adult

Sometimes, I just feel like saying "nanny nanny boo boo," thumbs in my fingers and all.

You know. Cuz I'm mature like that.

I suppose that's not very humble either.

Hey, I never said I was perfect. Never ever.

Sometimes, being an adult is a tad overrated.


OH, but screams of "mom, mom" bring me back to reality.

LAter!

Regular

With kids, nothing's regular, and the non-regular is regular. Was that confusing?

A friend on Facebook today posted about her kids putting on all their pajamas and doing some sort of sumo-type wrestling. Certainly noteworthy and definitley something to file in the "crazy/hilarious things my kids have done" folder, but stuff like this happens everyday. Or, at least, a lot.

Sure, we get the regular sibling rivalry, arguments about bedtime, what to eat/wear/say, homework (though I haven't hit that one yet), and cleaning of rooms/picking up toys. But it's the things that happen in between all that... That's what makes it interesting, and totally worth staying along for the ride. Cuz otherwise, I'da been long gone. (Not really.)

There's the time when George was about 3 1/2, and having newly acquired the green light to urinate outdoors (once, in the country, where there was no bathroom), he took this to mean he could, and should, do that... all the time, everywhere. So of coarse, when were were sitting down for supper, and he jumps up from the table, runs out the front door, of coarse I would expect to find him with dropped trow peeing off my front steps. (And for those who don't know, my house conveniently sits on the corner of Main St and the county hiway that runs through town. No traffic. None whatsoever. pffft.)

Or the time he got soaked by the neighbor kids at the other end of the block who were playing with the sprinkler on a hot summer day. Rather than bike home in wet clothes, he just kindly removed his clothes, and biked home in his birthday suit.

Not to be forgotten is Koko's potty training oops of defacating on the lawn of that same neighbor. Much to their displeasure. (Hey, at least it wasn't in her pants. Glad I didn't have to clean it up.) Unfortunatly, this was disclosed, one dad to another, and she was not invited back to their house. (Not that I minded. And I later busted their kids (6 and 8 maybe?) for smoking in the garage.)

Cheeks recently gave Grammie a nice goodbye send off by stepping out in her underwear and wildly waving her booty at her. I'm not sure if there was cheek slapping or not. I wouldn't put it past her. (That one still give me a chuckle.)

Not to be left out of the nude theme, Boots can often be found running around the house without a diaper on. (Inside.) Today he decided to take his act outdoors. He likes to escape, so I have an alarm on my doors that tells me when he has gone outside (as it no longer prevents him from going, it merely alerts me). Two steps behind him, I find the door closed, and he is standing on the steps in socks, his shirt and a camoflage cap. That's it. Of coarse, in the 10 seconds he was outside, 2 cars drove by. At least his buns are cute.

Not all shenanigans are of the nude variety, I just happen to have more than my share of them. There are the stories of shaving cream, flour, or large containers of yogurt. Lets not forget jugs of laundry soap dumped out while sitting in the grocery cart. (Clothes probably came clean that day.) And we have plenty of goofy costume creations.

Growing up, I remember my mom and I sneaking upstairs to my room to check on my brothers who were in my closet, all decked out in my Sunday clothes, panythose, shoes and all.

My MIL has a story about one of her children (not my husband) who had gone missing. After searching the neighborhood for an hour or more, they found said child "locked" in the bathroom, having dismantled an entire box of maxi pads and stuck them all over the walls and backside of the bathroom door. (My brothers thought they were shoe inserts.)

Tonight we had interesting table conversation. Koko said "nipple." (Don't ask me how that came up.) George said "that's a naughty word." I explained that it wasn't a naughty word but that it was about a private part, and we just don't discuss our private parts everywhere. You know, cuz they're private. So those are things we don't talk about at school. Like "weiner" and "pee-pee". And some people call them penis and vagina.

Note: I don't particularly subscribe to the school of thought that all terms need to be medical. I don't even call my own vajayjay by it's medical name. And, in my humble opinion, I don't feel my 2 yr old needs to learn that term when she's potty training. Pee-pee and weiner work just fine for us. But for some reason, I felt the need to bring up these terms today. At the supper table.

Yes. LOTS of giggling ensued. It would have been less exciting if I woulda flashed my boobs to a group of 7 yr old boys.

And then I party pooped and made it unfunny (at least for that moment) (because I'm the mom and isn't that my job?) but mainly to get the point across that we don't talk about that stuff at school. Because then you might get in trouble. And I already had that experience with the principal about, ahem, inappropriate conversation.

But don't all regular people talk about vagina and penis at the supper table? I thought so.

In more regular events, it's exciting to see George learning to write and spell and try and spell words on his own and write things on his own. I think he feels power in that.

His favorite thing to write apparently is song lyrics. The first song was "I'm a country boy, got a 4-wheel drive..." Though it looked more like "imucunboig4wd", his skills have now grown (and maybe the words are easier), so "We will we will roc you" is the new one. I'm glad to see the only word he mispelled was rock. Granted, it's still a bit of a puzzle to read as there are no spaces between the words, but that just gives us something to work on over the summer. Either way, I find it wildly exciting, and have proud mommy moments at that. Hey, he wants to write, does it on his own, and likes it. YAY! I don't care what it is. Well, as long as it isn't swear words. I would have to secretly giggle guffaw big time over that.

Haha. He's talking in his sleep right now. Too funny.

So what are "regular" events at your house?

Cinco

because I'm so original...

I'm copying Alece at Grit and Glory, and making a "cinco de me-o" list. Since I've never done anything like this on my blog, why not? :D

You know you're dying to know random facts about me.

Here goes...

1. My toes have a mind of their own. They just move, independently of me. Or, rather, without my intention.
2. I hate lotion. It's slimy, greasyness. I prefer to not use lotion, though I know it has great benefits. Namely soft skin.
3. I have been blessed with 4 children who have eczema, or, at the least, seriously dry skin, and require an application of lotion/cream/oil at least once daily (actually, it should be 3 times daily). Because of the aforementioned aversion, they're lucky to get it once a day, and often times my (unnamed) child's booty looks like leprosy. (hangs head in shame).
4. I used to be a cuddler. Then I became a mom. Now I don't want anyone touching me when I'm sleeping. If my husband and I so much as touch toes, we both jerk away. (Note: this does not apply to newborns under 3 months.)
5. I don't like anyone folding my laundry. (Strangely, I'm not an anal folder, either, it's just the way I fold vs the way you fold.) I'm not normally a control freak, but this is one thing that I can't handle. And when the drawers get messed up, grrr. I wanna see heads roll. But... I can't. I just grumble and straighten. Given the state of drawers in the 4 others in this household that dress themselves, I'd better get over it and fast.
6. Addendum... Can I do 6? I like "justified." You know, when you set your side justification to either left, right center or "justified"? Yeah, it's so clean, and tidy. And I forget to do that almost everytime, and have to go back to a post and justify it. Bugs me when other bloggers don't do that. Sometimes I will be reading and want to go in and justify it myself. Then I realize it's not my blog. Yes, I've accepted I'm a weird perfectionist. I've gotten used to it.

So what about you? Tell me. I'm dying to know.

Ok, not really dying. I just said that for effect. And a comment or two maybe? Pretty please!