Diaper Bags for Dummies...er, Dads.

For all fathers who need a lesson in preparation:

Dude...Hellooooo? It is only going to take once...ONCE...for you to learn this lesson, and I hope you are in a crowded restaurant when it happens!

For the last time, there is a reason your wife tells you it's important to pack a change of clothing in that diaper bag. Did you think she just couldn't decide what the kid should wear?? Maybe she wanted to change him when they went into the mall b/c while that yellow shirt is just darling on him at the park, the flourescent lights hit it just right and makes him look 'all washed out'...DUH!

One day...just you wait! The poo fairy will deliver a load far to big for that diaper to contain and you're gonna have a squirmy, pissed off $hit grenade in your hands. One wrong move...and, oh, the horror!

Tell me, Mr Smarty Man...what will you do?

Hmmm. Let me guess...

Before you even consider it, let me remind of of the importance of checking the diaper bag before you leave home. While wrapping him in your coat (assuming it's cold weather) and whisking him off to the car is an option, it only seems like a good plan until you realize you forgot to refill the wipe container, genius. Umm, yeah....I bet you're really gonna put that slimy, poo-smeared set of cheeks in your jacket.

So, Smarty-Man. When this happens to you, you can expect to get home and see a big I-Told-You-So smirk on your wife's face, as she hands you a bar of soap, points you toward the bathtub, and suggests that you'll be taking care of the laundry this week.

You didn't really intend to ask her to help you clean it up? Did you?

*sigh*

Off to find a steak to smack him with...will they ever learn?

Fun Things to Do With Vomit. Toddler 101, lesson 2

Hey kids! Wish your parents would let you bring some sand inside to put in your sand bucket?? Of course you do! Well, don't count on it. They're parents, and it's a parent's job to make your life no fun. They are mean and boring. What else are you supposed to do with a sand bucket? And it's just sand after all. What's the big deal?

Well here's a neat new idea for your bucket, and a great way to let your mom and dad know how displeased you are with the "No sand in the house" rule:

You will need your sand bucket, a cup of water, and a clear view of mom and dad. And be sure you've just finished a big dinner...peas are a good idea if you have any. Spinach will make a nice substitute, but any food will do.

Now you're ready!

Step 1. Drink all of the water from your sippy cup in three huge gulps, and be sure to swallow plenty of air with it.

Step 2. Grab sand bucket. (make sure parents are nearby to witness this display of evil genius)

Step 3. Hold it in front of your face.

Step 4. Puke into bucket.

Step 5. Dump vomit out of bucket onto floor.

Step 6. While parents are looking at you in disbelief/, throw bucket across room, and and, with both hands, immediately smear vomit all over freshly mopped hardwood floors.

Step 7. As your mother is leaping across the room toward you, shove vomitty hands into your mouth and grin at her.

Step 8. Give mom a big, open mouthed, slobbery kiss as she drags you off toward the tub.

Step 9. Giggle and splash your mom as she pukes while you celebrate your victory in a sudsy bubble bath.

Great job, Kiddo! That'll teach 'em!

Toddler 101: Poop makes good finger paint.

I keep thinking of things that strangers tell me when I'm out in public. Whenever Nate attempts to pick up something nasty, I try to intervene, saying "No, Nate. That's dirty. We don't pick up trash/gum/etc. Let mom put that where it belongs." and then I get a tissue if I have one, and put the item in the trash or he will go back for it over and over as toddlers do, as if under some spell '...muuust-piiick-uup-goooey-caandy-wraapperrrr-and-smeear-onn-faaace' and trust me, if you don't snag it on the first attempt, it becomes a game, and a full-on tantrum shall follow.

Anyway...I keep thinking about what people say when they witness these attempts to keep my child from ingesting some nastiness. How often I have heard a 'more experienced' parent say (with a chuckle) "Oh just you wait! This won't seem so bad when you start finding snails in their pockets or pet lizards under their pillows!"

I've always bitten my tongue, smiled and nodded...and thought to myself "AND?? So, wait! You mean that nasty pre-chewed piece of gum isn't really something I should worry about then? Oh Thank GOD you were here to make my life easier!! I could have avoided this stress all along. I could nudge Nate and say 'Here, sweetie, run along now and play. I think I see a pile of stale french fries by the trash can. Those look TASTY! Mom needs som 'me' time.'"

If I did respond, what would I say?

Well, now I have a perfect answer to those "You haven't seen anything yet, you novice" smirking types...and all thanks to my son, who taught me quite the lesson yesterday:

Just an ordinary day, an ordinary soiled diaper, the usual changing table, same routine...I guess my son decided we needed to 'spice up' changing time with some action. I took his pants off, he was barefoot so the usual socks-in-poop option was eliminated. What else could he do?

Oh, let me tell you...*gag* it was beyond anything I've seen the child do. Ever.

Just as I am about to slide it from beneath him, he reaches down and grabs the diaper with his right hand, and it was one of those 'squished up 'tween the cheeks' poo diapers, so his fingers sink right into the nastiness. I am holding his ankles with my left hand, and trying to wrench the diaper away from him with my right hand, while he is giggling and squirming. He finally lets go and the force launches it over onto the changing table where it lands with a lovely splat, poo side down.

*cringe*

I let go of the diaper because all I can think of his poop covered fingers haded towards his mouth. I yell "Noooo!" which startles him, causing him to grab my arm, leaving three little brown streaks across my sleeve...*gag* at least it wasn't his mouth. In that same instant, I realized he's grabbed his poop-smeared left butt cheek with his other hand and again. I yell "Nate, NO!"

So, let me just tally this up for you:

Nate's poo covered right hand- in my right hand...

Nate's ankles- in my left hand...

Nate's poo covered left hand- flailing madly... Getting the idea??

I had no other choice but to drop his nasty butt onto the changing table and reach for the other hand. I caught it, but not before he swiped it across the wall a few times, realized he was actually causing those marks to appear, then after a quick study, decides to scratch at them.

BLLAAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!

The rest of the ordeal is just a blur. I'm not really sure how he got clean, but he did. And just to be on the safe side he got a looong dip in a sudsy tub.

As for those know-it-all types, let me just say..."Really? My son thinks $hit makes good fingerpaint! I believe I'll take snails and lizards any day."

Things the parenting manuals don't tell you...

#1. Why my child is always walking around wearing just one sock, and the other is gone forever. Maybe he eats them?

#2. Why it never fails that 2 minutes after I change a wet diaper, he poops in the fresh one.

#3. Why his hands are like magnets to his poop-smeared cheeks/nards when on the changing table.

#4. How he knows when my head hits the pillow at bedtime, and immediately wakes to need changing or feeding.

#5. Why he always has a meltdown as soon as I begin posting...like right now. Grrrrr!

...To be continued.

Mirror, Mirror...why do you hate me so?

oh, the joy of the post-pregger body.


The self esteem fairy has failed me, yet again.

Do you ever have one of those days? You know...when you get dressed, and you actually like what you're wearing, and you're feeling pretty good about yourself, and then you walk over to the mirror expecting the worst. But somehow, the universe likes you today, the mirror is your friend. You don't look like your usual frumpy, exhausted, breathless, everything-is-getting-on-my-last-nerve self. No sir! Today, you look thinner, rested, confident and happy. What did you ever do to deserve such joy???

And then...

You turn to walk away. And you notice that you don't look quite as good from the side...but hey! No big deal, right?

And then...

'DON'T DO IT!' you think to yourself...but your body refuses to comply. You are confident, dammit! You are going to have a good day. And nothing, nothing is going to ruin that!

You turn...and look at your bum.

The universe is not your friend. It mocks you in your state of blissful ignorance and says "HA!...Sucker!"

Your eyes widen as you wonder how you didn't notice when this gigantic fat-parasite attached itself to your ass. How long has it been there, and more important, WHY HAS NO ONE TOLD YOU??? Your friends have let you walk around in public looking like this...or at least you thought they were your friends. You dream of punching your husband the very next time he smiles and says "I think your butt is sexy..." That lying son of a...what has he been smoking?

So there you are... torn between being thankful that you have the opportunity to dig through your entire wardrobe with the hope of finding something other than a muu-muu to cover the Mt Everest-sized trailer that you've been unknowingly dragging behind you, even though you know the effort is futile...and wishing you'd never, EVER turned and looked back into that mirror. You could have spent the entire day oblivious to your jiggly backside, feeling wonderful when you walked past others instead of praying their eyes weren't following you, inspiring thoughts of "Holy crap! Someone needs to put a back-up alarm on that thing!" If only you'd listened to the voice in your head...

*sigh*

Instead, you turn out the light, put on your bath robe, eat a cookie and vow to never leave the house until sundown.

Underestimating the capabilities of the 14 month old brain.

I am embarrassed more than you know to post this...but how can I not share this shining gem of good parenting gone terribly, terribly wrong?

That's right, Ladies. All of you with your perfect little angels beware!! In the blink of an eye, a mere second, these mischievous beings can go from innocent babies to devils...seconds, I tell you.

On New Year's Eve, D (the hubs) and I are enjoying a very relaxed evening. No partying. No guests...just a pizza and a couple bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade. So, after dinner, we are sitting around the dining room doing our own thing. D playing City of Heroes online, our son playing with his cars and trucks, while I look for inspiration within my art magazines.

The next thing I know, my child has climbed into the chair and onto the dining room table, and is standing in the center waving his arms around, grinning like he's conquered the universe. In total astonishment, I jump up to get him before falls and kills himself, but just as I get to the table (mere seconds...you thought I was joking, right?) My child, my sweet innocent 14 month old darling baby...plops down on his knees, grabs the half-empty bottle of Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade that my husband was to finish, throws his head back, tilts the bottle high over his head, mouth wide, and pours the booze right into his mouth!! I am leaping toward him in what is apparently the speed of a snail, yelling "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" But I am too late!! He swallows with this incredible 'GULP' and grins at me, wide eyed. Of course, what didn't fit into his mouth ran out of the sides, soaking his jammies.

And then, no lie...I hear "Ahhhhhhh"...the sigh of delight.

I wrench the bottle from his hands, and try to wipe the dripping booze off his face and chest with a wad of napkins. My husband, who has missed the entire event, absorbed in the world of online superheroes, finally realizes what has happened and says, "Holy crap, son! You gonna do a table dance for us while you're at it?" My son, who is standing again, fighting the napkins in my hands, flashes a grin at his dad, stomps his little feet, shakes his teeny butt and shouts "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" O...M...G.

*thanks her lucky stars there are no witnesses to this horror*

While I'm envisioning a future on the set of Jerry Springer, I hand the kid off to D and tell him to get the child some fresh jammies. My husband, annoyed, actually says to me... "They're not that bad."

*looks at husband in total bewilderment*

Me: "Are you freakin' kidding me? He is SOAKED in BOOZE!!! I am just imagining if something happened, someone finding my toddler 'passed out' in his crib, covered in alcohol. Are you getting the whole picture here?"

So..as a warning to all you moms who are comfortable in your houses, with harmful things safely out of your little angels' reach...DO NOT BE FOOLED!!! Take a lesson from the my life, which shall be referred to as the Idiot Mom's Guide to Parenthood, because just when you least suspect, baby-proofing takes on a whole new meaning.

Happy New Year...