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!"