< Things I Can't Say: March 2009

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Friday, March 27, 2009

Gross Habits

No, this isn't another poop-painting post, though it did happen AGAIN...I'm just trying not to think about it.

Four-year-old Monkey's new favorite way to irritate his mama is to spit. He'll spit on anything, anywhere. Thankfully, it has yet to progress to spitting on people, but it's still a nasty habit.

Almost-three-year-old Bear's new habit is actually a source of pride to his daddy. He can burp on command. He thinks it's about the funniest thing ever, especially since Daddy eggs him on. It was decidedly NOT funny when he made himself burp so many times in a row that he actually made himself throw up.

I'm a little frightened for what it's going to be like when I have three teenage boys in the house.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Mess of All Messes

Being the mom of three small boys, I've had to deal with alot of messes. From messes from things like paint, crayons, lotion, vaseline, peanut butter, food coloring, and of course, all sorts of bodily fluids.

Some messes are just a pain to clean up, while other are just plain disgusting.

But, when it's your child who has thrown up or had an explosive diaper or a potty training accident, you deal with it.

Today, I had to deal with the worst kind of mess.

I put Bear(almost 3 years old) down for his nap around 1pm. I did hear him in his room for a little while, maybe 20 minutes or so, but he wasn't fussing and there weren't any loud booms, so I didn't go check on him.

At 3pm, I took the baby up to his room for his nap and decided to peek in on Bear. What I saw completely horrified me.

He was fast asleep in the middle of the floor...pants around his ankles, poop ALL over him. Face, hair, hands, shirt.

Then there were the walls. It looked like he had fingerpainted from one end of the wall to the other. The windows and his dresser weren't spared, either.

I stood there for a little while(felt like a few minutes, but due to the stench, I'm doubting it, it was probably just a few seconds), then decided that I would run a bath and then wake up Bear to clean him up, get him downstairs, and then deal with the mess in his room.

So, that's what I did. Cleaned him up, got him downstairs with big brother, and tried to clean up.

The only thing that I could use that would take the poop off the walls was a strong mixture of bleach and a little bit of hot water. It took some of the paint off the walls and has the knuckles of three of my fingers bright red, irritated, and bleeding a little. That's mostly my fault for not going for a search for gloves before I started this clean up project.

While I was in the middle of cleaning, Cub woke up. I really couldn't do much about it. No way can I trust all three boys alone downstairs if I'm not there with them for longer than just a few minutes. So, I was cleaning up shit and listening to a 10 month old shriek in the next room, cursing Hubby the whole time for being at the gym and being unreachable(no cell phones allowed due to the pervs who take pics of people in their workout gear).

Finally got the mess cleaned up and some laundry going. Calmed Cub down, took him downstairs with the big boys, then went back upstairs to clean myself up.

Came back downstairs and smelled poop again. Bear had pooped, reached down in his pull-up, and got some out. He then spread it on the toy box, the train table, and the wall.

My heart almost stopped.

Which to deal with first- the poopy child or the mess? I didn't want the other boys to get anywhere near it, but I didn't want Bear to get any more anywhere else.

I sat him on the time-out step and told him not to move. Guess he knew from the crazed look on my face and the insanity that had to be coming through in my voice that I meant it, because he didn't move a muscle.

This mess was a lot easier to clean up, I guess since it was still "fresh." Then, gave him another rinse off in the tub.

I thought motherhood had given me a strong stomach, but today tested my limits. I'm so thoroughly disgusted.

Hubby had better be bringing home dinner for everyone, because I don't think I can even think about food after the afternoon that I had.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Mother of a Biter

Unless your child has bitten someone, you have no idea how far down your heart sinks, how ashamed, how embarrassed, and how much like a failure you feel when your child bites another child.

Yes, one of my kids did get bitten by another child. And yes, I was upset about it. The poor little Bear was still a baby and one of Monkey's friends bit his chunky little leg. While I remember him screaming and that it hurt, I really don't remember any of the other details. I can't tell you exactly how old he was or exactly how it happened or anything else like that. It sort of blurs in with the other times that he has gotten hurt.

But, when it was MY child who bit someone, oh, my, how I can remember the details.

Monkey has three victims: his three closest buddies. The very first time he bit someone, he was on one of those rocking horse on springs types of things and bit his friend's shoulder who was sitting in front of him. I was absolutely horrified. I literally stopped breathing for a few seconds and was completely mortified. It's a different kind of hurt than when your child accidentally knocks into another child on the playground. This is on purpose. This is another child crying because your child hurt them. This is something that could make the mom of the bitee not want her child to have anything to do with yours. This is a sick feeling that you get, wondering if this is going to continue and you're going to have to keep your child in seclusion for years, waiting for this phase to pass.

Fast forward 6 months, back on that same horse, but a different friend sitting in front of him. Another bite. Not quite sure what his reasoning was about that horse and biting, but he's never allowed on it again.

About 6 more months, Monkey and another friend were playing dinosaurs: he was a dinosaur and his friend was pretending to be dinosaur food. At least I could see the reasoning behind that one. Didn't make me feel any better, but it's different than just a random vicious attack.

No more bites from him since and it's been over a year.

Bear has two victims. The first was shortly after Cub was born, so about 9 months ago. He bit a little girl in his Sunday school class. I'm not really sure what happened, though I was so post-partum hormonal crazy that I sobbed for at least half an hour after I found out.

His other victim was just last week. He bit a little girl in his preschool class. His teacher said that the little girl had a truck that Bear wanted, so he bit her hand. Complete mortification.

As an added bonus, his preschool has a two-bite-and-you're-out policy. So, not only am I worried about him biting someone, but this has even worse consequences. Kicked out of school for being a biter. Oh, my.

My kids biting another child. It's an awful, terrible thing. I talked to them, punished them, talked some more, gave reminders, and lived in constant fear of it happening again.

No one wants their kids to get hurt, but it was much easier on me to have my child be the bitee than for him to be the biter. It hurt him and it was awful, but it was over quickly and I really wasn't afraid of it happening again. No one was judging my child for it, no one was judging me for it. The same cannot be said when your child is the biter.

It's easy to sympathize with the mom of the bitee, but know that while it's a different kind of pain, the mom of the biter is experiencing an entirely different kind of anguish.

***Just as an aside, Bear's preschool teacher had a great suggestion about discouraging your child from biting. No, it's not biting your child back- my kids would think that biting didn't hurt if I did that, since I would not be able to bring myself to bite my child so that it actually hurt. Her suggestion was to dip a q-tip in listerine and swab the child's gums with it right after he bites someone. That tiny bit shouldn't hurt them, but it will be an unpleasant and uncomfortable feeling for them. Now, I'm not a doctor and there may be something physically wrong with this, so you might want to check, but I thought it was a pretty nifty suggestion.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The Food Nazi

Around here it's not "No soup for you!", it's "No food for you!"

And dang, do I feel mean as a snake for saying it.

But, the big boys are getting ridiculous in the amounts of food they claim they need to eat.

It starts about 15 minutes after breakfast. After a BIG breakfast, where they get plenty to eat. Monkey will say, "I'm still a little bit hungry." And Bear will say, "I need a nack."(snack for those of you not down with the 2 year old Bear-ese.)

And so it goes ALL DAMN DAY.

I feed my kids, I really do.

In fact, they eat A LOT. Three meals and three snacks a day. And they eat well at those times. There's no freaking way that they need more than that to eat.

One problem is that they are starting to want to eat just because we have something yummy in the house. It's not that they are really full, they just want some yogurt since it's there.

Another reason is boredom. We're not out and about as much as we are used to due to this miserable winter where at least one of the boys is sick almost all the time.

But, I think they are also doing it because it's fun to watch Mommy lose her grip.

On Monday, when the littles were taking their after-lunch naps, Monkey and I watched a movie and he ate almost an entire bag of microwave popcorn- the big bag, and this was shortly after a lunch of a pb&j, yogurt, an orange, and a glass of milk. I kid you not, TEN MINUTES after he was done with the popcorn, he told me that he was still kind of hungry.

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Even if they are going through a growth spurt, this is still asking for way too much. And they DO eat their meals, so it's not a matter of being picky eaters. I told them I need to take them to the doctor to be checked for tapeworms. I can't find any other explanation. Maybe they are just going to give me a preview of what life will be like with three teenage boys in the house.