Sunday, October 27, 2013

The Hanging Diaper

During the summer months, Son #2 and I worked on potty training.  I introduced his big boy underwear to him and we admired them together.  He tried them on and practiced using the toilet.  By the end of the summer, he had grasped the concept but still missed on occasion.  Then, school began again.

All of a sudden, Son #2 began to fight using the potty.  He missed numerous times throughout the day.  My husband and I were thoroughly exasperated.  We wondered why our baby suddenly refused to use the toilet.  With heavy hearts, we reverted back to putting Son #2 in diapers. 

Son #2 was thrilled with the prospect of pottying in his diaper.  He cooed and smiled knowing full well that he had won a pretty significant battle.  No longer would he have to rush to the restroom when he felt the urge to pee.  All he had to do was let it all loose as he casually played with his toys. 

For two months, Son #2 pooped and peed in a diaper.  He toddled around the house satisfied that he could lazily evacuate his waste.  One day, Son #2 looked down at his diaper to examine the tabs.  He discovered that they attached and detached themselves from the main part of the diaper.  For a moment, he amused himself undoing and redoing the diaper.  Then with a sense of finality, Son #2 stripped off his diaper and tossed it onto the floor. 

Son #2 ran up and down the hallway to show off his nudity.  My husband and I analyzed the situation and concluded that he was beginning to reconsider his potty training protest.  However, he was not ready to resume potty training yet so we continued to place him in diapers. 

One day, Son #2 mischievously undid one side of his diaper.  I eyed him with exasperation but said nothing.  Son #2 waddled about the living room with the hanging diaper clinging desperately to his leg.  He paused at my recliner and gazed into my eyes.  I smiled warmly at him and he grunted.  Then, his face turned red as he grasped the chair tensely.  It was then that I realized he was pooping.

Just my luck.

Quickly, I reached down to reattach his diaper.  Sadly, I was too late.  With one hand, I held the bottom of the precarious diaper and its feculent cargo.  With the other hand, I carefully removed the soiled diaper from my little rascal.

Many poems have been written about a mother's hands.  Mothers' hands lift their children, wipe tears away, comfort when there is need, and soothe away childhood fears.  Too bad the poets haven't written about a mother's hands catching stinky parcels from little rears.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

You Must Be Really Old

Earlier this evening, the kids played with the toys in the playroom at Abuelita's (Grandma's) house.  Son #1 fiddled with the Nintendo while Son #2 scrambled over the Foosball table.  I dozed on the recliner as my mom (Abuelita) half watched Veggie Tales with the kids.  It was a relaxing end to a fun family day.

The sun drifted gently behind the houses as stars crept into the night sky.  My eyes grew heavy as I rocked in the chair.  Then, sleep enveloped me.  I must have fallen asleep for a while because I was awakened to my mom tickling my nose.  A horrible smell permeated the room.  I was informed that Son #2 needed a diaper change. 

Some of you may be thinking.  "Wait a second.  Wasn't he already potty trained?"  You are quite correct.  Son #2 does know how to use the potty.  He learned this summer.  He owns big boy underwear.  He just prefers to poop his pants.  We'll discuss this in another post soon.

I meandered to my husband's car and retrieved a diaper.  Then, I plodded up the stairs to the playroom to take care of the stink bomb that resided in Son #2's rear.  While I changed my younger son, I caught Son #1's eyes and said.  "Hey Buddy.  It's time to go home.  Your best friend is coming over to watch football tomorrow and you need your rest."

Son #1 protested for a second but obediently put away the Nintendo.  Then, he skipped down the stairs all the while telling Abuelita about his big day tomorrow.  Son #1 sat on the steps beside Abuelita and put on his shoes.  He tied the first shoe effortlessly but then had trouble with the next shoe.  "Abuelita, can you help me tie my shoe?"  He asked after struggling to untangle the laces.

"Sure."  Abuelita said and she leaned down to investigate the matter.

Son #1 watched as Abuelita smoothed the laces and tied them in a bow.  He studied her hands as she tightened the bow securely in place.  Then, he gazed at her face questioningly and stated.  "You must be really old."

Statements such as the one above are always great for the ego.

My mom and I snickered as we cast sideways glances at each other.  Then, she turned to my eldest son and inquired.  "Why do you say that?"

Son #1 thought for a moment and answered.  "Because you have big veins on your hands like grandmas and grandpas."


Abuelita got an amused look on her face and commented.  "Son #1 thinks that Abuelita is my name.  I don't think he knows that it means Grandma."  Then, she turned to Son #1 and investigated her theory.  "Do you know my name?"

Son #1 replied.  "Oh yes.  It's Abuelita."

"Noooo.  That's not my name.  Abuelita means Grandma in Spanish."  My mom laughed.

Son #1 looked confused.  "You mean you're a grandma???"

Moral of the Story:  If you ever begin to feel cocky about your youthful looks, talk to a first grader.  They will definitely deflate your bubble.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Why?! Why?!

Why have viruses and bacteria taken a hold of my children?  Until I defeat these little germs, the stories will be sitting on my post it notes scattered across my desk.  They may possibly end up on the floor.  Hopefully, my little ceramic mouse will keep track of them.  Wish me luck on my quest for healthy children.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

The Spelling Lesson

It was a beautiful afternoon.  The sun streamed into the kitchen window and brightened the entire room.  Son #1 sat at the kitchen table studiously working on his homework.  He was writing out his spelling words in preparation for his spelling test tomorrow.  Son #2 sat beside him coloring a picture of a train with his big crayons.  I was preparing supper.

The spelling test was a big deal.  I could hear Son #1 mumbling to himself as he spelled out words on the assignment.  "C-a-t spells cat.  A-t spells at"  He whispered.  Son #2 repeated after his older brother.  "Cat!  At!"  I smiled as Son #1 continued.  "A-m spells am.  T-h-a-n-k spells thank."  Son #1 was deep in concentration.

Then, Son #1 looked up from his work and asked.  "Did you know that a-s spells ass?

My shoulders shook as I laughed silently.  "Oh really."  I said with a smirk.

Son #1 replied.  "Yes.  And did you know that when you add a 'k' to ass it spells ask."

I wanted to fall down on the ground laughing but I held my composure.  "Hey, that's cool."

Son #1 went back to his work.  "A-s-k spells ask."  Son #2 parroted his brother.  "Ask!"  I thought to myself.  Good grief!  Well at least they aren't saying ass.  I shrugged and shook my head.  Then, I turned away from the boys and silently laughed again. 

Technically speaking, the definition of ass just means donkey.  However, I like the slang definition better and will be laughing about it in a corner a bit more.