Potty Talk

We have several Golden Rules in our house.  There is No Hitting, No Talking Back, No Jumping on the Couch, and No Tattling.  That last one can be kind of tricky because if Tyler tells me that “Maddy is picking her nose,” she will often counter with (insert angry, whiny voice) “Mom, Tyler tell on me” which is actually tattling on the tattler so everyone goes to their room!  The rule that is probably broken most often is No Potty Talk.  Sometimes it is an obvious and punishable offense.  “You’re a poppy head,” for example would earn an instant time out.  In other situations, the kids are just stating facts or making observations and at times like these I try to keep a straight face and educate them.  Here are some recent examples:

Maddy:  Are we having vagina for dinner?

Me:   No!  Watch my mouth, La-Sa-Gna.

Tyler:  I just peed in the backyard.

Me:  We don’t pee outside when a bathroom is readily accessible.

Tyler:  There’s poop in my underwear (AKA skid marks).

Me:  It is important to wipe really good after pooping.

Maddy:  Do you know what color my poop is, Mom?   GREEN!

Me:  What have you been eating, child?!

Tyler in the bathtub:  The bubbles from my farts are tickling my penis!

Me:  That’ll happen.

Tyler:  My penis is hard and it won’t go down.

Me:  Go talk to your father immediately!

In these regular, daily moments when farts, poop and privates are the topic of conversation I will often look to my husband for assistance.  He is less successful at hiding his amusement.  Understandably so.  He, like so many males that I know, has spent a lifetime making jokes about bodily functions.  He once laughed for 10 minutes at the sound of his own fart!  When Tyler farts at the dinner table or Madelyn burps like a 40 year old man, I will often find my husband covering his mouth with his hand to hide his grin or disappearing behind the Chicago Tribune, his shoulders bouncing up and down in fits of laughter.  For now I guess the responsibility of enforcing the No Potty Talk rule will fall on my shoulders but I will still defer all questions about erections to my husband.

P.S. If you or someone you know is interested in Pre or Postnatal Pilates classes, visit my website at http://www.pilatesbycarrie.com/ for upcoming class schedules as enrollment is in full swing!

Beach Bags and Sex Tips

(Late entry for Friday, Sept 2nd)

We are half-way through a 1 week “vacation” at my parent’s summer home on a small lake in Michigan.  I use the term vacation loosely because after rising before the sun and traipsing the 200 feet down to the beach carting a wagon full of sand toys, a beach bag full of towels/snacks/juice boxes/sunscreen, a diaper bag full of diapers/wipes/plastic bags/binkies/baby toys, making the return trip for lifejackets/fishing poles/worms, then making 2 more trips to blow up rafts and go potty (when can you just tell kids it’s OK to pee in the lake???) we are exhausted.  Not to mention the countless hours we spend building sand castles, catching frogs, then begging the kids to let the poor frogs go back to their Mommy and Daddy, unhooking fish from Tyler’s line, then explaining that fish need to be in the water to live and to set them back gently versus twirling them triple-gainer style back into the lake, etc, etc. 

I find myself in a rare moment of solitude on the sand in my favorite beach chair.  The baby is sleeping in the stroller under a tree in the shade, the older 2 kids are playing nicely by themselves (stop my beating heart) trying to contain some frogs in the bottom of a paddle boat.  My husband has collapsed on the beach, his face in the sand (no towel), an illustration of just how exhausting a week at the lake with 3 kids under the age of 5 can really be.  I rifle through the beach bag looking for the magazines that my husband and I stopped for on the 4 hour car ride up to Michigan.  Wishful thinking.  Untouched, they have moved their way to the bottom of the bag only partly visible beneath a damp beach towel, half-eaten bag of cheez-its, and an empty Capri Sun.  I grab the first magazine I see.  Figures.  It is my husband’s Men’s Health and I simply do not have the patience or energy to go rooting around for my Real Simple.  I glance at the cover.  Amidst the tag lines for “Dress for Hotter Sex” and “17 Day Abs” there is a picture in the lower left corner of a Supermodel with her shirt unbuttoned revealing a lacy black and mauve bra barely containing her breasts with an inset reading “Sex Tips From the Girl Next Door.”  What is the term girl next door supposed to imply?  I picture the women living on either side of my own house and neither of them look anything like this Supermodel (thankfully!)  Right under the picture there is another cover story for “Double Your Endurance, Go Longer, Go Harder” which I learn is actually a fitness article.  Clever advertising…see what they did there?  These are the cover stories grabbing my husband’s attention while my own Real Simple cover is tempting me with “33 low-cal snack ideas” and hopes of finally organizing my closet or finding a new use for my “old things.”  One more example of just how different men and women really are.  If my husband should, by some stroke of good luck, have a free moment during the remainder of this vacation to flip through his magazine, perhaps looking for some sex tips, I will be one step ahead of the game.  I find the article and speed read through the 36 tips knowing my “research” will be interrupted at any moment by Tyler and Maddy arguing over whose frog got loose or by Gabe stirring from his nap, or worse, by my husband wondering why I am reading HIS magazine!  A few tips jump off the page at me (the bold type below is verbatim from the magazine).

#4 WATCH THE NOTEBOOK so you can understand my references to The Notebook.  These things matter. 

-Interesting.  The Notebook was an incredible book (only a mediocre movie) but I see where she is going.  It’s the same reason I force my husband against his will to watch Supernannny with me and then discuss our own parenting skills afterwards (and utter a sigh of relief that our kids' behavior is no where near as bad as the kids on that show!)  OK, you got my attention Miss Dicker (I swear that is really this Supermodel’s name!)

#11 LISTENING IS TO WOMEN WHAT ORAL SEX IS TO MEN:  PROOF THAT YOU REALLY CARE.  Remember my favorite ice cream flavor, my childhood best friend’s name, where my little brother goes to college-even if you have to take notes. 

-I agree (with the listening part that is!)  But I talk a lot and the thought of my husband following me around with a little notebook has me laughing myself right out of this beach chair!  Then again, if there were a “reward” in it for him maybe this idea is not too far-fetched after all.  Moving on.

#16 PLAN A SURPRISE PARTY FOR ME….

I did not even finish reading this one.  ABSOLUTELY NOT.  Just my luck it will be the day I was too tired to clean the house or shower or whatever.  Plus, the stress of raising three kids and working part-time has frayed my nerves  beyond recognition and the shock of a surprise party may be all that stands between me and a nervous breakdown.  NO SURPRISE anythings!

#27 SOMETIMES I FEEL AS IF I HAVE MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES.  Adjust yours accordingly.  

-Now we’re talkin’.  I think I could really be friends with this woman (but I still don’t want her “next door”).

#31 IF YOU NOTICE THAT MY BOOTS NEED REHEELING, that my closet door squeaks, or that my watch needs a new battery, take care of it—without being asked.  Your fixing something is like my initiating sex; it makes both of our lives a whole lot easier. 

-I do like when my husband takes the initiative to change light bulbs that have burned out or scrub the moldy shower curtain.  Perhaps I can return the favor by making a pot of coffee tonight, propping my eyeballs open with some toothpicks, and making the first move.

#35 WOULD YOU MOVE INTO A NEW HOUSE WITHOUT EXPLORING EVERY ROOM?  My body is that house, you don’t know me until you’ve kissed every inch of me. 

-Now hold the boat, Miss Dicker!  Yes, my body IS a house.  I’ve had THREE kids recently and just stopped breastfeeding.  THIS HOUSE IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION and there ain’t NO WAY I want “every inch” of it being explored.  At least not yet.  So keep your sex tips to yourself and leave my husband alone!!!!