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Thursday, April 26, 2007

Warmer Weather






We stayed at a friend's cottage last weekend. It was gorgeous out, but probably not what I would consider swimming (or even wading) weather.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Away

Yesterday, S said she wanted to start wearing undies. I agreed. It was time. For the FIFTH time. It was definitely time.
She sat on the potty every hour (that makes 12 times in a day) all day. She peed in her pants 12 times, and she peed in the potty 0 times. When I tell her she needs to go in the potty and not in her pants, she says, "Ooooooh!" (like it is a new revelation every time.)

Last night, she stayed dry all night, so I put her on the potty, excited that she would surely have to go.

She would finally experience peeing in the potty!

She sat, from 830am-1015am, and sat, and sat on the potty. We read. She ate breakfast. We watched Elmo.

She did not go.

I finally told her she should try again later. She walked down the hall about ten feet, and peed on the floor.

------------------------------

Z is back in diapers, because he pees on the floor or in his pants every time he goes to time-out.

He goes to time-out alot.

Actually, he finally just woke up from a nap that started as a time-out at noon today. Now it is 230pm.

They were eating lunch. He pretended to do a long throw with his fish stick. I reminded him that if he threw it, he would be finished with lunch.

He threw, not only the fishstick, but his whole plate of banana, a pile of ketchup, and three more fishsticks.

I put him in his bed, and asked if he knew why he was in his bed. "Because I don't like fishsticks." I shut off the light, and left.

He fell asleep.

I cried. And called my sister.

She just left with Z.

My other sister just picked up B and S.

They are staying over night there.

I feel like a crap mom.

People have to come and take my kids? I wondered if they were thinking I might beat them. Or put them in time-out for the rest of the day? Yell too loud? They say it is because they have had three-year-olds before, and they know what it is like.....'cept they didn't have three at once.

That was nice for them to do. Really it was. I am glad. They are nice. But no matter what their explanation is....I still feel like a crap mom.


Oh well. I guess I can go get some errands done in peace.

(Edited to say: the rest of the week was WAY better. You can't even imagine what one day away from bratty kids does for a person. Nice family.)

Monday, April 09, 2007

Need I Say More?


ok, I will.
My Dad bought kites at Dollar Tree. They would've been worth it if he had to buy them for $100. Our kids clung to those kites with all of their three-year-old might.











My dad cooked every meal. The entire week. For all 23 of us.























We searched for crabs in a cute, little bay area. (Michaela is showing S a fiddler crab in the picture to the left.)
They were ugly.




We crowded in a small section on the vast beach, and talked
and talked
and talked.

And read. (Can you see K?)








And dug.








And slept.
































And played.





















And played.

































And cuddled.














And finally, when it started getting dark....., we went "home" to our condo, and waited for the sun to rise on yet another day's excitement.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Stinky Old People


We stayed in a hotel on the way home. A nice hotel. There was no pubic hair on the bathroom floor and the comforters were probably bodily-fluid-free, because they were thin enough to easily throw in the washer.
Anyway...
My dad stayed in the room with our kids while we went to get Taco Bell. He shut the light out and rested on the empty bed. A conversation then started between our boys:
Z: B, where is Gramps?
B: I don't know. Maybe he is in the bathroom.
Z: Maybe he is poopin'.
B: Yup, he is poopin'!
Z: Gramps is funny.
B: Yup. And he was driving the car today. Wasn't he?!
Z: Yup. And he was eatin' our pretzels.
(My dad clapped his hands, loudly, hoping that the noise would scare the boys into being quiet.)
Z: What was that noise, B?!
B: I think Gramps farted.
Z: Grandpa stinks. (Grandpa is trying to stifle a laugh now...)
B: I don't stink.
Z: I don't stink either. GRANDPA stinks!
B: Yeah, grandpa stinks...
(Grandpa couldn't help but laugh now.)
Z: Grandpa, are you in here? Grandpa? What you doin'? You poopin'?