If ever I deserve points, it's now.

Last week, Will was getting ready for bed, or rather NOT getting ready for bed when he should have. I told him to go to the bathroom multiple times, and finally I went downstairs to avoid some serious mama-meltdown. Surreptitiously snarfing chocolate (the vice of choice in the Ginger bread house), I heard a loud SLAM then a whole lot of screaming from the upstairs bathroom. I ran up there and Will was screaming, crying, slapping his private parts.

Yes. You guessed it. The toilet seat fell on his you-know-what.

Full of the milk of human kindness, I said something along the lines of, "If you hadn't been fooling around and if you had gone to the bathroom when I first asked you that wouldn't have happened." Logic notwithstanding. Whatever. Obviously I hadn't consumed enough chocolate and was still thoroughly annoyed.

Well, two days later, he said, "My bottom [that's what we call everything--front and back] is all different colors." I looked and sure enough, the tip was colorfully bruised. Ow.

Hockey Stink

Hockey is a stinky sport. Anyone who has been to a hockey rink can confirm this - just getting near the rink can sometimes make your eyes water. The solution to hockey stink is simple (clean and air your gear after every use) but requires dedication - slack off even a little and your stuff will stink fast. Since I have a particularly sensitive nose, we are champions of the fight against hockey stink. Our gear is aired and/or washed after every use and, while this causes a LOT of hockey laundry, it's worth it for the stunned looks when people realize how NICE we smell on the ice (I always find this amusing - we smell like fabric softener).

In addition to the gear, we're rigorous about washing the people who play. If you don't shower at the rink, you shower immediately upon getting home. This was a little contentious at first since they're on the ice 4-6 times each week and the boys couldn't believe I was serious about wanting them to shower so often...but it's become habit and my boys are regularly clean.

Chris has been commenting that the kids need haircuts for a few days and as I was busy being horrified by their party hair at dinner with his parents tonight, I realized they haven't had practice since Monday (holiday break)...so they haven't had showers since Monday. I whispered this to Chris, who vehemently denied that it'd been five days since they approached soap but he had to retract his denial because every shower he could think of had happened in relation to hockey. We exchanged furtive looks and poured his parents more wine. I swear they will get showers tomorrow! I also swear that one (or both) of them will vigorously shake his head and say, "I don't need to shower - I didn't have hockey today!"

7 Years and still lying

Andrew had a stuffed Dalmatian that he was very attached to at age 3. He named it "Dalmatian", and took it everywhere! We even had to take it with us when we went to the Eire County Fair. The ECF is one of the largest fairs in the country (or so they claim) and is a hoot. We took the wagon instead of the stroller for Lucas (then age 18 months or so) thinking it would be easier to drag around (it wasn't). We tried to convince Andrew to leave Dalmatian in the car so he would be safe, but he just had to come along. At some point he got too heavy and took a seat in the wagon with Lucas. In the miles of walking and dragging Lucas took the liberty to ease his boredom and tossed Dalmatian out. We did not discover his absence until we got to the car. I was not going back in to try and find him. Andrew had yet to notice so we drove away. I knew where the stuffed animal had be purchased and planned to stop on our way home and buy a replacement, hoping Andrew would not notice and start screaming before then. When I got to the store, they had the right stuffed dogs, just no more Dalmatians. Shear desperation made me purchase the black lab instead. I climb back in the car, bag in hand and hear Andrew say, "Hey, where's Dalmatian?" "Here he is honey," quickly removing the tags and handing the black lab to him. "Hey, what happened to his spots?" "Um, he was in the sun so long his spots grew together!"
I am still surprised that even at age 10, he has yet to figure out what a whopping lie that was, is. He mentioned it at dinner Christmas Eve, my husband and I exchanged looks, but continued to let it slide. Oh, one day this will catch up with me.

Truth be told, kid, I feel the same way...

On the evening of the Winter Solstice we give the girls one combined gift that in some way represents Earth and all its wonderful goodies. This year we gave them this very cool globe, which I'm pleased to say they find fascinating. Usually it's a one-gift night, but this year we were lucky enough to have my siblings-in-law, Chris and Sonya (better known as Aunt So-So), with us. My brother Steve and sister-in-law Joy (better known as Aunt Jo Jo) joined us for dinner as well.

Because Chris and Sonya were only passing through we figured we would let the girls open their Christmas gifts from them while they were there to see Kate and Sarah's smiling faces. It was nearly Kid Bedtime by the time we managed to gather in front of the tree to watch the girls rip open their presents. To Kate's delight, she received her very own copy of Mulan. "Oh, let's go watch it right now!" she said. We told her, no, that it was bedtime but she could watch it the next evening. This was unacceptable to Kate. "Pleeeeeease, just a little bit of it?!?" We held firm that it was time to go upstairs (Sarah was already laying on her blanket on the floor while insisting she wasn't tired.) Still Kate begged. Finally Uncle Steve said "No Kate, we're not watching Mulan. We're all going to watch porn." flatly, dismissively. Kate began the full-on whine, almost cry, wailing "I don't wanna watch porn!" and I realized for at least the 100th time that having a bunch of brothers isn't nearly as corrupting as having a bunch of uncles. I can't wait until she tells her teacher her uncle makes her watch porn. I plan to have hot coffee and scones at the ready for the nice social worker...

Mama needs earplugs.

Lauren woke up cranky today. At noon I put her down for a nap, rocked Oliver to sleep, and tried to get a short nap of my own.

When I checked on her a while ago, I found she had discovered the Vick's lotion in the drawer, and covered herself and her bunny and her pillow with it. Thank the fates it was the lotion and not the greasy gel stuff. I managed to keep calm. When I said "what did you do?" she replied, "I dirty! Need a bath now? No more nap, take a bath now."

Two hours later, she is STILL awake. She managed to wake her brother, and when I went in her room to get a clean diaper for him, I found that she had torn one of her books. To shreds. Mama got mad and yelled, and threatened to take all her books away (because, you know, great moms take their kids' books away).

Now she is standing at her baby gate wailing "I neeeeeed you mommy! Want you to sing to me now! I need you to hoooooooold me!"

I think if I continue to ignore her, she'll eventually take a nap. Right?

Another one for Santa

Got into Mama's makeup while Mama was in the kitchen doing dishes.

ETA: Oh, the pink? Indelible lipstick. Seriously, that stuff doesn't budge. Sometimes I apply it and then put gloss over it for 3 days, and I shower every day. Chez Stoll doesn't have cold cream, so after soap failed, I tried olive oil, which got most of it off, but not all...

December's Mine...Maybe More

Yesterday I picked the boys up at school and proceeded on my way to the gym to workout. I generally bring snacks for the kids when I do this because we do not go home first but I forgot the snacks yesterday. Fortunately I had not eaten all of my lunch and snacks from the day. I still had a pear and a ziploc container of pre-shelled pistachios. Since the kids like both I told them to share the snack and please be kinda quick but not too quick because they are eating nuts. Here is the rest of the conversation:

Me: Please eat only one nut at a time. And make sure you chew.

Kyle: Because you do not want us to choke and die?

Me: Yes.

Kyle: Why? I think you want us to die.

Me: WHAT??? Why in the world would you even think something like that?

Kyle: (Very matter of fact) Because you do not like us.

*Sigh* He is but 5. Can you tell how well things have been going in my house?

Me: I may not always like the things you do or the way you act, but I will always love you. And I would never want you to die.

Kyle: Ok.

Seriously. Where do they get this stuff?

Worst.Mama.Ever.

I'm telling the Big Guy

"What did you do wrong?"

"I eated a marker."

"I have to take your picture..." and post it on my blog "...and send it to Santa. He isn't going to like it."

"Okay." She said stoically, and posed for the mug shot.

When They Don't Even Have To Say, "Mama, I Don't Feel Good"

On Saturday, Ross played hockey without his usual flair. Another parent commented that he looked sick but I shrugged it off as Ross just being in a funk. Sunday dawned after we did. Chris got Ross out of bed for the early game, stuffed a little breakfast into him and was headed for the car when Ross said he had a headache. I suggested some Tylenol, which was taken, and off they went. Ross delivered another game that was off his usual playing style and sank into the couch when he got home, still in a funk.

Several hours later, I noticed that Ross was still on the couch, in pretty much the same position, without the TV on. We were blithely cleaning around him (it was reclaim the house from construction weekend) and he was just lolling there. I pointed out at least three times that it would have been nice to have his help but was too busy myself to urge him through tasks, so took the easier option and merely complained a bit.

At 1pm, Chris started cleaning the pumpkin we bought but never carved. He got it chunked and spread in the oven (seeds too, yum) and then, at 2pm, he took Lars to a birthday party. Ross was still on the couch.

Around 2:30pm, I took a break from reclaiming the dining room to deal with scraping and pureeing the pumpkin. At 4pm, Chris and Lars returned from the party. I was alternately cursing the huge pumpkin and our ancient food processor. Ross was still on the couch.

Chris was shocked that Ross was still on the couch. He seemed to think we should DO something, so the next time Ross woke up, I coaxed him into pajamas and left him on the couch. Why fight it?

Lars and Chris had eaten pizza at the party and Ross wasn't making any indications that he was hungry for dinner, so I made a little pumpkin soup for myself (Chris had some, too - it was good!) and had it with some cranberry goat cheese and crackers. Somewhere in the middle of my meal, Ross started puking. I glanced at the clock: 7pm. Well, I thought, there goes school tomorrow. At least I got the dining room back...

The Dog ate my homework

Lucas is in third grade and has a new list of spelling words that he brings home every Friday. We were good the first few weeks and made sure to help him practice. However, after several weeks of 100's we lazily slipped into merely posting the list on the fridge. This past Friday, I got even lazier and had Lucas post the list on the fridge. He didn't put it where I usually do - near the door handle - but much lower and more in the middle. I didn't see any problem with this and left it there (more laziness really). We went to a charming birthday party on Sun for about 3 hours. While we were gone, the dog decided to show her displeasure at to how much we were gone that day (church etc) and decided that Lucas' spelling words deserved to be reduced to shreds. Maybe Molly has a thing for spelling in general, because she used to steal the magnet letters off the fridge and eat those too. I told Lucas to be sure to tell his teach that his dog truly ate his homework and he needed another copy of the list (which we are sure to be too lazy to help him study anyway - maybe the dog will help!)

This mama needs a refresher course

Over November, Lindsay was doing her potty thing for pretty much anyone else but me. We have stepped up the stakes with the promise of Elmo panties. Today, after pooping in her diaper, Lindsay asked to have the Elmo panties. After making a pee-pee on the Big Potty, she got her wish.

"You can wear them until we have to go out to the grocery store."

Of course, I forgot she was wearing panties. We didn't even use the potty before we left.

So of course, as I am struggling to bag my own groceries and reload them into the front of the cart (because Lindsay has to sit in the back of the cart) and pay the cashier, Lindsay announces, "I made a poop on Elmo."

Oh no.

The diaper bag with the wipes in it that has been in the car overnight (in 30 degree weather) is in the car. It does not have a change of clothes in it.

I do the only thing I can do. I leave the store. I buckle my soiled child into her carseat. I drive home.

As it turns out, she is just wet. She is still wet, eating her lunch while I blog it.