I'm glad I speak Peyton

During Spring Break, the kids and I had a great time. The boys didn't fight as much as usual, so we were able to do a lot of things that we can't normally do because they are at each others throats. Like play board games. Usually, board games start off fun and in the end, someone is bleeding or permanently scarred (either physically or emotionally), the board is ripped in half, most of the pieces are missing and the cats have run for cover.

So we broke out Hungry Hungry Hippos - which I now believe was made by a man who wanted to torture his wife with the constant begging to play this annoying and extremely loud game. One day I am going to "accidentally" lose all of the marbles for it. That will be a very, very sad day. But not for me. 

We played that horrible game for almost an hour and Cale asked if he could play Battleship with me. Peyton was crushed, he wanted to play with us so badly, so we waited until he tuckered out and then got to bombing each others ships. I'm gonna tell this to you straight. I love Battleship. Great game. But it's not that much fun after the first hour because you have an indecisive child who can't decide what to call. 

We finished after what seemed like an epic 17 hour game and Peyton comes out of his room. He spies the game. And immediately starts begging to play. He just didn't understand that he wasn't old enough. And this was really my fault, I should have put it away because he wouldn't have remembered about it if it wasn't right in front of him. 

I had to tell him that when he was a little older, I would play with him, but right now, he's too little. That seemed to satisfy him for a little while. Then 15 minutes later, he came and asked the same question - he received the same answer. 

He eventually went into his room and was playing with his Tag books. I sat down to read a book myself and he came in again, this time he said nothing. He had his Handy Manny blanket trailing behind him and I thought that he was just going to sit down on the couch next to me. No dice.

I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and see him staring at me. All the while, he is slowly sliding his blanket over the Battleship box. I kept my book up and was watching him over the top of it because I really wanted to see how this was going to play out. He covered the entire game with his blanket and was pulling it towards him - he had come to the conclusion that if I wasn't going to let him play it, he was going to steal it. He was so concentrated on his task that when I asked him what he was doing, he actually jumped. Then he yelled at me, "I JUST WANT TO PLAY BUTTSHIP, MOM!

Buttship? I'm just glad that I knew what he was talking about, otherwise I would have been thoroughly confused. 

Kids are just weird.

Getting your child to laugh is a HUGE priority when you have an infant. You try anything you can think of to get your kid to chuckle, even if it's just for a moment. Something about a baby's laugh can cure any and all problems that you might have or at least make them seem like they aren't as important as you once thought that they were. 


What ends up happening is you make an idiot out of yourself - and you don't care where it is that you are or who is watching. You'll make faces and sounds that make absolutely no sense. Actually, before you were a parent, you have probably made fun of someone who was doing the same thing that you're doing now. All parents go through that. So if you aren't a parent, laugh away at those who are because you'll be the one looking like an idiot eventually. It's all for a great cause - the magical giggle.


My husband and I would spend hours just watching Cale and doing anything we could think of to make him laugh. It actually became a contest - who could make little Cale laugh the hardest or the longest. We had gotten pretty good at it, we figured out what he liked the most and we did it all of the time. 


One day, we were just sitting around talking. One of us said the word 'duct tape' and Cale busted out laughing. We just looked at him and then at each other, wondering what the other had done to make him laugh. We couldn't figure it out so we went back to talking. Duct tape was said again. And again he was laughing hysterically. For days, we would be in the middle of a conversation, then insert 'duct tape' into the sentence and wait and see if he laughed. He did, every single time. 


We progressed from duct tape to scotch tape - which made him laugh just as hard. By the end of the month, we figured out that saying any kind of tape, rubber cement or glue would just send Cale over the edge. For people not within the family, it probably seems weird. It did for us too, at first. The sticky products kept him laughing for almost a year. 


If you think that is weird, Peyton's laugh word was calibrated thermometer. Now THAT is weird. 


Just goes to show that you never know what might make someone laugh and it's definitely worth trying things that you wouldn't think would work. Because they just might and then you'll have a story as great as ours!

Oh really ...

Most of my stories revolve around asking the kids to clean their room ... in case you are wondering, it is in constant disarray. I have always asked them to pick up each toy after they are done playing with it. They take this as some kind of insult to their little dignity, lock arms with each other and stand together against their horrible mom that is trying to ruin their lives. It would really take 1/100th of the time that they actually spend cleaning, but hey, what do I know?!?


Peyton had been lying down because he didn't want to clean his room. He came out of the room and said that he wanted to play with me. I told him that we would definitely play together once he finished cleaning up the Lego massacre in his bedroom.


This little turkey, put his hands on his hips and then looked at me. Then he held up his chubby little left hand and spread his fingers. He held out his right pointer finger and this is what it was like.


Peyton said (as he pointed to his pinky), "I don't want to lay down."


He pointed at the next finger, "I don't want to eat."


Yet another finger, "I don't want to play with you."


And his thumb, "And I DON'T want to clean my room."


Then he stomped off down the hall, yelled that he was going to slam his door and promptly did so. 


I was laughing pretty hard at this point for a few reasons. One was the little list he decided to spout off to me and  I was also laughing because he probably thought he could get out of cleaning just because he was adamant that he didn't want to. Don't think so, cutie.

Psychological Torture

Our two kids could not be more different. I'm sure this is true for a lot of families. Cale is the intellectual, non-sporty child and Peyton is the partially dense, athletic one. You can really see these differences when the kids pick on each other.

Peyton always has to take things to a physical level - like hitting, tripping or tackling. Cale on the other hand, will mess with Peyton's mind. I think the psychological meanness is worse than the physical. Mostly because since Peyton isn't a quick thinker like Cale. But Peyton is downright mean and a gigantic bully (and he's the younger one).

Cale asked if he could make their lunch one day and I told him that was fine. He's pretty good at making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When he wants to be.

Cale had had a rough day with Peyton that morning. This is what it was like: Peyton runs up, frogs Cale in the back, Cale cries, Peyton laughs, repeat with another body part frogged.

So Cale went into the kitchen to make their lunch and he finishes pretty quick then gives Peyton his sandwich, takes his own, sits down and starts eating. Cale has this weird little grin on his face. Peyton thanks Cale for making his lunch and then takes a big bite out of his sandwich. He chews twice and then puts it down, just staring at it for a minute. Then he picks it up and pulls the pieces of bread apart and finds a big surprise. There was nothing there. Cale hadn't made him a sandwich at all, just slapped two pieces of bread together. 

That is when I realized Cale was using psychological warfare to destroy his brother. Peyton just couldn't understand why there was nothing on his sandwich. It was a little sad. Peyton started crying and Cale pretended like he didn't realize that he had done that. To be honest, I really didn't blame Cale for doing that to his brother. He kinda deserved it. Peyton is just lucky that there wasn't something nasty between those two pieces of bread. The only reason that didn't happen is because I don't think it occurred to Cale to REALLY sabotage Peyton's lunch. Yet.

A new way to slim down

I never thought that children would have body image problems. It's kind of shocking to find out that our 4 year-old obviously does. Being honest, he is a little chunky for his age. Okay, fine. He's really chunky for his age. I thought self-esteem might be something that he was worried about when he got older, but not before he even started school.


A couple of weeks ago, I had taken a moment for myself (gasp, I know!) and decided to check out my facebook page. Peyton was playing quietly in his room. I had been on less than 5 minutes when he started yelling for help. His exact words were actually for help because he was stuck. Believe me, we have Peyton-Proofed their room because of situations like this that might occur. There was nothing he could be stuck in.


I walk into this child's room and what do I find? He has decided to make a homemade girdle. With medical tape. What he looked like still amazes me and it probably will for years to come.


He had somehow wrapped the tape all around his stomach, going from the top of his underwear all the way up to his little man boobs. Not so bad, right? While he was doing this though, he also wrapped himself to their bunk bed. He was one with the bunk bed. He looked like he was being sacrificed by the natives and it was just a matter of time before they were rotating him over a fire.


It took me a few minutes to process what it was that was actually going on. Finally, I went over and slowly unwrapped my little mummy. Let me tell you, we buy the good stuff. This tape was so sticky that it left little red marks going around his body with bunches of the sticky stuff left behind. It took a couple of days to get all of the sticky stuff off, he had a nice collection of crumbs stuck to it till we could chisel it all of.

What is that flying at me?!?

Yesterday I had taken a moment to write my blog. I wrote about something 3 months ago because Peyton had actually been pretty good lately. Saying that your kids have been good is like saying you haven't had any car problems lately. The moment those words come out of your mouth, Fate takes offence and decides to throw you a curve ball. Or in my case, a "frisbee".

So, back to my story. The boys were playing together in their room and I decided to steal a couple of minutes for myself and write a new entry on my blog yesterday. I sit down, finish writing it then I'm doing my spell check and I am about to hit 'publish post' when Peyton comes running into the living room.

Peyton was running like he was going to win a gold medal at the Olympics. On his way to me, he cocks his arm back and starts yelling, "I FOUND A FRISBEE!!!". The thing is, we don't have a frisbee in the house. My first thought is, what in name of everything holy, does he have?!?

Right as he said this, I look over just in enough time to see a shiny disk flying at my face. Survival instinct kicked in and I reached over and grabbed a pillow that was sitting on our armchair. I shoved the pillow in front of my face just as something hit it. Hard.

I was almost too terrified to pull the pillow down. I didn't know if I was in an innocent bystander or if he had decided to get me back for forgetting to get bananas at the store. I finally peeked around the pillow just to find him grinning at me.

What was his weapon? It was a sign that had previously been hanging above his bunkbed but had fallen when he and Cale were throwing stuffed animals at each other. I'm really lucky that I had left that pillow in the chair. If not, I would have ended up with a Ford emblem on my forehead.

Having a kid who tries to make you one with a metal sign is great.

Here's a pic of the projectile.

You are NOT old enough to drop an f-bomb!

Holiday's can be great things. The family gets together, sometimes the only time of year that you get to see each other because of how far you live away from each other. With our family, it is almost like a sacred time together. We always have tons of plans, food and laughs together.


The 2010 Christmas season was an especially big time for our family because my parents were moving to another country due to a new job and my little sister was bringing a guest with her. This was the first time that she had brought someone to a family get-together, so we knew that it was a big thing. Everyone was coming to our place and I had stressed over everything being perfect.


Of course, perfection never happens when you have children. Not that my kids aren't good kids. They are. Most of the time. But perfection really doesn't happen with kids because they are unpredictable. You never know what they are going to say or do because they don't have filters. They do and say whatever comes to their mind. Even if it isn't the right thing.


All of my family arrived and we were having a great time. We were laughing and joking and getting to know our special guest. Then it came time for me to start fixing our meal. I was in the kitchen getting everything prepped and Peyton was sitting with his dad at the dining room table and everyone else was in the living room. I was fixing the mashed potatoes and I had the mixer going, all the while, joining in with the conversations going on around me.


The next thing I know, Eric has said, "What did you say?" twice to Peyton. I turn off the mixer and listen in. Eric just has this stunned look on his face. He is completely speechless. I look to Peyton to see if there is any indication on his face as to what was said. He looks serious, his little brow is furrowed and he has a frown on his face. Eric asks him to repeat himself for a third time. What Peyton said next almost made me pass out.


 Peyton: What is that loud f-ing noise? (He was talking about the mixer)


The only difference is that he actually dropped the f-bomb. My family was quiet for a few seconds and then everyone either puts their head down or covers their mouths and starts laughing. Nice. Isn't raising a 4 year old great? I was completely mortified and of course, when Peyton wasn't within earshot, that phrase was repeated. Endlessly. I guess he hadn't gotten the memo that the ice had already been broken. If it hadn't, he would have smashed it to smithereens.

Be brutally honest.

Going to the grocery store seems like it would be an easy thing to experience. It was easy for us at one time. Then we had children. Cale is at the age where he's pretty good in the store. We don't really have to worry about him.

Peyton, on the other hand, turns into a demon child when we are in the store. It's like the moment we cross the doorway, he transforms into a human wrecking ball. He's running and screaming, grabbing things off of shelves, knocking into people, laying on the floor, dancing and talking to random people. Because of his erratic and always questionable behavior, he gets one chance to behave. If he misbehaves then Eric will pick him up and sit him on the seat in the basket. Nine out of ten times, he ends up in the basket. The sad part is, it happens so much, if he doesn't end up in the basket I start wondering if he is starting to get sick.

This morning we were making breakfast and Peyton and I were talking about some stuff we would need when we went to the store next. He got all excited and said that he would go with me.

Then he looked at me and whispered, "Daddy can't go because he puts me in the basket."

If you can talk to cats, we have another problem on our hands!

We recently received two cats. Usually people are excited about their new animals. I was one of those too. At first. Until I realized what it actually entailed. I wish that I was talking about upkeep - you know, food, water, toys, vet trips. Oh no. Not for my household. Having new animals means two things. I have to get onto Peyton constantly for picking up the cats (because he likes to carry them by their legs) and I also get to scold Peyton for torturing the cats. Really no pleasure has derived from having animals. It's more work for me because I have to know where the poor furry animals are at all times so that I can run interference for them.

I'm going to tell you a little about each animal so that you can really understand what is going on. Nicky is this HUGE black cat. He's often ticked off at the world because someone isn't paying him any attention or because his claw is stuck in the carpet again. You see, Nicky is a poor excuse of a cat. Sure, he's rude and stuck up like other cats, but when Nick is walking around the house, he frequently face plants because his claws get stuck in the carpet (or the couch. or the bed. or a blanket. or your shirt) and he doesn't know how to retract them. So I have to go up and free him every few hours. Lucie is our other black cat. She lives to make my life horrible. She tries to run away (which you will understand why in a little while), she tries to eat our food, she begs like a dog, rips up furniture and steals my hair bands.

Lucie is Peyton's favorite target. He will drag her to his room and "play" with her, which usually means setting up his car track to hit her butt when she's laying down. He doesn't mess with Nick because he learned early on that when he makes Nick mad, Nick swats at him with his claws and then just sits there yanking your flesh off while he tries to get his claws out of you.

A couple of months ago, I was doing the dishes and Peyton was helping me by putting the silverware in the dishwasher when I needed to go grab a cup that I had left in the bedroom. I come back and the dishwasher is closed with Peyton standing right there - beaming.

I should have known that something was up. I wash a couple more dishes off and then open the dishwasher door so that I can put them in. I pull out the bottom rack and what comes out with it? Yeah. Lucie. She's just sitting there. Like it's an every day occurrence.

I asked Peyton what she was doing in there and he told me that she needs a bath. And that she told him she wanted to be put into the dishwasher. We have a Dr. Dolittle Jr. on our hands!

Letting it slip ...

Siblings can be bothersome. Especially when the sibling is younger than you. In case you didn't know, when there is a new baby in the family, they are given a mission before they leave the hospital. Someone comes in, speaks baby to them and tells them the optional mission. That mission is to annoy the living daylights out of their older brother or sister. To push them to the extreme. Some younger siblings don't take this task, but the majority of them do.


Peyton, has followed through on his task every single day. I really don't blame Cale for losing it sometimes. But the time I'm going to tell you about was a little much.


I was telling the boys that they needed to hurry so that we could get going to the store. If you don't have boys, let me tell you - they take just as long to get ready as girls, but not for the same reason like finding the right outfit. Boys take longer because they get distracted. By anything - carpet, the wall, a weird hair on their arms ... anything.


Eric and I had been waiting for almost 15 minutes for them to finish getting dressed and I called to them that they needed to speed the process up.


Cale comes barrelling out of their room practically yelling at me, "It's not me! He's the one in there dicking around!" Peyton had been putting on shorts. Then playing. Throwing stuff at Cale. Putting on his shirt halfway, then playing.


I must have looked at him like he was crazy, because he just stared back at me and asked me what was wrong. We have been through all of the "naughty" words with him, about how they were inappropriate for him to say. It never occurred to me to tell him not to say that word, mostly because I don't know that my husband and I have ever said it.


I was completely shocked and I didn't know what to say at first. It just goes to show that no matter what you teach your kids, they will pick up bad words and habits from kids at school.

State of Emergency!

Not everyone handles themselves well in emergencies. Some people over-react and assume the worst and everything turns out fine, some under-react and assume that everything will be fine but it turns into a horrible situation and then you have those crazies that assume everything is an emergency when everything is actually fine. We found out just which one of these Peyton is the other day.


Eric and I were finishing up dinner and Peyton comes flying into the living room. He's looks like the text book version of one of those crazies. His hair is sticking up on end everywhere, he's running like something is chasing him and he is waving his hands above his head screaming. 


He was yelling, "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!"


Eric and I were almost rolling over laughing because of how hilarious he looked and when I was able to catch my breath, I asked him what was wrong.


He looked at me and while huffing and puffing told me that there was an "emerge-see". Apparently, the emergency turned out to be marshmallows on the floor. To you and me, this may sound a little crazy. But to him, I guess that the marshmallows being on the floor was some kind of code red in the kid world.  

What happened to my little angel?

Let's imagine that you are a first time parent. You have read all of the child rearing books cover to cover, you know what to expect and when to expect it. Your little one happens to be the light of your life and you spend hours talking about them, telling everyone you know exactly how great your baby is. They sleep through the night at an early age, they don't fuss, they've never gotten sick, and they are WAY smarter than all of the other kids you see everywhere. Your baby is perfect. Your little angel can do no wrong.


Then something happens to shatter those dreams of a perfect child. Something they didn't bother to write about in those baby and toddler books. Something that never even crossed your mind. Something out of a horror film.


You wake up one morning fully rested, the birds are chirping, the dew is still fresh on the grass with a faint lavender scent in the air, there is a gorgeous full rainbow and little mice are running around in your garden singing Disney songs. You head to your precious little baby's room to check on them and wish them a good morning.


The second you open their door, you slam it shut and think, "This can't be real - I must be dreaming". Oh, you're not dreaming. What you saw is real. And YOU get to clean it up.


When you opened the door, you saw that your child awakened a little earlier than you. Just earlier enough for them to reach into their diaper and extract a little nastiness. Then wipe it on the wall. And their crib. Along with their hair, arms, legs, feet and don't forget in their ears.


The big kicker is that your little angel looks as proud as could be. You run to the linen closet and grab a couple of towels so that you can carry them to the bathtub. Then you spend the next 30 minutes scrubbing them, trying also, to wash away the memory. But it's not fading in the least.


The only good thing to come of this is that you get to recount this story to other mothers. After, of course, they have already experienced it. You wouldn't want them to be on the look out for this horrible situation. No, you want to make sure they were as damaged as you from the experience.


Unfortunately, this story is true. I had a similar "perfect baby" on that "perfect morning". Believe me. This will not be the worst thing you go through with your kids. By a long shot.


Welcome to parenting!

This is not what it was intended for!

Sometimes I wonder if Cale might be my sister's child. They are alike in temperament, looks, everything. One thing that he gets from my little sister is the time that he spends in the shower. He's 8 years old. It shouldn't take 20 minutes in the shower to clean that little body and wash his short hair, but it does.

A couple of months ago, he was taking a leisurely shower - again - but this time it had been 30 minutes. I go in there to check on him and he says that everything is fine and he is getting out. He gets out of the shower and he passes the hair sniff-test (yes, this is necessary because sometimes I guess the shampoo puts up a fight and doesn't want to be used). He gets ready for bed and goes right to sleep without argument. I should have realized then that something was up.

The next day I go into the bathroom to take the dirty towels and put up new ones and when I was closing the shower curtain I noticed something white in the drain. I reach down to pull it out and I find that Cale has made what I'm assuming is a poor man's cement. He had taken toilet paper and plugged the drain. Then when it dried, it made a nice little stopper.

It takes me a couple of minutes to get this chiseled out of the drain and I go to shut the shower curtain. That is when I notice nice little mountains all over the shower walls. Apparently, he had spent his shower time trying to make a scale model of the Alps on the bathroom walls. There were probably 30 perfectly made little mountains dotting the bathroom countryside. Needless to say, I left those for him to clean up.

My questions are, if he had stayed in there longer, would he have had time to make a ski lift and maybe a lodge? Where in the world did he come up with this? I guess the more important thing is that I hope he is just a natural at toilet paper sculpting in the shower and he didn't dabble with it in the toilet until he realized that the whirlpool effect on the mountains didn't work.

You thought you got away ...

I won't lie. Most of the time, I don't catch Peyton before he gets into something. This kid must train at night to become a ninja. He will sneak into whatever you don't want him to be in and quiet as a church mouse, he will take, damage or demolish something. You never see him fleeing from the crime scene, but occasionally, I have caught him on his way there and he will stop, not move and not say a word. It's like he thinks that I am part T-Rex and I can't see him if he doesn't move a muscle. I really should get him into swimming because of how long he can hold his breath.

A couple of days ago, I actually caught him!! I caught him BEFORE disaster struck. He was running from the kitchen with a bottle of chocolate syrup and a bottle of caramel syrup. He was running like a champ, bobbing and weaving around stuff with a bottle tucked under each arm like he was a pro football player going for a touchdown. 

He hightailed it to his room and by the time I got in there, the bottles were gone. But I know his hiding spot. Under his pillow. Sure enough, when I picked his pillow up, there was his stash.

For once, crisis was averted and mom saved the day. But that isn't saying anything about what he might pull tomorrow.

By the way, please don't ask me why he decided to take these two things. If I knew, that would be part of the battle of understanding our little monster and maybe I could fix him. I need a Peyton Whisperer.

I don't want to say it ... but can I say it?!?

There comes a time in everyone's life when we marture. Well, almost everyone. I think I'm a pretty mature person but sometimes I find myself reverting back to to grade-school comments that I can't stop myself from thinking but most of the time, I can stop from saying them. Most of the time. Peyton really tested my self control the other day and I failed miserably. It is one of the few times that I can say I really was not acting my age, but it felt sooo good to let the comment slip out.

Cleaning their bedroom is something our children constantly argue about. I wish I could say that the arguments revolve around who gets to pick everything up because they are so excited to help, but it is about who has to actually exert some energy in cleaning up after themselves.

I had told Peyton that he needed to clean up his mess and he ran away from me. While he was running for his life down the hall - like if he ran fast enough he wouldn't have to clean - he turned around and yelled over his shoulder, "YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE!!"

I believe in karma. And what happened next is a prime example of it. When he turned his head back around after yelling at me, he ran straight into the bathroom door frame. He hit his cheek so hard that it knocked him down and a bruise started blooming on his cheek bone. I was 15 feet away from him in the kitchen and I started going towards him to check on him when he had the audacity to tell me to stop hurting him.

I hadn't even been near him, I didn't strap that jetpack to his rear that sent him flying down the hall and I most certainly didn't have the time to get in front of him, move the door frame and set it right in front of his face. When he said that, I stopped walking towards him and thought of that saying, 'karma is a  ____'. And the first thing that popped out of my mouth, I just couldn't control. I acted like a small child and said, "I guess that is what you get for being ugly to your mommy."

Peyton was just fine, nothing broken, it just looked like he had a little purple spot on his cheek for a couple of days and he was back to wreaking havoc on the house about 3.48 seconds after this was over.

Now, by no means am I proud of myself for that little comment. But I can't deny that it felt good. Peyton can be quite the little turkey sometimes but usually when he is in his prime and I am ready to string him up by his toes, he does something cute and endearing and I end up forgiving him. Although, I have to admit, I had a moment of speakers remorse. Which lasted all of a few minutes before he grabbed a whole package of hotdogs out of the fridge and went to town. Then I wasn't as sad and ashamed that I had said it.

They never told me!

Everyone has heard those jokes about husbands not listening to wives and about how men can't function without being told what to do. I'm not going to lie. I completely believe both of these things. And it's not because I hate men, it's because I'm surrounded by my husband and sons every day and I see evidence of not listening and being completely lost while doing easy tasks. Society implies that this happens when the female is dominant and the males just get used to having to do what she says. This is not the case. I am here to tell you that males are born needing to be told what to do 24/7. This little story is evidence of that.

Cale had his 2nd grade play last week, it was called, 'The Cheese Stands Alone'. After reading what I just typed, I just realized how fitting the title of the play is to this story.

We had Skyped my parents so that Cale could talk to them about his play. My mom asked him how everything went and he said that it was okay - then refused to elaborate. I don't know about kids that you know, but with mine, I have to drag things out of them like everything is locked in a top secret file. My mom started peppering him with questions and he gave each of them one word answers.

Finally, she asked him what the play was about. Cale got this frantic and startled look on his face and said, "I don't really know what it was about. She (the music teacher) never told me."

This child is 8 years old. He is fluent in the English language. All of the songs and dialogue in the play were in English. How did he not know what it was about? He worked on this play for 2 months. I guess next time I need to get all of the info and make a Sponge Bob cartoon out of it, because goodness knows that he can recite every single word of one of the episodes that he saw three years ago.

You'll change your mind!

Macaroni and Cheese (mac n' cheese) is a staple in our house. I had fixed some for lunch one day and the boys and I had sat down to eat it. For once, the kids weren't chatting while we were eating, it was actually quiet.

Cale looks up at me and says, "Hey, mom ... I really like the cheese in this but I don't like the mac n' very much.".

The first thing that popped into my head was that he might not like it now, but he will like mac n' when he gets older!

I am doing my job!

I expect to hear certain things from my kids when they get older. They will know that I'm not as cool as they thought I was when they were younger and I'm sure they will feel free to tell me that. They will tell me that I'm not fair and I don't know anything - which I wouldn't be able to deny even right now.

Given everything that Peyton has done and said so far, I never expected this. I told him that he needed to go clean his room. Not an uncommon request - this is something that we do all the time - and usually it takes HOURS.

His response was to yell at me, "YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE!"

He's 4 years old. You know what this means? It means that I'm doing my job!

It's a MOUTH WASH not a household cleaner!

When we went looking to find a mouthwash that was targeted towards kids, we came across Inspector Hector. At first glance, this stuff looks amazing. The kids use it before they brush their teeth and it turns the plaque blue so that they know where to brush. Great idea. Unless you have a son like Peyton, my little human hurricane.

A few days before we bought the mouthwash, Cale had been pestering Peyton. Nothing new, but he had Peyton freaked out about ghosts. Cale would toss something across the room when Peyton wasn't looking and Cale would tell him that the ghost did it. Or he would hide Peyton's toys and again, it was that pesky ghost. Anytime a curtain moved or there was a noise, Peyton was convinced that it was this ghost - Cale was greatly amused by this.

So we go and buy the mouthwash and a couple of days later, I walk in to use their bathroom - BIG MISTAKE. The bathmat ... blue. Shower curtain ... blue. Sink, floor, and inside the toilet ... blue. And not like a pretty cobalt blue, this is electric/neon blue.

Peyton is playing with his cars in the living room and I ask him to come into the bathroom and tell me what had happened.

He looks at me and says, that's right, you guessed it. "The ghost did it". How he could keep a straight face saying that, knowing that his rear-end was blue because he apparently sat in it, is beyond me.

I just looked at him and asked him if the ghost really did it and he said, "No. Do I get timeout now?"

At least he knew the end result of this little escapade. And just to let you know, that blue doesn't come out. Ever. The bathroom still looks like we have squished smurf all over the place.

If I can't get it off ... how did you get it on?!?



This is parent-problem-solving 101. Peyton somehow jammed this bucket on his head and couldn't get it off. 2 year olds are awesome.

What would you do? You can't pull it off. It's a really thick cardboard, so it won't tear. Scissors are too risky because of how tight it was on his head. Butter? No. Lotion? Negative.

This isn't a simple - getting cereal stuck up his nose - that's easy - crush and blow. Crush and blow!! Or even as easy as a little lego stuck in the nose. This one actually had me stumped for a few minutes. Then, as they say in Despicable Me, LIGHTBULB!

How did I get it off? I plopped his little tush in the shower. Sounds weird, but the water weakened the cardboard enough that I could tear it off.

My only question is, how did he get from playing with the toys inside the bucket to sticking his head in it. What was that train of thought?

"Hey, this looks big enough for my head, lets try it out".

Children are mysterious and weird little creatures that we have to train to act like normal people. I'm beginning to think that I'm losing the battle.

There go the peanut butter balls I was going to make

Day before yesterday, I was a little off my parenting game. I have an angry tooth that inhibited me from basically functioning - the tooth was shooting pain up into my ear and down into my throat. So ... of course, Peyton sensed this and took complete advantage of it.

I had taken some Tylenol to hopefully knock the pain out and I was sitting in the living room with my eyes closed, hoping that it would just go away. Peyton walks in and asks if he can have some yogurt. I told him yes and he went into the kitchen to get it.

I stayed on that chair for 2 more hours, just listening to Peyton play and spout his constant chatter when Eric wakes up and walks into the kitchen to get something to drink.

He asks if I knew that Peyton had been in one of the drawers in the kitchen ... um ... I was in so much pain, I'm lucky I knew who he was talking about. I told him no and he said that there was an empty bag of almond bark. Oh great. For those of you who don't know what almond bark is ... it's chocolate used as a coating for cookies, candies, all sorts of stuff. It comes in a package with 12, 2oz cubes. I had 9 cubes in a bag. HAD.

Eric walks into Peyton's room and looks under Peyton's pillow (Peyton's favorite hiding spot that he thinks no one knows about). There was a half of a square left.

How in the world could he eat that much chocolate and not be in worse shape than I was that day?

He was fine - no belly ache, amazingly. When asked why he snuck it into his room?

"I was hungry, daddy. I still love you!"

Megaphones should be illegal.

First-time parents are ignorant. After you have your second one, this is something that you come to realize. And it's not simply because you may have bought things that you were ADAMANT that you would use when everyone told you that you wouldn't (and then end up not using) and it's not because you look back and say, why in the world did I have that viewpoint ... that is completely useless. First-time parents are ignorant because of the things that you let your children play with. This doesn't make sense? Neither does the fact that, oops ... the store doesn't have batteries anymore for your really loud and annoying toys ... that's soooo sad. I'm not the only parent that uses that excuse, I'm sure.


When our eldest, Cale, was 2 years old he had a friend that lived across the street. Cale and this little boy would play every day and his mother and I were really good friends. Were is the operative word here.


One day, this little boys mother gave Cale a special present. A megaphone. I thought that it was a fun little gift and Cale loved playing with it.


Children have these internal clocks and alarm systems. They alert the child when the parents are thinking of sleeping in so that the child can make sure that the parent doesn't get enough sleep and therefore, the child can get away with more stuff.


It was maybe 6, 6:15 in the morning and I am sound asleep. I get startled awake with a megaphone in my face and what I thought was my cute little angel saying, "MOM ... OATMEAL!!!"


I popped out of bed, scared half to death and find Cale standing next to the bed with an excited look on his face. He was so proud of himself. I'll just say this, I was proud of myself for not having an accident in the bed.


It was sad when the megaphone was lost that day.

Who is that kid?

Parents everywhere are completely different - in the way they discipline, the things they try to teach their kids, what they feed them ... everything. But there is one thing that is alike in all parents. The Fear. The fear that your children will embarrass you in public.


This also used to be my fear. Not anymore. I don't fear it. That is the first step to surviving. You have to accept that it will happen. My outlook changed after New Years this year. Now, I just hope that it will never be this bad again.


We decided that we would go to the zoo on New Years Day. Have a great day with the family. It almost ended with me leaving the little one to fend for himself.


We had walked in, we were looking around at all of the animals, just having a good time. Then we get to the monkey area. Let me see if I can explain this so that everyone understands the horror that I went through.


At the beginning of the monkey section of the zoo, there are some statues of some chimps. These statues happen to be ... let's say, anatomically correct. You just closed your eyes and said, "Oh my gosh", didn't you? My thoughts exactly.


Peyton runs up to these statues and grabs on. You can guess where. Then he looks back at me and yells, "Mom!! He has a WEENIE!!"


I was hoping that the earth would open up and swallow me whole. In the split second after he yelled that, I contemplated turning away and pretending that I didn't know him. I was horrified. And of course, he wouldn't do it when there was no one around, no. There were probably 8-10 other families close by. You know what all of them were thinking? They were praising everything holy that it wasn't their child that had done that. Just like I would have done.


There's no way I could recover from that one gracefully. I took his hand and pulled him away as quickly as I could. Sad part is, we need to find another zoo to go to. Maybe in another state.

No, really ... punish me!

In our house, punishment for small infractions gets you sent to your room. Being a parent, I think this is quite a generous punishment. The boys can go in there and play with all of the junk they have amassed in their short little lives. The point is just to separate us from them. To get a little breathing room so I'm not tempted to duct tape them to the wall for a couple of hours.


On one of our not so great mornings, Peyton had been a little mouthy or "fresh", if you will, and he was sent to his room for 4 minutes (one minute for each year that they are old). He argues up and down about being sent to his room. Now, if it was me, I would be scurrying in there as fast as possible - because of all the toys in there and if I made mom and dad mad, I'd be afraid of what punishment could come in it's place if I threw a fit. But Peyton doesn't think that way. He proceeded to kick and scream and basically act like he had a poisonous snake latched onto his ankle.


FINALLY he goes in there. Before his "time out" was up, my husband (Eric) and I walked past his room and noticed that it was dirty and said for him to go ahead and clean it up while he was in there.


Remember, he fought like a warrior to not go to his room in the first place. So when we say to clean up, what does he say?


"No! NO! I'm in time out!! I'm in time out!! I can't clean, I'm in time out!!"


Now that is quick thinking.

Beat bullies to the punch - bully yourself!

Peyton had just turned three and he was into EVERYTHING. If it wasn't nailed down he would take it and if it was nailed down, he would mess with it. Curiosity is not something new with children, so it's not like Peyton was blazing his own path but he was exploring things in ways that I never thought a child would.


I was sitting down, reading a book - in small sections, mind you - when Peyton walks up to me with a soaking wet head. It wasn't bath time yet ... what did he get into?!?


Peyton had taken it upon himself to "wash his hair". That's great! It would be a huge help if he could wash his own hair and bathe himself. But this looked too good to be true. For once, I was right.


He actually stuck his head in the toilet. And gave himself a swirlie. How he reached his chubby little arm up to flush the toilet while his head was in there, I will never understand.


Just when you think you've seen and heard it all ... you have kids and they enlighten you and prove you  wrong every single day.

It's on FIRE!

All stay at home parents have that moment. The moment when you have to go to the bathroom, or else. Cale was about three and a half and I had one of these days. You know that commercial, "Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now, gotta go, gotta go, gotta go", it was kinda like that.


On those occasions, you can either get the child secured in their room with a toy or occupied, so that when YOU are occupied, your kid doesn't get into anything. Unfortunately, I was in the middle of fixing Cale lunch and I didn't have time to get him buttoned down. I had just put one of those frozen burritos in the microwave for him when nature decided to call. I told him to go to his room and play and I had to run.


I'm in the bathroom and I hear beep ... beep ... beep. Well, this isn't going to be good. I started yelling at Cale to leave stuff alone and go play in his room and I hurried as fast as I could.


I am just buttoning things up when Cale starts banging on the door yelling, "It's on FIRE!!!"


I rush out and on my way to the kitchen, I smell it. It smells like a burrito with something a little special added in. Mmmm ... the smell of melting plastic.


I fling open the microwave and there it is. Cale's first homemade brick. The burrito was completely black, sitting in a nest of melted plastic plate. The plate and burrito started out as two items and ended up as one.


Cale just kept saying over and over, "It was on FIRE!!"


Turns out, Cale pushed 5 as many times as he could, then start. All I can say is that wet cat, dirty sock, industrial smell didn't leave the house for weeks. WEEKS. I don't know if that burrito ever actually did catch fire, it was sure smoking when I pulled it out though. Needless to say, now we have a microwave that has a lock button on it so the little turkeys can push buttons all they want and nothing happens.

What IS in brown sugar?!?

Cale had headed off to school and I was making Peyton some breakfast. It was one of those cold days we get maybe twice a year, so I thought that oatmeal would be a fitting breakfast. Peyton was excited and he went and grabbed his stool so that he could watch me mix in the sugar and milk.


When he ran off to get the stool I asked him if he wanted brown sugar in it this time. He yelled back yes and I grabbed it out of the cabinet and started spooning some in just as he came into the kitchen with his stool.


He latched onto the sink and hopped up onto the stool and looked into his bowl. He asked what the brown sugar was and I said it was sugar and molases mixed together.


Then he looked back down at his bowl and said, "Why did you put poop in my oatmeal?!? There's poop in my oatmeal!"


This happened a couple of weeks ago and now I can't put brown sugar in MY oatmeal because of what it makes me think of. Thanks, Peyton.

Don't forget the fifteen cents!

Cale came up to me and was saying that he wanted to be an astronaut when he grows up. Pretty normal for a 7 year old, right? Then he went on to tell me that he would need a second job if he was an astronaut.


Need a second job? Why would a 1st grader be worried about a second job? 


I asked him why he would need to work two jobs. He said, "Mom, you know that you don't make a ton of money just picking up rocks."


I started laughing and asked him how much he thought he would make.


He sighed and said, "At least 90 bucks and 15 cents."

Children do not need artistic freedom.

I am a simple lady. I don't buy expensive clothes, shoes and purses. I don't go out and get mani's and pedi's every week. I've never been high maintenence. But there is one thing that I splurge on. My makeup. It's something that I don't wear too often, because when was the last time that anyone could say that they dressed up to be a stay at home mom. I wear it on the rare occasion that my husband and I can go to a restaurant that doesn't stock up on crayons or paper menus. Keep this in mind as I tell the rest of the story.


I was making Peyton lunch - his always requested peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I called to Peyton and told him it was time to sit down. He reached his chubby little hand up to grab his cup and I noticed red marks on his stomach. They looked like bruises so I crouched down to check them.


The marks smeared when I touched them. Oh lordy. I asked him what it was and he said that he was coloring. I hadn't given him crayons or markers that morning. This was not going to be good. He said that he was coloring in his room. So ... I walk into his room and I don't immediately see anything. Then I look to his toy shelf and the brand new canvas boxes that we had gotten to store away all of his stuff. Red marks. All over.


I just closed my eyes and thanked the big guy upstairs that it wasn't too bad. The liners could be washed, disaster averted. Peyton finished his lunch and I sent him to use the potty before "rest time". And no, he doesn't need to rest, mommy needs an hour break. Hopefully, from these stories, you can understand why.


Peyton comes out of the bathroom and I see little blue footprints from the bathroom to his door. OH MY GOSH!!! Either there is a smurf loose in the house, or Peyton has done something else. I just stood in front of the bathroom door, not wanting to know what had happened in there.


When I open the door, my eyes can't focus on one particular thing. There was too much going on. Too much.


The bottle of Inspector Hector mouthwash was on the counter. Empty. This is the source of the blue everywhere. It was all over the floor, it was in the toilet, in the sink, on the shower curtain. The shampoo bottle was opened with an odd blue color seeping through the shampoo. There was handsoap squirted all over the counter and the highlight of his art display was a mauve colored spiral outlining the edges of the counter ending in a pretty little swirl around the sink all the way to the stopper. My $15 a tube lipstick. Nice. Especially since I had only worn it twice.


You're probably wondering, don't you ever watch your kids? Absolutely. I had been in Peyton's room playing cars with him right before I made his lunch. You may also ask, don't you keep that kind of stuff out of his reach? Uh ... you've read the stories. Of course I keep stuff like that away from him. But he had broken into our bedroom - which is where I keep the makeup and Inspector Hector. He broke off the child safe door handle. Child safe? I think not.


He's a quick little bugger - all of this was done in less than 5 minutes. I feel sorry for the kindergarten teacher he will have in 2012. Poor, poor lady.

What superhero is complete without a horse-field?

The boys sat down to watch an old Superman cartoon when Cale asked how Superman never got hurt. Before we had a chance to even respond, Cale jumped up, stuck his index finger in the air and said, "I know how he never gets hurt!!!"


"He has a horse-field protecting him!"




Who can argue with that logic.

No, you may NOT have a slip-n'-slide in the house!

I think that our youngest son, Peyton, has put a gps tracker on me. This sounds crazy, of course, but it is the only reasoning that I can think of for how he knows when I'm no where around him. Once again, he chose to wreck the house when I was doing laundry. Our laundry room is on the other side of the house basically and anytime I'm over there, disaster occurs.


Back in this past July, I was doing laundry, listening to his constant chattering. Any parent knows that after a while of this chattering, you kind of turn the volume down mentally on it so that you can have a moment of clear thought. This is what I must have done because I didn't hear him stomp down the hall carting all of his pillows and stuffed animals from his room. He stacked all of his pillows and various stuffed furry friends up against the wall, then proceeded to grab a bottle of cooking oil off of our bar.


Keep in mind that I had only used 1 tbsp. of this oil when I was baking something earlier that day and I had neglected to put it back into the spice cabinet. So, I guess you could say that I asked for this to happen.


So this is how it all went down. I was folding laundry and hanging things up, then I hear the trash can lid close. I looked over and didn't see anything so I had to go investigate. I walk right by his leaning tower of pillows and such without even noticing them and go straight to the trash can. I open the lid and see an empty bottle of cooking oil. Hmmm ... I actually assumed that this was the bottle that I had emptied earlier. Wrong. Way wrong.


I decide to go check on the little human tornado and see what he's up to. As I start walking down the hall, I know what he has been up to. He had emptied the entire bottle of oil down the center of the hall and mommy was walking in it. I slosh into his room and ask him what in the world he was doing and he looks at me with that little angel face and tells me nothing, but can he watch Boomerang.


Is his memory really that short term?? No. He knows what he's doing. He thinks that if he gives me that cute look and denies it, I'll forgive him. And unfortunately, that little turkey is right. I told him that we had a mess to clean first and then I would turn it on for him.


Walking back down the hall is when I saw the Peyton-made ladder. This kid is pretty inventive. How long did it take him to come up with that? Did he try it out in his room to see the reach that he would get or was it just a first try success? I guess we'll never know.

Bubba wouldn't do that. Would he?

***Warning this blog entry contains poo talk***


June 2010.


Potty training had gone well with our first child. Too well, we came to find out, because we had the same high expectations with our 2nd one. With the eldest, man it was within 2 months and we didn't have to worry about accidents during the day or at night. Then it was time to potty train the 2nd one. Yeah.


We started training him at the age of two. A year and a half later, it was still not going very well. I was starting to get worried about something being wrong with him -which there wasn't. But imagine trying to potty train for that long. It was pretty taxing on the little guy and me.


He was wearing big boy undies - we never did the pull ups, I think it's confusing to the child, but then again, what do I know, I couldn't get our second one to poo in the toilet.


We had gone almost 4 weeks with no poo accidents this last June when one day, I smell it. I hunted the little ninja pooper down and asked him if he had gone in his pants. He looked at me and as serious as he could be, he said, "No, bubba (his big brother) pooped in my pants."


Hmm ... what do I say to that? Had his big brother actually pulled off his underwear, pooped in them and then put them back on the little one? I don't think so. But the little one got points for creativity. Of course, I didn't give him the kudos for a great idea out loud. Especially when I had to spend time hunting down the squeegee to get him cleaned up.

Thank you, Disney. Thank you.

This happened in May of 2010 ... but I believe that in order for people to understand the things that happen now, we need to delve into the past. So, we are backtracking for the first few posts so that everyone can get caught up on my little hellions.


Our youngest son was 3 years old at the time of this stunt. He absolutely loved Handy Manny. For the un-parents out there, Handy Manny is a cute show on the Disney channel that shows the life of this fix-it guy, his tools talk, that whole thing. Anyway, he loves Handy Manny so much that my parents -  the wonderful grandparents that they are - gave him a little Handy Manny tool set and my little sister gave him a HM tool belt and the little hat and gloves.


So my kid gets all of this stuff out and he's just playing - and actually behaving himself, so I go to do some laundry that I am perpetually behind on. Well, after maybe 5 minutes, I notice that he is being really quiet. (When a child gets quiet, find them. They are probably using their little ninja skills to be as quiet as possible in order to do something that they know they shouldn't be doing.) So I go sniff out my little monkey and see what in the world he is doing. I go into his bedroom and I see him playing on the floor with about 10 tiny screws.


At this point, I'm really starting to get worried. Screws that I've never seen and the little one is paying me no attention. I start looking around his room and notice that the cover to the light switches has been taken off. Oh my gosh. Then I notice the little pile of the covers next to him under his tool box.


He had used his Handy Manny tools to take off the light switch covers in the hall and in his room.


Now, lets be honest. I check for excessive amounts of lead in toys, I check for choking hazards. Never in my wildest dreams would I have checked to see if plastic tool toys would actually work on a real screw. But they do.


It was really hard scolding him after this because for a 3 year old to have the hand-eye coordination to do this is actually amazing and he was so proud of himself.


I now check to see what toys might be used for - even if it sounds nuts, your kids will come up with it!

Welcome To My Blog!

I decided to start this blog for a couple of reasons. One was so that others could realize what children are capable of. Another so that I could write this stuff down and then be able to go back and read it - this way I'm not going through my day thinking that it was just a bad nightmare. No. This is real life.


Maybe some people will shake their heads and wonder if my children and I have a chemical imbalance. That's fine. Wonder. I wish I could say that all of this stuff wasn't true. But I can't. These are the real-life horror stories from a stay at home mom.


I have been a stay at home mom off and on for about 8 years - raising 2 boys - Cale, 8 years old and Peyton, 4 years old. At one time I had a job. And a life outside of the home, but no more. I don't know if I could even fit in with other people out there now. Like a lot of parents, I don't have my own stories anymore. All of my stories and experiences come from raising my two beautiful - and sometimes terrifiying - boys. I can't start a sentence with, "Last night was the craziest night at the club ..." No, all of my stories start with, "You won't believe what he did now."


I don't mean to scare parents-to-be or people without kids. But maybe I can give you a little heads up as to what you are getting yourself into. Because I sure as hell didn't know. People always say what a blessing children are - and this is completely true. They are a blessing and I love them with everything I have. But there are times when I wonder what in the world is wrong with them or what did I do to deserve this.