on-one time with all. It was great.

The best gift I got was from the hub who made me a cute card and poem which ended by saying his real gift is that he's going to get me a diamond for my wedding ring.

Then I got my cards in the mail. My mom sent me her old wedding ring, so that I can use the diamond in my setting. Cha-ching. I also got cards from my dad and dad-in-law. Cha-ching. Now I have a diamond and enough money to do Creative Memories. It was a pretty good twenty-fifth.

And the kids were well-behaved all day.

And they enjoyed the cake.

Funny Hubby and Turning 25

My husband and I went on a "date" this morning. As we were about to leave we had the following conversation:

Mike: Oh, youre not wearing make-up?
Me: Do I need it?
Mike: Oh, not at all. (Then he adds this) That's the only answer I could give.
Me: Well, you didn't need to add that.
Mike: Well, I could have said of course you need it, which would not have been true AT ALL.
Me: You're doing pretty good this morning.

He's cute.

Moving on.

Tomorow is my birthday. For anyone thinking of me-- here is the cake I want:
It will be chocolate, and fabulous, and much, much larger than this image. (Oh yeah, and in the perfect world, it would be 10 calories and taste like 400).

Here are some gift ideas:






(It doesn't have to be this maid necessarily. Any old maid who will cook and clean for me will do.)



And of course:



Now, if you can't afford any of these, don't agree with indentured servitude, don't have the power to turn sticks into trees or don't want to be held responsible for my husband's wrath should a puppy arrive on our doorstep-- a plain old happy birthday will do. I'll take what I can get.

Reverse Psychology

E loves his milk.

He still asks for it when he wakes in the middle of the night, and sometimes has a bit before taking a nap. It is his comfort food. He occasionally asks for it before he goes to bed at night, but we don't like to let him have it because of the cavity causing implications. So we have tried to be tough in the past year and a half, and he usually goes to bed without it.

Last night before we said prayers he asked for milk:

E: Milk?

Me: No, you can't have milk. Would you like some water?

E: No water! Milk!

Me: No milk. You can have water. Let's say the prayer.

We then said the prayer together in which E said he was grateful for Jesus and trains. And then:

E: Want some water.

Me: You want water?

E: Yes.

Me: Okay. I'll go get some for you.

E: How about milk?

It was so funny. He said it with this innocent since-you're-going-down-there-anyway tone in his voice. I said no, went and got the water and it was fine. He's pretty clever though-- trying to pull one over on me. Cute.

Great Deals

Today my mother-in-law and I took the children on a trip to "look for deals." We went to Deseret Industries (DI) first. The problem I have with DI is that most of the stuff there is total C-R-A-P. And they want to much money for it-- it's like the people that do the pricing have never been to a real store where things are actually new. There are occasional good deals to be found, however. Like our built-like-a- Buick, orange, $35 hide-a-bed, for example. Love it-- great for guests. Another example-- I was making a casserole for a friend and I didn't want her to have to worry about cleaning the dish and getting it back to me, so I bought a glass casserole dish for $1. Smart. Today I bought two wicker baskets for S's room. $3 total. Great deal.

Next we went to Ross. We were looking for a picture or a mirror for our family room. I found a non-offensive, not-too-exciting-but-still-lovely, picture of a flower which will look great with the other pictures I wanted to hang there. $8.99. I did good today!

Work Poos

I thought this was funny. It's the text of an e-mail (memo to the crew) my husband was sent at work. He is a computer games programmer.

"As some of you have astutely pointed out, the lone bathroom in our office does not have a fan. Because of this and the fact that we have +35 people, we are having to implement an Olfactory Preservation Program (Otherwise known as a "No Dookie" rule).

What does this entail, you might ask? It's fairly simple: if in the course of using the restroom, you believe you might leave a stench that will offend someone after you leave, please go out and use the public restrooms around the corner from the elevators (go down a floor if it is really bad ;). These restrooms have industrial fans, marble-like tile, almost guaranteed no-waiting and great smelling soap...what more could you ask for?

Follow this simple guideline and everyone will be happy. Fail to do so and I will authorize Marty and Trevor to drag your sorry excuse for a non-house-broken developer out to the public restrooms and give you a swirly so that you can familiarize yourself with the restroom you should have used.

If any of this is unclear to you, please come see me. I will be more than happy to spell this out for you in more explicit terminology. =)

We all thank you for your compliance,

Matt"

My husband was glad about this memo, since the respective loo is right next to his office.

Things are looking up.

Today was a great day for Barefoot Books and me.

My friend Andrea hosted a party for me and it went wonderfully. I even booked another event.

When I placed my order today, I realized that I had earned back my initial investment.

Whoo-hoo. Whoo-hoo. Whoo-hoo.

Now I can sign up to do Creative Memories.

Confessions

Well, people, it's Monday morning. Confession time. Here are a couple of things I bet you didn't know about me:

1. I like cottage cheese.
I don't LOVE it. But I like it. It's a pretty good breakfast when combined with fruit from a can, it goes well in casseroles, and on salads. There I said it. I like it.

2. I am OCD when it comes to the way I load my dishwasher.
Prince Charming hates loading the dishwasher because he knows I will come in and rearrange everything to the way I feel is correct.

3. I wish more people would read and comment on my blog.
There it's out. I blame myself. I'm not all that willing to take the time to read and comment on tons of blogs, so why would anyone else?

4. I want a puppy
Yes, I want a dog. More than I want another child, I want a puppy. Sort of. I don't want to clean up dog poos, but I want one all the same.

Well, that's it for today. I guess you'll have to wait until next week to see what I fess up to next.

Hot pink dinos

So I saw a fannypack today. Hot pink, nonetheless. (Oh, yeah, and we went to the dinosaur park in Ogden, too-- the true highlight of the day.) When was the last time you saw a fannypack? In use? As I was contemplating this little marvel, I noticed that the woman's daughter also had one. (Hers was purple). And then not but a few minutes later, I saw another woman (totally unaffilliated with pinky pack) also wearing a fanny pack. Hers was leather, however. But she was wearing tapered jeans.

Yeah, so the dinosaur park was fun. My dad is in town and me and the hub took him and the kids up to Ogden, Utah. It's really quite cool-- this big park filled with giant fakey dinosaurs. It was good fun. I am glad we went-- I just wished I hadn't been so tired. Those people never did go back to bed, you know.

What is wrong with these people?

Why is it that now that it is darker earlierin the evening and darker for longer in the morning that the children have recently decided that 5:00 am is a good time to awaken?

This is going to be an angry blog.

It is 7:00 am Saturday morning. As I type my children are upstairs in their rooms bawling their brains out. They (and their parents, consequently) have been awake since 5:30. Why? Heaven only knows. S woke up and wanted to nurse. Fine. She nursed, we put her back in her crib and she started crying 15 minutes later and hasn't stopped since. E got in our bad and wanted milk. Fine. We gave him milk, he stayed in our bed, then asked for more. Fine. We gave him more. He is now in his own room asking for more flipping milk.

Every time S stops crying, E starts up and vice versa.

What is wrong with these people? Why do they not value sleep in the same obsessive way that I do? It doesn't help that, against my better judgment, I stayed up past 11 playing Tiger Woods golf withMike and my dad (who's visiting-- nice night to sleep over, eh?). But that is beside the point. I now have gotten less than 6 hours of sleep (I need 9 or 10) and my kids are still screaming. Full throttle, by the way. Top of the lungs crying. These are not tiny whimpers, people. Giving in to them at this point would be useless. E has already proven that milk does not help him go back to bed, and I am pretty sure S just wants to get up. Not. Going. To. Happen.

It's 7:09. They are still at it. I just may win the award for worst mother of the year if this goes on much longer.

Here is something funny I found in our kitchen the other day:

Looks like E just stepped out of his socks and took off!

Also, I found myself saying this yesterday:

"Only poo-poo, pee-pee, and paper go in the toilet. And sometimes vomit. But never spoons or forks or hands. And we certainly never put a fork in our mouth that has been in the toilet!"

I am living with irrational people (aka toddlers) who need these kind of reminders.

Stephanie Needs

Having done the search "Stephanie needs" (try it with your own name) that Kathryn suggested on Google, this is what I cam up with:

1. Stephanie needs a strong manly shoulder to lean on. Stephanie needs the help of
kennel clubs and concerned citizens in her quest to protect

2.Stephanie needs cash-fast-but times are tough

3.Stephanie needs Ranger's savvy and expertise

4.Stephanie needs to be in a family where there are no other children or animals

5. I think Stephanie needs to post some of the "Excel Sonnets" Who's with me?

6.Stephanie needs to just stop asking him for favors

and my personal favorite:

7.Stephanie's Why She Needs Rhinoplasty Surgery Cyberbeggar, Epanhandler Page

Boy Parts

My oldest child, E, is a boy. My parents, who had no sons, and sisters were ecstatic upon learning his gender during my pregnancy. My husband put up the ultrasound pictures on the internet with a red circle around his "boyness." I started looking at kids books about trucks and cars, and secretly longed to be able to buy the books about Barbie and My Little Pony.

But really it's been great. I love that he is a boy. Boys are fun. When baby boys pee without a diaper on, it hits the wall, and sometimes gets you in the face.

This brings me to today's topic. I grew up in a penis-free household (can you read that without laughing, I couldn't) as my parents had divorced and I lived with my mom and my sister. So, I will be the first to admit, that I am a bit ignorant on the proper protocol in dealing with this male body part. When Ethan was a baby, I would laugh when I changed his diaper at what I affectionately called his "teenie weenie penie." Mike tried to put an end to this by telling me he didn't want Ethan to have any kind of confusion. He didn't want boys on the playground to say, "I have a (fill in your penis name of choice here)" and Ethan to say, "What? I don't have one of those!" But his plan was to no avail and soon he too was calling E's part a "penie." (But he refused to add teenie weenie).

Well, out of respect to my husband, after Ethan outgrew his infancy, I started using the proper term for the boyness. ( Although I still giggled when he would fiddle with it in the tub.) Recently, on some crude whim, I have started calling it a wiener. Ethan has also adopted this term for it. One night in the bath, this is the conversation that occurred:

E: This is my wiener
Mike: No, E, it's a penis.
E.: Not a penis! Wiener!
Me: (Giggles)
Mike: No, it's a penis.
E: (Really mad) NO PENIS! WIENER!
Me: (hysterical laughter)
Mike: (shuts door on me) See what you're teaching him?

I laugh now as I type this. Yesterday at his well child visit the doctor tried to look "down there" and he said, "No, that's my wiener!" I just thought it was funny.

So at our house it's a wiener. My friend Andrea, who is from Australia, calls it a winky. A rose by any other name... we all know what it is. Even the proper name can cause the giggles, so does it really matter how we label it?

Pumpkin Service, Please

Many of my neighbors have recently gotten into the Halloween spirit by decorating their front porches and doorsteps. In an attempt to be festive (and keep up appearances) I bought a $5 scarecrow from Big Lots. By itself it looked silly, so I decided to buy some pumpkins to go with it. At Target, they had pumpkins for $3 a piece, which I thought was a bit steep, so I only bought one. The checkout lady gave me a coupon for a dollar off, so the pumpkin ended up being $2. Great deal.

That was Monday- I have been to Target two more times since then, but did not buy any pumpkins. I thought I could get cheaper pumpkins at the local nursery/fruit stand in Centerville, so today that is where we went. Ethan and Serena loved it. They were sitting on the pumpkins and just going nuts-- fun for them. For me, however, my great deal was not to be found. When the kid that worked there finally came up to greet us, I told him we wanted to get some pumpkins and asked him how much they were. I am not convinced that this kid was not on crack. He says, "Well, some of them are marked, and we base the price on size and appearance. Like this one, (a giant green pumpkin) is $24.50." Hmmm. "This one, since it has no stem is $1." That sounds good.

So I find two reasonable looking pumpkins, one has no stem, so I assume it will be a great deal. So while this green-shirted, lazy, eighteen or nineteen year-old kid goes and slumps in a chair by the cash register, I leave my children unattended and carry my pumpkins, one at a time, about 200 feet to where he is . He rings me up. One pumpkin is $3. The no stemmer is $2.75. Big savings, eh? So feeling thoroughly ripped off, but happy to have my pumpkins, I leave the pumpkins on the table to go take a quick look at their trees. The kid does not offer to help me.

When I come back he is still lounging there, and I ask if I can use one of their carts to take my pumpkins. He says yes, and starts messing with his cell phone. What service! What a fine pumpkin salesman! Did he not see that I had two very independent children transport to my car as well as the two pumpkins I had purchased? Apparently not. Perhaps it was his ball cap and his drug-induced haze that clouded his vision. I don't know, but I am certainly getting sick of these kids and their crappy attitudes and lack of customer service skills. I could go on and on about that topic, but that's a blog for another day.

Results: I got my pumpkins. I am semi-happy. Conclusion: I should have bought a pumpkin a day at Target, but in the end, the result is the same. I now have a mildly festive doorstep.

Tip Day Tuesday: Outside Help

Kathryn suggested we post useful tips about how we use outside help to make life easier. I myself don't use outside help that much, but here are some thoughts:

1. Find someone with kids around your kids' same age to swap babysitting with. This is great, because it helps out your friend, and you don't have to pay a sitter.

2. This doesn't involve outside help, but does make life easier. I often only cook three or four nights a week because I "plan" for leftovers. I make twice as much, or just the regular recipe amount depending on your family size and then eat it again the next night, either warmed up or in a new form. For example, we might have spaghetti one night, and then the next night have a noodle and red sauce casserole. It saves money and time-- and the hassle of planning!

That's it for me. Is today even Tuesday?

Addiction

I think I am officially addicted to the internet. This is a problem as, to coin a phrase from Strong Bad, "The internet is a place where absolutely nothing happens." I can really spend a lot of time on the internet-- checking e-mail, reading blogs, shopping for things I don't need... Some days I would say I log on to the internet up to 10 times. Most days I do about 5.

It's not a good addiction. It doesn't make me feel good to get on the internet, I often feel worse for having logged on. In fact, it's very possible that my self-esteem is somehow linked to whether or not I have email. I am trying to break myself of this habit. I need to limit myself to once a day. But this becomes a problem, since I rationalize that since it's been multiple hours since I logged on, that I must have more e-mail. Not so, my friends. And thus my self-esteem plummets.

Anyway. If anyone has any ideas on how I can save myself from this plague, let me know.

Tiny Violins

So my mom has been here this weekend. I think I have been the happiest and most content that I have been in a long time. I am kind of dried up as far as semi-interesting things to blog about. Not much time to ponder quirky thoughts when trying to spend quality time with a person you don't see very often.

I get so jealous of the girls whose moms live close by. They get to see their moms whenever they want, and their moms can even babysit. I almost kind of resent them, and sometimes don't like them. Why? Because they have what I want. Isn't that terrible? What kind of person am I?

I'll tell you what kind of person I am. I am a person who needs deep meaningful friendships in a place where I don't have my mommy nearby and no friends who I can call when I'm crying. I am making friends, and there are people here that I like-- but time is what makes friendships close, and I haven't been here that long. Okay, I am stopping now. I'm starting to depress myself. Can you hear the tiny violins?