Three Little Words

"So GET THIS."

Those were the first words I heard when I walked back in the house from the grocery store on Tuesday afternoon.  Knowing that those words never precede a calm story of how wonderfully the boys behaved, picked up and quietly read a book together on the sofa, I was immediately on edge.

We'd already had a tough day, and being something of an expert on rough and tough days, I felt fully qualified to rank it at that level.  But I wasn't sure exactly which piece of my day had put me over that edge. 

Was it the moment during breakfast when Cael unceremoniously dropped his pants to show me just exactly where the roaming Cheerio had sat up camp?  Was it the loud crash I heard while cleaning the kitchen that Cael explained away with "don't worry, Mom, that was just Graham's head on the wall!"?  Maybe it was when Cael peed in the upstairs bathroom only to discover that the chain had come loose or perhaps the one, two, three times that he continued to pee in there before remembering that it wasn't functional.  Who knows? 

So you can understand my hesitation when I heard Joel proclaim those three words, but I had no idea just how awful his story would be.

You see, we've had trouble lately with Graham spending excessive time in the bathroom.  Not because he's consumed one too many cheese snacks, but because his favorite pastime involves splashing in the sink and repeatedly washing his hands at near obsessive-compulsive levels. 

But that day, as Joel and Cael heard Graham splashing away, filling up his sippy cup in an effort to quench his thirst, a quick glance to the bathroom indicated that he was not at the sink at all, but in the toilet.  Drinking gulps of cool water that he'd retrieved from the bowl.

I shrieked and shuddered at the thought of my son drinking water from the toilet like a dog.  But just as the initial shock passed, I realized that the problem was much worse.  That bathroom was the same one where the chain had come loose earlier that morning.  The same one where Cael had been peeing, without flushing, all day long.

That's right... in the ten minutes I spent up the street getting two gallons of milk and a loaf of bread, my two year-old managed to drink his brother's pee. 

Would he get sick?  I knew that urine was sterile, but the toilet certainly wasn't.  I was incredibly grateful that I'd thought to clean the toilet only two days before, but I knew that, being the main bathroom in the house, it got frequent use from several people and the water was not safe for human consumption.

But Graham teetered off to the basement to continue his assault on our home and his digestive tract.  And even though he seems to have suffered no ill effects from his strange brew, I don't think I'll forget those three little words anytime soon.

News Flash

It's Wednesday, July 11, and this is the news.

Breaking News--  This just in!  Authorities have interrupted a burglary in progress.  In the early morning hours, 911 operators received an urgent phone call from a woman claiming to hear crashing noises coming from her kitchen.  When authorities arrived to investigate her claims, they intercepted the robber as he attempted to pocket several small items in shiny wrappers.  Before the suspect scampered off before he could be apprehended.

Authorities are asking for your help in locating the burglar.  He is described as between the ages of 3 and 5 with short, blonde curly hair and a mischievous smirk.  Any persons providing information leading to the capture of this villain will receive a lifetime supply of three year-old Halloween candy.

Culture--  Parents world-wide are jumping on the bandwagon of a new child-rearing craze inspired by two local boys, Cael and Graham Foreman.  These photos, first broken in this report, show the boys getting a very early start on person hygiene generally reserved for an older age bracket.  The Foreman brothers provided the following comment: 

"I'm gonna shave my back.  I is hairy!" stated Graham Foreman.

"Watch me put cream on my nipples!" said Cael Foreman, echoing his brother's sentiment.

Parenting experts hope that this trend toward achieving more mature goals will help prepare today's children for adulthood.  Joel and Mary Foreman are hoping the the boys will register to vote next year after changing the oil in the van and processing their 2012-2013 annual taxes. 


Politics--  As the election season approaches, pollers representing each candidate have been working to access pockets of the population that have not already been saturated with political commercials and propaganda.  When asked for his opinion on the upcoming election and which candidate he plans to support, Cael Foreman, 4, shared his interest in supporting non-traditional candidates and parties.

"What is voting?  I want to be the prezdent.  No, no, no, no, no, no no.  I'm gonna be the KING of our house.  And I can be the KING of all the people in the whole wide world!"

Clearly hoping for a respectable number of write-in votes, Mr. Foreman went on to suggest that he will be recommending Graham Foreman as his Vice President and Oscar Foreman as his Secretary of Peeing in the House.


Arts & Entertainment--  Fans have been multiplying and the airwaves have been monopolized by the unique sound of a new band on the music scene.  The band, who identifies themselves as "The Poop and Toot Band", is currently dominating the "alternative" charts, but is wildly unpopular with listeners over 18.  One 29 year-old woman described their sound as "painful and headache-inducing" and suggested that many of the band's singles could "drive people to drink".  Despite the ongoing controversy, it is likely that the band will make an encore performance whenever those nearby are either on the phone or attempting to sleep.   

The Poop and Toot Band - Associated Press

Weather--  Lastly, community members continue to express concern for the ongoing lack of rain and excessive heat plaguing our region.  We turn to meteorologist Bubba-Doo for his insight regarding our current weather conditions.



And that is the news for the day.  We'll see you next time.

Littlest Comic Standing

I'm about to jinx myself.  Are you ready?

Things have been pretty slow around here lately.  There have been no major injuries, felonies or tragedies to document.  And for a brief moment, I was worried that we'd lost our edge-- that my boys had teetered over the edge and become normal.  But just as I began to question the sustainability of this blog, Cael reminded me that he is anything but a normal kid.

I could provide a million reasons to support that claim.  If I had the time and could afford the ink, I'd type them all up and have them printed and bound like the "scholarly articles" I buried my nose in during my senior seminar in college.  The only difference is that my final paper in that course, "The Effect of Facial Symmetry on Attraction and Mate Selection", was 76 pages long, and a compilation of Cael's quirkiness would easily top 300 pages.  Easily.

But I don't have that much energy, so today I refer you to Reason #127, the fact that my four year-old has taken to reciting bits from Jim Gaffigan's comedy routine about Hot Pockets.  (More specifically, the part where he talks about buying toilet paper.)



Granted, his delivery is a little unorthodox, but maybe the squirmy lack of eye contact is the newest rage in stand-up comedy.  (Skip ahead to 2:20 to see the part of Jim's routine that Cael is mimicking.)

 

Or maybe the kid is just not normal.  Either way, I think he's awesome just the way he is.

Riding in Cars With Boys

Going anywhere with a two and four year-old is a scary proposition.  If one isn't kicking the back of your seat, the other is making faces or lewd gestures at oncoming traffic.  Or if you're especially lucky like me, one will throw a sandals that will get lodged under the brake pedal of your car and you'll have a minor heart attack when you think you might smash into the back of a trailer of smelly hogs.  And even though you might manage to remove said shoe and stop the vehicle before impact, you can rest assured that one will have some choice words about your driving skills.

"Jeez, Mommy.  Watch where you're going."

In our van, the words are the main source of any angst we experience as we drive down the road.  The boys are constantly egging one another along, slinging insults and epithets.  Surprisingly, we hung on for two years before crying "uncle" and moving Cael to the third row of the van and plunging us all into virtual silence.  Graham fell asleep.  Cael looked hypnotized.  I reminisced about life before children. 

It was glorious.

It was also short-lived.  It took all of about two car rides for Cael to discover that if he couldn't physically target Graham from a distance, it would be just as pleasurable to torment me with words as repetitively mind-numbing as water torture.

"Mommy, whose house is that?"

"I don't know, honey."

"But whose house is that?"

"I don't know those people either."

"Why you don't know ANYBODY?"

"I know lots of people, but I didn't know the people in those two houses."

"Okay, who lives in that house?"

"That's not a house, it's a garage."

"Whose garage is that?"

Crap.  "I don't know, Cael."

"I thought you knew people, Mommy."

"How about I show you a house of some people I do know?"

"Fine."

I thought about pointing to the next house we approached and claiming an acquaintance with the inhabitants, but knowing Cael, during our next walk he'd promptly approach their door and, given our close personal "friendship" with these people, forgo any formalities and either ask to poop in their toilet or see their nuts.  We wouldn't be friends for long, I'm afraid.

"Okay, I know the people that live in this brick house."

"Who are they?"

"They go to our church.  Maybe they'll be there this morning." 

"What about that house?" Cael asked, while pointing to a house one block over.

"Nope, I don't know them."

Cael let out an exasperated huff and launched in on me with the same tone he used to chastise me about my driving. 

"Mom!  This is ridiculous!  Don't you know any people at all?  I thought you were a grown-up!  Don't all grown-ups know the other grown-ups?  When I'm a grown-up I'm going to know all of the other grown-ups and I'll know where everybody lives and I'll go in everyone's house every day.  And then when I'm a Daddy I'll tell my kids where everybody lives and where their houses are and who lives there in that house, there.  I'm gonna know people.  And grown-ups.  And adults, too.  But not squirrels."

There really wasn't much to say after an outburst like that, and I was just happy for the quiet anyway, so I reveled in the brief silence as we pulled into church.  But like all good things, it too was short-lived.

"Mommy, I know who lives here."

"This isn't a house, honey, it's our church."

"Yeah, but God lives here.  And He's a grown-up.  And He knows people.  And squirrels."

Born Free

I was never born for confrontation, for serious conversation or to be the voice of reason in an otherwise difficult time.  I thrive in the everyday dullness of life, in the daily grind of diapers and crayons and wet feet in the grass.  But that's the great thing about America-- I get to make my decisions for myself, and I chose a husband who does all of those things for me.

With his capacity for intensity, Joel like to take every opportunity to talk with the boys about serious matters, and yesterday was no exception.  As we ate turkey sandwiches and homemade macaroni and cheese, Cael asked to know our plans for the day. 

 "Mommy, what is happening today?"

"Well, it's the Fourth of July, so later tonight we will go see fireworks."

Since my kids are inherent destroyers, the prospect of viewing explosives being detonated in the sky as we sweat our diaper-clad rear ends off is as exciting as Christmas morning.  Just hotter.

"AWESOME!  But why are we watching fireworks today?"

And this is where Joel's patriotism lights up like a sparkler at night.

"Cael, today is Independence Day!  What country do we live in?"

"Iowa?"

"Nope, that's our state.  Our country is America.  And a long, long time ago--"

"--A long time ago with dinosaurs?"

"No, Cael, way after dinosaurs.  Anyway, a long time ago, some people came to this country to start a new life.  And we had to fight very long and hard, but when the war was over we got to be free.  That means that no one could tell us what to do or what to think.  How awesome is that?"

"Awesome like dinosaurs?"

Yeah, I was pretty sure he didn't get it.  Even after I prompted him to imagine what life must be like in some places where he would be told what to believe and how to live his life, he was unable to envision a world where Spinosaurus obsessions weren't allowed.

Then again, I can't envision a world where I couldn't choose to marry an overly confident, Airstream obsessed, enthusiastic jazz musician with an affinity for ice cream and beer signs.  Ah, America.

 "Cael, freedom is just about the greatest thing in the world.  What do you think IS the best thing?"

"Dinosaurs?"

"Nope.  Even better."

"Cookies?"

"Way better than cookies.  Who makes all of those things possible?" 

"God?"

"That's right!  God gives us dinosaurs and cookies and freedom.  And he gave you parents that love you a LOT.  And he also gave us soldiers that are willing to fight for us to keep us safe and free."

"Who do the soldiers fight, Daddy?  Dinosaurs?"

"No, Cael.  There are no dinosaurs in this story.  The soldiers fight the people that want to hurt us or take away our freedom.  That's why we always say 'thank you' when we see a soldier, right?"

"Right."

"Now you understand why we celebrate Independence Day!"

"Yeah, okay.  Now about the dinosaurs..."

Ism of the Week

"Mommy, that was so funny last night when Daddy was naming all the fireworks!"

"Yeah, that was pretty funny." 

"I liked the "fizzling firebox" best because that's from Thomas!"

"I thought you'd like that one.  And the fireworks were really cool, right?"


"Yeah.  And I have a name for those big red ones that were so loud."

"You named those?  Okay, let me hear it."

"That big red one is called a "Toot in my Bottom!"

Yep, sounds pretty accurate.

Stormy Weather

Do you remember last summer when I shared with you about how Oscar, by far the neediest mammal I know, is so violently disturbed by thunderstorms that he withers into a tiny pile of whiny white fur?  At that time, I was testing out our new Thundershirt to see if it truly would alleviate his storm anxiety. 


It didn't.

At even the quietest grumble of thunder, the mutt is circling under my feet and ironically enough, forcing me to trip over him and hurdle to the floor in a loud thud that begins a whole new whimper-cower-shake cycle.  So when the mother of all thunderstorms rolled into our town last weekend, I was shocked to see that Oscar wasn't the most anxious body in the house.

About an hour before the storm hit, I began to get phone calls and picture texts from Joel as he drove home from a meeting out of town.  Being from Seattle, he still struggles to adjust to the violent lightning storms we get in the Midwest and nearly shrieks like a girl when I like to watch the swirling clouds or peek my head outside to feel the eerie green calm that precedes a storm.

But as it turns out, his fears were justified.  The darkness rolled in like the apocalypse and the wind whirled around us and took our breath away.  We all hunkered down inside, thankful that there was no tornado warning to add to our anxiety, and watched as our deck furniture took flight and chunks of trees flew through the air and into our yard.

It was at that point that Joel was no longer the biggest worrier in the house, because Cael, normally not one to let the weather affect his mood, became alarmed by the flying debris. 

"Mommy, did you see that?  A branch just fell down!"

"Yep, that happens sometimes when it storms."

"Oh, there was a whole tree!"

"I didn't see a whole tree.  I think you might have imagined that one." 


"Nope, I saw it.  Right there-- did you see that?  A donkey just went by this window!"

"There are no donkeys around here, Cael."

"Yes there are.  And now I saw Papa flying!"

Sure puts the flying cow from Twister into perspective.

Despite Cael's exaggerations, and ignoring the fact that I had to check for an errant donkey just in case, I was impressed with everyone's ability to keep their cool during the scary thunderstorm. 

Everyone except Oscar, and his puddle of pee on the carpet.


Have a wonderful 4th of July!  I'll be back on Thursday with more antics to share.  You pray for good weather.