Hunting, Halloween, Mutiny, and Survival Basics

It's kinda childish, but I always wait until Shawn leaves for his hunting trip to break out the Halloween decor.  Like he's SO surprised when he comes home to find the house decorated every year.  But I am a dork, and a dork I will remain.  He left yesterday, and today after school the bins came out.

Never mind that last year, someone...... not saying it was me, but it was most likely me..... somehow mistook a small, real pumpkin for a fake pumpkin and packed that shit in a bin.  DESTROYED quite a few decorations with mold and stench.

THE HOUSE:  

Colton is decorating upstairs, and he just came down to inform me that Mackenzie's room is now called "Kenziestein Kindgom", and his and Casey's room is called......um, "Haunted House".

That is all for tonight, because they really need attention right now.

8:15 AM, A 'MORNING AFTER' UPDATE:  I broke up a fight at 1:30 AM (whaaaaaat??  Mackenzie slept in their room and brought a scary rat decoration to bed.  Casey decided in the middle of the night that he couldn't take it anymore and wanted to kick the rat out.  Arguments ensued...), again at 6 AM, and while I was in the shower at 7:30 AM.  And I was awake from 1:30 to 5:30, trying to read myself to sleep.  But I keep forgetting how good this book is, so it didn't work:

THEN... when I came downstairs after my shower, they were eating out of a box of Cheez Its for breakfast.  Is this some kind of anarchy situation?  With Shawn out of the house and only me to take down, are they attempting a teeny tiny stateless society?
(While I was typing that, Casey and Mackenzie were screaming at each other over Halloween stickers, so I kicked them out of the house.  I opened the door and said, "Get out."  They were actually pretty compliant with that one, even while looking at me like I was nuts.  I'll remember that for the future.)

This is possibly the least streamlined blog post I've ever written.  Time is an issue.  But I am headed to Party City now for Halloween costumes.  Let's see if I make it back alive...

TONIGHT:   We (sorta) made it through the Party City experience.  Just thought I'd add another update.  These particular antics made me fall on the floor, laughing.  Casey's superhuman 5-year-old brick wall strength shines in this photo:

For the record, they were laughing too.  Mack was marching around in her underwear, barking out Captain's orders, and the boys were running a police station restaurant that functions on one policy:  If you don't like what you're being served, you get tackled and handcuffed.

And Mackenzie is now repeatedly feeding her most beloved baby to the attacking skeleton hand candy bowl while soothingly telling her "It's okay, Beebie," then looking at me and saying, "Her wikes it."
 

Who raised these people??

I Just Hid from My Kids and Cried Into My Pillow for a Half Hour

I'm going to start out this blog entry with a simple fact:  I can be a total fuckwit when it comes to parenting.  And for so, so many reasons.  Today, my fuckwittiness has to do with potty training Mackenzie.

Mackenzie is three now.  She can talk in paragraphs (for really extended periods of time), keep up with her brothers, change her own outfit (5 times daily), manipulate a situation so it best serves her (with a smile on her face and a hug at the ready).  The girl is growing up- sassy, strong-willed and adorable- and she's even starting preschool in less than two months.

But she will not poop in the potty.

This has been going on for some time.  We've tried everything.  Incentive (bribery?) in the form of a few M&Ms.  When that didn't work, we upgraded to a bag of fruit snacks.  Didn't work.  We took a break from the whole thing and revisited it after a month or two.  Didn't work.  We read books about kids learning to use the potty while she was sitting on the potty.  I made up dorky songs about pooping.  Shawn and I took turns sitting on the bathroom floor for what felt like (and probably was) hours, trying to keep her company and entertain her.  I took her to the store and let her pick out two big, toy babies (her favorite) and a bunch of little toys to put in her "Treasure Box".  At home, I put them where she could see them, but couldn't reach them as a reminder of the awesomeness she would receive if she would only just poop in the potty.  One day, I promised one baby, two treasure box toys, chocolate AND fruit snacks all at once if she would do it.

She resisted.

As soon as she was away from my watchful, dissecting (and, okay, sometimes easily distracted) eyes, she would find somewhere cozy and private and poop in her pants.  When I was no longer willing to scrape her 'accidents' out of her brand new underwear, I started throwing her cute Dora and Hello Kitty underwear in the garbage, thinking she might get upset about it and stop pooping to save her favorite underwear.  But her stubbornness prevailed.  She said, "I don't want those underwear."  (And when I promised candy, she said, "I don't like candy."  LIES!)

So I reverted back to pull-ups in an attempt to save my sanity.

Last night, I sat with her for a long time, on and off, because I knew she had to go.  She wouldn't.  This morning, I rushed her to the bathroom immediately upon awakening.  A no-go.  When we got home from the store, I took off her pull-up.  While we were playing outside, she asked for her juice.  I went inside to find her cup, and within a minute or two I realized what I (or she?) had just done.  I RAN back outside, but by the time I got to her, she was standing next to a pile of poop in the grass.

And that's when I lost it.

Any bit of patience that I formerly possessed was gone.  I yelled.  I was pissed.  I let my frustration out and I put her to bed for her nap without her sippy cup or her favorite blanket or any kind of loving gesture.  And then I slammed her door.  And when she started singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", I pounded on her door and said, "AND NO SINGING IN THERE!!" (Kind of reminded me of that saying-- "If Mama ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy".)

I went downstairs with my raging energy and cleaned any messes I could find (because that's what I do with raging energy.  If I can't run away from the house, screaming, then I clean stuff).  And when I started to level off, I.... got.... sad.  Because parenting is a day-in, day-out test of sanity and temperament, and that moment, among other recent moments with each one of my kids, was a looooooowwwww point.  And those low points add up.  So I let the boys play video games and I hid in my room and cried.

And no, this isn't about how parenting is miserable and impossible and a general fuck all.  In fact, I even had a few laughs while I wrote this, listening to Colton and Casey giggle at each other.  Here's a sample of them discussing the PS3 games they just bought with their yard sale/lemonade stand money (Colton chose Minecraft and Casey chose Sonic):

COLTON:  My game is cooler, because in Minecraft, you can build things, like your own city.  And you can die.
CASEY:   But dude, my guy is blue, and blue's my favorite color.

So... I'm not even sure why I'm recording these sentiments today.  I have a tendency to view time past with my kids from a nostalgic place, free from daily irritation and foibles.  Maybe I need make sure that I can look back and see the reality of it, so that in twenty years I can level with the mom in the grocery store wrangling psychotic children and doing the best she can.  So that I don't stand back in judgement and think, "My kids NEVER acted like that", or "I NEVER would have reacted that way".  Because, good Lord, it happens. It happens on your good days and it happens (in a bigger, uglier way) on your bad days.  And learning to navigate through that as a parent, just like they're learning to navigate their worlds, can be next to impossible sometimes.  And fun and exciting and all that shit, too, but that's a blog for another day.  :)

Scrappy Goes to the ER

I took Scraps to Urgent Care for a lip laceration a couple weeks ago (because, once again, she was jumping on the couch... and fell off this time), but because of her age and the location of the (gaping) wound, they sent us to the ER so she could be sedated while they sutured it. Memere was there, and I think it really helped to see a familiar face and get spoiled with stickers and a stuffed bear. Mack was a rock star, even without food or water for most of the day. She didn't really get upset until the second attempt at the IV. She struggled not to cry (which made me WANT to cry), but then lost it. After that, the swarming of doctors, nurses, bright lights and equipment was overwhelming for her and she couldn't calm down. And I almost lost it when I saw her go from a shrieking, terrified 2-year-old to a limp, heavily sedated, staring blank slate. I just sat at her feet, took a moment to reign in the threatening tears and tight throat, and held on to her lower leg (the only part of her I could reach) while they worked on her. It was over quickly and she slowly came to... and the first things she said were, "I wanna leeeeeeaaave" and "I can't taaaaaallllk!".

Welcome to the Suture Club, Mackie Lou. Your brothers are already members. Now please stop trying to give me a heart attack, all of you.

Love, Your Graying Mother

P.S.-- I love all the staff at the Silverdale Harrison ER. Every single one of them, doctors included, were absolutely wonderful with Mackenzie. And with me, actually. When I was at my worst point- when Mack was first sedated and just before they started suturing her- one of the docs asked me, "Are YOU okay?" I nodded, of course, and attempted a smile with it, although I'm not sure what kind of creepy face arose with that attempt. I was just thankful to be in a room full of people who seemed to understand that, even though this might be ordinary for them, it definitely wasn't for us.

Watching some local news while waiting

New toys from Memere and the ER staff

Attempting to climb the bed, because SHE JUST DOESN'T LEARN!

                                                                                    

       

                                                                               

Swollen mouth the next morning

Shoes. Just shoes.

I will admit that I'm not the most cool-tempered parent out there.  I lose my head sometimes.  I get annoyed.  There are times when, if Shawn is home, I lock myself in my bedroom for ten minutes with a ball of yarn and a crochet hook just so I don't have to talk to anyone-- and I think those ten minutes are glorious.  Of course, there are other (brief... fleeting) moments when I think I'm doing all right, and I'm patient enough, and good enough, and maybe I have a decent handle on having three kids.

But nothing (NOTHING!!!) makes me crazy quite as fast as watching my children try to get their shit together in the morning.  ('Try' is a very generous word.)  I have Colton's lunch made and his planner signed and sitting on the table with his homework.  Casey's preschool bucket has its own designated spot by the front door, which, conveniently, is right next to the basket for kid shoes.  On the other side of the front door is a kid-sized coat hanger with pegs and everything.  In theory, we're set up for maximum efficiency and it should take two minutes to get out the door. 

HOWEVER.  For some reason, every morning looks like this instead:


ME:   Guys, it's time to go!

CASEY:  Do I have to go to school today?

ME:  Yes, it's Friday.  And we just talked about this five minutes ago.

CASEY:  But does Colton have to go to school today?

ME:  Colton goes to school every day.  Get your shoes on.

CASEY:  *slowly looks around, appears dazed, sits on the stairs*

ME:  You need your shoes before you sit down.  COLTON!  I said it's time to go!

COLTON:  *kicks balloon around house, appears to be missing his pants*

ME:  Dude, where are your pants?  Casey, where are your shoes?

CASEY:  (staring absently at shoe basket) But... I had them last year.

ME:  Well, they're gone this year, so think about what you were doing last year and go find them.

COLTON:  Mom, where's my jacket?

ME:  Colton, where are your PANTS?

MACKENZIE:  MOM!  WHERE MY JUICE GO?!  STOP IT, COTE-UN!!  *shrieks like her arm was just ripped off her body*

ME:  *mad*  COLTON!  Did I tell you to put your pants on or did I tell you to bug your sister?

CASEY:  Moooomm?  Do I have to go to school this year?  Is it show and tell today?

ME:  Yah, go grab a toy.  And check to see if your shoes are in the toy room.

COLTON:  *is now wearing pants, but has gone back to kicking the balloon*  

ME:   SHOES, JACKETS, BACKPACK, BUCKET, NOW!  *standing by door like a soldier of efficiency with wallet, keys, phone, a 2-year-old and her juice, and a freshly brewed cup of coffee, READY TO GO*

CASEY:  *appears with an old sticker in his hand, is still shoeless*

ME:  Did you look for your shoes?.............................. Casey?  Did you look for your shoes?

CASEY:  I found this sticker, can I take this sticker for show and tell?

ME:  Really?  Why?  Yah.  I don't care.  Which jacket are you wearing?

CASEY:  I only want to wear the skeleton jacket that is upstairs, buried beneath bins of toys in the closet of my messy room, but it may be somewhere else entirely, including possibly outside, lost in the woods, and that particular jacket is the only jacket that is acceptable to me at this time.

(Maybe that's not exactly what he said, but that's what I gathered from our conversation.)

ME:  Okay, that's not happening.  Wear your Seahawks sweatshirt.  *walks to toy room, finds Casey's shoes in plain sight, lined up neatly where he left them*

After about five more minutes of this and eventually becoming entirely convinced that my kids I need to be medicated, they are shooed out the door with pants and shoes and everything with the clear message "GET IN THE CAR" practically tattooed on their foreheads.  I set the alarm, lock the door, head to the car, and I then see that they have listened like good little angels and they are sitting in their respective car/booster seats.

Naw, I'm totally kidding.  They're actually 30 feet away from the car, throwing rocks into a giant, muddy puddle and it's splashing all over their clean pants that they finally managed to put on.

ME:   In my head-- ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW??   And out loud--  ARE YOU KIDDING ME??  GET IN THE CAR!  THE CAR!  GET IN!  Good LORD!!

CASEY:  (finally buckled into his car seat)  Mom?  I have to go poop really bad. 

COLTON:  Mom?  I'm still hungry.

Aaaaaaannnd Scene.