I am putting this in a post as it seems to be easier to slap into my iPhone as compared to getting up and walking to my bedroom to pick up my journal.
My boys all have a few words they've been saying or using and they each make me smile.
Whenever something tastes good, or would be considered "delicious", he smiles real big and says, "Mmmm! Ba-LISH-shush! L has been following suit with that and says something similar, "A-LISH-shush".
G refers to the home video television show as "America's Funniest HomeTOWN Videos" and he doesn't believe me when I tell him it's not "hometown".
B has been calling everyone "Bob" when he's upset at them. Rather than a derogatory name (thank goodness), he juts out his chin and says, "You Bob!" Quite hilarious.
Do your kids have any funny words or phrases that they say regularly (or maybe some that have stuck with you?)
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Poked and Prodded
I've finally started to share this blog site with some people through Facebook connections. I'm feeling a bit more pressure to add posts, and although every day of my life feels like a comedy show with a dramatic ending (no tears, just wine), I feel the need to reach back into my ol' memory pocket and dig out some good stuff. I would hate to forget these stories when I'm decorating the garage for a high school graduation party...
payback will be such sweet, sweet revenge.
I was stepping out of the shower one day this past summer when the twins had just turned 3. As I'm reaching forward to grab my towel, I feel two little hands start to spread my butt cheeks apart. I whipped around to my right to see B looking up at me with big eyes. He was so curious!!! I'm sure he just wanted to know if mama had a butt hole like he and his brother do.
I waved his little hand out from my backside and said, "Get. out. of. there!" As I proceeded to turn back around to actually grab the towel, I feel a FINGER in my front portion of my "privates"! Poking me. Right. there.
ARGH!!!!
"What are you doing?!?! I said, GET.OUT.OF.THERE!!"
Mr. Innocent Eyes looks up at me and says, "Mama, you got a penis in there?"
"NO, I DO NOT HAVE A PENIS IN THERE ! NOW GET OUT OF HERE AND GIVE ME SOME EVER LOVING PRIVACY!!!!!!"
B leaves the bathroom as calmly and quietly as he most likely entered it. Probably just shrugging his shoulders and still confused as to why he didn't see my penis.
I dried off, wrapped myself in my towel and proceeded to walk to my dresser in which I was going to immediately put my bra and underwear on. Well, you guessed it. My little audience was still present. I turned my back to B while I put my unders on and then turned to start fastening my bra. Mr. Curious-Innocent Eyes-Never-Fails-To-Miss-A-Beat watches me intently.
"Mama, those your boobies? Your boobies go in there?"
Calmly. Quietly. "Yes, honey. These are my boobies, and they go in here".
Two days later I made a special trip to the mall. I purchased a bathrobe.
payback will be such sweet, sweet revenge.
I was stepping out of the shower one day this past summer when the twins had just turned 3. As I'm reaching forward to grab my towel, I feel two little hands start to spread my butt cheeks apart. I whipped around to my right to see B looking up at me with big eyes. He was so curious!!! I'm sure he just wanted to know if mama had a butt hole like he and his brother do.
I waved his little hand out from my backside and said, "Get. out. of. there!" As I proceeded to turn back around to actually grab the towel, I feel a FINGER in my front portion of my "privates"! Poking me. Right. there.
ARGH!!!!
"What are you doing?!?! I said, GET.OUT.OF.THERE!!"
Mr. Innocent Eyes looks up at me and says, "Mama, you got a penis in there?"
"NO, I DO NOT HAVE A PENIS IN THERE ! NOW GET OUT OF HERE AND GIVE ME SOME EVER LOVING PRIVACY!!!!!!"
B leaves the bathroom as calmly and quietly as he most likely entered it. Probably just shrugging his shoulders and still confused as to why he didn't see my penis.
I dried off, wrapped myself in my towel and proceeded to walk to my dresser in which I was going to immediately put my bra and underwear on. Well, you guessed it. My little audience was still present. I turned my back to B while I put my unders on and then turned to start fastening my bra. Mr. Curious-Innocent Eyes-Never-Fails-To-Miss-A-Beat watches me intently.
"Mama, those your boobies? Your boobies go in there?"
Calmly. Quietly. "Yes, honey. These are my boobies, and they go in here".
Two days later I made a special trip to the mall. I purchased a bathrobe.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Brutal Honesty
Holy heavens, my twin sons are ridiculous honest. They see an overweight person and there is no hesitation before one of them will yell, "Hey, you got a big belly!" or "Whoa, big butt". The interesting part is, they are truly not trying to be disrespectful or rude. They are just plain honest! I suppose this is what a parent of an autistic child may deal with on a daily basis; autism tends to hinder that whole social piece...what is appropriate to say aloud, and what we need to keep to ourselves.
I don't have any reason to believe that either of my children are on the autism spectrum as of yet (concerns? Or course! But also thoughts of ADHD, OCD, and other behavior disorders, but I really do think it's just their age!) however I am trying so hard to teach them that it is NOT OKAY to say exactly what they see, or what is on their mind! It has come to the point where I will actually start to perspire in my armpits, and I can feel my face flushing through my cheeks whenever I see an overweight or obese person coming near us. I will quickly grab a shoulder, turn him away from said person and try to distract with whatever it is I can think of to do so.
We were at the farmers market this past summer and a heavy woman was bending full over looking at flowers. B points, and yells, "Whoa, big butt!" loud enough for those living in Texas to hear him. AH!
Just two weeks ago, at the local bowling alley, L walked up to a very heavy man (so heavy in fact, he couldn't sit at the table, he was turned away from it and eating), and pointed to his belly and said as serious as ever, "You got a big belly!" I'm not sure what the man said in response, as I was whisking my child out of the restaurant area so fast we left skid marks.
I'm hoping it's just a phase they grow out of, and with repeated attempts at my explanations that it is NOT OKAY to say anything about someone's butt, belly, penis, or boobs, they they may figure it out by the time they are teenagers.
Wish me luck!
I don't have any reason to believe that either of my children are on the autism spectrum as of yet (concerns? Or course! But also thoughts of ADHD, OCD, and other behavior disorders, but I really do think it's just their age!) however I am trying so hard to teach them that it is NOT OKAY to say exactly what they see, or what is on their mind! It has come to the point where I will actually start to perspire in my armpits, and I can feel my face flushing through my cheeks whenever I see an overweight or obese person coming near us. I will quickly grab a shoulder, turn him away from said person and try to distract with whatever it is I can think of to do so.
We were at the farmers market this past summer and a heavy woman was bending full over looking at flowers. B points, and yells, "Whoa, big butt!" loud enough for those living in Texas to hear him. AH!
Just two weeks ago, at the local bowling alley, L walked up to a very heavy man (so heavy in fact, he couldn't sit at the table, he was turned away from it and eating), and pointed to his belly and said as serious as ever, "You got a big belly!" I'm not sure what the man said in response, as I was whisking my child out of the restaurant area so fast we left skid marks.
I'm hoping it's just a phase they grow out of, and with repeated attempts at my explanations that it is NOT OKAY to say anything about someone's butt, belly, penis, or boobs, they they may figure it out by the time they are teenagers.
Wish me luck!
Friday, March 15, 2013
More Heavy than Funny
I'm not even sure how many people read this site. I'm thinking the numbers are low as I am not very regular at posting, and I don't advertise or announce the site. Therefore I will take a quick moment to use this as a journal entry...cause I can.
Things are okay around here. We are quickly approaching the one-year anniversary to Tim's dad Gary's death, and then his mom Judy's is only another 2 quick months following that. The year has seemed to fly by and although they cross my mind often, it seems as they have been on my mind a lot lately. Grief is weird like that; sometimes you can think of them and a quick smile will suffice. Other times, something hits me hard, like a brick to the gut, and my eyes instantly well up with tears and I feel that their death still seems so surreal. I was there, I know they are gone...
but man. Did it ever happen quickly, in the overall scheme of things.
Just the other day, I was heading into G's school for his kindergarten music program. Another mom from the classroom was helping what appeared to be her grandmother (maybe her mother?) get out of the car and begin using her walker. As they came down the hallway, even though this woman looked nothing like Judy, I found myself kind of contorting her into Judy. Does that make sense? Like as I stared at her, I actually saw Judy coming into the room. It was so strange, and an overwhelming sadness stretched over me and my eyes started to fill. Just weird.
The boys talk of Grandma and Grandpa Fox often as well. Especially L, my little sensitive one. He's often say, "Grandma Fox...." in a whiny voice. And then when I say, "Do you miss her, sweetie?" He will say, "When she come back?" It's sad. I know that they won't always remember her they way they do right now. In fact, within another year, they will only know of their grandparents what we share with them, or by the stories or pictures we share. That makes me sad...kids should always have their grandparents. I feel I was too young to lose my own precious Grammy at the age of 17. But at least my memories of her are my own, and not just told to me.
Anyhow, I know this is a heavy post and not much related to what I usually try to post. Every day is a zoo around here and my house is often destroyed and my patience is usually gone by 11 am. But once this damn snow stops falling and we can get outside more I am praying that the days go by smoother and summer will be here before we know it.
Things are okay around here. We are quickly approaching the one-year anniversary to Tim's dad Gary's death, and then his mom Judy's is only another 2 quick months following that. The year has seemed to fly by and although they cross my mind often, it seems as they have been on my mind a lot lately. Grief is weird like that; sometimes you can think of them and a quick smile will suffice. Other times, something hits me hard, like a brick to the gut, and my eyes instantly well up with tears and I feel that their death still seems so surreal. I was there, I know they are gone...
but man. Did it ever happen quickly, in the overall scheme of things.
Just the other day, I was heading into G's school for his kindergarten music program. Another mom from the classroom was helping what appeared to be her grandmother (maybe her mother?) get out of the car and begin using her walker. As they came down the hallway, even though this woman looked nothing like Judy, I found myself kind of contorting her into Judy. Does that make sense? Like as I stared at her, I actually saw Judy coming into the room. It was so strange, and an overwhelming sadness stretched over me and my eyes started to fill. Just weird.
The boys talk of Grandma and Grandpa Fox often as well. Especially L, my little sensitive one. He's often say, "Grandma Fox...." in a whiny voice. And then when I say, "Do you miss her, sweetie?" He will say, "When she come back?" It's sad. I know that they won't always remember her they way they do right now. In fact, within another year, they will only know of their grandparents what we share with them, or by the stories or pictures we share. That makes me sad...kids should always have their grandparents. I feel I was too young to lose my own precious Grammy at the age of 17. But at least my memories of her are my own, and not just told to me.
Anyhow, I know this is a heavy post and not much related to what I usually try to post. Every day is a zoo around here and my house is often destroyed and my patience is usually gone by 11 am. But once this damn snow stops falling and we can get outside more I am praying that the days go by smoother and summer will be here before we know it.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Trimmin'
One of my three-year-olds bursts into the bathroom this morning while I was taking a shower. As we have a glass-door shower, he presses his face up against the glass and studies my actions intently for a moment before exclaiming, "Mom. You trimming' yer nuts?!"
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Karma's a Bitch. Then you step in puke.
When I was younger, I had a very sensitive stomach, especially in the evening hours. My poor mother. She put me on the top bunk and I swear I barfed in that bed at least once per week on average. But she never made me move to the bottom bunk, where I believe it would have been a whole lot easier to clean up?
Anyhow, she always told me that she herself had a sensitive stomach as a child and therefore she used to cut out most everything that I could eat after 6:30 pm. I remember she would never let me eat nuts, unless I "chew them up really fine", and I couldn't eat apples as I puked them up once or twice. I think I was limited to a piece of dry toast or crackers if I was hungry after supper.
For all those brown, chunky, puke stains I made my mom clean up during all hours of the night, karma has once again proven to be a bitch and I find myself (or send my husband??) cleaning up puke more often than not recently. A few night ago, my oldest son G woke us up and told us he barfed in a bucket in his room. I have to give the kid credit, he has great aim. He has a permanent puke bucket in his room due to my own childhood issues, and the few times he's yakked, he's been a good shot.
Last night however, we sent him to bed after eating a good load of super-buttery popcorn (you'd think we'd learn?) and as he was having a sleep over with his best friend, we let both boys sleep on the floor of his room in their sleeping bags. At 4:45 am, I am awakened by a vomit-breathed little boy telling me he just puked on his floor, and then in the toilet. I woke my husband up and we started collecting the cleaning supplies: garbage can, paper towels, rags, carpet cleaning spray and Febreeze. As we walked into his bedroom, trying hard not to wake the sleeping friend, the room absolutely wreaked of sour vomit, and I had to start breathing through my mouth to avoid a gag. I started to look around for this vomit pile and couldn't see one. I peered over the bed, and in doing so, took a step closer to the sleeping bag where Gage had been sleeping. I still didn't see any vomit, so I turned toward the door and in doing so....
slowly stepped in a pile of barf.
In my bare feet.
Anyhow, she always told me that she herself had a sensitive stomach as a child and therefore she used to cut out most everything that I could eat after 6:30 pm. I remember she would never let me eat nuts, unless I "chew them up really fine", and I couldn't eat apples as I puked them up once or twice. I think I was limited to a piece of dry toast or crackers if I was hungry after supper.
For all those brown, chunky, puke stains I made my mom clean up during all hours of the night, karma has once again proven to be a bitch and I find myself (or send my husband??) cleaning up puke more often than not recently. A few night ago, my oldest son G woke us up and told us he barfed in a bucket in his room. I have to give the kid credit, he has great aim. He has a permanent puke bucket in his room due to my own childhood issues, and the few times he's yakked, he's been a good shot.
Last night however, we sent him to bed after eating a good load of super-buttery popcorn (you'd think we'd learn?) and as he was having a sleep over with his best friend, we let both boys sleep on the floor of his room in their sleeping bags. At 4:45 am, I am awakened by a vomit-breathed little boy telling me he just puked on his floor, and then in the toilet. I woke my husband up and we started collecting the cleaning supplies: garbage can, paper towels, rags, carpet cleaning spray and Febreeze. As we walked into his bedroom, trying hard not to wake the sleeping friend, the room absolutely wreaked of sour vomit, and I had to start breathing through my mouth to avoid a gag. I started to look around for this vomit pile and couldn't see one. I peered over the bed, and in doing so, took a step closer to the sleeping bag where Gage had been sleeping. I still didn't see any vomit, so I turned toward the door and in doing so....
slowly stepped in a pile of barf.
In my bare feet.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Bathroom Buffet
Good Lord. I say it over and over and over again. There is never a dull moment 'round these parts! I took 10 minutes to put clothes away in a bedroom and during that time my children were creating an all-you-can-eat vegetable buffet in the sink of my downstairs bathroom! As I walked out of said bedroom, I see one 3 year old walking down the stairs with a pack of tortillas and the other 3 year old with a wooden spoon and spatula...
When I followed them downstairs, I knew it wouldn't be good. I found my oldest in the bathroom, washing carrots and broccoli in a sink full of water.
First of all, I am extremely repulsed by bathroom sinks. Not a whole lot bothers me and I'm nowhere near a "germaphobe". However the location in which one spits their toothpaste gargle is not the same place where one should be washing food designated for eating. Secondly, my oldest son (vegetable washer boy) is home from school ill today with the diarrhea! Therefore, he shouldn't be handling food meant for consumption today, regardless of where it is prepared.
The mess was minimal, and really did make me smile, however I just can't help but roll my eyes and wonder, "What next?"
When I followed them downstairs, I knew it wouldn't be good. I found my oldest in the bathroom, washing carrots and broccoli in a sink full of water.
First of all, I am extremely repulsed by bathroom sinks. Not a whole lot bothers me and I'm nowhere near a "germaphobe". However the location in which one spits their toothpaste gargle is not the same place where one should be washing food designated for eating. Secondly, my oldest son (vegetable washer boy) is home from school ill today with the diarrhea! Therefore, he shouldn't be handling food meant for consumption today, regardless of where it is prepared.
The mess was minimal, and really did make me smile, however I just can't help but roll my eyes and wonder, "What next?"
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