Seven Minutes.

As Rita sat wondering which of her siblings would feed her another whole grape next, despite the repeated “she will choke!” warnings, I decided which mess to clean first. I smelled the first on step 3 of the stairs and heard the second splatter with an “uh oh (indicating accident) /chuckle (indicating he’s still entertained) in the same spot. “Poop. Always, the poop” I prioritized as I grabbed the baby. It was a clean up on aisle “I’m never potty training!” where the carpet was confused for toilet paper and the bed sheet a toilet, and her hands were included just for fun. “Throw my diaper in the garbage, mom, and then, wash my hands,” she parented me. “Josie, you were supposed to be napping,” I said to her but more so, myself. “No, nap, Momma. Just poop.”


I’ve decided in moments when there is literal sh** spread generously all over favorite area rugs that anything I desire to say to a child the age of “I still poop on the floor,” is better left unsaid. “Just put it in the lawndy” she told me as I half scrubbed, half begged Rita to play with a toy of which she was really quite bored on the other side of the room as far away from the bacteria spread as a Curious Georgita allows.  “Make Daddy do it,” Josie suggested.  It’s an interesting thing, really, that a child can still struggle with diapers, but can grasp a practical understanding of the female power of manipulation just fine. 


“Stay here for one minute,” I said to her in the bath filled with less than one inch of water, as I ran down to assess the smoothie mess. Which brings me to my next nonpoint of the refrigerator and three year olds. In they go, up they climb, things they spill, leftover birthday cake they eat. The mess was bad, but not the worst I’ve seen so I handed him a paper towel and went to retrieve his bathing sister.


It was probably a 45-60 second time period spent alone. But, for a two year old hippie child who lives by her feelings and fun is always best mantra, its 44 seconds too many to be left alone with a cup and water in a tub, and for this, I’m an idiot. “The ceiling is leaking!!” smoothie man warned as I stared at the empty tub, flooded floor, grinning child, and an inch of tub water looks 20 when its covering a surface its not supposed to.  


I strapped on the wrong Dora Pull-up, which made her cry because the butterfly ones are not cool and I should know that she only likes the yellow flowers, and Rita asked to do the steps alone by jumping out of my arms almost breaking her neck, and in a sea of paper towels I saw a singular drop of water on top off what it looks like when James tries to clean up yogurt smoothie unattended. 

“I fixed the ceiling, mom. Can we make Popcorn now?”


Happy Thursday, Go Pirates. 

10 things to waste your time ;)

(This blogging hiatus brought to you mainly by the three years late discovery of Downton Abbey. And having caught up, I’m now (WTswearword!) mourning my two favorite characters and ready to blog about the trivial during my childfree moments once again.)

Here are some not blog worthy things…

1. I brought baby wipes to Mumford and Sons. Its just that sometimes I can’t escape my essence as a mother for even a moment, and when I saw the pack of baby wipes on my car floor, I put them in my purse out of habit. But, since they are the greatest invention of all time, they very much came to the rescue on several occasions none of which had to do with wiping an infant. Spilled beer? I’ve got it. Portapottys been used too many times? Allow me. French fry grease making you slimy? Here you go. Every time I pulled out a wipe, I reminded my husband of their use and my genius. If only baby wipes could help with “post- best- concert- of- my- adult- life- accidental- kids- don’t- know- what- a hangover- is- and- are- so- unsympathetic- about- it….

2. I went to Mumford and Sons!!!!!! Only once was my pearl wearing group called “White Trailer Trash,” by a stranger who, apparently, likes quiet concerts.


3. We put a birthday hat on Mary, again. It’s a Mary’s birthday tradition. My sister and I head to our church playground, stuff our faces with pizza and carrot cake, and watch as the nine children wreak havoc well, as they generally do. We sing happy birthday as the little ones attempt to catch the fish in the pond next to her statue. We swing at a Mexican piñata, in honor of Our lady of Guadalupe, as the crawling kids experience candy raining, making all future thunderstorms disappointing. I’m pretty much positive that the Mom of all Moms finds it both entertaining and endearing.


4. Maria and I ran a 5k together, and once again, she proved faster and more determined. Before I go all “Ashley Simpson living in Jessica’s shadow” on you, she only beat me by 15 seconds, which I choose to blame entirely on the two more inches her legs have on mine. I came up with a formula. Two inches = 5 seconds per mile. 5 seconds per mile X 3.1 miles = we finished at the exact same time. The feelings of inadequacy began as I crossed the finish in the fastest recorded three point one miles of my life, feeling good and proud and sweating and hyperventilating. She, however, was already there, not panting or sweating, and saying things like, “I wanted to finish faster. I’m so disappointed I never reached ‘throw up’ speed.” I consider “throw up speed” to mean “slow down!!!!” Running in the shadow.


5. On one particular 5:45 am wake up call, I calmly explained “it’s too early for a Saturday, please go back to bed.” He did! And then he began calmly playing with toys as Jim and I slept. Is it beginning to sound too perfect yet? Because he changed his sister’s #2 diaper all by himself, too.

6. I learned that riding carousal at a place called Rib Fest brings about similar symptoms to those of “throw up speed.” Rib Fest is one of my favorite weekends of the whole year. But, I do not recommend trying every rib in the fest times 2 or maybe 3, and then spinning repeatedly while staring at weird looking circus animals moving up and down while also trying to balance two dizzy children sliding off of said animals because they ate too many ribs, too.


7. I had this conversation recently: James: “Mom I’m going to buy you something really nice.” Me: “Oh yea?” James: “Yea, a lightsaber,” he said with the proudest and widest grin and glimmer in his eye. “But, if you hit me with it, I’m taking it back.”

8. We went to Mass on a Wednesday night. Jim forgot to mention that Josie was wearing underpants, and Josie, seemingly, forgot as well. The font wasn’t the only liquid puddle.

9. Fish food is now #2 on my “all time worst mess list.” Poop is holding strong at #1.

10. Saw this Ray Romano quote. “Having children is like living in a frat house – nobody sleeps, everything’s broken, and there’s a lot of throwing up.” May your Pee Sigma Poop chapter be running smoothly.