Buggin' you is easy, cuz you're buggable

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that 99% of my blog readers are female. Also, I'm willing to say that my fellow female readers have similar family dynamics in regards to REMOTE CONTROL usage in their individual homes.

J is in charge of the remote control. Always. This is a fact that I'm not 100% happy about, but that's just the way it is. J has this bizarre affinity for really weird late-at-night shows. Especially on the weekends. For instance - last night he made me sit through 5 terrible minutes of The Red & Green Show. It was painful. Its like this really weird zoning thing happens. If he sees a bad movie on t.v., he just can't help but watch it.

Dr. Who, The Gang documentary on the History Channel, Anthony Bourdain (which isn't too bad, but I've seen every episode about 900 times), our local county's channel, which has really mind-numbing programming, are just a few of the "treats" I get to experience with J.

Fast forward to a few nights ago. We were laying in bed, trying to watch a movie. The problem was the remote control, or lack of it. We couldn't find it. Anywhere. Our t.v. is OLD and the dvd player its hooked up to, is so irritating. You HAVE to have a remote control. It doesn't have menu buttons on the player itself. So, after searching for about 15 minutes, we decided it was gone, and that one of the kids made off with it.

The next day J bought a fabulous $8 universal remote control. Later that same day, I found the old remote. Downstairs, under the book shelf. It was then, that I got a really good idea.

Last night while waiting for SNL to come on, J was flipping through channels, as usual, trying to kill me with his choices. Oh, and the worst part about him having the remote? If you say, "hey, will you change it to channel 5 for a minute so I can watch the weather?" He won't say or do anything. He'll just quietly sit there watching whatever he's sucked into. And then you have to say: "HEY, CHANGE THE CHANNEL FOR A SECOND!" And then, he'll say: "JUST A MINUTE, I WANT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS!" And I'll say: "DUDE! JUST CHANGE IT TO CHANNEL 5 FOR LIKE 15 SECONDS! THE 5-DAY FORECAST IS ON!" And then he'll say: "ITS NOT ON YET! JUST A MINUTE!" And then I'll say: "ITS ON RIGHT NOW. IT COMES ON EVERY NIGHT AT 10:17pm. JUST HURRY AND CHANGE IT TO 5. Then he'll change it, and its too late. The only thing I see is our weatherman, walking off the set, wearing a white suit, which means its supposed to snow, but I have no idea when, since we just spent the last 20 seconds bickering about changing the stupid channel from the old dude on the history channel that likes guns to the stupid news channel.

Last night I conquered.

I took the old remote upstairs. While J was happily surfing the channels, every so often I would hit "channel up" on the old remote. At first, he didn't seem to notice. So, I got a little bolder while watching Telemundo's Hope for Haiti Benefit Program. And while I don't have a problem with any Hope for Haiti program - I do have problems with Telemundo. The most obvious problem - IT'S IN SPANISH! (fyi: I don't speak spanish, and neither does J, unless he's ordering a burrito at the drive-up window at taco time and then he can roll his r's like nobody's business). I changed the channel. He sat there, looking a little confused and then he changed it back. I changed it again.

This goes on for like 5 minutes and I'm literally choking because I'm trying so hard not to laugh. He says to me, "dude, this remote is already broken. Its changing channels all by itself." I tried to sound as doubtful as possible as I told him that he was probably pushing the buttons and just not realizing it. I told him to put the remote down, put his hands in the air, and see what happens. Wouldn't you know - the channel changed! I told J to make sure the "up" button wasn't stuck. He checked and it seemed just fine. At point, I'm having the hardest time keeping it together. I backed off for a while.

10 minutes later, I changed the channel. J was getting so mad. And I couldn't deal anymore. I start to laugh and J turns his head and stares at me. You could almost see the wheels turning, trying to put two and two together. He finally realizes it and reaches over to pinch me. I told him that his dynasty was coming to an end. There's a new remote control authority in town.

So ladies - if you want to bug your husband, and really, who doesn't? Go splurge on an $8 universal remote at your nearest electronics store. They are easy to program and the result is nothing short of wonderful. We are the supreme gender.

Dancing at the Dinner Table

We usually listen to Pandora Radio while we eat dinner. Tonight we listened to our "Frou Frou channel." C was loving it. She was dancing in her seat while eating her spaghetti.
Finally, she couldn't handle it anymore. She had to get up and work it out.

She's got some freaking awesome moves.

And yes, F was getting in on it too. He kept doing this coy shoulder-roll move.




Watch out world. C is going to take the universe by storm.
Of that, I have NO doubt.

What do you call a group of female dogs?

Aunt L bought C "My sticker Activity Book: Dogs & Puppies." See below:


It is filled with coloring pages, puzzles, mazes, word searches & stickers. C was sitting on the couch with her activity book, working on a word search. I was in the kitchen. She asked me what f-o-o-d spelled and I helped her sound it out. "Food!" She found "food" and moved onto the next one. She asked me what s-m-e-l-l spelled and we sounded that out too. "Smell!" She then asked me what b-i-t-c-h-e-s spelled. I asked her to read me those letters one more time. b-i-t-c-h-e-s. She started to sound it out: "biiiiiih iiiiiiiiih tuuuh . . . . Mom? When you have a C and an H together, it makes a CHuh sound, like 'cheese,' right?

I drop what I'm doing, and run over there to see what letters she's obviously mixing up, and right there, in black and white:

Seriously dogs & puppies sticker book? Seriously? You're really gonna go there, aren't you? You're really going to put the word "bitches" in a word search? You couldn't have picked like "jump" or "ball" or even "fetch?" You just had to pull out the "B" word, didn't ya.

Don't worry, I did what every other self-respecting mother would do. I distracted her with the measuring tape. She's been measuring stuff for the last 30 minutes.

Years of Therapy

We just cannot stop. Its too much fun.

Rob Zombie on a Friday Night

No, we don't listen to Rob Zombie on a regular basis.  And yes, C cried when the song was over because she wanted to keep dancing.  

Cuz that's how we roll. . . . .

I must preface this story by explaining a bit about my demented family.  All of us tease each other ~ not one of us would ever pass up the opportunity to play a practical joke.  I love messing with my siblings.  I live for April Fool's day (because I get them every single year).  Lucky for me, J's family is the same way.  A match made in practical joke heaven.  When my sweet Mother-in-law gave me a gas mask circa World War II for Christmas (I'm totally serious) I was stoked.  The gas mask is hanging in my kitchen and has played a key role in MANY jokes &terror-inducing situations in the last few months.  I think J's heart stopped last Friday night because of the gas mask.  Good times.  

Anyway, last summer my siblings and I decided to host a garage sale and get rid of all our old crap.  I had about 40 million old baby dolls.  There was one baby doll that I never played with.  ever.  It just wasn't a good one.  It had weird hair that made it look like some type of shemale and even weirder eyes that made it look possessed.  When J saw it in my pile of stuff to sell, he promptly ripped the head off, stuck it in his pocket and went about his daily business.  The doll head ended up: (1) in Dub & Sweg's linen closet; (2) in L's glove-box where it rolling out when she needed a tissue; and (3) in my microwave, which almost gave me a coronary.  Oh, and J has made some improvements.  He got a sharpie and blacked-out the eyes, making it way more creepy.  The doll head has had a relatively quiet existence the last month or so.  Until a few days ago.

C was playing with the head.  She left it on the kitchen counter.  Right next to the doll head was the inside of a roll of paper towels - ya know the cardboard cylinder thing.  An epiphany struck.  I mounted the head on top of the cardboard tube.  It was sweet success.  It looks great and the uses for this head have just doubled, if not tripled.  And, F took a liking to it almost immediately.  He loves playing with this thing.  He insisted on taking it in the car to the store on Saturday.  Its been in the car ever since.

Fast forward to today.  I'm standing by my car this afternoon, unloading all my groceries into the car.  F is buckled into his seat and C is buckling herself in.  I'm just minding my own business with my back to the car, busying myself with my groceries.  My cart was pushed up against a light pole right next to my car.  I was folding up my cart-cover thing that F sits in when this old lady (I'd say upper-60's) pushed her cart over to where mine was.   Our conversation:

Me: Hello

Old Lady: Oh hello.  I guess I'll just put my cart right here.  I don't know where the return is

Me: Oh hey, don't worry.  I'll take both of ours back.  Just leave it right there.

* the old lady's whole countenance changes.  She gets a very anxious/weirded out look in her eyes.  She starts shuffling her feet nervously.

Old Lady: Um, ya know what?  I'll just take both of our carts back right now.

Me: You don't need to do that!  I can take them back!

Old Lady: Um, well, no - thats okay.  You have kids and I'm sure you're really busy.  Um, I'll just take the carts back . . . . . like now. . . . I'll just let you get back to, um, your kids and stuff.

* I'm starting to think this old lady has lost her mind.  She just turned crazy on me in like .2 seconds.  Whatever ~ take my freaking cart back.  See if I care.  Good riddance.  You just can't be nice in today's world.  

* She pivots, grabs both carts and walks away quickly.  

I turned back to face the window and there is my sweet precious angel C.  With the doll head.  On a stick.  Grinning like a maniac while she moves the doll-head-on-a-stick up and down in the window.  Her hair is crazy because she took her baseball hat off.  She's waving hard enough to burn calories.  Her mouth is bright green from the xlarge gumball she just popped.  She's trying to talk, but it sounds like she's talking in tongues because of the gumball.  She was a vision straight out of a demented asylum for the insane.  That old lady must've seen C behind me when we were talking and decided she had better not cross this woman with the disturbed children.  The lady who provides a creepy doll-head-on-a-stick to play with.  I loved it.  I have resolved to keep the doll-head-on-a-stick in the car at all times.  

This is how we roll, ladies & gentlemen.  

He's got the whole world in His hands . . .

Our morning ritual starts when C and/or F wakes up.  They both end up in our bed, watching cartoons while J and I get a few more minutes of precious sleep.  This morning C jumped on our bed and told us that she knows what "malpitent hand" means.  We asked her to repeat herself several times, because we just weren't getting it.  She kept saying "malpitent hands!"  She kept putting her hands in cupping shape out in front of her.  I asked what "malpitent" meant and she told me it was a really big word that means holding the whole world in your hands while it spins around.  She told me that Heavenly Father was "malpitent."  I asked her if she meant "omnipotent."  "oooooooooh yeah," she said - OMNIPOTENT!

I just love her.  

Whistle Man, Oh Bid Dai & 3:30am

Monday 2/23/09 ~  late afternoon:

C: "Mom, will you sing the Whistle Man song?"

Me: "The what song?"

C: "The WHISTLE MAN SONG!"

Me: franctically going through my mental rolodex of kid songs and not coming up with anything that could be construed as the "whistle man song."  "Um, C?  How does the "whistle Man Song" go?

C: totally annoyed that I even have to ask.  "Ugh, this is how how it goes: Whistle Man, he plays one, he plays knick knack on this thumb, with a knick knack patty whack, give that dude a bone! Whistle Man goes rolling home."

Me: "ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh.  I see.  Whistle Man.  Not to be confused with "this old man."

Thursday 2/26/09 ~ Around 5:30pm, driving in the car, listening to the IPOD

C: "Hey, Mom - lets listen to the "Oh Bid Dai" song.  

Me: Oh great.  Another mystery song.  Thinking I'm way better off cutting to the chase and asking what in the world she's talking about.  "C - how does the Oh Bid Dai song go?

C: "Ooooooooooooooh Bid Dai!  Tell me I'm the ony one, and then I might, never be the lonely one."

Me: "Oh, you mean "Hold Me Tight" by the Beatles.  Hahaha.  Sure thing dude."

Friday 2/27/09 ~ 3:30am

I'm so asleep.  The fingers of unconsciousness are cradling my brain.  I am about 10 feet under right now.  I'm laying on my stomach with my head buried in my pillow.  I start to dream that the radio is on and I'm listening to the music.  Except I'm really irritated.  I'm not sure I want to listen to the music.  Suddenly, the logical part of my brain starts floating towards the surface of awareness.  Nooooooooooooo!  I want to stay asleep.  Please don't do this!  I'm frantically trying to shut out the ceaseless, tinny-sounding music that is echoing in my head and bouncing off my frontal lobe.  It doesn't work.  Its like I finally break through the muddy water and surface after being held in the warm, dark, comfortable barely-alive sleep phase.  Except I'm mad about it.  Really mad.  I look at the clock and it's 3:30am.  I hold as still as possible and yes - there it is.  The faint, high-pitched reason for my annoyance.  I keep listening, intent on figuring out which electrical appliance is plugged in somewhere in my house and why it turned on.  And then, it hits my sleep-induced fuzzy brain.  That is not an appliance.  That is a human voice, actually singing songs.  And not just any songs.  ABBA songs.  I can distinctly hear, "if you change your mind, I'm first in line.  Honey I'm still free, take a chance on me.  If you need me, let me know, gonna be around.  If you have no place to go and you're feeling down."  That song ends and another begins: "Money, money, money, always sunny, in a rich man's world  . . . . . . "

That does it.  I jump out of bed, walk down the hall to C's room.  And yes, there she is.  With her LED booklight, putting on her own version of a laser light show to ABBA music.  Singing her heart out.  I stand there, dumbfounded and finally find the courage/nerve/audacity to ask her what in the world she is doing, singing ABBA songs at 3:30 am.  She told she "wanted too."  Hmmmm.  I asked if she needed to go potty.  She assured me she didn't.  I told her "no more singing.  It's in the middle of the night.  Go back to sleep."  I left and went back to my own warm bed.

Not 3 minutes later, there is that voice again!  "Super Duper Lights are gonna find you, even if you're number 1."  Unbelievable.  I bust my action into her room again, threaten her with her life and tell her that I'm going to throw away all her birthday presents, if she doesn't STOP IT!  She grudingly tells me that she'll quit.  

I finally drift back asleep WITHOUT abba ringing in my ears . . . . . . . . 

R. E. S. P. E. C. T.

Yeah, we've got our kid representing the best! So Glad the Utes taught Alabama a bit of humility at the Sugar Bowl. Thanks to Uncle J and Aunt K for the awesome coat. He'll wear it with pride.

Happy 31st bday J.

Yep, he's 31 years old today. So to celebrate, I will list 31 reasons why he's the one for me:

1. He makes me laugh all the time.
2. He is a great Dad
3. He tells me if my outfit is cute and if it sucks
4. He likes it when I tell him all about the book I'm currently reading.
5. He doesn't mind too much that I have to reach all the stuff on the high shelves at our house.
6. He respects my obsession with chocolate.
7. He loves my siblings/parents/extended family.
8. He loves to play games.
9. His mind is usually in the gutter, which makes it less lonely for mine, since that's where mine resides most of the time.
10. He can be teased and he doesn't freak out.
11. He teases me
12. He'll let me play halo with him on xbox, even though i end up getting killed by some extremely demonic alien, therefore ruining his chances.
13. He lets me sleep in most Saturday mornings.
14. He hates when I insist on "hospital corners" for our bed, but just deals with it.
15. If we ever have an argument, no matter how mad we get, I know that everything will be just fine.
16. He likes sea monkeys and is totally cool with our sea monkey aquarium.
17. He likes to spend time with the kids.
18. He likes to spend time with me w/o the kids around.
19. He likes to eat cookie dough with me at 10:00pm while we watch tv.
20. He secretly likes when I bug him, just like I secretly like it when he bugs me.
21. He's honest and not afraid to voice his opinion.
22. He sticks up for me.
23. He has a close relationship with God.
24. He is the best 80's dancer I know and he's not afraid to show off his mad skills.
25. He plays racquetball with me, even though I'm horrible. But, he does make me wear these really ugly protective eye glasses, but whatever. Better to look dumb, then be blinded.
26. He likes to go to Costco with me and look at all the things we want, but can't afford.
27. He is an awesome cook.
28. He is certified to scuba dive which means I have an automatic dive buddy for the rest of my life.
29. He taught me how to fly fish.
30. He taught me how to farmer blow. I'm not good at it. I don't want to get good at it, but at least I know the logistics.
31. He is my best friend and if the world crumbled around us and we were the only two people left - I would die happy.

Happy Birthday!

Masked Christmas Crusaders

My personal Christmas has just started . . .

Okay so every Christmas season there is one ultimate event that will start my holiday celebrations. No, its not black friday. No, its not putting up the Christmas tree or stringing lights around the house. Nope, its not the first snow. Before I can begin celebrating Christmas with every fiber of my soul, one single thing has to happen. And that beautiful cataclysmic event is this:

I have to hear Wham's Last Christmas on the radio.

There are certain rules & regulations I must follow. I cannot "hunt" for the song. I can't look it up on youtube. I can't put in my Wham Cd and listen to it that way. I have to randomly hear this song playing on the radio. I've done this for the last 10 years or so. J thinks I'm completely crazy, but he respects it. Its a good kind of crazy.

I don't know what it is about this song. The synthesizer, the awesome beat, the insanely hot mullets - but I am forever connected to this song. I can sing every single word. I know every single little nuance and tone change. I know when George Michael really starts to feel the music. I mean come on - there is like a whole section where you can hear Christmas bells. How can you get any better than that? Its like my heart soars, the world becomes a better place and I start to believe in my fellow men again.

I went up to my buddy's house last night and on the way home I turned the radio on. Just turned it on. and the sweet melody I wait all year to hear was playing loud and clear. It was like Wham was there, in my car, playing this sweet carol just for me. It was beautiful.

So, to all my peeps out there, I'll leave you with a portion of the lyrics. From this, you can see how I am completely under the spell:

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes
I'm hiding from you and your soul of ice
My God I thought you were someone to rely on
Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on
A face on a lover with a fire in his heart
A man undercover but you tore me apart
Oooh Oooh
Now I've found a real love you'll never fool me again

And you better believe that now I've heard it randomly, I've listened to it like 50 more times. Let Christmas begin.

The type of terror only a mother can appreciate

I took the kids swimming this afternoon. We got back and ate a late lunch. I got F to bed and then decided to jump in the shower myself. I left C perfectly content watching cartoons and eating apple chips.

25 minutes later, and I was getting dressed, C walks in my bedroom. She has this dark brown ring around her lips, dribbling down her chin and neck, and finally coming to rest on the front of her shirt. She is holding a cup. Not a sippy with a lid - a plain old plastic cup. She has this HUGE smile on her face.

C: Mom! Look what I did!?! I made chocolate moo milk all by myself and I didn't even spill!
M: Oh . . . . . . (i'm pretty much speechless at this point while visions of what my kitchen looks like, and possibly the living room carpet). "Um, C? Can I see that please?"
C: sure!

I take the cup from her and in it is this super dark brown, almost black, sludge. Its like the consistency of molasses. I take the cup and C's hand and we make our way downstairs - all the while I'm hoping against hope that my kitchen won't look like Willa Wonka's factory blew up.

I enter the kitchen. Quickly scan for the exact location of moo milk making. I can see the stool that was pushed over the cupboard where the Nestle Quik is kept. I notice the fridge is open and the milk container is on the floor. Then, I see it. Right there on the kitchen rug. This mini Mt. Everest of Nestle Quik. A bit was spread on the floor as well. But, that was it. Thank goodness. I pointed out the chocolate powder mountain to C - and she just said, "oh, that part was an accident."

I realize this could have been a lot worse. I watered down C's sludge with a bit more milk, put the lid on her cup and sent her on her merry way. Wow, disaster averted.

The Great Diaper Debacle

Saturday morning. 7:45am.

Kids are awake and the family is heading downstairs for breakfast. I asked J to change F's diaper on his way down. Usually we'll keep F in his jammies until after breakfast so he doesn't get a perfectly clean outfit dirty. He had on his Carters fleece footed pajamas that zip up.

Saturday morning 8:20am.

C tells me that F stinks. She says this as F is crawling towards me in the kitchen. I am cooking scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast. I pick F up and hand him to J with instructions for J to take him back upstairs and change his diaper.

Saturday morning 8:22am.

J takes F and walks upstairs. As he walking through the living room, he tells me that F's diaper has leaked and he has poo everywhere. Whatever - just change him. Poo blowouts are not that uncommon. They happen to the best of us . . . .

Saturday morning 8:25am.

J flips out and starts yelling my name. He frantically tells me to come upstairs and help him. Now, if i had a dollar for every time I have cleaned up after an especially nasty #2 - I'd be rich. I told J to just deal with it. J INSISTS that I come up. His exact words: "I forgot to put a diaper on him this morning." WHAT?????????????????

Saturday morning 8:26am.

I run upstairs as fast as I can. F is so mad at this point. J is standing next to the changing table with a dumbfounded look on his face. I step up to the table to assess the damage and WOW. F was covered in poo from his chest, all the way down. Both legs and into the foot parts of his pajamas. EVERYWHERE. I could go on and describe this even further, but I don't want to make the reader barf. Suffice it to say - UNBELIEVABLE.

J, being so totally helpful, forgot to put a clean diaper on F when he changed him before breakfast. So, he takes off the wet overnight diaper, puts it into the diaper pail, zips up F's jammies and sends him on his merry way - naked bum and all. HELLO?!?

The pajamas were a total loss. They were like $7 at costco and let me tell you - it would take a lot more than $7 to get me to clean them. I wasn't gonna touch that. So, F got a bath this morning. A really, really good bath.

I am planning on putting up a sheet with step-by-step instructions on the proper way of actually diapering a child somewhere near the changing table. J thinks this is evidence enough and that he should never have to change another diaper. I just think he needs way more practice.

Susie MaHara, Ratta Tats & the Sick One . . . . . .

The last 24 hours have been very interesting. F has been very grumpy and really whiney the last 2 days, so I decided to take him to the doc. Diagnosis? Ear infection! They gave me some antibiotics, the correct dosage amounts for tylenol and motrin, and then sent me on my merry way. C didn't get sick until she was about 15 months old, so this sick baby stuff is new to me. And I have to say - it sucks. F woke up last night with a high fever and those of you who know me personally, know that I would rather deal with any other kind of sickness than fevers. I hate them. They scare me. Anyway, F woke up with a fever last night, so we got to have a sleepover together. There is NOTHING restful about sleeping with an 8 month old. I think he is feeling a tad bit better today. The motrin seems to be helping a ton. I coaxed a little smile out of him after he ate lunch:
While F was taking his first nap, C informed me that she really wanted to go to a parade again. She told me how much she liked the candy, but she "hated ratta tats." ??????

Me: You hate what?
C: Ratta Tats. They are gross
Me: What is a Ratta Tat?
C: You know, those things you get at parades. They are chewy, but gross . . . .
Me: Do you mean Laffy Taffy's? (I really had to think hard to remember what treats were in her after-the-parade treat bag)
C: Yeah, Laffy Taffy's, or you can call 'em Ratta Tats.
Me: oh, okay.

After F woke up from his morning nap, I needed to run to the store to buy more motrin. I always seem to run out at the worst possible time. Anyway, C was still in her pj's. I told her to run upstairs and put some clothes on. She took FOREVER. I finally threatened to put her in a time out if she didn't come down now. I was waiting for her in the kitchen. About 30 seonds later, here comes C into the kitchen, yelling something totally incoherent. This is how she was dressed:

Me: Holy Smokes C. What are you wearing?
C: I'm not C anymore! I'm Susie MaHara!
Me: Susie MaHara???
C: Yeah! You have to call me Susie MaHara!

I told Susie MaHara to put some pants on, and then I took both Susie MaHara and F to the store. Its been almost 2 hours since I was introduced to Susie MaHara, and she is still with me. C is not around anymore . . . . . . . . I have no idea where C came up with Susie MaHara, or why Susie wears socks on her hands or underwear on her head. I'm still trying to figure it out.

One potato, two potatoes, three potatoes more!

Monday was F's 6 month appt. Here are his stats:

Weight: 17 lbs. 11 oz (50%)
Height: 27 inches (50%)

Just for fun, here is C's 6 month stats:

Weight: 16 lbs 9 oz
Height: 29 inches.

C was so tall. I always thought that C was heavier than F, but I guess not. At this point, F has like an entire lb on her. He is a chunk.

F got to try "solid" foods for the first time on Tuesday. I made my own sweet potato baby food. I was somewhat nervous about his reaction because C hated food so bad! She didn't start eating ANY kind of food until she was almost one year old. Thankfully, F loved it!

Ooooh. My little C

Today has been a very, very full day for C and I. First, I bought her some silly putty at the grocery store today. I remember playing with it when I was little. I mean, who doesn't love silly putty, right? C was totally excited when I showed her how to roll her SP into a little ball and bounce it around. She was having a wonderful time. Fast forward about 45 minutes. I was making my bed and F was in his crib (in my room). C was standing on the side of the crib talking to F. I noticed something all over her black shirt. Walked closer to her and yep, its the SP smeared into her shirt. I looked closer and realized that F's crib sheet is covered in SP. Even closer now - F has SP everywhere. He is clenching his fists, which are both full of SP. He has it on his onsie, his blanket everywhere. Needless to say, the SP was taken away. I spent the next hour trying to scrape SP out of F's crib sheet, his onsie and blanket and C's shirt. I think the crib sheet is the only thing that will make it out unscathed.

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Later on, I was putting F's crib sheet back on his bed while C watched. Out of the blue she started the dreaded conversation. Here's how it went:

C: Mom, how do you get small babies?
Mom: What do you mean?
C: How do you get a small baby in your tummy?
Mom: Um, you say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father for a baby and then you get one in your tummy.
C: Okay, but HOW does the baby get in your tummy? What do you do to make it get in there?
Mom: Well, the baby starts out really small and then grows bigger.
C:How does it start growing?
Mom: It just does!
C: Can I have a small baby in my tummy?
Mom: Not for a long, long time.
C: Why?
Mom: Because I said so. Lets go play with your puzzles.

I think 3 is a tad bit too young to have the birds & bees conversation. I cannot wait for J to hear about this.

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Around 3:30 this afternoon C was helping me change a few burnt out light bulbs. I opened up the cupboard where we keep the bulbs and C saw an unused easter egg dying kit. It was a Disney Princess one and she was begging me to let her see it. I gave her the package, knowing there were princess stickers inside. C loves stickers. C took the egg dying kit to the table and started playing with the stickers. I was gone for maybe 90 seconds. Just 90 seconds! I came back to the kitchen and C had opened up the little dye tablets. Her hands, her face and her clothes (a new outfit since the previous one had SP all over it) were covered in egg dye. I take full responsibility for this one. I should have thought about this one a tad bit better. It didn't even dawn on me that the dye tablets were inside. So, there goes outfit #2. I scrubbed her hands as much as I could, but they are still purple. I guess the dye will wear off sooner or later.

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I thought I had reached the maximum allowed amount of C adventures for one day, but I was wrong. I got her in the tub around 7:30. I let her play for a bit. Came back 10 minutes later to check on her and she has splashed water all over the bathroom - a huge no-no. She knows this is naughty. I got mad at her and told her that she lost her bike privileges all day tomorrow. That did not sit well with her. She proceeded to throw one of the BIGGEST tantrums I have seen. EVER. I was trying to dry her off and she wiggled out of my grasp. She ran away from me, into the hallway. I chased her, telling her to get her pj's on. She would not do it. She was crying and running in circles - my room, the bathroom, the hallway and back again. Finally, she informed me that she was "done with mom" and that she was going to "hide with the laundry." I didn't believe that she would do it, or rather that she COULD do it, but she can and she did. Please see below.




Immediately after I stopped filming, I got her out of the laundry basket. I was laughing so hard and the harder I laughed, the more ticked off C became. After she was free of her self-induced prison, I told her to go straight to her room and get her pj's on. She went. I bathed F and got him ready for bed, stuck him in his crib and walked into C's room, fully intending on saying prayers, tucking her in and saying GOODNIGHT. Well, we just weren't done yet. While bathing F, C got her Johnson&Johnson Hair Detangling Spray, took off the lid, and dumped the entire bottle on her bed. All I could do at this point was sigh. I changed her sheets, picked her up and put her in bed. She asked me to read her a book and I said "no." She asked me why and I told her that she was a very naughty girl and she wanted to know exactly what she did that was so naughty. I felt like this was a good learning opportunity, so instead of listing out every infraction, I asked her to tell me what she did wrong. This was her response: (1) I splashed water all over the floor; (2) I got stuck in the laundry thing; (3) I wouldn't get my pj's on; and (4) I spilled my magic hair stuff. I felt like her list was pretty solid. I told her I loved her, kissed her on the head and went out the door.

50% of me is still in shock about this evening's antics. A good friend told me that 3 was worse than 2, and man that one of the truest statements I have ever heard. Its 9:30. I am sure J will be calling here shortly. He is going to be getting an earful.

Tomorrow is a new day.