If You're Looking for a Laugh...

Thanks to a wonderful response to my soliciting, I have compiled what (I think) is a pretty hilarious montage of quotes from children of all ages. I was taken aback by the number of hilarious (and inappropriate) things that came up. So for your laughing pleasure: 

The Classic.
"I ate 100, 200, 32, 8 bites already!" -Wegman's child that inspired this entire post.

"I can't help clean Mama. My hair is grumpy and my knees are overheating. I need to rest instead." A.V. Age 3

"I'll have a root beer. Hold the root!" C.K. Age 10

"People in England speak the same language we do, just in a different font." L.S. Age 8

"Thank you for today, and thank you for everything, and Jesus, you be careful, okay?" J.R. Age 3

"I think I'll work on becoming a unicorn." K.G. Age 5

"That's just water from the trees, that's not rain." A.K. Age 2

"But I CAN'T lay down, because my hair is sticking up!" D.S. Age (almost) 3

 “Mommy, why is your hair so sparkly?” J.D. Age 4 (Because the old age fairy keeps visiting, of course.)

"Carrots have no trading value, Mom. None. Zippo." L.B. Age 13

The Mini Stories.
Q.K: "Daddy, we should buy some candy."
"Well, I don't have any extra money for candy."
Q.K: "Daddy, give me your wallet...I just want to check to make sure you haven't forgotten about any money in your wallet." 
- Q.K. Age 3 1/2

A two-year-old's attempt at asking for a bite of dinner: "bite ME!" -E.R. Age 2.5

"Aunt Ashley, are you sure there's not another baby in there?" -A.P. Age 4 when looking at her one-week-postpartum aunt.

I asked my son where the whale’s tail was in his drawing and he said “still in the crayon!” -J.K. Age 3

When my daughter introduced my husband to the neighbor: "This is Mama's friend, Dada." L.B. Age 2

My son wants a baby brother. The conversation ended like this:
"What if it is a baby sister?"
"Then that would be a bisaster!"
-M.H. Age 5

We sing a song about acorns at preschool. I asked on of my kiddos what kind of “nut” he is, a walnut, a peanut... "A pistachio!" -L.F.  Age 3 1/2 

 "Mom, what does 'pathetic' mean?" I answer that it's when someone is desperate for attention. She turns and looks back at her twin sister jumping around doing crazy things, "Yup, pathetic." J.S. Age 7 

It was super quiet in church when the woman leading songs asked us all to turn to page whatever in the music section called "breaking bread" and my middle son yelled, "Who's Freaky Fred?!" J.C. Age 3

Sometimes we overhear our son whispering or chatting quietly while playing and we'll ask him what (or who..?) he's talking to and he says, "I'm just talking to my own self." D.S. Age 4

The Not So G-Rated.
In response to seeing a bikini top for the first time. "Oh look, it is like a robe for your nipples!" Anonymous, Age 3

When your son says "crack my nuts" instead of "crack me up."

When she asked about private areas, I told her that she had a vagina. She asked if I had one too. I said 'yes' and she said, "Can I give it a high five?" -Anonymous 

"Is my 'gina getting married?" - G.C. Age 4

"When I grow up I'll have big testicles like my daddy." Anonymous 4-year-old to preschool teacher


...on that note. 

That's a wrap, folks! Thank you for giving me so many laughs. If you missed my requests for quotes, feel free to add yours in the comments!

Why We (Might) Never Get a Pet

Pets are awesome. I grew up with them, my husband grew up with them, all of our parents are animal lovers and my kids are pretty obsessed with the neighbors two dogs. When we ask my daughter if she wants a cat, a dog, or a pony (cause those are all equivalent, right?) she usually says something along the line of two cats, two dogs, and three-four-five-six ponies.

But I have adopted a very different view of pets in adulthood, and furthermore in parenthood. And I have my reasons for considering a forever "pass" on pets.

1. Pets are a crazy amount of money, time, and responsibility. It seems that for whatever reason that humans are now developing (or further recognizing) allergies, food-related illness, etc. is the same for pets. I find often in conversations about pets that people mention their diabetic-four-pills-a-day dog or their specialty diet for their overweight cat. Not to mention the horror stories of wrangling them up to administer the $500 medication (usually a conversation started by, "Oh my! Where did you get that scar across your face? That wasn't there yesterday!")

Adding up food, shelter, vet bills, medications, and the like, I can think of a million other ways to spend my life savings.

2. My neighbors, parents, and friends have them. 
Why take on all of the items above when my daughter can sprint out the door and play with the neighbors friendly puppies, safely protected by the fence between them?

All of the grandparents have cats, dogs, or both.

Surprisingly, upon further reflection, not a lot of my friends have pets. It became not-so-surprising when I realized that many of them also have young children and have come to the same conclusion of my third reason.

3. Sleep 
I don't need another potential wake up call. Sleep is sacred. SACRED. I put a lot of work into children who sleep through the night, and I depend on them doing so. The last thing I need is a 3 a.m. puppy potty break!

4. No doggy duty or cat litter here. 
I wipe a lot of butts, but I draw the line at regularly picking up poop.

5. More cleaning. 
Pets make things dirty. Whether it wet paws, a hair ball, or normal shedding, it adds to the never-ending need to clean my floors.

6. I get grossed out by pet problems. 
I gag at the thought of ticks, worms, and other skin-like issues associated with pets.

7. I'm mildly allergic.

8. I really like my running shoes. 
Let's face it, those would be the best chew toys.

Eight is a weird and unintentional number, but I'll stop there nonetheless. I would also like to point out that most of these can also apply to children. Sure, I'm not mildly allergic, not ALL of my friends have them, and it's called diaper-duty instead - but all else applies. The thing is, procreating is not the same as having a pet. Pets are not people, loving and intelligent as some may be.

Lastly (9?), why do I need a dog when fetch is my son's favorite game right now? Do I feel slightly odd saying things like, "Great job! Go get it!" and "Bring it back!" and "Good boy!"? You betcha. Do I do it anyway? Most definitely. He rewards me with two-tooth smiles and I get to watch him practice his waddling.

If we end up with a pet, one of the following things has happened:
1. I was not consulted. 
2. I was unjustly coerced.
3. I had an unforeseen influx of time, money, and a need for company. 
4. I was (naively) convinced they will be cared for by all other family members, and they live outside. 

Never say never, right?

A Mother's Guide to Decluttering, or Not

Decluttering. It seems to be a new buzzword as our society recognizes the overabundance of stuff we have - some useful, most not. It's a recurring theme, at least in my life.

Our MOPS group talked about it at our meeting last night. It's always something to be working towards, isn't it? Ridding our life of that which we do not need, and in some cases don't even want, but we hold onto anyway - applicable to both physical and emotional junk.

A wonderful element of clutter with young children: toys. Toys overrun you when you have little ones. Balls, blocks, balloons (yes, balloons have been invading my space lately); drawing pads, paint, and giant coloring books; and stuffed animals.

Oh, the stuffed animals.

I tried to downsize these after our move. I just conveniently did not unpack them all. Then one day, our daughter got into the basement and found them.

*Outrageously loud gasp and huge eyes* "Mama! My a'mils! I yuv my a'mils! Yook, is Doggy!" *Gigantic squeeze for Doggy*

Break my heart, why don't you?

So back upstairs the "a'mils" came, taking over beds, chairs, bins, and storage containers. One day, I'll collect a few of the less-loved critters again and get them to Goodwill before they are rediscovered.

The highly cleanly mentor mom (who shall remain nameless) at my table, touted the "it's just for a season" advice. However, she then readily admitted to never accepting such a "season" herself, because it made her crazy. Still, I took this to heart.

My kids will not enjoy plastic kitchens, rings on a stand, and wooden train tracks forever. (Well, maybe the train tracks, I still think those are cool.) And when the appropriate time comes, I'll box up the memories of the Minnie Mouse kitchen that made me countless cups of tea, and the chewed on board books whose four lines I read over and over, and the giant pink unicorn that still flies our children all over the house thanks to daddy's strong arms.

For just a little while longer, I think I'll dwell on this season. This season of too many toys, thanks to a loving and generous family. This season of a puzzles empty shell, because my little guy still can't figure out the second part of the process. This season of unorganized bins, because at the end of the night I don't always have the energy to put toys away, let alone into an appropriate place.

I still need to declutter some things in my life, for my sanity and my soul. But while I do, I'll focus on disposing of that which is truly unneeded rather than rushing my children to age out an especially annoying toy, and teach them about giving to others as we pass it on for memories with new families.

There is always cleaning and decluttering to do in our home and in our heart. There will always be something to let go of that will leave you feeling lighter, freer. I hope you can think of something that you can let go of today that will leave you feeling that way. As for me...*cue trash bag fluffing*

Now, where are those a'mils...

My Life "Before"

How many times can one open the microwave to retrieve a cup of a coffee that has already turned stagnant once again? My record (today) is three. I find it starts tasting more like burnt coffee grounds after that point... which bears no implication as to whether or not I drink it.

I was a planner in my former life; the life before sippy cups were a daily annoyance – the life before I could change a diaper in the dead of night without a light – the life before the second line appeared.

There is so much about that life that I miss, yet nothing I would trade.

I miss going to the store without unbuckling and re-buckling car seats and broken grocery cart straps.

I miss reading for fun instead of out of necessity for advice. (Search bar: “how to parent”, “how to parent strong willed child”, “how to stop yelling at my children”.)

I miss uninterrupted adult conversation.

I miss running whenever I want, because the only person fending for himself in my absence was my husband (and he usually did just fine.)

I miss going out to dinner without thinking about whether our familial presence would be a disturbance to the atmosphere.

I miss hot coffee.

I miss eating without sharing.

I miss eating without sharing.

I miss eating… You get it.

Yet not one of those things would be worth missing out on the sweet smell of my babies after bath time, or the chance to read Dr. Seuss’s Wacky Wednesday 100 times over, or the joy of being unequivocally loved.

Today, as I closed the microwave for the third time, this time without even remembering to hit “start”, I laughed and thought about how crazy I felt. I thought about the person I used to be, who had every detail worked out in my head (or thought I did.) I thought about the freedom I used have to structure my morning exactly as I pleased instead of around green light wake-up clocks, bottles and cheerios. But instead of feeling resentful or frustrated, today I felt grateful. And I’m going to embrace today.

Today I thought, they’re worth it. Without a doubt, they’re worth it. 

Bigger, Bigger, Grown

There was a moment that struck me first when my daughter was an infant, and has continuously struck me at the most random times since then - this realization that, particularly before they are mobile, babies are completely and utterly dependent on you for life. In other words, even though you now draw breath outside of the security of my womb, you still cannot live without me. Usually I'm left with a sense of awe and fear at the weight of that.

I had a dream one night that my son was put into the ocean to drift. It was awful. I won't go into the specifics, but suffice to say that when I awoke it took everything in me not to wake him from his slumber, and tell him I would never leave him - let alone allow him to be sent off to the ocean as a helpless babe. What part of our wiring brings us to a place of such vulnerability that we cannot fathom drawing another breath without squeezing out little ones and breathing them in - just to make sure they are real, safe and ours?

Heartache takes on a new meaning once you enter parenthood. It means that you live life knowing that an extension of yourself lives outside of you. And as you watch that person grow, you are constantly torn between fear and pride. You are hypersensitive to the passage of time, because you are constantly swapping out smaller for bigger, shorter for taller.

As a three-year-old family friend informed us, "I'm getting bigger and bigger every day!"

I'm convinced that nothing will ever make my emotions as raw as imagining my little girl grown or my little boy as a man. Something about the passage of time, especially in regards to offspring, mystifies us in a unique way. A way that I'll never figure out, because no matter how many times we say "they're growing up before our eyes", we can't understand it, we can't stop it, and it proves itself true every day.

Lock Mama Up!

When your daughter starts reworking the words to “London Bridges Falling Down”, to sing repeatedly “take key, lock Mama up; lock Mama up; lock Mama up”, it does something to a person.

As a mom who has been seriously questioning my ability to parent well, I'm starting to wonder if Layna is seeing the crazy I thought I hid so well. Then I looked back at the cup throwing, the grunting, the sighing, etc.and I realized maybe I wasn’t hiding anything at all, and despite my best intentions, she may be picking up on the irritation I let so easily rise to the surface.

How is it that a person roughly 1/15 of my age, with a limited vocabulary and an angelic face, can make me grind my teeth, purse my lips, and point my finger? When did I become the mean mom from the movies that everyone secretly wishes would do something publicly humiliating?

I truly thought being a mom would be easy for me. I thought it would come naturally; I would know what to say and when to say it, and if I didn’t, I would still be able to come up with something meaningful to guide and direct.

The number of times I have looked at my husband and said, “I don’t know what to do. What are we supposed to do?” is growing each week.

When bedtime takes over our entire evening, because our daughter insists (by screaming and crying and pleading) that she has to poop, even though you took her to the bathroom three times before bed, what do you do? Tell her she can’t go? What if she ends up with an incurable stomach disease because I denied her the human right of using the bathroom? Worse yet, what happens if I let her manipulate me into taking her out of bed every night after clearly stating there would be no more potty trips?

When your infant son is in clear distress, uncomforted by all the go-to fixes, what do you do? Give Tylenol for an unseen pain? Gas drops for a hurting belly? Let him cry because whatever it is, you don’t seem to be helping the situation?

The amount of decisions you are required to make on behalf of another person’s best interest is positively exhausting. And while you figure it out, you are still going. Haven’t figured out if red-dye contributes to ADHD yet? Hope not, there goes another dose of Cherry Tylenol. Wish you knew the effects of screen time before age 2? Guess we’ll find out!

In truth, any mother who cares enough to assess how she is doing, is probably doing more than fine. (Right?)  Children have lived through straight-arm car seats, walking to school, and washing dishes by hand. The problems are different, but parenting remains the same – an everyday attempt at what is best for your children, even when it feels like you have no idea what you’re doing.

Bath Time Extravaganza

"I need a minute. Please just give me a minute," I said as tried to take a deep breath. The three of us were squished onto one chair, as we often are. Josiah in my lap, hiccuping as he gulped down his formula, and Layna squeezed in on my right with her hands full of a snack cup and five books.

"Please read this, Mama?" She requested.

Another deep breath.

"Just give me a minute," I repeated.

Josiah was hiccuping because he was absolutely screaming only seconds before. He got to that point where he was gag screaming. *Gag, scream, gag, scream* But I should back up, because it started a while before that.

I was giving both of the kids a bath and decided to be generous with their tub time since we had started the evening routine a little early. They both love bath time so this seemed to be appreciated. Though, it seems Josiah had a funny way of showing it.

As I was gathering towels and preparing to get them out, I noticed Josiah was in an awkward position in the tub - sort of leaned forward with a funny expression on his face.

No. You are not. 

Yes. He was. I slowly peeked into the tub to confirm my fear; he had indeed pooped in the tub.

Remain calm! I told myself. The last thing I needed was for Layna to freak out in addition to having this mess to clean up.

"Uh oh, Josiah pooped," I said in a tone that did not match my emotions on the issue. "Time to hop out."

Layna complied easily (a saving grace in this process), and of course, Josiah was completely oblivious to the fact that this presented an issue. I whisked them both out, and released the plug on the drain while I got them into pajamas. I instructed them to remain in Josiah's room across the hall from the clogged tub. I started by removing the offended toys, and... actually, I won't take you through step-by-step, but I will say that there were rubber gloves and a good amount of Clorox involved.

Josiah and Layna ventured into the bathroom more than one time during my cleanup, so in the middle of bending over the tub I would periodically have to stop and chastise them for entering. At one point, Josiah grabbed the Clorox, I sternly told him "no", and he brought out his pouting lip and whimper. Well, the whimpers turned into full blown screams, but with Clorox-gloved hands and hot water running in multiple places, there wasn't a lot to be done about it.

When I finally finished my task, I picked up Josiah who was in his *gag, scream, gag, scream* at this point. Layna was thinking she'd been patient enough and was at my heels about reading and her raisins (her routine bedtime snack). I rushed around the kitchen for raisins and a bottle (after nine months nursing Josiah, I'm still so grateful he transitioned to a bottle without issue).

And that's how we landed in the too-small-for-three chair. I collected myself, Josiah's breathing eased and his eyes got sleepy, and Layna sat eagerly with her eyes on the Berenstain Bears. It seemed we were back on track for the evening. All was well again, and so I began... "The Berenstain Bears Count Their Blessings..."