How to Sanitize Your Floors in 3 Easy Steps.

Step 1: 

I had to run to Wal-mart.  (Ewww.)  I got back a couple of minutes after 8 pm.  8:00 o'clock is bedtime.  While I was gone the babies, ages 3 and 21 months, found a way to run naked.  They seem to do this when I leave them home with Dad.  It can result in disaster.  I came back home to my husband spraying the kitchen floor with bleach.  The conversation went something like this:

Derick: "Be careful where you step!  I'm not sure if I got it all!"

Me: "What happened?"

Derick: "Well, Fischer told me he peed.  I was distracted.  I didn't really believe him.  Then I heard giggles in the kitchen.  Fischer said, 'Daddy, we're jumping over my pee-pee.  Well, Kellen's just walking over it'." (Ewww.)

Derick face-palmed and looked at me sort of desperately. 

Me: "You get the floor, I'll bathe the kids."

Step 2:

I went to bathe the children.  I turned on the water and made sure the temperature was friendly.  I then placed the babies in the tub as it filled up. I turned my back to get a washcloth from the basket on the counter.  Screams, terrified screams, erupted from the bathtub.  The 1-year-old played with the faucet and turned the shower on.  They were both standing up in the tub and screaming in terror.  I quickly turned the shower off and I laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

Kellen was DONE with bath time (maybe for forever).  I had to wrestle him to get him very quickly soaped up and rinsed off.  I was soaking wet in the 2 minutes it took to get him semi-clean.  He is too short to climb out of the tub on his own very well but I caught him as he jumped out.  Poor child is traumatized.

Step 3:

As soon as I got the kids dried off, Fischer eyes grew to saucers, "I need to poop!"  So I pointed back at the soaking wet bathroom.  Kellen, adores his big brother and wants to be with him at all times, including pooping time.  Fischer decided that he didn't want Kellen in the bathroom with him, so he got off the potty to push Kellen out of the bathroom and shut the door.  Then I heard a wail emanate from the bathroom.  Went in to to investigate and Fischer had been unable to make it BACK to the potty in time.  (Again, Ewww.)  Now I have to clean up the mess in the bathroom and sanitize the floors.  I also have to fold the laundry in the dryer so I can rotate the laundry around and wash the bathmats.   I am once again super thankful for the "Sanitary" cycle on my washing machine. 

I got the babies jammied and put on Little Einsteins while I finished cleaning up.  It normally takes about 20 minutes for me to get Fischer into bed.  Last night it took an hour and a half.  But, hey, at least my floors were clean.

My Moment of Bliss

I've been sick for the last several days.  I protest my ill status declaring that all mothers should be exempt from all malady for at least the first five years of their children's lives.  Alas, the bacteria and virii (plural of virus? no?) aren't in agreement with me. 

I'd call them booger-heads but in reality, I'm the literal booger-head.  (Snort, sniff, blow)

But, I have found one brief moment of happiness while I lie in my bed.  It is not while I'm sleeping because I honestly don't get to do much of that sleeping thing what with two still sorta in diapers and all.  

It is not while I'm dreaming since sickness tends to bring on the weirdest dreams.  (Right after pregnancy...whoa!...am I right?)

It is not even the comfort of being snuggled in soft sheets and being warm, a rarity for us Alaskans.

Since I'm snotty and boogery it is not currently even in a passionate embrace with my husband.  (giggle)

My moment of bliss, my glorious moment of bliss last for but a couple of minutes, several times a night.  It is after I've rolled over...and waited for the gunk in my head to settle...and for, maybe, two delightful minutes I can breathe out of BOTH sides of my nose.  I love that feeling.

I think my cold medicine has made me loopy...

That Sound, That Horrible Sound!

Night before last, my 3-year-old, Fischer, woke me up about 2:00 a.m.  "Mommy, my tummy hurts. Can I sleep in your bed?"

First of all, the answer was, "No."  But we happen to have a random crib in our bedroom in which I placed him.  So he was sort of sleeping with us.  And sure enough, I checked his forehead and he was running a fever.  Gave him some Ibuprofen and rolled back into bed.  Just long enough to doze off before the 1-year-old started crying...typical night at our house.

Secondly, BLESS HIM for giving me warning.  He ended up never being tummy sick that night, but many of you mothers and fathers have been there...

I mentioned in a previous blog that I don't do anything quickly.  I move like molasses.  I think like molasses.  Until I started writing no one ever accused me of being funny because I thought of all my witty comebacks after the conversation was over and everyone had left the room.

But it only takes one time of waking up with vomit in your hair, of needing to replace every pillow you own, and of a disgusting brown stain forever on your mattress to train your body to move like lightning...

It's not unusual for my little ones to end up in bed with us before the night is over.  It results in disaster from on occasion.  Sometimes my husband wakes up to a backache from getting kicked throughout the night.  Sometimes I end up with a blinding headache from a head-butt that made me cry out in agony. (And yet Kellen didn't even break rhythm in his snore.)  Other days it's a diaper that leaked on your freshly washed sheets.  These first few mentioned...are disasters for pansies.  

The apocalypse of bedtime disaster is throw up.  I have become so trained that I can be in the most beautiful, deep, hard sleep and my brain WILL register the sound of a tummy rumble as it comes up the esophogus.  0.08 seconds after it starts my husband & I can be up out of bed, yelling, and running with the baby to the bathtub.  I'm really surprised I haven't face planted a baby into the wall because I've managed to have them into the bathroom before I've managed to actually pry my eyelids apart or have flipped a light switch.

Then you get to spend an hour or two cleaning up.  Usually I end up cleaning the baby and the bathroom while my sweet husband drunkedly scrubs the carpet and the bed.

It really does make for an adventurous evening as you collapse in exhaustion on top of a mattress covered in towels and wrap yourself in a musty blanket from the linen closet and pray that it doesn't happen again.

Thank you, Lord, for my wonderful washing machine with a "Sanitary" cycle.

Parenting changes everything to the core or your DNA.  It can make a slow person fast.

I No Longer Know Kung Fu

In a previous post, I bragged about my potato-peelin', potato-choppin', potato wranglin' skills.

See My New Ninja Skill.

I briefly mentioned my one and only other quick skill....typing.  I have, for years, been able to type faster than a Pentecostal, Holy Spirit hop kick dance in the center aisle at one of those services where they end up never preaching just singing the whole time.  (It's okay.  I can tease them because I've done the dance.)

I have sadly, lost this amazing ability.

I am currently on the hunt to trace the origin of the problem.  My finger joints aren't swollen and my arms aren't paralyzed, so it's not physical.  Perhaps it's mental because typing most definitely requires more concentration than before.  I can still type with my eyes closed, so I still have something jiggling around up there in my head.  It hasn't all falled out.

I have been a little more pressed for time this past week due to having sick kiddos and being sick myself, but in the past, not having as much time has always sped me up, not slowed me down.  I type well under pressure.

Ah HA!

Bingo!  I figured it out.  Move over Sherlock Holmes, this new detective has passed elementary.

It's the kids.  The reason I no longer type quickly is simply because I had kids.  It's all their fault!

See?

Kids are awesome...and expensive...they sure can be expensive.

My New Ninja Skill

For the most part, my husband, Derick, stays away from my on-line life.  He loves & supports me in my silly hobby but it's not really his thing.  

But something happened & he said, “Blog about it.  You need to blog about it.” 

The event? 

I peeled & cut up a potato in less than two minutes.

I.am.a.potato.ninja.

To truly appreciate my prowess you have to know that I’m a slow cook.  Whatever amount of time the recipe card says it’s going to take…for me…I gotta double it.   

You see, I’m a slow walker.  I’m a slow cleaner.  I’m a slow launderer.  I’m a slow shopper.  I'm a slow driver.  I'm a slow bill payer (the time it takes to organize & do it, not necessarily when it's paid.)  You see the pattern. 

The only thing I have ever, ever done quickly in my entire life is type.  I can type like Speedy Gonazales. 

Now there are two things I do fast. 

Celebrate the little victories.

Instant potatoes, Schminstant potatoes. 

One Thing I Totally Don't Get

WWE, Smackdown, RAW, etc.

This oddity is a primarily masculine American cultural phenomenon.  The speeches between the wrestling matches sound like testosterone laden soap operas.  I do NOT get it but my boys eat it like candy.

Speaking of candy, do you know researchers say that sugar doesn't actually affect children's behavior? 
[Whew, that was a nice rolling of the floor laughing moment.  I'm wiping tears from my eyes]  I remember the first time I let Wyatt drink a Sprite...non-caffeinated, high-fructose liquefied carbonated sugar.  The result was something like this...minus the creepy...add giggles.

Researchers are wrong, I don't care what their data says.

Researchers also say that there's no correlation between teething and snotty noses in babies.  Cue the rolling of mommy's eyes.  Kellen is teething now and he's snotty.  Maybe it is just a coincidence but there has been an awful lot of repetition of this exact coincidence.

Researchers are wrong, I don't care what their data says. 

Now, researchers say there's a correlation between watching entertainment wrestling shows and increased violent behavior of boys. 

Researchers.are.dead.on.

I can be in my bedroom and know the moment Derick & the boys start watching WWE in the living room.  The house begins to shake.  It's a physical impossibility for the kids to sit still and watch this show.  My poor ottoman receives so much abuse.  Kellen, the 13-month-old can hardly toddle, but in my imagination I've seen him tap the underside of his elbow and pile drive into his older brothers.

But Derick and the boys love this stuff.  It's something they enjoy doing together and can talk about together so I'm not going to complain too much.  Plus, I tend to get more housework done while they pummel each other..er...watch WWE.  

Meanwhile, I am so thankful we live in an earthquake prone area.  We live in a duplex style house & I'm crossing my fingers that the neighbors blame nature.  I'm fooling myself, but denial can be great.

Addendum (December 2011): The neighbors moved.

Alone Time

My husband braved watching the four boys without me so I could get "alone time."  Don't tell the kids, 'cause I'm pretty sure they'd hunt me down.  They cannot stand the thought of my being alone.  Ever.  Ever.  Ever.

Other moms will know what I'm talking about.  You see Sheldon made it funny to everyone else, but I think - not so much.

Knock, knock. "Penny!"  Knock, knock, "Penny!"  Knock, knock "Penny!"

Except in the scene in my house, I'm not in my own apartment but I'm daring a trip alone to the bathroom:

Knock, knock. "Mom!"  Knock, knock. "Mom!"  Knock, knock.  "Mom!"

"What?!"

Pause..."Whatcha doin?"

"I'm using the bathroom."

"Can I have a ____ ?"  [Insert snack option that inevitably requires my help.  This is not the time, say, to request of glass of water.  No, at this time the boy on the other side of the door will ask for milk...from the new jug.   This beverage is, of course, too heavy for him to pour himself.]

"Isn't your dad in the kitchen?"

"Oh, I didn't think of that."

At this point I smack my hand to my forehead.  I'm supposed to raise these kids to a relative expectancy of adult self-sufficiency right?  My work is cut out.


BUT - today, my husband let me leave, God bless him.  So I'm drinking a latte and enjoying my freedom and not listening to the one-year-old whimper on the other side of the door because he's on the other side of the door.