A Looky loo at the LOO!

Oh friends. OHHHHH friends.  It is FINALLY done! And, I could not be happier with the outcome.

What in the world is the crazy lady even referencing?  Well, I'll tell you.

Two years ago when we moved into this roachcoach House, I painted the living room, two bedrooms and did a number of other projects and at the time said, hell to the NO on painting either of the bathrooms.  It was HOT, I was tired and bathrooms gross me out. Even brand newly done, empty house bathrooms are still creepy to me.  Sooo, the bathroom was left alone.  To say it was bland would be an understatement.  Oh, and also, it's wee teeny, itty bitty!  Like, 2 people can barely fit in it tiny.  But, it serves its purpose for private potty time and quick showers.  

Anywho....I decided that this summer was THE TIME to get some projects done.  That darn bathroom being one of them.  Once workshop was over in June, my super procrastination kicked into high gear.  Everyday I'd say....OK, I'm gonna do this.  And then I'd find 20 other things to do. But yesterday I woke up and said, DAMMIT, today IS the DAY!

I spent from literal morning until 1 a.m. scrubbing down, prepping and painting the walls and vanity. I wont lie, it was a bitch. BUT, the end result is worth it.

Even better, this project cost me all of about $7.00 for a can of spray paint.  All the rest of the paint I had on hand from previous projects.  YESSSS!!!

Don't look too closely or you'll see the shoddy workmanship on my painting.  But hey, when you're sweating into oblivion and working alone and semi delirious, you just be happy that anything is done at all.

In a perfect world I'd knock out the shower wall and get an entirely glass surround, which would enlarge it slightly and just make everything feel bigger.  Also, I WILL be ripping out that hideously awful white tile and just sealing the concrete until I can afford flooring I like.  MAN I hate tile, no words for it. ESPECIALLY white ceramic tile.

BTW, my "h" key is broken and it's suuuuuuuuuuuuper annoying.  Carry on then.

BEFORE:

  Can we say brown and BORING!!!!!

AFTER:

I painted the walls the same color of grey that is in our bedroom, I rather love it. Then I painted the vanity swiss coffe, and spray painted the knobs in hammered metal.  I WISH I had white blinds, but no such luck. As for the playbills...I promised Jere that if I ever painted the bathroom I'd hang more of our playbills.  We have a huge collection of them, that used to hang in our office when we were first married and had such a thing as an office.  Anyway, I love how they look there.  And please, tell me you see my clever humor in those I chose.  Well, I got a giggle out of it anyway.

So there ya go.  A bathroom before and after.  Now, on to remaking Maggies room. Heaven help me, that is a huge job staring me in the face.  BUT, Auntie Julie has moved out and Maggie has moved into her own room, well, with Mayzie, but it's gonna be beautiful when I'm done with it.  Anyone wanna come paint?

Loos and lookies,

Allyson
 

Just Say It!

A couple of months ago I walked into church and deposited my kids on the bench.  I then headed to the hall to pick up a tithing envelope.  As I was exiting the chapel, one of the darling greeters stopped me, shook my hand and said "You DO realize that you light up a room, don't you?"

Why NO, no I do NOT realize that.  But THANK YOU for saying something so nice.

It just struck me so deeply that she said that.  Mostly because, I was NOT feeling like I was lighting up anything.  I was overwhelmed, stressed, sad, swirling around the drain in the crap storm of my life.

Those kind words made my day.  They made me stand a little taller, attempt a smile not only on my face, but on the inside.  And it really made me think.

You know, none of us EVER really knows what is going on in peoples lives.  We don't know the inner workings of peoples minds.  We don't know the pain, the sorrow, the joy, the anguish, the whatever they may be experiencing.  And sometimes, all it takes is just one little kind word, one compliment and it can turn that persons day, week around.

I appreciate that she took the time to say something. I appreciate that she was brave enough to say something.  I  know that many times I will think someone looks particularly nice, or pretty that day, but I usually don't go out of my way to tell them.  Because I get shy (I know, but it's TRUE), or embarrassed, or distracted.

But, I'd like to issue a little challenge to myself and to anyone that might still read this.  Let us all try to take a moment and actually open our mouths and express a compliment to someone if the thought crosses our mind.  JUST SAY IT!

You never know what good you may be doing for that persons soul that day.

The Pickle Tree

It began all so innocently.  One afternoon, about 2 or 3 months ago, Max asked if he could have a pickle.  I was only to happy to oblige.  As he sat and ate his pickle, I heard him excitedly yell..."I found a pickle seed."  And then, reverantly under his breath he exclaimed..."Now I'm going to plant a pickle tree."

 

It was, quite frankly....adorable.  I had a good chuckle. I took a picture and left it at that.

So, imagine my surprise, when a few weeks later, he was eating yet another pickle spear, and this time, there was apparently a bumper crop of seeds.  The motherload, if you will.

Again, he yelped with excitement.  "Mommy, look how many pickle seeds I have."  "I have 12 seeds."  "Now I REALLY can plant a pickle tree."  I smiled and nodded, as all good Moms do, right?  "knowing" that he would for sure drop this idea as soon as a speck of dust floated past his eyes and he became distracted.

But nooooo. 'Twas not to be.

He finished his bagel and then promptly informed me he was ready to plant his tree.  Let's get this tree planting done.  Where should we do it.

As I'm usually a crusher of all dreams, I decided that today, TODAY I would play the sweet, builder of dreams and let him plant his revered tree.

The great pickle seed haul.

We carefully carried the paper towell and it's precious content out to the front planter.

I improvised, I found him a spoon worthy of the digging.

He happily dug until he had a hole "deep" enough to plant some seeds in. (I have no idea why the pictures are looking squashed)

Then it was time:

Max carefully, and quite lovingly I might add, flicked those sticky seeds into their allotted space in our dry and barren planter box.

Next came the magical moment....the moment we covered it over and prepared to water.

We marked the spot where the seeds were with some dry petals from my flowers.  He carefully watered that area.  And as SOON as he finished watering, he said: "Ok Mom, can we watch it grow?"  "How long will this take?"  I told him it could take a VERY long time to grow.  He asked how long? I told him LONG.  Then he asked if we could just maybe sit out there and wait for it.  After some clever and convincing wording, I got him to go inside, realizing that it would be far to long to wait for it to grow.  But "surely something would sprout in time."  That seemed to appease him, and he was so excited and couldn't wait to tell Maggie that HE got to plant a pickle tree.

It was a total win win.  He felt like he'd accomplished all he ever hoped for, and I totally won the prize for good Mommy award.

I sure do love that kid and his bright mind, eager desires and great imagination.

Now, since I let so much time pass before posting about this, I can tell you the follow up.

About a week ago, he suddenly remembered that "hey, he planted a pickle tree."  You know what he said to me?  "You said my pickle tree would grow.  Well, it didn't, and pickles don't grow on trees, so you're a liar."  NOT EVEN KIDDING!  Totally got called a liar by my 4 year old.  All because I was trying to let his happy little heart plant his freaking pickle tree.  HMPH!  See if I ever do THAT again.  

Guess it's back to dream squasher for me.

Sour pickles and sweet boys,

Allyson

 

When you look up the picture for wicked....

After another "successful" evening of sucking at parenting, I decided that I should take to "the googles" and look up wicked stepmother.

Of course there was this picture:

I actually look like this A LOT!

Or this famous picture:

 
Another fairly dead on depiction of my face.

And then, shockingly, there was THIS:

You guys, this is how I feel like my face looks 90% of the freaking time.  It's exhausting, and frankly, doing nothing for my wrinkle lines.

I don't know what is wrong with me, but why is it that I have zero tolerance or patience for the things my kids do.  No really, like ZERO!

We are currently on this "new" (and by new I mean, revisited, we've been off it for many months, but here we are again) thing of Max being terrified of the dark, and of doing anything alone, AT ALL!  I mean, for heavens sake, last night he wouldn't even go out to the kitchen to fill his sippy by himself because he was scared.  Tonight, he wouldn't go find his sippy, he just cried and wailed and lamented that he was TOOOO SCARED!  Every night we find him on Maggies bed with her, even though we've threatened certain death if he continues.  And every day it's the same story, "I was too scared on my bed."

So, after I told them both to knock it off and get over it, cause there is NOTHING to be afraid of, and then went to my room....I felt bad. WHAT is wrong with me? Shouldn't I be comforting and consoling them? Shouldn't I be laying there rubbing their little backs until they feel better?  Instead, I'm just irritated that they're being dramatic.  While Max was sobbing about his fears, I hear Maggie say "Max, i need to get some freaking sleep, BE QUIET!"  Then, I felt bad enough about my suckitude that I went in and asked Max what he was so afraid of.  Between his gasping sobs he said, "the dark."  I convinced him to get up and come in my room to talk to me.  But not before Maggie insists that I leave the door open, because she's afraid.  I take him to my bed and try very calmly to ask him WHAT about the dark scares him.  He told me it's all the shadows, and that he's afraid the stickers on their closet door (large paper doll stickers of Maggies) would come alive.  Now,suddenly,  Maggie is bawling and carrying on from the other room, yelling she's so scared.  I'm trying to calmly talk to Max, reason with him, assure him, get him to talk to me, etc.  In comes Maggie with fake crying.  She's just too afraid to be alone, she tells me.  Wait a second here....was she just not miss smarty/rude pants to Max about HIS crying? So, anyway,  we talk about how there is always prayer, and that they are safe, etc.  After a prayer, while I was holding both of them, they calmed down and I was able to finally put them to bed.  THANK GOODNESS! But for reals.......am I the only craptastic "Wicked" mother out there that gets irritated by all this?

Where is all my tender love and compassion?

I think I lost it somewhere.

Or, how about yesterday when I had just finished with lessons, and there was a knock at the door.  There stood Maggie, Max and our neighbor Jessie.  Max stuck his head in the door and with a huge, proud smile stated, "Maggie and me peed our pants."

Uh, Iiiiiii'm sorry, you WHAT?

Yeah, apparently it was just to hard to get to a toilet and so, poof, they PEED THEIR FREAKING PANTS on their way home.  And by Max's very proud announcement, I knew accident was NOT a true term to use here.

I was lit.  I sent Jessie home, I pulled the kids inside and sent them immediately to the shower.  Aint no child o' mine gonna go around making golden showers in their pants "just because."

I told Maggie this was completely unacceptable.  She KNOWS how to use a  bathroom,a nd WHEN to use a bathroom.  She swore that she just couldn't make it in time.  But, that the real story with Max was, once he saw that she wet her pants, she said "ok, I can do that."  "And then he tried really hard, until he did Mom.  You HAVE to believe me on this."

So, let me get this straight, my 5, nearly 6 year old daughter was just to lazy to use the neighbors bathroom, whilst my 4 year old son just thought it'd be good times to piss in his pants.  AWESOME!

Needless to say, I wore my "wicked" badge once again. Forcing them to wash their own selves in the bath and shower and then sending them to bed early.

A short list (if you will) of my wicked mothering ways:
1. I make them wash themselves in their baths
2. I make Maggie wash her hair....ever
3. I FORCE them to brush their teeth.
4. I won't let them eat candy for breakfast
5. I buy Maggie new clothes that aren't to her liking.
6. I dare to ask them to pick up their room
7. I tell them NO, A LOT!
8. They've never been to Disneyland
9. I won't buy them something EVERY time we're at the store.
10. I am terrible about "Playing" with them
11. I yell at them

Oh, I'm sure the list could go on and on. They like to tell me on a daily basis how mean I am, and that I'm so rude.  

Good thing there is picture proof on the googles of that....Otherwise, people might believe ME when I say THEY'RE the rude ones.

Frustrations and feeling bad,

Allyson 

P.S. Word to the wise.  I may have written this whilst half asleep, and then fallen asleep and then published.  Forgive it's shortcomings.
 

It's been ONE YEAR since you came to me...

As I sat for a brief moment tonight watching The Voice, it hit me...One year ago tonight I was sitting on the couch, watching The Voice, timing contractions, trying to decide if they were good enough to be worthy of going to the Hospital.

Then I was reminded.....after Mayzie was born, I promised I'd share her birth story.  Hmm, how embarrassing, seems I never got around to it.  Soooo, how bout a little story of her birth, for her BIRTHDAY!

It is absolutely unbelievable to me that my beautiful, perfect, AMAZING MAYZIE is ONE YEAR OLD today.  Where did the time go. 

How did this sweet, sweet little alien munchkin:

Become this:

 soooo quickly?

April 2, 2012...I went in for my visit to the doc.  I'd been dilated to a 3 and 90% effaced for a week.  He went ahead and stripped my membrane (THAT was most unpleasant) and then we set up my "inducement" for Friday April 5. But the truth was, Jere was having NONE of it.  He was antsy, he wanted this baby out. He was begging me to do the castor oil and orange pop.  I had decided I didn't want to this time, and I really didn't.  We went on some errands and I had a few huge, painful contractions. I thought that was promising.  But then it seemed to subside. When nothing more happened, I decided that I would go ahead and do the castor oil.  I mean really, we all know patience is NOT my thing.  I wanted this baby here too.

At 4:00 I took an entire bottle of castor oil.........and, NOTHING!  I mean literally, nothing happened.  After a couple of hours, I was concerned. Why no poopsy?  Then, FINALLY at 8:00 I had an urge to go potty.  I went, it was not that great, but it started something at least.  The contractions began.  I started counting them at around 9:00, as I watched the aforementioned Voice. They were coming pretty regularly at about 5 or 3 minutes apart.  I knew that I could wait it out at home, but Jere likes to head to the hospital.  I held him off until about 11:00.  We waddled our way to maternity at Banner Desert and checked into triage.  I measured at a 4, this was good, but the contractions weren't that exciting.  They told me I had to be at a 5 in order to stay.  UGH!  So, i did my patented jog around the building in a hospital gown act.  I hate that.  Me in my giant bellied, naked under a gown glory jogging in place in the chapel, walking up and down the stairs, walking, walking, squatting, lunging, whatever else I could think of to get to a 5 and be able to stay.

45 minutes later I toodled back to my nurse, she checked me out and good news, I got to stay. They checked me into a room and let us settle down, and I use that term lightly,  for the night.

The night was long, and mostly sleepless, but not that thrilling.  They told me that the doc would be in around 6 to break my water.  Lies.

Just before 6 a.m. I told them I needed to go to the bathroom.  As I moved to try and get up I heard and felt the wierdest popping sound.  And then there was a trickle running down my leg.  I called the nurse in and told her that maybe my water broke, cause I certainly wasn't peeing myself, but it was pretty wet.  She said, no, you didn't break it, but maybe just punctured it.  She got me up to go to the bathroom.  I went, and there was a good amount of bloody show and I continued to "leak" down my leg.

From there it went pretty quickly.  The contractions came pretty quickly and I was dilated to a six.  I said, let's get this epidural, I'm not interested in no pain, YO!  The doc came in to administer the epidural.  It felt like he was hitting my spinal nerve, it HURT and that had never happened before. But he finally got it in the right place and put the drugs in.  And away he went.

Literally just a few minutes later I was dying.  I was like "Why, WHY does this hurt so bad? I have an epidural, holy CRAP why is this HURTING?" Let's keep in mind that I have not felt childbirth. I'm all about the drugged up birth.  I called the nurse in and she smiled and said "are you feeling a little pinch, a little uncomfortable?"  I was like, "NO, I'm feeling eVERYTHING, WHY?"  And at this point I was dilated to an 8 or 9 or something and there was no doc in sight.  He was stuck in freaking traffic, but on.his.way.  So, I'm literally doing the lamaze breathing, squeezing the crap out of Jeres hand, feeling every blasted contraction,  trying NOT to have a baby until the doc got there. Apparently, the epidural did not so much work, and I'm a fast transitioner.  FINALLY at 8:30 or something like that the Doc rolled in, sat down and told me to push.  I gave it a good push and booyah, she was on her way out.

In just a moment (well, you know, hypothetically speaking) at 8:53 a.m. Amazing Mayzie made her debut, and she was the picture of perfection at 8 lb. 11 oz.  The doc insited that she was really 9 lbs., but when they wiped her off, it took away that oz. 

She was calm and serene from the start.  I remember laying in my room listening to the baby next door cry and cry and cry and cryyyyyyyyy non-stop, and Mayzie had never so much as made a peep.  She literally never cried.  She slept and laid there and looked around and just emminated an aura of peace.  I'm always so grateful for that.  She was a champion latcher and a great little nurser from the get go.  Really too bad that I had to wake up the next morning with a blood clot and ruin the whole nursing thing.

This has been a year of pure joy when it comes to Mayzie.  She smiles for everyone, she's fairly easy to go to anyone.  She is happy, and giggly and sweet and bright, oh so bright.

She started walking 2 1/2 weeks ago, and she's just a girl on the go these days.  She loves to wave at people and blow kisses.  She LOVES dogs and her clearest word is "DOG."  She also says mama, dada, BAH which means bottle, or drink. Other words are bye bye, ba (as in bath) which she very excitedly repeats over and over when its bathtime,  and we swear we've heard Max and a Maggie once.  

She is a fantastic sleeper, she happily goes down for 2 naps a day and down at bedtime.  Rarely is there any fight, and if there is, then she clearly isn't ready. She's very good at letting you know when she wants to sleep, and when she wants something.  She's determined and strong willed.  She does NOT like to be told no, and gets rather easily offended if we say that to her.  She will cry big, sad crocodile tears.

She's incredibly patient and accomodating to all her cousins and her siblings who really love to play with her like she's their real life baby doll.  It's quite adorable to watch her get passed around and fought over by all the cousins.  There is still line ups for turns to hold Mayzie.  I'm so thankful she is loved.

I am so grateful, every day for her sweet addition to our family. I'm thankful for her smile, her peace, her beauty, her fun personality, and the happiness she brings me. She is perfect, she is AMAZING!

 Newborn

 2 mos.

 4 mos. at her blessing

 3 mos. in Greer

 3 mos.

 6 mos. Halloween

 8 mos.

 8 mos. Christmas morning

 10 mos.

 Easter Sunday 11 mos.

 8 or 9 months

 I guess it's not always Sunshine and Lollipops!

Trash to Treasure Tuesday Table Edition

Duhn duhn duhn............................

An actual trash, to treasure!

I TOLD you all, like 8 months ago that I WOULD do it....eventually.

Right, so like 8 or 9 mos. ago now, in the back corner of the magical thrift store in town, my eye caught this solid oak table, buried underneath some not so classy other things.  I bent down and peered at the price.  It said $9.00.  I blinked.  I rubbed my eyes. I stood up, looked around. I bent down again and checked just to make sure.  Mmm hmm, indeed, NINE DOLLARS!  So, next, I did what any disbelieving thrifter would do, I ordered a store worker to get over there, RIGHT NOW! I non challantly asked him if this indeed was the price.  I practically "dared" him to tell me otherwise.  He looked it over and said, "Yep, nine dollars it is."  I then asked him incredulously, "WHY is this so cheap?"  He replied..."So you'll buy it."  Well played Mesa thrift, WELL PLAYED!

I ripped that tag off and marched right on up to the register.  For 9 bucks i didn't care if I NEVER did anything with it, it was gonna be mine.  I was sure there was a lovely project in there.  I had the heavy table lugged to my car and thankfully it fit.

Got it home, pulled it out of the van and promptly placed it in a place of honor in my garage, where it has been buried ever since.  I mean really, it has been such a delightful catchall.  And in those 9 months, I could just NEVER find the motivation or drive to get out there and actually paint the thing.

But, the serendipitous moment came when my fabulous friend Kalli was having a giant (and I mean giant) sale this last Saturday. I mumbled to myself...now is your time VP, get 'er done.  So, I purchased the necessary paint and stain and what have you and then lost all my drive again.  FINALLY at 9:00 Friday night I cleaned out my garage enough to make a project possible.  I lugged the table over, readied the sander and began sanding.  you read that right, me the NON sander, totally sanded that table top, for nearly THREE HOURS! It was ridiculous and I still didn't get it all. Meh! I have no patience, i was ready to move on.

So, sanded, sanded, sanded, sanded, vacuumed, wiped it down, at a snack, wiped it some more and then stained the top. While that was setting, I spray primed, though I didn't need to, just wanted to, overkill.  Then I wiped down the table top and left it to cure while I whipped out the painting. I used the Behr two in one paint, lap pool blue.  It's really a beautiful color, though the pictures don't do it justice.  The painting took no time at all, and I had maggie (yes it was midnight, but she just simply couldn't sleep) to jabber away the minutes.  Before I knew it, project was complete, and I was pretty pleased with it.

So, here ya go:

BEFORE:

 AFTER:

I love her so.  And, apparently, posting it on facebook at 1:20 a.m. was a good thing, because a girl I know bought it that morning, for considerably more than I paid for it.  Then again, it's a great table, and I put a lot of work into that freaking sanding, and such.  Totally worth it though, because the cool rusticness of the top against the smooth, pretty blue of the bottom is awesome.

There ya go.....Trash to Treasure, Over and out.

 

The REST of the story

Right, so the other day I decided it was high time that my little hermit child of never ending I-pad obsession get out and play with a real live person.  Seriously, Max is so weird.  He will play with Maggie and her friends until the cows come home, but if I ask him if he wants to play with ANYONE else, especially, um, you know, boys, he freaks out and says NO WAY!!!  He would MUCH prefer the i-pad. And I do mean, MUCH prefer.  He wakes me up almost every morning (NOT COOL) to ask if he can play on it.  He obsesses over how he'll play with it after school. He makes sure he gets more time than Maggie.  It's insane. BUT, that is NOT why I'm writing this post.  I am writing to say, we made actual human contact and he went on a playdate to his friend Gavins, and then I took them to Chik-fil-A and THEN I took them to the park. And HERE is where the story gets interesting.

But first, a picture, because that is fun:

 

Max and his cute buddy Gavin

(the only boy Max will concede to play with) 

 

And that would be my ridiculously adorable and growing up WAY to fast Mayzie. I know, I'm sorry, my apologies for keeping her goodness from whats left of my blog readership.

So, as I was saying. After our Chik-fil-A excursion, it was off to the park. Truly a more glorious day there never has been.  It was sunny, yet cool, and nary a sweat drop to be found, even standing and playing in the sun. PERFECT!  The breeze was blowing and the boys were ready to play!

There is a little park not far from our house, in a neighborhood that could, well, perhaps be called ghetto. BUT, the park is all brand new and nice and super fun.  As we approached, I was only a little apprehensive, as there were some people there, and they were a smoosh on the less than savory side.  But, i held my head up high and decided to move forward anyway.  The boys ran for the playground and I pushed Mayzie in the stroller, bringing up the rear.

The "people" were a totally skanky Mom who was about 30 years past her prime to be wearing the special, backless t-shirt she was wearing, and her daughter, who was about 30 lbs. over her prime and freshly post baby to be wearing the extremely short and tight shorts and shirt she was wearing.  There was a newborn and a 1 year old in the picture as well.  Anyway....

The boys were climbing on some equipment just inside the playground, while "they" were over on the swingset. The MOM was swinging with her boyfriend, or pimp or whoever.  I was standing in the grass just watching the boys, sort of staring mindlessly and maybe a little taking in the "situation".  Whereupon the daughter (and mother to the young babies) wandered over with a cigarette dangling in her mouth and a beer in her hand and holding a kid(it WAS 1 p.m.).  Yes, I was judging because she was smoking WITH a baby in her arms. BUT then....she took a swig of her beer, swished it around in her mouth and then SPIT IT right on the playground. Where.children.PLAY! In front of me, and directly next to her one year old son, and by my kids.  I was a bit horrified, and grossed out and bothered. So yes, my face may have looked like this:

Or perhaps like this:

Or even just my "normal look:

Though I was really hoping that it looked more like this:

My just, "oh hey, what's up, I'm not staring at you look."  Oh, and also, can we keep in mind that I WAS wearing sunglasses, so you couldn't totally see my eyes.

Unfortunately, my face does NOT mask well when I feel disgust, and well, apparently, I made a face, and she did NOT like it.  She looked up and said "oh, sorry." Then grabbed her kid and headed over toward her Mom, at which point, Mom said "Hey, the baby is hungry."  response:"There is a botttle in the back of the stroller for it." Mom:" You're don't wanna give it your boob?" "NOOOOOO!"
Then she stormed over to the other side of the park and yelled, "Yeah, I know, I'm such a BAD Mom for drinking."

In my head I said, well yes, you are, for drinking in a public park and ONE IN THE AFTERNOON, and for smoking in your babies face, and for wearing those shorts, because THAT is a crime in and of itself.....TO.MY.EYES!!  But, I just stared at the boys and pretended to be super interested in them.

A minute or two later the girl headed back over near us, but then left quickly. I take no blame here, I was NOT looking at her, cause I do NOT do confrontation.  But then I hear, talking at the top of their lungs....."You do whatever the F you want. What did that white bitch (they were white, but wanted to be something else, ifyaknowwhatimean) say? You don't give a F what she says. Bitches like that don't earn any respect, they get NO respect. You go over there and do whatever the F you want."  There was more, but I don't remember.  I was to busy employing my super stealth look away, ignore and act interested in anything but them techniques.  Plus, my ears had glazed over after the 10th F bomb or so.

I won't lie, I was a little nervous.  Last thing I needed was a perfectly good park day ruined with a throwdown and a possible shiv to the spleen.

Just sayin.

Thankfully, they left not long after and we were able to enjoy a little more time in peace and quiet, minus the creepy men who wandered through, and that moment where I had to allow two boys to act indecently in public.  What? They BOTH had to pee RIGHT THEN.  So, I let them, but NOT in the playground part.  See....way classier than that hoochie Mom.

Shanks and pee pee,

Allyson

 

 

You did WHAT????

Hmmmmmmmm.

So this afternoon I took the kids over to Gramma Dars for some visiting and playing. Jere needed to work on homework, which means....he needed silence. And we hadn't been over to visit Dar in awhile.

The kids "helped" Dar go through a tiny tiny portion of her Christmaspalooza and talked to her, as did I. Then, I took Mayzie upstairs to see if i could convince her to take a little nappy nap in the sweet nursery Dar has up there.  I layed her down and waited.  Meanwhile Maggie and Max and Dar meandered outside to the backyard of childhood dreams.  I could hear them playing and Dar talking.  I may have dozed off for a moment or two as well.

Unfortunately, the sound of breakable things being flung to the ground brought me back to reality.  Mayzie was NOT having a nap in no stupid crib and she was gonna show me by chucking ceramic baby keepsakes to the ground.  Booger!  So I scooped her up and was heading down the stairs when I heard this wafting through the air...

"Gramma DAR I peed and pooped in my pants."

Record screech inserted here....

She said, "you did what?"

"I peed and pooped in my pants."

THIS GUY!!

By this time I had made it to the backyard to see Max jumping on the trampoline happily.  I could not for one second believe that he REALLY peed and pooped in his pants.  For the love of all that's potty trained....this child has literally NEVER had an accident in his pants since the FIRST day he potty trained.  No lie.  He peed his pants twice and pooped them once that day and that was it.  We're talking TWO YEARS of clean underpants people!  So why now?

I said to Max....."Did you REALLY pee AND poop in your pants?" with utter incredulation in my voice.  Because SURELY it was some silly joke he was playing.

To which he happily replied, as he was still jumping on the tramp.  "YEP!"

There he was, soaking wet, with a giant el doo-kay in his pantelones, and yet smiling at me like this was nothing to be concerned about.

WHAT THE HELL?

When I asked him WHY he would do such a ridiculous thing he matter of factly replied...."It was a really long ladder to get down and I couldn't get down fast enough." (he was up in the tree house which is literally like 100 feet up in the air).

Needless to say I hustled his poo covered tookus home (making him stand in the car the whole way, shut it, we live around the corner) and threw him in the shower.  Sadly, his undies didn't survive (and they were my favorite pair).  It was so gross.  No really......GROSS!!

Got him cleaned up and happily back to Gramma Dars with nary a playtime missed.

The disturbing part here is....I'm pretty sure he woulda just gone about his playing with caca in the pants had I not ushered him home.

So really?  REALLY?  What in the world.

Good thing he's cute and has a wicked good booty shake, or he woulda been toast.

Poop smoosh and happy boys,

Allyson