The Potty Mouth Gazette

Snot is hazardous to your health.

2007-12-11T22:26:00Z

Well, I have one of those children. You know the ones that you see digging for gold in their noses and then...tasting their discoveries?

I can't believe I am even typing this out loud, but my son is a nosepicker who likes to eat the fruit of his labour. He does it at home, at the store, in the car. He just knows no bounds. Privately or publicly, his nose is his oyster. I mean the kid has the tiniest nose on earth, where is this stuff coming from?

Today, driving home from Costco, I looked in my rearview mirror and sure enough, he was doing his mining. It was just way too disgusting for words! So I did what any good parent would do. I told him that snot was poisonous and would make his stomach really, really sick if he continued to eat it.

I don't think it did much to dissuade him, but I think I'm going to stick with this whopper until he stops this sickening habit!

Paging Dr. LeeLee

2007-12-05T04:30:00Z

Tonight as I was getting the kid's ready for bed, my 3 year old son donned a toy stethoscope.

Dr LeeLee: Approaches patient (that would be me)

'I'd like to listen to your heart'

Firmly plants stethoscope on patient's belly.

'Hmmm, we have a little problem'

Me: 'What's wrong doctor?'

Dr LeeLee: Takes deep breath and looks at patient sympathetically.

'I hear.....music....drum music...'

Me: Gasp!

Dr LeeLee: 'And your heart....well, it's dead'

Me: Crumples to the floor in lifeless percussive heap.

Dr LeeLee: Moves on to next patient (big sister)

'Let me listen to your heart.............'

The Elmer Fudd school of language arts.

2007-10-22T21:04:00Z

I think all kids must go through the Elmer Fudd stage of speech development. The only problem is that some of the names/nicknames applied during this time don't ever seem to go away! So hewe is a wist of wocal businesses accowding to my childwen.

Old McDonalds: McDonald's

Blob blobs: Loblaws

Burber King: Burger King

The Banana Store: No Frills

Toys R''Wus: Toys R Us

Look mommy!

2007-10-12T20:26:00Z

My son goes to preschool where he has a very lovely and unbelievably high energy teacher. She is an older lady that is just full of spunk.

She has curly hair that looks pretty wild and frizzy most of the time.

Yesterday, my son and I were driving around our neighbourhood. As we pulled up to a stop sign, a crossing guard walked across the street in front of us, holding her requisite stop sign. She happened to be an older lady, with a lot of crazy, curly, frizzy hair.

My son gasped in the back seat. In a completely awestruck voice, he said 'Mommy! Look! Its Mrs Teacher-from- Preschool!'

Oh gosh did I laugh. And then he kept asking me what was so funny, which of course made me laugh even harder.

Dora vs the squirrels.

2007-10-11T17:23:00Z

My blog icon is Dora, which is extremely appropriate today. Although my hair is not styled in such a geometric fashion, Dora and I have a lot in common. We are both brown eyed brunettes. We can both count to ten in Spanish. We are both unwittingly thrust into adventures on a daily basis. She hides things from Swiper, I hide things from my children. Oh, but they also hide things from me. Which brings me to the point of my post today.

My children are squirrels. They will take odds and ends, their crafts, mommy's belongings, sometimes food; and hide them away never to be seen again. OK, maybe they get seen again but not until much later, certainly long after the item in question was reported missing.

For example, on the odd days that a ponytail just won't do, I use velcro rollers in my hair. (another way to avoid the Dora triangulation). I keep these zipped up in a large makeup bag in my bathroom vanity. Imagine my surprise this week when I found one in the toybox and one among my folded laundry.

Then, lets not forget today, when I had my hands full of recycling to take to the garage. As I went to put on my slippers and head out, I noticed an obstruction. A Hot Wheels car parked in its depths.

And of course, I cannot fail to mention the half eaten Hawaiian doughnut that my husband found nestled between the cushions of our leather couch.

But perhaps the most poignant example of squirrelsmanship is this one. I recently joined a fitness class. On my first day, I had it all planned out. Drop daughter at school, drop son at preschool, go to class, possibly drop dead of exertion etc. It was going to be a full day.

I had the kids ready to go out the door, and had my gym backpack ready with my towel, water and emergency lipstick. As we were in hallway ready to leave, I ran upstairs to grab something else I had forgotten. Got everything? Check. Got all the little people? Check. We get in the car and go.

Later, I'm at my cardio from hell class and we have a bit of a break. I head over to my backpack, chug my water and reach for my towel. My towel....where is it? I could have sworn I put it in my backpack.? I ended up wiping my brow and face as best I could with my hands and rejoined the class, all the while berating myself for forgetting it at home.

Later that week, when I checked my son's preschool backpack, what do you think I found? His emergency change of clothes and one fluffy white and slightly askew hand towel.

See what I mean?

Miserable multi-tasking

2007-10-01T16:48:00Z

Last week I had one of those days.

I woke up with the worst kink in my neck. I had a hectic morning reminiscent of a Keystone Cops episode. I ended up stubbing my toe in the worst way, I took my daughter to school late, garnering the stinkeye from the school secretary. Somehow I managed to get all of this wrong without being able to turn my head more than 10 degrees in either direction.

Later that day, I had an appointment for a TB test, which is required for volunteering at my son's preschool. So he and I went to my doctor's office to have this test done. He chose the day that I was immobile from the neck up to misbehave in the worst possible way. He whined, he was naughty, he ran around the office, he laid prostrate on the floor, he asked me the same question 150 times. I wanted to shrink under my seat.

Finally we got into have the test done. So there I was, in pain, annoyed, AND having some strange liquid inserted into my skin via hypodermic needle. And what is my son doing? He is beside me, wearing my open purse upside down on the top of his head. I had a needle jabbing me in one arm, while trying to restrain my son with the other.

After that disaster, it was time to pick my daughter up from school. By this point my neck was causing me excruciating pain. Once we all got in the car, I handed the kids each a fruit roll up I had brought them as a treat. As I sat in the driver's seat, wincing in pain, they asked me to open their fruit rollups. That was it, I burst into tears. I felt so sorry for myself by that point, that their simple request sent me over the emotional edge.

As moms, we're not really able to feel sorry for ourselves too long. Life goes on, the kids still have needs, there's homework to be done, lunches to be made. But sometimes, just sometimes it would be nice if the world could stop long enough for us to have a really good cry.

Morning zoo breath.

2007-09-20T13:15:00Z

This morning, my little boy woke up and crawled into bed with his sister. Daddy joined them just in time to catch this conversation:

LeeLee (worriedly): My breath is hurting.

Mo (matter of factly): That's because it smells like a rhino.

A prayer a la frustrated 6 year old.

2007-09-20T01:06:00Z

I was reading my daughter a story tonight as I was putting her to bed. All the while, her little brother was being very distracting in her bedroom. She got more and more agitated as he continued to play with her toys in a noisy fashion. Finally, she got out of bed, retrieved her toys and asked him to leave her room so she could concentrate. He of course refused because as we all know, three year olds never do what they're asked, at least not the first 100 times.

So, my daughter resorted to prayer. It went something like this:

Thank you for the world so sweet,

Thank you for the food we eat.

Thank you for the birds that sing,

Thank you God for everything.

(the next part was said in a very firm voice with a pointed stare towards you know who)

And God, please make my brother smarter so that he can listen and make better decisions.

AMEN!

I'm going to have to practice my poker face like crazy. I just can't manage to pull the disapproving frown out when I'm stifling the giggles.

What's for lunch?

2007-09-19T00:47:00Z

That's it, I'm out of ideas 3 weeks into grade 1. I'm a fairly intelligent, creative and sturdy soul, but somehow the thought of what to pack in that lunchbox renders me into a quivering mass of gelatin.

What do I pack for my dear daughter that will be diverse, interesting, edible and nutritious, without A) being too monotonous and B) tasting like cardboard? There aren't many options when it comes right down to it. The kids can't use a microwave or anything like that, so its either a cold lunch or something in a thermos/foil.

I'd love to hear/read some comments from any of you out there that have got this whole lunch at school/daycare thing mastered.

Help, for the sake of my daughter's gastronomic system!

A study in contrasts.

2007-09-11T23:16:00Z

My little 3 year old is what you could call a 'complex' individual.

He is gregarious but sometimes fearful, euphoric but sometimes moody, rambunctious but sometimes whiny, charming but sometimes testing of every last bit of patience. There is NO in between with this child. He must get this from his father's side.

He has this hilariously deep voice that just kills me. You know how they say a guy is a man's man?. Well this child is a man's kid. He thinks nothing of approaching a group of teenagers and striking up a conversation. If you happen to come across a group of teenagers/young men, you might see him...he'll be the short towheaded guy, hands in pockets and hanging with the boyzzzzz.

There are times I can't believe my husband and I made this brilliant child, then there are times that I want to pull every last hair out of my head...individually... because I am simply at my wit's end with him. Come to think of it.....he really IS like his dad!

Keep the dentist away....

2007-09-10T17:16:00Z

Last night we were trying to get our kids into the bath.

I don't know about everyone else, but getting my son to the bath requires a boatload of patience, bribery and some major cardiovascular activity. Trying to get him to sit still enough to take his clothes off, well, its an artform that I've clearly not yet mastered.

Somewhere during this process, he stood on his sister's bed as I tried to peel his t-shirt off. I guess he figured he needed a break after shedding one article of clothing, so he started jumping and flopping around on the bed. To give you a mental picture, his movement was similar to what a deranged walrus might exhibit. After bouncing around on this stomach for a while, I heard:.

LeeLee: Ouch, ouch OUCH, I've hurt my back.'

Me: 'What happened?'

LeeLee: 'I hurt my baaack, ow, ow. Mommy, I need to go to the............ dentist! OWWW, OWWWWWWWWWWW!'

Me: 'Honey, what is the dentist going to do?'

LeeLee: 'He's going to cut out my brain.'

Me: 'Goodness, why is he going to do that?'

LeeLee: 'To fill my head with candy'

Me: 'Oh, of course.'

I'll have to make sure I remember to discuss this procedure with Willy 'Brain Surgeon' Wonka DDS at our next visit.

Some colourful education.

2007-09-07T00:36:00Z

We are at day 3 of grade 1. Day 3, people. Today I got to experience something very ...er...special that my daughter learned at school.

She walked into the kitchen while I was preparing dinner. I had my back to her when I heard her say:

'Mommy, my friend told me that this is very rude.'

As I turned to face her, with the words 'What's that?' coming out of my mouth, I froze and beheld a horrifying sight.

My pure, sweet, innocent daughter was standing there with her middle finger extended....yes, it's true... she was flipping me the bird!!!!! After overcoming my temporary stutter, I managed to fumble through a flimsy explanation of why that gesture is not...um...particularly kind.

May I mention that I went into this year fully anticipating bucket loads of homework and advanced curriculum due to the provincial guidelines. I am ready for that. Heck, I'm even prepared for the birds and the bees. Bring it on, I say!

But this...THIS is not something they tell you about at Mom and Tot classes, at the mall, library, preschool, or anywhere else that seasoned moms gather! You know those 'What to Expect' books that we read so religiously? Well, as far as I can recall, there was no chapter titled "How to Explain Obscene Hand Gestures to Your 6 Year Old'. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure this topic was missed in prenatal class too.

The bottom line is that I wasn't quite ready for this form of...ahem...education. But you can bet that I'm going to get ready now!

Back to school...new beginning

2007-09-05T01:34:00Z

My daughter started grade 1 today. She was SO excited to be there in her new outfit, sporting her backpack (complete with a thermos full of macaroni and cheese in tow). There were SWARMS of people dropping off their grade 1's. All of the JK/SK kids from various classes have been reunited into one hip and happening grade 1 class. (says silent prayer for the teacher)

So there was my little girl, looking trendy and confident, chatting with all of her old friends and having a great time. Then...the warning bell rang. Suddenly her eyes became as big as saucers as she sought me out. 'Goodbye mommy.', she squeaked. The chin was trembling, the eyes were filling, but there was a definite resolve NOT to cry. I could see it plain as day. I walked up to her, gave her lots of kisses, had her little brother give her hugs and kisses, and watched her walk into her new world of all day school. What a big step! .

Once home time rolled around, we heard all the details of her wonderful day including the decree from the teacher: All students must bring a pencil case filled with pencils and pencil crayons tomorrow.

Being the resourceful mom that I am (OK, more like completely unmotivated to brave the crowds at Walmart) I gathered a bunch of princess pencils from hither and yon. I also managed to scrounge up an unused pencil case from the bowels of her closet. My daughter and I sat together at the kitchen table while I sharpened the pencils for their school debut. She gingerly placed each one in the case as if they were Faberge eggs.. They were all neatly packed and ready to go when I saw her brow furrow. Suddenly she re-opened the case and yanked them all out.

Me: 'What are you doing?"

Mo*: 'Mommy, I realized that I better test them to make sure they work.'

So I sat there and watched my little girl painstakingly test each sharpened pencil on a piece of paper.

Mo: 'See mommy, they are all working.' (holds up paper for me to see) 'I'm so glad I checked!'

Me: 'Yes, there is nothing worse than getting to school and finding out your pencil doesn't work.'

Mo: 'Uh-huh, you're right!' (said with the intense gravity that only 6 year olds can muster)

Shortly after the rigorous pencil testing, this little exchange occurred....

Mo: 'Mommy, did you do any back to school shopping for yourself?'.

Me: 'No Mo, I only bought clothes for you and your brother, why do you ask?'

Mo: 'Well mommy, I'd really like for you to be wearing nice things when you drop me off.'

Me: 'I'll see what I can do Mo. I'll try my best', I replied, all the while wondering whether its humanly possible for 6 year olds to be concerned about their mom's fashion sense and/or possibly embarrassed by the lack thereof.

Right now the kids are in bed, hubby's zoned out watching baseball, and I'm off to forage through my closet for something that will make my burgeoning 'What Not to Wear' host proud.

*Note: In the event that you haven't read my bio page, Mo is my daughter's nickname.

Reflecting as I near the dawn of my 37th year...

2007-08-25T13:07:00Z

I will be 37 years old tomorrow and as such I have been reflecting on one of the universal mysteries of mommy hood....mommy jeans.

I guess I'm getting to the age where these might start to be appealing to me, but I seem to be comfortably ensconced in my low rise, boot cut pants with no discernible desire for the high waistband/tapered leg combo. I have however, discovered a new respect for mommy jean wearers everywhere for the reasons listed below:

Tenacity: OK, I shop the Sears catalog as much as the next person and for that matter do my fair share of shopping everywhere. I haven't really seen where these type of jeans are readily available. Where do they get them? Is there an underground source? I've come to the conclusion that the sourcing and acquisition of said pants takes some dedication and persistence!
Maintaining their girlish figure: Let's assume that these pants are relics from the 80's, kudos to those mommies for still fitting into them.
Superior laundry skills/Intelligence: If these pants are more than a decade old and are not disintegrating, these women KNOW how to do laundry! Either that or else they were smart enough to acquire partners with excellent laundry qualifications.
Self confidence: I think these moms should be applauded for not caring that their pants are a bit passe. They are busy women about town, with things to do and a certain je ne sais quois. Work those pants women!

In summation, the next time I hear mommy jeans being discussed with derision or scorn, I will no longer to sit idly by, I vow to defend my mommies of the northern waistband with pride! Yes, I am proud to support the Sisterhood of the Mommy Pant.