Trapped

Today I woke up and got my oldest son ready for school. He's in the first grade and is flexing his sass lately. The bus comes at 6:55am (FOR FIRST GRADERS!!!) so I have to get him up early plus allow an extra fifteen minutes to argue with him about eating his breakfast and whatnot. All this to say that with the seven-year-old and the baby, I rarely have a minute to myself.

This morning was going to be different.

Today I would lake time to take a shower AND shave my legs and I even entertained the thought of blow drying my hair. I waited until it was almost time for Stinks to take a nap and I started using my visualization skills just to make it through those last few minutes. I imagined the mirror getting all foggy...the hot water stinging my shoulders...the rich lather of my dandruff shampoo and that familiar scent that clears my sinuses. Romantic. Luxurious. Selsun Blue.

Just my luck that my angelic infant refused to go to sleep. He screamed and screamed and SCREAMED. I decided I would give in and pick him up from his crib but that I would not allow the little monster to ruin my shower and at this point I was not even willing to wait.

I took him in the bathroom with me and shut the door. I turned on the water and was comfortable with the fact that he had some toys to play with while I could see him through the foggy shower door. Determined to enjoy five minutes in semi-solitude, I turned on the shower and waited for the steam. It was better than I had even imagined it to be. I had about twenty minutes in the hot, hissing shower and I enjoyed every minute. Dandruff shampoo, Rainbath body wash, and even my fresh razor. In between wiping circles on the door so I could see where baby was, I was starting to feel refreshed! I was feeling like a new, softer, cleaner, smoother me.

But, like any good thing,  knew it must come to an end. The water was getting cold and, besides, Stinks was too quiet.

I reluctantly turned off the water and squeegeed the shower, looking through the fresh swipes to see if I could discern where exactly the baby was. I was about to push open the door when I saw a little hand right at the bottom of the glass.  And there he was, sitting on his knees right in front of the shower door. It was cute, at first, seeing his tiny baby hand through the foggy glass. I bent down and put my hand up to his hand. We babbled at each other through the door for a few minutes. Cute, right? I know, but I was starting to get cold and there's nothing more irritating than getting goosebumps after you shave. ALL that work for nothing. Baby needs to move.

It is only now that I realize I have no way out. If only I hadn't used all the hot water, I would have just turned it back on and waited for him to go play with the underwear I left on the floor. Instead, I am faced with a difficult decision. If I open the door, he will fall backwards and bonk his head on the floor, or worse, the toilet. If he falls over by himself, even landing on his tush, I will have to push him across the floor with the shower door so I can open the door wide enough to get out, effectively squishing him between the shower door and the wall. So there I was. Trapped in the shower.

You might wonder how I got out. I opted for the second choice and slowly pushed the door open and that worked out okay. But, just as I flipped my head over to wrap the towel around my hair, I see Stinks crawl away. I swear to God, I had no sooner flipped my head over again by the time I look around to find baby...standing by the toilet and splashing in the toilet water.

Note to self: Two things. Get those toilet lid lock things. Leave baby in crib while showering.

Minor Improvement?

Well, let me start by saying that I expect to be judged very harshly by some for the thing to which I am going to admit. I have a little secret that I have gone to great lengths to hide from a lot of people. Well, it's no secret that Stinks McGhee has huge ears. The secret is about how I am going to cure this minor problem.

I went online and I bought a kit that will help make my Stinks' ears not stick out so far. It was not quite a suggestion from my pediatrician, but he did mention it as something that a crazy and neurotic person might consider. (That's how I knew he was subtly suggesting it to ME, in particular.)

You may be wondering what a person could do to their baby's ears to make them less "bat-like". Well, all you need is a little thingy that looks like a pipe cleaner made of silly putty and some really sticky tape that costs about a hundred dollars.  (Note to self: Check the exchange rate BEFORE buying an item online in a foreign currency.)The answer is EarBuddies. You just stick the pipe cleaner thingy around the curvy part of the outer ear and then tape the whole darn ear flat against the head. 

Just. Like. That.

So, yeah, that's the secret. I've taped my baby's ears down to his head and he often wears a hat these days. I don't post pictures of him on Facebook right now and I make sure he wears a hat when we have take his brother to the pediatrician so that the doctor doesn't report me to the family social workers. I mean, it was kinda his suggestion and all, but I think he'd deny it. Good news is I only have to do this for the next, oh, four months.  But, it says right on the package that a few millimeters can make a dramatic difference in appearance. So...yeah. Millimeters. And even if I decided right now to unleash those floppy bad boys...I can't because the flippin' kit cost me a hundred dollars. Sorry, Stinks. Maybe you'll thank me one day?

Note to Self: Eliminate the word "Jack" from curses

I was getting ready to go on a short weekend trip with the boys and I ran into a little problem with my conversational cursing.

Me: I have so much to pack! I haven't even started.

Friend: Are you packing for the kids, too?

Me: Yeah, and I haven't packed jack shit. Well, I actually did pack Jack's shit, but nothing else.

Now "jackass" is off limits, too. I prefer "dipshit", anyway.

Inspire Your Children

Every morning, every evening, it is the same thing over and over. "Z, go brush your teeth. And do a good job." Oh, I know what the hygienist says because she says the same thing to me every time we go there. "Mom, you have to help him brush until he develops good habits. You should be helping him every time. First, he can brush and then you get a turn." Whatever. Who really does that, anyway? So, on the irregular somewhat occasions that I actually brush after him, I notice that he has done an ABSOLUTELY SHITTY job of brushing his teeth. I usually brush after him when I walk by the bathroom and he is just standing there either a) sucking on the toothbrush, b) smearing toothpaste on the counter, or c) rinsing the toothbrush obsessively.

Well, finally I had reached my limit. The kid is now SEVEN years old and since before he turned FOUR I have been brushing his teeth with him and hounding him about the proper technique and blah, blah, blah. He's old enough to be brushing his teeth well on his own and to give a shit about it.

I decided to take action. He needed to know what the consequences would be if he continued NOT brushing well and flossing. So I did what every concerned parent would do. I forced him to look at the Google images for "meth mouth". He peeked through covered eyes and begged me to not make him look. I mean, I get it, kid. That shit is scary-looking! 

He brushed and flossed this morning...for a LONG TIME.

Curtsy.