About a month ago, all Chloe could do was complain about “Dylan.” She would get off the bus and complain that “Dylan is SO loud! Dylan gets on my nerves! I hate Dylan! Blah, blah, blah.

About two weeks after that, she stepped off the bus, looked up at me with a crooked-teeth smile and asked, “Mom, can I have a play date with Dylan?”

“I thought you didn’t like Dylan?” I said.

“ILoveHimNowAndHe’sMyBoyfriend.”

My brain thought, “Oh shit, here we go.”

So, I told her that I didn’t have a phone number for Dylan (a small white lie, I suppose I could have looked it up in the directory). A week later she was home with a phone number. So, I guess I have to set up a time to hang out with Dylan.

Under strict parental supervision.

Her teacher even said that she can see that they’ve been very buddy-buddy. It’s quite cute. He’s cute. She’s cute.

It’s a big ol’ bucket of cute.

And hopefully not a glimpse into the future I’m gonna have to deal with.

It’s amazing the amount of uncontrollable giggles a few farts will produce. A whole farting song? Well, I think Becca almost peed herself

Enjoy what’s left of your weekend!

I’ll start by saying that it could have been worse.  I actually didn’t notice for a few hours.  (And I’m gonna apologize right now for not having any pictures) Here’s how it went down:

Our niece came over to visit with her two sons (the new one is just nine weeks old, super cute, and slept the whole visit).  Anyway, the girls were playing with their cousin, and they started to play school.  Outside.  Well, fine.  I saw Chloe walk by with a pair of safety scissors in her hand.  My magic mom sense told me that I should definitely question that.  So, I asked her just what exactly she was going to do with those scissors.  She told me that she was going to cut some paper.  Then, just following my gut (or maybe putting an idea in her head), I asked, “You’re not going to cut your hair with those scissors, are you?”  I just had a feeling.  She told me, “no.”  I made her promise, and she did.

They were playing school, we were chatting.  It was pretty hot outside that day, and the girls dug out the (extremely overpriced) spray fan that we got at Disney World.  They were spraying their faces and head to keep cool.

Fast forward to a couple of hours later.  I went out on the deck, and sat down in our little love seat.  As I look at the cushion next to me, I see a tuft of hair, at just about “Chloe-head” level.  So, I yell to Chloe.  She stands in front of me and I ask her, “Chloe, did you cut your hair?”

{{{{crickets chirping}}}}}

“Chloe, did you cut your hair?!?!?!?!”

First, about five seconds of  ”deer in headlights.”

Then, screaming, crying, and “I’m sorry, mom!”

I grabbed the brush and started checking out exactly how bad it was.  She cut the sides, which WAS over her ears.  Not any more.  I laid a guilt trip on her, told her that Jess (our hairdresser) was going to be very disappointed, and that her head looked wacky.  Through the tears, she said to me, “I **sniff, sniff** didn’t know **sniff, sniff* that it wouldn’t **sniff, sniff** LOOK PRETTY!!!!!”

HA!  I had to chuckle a little.  So, she went to school the next day with everything tucked behind her ears.  We took her to Jess (at Hot Heads Hair Design) today, and I think I like the way she fixed it better than the original haircut.

Let’s just call that one a joint effort

Have a great rest of your weekend!!!

I have some other issues, too.  I have very high pressure in my eyes.  In fact, I am just on the borderline of having glaucoma.  Now, the doc said that I have ‘thick corneas,’ which means that my gold ol’ eyeballs can withstand that pressure.  Everything else looks pretty hunky dory.  I’m just telling my eyeballs that they need to hang in there for another 50 years or so.

A long time ago, when I was in my early twenties, I went to a different eye doctor.  The pressure was high in my eyes back then, too.  I’m pretty easy going when I’m at the doctor, and I joke around a lot.  I guess that made him comfortable, and he asked me if I ever smoked.  Not cigarettes.  I told him that I had dabbled a bit, but I didn’t do that on a regular basis.  (I WAS in my twenties, you know).  I told this story to my current eye doctor.  He laughed and said “Well, it would lower your pressure.”

Hmmmmm

So, I asked, “Are you saying that if I lived in California, I could get  a prescription for medical marijuana?”  He told me that yes, I probably could.

Isn’t that an interesting little tidbit to know?  Don’t worry…I’m not packing up.  I’m staying right here in the ‘Burgh.  I’ll take Islay’s chipped ham, Primanti sandwiches and the Steelers over a big fat doobie any day.

If you click on the pictures, you can see the little story that goes with it on ShitMyKidsRuined.com.  That’s your little Saturday treat

Nobody listened to me.

Becca came down with her iCarly shoes.  They give her about a half an inch.  I sent her to get her other shoes.  Chloe?

She came into the family room wearing roller skates.

As Tony and I suppressed our laughter, I asked her, “Don’t you think it will be hard to get around Disney World with roller skates on?”  She told me that it would be, “no problem.”

HA!

Well, I got her tennis shoes on her and we measured.  There was (obviously) a lot of commotion and laughter going on between the two measurements.  Tony looked at the number.  41 1/2 inches.  Sorry Chloe. She walked away

“Wait.”  I said.  ”Wasn’t she taller before the shoes?”  As Tony and I argued whether or not she was, I just told her to come back and get measured again.

44 inches exactly.

I asked, “Chloe, why were you shorter before?”

She had a big old case of bent knees.  What was she thinking?  I have absolutely NO IDEA.  Maybe she really DID want to wear the roller skates.

As we were walking through the bakery (because I told Chloe she could get cookies), we browsed.  Have you seen the Costco cupcakes?  They are gigantic!  I mean, they have to be three times the size of a normal cupcake.  Chloe then asked me if the food in there is made for REALLY big people.  Yup, I guess so.  I do have to say, though, that I DIDN’T buy the coconut cream pie because it was just too damn big.  And I would have to eat the entire thing.

We paid for our groceries, and stopped to buy our customary churro.  As we were driving home, Chloe talked to me about what she did in school today.  They were talking about weather.  She said “Mom.  Weather is either a tiger or a sheep.”

:::huh?:::

OOOHHHHHHH, you mean either a lion or a lamb?  OK, I get it.

By the way, today got a lamb

Literally.

Lemmie tell ya about it.  It all started the day after Thanksgiving.  After Chloe made three trips to the bathroom within about a half an hour, and then told me that it hurt when she peed, we headed off to the pediatrician.  Right away.  Because it was Friday.  And I learned my lesson about the emergency room a while ago.  Avoid it if you can.

The pediatrician prescribed her an antibiotic.  Then she asked a few questions about why she might have a uti.  Long story short, Chloe’s…um…plumbing has never really flowed freely.  To be blunt, both of my kids poop rabbit turds.  They’ve never complained about it, and they’ve never struggled.  That’s just how it’s been.  The doc suggested that I put Chloe on a mild laxative (mirolax) to get her moving.  I guess a bunch of back up could cause a uti.  (just a little aside here…it’s funny how much you talk about poop once you become a parent.  I mean, mostly when they’re in diapers and potty training.  I don’t talk about poop all that much any more.  But, to me, talking about poop is sort of like talking about any normal subject, like taxes).

So, after three days or so it all sort of kicked in.  Chloe’s a rookie at the whole ‘wiping until you’re clean’ thing, because one swift wipe normally worked with her.  So, I’ve been helping her wipe.  And that’s poop story number one.

Remember our cutie patootie dog, Rex? Well, I’m not sure what he may have gotten into…or if he caught a bug…but here’s how story number two went:  Tuesday night I went to sleep early.  Tuesday is Tony’s early night, so he was up with the dog, but I’m not quite sure what time he came to bed.  Tony set Rex all up in his crate with his girlfriend and a cushion so he would be more comfortable.  When I woke up at 6:30 in the morning, I headed into the bathroom to start getting ready.  I heard Rex crying downstairs.  He had pooped twice in his cage (and that’s not like him at all).   And no, this wasn’t an easy clean up kind of poop.  It was very similar to the mirolax-induced poop.  I tossed the dog outside and started cleaning poop.  Soft things (including a kitchen rug) into the washing machine, cleaning out the tray of his crate.  I realized that he needed cleaned also.  Got him in the sink, soaped him up and sprayed him down.  This was all before my coffee.  I make that coffee and realize that I missed some spots.  Mostly on Rex.  So, he ended up with a bubble bath.  I missed spots in the crate.  Ugh.  I still had to get everybody ready for school and me off to the gym.  I made it, but it really was a shitty morning.

What, you say?!?!?  There can’t possibly be another poop story in the same week!

Oh, but there is.

Story number three didn’t really involve me too much.  Because BOTH of the girls have the same sort of poop going on, I thought it might not be a bad idea to give Becca some of that mirolax, too.  Well, Thursday afternoon I got a call from the school nurse.  Seems Becca had a little accident in math class and had to change her pants and undies.  It wasn’t as terrible as it could have been, it was really just a small bit.  The nurse warned me that I needed to give my attention to a bag of clothes in Becca’s backpack as soon as she got home Becca told me that the kids are not allowed to ask to go to the restroom during math class (which I can understand…I can see ALL the kids who hate math having to use the restroom during math class).  Becca, always a stickler for the rules at school, tried to wait it out.  But just couldn’t.  She didn’t really make too big of a deal out of the incident.  I thought for sure she would be scarred for life.  But it seems she was pretty discrete about the whole thing.

So, I’m happy that this poopy week is just about over.  And just as an update for anybody who cares…I’m doing great with the non-smoking thing (a did have a small breakdown, but rebounded nicely the next morning) and I’ve still been going to the gym every day.

Now I’m just waiting for the weight to start coming off so I can show off my future rock hard abs  (sarcasm…did you hear the sarcasm?)

She had a blast bouncing around on this all afternoon. When Becca got home from school, they were invited to a neighbor’s house to play for a couple of hours in their back yard. Fine. ‘Me’ time is good. The homework got done, and off they went. I had the house to myself.

I also had to put that thing away.

By myself.

Thank God there wasn’t some stray parent with a video camera taping their child outside. I had to look absolutely ridiculous. I started very calm and focused. I made sure the air was out. I start folding this thing up. Unfortunately, the size of the folded ‘bouncy slide’ was about twice as big as the bag I’m supposed to put it in. I unfolded. I folded again. I straddled this damn thing, shoving it into this bag. I was laying on the grass, holding the thing on top of me.

I was a mess.

But I got it in that damn bag.

Heather – 1
Bouncy Slide – 0

Take that, Little Tikes.

The subject came up because she asked me how, when somebody is pregnant, they can tell whether it’s a boy or a girl. So, I explained the whole ultrasound thing to her, and that the doctor can see whether or not the baby has a penis. I could see her searching in her brain, wheels turning, trying to remember what in the hell a penis is. So I said to her, “Remember when we changed baby Logun’s diaper, and he had a penis?” Yes, she remembered. All was good. No scarring involved.

Then, she proceeded to tell me “It’s way better to be a girl. Because when you’re a girl, you can read a book when you go pee.”

Good point, little girl. Good point.