Great night.

The brood and I just got home from dinner with a very dear friend, Uncle D. This was the first time he had gotten to meet the twins. It's was so great to catch up and eat cheese dip! Yum.

Anyway, I'm always amazed at how well the trio typically act in restaurants. Give these beastlets food and they will not peep for around 30 minutes. They have this whole "eat while it's hot thing" figured out. Tonight they devoured an enchilada plate like a hoard of locust. It's quite the sight to see! I'm pretty sure that it's not normal for small children to literally eat the same amount as the parent.

Still, the boys were tired and it was nearing bedtime, yet other than eye rubbing and a couple of "I'm over this" looks, all was well for the almost two hours that we were there. I must have done something right to have them behave when in public, right?

Our lives will be forever changed.

Little figured out how to climb out of his crib today. He's not quite 15 months old. This is not normal. Big was in his until almost 2. Holy crap.

What to do? Chaining him by the ankle is illegal, putting a lid on his crib is likely not safe, he's way too little to be trusted in an open bed... Our options are putting "fall out" pillows and mattresses around his crib, hanging him by his feet to sleep, or possibly invest in a specialty crib tent like device. I know what I will be google searching this weekend.

Luckily, Middle wouldn't climb a Step unless absolutely necessary. I guess he will have two cribs to choose from if we end up taking Little out of his. 14 months is way too early for this:( I should get to have safe sleep until at LEAST 18 months. Again, this makes me realize that a goat tether might not be as bad as it sounds.

Tick-tock Croc.

Big is infatuated with all things pirate. Patches, swords, pirate ships, Captain Hook and of course the "Tick-Tock Croc". What is truly great is that EVERY alligator toy, crocodile movie, etc is deemed THE tick-tock croc. Big thinks that you can put them all to your ear and they should tick. If it doesn't tick he gets highly annoyed and starts looking for batteries or telling me it is broken. We have an old VHS copy of Crocodile Dundee. Apparently, Dundee is the original Captain Hook and that stupid movie case is broken because Big cant hear it "tick-tock". Anyone know how to put the tick back into a ratty VHS? No?! Yeah, me neither. Big was not impressed with me and told me that Daddy could do it. I told him that I thought Daddy would be the best man for the job. Fun times. Yo ho ho! Where's me Rum?

Rub his nose in it.

That was Big's advice when I said that Little had a stinky diaper. I think he may have been watching Nana a bit too closely when she was potty training Marmaduke! This child keeps us in stitches every single day. Half of the stuff that he says makes us literally laugh out loud. I have no doubt that his humor will get him in trouble when he starts school. What in the world can I do?! He has my lack of filter and his Daddy's love of embarrassing others publicly. The next few years should be interesting, to say the least.

This also makes me realize that Big can't be trusted to watch his brothers while I go potty anymore. I can totally envision him attempting to rub Middle and Little's noses in dirty diapers. Heaven help us.

Vacation Planning!

We are getting an entire week off of work for Thanksgiving this year, so that can only mean one thing-- FAMILY ROAD TRIP!

We've decided to brave Florida. Nickelodeon Resort, Legoland, Disney and three kids, 3 and under. Insane, Yes. Memories that will last a lifetime, heck yeah!! I'm may drive everyone crazy with planning over the next 10 months, but I will ROCK the deals and discounts. No doubt.

I made the mistake of showing Big the hotel and Disney pictures online. OMG. That child has not stopped asking to go swimming and to see the pirate ship, ALL DAMN DAY. He may have a seizure once we are actually there. Plus, the twins will be two, so they will be the perfect age to throw fits and think they can make the rules. Good times will be had, and fits will be recorded for future blackmail purposes. I can't WAIT until Thanksgiving !!

Saturday night.

And based on the scratchy throat and tiredness setting in, I think I might be getting sick. Doesn't the universe know that I DO NOT have time for this?! Ugh.

Thankfully, all three boys are acting fine and continue to make attempts at tearing down various parts of the house. For once, that's comforting!

If you are a positive thoughts sender, I'll take all of the healing vibes that you can muster...and a gas mask because even though my nose feels a bit stopped up, I can still smell the boy stink of my children. It's particularly strong today. What gives?!

Nothing prepares you for the brown trout.

Big LOVES to take baths. He would seriously take one twice a day if I allowed it. Tonight he asked to play with his submarine, so we filled the tub with tons of toys and bubbles. He was having a blast... Then he got that "oh crap!" Look on his face.

When questioned, he said, "I need to go potty!" I went to help him out if the tub and he says, "Mommy, you need to get it." Huh? Get what? Then like a slow-mo picture show... I realized it was too late. The trout has already jumped into the water. I looked at Big and said, "Did you already go?" I couldn't see because of the massive amount of bubbles. I prayed that I was wrong.

Then he put his little fingers reallllly close together and told me "just a little one, Mommy." Oh. My. God. If there is poo in the tub, I'm pretty damn sure size of the turd is the least of my worries.

Of course, Daddy "suddenly" needed something downstairs. Likely brain bleach. Can't say I blame him.

Happy Friday to me! Nothing says you're fully inducted into parenthood like cleaning excrement from the spa tub on a Friday night. Bring on the Jack. Or Evan or box o'wine. And Vicodin. Possibly Xanax. Mixing those will surely cause a blackout of this memory, right?

No more bottles:(

So the twins have been using sippy cups for weeks now, but today I actually packed the bottles away. I'm sad!! Knowing I will never have an itty bitty baby again is very bittersweet. (Yes, I know none of my kids were really itty bitty, but still!)

I also realized all three are as independent as a hog on ice. Where did my babies go? And who are these rotten, button pushing, boundary-testing children that have invaded my space? I need a rewind button or a time machine. They are getting too big and too sassy, too fast. Hold your babies close and kiss them extra tonight, because tomorrow they will poot in your bed and rub toothpaste on your clean gown. Well, at least that's what mine do. Which makes me wonder how people with UNPLANNED children even get out of bed in the mornings. My three were very planned and some days I wish for sickness just to sleep in for an extra hour. At least that was my thought this morning. Obviously, it didn't work. Maybe next week.

He puked...

That was Big's answer to why there were crushed crackers all over my bathroom floor. The "he" in this case is the rubber alligator that we bought for 2.99 at the Alligator Farm in Hot Springs last summer. Apparently Big has been feeding him crackers. His belly is hollow and will hold what appears to be 1/2 of a sleeve of Ritz. Sadly, he can't keep his food down, especially when Big flips him upside down over my bathroom rug. Lovely.

After he lost his crackers, Big fed him two green grapes and took him to bed. Please let me remember to remove those grapes before they turn into prison wine.

Speaking of wine, Big accidentally took a Drink of mine last night. Thankfully he was not a fan and yelled, "GOSS, Mommy!" It's rotten!" Then he proceeded to use my shirt to wipe his tongue off for about two minutes. At least I know if I forget to empty the gator, Big won't be sneaking drinks of the brew. It's the little things that help me sleep at night. Or maybe it's the wine... Either way, CHEERS!

My day livin' on the edge.

When I left the house today, my gas light came on. No biggie, right, because I was driving the Honda and that sucker can go for 35 miles on a gallon. Thank the Heavens because I ended up eeking out every mile.

I not-so-smartly decided to get gas on the way home after work instead of first thing on the frigid morning. So, this afternoon, I pulled into the gas station, popped the tank, and went to pay. Then, holy friggen hell, I couldn't find my wallet. I searched every inch of the car and my pockets for loose change, and none was to be found. We had cleaned the car out a few weeks ago. Lovely. I took my purse in the other car yesterday. I didn't retrieve it this morning. Feck!

Then, wahoo! I found Mom's old check card in the console. It says it doesn't expire until the end if this month. I was saved! Nope. DECLINED. Apparently once you use a new card, the old one no longer works. Ahhhhh! No money, no gas, so I called the Hubs. Thankfully he was close to our house and not in a neighboring state ( like usual) and could meet me at another station. I has visions of pan-handling until he answered the phone. It wasn't pretty. I was dirty and searching for cardboard and a sharpie.

I have never squinched my butt so much in nervous anticipation as I did every time I got to gas burning stoplight on red. There are entirely TOO MANY between my work and home.

Needless to say, I'll be doing a wallet check before driving out of my yard from now on. I also plan to replenish my emergency money stash.

If I had been in the gas guzzling Yukon,I would have been screwed... And pissed. That likely would have been a much saucier blog, though. It's okay, I know you just thought bad Karma for my next post. Uh huh.

Hilarity, as spoken by Big.

Big turned three on New Year's Day. He is a very funny child. He was a "later than his speech therapist Mommy wanted" talker... But hasn't taken a breath since. This is a quip of his ramblings from today:

Upon making the mistake of turning on his fish tank light, "Mommy! Turn that light off, they're trying to get some sleep!" Alrighty then.

Upon Nana purchasing him a new flashlight, "I can't wait to flash Daddy!" (Yep.)

Following consumption of about a dozen broccoli tops, "I hate broccoli! It tastes like Toad Frogs! It's Gross!!" Nope, we don't serve toad frog at our house. He must have gotten it at my sister's house!

After a clerk told him he had beautiful hair and asked if she could have his curls, "I get that all the time... and you should ask Santa." Yes, he's still stuck on Santa.

In between wrestling with Middle and Little, "Little's butt stinks. Shew-ee. I think you should change it." He's our first line of defense when it comes to sniffing out poop bombs.

And this leaves me wondering if our house is haunted..."Mommy, all my friends are coming over tonight. They have to see my new bed, and play pirates and eat and open presents and sleep in my bed." My questions, "do they wanna dance?" And of course, "do they wanna party?" He says yes to both. We miiiiight have the spirit of Hank hanging out in his closet. I'll let you know if I hear anything tonight.

Hoarders, the truth about toys.

My children, with the help of their Nana, are borderline hoarders. Toy hoarders. Our playroom looks like the back room of KayBee Toys had a love child with a yard sale 25 cent tarp toy box. OY. We have wheel less cars, gnawed on wooden puzzles and sticky frogs, galore. I think they are all trash. Big thinks they are all equal to golden doubloons. Nana has an emotional attachment... To every single action-figure-less leg, every hot wheel has been and every lint-covered, sticky frog.

Cleaning the toy pit with Nana there is like trashing the last heroin hit needle near a junkie. It starts with defensive chatter, compromises, flat out pulling from the bag and then full-on, TV quality, guilt trips. Fun times.

I waited until Big was napping and got to work. I SHOULD have waited until Nana was gone or napping, too. I know better for future purges. One large sale box and a trash bag later, we still have a billion times more than a typical family, but according to Nana, they LOVE every broken toy in the bag. Does anyone have the address for broken and misfit toys? That might make her feel better if I promise to send them there.

Movin' on up...

Big has been really great at sleeping in his toddler bed. He thinks the small safety rail is a force field that won't allow him out of the bed, which is parenting GREATNESS.

The is great, except for the part that baby mattresses are expensive bedrock, made to freak parents out over things like---is it hard enough, soft enough, rectangle enough, yadda yadda. Well, since Big is waking so often during the night now, I'm thinking it might be due to sleeping on a cement block. We've decided to move in the full sized mattresses to see if comfort lulls him into a more peaceful sleep. Please, sweet baby Jesus, let it work.

We tried it at nap today and he first thought we had gifted him a super cool bouncy house:-/. Um, not so much. After many stern "we do not jump in the big boy bed" warnings, he finally fell asleep and slept well. Should be an interesting night... Who wants to wager a bet on how many times he tests his boundaries? Heck, I've already put 20 bucks on us needing to repair a toddler-head sized hole in the sheet rock by mid week.

Yo, Mr.Sandman, visit my freakin' kid! Thanks.

Wait!!

I went out and forgot to post. Is it too late to say I've blogged every day?!

Tonight we rest...

That hopefully means every person in our house. If this doesn't happen, I will go full on catatonic and this blog will cease to exist. You'll know if you check in tomorrow night and there is no new post... Please either drop by and check the lawn for roaming children, or call the newspaper because the first real life zombie will be attempting a to access this blog account. The post will likely be incoherent and not policed for grammar and punctuation, so it may not initially look any different for the previous ones I've written. Hmmm, that wasn't helpful in the least. Guess local readers will have to check the gypsy caravans in person to know the fate of my brood and sleep-deprived human body.

Wise words from the father.

"He's gonna get a girl pregnant first." True words spoken by the father about Middle. See, Middle is a thruster. He likes to get on top of things and do the hippy-hippy shake. When he gets tired, he molests his blanket and does hip thrust-ercises. He loves to get on a knee and be bounced NON-STOP.

Fun times are to be had in our household. Nana swears that Middle has seen Marmaduke the Pomeranian make sweet love to his stuffed rabbit one too many times. This is a possibility, because Dukie is not smart and we are going to have stuffed purple rabberanians if he has any say.

I hope that Middle outgrows his love of all things hip thrusty, but if not, I guess we will just have the safe sex talk REALLY EARLY.

We've created a technology monster:(

I hate the fact that my children are born in the age of technology. Yes, I know that there are a bazillion positives to this, but the need and dependance on devices makes me sad. Big has my first generation iPhone. He knows how to play games and watch videos of Handy Manny on youTube. This is my fault. We use phones for EVERYTHING and can't put them down. It's an admitted sickness. Big wants a YouTube video streaming 24/7.

I don't want to be that parent, so tonight, I implemented low tech dinners 2013 at our house. We have decided that from the minute we step foot in the house after work until we go to bed, phones are for important calls only.

Our kids deserve ALL of our attention and we expect the same. I figure games and emails can wait because the kids grow up way too fast. Big is currently have a bawling fit because he wants Handy Manny on his phone. We are all being punished until this phase is over. I know I won't regret it, and we will be a better family because of my MEAN new rule;) At least that's what I keep repeating as Big screams helter skelter over the monitor.

Maybe we should catch lizards and tie match boxes to their butts like Nana remembers! Oh what fun!

Chef is at it again.

Big is crafty. By crafty, I mean into everything forbidden and fast as a greased pig when he is doing something that he isn't supposed to be doing.

Nana went to take Middle and Little to their nap. In that short -up the stairs and get situated time frame-, Big decided to get a stool, a bowl, a spoon, the raisin bran and a whole gallon of milk. See where this is going? Yep. He managed to get most of the cereal in the bowl... The milk, based on the retell from nana, was more miss than hit. He KNOWS this is naughty, yet he does it anyway. Geez, kid!! Please don't break your neck on Nana's watch because she will never hear then end of it, I mean, she will never forgive herself for it. Yeah. That's what I meant.

Big was very proud of his deed when I got home. Of course, I said, " don't spill it!", to which he replied,"I will!" I think he meant the opposite, but knowing his personality, he was likely just stating the obvious.

Don't leave eggs near a toddler, ever.

Big loves to help me in the kitchen.  Most days, he listens.  Most.  Today wasn't really one of those days.  He spent the majority of his "help mommy" time either in the fridge, grazing on anything within reach, or tryiong to sneak 50 fruit snacks..  I assume his tapeworm was famished after he refused to eat most of yesterday.  Anyway, I decided to make a quiche today, so we had the eggs on the counter.  Bog helped me mix it all up and I put it in the oven.  No worries... bwahaha.  When I turned around and Big has two eggs in his hands.  He looked at them so sad.  I said, "What's wrong?"  His answer, "Mommy, we have to take these back to the birds."  lmao.  He was so sincere in his concern that is was difficult not to laugh.

I told him that I would give them back later, so we should put them back in the carton.... that was where I went wrong.  He basically threw them back in and looked at me in total horror when they both cracked.  This is where I get Mommy of the year... I told him I would glue them back and give them to the birds after lunch.  Amazingly... when I showed him two eggs a few hours later, he didn't give me the stinkeye of disbelief.  He told me I was a good fixer, even better than Daddy.  (this is true).  We also all enjoyed the quiche, which was even better with the two extra eggs thrown into the mix!  Now tomorrow, I will take the two (boiled) eggs with me, so I can stop by a farm and put them back.  Big even put them with my purse so that I wouldn't forget.  I must be doing something right to have a budding vegan on my hands... or a creepy bird activist, it could really go either way at this point.  The problem is that I'm not sure which I would prefer.

Chili dogs, not my brightest moment.

We need groceries. I'd rather take a beating than go to Walmart on a Saturday afternoon... So we did the usual, and searched the back of the canned goods. You know, the few cans of randomness next to the jar of pimentos and stewed tomatoes, in front of the can of sauerkraut. We had cream of everything soup and chili. We have hot dogs. No buns. Eh, bunless chili dogs it is!!

If you've never fed a 1-year-old a chili dog, save yourself the mess and DON'T. Trust me on this one. They LOVED THEM. Or made love to them, based on all of the places where we found chili when trying to clean them off. If it were summer, it would have been "garden hose" fun. It's winter, they looked like I served chili bombs. Holy crap.

I will be saving future chili dogs to either A) date night when Nana cleans up, or B) when we can just chunk them in the pool and call it a country bath.

Mark this day in history...

My children have not barfed on, peed on, torn up, eaten, broken, jammed in a siblings eye, climbed higher than the door frame, flushed, pooped on, or stuck their finger in, anything inappropriate today. Well, they likely did a few of the above, but neither myself, nor Nana witnessed the event.

I'm anxiously awaiting Publisher's Clearing House because it's been that strange of a day. Cue twilight zone music, call the Mayan calendar weirdos and alert the news, this house must have been abducted by aliens, put into a military mind study or worse, they're all getting sick... Because this isn't our normal. Days like this SCARE me.

The *almost* 5K undies...

Big has never really had much interest in playing in the potty. We've never had a "he flushed WHAT?!" moment, until today.

Thank the Heavens that Big was wearing a larger 4T sized pair of Mickey Mouse undies and not the skimpier, speedo fit McQueen ones that he prefers. That extra 1/4 inch of fabric saved us from a RotoRooter nightmare. The teensiest piece of Mickey's red pants was all that was visible when I noticed that there was something odd in the bottom of the toilet. Had it not been bright red, there's no way we would have noticed that Big thought flushing his undies was an easier option that walking TWO EFFING FEET to the laundry room to drop them in the washer.

OMG. Can you even imagine the drama that would have ensued had he actually managed to fully flush them?!?!

When asked why he did it, he answered, "I couldn't find the laundry room". Um, kid, that's the darnedest thing, because if I recall, it's ALWAYS been next to that bathroom for %^#$'s sake!! It took all of my strength and court TV rationale to not murder Big. His only redemption was choosing the bright undies to flush... Because if he'd managed to flush a light pair, I'm thinking that a port-a-john for his very own use would be in his immediate future. If we painted it green like the porch, it would blend in, right? Then he could throw anything he wanted in the hole, and I wouldn't have to worry about explaining my actions to Judge Judy.

Thursday night booze. Sign me up.

About 9 months...

That's my favorite answer to give when people ask me my favorite question: "how long did it take you to curl their hair?!" Come on, people!! They're boys. I have three. Their hair is curly. It's not a perm. Yes, it's natural curl. Yes, they get it from me. Yes, they would make pretty girls. Yes, I get asked these questions on pretty much every outing. At first I thought people were socially ignorant, now I know they just can't control themselves when they see a double stroller and curls.

Here are the other answers to the burning questions that we are asked frequently.
-Yes, the younger two are twins.
-No, they big one is not a twin, nor their triplet.
-Yes, they're natural. They're sure as hell not artificial.
-Yes, we did fertility treatments.
-Yes, twins run in my family... Both literally run around everywhere and crop up in higher than average numbers.
-Yes, we know what typically causes twins/babies, sex, right?! See above, we still needed help.
-Yes, I planned/hoped/prayed for them to be close in age.
-I'm glad they're mine and not yours,too.
-You don't need to pray for me or "bless my heart", it's blessed every day by my kids!
-Yes, they're a lot of work, and a lot of love.
-I gained 11 pounds during my pregnancy.
-They were c-section, at 38weeks, 4 days. -They weighed 7.2lbs EACH.
-They're both twins.
-Yes, they look different.
-No, they're not identical.
-Yes, we can tell them apart.


SIGH. I feel better now. What ridiculous questions have YOU been asked??!!

Clifford needs put down.

Clifford the Big Red Dog might be the worst, and most mind-numbing children's series ever. How in the world did such a lame-ass story line get published in the first place? We have a "Where is Clifford" book. I think the twins mastered it at 34 weeks gestation. The book feels like it's 3400 pages when I'm reading it to Big. In reality it's maybe 10. Each page is a "here is the blah, here is the blah, where is The Big Red Dog?" The ENTIRE picture is a big red dog. Additionally, Emily Elizabeth is a whiney child that does not get me, er, Big, excited in any way. He doesn't like me to read her lines, and since it shortens the hideous book, I'm all about ignoring her.

For previous life debauchery punishment, the powers that be decided it would be funny for Big to like these cartoons even more than the books. The are friggen THIRTY MINUTES. GAHHHHHH! I think most children's books/cartoons are cute or at least I can see why a publisher took a chance, but the Clifford books and cartoons... Nope. Pure torture. Picking one to read or watch is like choosing to have dog shit on your right versus left shoe. Either way, it's going to stink until you manage to get rid of it. I'd love to go back and kick the pregnant me square in the ass for buying one of the damn books in the first place without reading. Anyway, to any of my family/friends that are reading this, if you give Big or Middle or Little, a Clifford book--- expect it returned to you, on fire, on your porch... After I clean off my right shoe.

Butt Cream and Sudafed

Why is the "good" diaper cream so friggen expensive? Seriously, the kind we use is only available at the pharmacy, behind the counter next to the meth-head sudafed. WTF? I stood in line today right behind Mr. Sniffles. I knew that he really had a cold when he kept wiping his nose nervously with his sleeve, requested the sudafed, and asked how many he could get at once because, "I'm really sick". Sure, Buddy. No denying that!

Once it was my turn, I requested the high-dollar butt cream, fully expecting to be robbed walking away... Because let's face it, anyone willing to pay as much as I did for a tub THAT small must be loaded, or desperate. Sadly, I was the latter. Middle has an angry hiney:(

Middle wasn't nearly as impressed with my purchase as I was because it meant that he had to endure yet ANOTHER change. Good thing he's cuter and more loving when he isn't sporting baboon ass, otherwise, I could have bought an ounce of saffron, 3 rare truffles, or heck, maybe some sudafed, just to fit in with the other desperate people at the WM pharmacy.

Sure kid, ask Santa.

Big has now decided that since Santa came through with a pirate ship, a submarine AND a Lightning McQueen car, he is the man to ask for basically anything. For example, Big sees a commercial for a skateboard/bike, meant for preteens... Based on his logic of "I wooon't one!" that's reason enough for me to change out of my fancy Sunday PJ's and hit the stores. I'm thinking no.

I tell Big that he is not getting any more toys for a while and being the smart kid that he is, what was his reply, you ask?? "FINE!! I'll just ask Santa at the North Pole!!" Yep, that'll teach me to tell him no. He will go over my head and ask the real deal, the man who gets you exactly what you want, Santa Claus.

Pretty good logic for a 3-year-old, right? The only problem is that I think he may start a rebellion if I continue to refuse to take him to see Santa every.time.we.get.in.the.car. Seriously, how long will it take him to ditch the idea of Santa=(hero-moneybags-best gift giver evah!) and go back to "Mommy, I NEED that incredibly expensive and sharp throwing star!", followed by "um, not gonna happen, kiddo", which leads to a comic gold tantrum with fake tears and Maniac style dance moves?? I'm hoping not long because those fits are epic and his threats of Santa are now getting on MY nerves.

How old do you have to be for a traveling circus?

The littlest child (by one minute and 3/4 of an inch) is a climber extraordinaire. Little can hoist his thunderous leg up and over pretty much anything. He's Vegas Dance girl material, for sure. We have caught him on every push toy, the couch, the recliner, the train table and even standing IN his high chair. That little feat was accomplished in under three minutes by pushing a small piano to the Handy Manny workbench, to the high chair. His balance is AHHHMAZING. Little has been climbing onto pretty much anything stationary since before he mastered walking.

The hubs and I have moved things, rearranged furniture, banned perfectly good toys from the play room and he still manages to practice the high ropes at least daily. I'm thinking he would bring in a high dollar at a traveling circus. I mean , seriously, who wouldn't pay to see a Rollie Pollie, Cupie-Doll baby, climb the trapeze?? Crazy, shut-in people, maybe... but considering his cuteness, they might even scrape together the ticket money.

Our other option is less circus, more rodeo. We have been considering a goat stake in the playroom floor. Not to necessarily chain him, because that's totally inhumane and horrid treatment of children. Duh! We were thinking of using is as more of a tether. (Totally different, right?!!) You know, strap one of those cutesy monkey-leash back packs on him, affix the parent hold end to the tether, and Bam!! We have a much safer, yet not technically restrained, baby!! This is parenting genius, I tell you.

The only thing we need to decide is how to make the pole semipermanent and not damage the carpet. Oh, and I need to choose between the brown monkey leash and the blue spotted puppy leash... Decisions, decisions. Heck, maybe I'll splurge and buy both in case Big or Middle child needs a boundary, I mean safety, check.

Germs, wanna share?!

Someone asked me today how I keep the boy's cups and snacks separate, I literally LAUGHED OUT LOUD. Do people really do this? My boys have zero clue about "mine" and "yours". It's generally just "juice!", "milk!",yessss! They take crackers out of each other's mouths, daily.

They have all three shared a womb, bottles, cloth diapers and snot suckers. I'm pretty sure the swapping of spit and boogers won't kill them. I'm laughing at the fact that the lady I talked with was appalled! She has an only and that child likely has unicorn spit and teddy bear boogers. They can NOT be shared. Evah!

However, if your kid has normal snot, spit and run of the mill germs, you're welcome to come share them over crackers and a juice box, whichever you can steal from a twin first!

It's now known as a latrine.

The big child is potty training.  He is doing pretty darn spectacular in the no longer peeing his pants department... it's the aim that seems to be the problem.  We have started like most parents by having him sit on the potty and hold "peter pan" downward.  Pretty simple, right?  I thought so.... until Big learned that he can choose to point it in OTHER directions, as well.  Sigh.  He finds it very amusing.  He also loves to run around and scream, "I'm gonna pee on you like the potty!"  We are so proud.

I thought the remedy to this would be to introduce the "boys can pee standing up" idea.  Um, not so much.  Big now thinks he can use his fire hose to sprinkle where ever he feels like it.  He went all by himself today, yeah! we thought, but then... Nana walked in there and it looked like we had played bathroom slipNslide, urine style.  Double awesome.  My formerly clean, pee-stain free bathroom is now a latrine... and headed toward the ways of *I need to borrow the key that is chained to a huge stick, gas station hole in the floor* restroom.  I need to hire a full time bathroom attendant just to clean up after the biggest child, and I am looking into infant boarding school for the littles when it comes time to potty train them.  I figure the cost of cleaning supplies and general workload would be very close to the cost of a potty training boarding school, right?  If anyone knows of a potty training pill or hypnotist, shoot me a message.  I mean, just so I know, not that I would actually hypnotize my child.  That's just crazy.

Shark Tank submission: Take 1

For those of you unfamiliar with Tractor Supply... it is a southern boy-child's crack store.  The biggest child yells "TAKAH SUPP-EYE", each and every time we pass.  It is the first store we see as we enter and exit our neighborhood.  Awesome.

What is so special about this store?  Well, the asshats that do their store set-up displays are childless, money-mongering whores.  How do I know this, you ask??  Well, they put their German engineered life-like barn and zoo animals right at the entrance so there is no way to hide them from your children.  These little beauties are priced for the common man, at you know, like, $6.99-$12.99... a PIECE!  A PIECE!!.  Did I mention that they are small enough to fit in the average female's palm?  Yep.  The big kid loves farm and zoo animals.  He wants them all.  Including the family of geese that are about the size of a cherry tomato and smaller, economically priced at 2.99-4.99 each. What.a.steal. 


So we have dozens of these, and they always come with a plastic-coated, teensy-tiny, bar code on the leg.  We *try* to remove them, but apparently one got by.... and was found by the middle child.

Middle child is well known around these parts as "anything I can reach and pick up, I will eat."  This makes for joyous diapers.  Diapers, that contain one 7.99 platypus bar code, covered in poo.  The tag was 100% intact.  Are these bar codes engineered by  the German version of NASA?  I need a cell phone case made out of these suckers.  I mean, if it can be eaten and passed ALLLLLLL the way through an infant's digestive system, it should be able to protect my iPhone from water in the pool, right??

I think I may be on to something.  I wonder if that Shark Tank show would accept my idea?  The iPOO protective case, b/c well, it will protect your phone from all kinds of shit.

He super-glued what?

Super-glue is evil.  I'm pretty sure it should be called human glue, because let's be honest it never seems to glue anything but my fingers together... or holy-shittingly, my son's freakin' eyelashes.

Wigga wigga whaaat?  Yes, I just typed that.  My 1 year old (who had a minor eye procedure about two weeks ago) managed to glue his eyelashes together today. Yep, same eye.  No, I am not the mother who gave her kid superglue as a "keep him busy for a second" toy.  (No need for CPS, more like Ripley's Believe it or Not.)

The oldest received a pirate ship for his third birthday.  That awesome piece of molded plastic has about 24 bazillion small, choke and/or lose worthy, pieces.  I had the bright idea to glue some of the more important pieces in place.  Smart, huh?  I know, genius!  Anyway, I happily glued all of those little suckers into place, and ignorantly assumed that he glue would DRY.  Stooopid!!  2.5-3 hours later, the little monsters woke from their nap.  Middle monster reached out and touched the pirate ship.  Then he knocked it over, cried a bit and walked away.  No worries, right? It sadly took me a minute or so to realize that the magic pirate ship had turned my otherwise normal child into a one-eyed pirate with a pissed off demeanor.  I actually did a double, hell, possibly a triple-take wondering why he had one eye squeezed shut.  Then it hit me... OMG, my small child has somehow managed to get superglue in his EYELASHES.  W.T.F.  I then looked at the pirate ship and realized that none of the glue was dry. It was just being held nice and gooey under all of those cute choke-sized pieces.  Middle child had snatched a flag, rubbed his eye, and VOILA!  Instant Pirate.  EFF ME. 

Now you might ask, how does one get superglue out of one-year-old eyelashes?  Baby oil on a wet wipe, small circular motion, and another adult holding the screaming infant while Mommy gets to try to use an eyelash brush to open the suckers without plucking them all out.  It worked.  His eye is no longer permanently patched.  The goo, I mean glue, has been removed from the premises and Mommy is very thankful that she didn't have to explain this entire fiasco to an ER DR with CPS on speed dial.

Welcome 2013.  Arrrrrrrgh, Matey.  Me be needin' some wine.