Lemon Anatomy

I rolled out a fresh spread of paper on the play table this morning, and the littles immediately went to work. Porter was very focused for a few minutes, and then said, "look! It's a talking lemon!"

"A talking lemon?" I asked.

"Yup!"

"Whatever made you think to draw a talking lemon?"

"Mommy, it's just a talking lemon."

"Oh, okay," I conceded.

Po was back to work on another area of the paper. The drawing looked similar, but it was much larger and sort-of rocket-like.

"A penis lemon!" Po declared.

"A penis lemon?" I giggled.

"Yup! A lemon with a penis! See?"

"Yes, I see. Fantastic."

Campbell piped in, "WHY?"

Sometimes my little girl of few words chooses just the right one.

"Here, Porter. Have some milk," Daddy interjected, most certainly trying to change the subject.

"Okay!" said Po, skipping off with his cup.

Tell it Like it is

The littles and I were out distributing Well Minded door hangers this morning. They enjoy helping by holding the flyers and snacking in the stroller while I run up to each door. Sometimes someone is outside the home, so instead of being a dork and putting the flyer on the doorknob while the person is standing right there, I ask, "may I please give you a flyer for pet sitting?" The person almost always gives me permission and often asks me questions about the business, so it's a nice opportunity. Porter usually says hello and chats them up about how much we love animals, pretty much sealing the deal that we'll snag a new client out of the encounter.

Today we came upon a man hosing down his driveway, so I asked, "good morning, sir! May I please give you a flyer for pet sitting?"

"NO," he barked.

"Alright, then. Have a wonderful day!"

In a volume high enough for the man to hear and with an appropriately-irritated tone, Po asked "Mommy! Why did that man say 'no'? THAT WAS SO MEAN!"

Awesome. We weren't snagging that guy, anyway. Maybe Po taught him something.

Spelling Bee

I usually have the littles get through some of their dinner before I let them have a drink. Otherwise, they drink ten gallons, then say they're full.

This evening big bro, B, finished his meal (he doesn't have the same problem, but couldn't pause to pour himself a drink before diving in) and asked if he could have a D-R-I-N-K. You know how you spell things when you don't want the non-spellers to pick up on something?

"Sure," I said.

When B sat down with his beverage, Po asked, "Mommy, may I please have some T-I-A-A-Y?"

B and I looked at each other and smiled.

"Would you like the drink brother has?" I inquired.

"No. I want some T-I-A-A-Y."

"T-I-A-A-Y?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

"What is that, Po? Do you want some milk?"

Big sigh. "No, Mommy, I want some T-I-A-A-Y, please."

B and I looked at each other in confusion and hysterics without showing either to Po.

I say to Po, "Well, Po, my spelling isn't as good as it should be. Could you please just tell me the word for what you want?"

Bigger sigh. "I want some ice cream."

I almost pissed my pants laughing that time. He didn't eat a great dinner, but I let him have a popsicle because he showed such a great spelling effort.

High Five

Po and Cam sit right next to each other in the car, which sometimes means trouble. Especially since Cam works her breech-baby flexibility, often putting her foot right in Po's face. He can't stand it, of course, and occasionally resorts to physical means, as was the case this morning.

"Porter, our hands are not for hitting, even if Campbell has her foot in your face. Ask her nicely to move her foot, and if she won't, then let me know and I'll take care of it. Remember, our hands are for holding things, petting animals gently, clapping, and giving high fives."

Porter thought for a moment and said. "Mommy, isn't giving a high five a type of hitting?"

Sheesh. "Well, I guess you could argue that, but it's hitting gently with permission. If both people put their hands up, it's okay."

"Well, I still think it could be really dangerous. Like someone could go to jail for their whole life."

I don't think I'd had enough coffee, yet, to dispute that.

The Flip Side

Porter was not getting his way this morning. He didn't get a lollipop for breakfast. Or gummy sharks. He was served yogurt, granola, and strawberries, and he was having none of it. He persisted about the chocolate milk and the popsicles. I persisted with the "no."

About mid-morning, he announced "Mommy, I really don't appreciate your attitude today."

Urgent Eye Exam

I was trying to get Po dressed quickly this morning because we were late for a play date. Of course, he had other things to do, which was making me frustrated on top of rushed. Never a good thing.

As I'm in close quarters with him trying to help him pull his pants up, etc., he keeps shoving this crystal thing in my eye. So then I couldn't see what I was doing, adding even more to my frustration. He kept saying something I was trying to tune out about the fact that he was a doctor and had to check my eyes...

I finally said "If I let you check my eyes for a minute, will you please put that thing DOWN and GET DRESSED?"

"Um...yeah, of course." he said.

So I put the dang pants down and opened my eyes wide for my exam. He looked and looked. One eye, then the next, then back again.

"Well. I don't know what to say. I think there's a problem with your pupil."

Of course there is. My pupil? I should have known all along.

Chess

Porter and Campbell were attempting to play chess yesterday, and I was listening to Po's commentary.

"Bay sis', you be a lawyer and attack me, and I'm the King of Cartoons."

Champagne

We don't drink all that much Champagne in our house, but whenever we do, Po gets on a six-month Champagne kick. Kid Champagne, to be exact.

So I'll occasionally let him pick out a bottle. Apple, pear, cranberry...whatever. This last time he picked out Strawberry Kid Champagne. He's having a glass with dinner, and he says "Mommy, since I'm having Strawberry Kid Champagne, I think I need a strawberry in it.

Really? Really. Does he know that's a thing? He can't. "So you want a strawberry to enhance the flavor of the Champagne?" I inquired.

"Yes."

"Okay, buddy, you got it." So I pulled a strawberry out of the fridge, washed it, and dropped it in his plastic Champagne glass.

"But..." he protested.

"Nope. Grownups do it with the stems on."

"O....K..." He took a swig. "Mmmmmmmmmm! WAY better!"

Don't ever fault me for not teaching my kid the essentials in life.

Selfish With an Undertone of Sweetness

This morning was one of those rare ones that had me up before the littles. By choice? No. By Kermit. Barking. And not one of those long sessions that you can tune out, it was "RUF!" Ten second pause. "RUF!" Ten second pause. "RUF!"

You get the picture. Anyway, I'm up.

I start to hear grumbling from Po and Cam's room, so I'm all ears on the monitor. I love to hear them plot. They share a room with Po in a bed and Cam in a crib. After a bit of unclear chatterand Cam saying "out" several times, I hear Po say the following:

"Bay sis'" (that's how he pronounces "baby sis'," his preferred nickname for her). "Bay sis', I'll be back to check on you in a minute, after I have breakfast."

She responds,"k." I don't think she knew what she was agreeing to.

"Here, Bay sis', you can read this book."

"Deek you."

Po comes out and says "I'm ready for breakfast now, Mommy," leaving Bay sis' in the dust.

Poo, Part Deux (or How to Completely Embarrass Your Teen)

My two little cherubs are running around naked right now because we're waiting in line for the kid bathroom. Again.

B is taking his sweet time. When I tried to open the door this time, I said "Seriously? We need to change your poo schedule." How is it possible that at the exact time the littles need to bathe, the teen-thing is taking a crap, every night? Should I try fiber to push things up to morning for him? So that it's convenient for me?

Porter knocks on the door and says "Brother, I'm serious. Are you serious?"

"Yes, Po."

"Well, are you going pee or poo?" Enquiring minds want to know. As if we couldn't tell from the hallway.

"Poo."

"Seriously? Is that the deal? (I love my kid.) Get out of town," Porter suggested what we were all thinking.

"Po, leave me alone."

"Well, then get out of the bathroom." A logical solution.

Whoop...gotta go. Bathroom is free. Better jump on that.

I Can't Make This Shit Up

When my day started off with my mashed potato-brained dog eating my favorite bra, I thought things could only get better.

Bookends. Ever heard of bookends?

Porter and Campbell ate an unbelievably and rare good dinner tonight, so I gave them each a slice of Auntie Karin's leftover b-day cake for dessert. They were COVERED in it, so I thought I'd take them directly to the bath. Do not pass go. Do NOT touch the walls.

I go to open the door to their bathroom where all of their bathing supplies are, and it's locked. Crap. Our teen-thing is taking a crap. And because, to my knowledge, he doesn't read this blog, I'll tell you the details, and he can blame me later. Something was seeping under the door into the hallway, he's taking his sweet time, and I'm holding a nearly twenty-month-old who is so covered in chocolate cake that she can't even see and simultaneously trying to calm and negotiate Po into not finger painting his mess onto the walls and my clothes. Not even at a drunken concert when I was barely twenty-one had I wanted to get into a bathroom more badly, though it smelled like a sewer. Talk about painful desperation.

As we waited outside the door, Campbell squirmed and threw a fit, and I talked to Porter about how, once we got in, I'd draw him the bubbliest bath in the world. "Will it be a pretty one?"

"Yes. Absolutely. I'll put half the dang container of bubbles in the bath...ARE WE ALMOST DONE IN THERE? IF YOU'RE READING I SWEAR I'LL..."

Click.

Whew.

Pee-eeew.

I ran the water and stuck the littles in immediately. Po has this incredibly sensitive gag reflex, so he was gagging, and I told him that as soon as he got in the bubble bath, it would smell better. While he was waiting his turn to enter the oasis, he proclaimed "BROTHER! You didn't flush!"

WTF. Seriously.

Brother explained, "yeah, well, I had to use a lot of toilet paper, and it won't all go down."

Of course.

I told the littles, "just get in the bath, and let me worry about that." They were happy to oblige.

I had the teen-thing bring me the plunger, and I went to work, turning around after every plunge to make sure there was no drowning going on. It was no use. I sent my on-his-way-home husband a text saying that I would never divorce him if nothing but for the fact that I can't unclog a toilet to save my life. And hurry.

So we're trying to get over the fact that we're bathing next to a clogged toilet. At least we have a thick layer of sweet-smelling bubbles. The biggest bubble bath ever. I promised. All we needed were some toys. I peered into the tub saw some dark shadows and thought, "I don't remember putting toys in there."

"POO!" Porter announced while gagging.

EVACUATION. IMMEDIATE EVACUATION! NOW!

I removed Porter first, for fear that he would add vomit to the equation. I told him to stand on the bath mat and "don't move."

"But I don't want to look at the poo! I can't look at the poo!"

"Turn around and close your eyes. I'll take care of it," I tried to reassure him.

Campbell was next. It was her poo...might as well let her sit and stew in it while I evacuated the other. "B, get yourself in here RIGHT NOW and help me." The teen thing came. "Hold your sister. She has shampoo in her hair, and she's covered in poo water. She's slippery, but don't drop her, whatever you do." He looked at me with disgust. I told him, "you started the ball rolling on all of this, and you are going to have to change your shirt, but you ARE holding her for as long as this takes. And make sure Po doesn't move off the bath mat."

Po screamed "I don't want to look at the POO!"

Me neither. I had to take the plunge. Time was of the essence.

Now, it would be fairly easy if I all I had to do was transfer the offensive invaders into the toilet right next to the tub.

Your brain it clicking into high gear, now, isn't it? Sort-of like a suspense movie?

"B, give me your sister, and go get me a bowl." All I get is a stunned freakish look back.

"NOW!"

"Okay, okay..." he goes. I'm waiting. I shit you not, the kid comes back with a ramekin.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I HAVE TO DIG A FULL POO OUT OF THE BATH. GET ME A FLIPPING BOWL. A bowl. A BOOOOOOOOOOWL!"

"Okay, OKAY!" attitudes the teen-thing.

He comes back with a bowl. And if you are ever planning to eat dinner at my house in the future, don't ask which one. Just forget this ever happened.

I wish I had a fish net, but now, at least three minutes into the crisis, I had to be brave. The hands went in, and I scooped over and over, trying to get every dissolving nugget into that bowl as fast as I could. Once I thought I'd gotten all I could get, I carried the soupy mess into the master bath and dumped it into the toilet. Gag. I then went to the kitchen and burned the hottest water into that bowl I could. Then I went back to the bathroom.

All seemed to be well, except for the fact that I still had two dripping-wet poo-children being supervised by the teen thing. I let the tub drain out, disinfectant poised, then noticed a blue whale-sized shadow. It couldn't be. Was that concealed by the iceberg bubble formations I'd created? O.M.G. I can't go back and get the bowl. Everyone is screaming and gagging. A mother has to do what a mother has to to. I transported that mother with my bare hands all the way to the master bath.

There must be some kind of award.

So I quickly disinfected the tub as hubby strolled in just in time to laugh. His ass off.

Bath. Take two!

"Just unclog the toilet," I pleaded. He did, and he knew better than keep chuckling.

Porter concluded, with our complete party of five in the bathroom, "Brother, you need to not poo so much!"

Here, here. And cheers to that.

Stop the Violence

We decided recently that Po should grow up and deal with life without being locked in his bedroom at bedtime. We're the ones dealing, of course, but he's learning.

He did fine for a while, but lately he's been transforming into an expert spy-type escape artist, and before I know it, he's snoozing happily with eighteen friends, a cup of water and multiple blankets in my bed, all performed right under my nose.

We were considering re-installing the lock, but my husband came up with a better idea: rest an empty Diet Coke can on the handle of the lever doorknob so that when he opens the door, the can comes crashing down on the hardwood floor and scares the shit out of him.

Mwahahahaha.

So we tried this for the first time last night, and let me just say that now our biggest problem is keeping a straight face. Po turned the knob several times and we replaced the can several times before he said "hey, guys? What do you keep throwing at me?"

There is no hope for me keeping a straight face, now.

Why Girls are More Fun than Boys

Campbell has been a bit curious about her private area lately, so we've been teaching her the proper word. Since she is the only girl baby in the house, we've never heard the word so much in our lives.

While I was helping Po finish up on the toilet today, he said "Mommy, do I have a fun-gina?"

Sometimes you can't beat a good kid mispronunciation.

Big Baby

We had a child lock installed on the pantry soon after Porter ate half a box of Fudge Stripe Cookies for breakfast one morning.

Porter wanted some chocolate milk this afternoon and wanted to help by getting the Ovaltine out of the pantry. It wasn't in its usual spot, so I helped him find it and then said "sometimes Daddy puts things back in funny places."

Porter suggested "maybe we should put a really big baby lock on the pantry so he stops doing that silly stuff."

Consulting Mr. Webster

As if Porter doesn't have a large enough vocabulary, he often makes up his own words when he doesn't have one to express himself. He never misses a beat...he just throws the made-up word right into the middle of the sentence. I usually ask him what the word means, and he always has a very precise definition.

So this morning he was frustrated because Daddy and Mommy wouldn't let him do something. He said "Aaaaaarrrrrrgggg. Why do you guys always omnicate together?"

"'Omnicate'?" I asked.

"Yeah, 'omnicate'."

"What does 'omnicate' mean?"

Porter explained, "Well, it means when you and Daddy say the same thing."

"Oh. I see." I walked away, and then, about thirty seconds later, put on the brakes. Could it be? Could he have used an actual word and I just don't know it? "Omni" means "one," And "cate..." doesn't that have something to do with the mouth, like "masticate?" Hmmmm. Could this word "omnicate" be real? Seemed like a possibility, so I actually went to the dictionary.

Aren't you dying to know?

I could make you look it up, but I'll spare you the burden of an endless search. It's not there, but maybe it should be. I think I'll incorporate it into my vocabulary.

Cloud Movement

Our family enjoyed some outdoor time this evening, seeing as it was the first cool night of the season. When we returned from a walk, we spent some time in the back yard. I was pushing Po on the swing, and we were looking at the plane lights cut through the clouds in the sky. We were also observing stars. He said "hey, where did that star go?"

I told him, "it's still there. We just can't see it because the cloud moved and came between it and us."

"Oh," he replied, "I didn't realize that clouds migrate, too."

YouTube

Porter loves to watch garbage truck and train videos on YouTube. I just type in the request, and he's good to go. We've never had an issue...he just points and clicks.

The other day he was doing his thing and suddenly emitted a cry of panic. "I don't want to see these grown-up videos! Ahhhhhhhhhh! Grown-up videos! I don't WANT these GROWN UP VIDEOS!"

It took my brain a second to click on, and then I thought, Oh, BLEEP. My mind immediately went to the worst, and as I bolted and hurdled across the room to the computer, things seemed to be in slow-motion. And the horrific slide show of the nude and lewd streamed through my mind in fast-motion.

I didn't want to know what he had stumbled upon that was obviously disturbing him greatly.

But I had to look.

I had to turn it off.

I fish-tailed around the desk and saw the horror.

Flower arranging.