Now I Remember...

why I love blogging so much. I can do something I enjoy while being productive, which makes me feel less guilty for not doing the other things that I should be doing but don't enjoy... like dishes, laundry, and assorted other duties of someone who lives with 4 other people who don't like to do any of that stuff either.

Currently, the kids are pretending to "rest" -- except Sam, who is like his father in the fact that he relishes a 6-hour nap in the middle of the day, so I have a few moments to breathe... which I need, considering that Sam has given me heart failure twice in the span of less that 24 hours.

Both experiences are actually parenting firsts for me -- something I find unusual considering I thought I'd already covered a good bit of territory with the first two. Anyway, yesterday was the first time I've ever been at home alone when one of the kids got hurt bad enough to bleed.

I should preface this by saying that I do not normally mind blood, but if it happens to come from one of my children, it totally freaks me out. The first time Ethan busted his lip, I hyperventilated and almost passed out.

Over time, I've learned to at least semi-disguise my reactions, and I actually thought that maybe I was getting over my fear until Sam bounced his face off of the ledge of a stair yesterday.
I didn't throw up, which surprised me, but:

1- I did set him on the counter and leave him unattended while rummaging through the freezer for one of those bleepity-bleep frozen "boo-boo" compresses that are always everywhere to be found when I don't need them -- like when I'm looking for the real ice packs to insulate a cooler -- and nowhere to be found when I need them -- like when my youngest offspring is bleeding profusely from the mouth.

Thankfully, Sam was too distraught to realize that he was finally up on the counter, so he didn't try to jump off, climb to the top of the cabinet, or clear my everyday dishes off of the shelves.

2- He did, however, help himselves to some grapes, which didn't concern me until I realized that the grapes hadn't been washed and that he was probably consuming some kind of pesticide/grocery store funk that would make him sick.

This freaked me out even more... leading me to think it was a good idea to try to rinse his mouth out... which seemed to be working until I realized that I was patting the lip he had just busted on the stairs.

Oops.

At any rate, Sam hasn't tried to run up the stairs once since yesterday; I think he learned his lesson... or I scarred him for life. One or the other.

Today, Sam decided to top his bleeding escapade yesterday by drinking water from the toilet.

Just typing that makes me gag.

The toilet fascination is something I don't understand. Ethan had no use for the potty whatsoever when he was a toddler. In fact, he avoided it -- and wearing diapers -- if at all possible.

Laney was different, which I chalked up to her being Laney. She didn't drink out of the toilet, but she did like to play in it. I'm pretty sure I posted pictures to the blog when she combed her hair with water from the toilet, which also made me gag as well as become a firm believer in the importance of sanitizing one's children.

Sam, well... he just does things his own way. First, he swiped my favorite Tervis tumbler. Normally, this would have immediately resulted in me retrieving said tumbler, but I was in the middle of solving some other critical delimma.

Sidenote: I'm pretty sure Sam planned this out in advance as revenge for me making him come inside without his prior approval.

Anyway, I hear rustlings in the bathroom. I don't worry immediately because the toilet lid is down, and Sam isn't one to exert enough effort to open it.

Until today.

Also, Sam normally just throws things... like his siblings' toothbrushes (replaced. No worries.)... into the toilet. He hasn't really shown interest in the water... just in destroying things via potty exposure.

Until today.

Today, Sam marched into the half-bath downstairs, just steps away from me, opened the lid, lowered my precious Tervis tumbler into the putred, disgusting potty water (although, I will take this moment to say that the toilet was flushed, so it could have been worse...), scooped up an unknown amount, and drank it.

Vomit.

I know this because I sent Laney to see what he was doing. She waited until he finished his cup o' vileness before she wrenched the cup out of his hand and brought it to me, proclaiming, "Mommy! Can you believe Sam just drank potty water?!"

No. No, I can't.

So I run into the bathroom to find Sam -- who apparently likes potty water -- trying to scoop some into his hands to drink.

Dry heaves and spine chills.

For the love. Is one uneventful day (or twenty) too much to ask?!?

My Sabbatical is Over...

So, it's summer, again... almost a year after my last post... and I'm laying down while the kids "rest" (code for shriek and run amuck behind closed doors while I pretend I don't hear them). I'm looking forward to a lovely mid-afternoon nap, nestled in the cool retreat of my sheets, where -- with a pillow over my ear -- I can't hear E & L beating the ever-living tar out of each other. I'm laying there, so happy that I could almost spit because I'm getting a nap, and I CAN'T GO TO SLEEP!!

Ridiculous.

As I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to think of something on my To Do list for today that I actually want to do, it dawns on me.

BLOG!

Yeah... so it's been a year... but that doesn't really count in cyberspace, does it? Anyway, here I am, cursing my sudden sleeplessness but kind of excited to rejoin the land of the blogging.

Let me start by saying that whoever made up that stupid adage about having three kids not being much different than having two should be kicked in the teeth. It wears me out. Ethan is 7 now, a lover of all that is rule-following and orderly. I did have to write him out of my will last night because he said that his daddy is the smartest person in the house.

I chalked it up to him being 7 and ignorant as to what "smart" means, but he certainly is not getting any of my boundless teacher wealth until he figures out which end is up.

Laney, the diva, is now 4 years old, and just as full of her princess power as ever. She lives to torment E, who in turn lives to make sure she follows every rule ever written in the history of man. She loves him, loves him, loves him, but sometimes, she just can't help herself. She has to break a rule... or seventy... and E just cannot abide the lawlessness.

She drives him absolutely nuts.


(Incidentally, I also wrote her out of the will because she said I was 3rd smartest -- Daddy, then Ethan, and then me. Absurd.)

Between the two of them, I have my hands full most days... but wait! I've got a great idea!! Let's throw in a third kid, disguised as a sweet child for the first 15 months of his life, and see how that goes.

Sweet baby Sam... oh where did you go? Sam has hit the Terrible Two stage early... by about 9 months. No one really believes me... with his cheek-pinching little grin and his frat boy curls, he pulls the women just like his older brother, but let me tell you -- he is, as of this point in his life, the devil in disguise.


Just ask the elderly lady he kicked whilst throwing a tantrum in CVS this morning.



(I had not written him out of the will up until that point because he has yet to voice a ridiculous opinion about the intelligence ranks in this household, but I'm in the process after he showed his rear this morning.)



This summer, for example, has been much like I think a summer with the circus would be. I fondly remember summers past when I was able to relax at the beach with a book or browse the local farmer's market or bookstore without much of a scene.

I should mention that those days are gone.



Recently, while on a trip to the grocery store, I ran into a friend. We stopped to chat for a few seconds, and when I turned around, Sam had emptied the entire endcap of Hot Wheels cars into the buggy.



All 47 of them -- in 4.2 seconds flat.



He, of course, smiles that sweet-Sam smile and starts his favorite chant (besides "Mommeee. Mommee. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." -- which I'm convinced is really his way of cursing): "Mine. Mine. Mine."



This chant is vaguely reminiscient of the sea gulls in "The Little Mermaid." Drives me insane because whatever he has usually is NOT his.



And so begins the processional of the mortified mommy (that'd be me) pushing the screaming meanie (that'd be Sam) through the rest of the store (because I refuse to make another trip) while other customers curse me, scurry from my path, and murmur things like, "Bless his heart! His mommy must've hurt his feelings!"



My bad. Sorry for not buying 47 Hot Wheels for the kid when the safety warning clearly states, "Small parts. Not intended for children under 3." He's not even 2!



We, of course, had prayer meeting once we (quickly) got to the car.



Should I mention that Sam stopped crying right after we exited the store? Par for the course, people.



Through all of this, I have one recurring thought: I am pretty sure that none of this was really covered in "What to Expect When You're Expecting."