I don't usually like to compare boys to girls. I strive to be neutral, especially with my daughters, and not box them into gender-specific roles. However, after three years of living with two boys of the same age I have come to the conclusion that boys really are just gross. Not to say that my girls haven't made my stomach churn on occassion, but not quite to the extent or with the same conviction as the boys.
Owen has two primary interests at the moment: Spiderman and magic tricks. There are others, but these are the ones that consume him on a daily basis. He must be adorned in a Spiderman shirt at all times...even if the only one available is covered in yogurt and blueberry juice. He shoots webs at anyone who dares to oppose him. He also tries to shoot the cats with a nerf gun because they are "bad guys." Explaining to him that Spiderman does not use guns is a moot point. Spiderman uses whatever resources he has to defeat cats, parents and siblings. Connor is usually Batman, so this works for him. Batman has a few odd traits, too, though: he uses a sword, wears goggles, and somehow attacks by saying, "Batman" followed by a strange sound that is a cross between a belch and shattering glass.
This morning Owen was not Spiderman. He was a magician. He came up to me in his Spiderman t-shirt and a Pull-Up, and told me, "Mom...say 'Hocus Pocus.'"
"Hocus Pocus."
He then pulled out a pair of my underwear...from inside the front of his Pull-Up.
"Ta-da!"
I'm not really sure what to say about that.
Later, he pooped in his Pull-Up.
I'm going to take a moment to note that we are having many issues with potty-training. Both boys know how to use the potty...they just refuse to do so most of the time. They are totally unconcerned with the nastiness (and rashes) that result from this choice.
I went to change him, and his bottom was bright red. After several attempts to wipe, with him squirming and crying, I decided to just stick him in the shower. As soon as I get him set, Connor walks into the bathroom...naked from the waist down.
"Mommy, I want bath."
"Not now, Connor...Owen isn't getting a bath...he's getting a shower."
"Oh. I'm dirty."
He holds his hands out to me...and they are covered in poop. I turn him around and see that his bottom, legs and socks are also covered in poop. I wipe up what I can, and stick him in the shower with his brother. After hearing several versions of a song where the chorus consisted of variations of "booty-butt-butt," I hear Irelynn, who has now entered the bathroom, say, "Ew, Connor...are you peeing in the shower?"
"Yes."
I look in at him. He grins back at me, peeing.
"Connor...don't pee in the shower."
"Okay."
I finally get them clean, and notice Owen has a nice dangling booger. Now, of all things, this is one of the few things that actually make me feel sick to my stomach. I reach to get a tissue...but not before he gets it with his finger...and puts it in his mouth.
I shudder, and for the second time today I am rendered speechless. He just smiles.
The boys are now in bed, and as late as it is, I might have to take a shower myself. I really need to get rid of the boy cooties.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Moving, Pets, and Extreme Couponing
I am emerging from paperwork and boxes to attempt to post an update. The Sawdon family has been through quite a bit over the last few months.
After a year of renting a four bedroom house (which even a four bedroom rental is difficult to come by,) we have moved into a five bedroom home. I cannot express just how much of a difference one more bedroom creates. Irelynn, who was sharing a room with the twins, now has her own bedroom. She has already adorned her space with Hello Kitty items and a Justin Bieber poster. The boys have also adorned her room with action figures and streaks of make-up she got for Christmas on her walls. Note to relatives: giving a five-year-old make-up is asking for trouble. Giving a five-year-old with twin three-year-old brothers make-up is asking for disaster.
In other news we have lost...and gained...another pet. We had several issues with Kenobi running off, and having to hunt him down. This was frustrating, but his anxiety and aggression at the vet's office became a much greater concern. We had to reschedule an appointment to have him neutured because he was too aggressive and hard to control. After the second time, they had to put him down because he was literally attacking people. Needless to say, we will not be getting another dog. My sister, for my birthday, brought a little bundle of fur across the state to surprise me. Long-haired, Siamese, and tiny, she won over everyone...even Bruce who wanted to kill my sister at first. We named her Bailey, and she became quick friends with Maggie. She has become the spoiled baby of the family, receiving treats on a regular basis from all members of the family. Maggie also gives her treats...by entering the pantry and chewing holes through bags of cat treats, and then scattering them onto the floor. We have since learned to only buy cat treats in canisters with lids, and put it up high out of children's (and pet's) reach.
I am also entering the world of couponing. Living in a bigger house is wonderful, but it means I have to learn to budget a little better. I never realized just how crazy the coupon world is...it is like an extreme sport. So extreme, in fact, that my oldest son is getting sports injuries in attempts to help me save money. While we were dropping off our recyclables at the recycling place in town, I thought I would check the newspaper bin to see if I could score some extra coupon inserts that people had thrown out. There are huge dumpsters, each allocated for a different item (plastics, cardboard, magazines, etc.) The newspaper one was quite full, and I was able to find some. Jay climbed the other side of the dumpster to help. (I want to add here that I did not actually ask him to help, he offered on his own accord.) After a few minutes I told him we probably had enough, he could get down.
"I can't."
I looked over at him.
"What do you mean?"
He put his hands in the air, and I saw that he was hanging, from the dumpster, by the seat of his pants.
"My pants are caught."
Not to worry, my teenage son was able to free himself from the dumpster...but I'm sure it severely hurt my chances of him helping me in the future.
Perhaps the five-year-old would be of better use...she could actually fit inside the dumpster to search...
I know some of you are concerned, but it's okay...with all the money I will be saving I will be able to afford therapy for my children later. I'm sure they will need it.
After a year of renting a four bedroom house (which even a four bedroom rental is difficult to come by,) we have moved into a five bedroom home. I cannot express just how much of a difference one more bedroom creates. Irelynn, who was sharing a room with the twins, now has her own bedroom. She has already adorned her space with Hello Kitty items and a Justin Bieber poster. The boys have also adorned her room with action figures and streaks of make-up she got for Christmas on her walls. Note to relatives: giving a five-year-old make-up is asking for trouble. Giving a five-year-old with twin three-year-old brothers make-up is asking for disaster.
In other news we have lost...and gained...another pet. We had several issues with Kenobi running off, and having to hunt him down. This was frustrating, but his anxiety and aggression at the vet's office became a much greater concern. We had to reschedule an appointment to have him neutured because he was too aggressive and hard to control. After the second time, they had to put him down because he was literally attacking people. Needless to say, we will not be getting another dog. My sister, for my birthday, brought a little bundle of fur across the state to surprise me. Long-haired, Siamese, and tiny, she won over everyone...even Bruce who wanted to kill my sister at first. We named her Bailey, and she became quick friends with Maggie. She has become the spoiled baby of the family, receiving treats on a regular basis from all members of the family. Maggie also gives her treats...by entering the pantry and chewing holes through bags of cat treats, and then scattering them onto the floor. We have since learned to only buy cat treats in canisters with lids, and put it up high out of children's (and pet's) reach.
I am also entering the world of couponing. Living in a bigger house is wonderful, but it means I have to learn to budget a little better. I never realized just how crazy the coupon world is...it is like an extreme sport. So extreme, in fact, that my oldest son is getting sports injuries in attempts to help me save money. While we were dropping off our recyclables at the recycling place in town, I thought I would check the newspaper bin to see if I could score some extra coupon inserts that people had thrown out. There are huge dumpsters, each allocated for a different item (plastics, cardboard, magazines, etc.) The newspaper one was quite full, and I was able to find some. Jay climbed the other side of the dumpster to help. (I want to add here that I did not actually ask him to help, he offered on his own accord.) After a few minutes I told him we probably had enough, he could get down.
"I can't."
I looked over at him.
"What do you mean?"
He put his hands in the air, and I saw that he was hanging, from the dumpster, by the seat of his pants.
"My pants are caught."
Not to worry, my teenage son was able to free himself from the dumpster...but I'm sure it severely hurt my chances of him helping me in the future.
Perhaps the five-year-old would be of better use...she could actually fit inside the dumpster to search...
I know some of you are concerned, but it's okay...with all the money I will be saving I will be able to afford therapy for my children later. I'm sure they will need it.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Fruit Loops and Crotch Tags
* Names have been changed to protect myself.
My boys were lucky enough to be awarded a scholarship for preschool this year, which was the only way we could afford to send two kids to preschool at the same time. They were very excited.
The preschool they are attending is a Cooperative preschool...which, for those who don't know, means that it is a joint effort between parents and staff to run the school...which means the parents are required to be put on rotation to help in the class on a monthly basis. Their first full day happened to be my work day.
I have done the Cooperative thing before with Irelynn...but it was with slightly older children. The difference, as it turns out, is quite significant between 3-year-olds and 4-year-olds. Think Toy Story 3...the Caterpillar Room versus the Butterfly Room. That is actually a pretty accurate depiction of preschoolers of the two age groups. I was dealing with the Caterpillar Room.
The first thing the other helping parent and I were assigned to do was to man the project table. At this table we were to take cardstock with the children's names written on them, put glue on the letters of their names, and let the children glue Fruit Loops to the paper. Now, before I continue...does anyone see what problems might arise with this project and 3-year-olds?
First I bring over *Anthony. I excitedly tell him what we are doing. He stares at me...smiles...and begins eating the Fruit Loops. As it turns out...most of the children wanted to just eat the Fruit Loops. Except my Connor. Connor wanted to eat the Fruit Loops...and see what else he could glue to the paper...namely his arm. We had to pry the paper off of him a few times.
Owen came over and began attaching his Fruit Loops to the letters. I am suddenly proud. MY child is the only one who is not trying to eat the cereal...he GETS the project. My smart little man is carefully following directions. I smile, as the other parent is obviously noting the intelligence and creativity my child is exuding. I look at the names we have left. We still need *Billy to come do his name. I set off in search of Billy.
I am glancing at name tags, and find one child who doesn't seem to have one. Upon closer look...he does, in fact, have a name tag...hanging from his crotch. Now, at first glance, I am picturing this kid as being quite confident, naming his crotch and all, but as it turns out...Billy is very sensitive. Billy cried at everything. He cried when playtime was over. He cried when the teacher read a Barney book (to be fair, I almost cried myself.) He also cried at snack time when someone asked if he was going to eat his granola bar. Right now, though, Billy wasn't crying, and followed me to the table. There I found Owen...my bright child...with tears in his eyes.
"Owen?"
I look at him, his eyes watering, and his mouth pursed, like he just ate a lemon...or perhaps a jalepeno pepper. I see the other parent smirking. I look down at his paper...which now has no Fruit Loops. My son did his project...and THEN ate the Fruit Loops...glue and all. He began to cry.
By the end of the day, the teacher had them (mostly) sitting on the carpet, repeating her song (with Billy in tears.) The grown-ups came to collect the kids, and the teacher and working parents breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Needless to say, I am looking forward to dropping the boys off on Thursday and leaving them there...without me. While it was quite entertaining at times, I deal with enough 3-year-olds on a normal basis here at home...where the cereal is left for eating...and the glue is hidden.
My boys were lucky enough to be awarded a scholarship for preschool this year, which was the only way we could afford to send two kids to preschool at the same time. They were very excited.
The preschool they are attending is a Cooperative preschool...which, for those who don't know, means that it is a joint effort between parents and staff to run the school...which means the parents are required to be put on rotation to help in the class on a monthly basis. Their first full day happened to be my work day.
I have done the Cooperative thing before with Irelynn...but it was with slightly older children. The difference, as it turns out, is quite significant between 3-year-olds and 4-year-olds. Think Toy Story 3...the Caterpillar Room versus the Butterfly Room. That is actually a pretty accurate depiction of preschoolers of the two age groups. I was dealing with the Caterpillar Room.
The first thing the other helping parent and I were assigned to do was to man the project table. At this table we were to take cardstock with the children's names written on them, put glue on the letters of their names, and let the children glue Fruit Loops to the paper. Now, before I continue...does anyone see what problems might arise with this project and 3-year-olds?
First I bring over *Anthony. I excitedly tell him what we are doing. He stares at me...smiles...and begins eating the Fruit Loops. As it turns out...most of the children wanted to just eat the Fruit Loops. Except my Connor. Connor wanted to eat the Fruit Loops...and see what else he could glue to the paper...namely his arm. We had to pry the paper off of him a few times.
Owen came over and began attaching his Fruit Loops to the letters. I am suddenly proud. MY child is the only one who is not trying to eat the cereal...he GETS the project. My smart little man is carefully following directions. I smile, as the other parent is obviously noting the intelligence and creativity my child is exuding. I look at the names we have left. We still need *Billy to come do his name. I set off in search of Billy.
I am glancing at name tags, and find one child who doesn't seem to have one. Upon closer look...he does, in fact, have a name tag...hanging from his crotch. Now, at first glance, I am picturing this kid as being quite confident, naming his crotch and all, but as it turns out...Billy is very sensitive. Billy cried at everything. He cried when playtime was over. He cried when the teacher read a Barney book (to be fair, I almost cried myself.) He also cried at snack time when someone asked if he was going to eat his granola bar. Right now, though, Billy wasn't crying, and followed me to the table. There I found Owen...my bright child...with tears in his eyes.
"Owen?"
I look at him, his eyes watering, and his mouth pursed, like he just ate a lemon...or perhaps a jalepeno pepper. I see the other parent smirking. I look down at his paper...which now has no Fruit Loops. My son did his project...and THEN ate the Fruit Loops...glue and all. He began to cry.
By the end of the day, the teacher had them (mostly) sitting on the carpet, repeating her song (with Billy in tears.) The grown-ups came to collect the kids, and the teacher and working parents breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Needless to say, I am looking forward to dropping the boys off on Thursday and leaving them there...without me. While it was quite entertaining at times, I deal with enough 3-year-olds on a normal basis here at home...where the cereal is left for eating...and the glue is hidden.
Monday, September 19, 2011
We Interrupt This Blog...
...to bring you a blatant plea for votes. I normally hate to ask for votes...or for people to buy stuff from my children's fundraisers...but I'm really hoping that I can get a few more. Parents.com is hosting a parenting blog contest, and this blog has been nominated. So far the person in the lead in my category has over 600 votes. If you click on the icon on the right of the screen, it will take you to where you need to vote...voting ends October 15th. Thank you!
Spiderman and the Litterbox
"EW! MOM! EW!"
This is never a good thing to hear when you realize you have lost track of your children.
I walked (quickly) back to the laundry room, where I found the two boys facing each other, looking down at a puddle on the floor between them. The kitten, looking confused, was on the floor to the side, making movements to try and cover up the puddle with the small trail of cat litter that was on the floor. Owen's pants also looked wet.
"Owen...what happened? Who did that?"
"Maggie did it. Ew, Maggie."
I stared for a minute, wondering why Maggie would have peed on the floor...she has never gone outside the litterbox before. Then I glanced at Owen's pants again.
"Owen...did you pick Maggie up while she was in the litterbox?"
"Yeah."
Commence the explanation of where kitties go potty and why you should not disturb them. When I finished, I asked if he understood.
"Yeah. Bad Maggie."
The thing that makes moments like this tolerable is the fact that they can also be quite cute and entertaining at times. Such as their enthusiasm for Halloween...which I'm not even sure they completely understand, other than they get to dress up like their favorite super hero, Spiderman. Both boys decided they want to be Spiderman this year. I bought the costumes, and despite numerous attempts to explain to the boys that they should save them for the holiday, they broke me down.
"Pweeeeaaaase, Mom? Pwease? I Spiderman?"
Those big eyes. The use of the word, "please," (which is very rare.) Mom...melting...
I didn't know what I had gotten myself into. The boys refuse to take the costumes off. They run around making web noises. They only answer to "Spiderman." They cry when I make them take them off for such things as leaving the house, bathtime, or bedtime. I've created little mutant monsters.
They're pretty cute monsters, though.
This is never a good thing to hear when you realize you have lost track of your children.
I walked (quickly) back to the laundry room, where I found the two boys facing each other, looking down at a puddle on the floor between them. The kitten, looking confused, was on the floor to the side, making movements to try and cover up the puddle with the small trail of cat litter that was on the floor. Owen's pants also looked wet.
"Owen...what happened? Who did that?"
"Maggie did it. Ew, Maggie."
I stared for a minute, wondering why Maggie would have peed on the floor...she has never gone outside the litterbox before. Then I glanced at Owen's pants again.
"Owen...did you pick Maggie up while she was in the litterbox?"
"Yeah."
Commence the explanation of where kitties go potty and why you should not disturb them. When I finished, I asked if he understood.
"Yeah. Bad Maggie."
The thing that makes moments like this tolerable is the fact that they can also be quite cute and entertaining at times. Such as their enthusiasm for Halloween...which I'm not even sure they completely understand, other than they get to dress up like their favorite super hero, Spiderman. Both boys decided they want to be Spiderman this year. I bought the costumes, and despite numerous attempts to explain to the boys that they should save them for the holiday, they broke me down.
"Pweeeeaaaase, Mom? Pwease? I Spiderman?"
Those big eyes. The use of the word, "please," (which is very rare.) Mom...melting...
I didn't know what I had gotten myself into. The boys refuse to take the costumes off. They run around making web noises. They only answer to "Spiderman." They cry when I make them take them off for such things as leaving the house, bathtime, or bedtime. I've created little mutant monsters.
They're pretty cute monsters, though.
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Big Bang Theory
I have this theory about children. I began pondering this strange phenomenon with the older children when they reached Middle School. I would go to a parent/teacher conference, bracing myself for what would surely be a lecture on behavior, attitude and listening skills. Instead, the teacher would make a comment like, "your child is very quiet and respectful." I would then ask if we were, indeed, talking about my child...because this quiet, respectful child would come home and throw his or her school stuff on the table or floor or couch and commence making rude comments or arguing with his or her siblings. I began wondering why my children obviously suffered from some sort of Jekyll and Hyde syndrome.
The twins have started preschool. Yesterday was their first day without parents there. Every time the phone rang, I was certain it was the school, calling to tell me they had destroyed something, scaled something and wouldn't come down, or knocked another child unconscious with a Thomas the Train engine. There were no calls from the school, however, and when I went to pick them up they were both sitting quietly at the table looking...sweet. The assistant teacher told me how well-behaved they were...how they cleaned up at clean-up time and were the first to sit down when instructed. I looked down at my boys, who looked at me with wide, innocent eyes.
Upon returning home, the pixie dust that teacher must have sprinkled on them wore off, and Owen was throwing a temper tantrum because he wanted to go anywhere but home. He screamed. He hit Connor. He threw his beloved Iron Man action figure, which Connor then picked up and took off with, causing Owen to explode.
Connor found much delight in this, and began terrorizing his brother, and his older sister upon her return home from Kindergarten, who suddenly had the attitude of a 16-year-old. All chaos broke out. Children were jumping on the couch...pillows were being flung across the room. The noise level had me concerned about neighbors calling the cops. I called my husband...or maybe he called me...I don't remember...but I do remember telling him that I was not making dinner that night. While all of the chaos was going on, our oldest son had gone upstairs to take an hour-long crap. Our oldest daughter was in her bedroom. My husband, being the kind, understanding man that he is...brought home dinner.
I'm beginning to think that children have this strange ability to conceal their powers of badness...they squeeze it into some small, unused portion of their brains and hold it there while at school. Perhaps it is because even at a young age, they are socially aware and realize that they do not want to draw attention to themselves. Perhaps teachers have some strange voodoo that they perform, causing children to want to please them. Whatever it is...this badness becomes bottled up during the day. By the time they get home, they can no longer contain it....and BANG...they explode.
I am currently in talks with the military on how we can use this powerful weapon against our enemies.
The twins have started preschool. Yesterday was their first day without parents there. Every time the phone rang, I was certain it was the school, calling to tell me they had destroyed something, scaled something and wouldn't come down, or knocked another child unconscious with a Thomas the Train engine. There were no calls from the school, however, and when I went to pick them up they were both sitting quietly at the table looking...sweet. The assistant teacher told me how well-behaved they were...how they cleaned up at clean-up time and were the first to sit down when instructed. I looked down at my boys, who looked at me with wide, innocent eyes.
Upon returning home, the pixie dust that teacher must have sprinkled on them wore off, and Owen was throwing a temper tantrum because he wanted to go anywhere but home. He screamed. He hit Connor. He threw his beloved Iron Man action figure, which Connor then picked up and took off with, causing Owen to explode.
Connor found much delight in this, and began terrorizing his brother, and his older sister upon her return home from Kindergarten, who suddenly had the attitude of a 16-year-old. All chaos broke out. Children were jumping on the couch...pillows were being flung across the room. The noise level had me concerned about neighbors calling the cops. I called my husband...or maybe he called me...I don't remember...but I do remember telling him that I was not making dinner that night. While all of the chaos was going on, our oldest son had gone upstairs to take an hour-long crap. Our oldest daughter was in her bedroom. My husband, being the kind, understanding man that he is...brought home dinner.
I'm beginning to think that children have this strange ability to conceal their powers of badness...they squeeze it into some small, unused portion of their brains and hold it there while at school. Perhaps it is because even at a young age, they are socially aware and realize that they do not want to draw attention to themselves. Perhaps teachers have some strange voodoo that they perform, causing children to want to please them. Whatever it is...this badness becomes bottled up during the day. By the time they get home, they can no longer contain it....and BANG...they explode.
I am currently in talks with the military on how we can use this powerful weapon against our enemies.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Chaos...Color-Coded
I'd like to think that if I assign each child a colored pen and meticulously write down every school activity, doctor's appointment, sports practice, open house, friend's birthday party and due dates for fundraisers that I will have an organized, orderly life. The reality is that it is still chaos...it is just color-coded.
This fall marks many new beginnings for the Sawdon household. We put an offer in on a house, and are not so patiently waiting to hear any progress on the excruciating process of buying a home listed as a short sale (which, by the way, is totally deceiving...it is anything but short.) Both teenagers are in high school this year, and shortly after the new year the oldest will turn sixteen. Irelynn will be starting kindergarten, and my babies will be starting preschool. The past couple of years have been spent anticipating the days when all of my kids were finally in school. I am currently a mixed jumble of emotions: relief (I'm not going to lie, getting a break from Captain Destructo and his sidekick, Chaos Boy, will be nice,) and sadness, reflecting on how quickly time has gone by and how my babies are no longer babies.
This whirlwind of emotions and changes also bring an enormous amount of activity...I have already been bombarded with paperwork and fundraisers. We have to squeeze in back-to-school shopping, soccer fees, the boys' 3rd birthday party, and all the things entailed with trying to buy a new home. Our beer budget is dwindling.
During all of this, I am still pulling the boys off of the top bunk, sweeping cat litter that they threw on the floor, explaining to Irelynn that we do not call the dog "that damn dog" when we are angry and begging Owen to watch something other than Dora. Oh, and pulling poor Maggie out of the big plastic cat food bin after the boys have sealed her up in it.
Okay...yes...I am definitely ready for school to start. Even if it means colorful chaos...because at least that chaos is on paper, and not in my living room...kitchen...dining room...and bathroom. Did I mention the boys are potty-training? That adventure will have to wait for another blog entry...
This fall marks many new beginnings for the Sawdon household. We put an offer in on a house, and are not so patiently waiting to hear any progress on the excruciating process of buying a home listed as a short sale (which, by the way, is totally deceiving...it is anything but short.) Both teenagers are in high school this year, and shortly after the new year the oldest will turn sixteen. Irelynn will be starting kindergarten, and my babies will be starting preschool. The past couple of years have been spent anticipating the days when all of my kids were finally in school. I am currently a mixed jumble of emotions: relief (I'm not going to lie, getting a break from Captain Destructo and his sidekick, Chaos Boy, will be nice,) and sadness, reflecting on how quickly time has gone by and how my babies are no longer babies.
This whirlwind of emotions and changes also bring an enormous amount of activity...I have already been bombarded with paperwork and fundraisers. We have to squeeze in back-to-school shopping, soccer fees, the boys' 3rd birthday party, and all the things entailed with trying to buy a new home. Our beer budget is dwindling.
During all of this, I am still pulling the boys off of the top bunk, sweeping cat litter that they threw on the floor, explaining to Irelynn that we do not call the dog "that damn dog" when we are angry and begging Owen to watch something other than Dora. Oh, and pulling poor Maggie out of the big plastic cat food bin after the boys have sealed her up in it.
Okay...yes...I am definitely ready for school to start. Even if it means colorful chaos...because at least that chaos is on paper, and not in my living room...kitchen...dining room...and bathroom. Did I mention the boys are potty-training? That adventure will have to wait for another blog entry...
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