Bread Crumbs In The Butter

So THAT'S what the pocket is for?

While grocery shopping Alex caught sight of a 3 pack of Bob The Builder boxer briefs. He had to have them. He wouldn't let go. I bought them cause hey, any interest the last kid in diapers shows in potty training should only be cultivated.

They are size 2T. Have you ever seen size 2T briefs? They are so freaking cute they makey your heart melt. Seeing his little ass wiggle around in his "Bod Da Yilder" undies makes me smile. I'm smiling right now.

So now he has the big boy underwear. Now he wants to do the big boy thing and pee.  He loves to walk to the bathroom, pull them down and then stare up at me.

I stare back.

What do I do!? How in the world do I potty train a boy? I know it will be trial and error, but does he sit? Does he stand? Do I hold it? Teach him to hold it? Does he straddle the toilet?  The girls were a cinch to train. I've heard boys are harder. I've heard to try fish or cheerios for aim. Give M&Ms for every pee. Sing a song. Do a dance. Back off. Push forward!

Will potty training a boy get me addicted to Xanax?

Revised Entry; Now titled "PMS Sucks"

**I've decided to edit out the parts of this post referring to a specific preschool Mom. Really, none of it had anything to do with her. Just me being bitchy and tired. Posting about that went completely against what I set out to do with this blog.

All day yesterday, I tried to come up with something cute and anecdotal to say. I've committed myself to blogging once a day, but you see, when you're PMSing, the wit doesn't flow as freely.  Since the 8 year stretch of constant pregnancy and nursing has ended, my hormones have had the chance to get themselves back to normal. It's fun times really. I forgot how fun it could be.

Oh and let's not forget that my husband has been wound so tight the last couple of days I fear his head is just going to blow right off his neck.  Oh yeah. Fun times.

Last night I had the pleasure of cleaning toys at the preschool.  We pretty much spray everything down with trace amounts of bleach and lots of water, let it dry and put it back. That way, should some kid come down with the Ebola virus we can say "Hey, she didn't get it here, we sprayed once a week!"

As is when you get a bunch of women together, the conversation shifted to birthing and bodily fluids.  Who had the biggest baby. Who almost died. Who almost had her baby in the car. Yes, one of them remembered that I have homebirthed and again I was told "Wow. I just don't know if I could risk my baby's life that way."   Hmmm... while you're scrubbing a toilet used by three year olds, what you really want to go with it is women standing over you telling you what they think of something they know nothing about! 

Meg, Alex and I are headed out to Costco today. Then we'll play outside.  All of this in an effort to keep Alex from freaking out at 5pm like he has. Gosh. I love when they outgrow naps but grow horns at dinnertime.

Hey! I just saw two ROBINS!!

I don't find it cute and I think trying hard is a good thing.

I had two breastfeeding counsels this morning (three more hours toward my certification!) and because John was not home I had to take Alex and Meg with me.

Today was a day where they decided to show people how good a Mom I am. They were gold. They played quietly with books and bugged the second lady's cat. They didn't scream or yell and Alex did not hit any babies.

When they act like that I feel reassured that my being here all the time is of nothing but benefit to them. I want to come home and do laundry, make beds, put on an apron!

...and then I remember Easter dinner conversation.

We had my Mom and some neighbours over for prime rib. We were discussing the night before (Saturday, stay with me here) when I said to John: "WOW. The steak in that commercial looks so good!" to which John replied, "Why? You can make it twice as good for half the price."

True, but sometimes all I really want is someone to put it in front of me, I eat it and then it gets taken away.

One of our guests said "I can see why. Isn't that what you get every night, John?  Chantal cooks wonderful meals, cleans it up and basically has this house running without you noticing."  (I want to add that this is the DAD who was here!).

The conversation continued on, praising me and my homemaking prowess. From there John and my Mom cocked their heads and me and one of them said (I think it was John?):  "I know. She tries so hard. She's so cute."

Cute? Can you make me feel any more small and worthless? Maybe I'm being ultra-sensitive, but I don't do any of this to be cute. I just do it!   I run around all day long because I have to. Steve Martin in Parenthood said it best when he said "My whole life is have to..."   

I very much enjoy my life. I do get free time. I run. I go out with friends about once a week.  This is my life for right now, but it's not my life forever.  I don't mind being every thing to everyone in this family one bit, but don't fucking call me cute! 

What do I think the more safe response would have been? Well, probably nothing, I am admitedly pretty high maintenance and moody, but "You do work damn hard around here. Yep. I can't think of anything you deserve more than a meal you didn't prepare of have to clean up!" would have been good.

How Can This Be?

I just don't get this?  Krispy Kreme makes heaven covered in glaze.

What kind of world are we living in here People!

Easter Pics are up on the left hand side bar including this lovely one of all of us:

Happy Easter!

When you're married nearly 9 years, you start to look alike;

Yeah, look alike, not DRESS alike.

We walked all over town like this today. (And didn't realize it until Kristyn pointed it out).

... and then (no and then!)...

I told the girls to get all of their stuffed animals in a pile and to separate ones to pack for the new house and a FEW to keep for here.

This was their keep pile:

Less than five seconds after I took this picture, I stuffed all but three of these in a box.  There are two crying girls in this house right now (Kristyn really doesn't care much). One wants me to put in air holes. The other thinks that they will think they are in a coffin and feel like we're burying them.

So, I cut some air holes and threw in a few chocolate eggs. Let's hope they go to bed and I'm not woken up at 3am because either Erin or Meghan is distressed about their cooped up teddies.

My Political Soapbox for today ...

Can we please put aside all of the Terri Schiavo stuff aside for one day?  Can we realize that somewhere in Minnesota a young boy was so disturbed by his place in this World that he shot and killed 10 people, including his Grandfather?  Then turned the gun on himself.

When will we realize how NOT ALONE this boy is?

Is it not getting coverage because of who he was?

A less depressing entry to come soon, I promise. It's been a kick ass day so far, but this is bothering the shit out of me!

Just shows to go that I need to pay more attention

Do you ever just smile and nod at your kids and say "Uh huh"? This happens here whenever my kids asks a bazillion questions in five minutes while I am doing something.

This morning, John was supposed to be watching the kids while I finished painting the dining room. Meghan came in and started right away; "What are you doing?" "Why?" "Why are we moving?" "Why are you painting if we're moving?"

After a while I tuned her out and just said things like "Because Daddy said so." or "Sure Baby, uh huh."

She finally left and was quiet for a while then I heard John say "Chantal, is Meghan supposed to be painting the wall?"

I turned around and sure enough she was painting the wall I had just finished with ceiling paint. I guess the last thing she said was "Can I paint too?"

That took a while to fix. Crap.

The home improvement is coming along very well. The benefit to selling a 7 year old house is that not much has to be done to it besides minor cosmetic stuff. The entire main floor and hallway upstairs is either primed or painted. I did the dining room myself and I gotta say, I rock with a brush.  The dining room set will be put in this weekend and I will share pretty pictures of our adult dining room. Not the one from before, with the Little Tikes picnic table, computer and boxes and boxes of Lego.

I think I will head out to the gym now and sweat off all this paint.

Sticky Face

What happens when you hear this from the other room:

"Come on, Alex! I found these in Mommy's desk. I can decorate you!"

This is why we had kids...

Every single morning, starting at about 7:45am, I start freaking out on my kids. Not all of them, just the two that have to be on the school bus.

"Let's go! Let's go! Your bus is coming. Move it."

They rush around gathering hats, mits, bags etc... One of them has always lost or forgotten something.

"Is that your bus I hear?  I hope not, cause I'm not driving you! You'll have to walk!!!" 

It's like I have this insane resistance to actually getting dressed before 11am. Though, I'm sure I could do it in my jammies if I had to and I didn't care how people saw me, which I do.

So, I freak out on them for the last ten minutes I see them. I rush rush rush. Stress them out.  Then, as they walk out the door I say:

"Love you! Bye! Have a great day!"

A good ten minutes later I hear the bus come around the corner and think "Wow, they had alot more time than I thought."  Every morning!

On an unrelated note, I bought John and Easter present last night. My Big Macho Hunting Man's favourite movie.

He will rip me from limb to limb when he finds out I told the internet that this is his favourite movie.

Spring smells like ...

Most people think Spring smells like dogshit. Don't get me wrong, it does. For me though, I know Spring is coming when my van starts to smell like the reason Meg wouldn't wear her jammies one night.

What a putrid stench! It's almost like the cold dead winter freezes the rank stink into suspension mode only to let it be unleashed when it finally reaches 0 degree celcius. It's nasty. It makes me want to find a new family. One that doesn't drop wrappers and spill juice or milk everywhere. One that doesn't spill Timmy's everywhere. Oh wait. That would mean getting rid of me. I think I might be for that. Can I run away to a tropical island?

On to more important news!  My house does not smell like dogshit or rank milk; Rather, it smells like leather!

My (oops, I mean OUR) new couches arrived today. The Amazing Race is going to rock tonight. I just hafta get some Corona and we have a parté!

Wanna see them? Please understand that the house is being painted and that our old smelly couch is pushed into the corner. Picture them with pretty pictures and a new lamp and tables.

I'm sorry. I have no thought process right now. The couches are distracting me. They're calling to me ... "Chantal... come form an ass groove right here!"

I have to give in!