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!!!!

Disposal and Playdoh

There was a morning a few weeks ago where my husband turned on the garbage disposal in the sink and an awful crunching and clanging sound bellowed from the depths of the drain.  I cringed and busied myself making the kids’ breakfasts.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him reach his hand down and retrieve a mangled spoon, 2 marbles and Little People doll that had been chewed apart by the disposal blades.  “Do you have any idea why these things were in the sink drain?” he asked.  “Hmmm, that’s odd,” I returned nonchalantly.  He wasn’t buying it.  “I mean I guess I can understand the spoon but what the heck are toys doing down there?” he demanded accusingly.   I decided to come clean.  Sometimes I let the kids pull their chairs up and play with their toys in the sink when I just need 15 minutes to finish cooking dinner or feed Gabe a bottle or just hide from the kids for a bit.  Sure it’s messy.  Despite my warnings and safeguards, the kids end up soaked, the counter resembles a small pond, and the kitchen floor under their chairs could be mistaken for a slip’n’slide.  Sure, it’s a little wasteful to have the sink on for a long time (I swear I have it on just slightly more than a trickle).  But those rare 15 minutes of un-interupted time are well worth the expense of running the water and the clean-up in my opinion.  The same can be said for playdoh.  My husband hates the stuff.  Every time I bring the big Tupperware full of playdoh down from its hiding spot (in clear view on top of our kitchen cabinets) he looks as if I’ve brought out a nuclear waste product for the kids to play with.  Sure it’s messy.  Tiny little particles of playdoh quickly make their way from the table to the floor to the bottom of our feet.  Or worse….the same tiny particles go undiscovered until days later when they’ve hardened to a razor-blade sharpness ready to pierce our bare feet.  Once again, that precious time while the kids are busy making playdoh noodles and ice cream and hamburgers trumps the annoying clean-up process afterwards. 

“I’ll be better,” I promised.  “No toys in the sink.”  But then there was that phone call I had to take about my Pilates classes.  And the rainy day where the kids were SO bored.  And the day I had to jump in the shower before rushing off to work.  This morning my husband turned on the disposal and a horrible grinding sound cut through an argument Tyler and Maddy were having about who was going to sit next to me at breakfast.  I slouched down in my chair and hid behind the Cheerios box, knowing I was in trouble.  Now who can loan me a 20 spot for this month’s water bill?!

S.O.B.

Shortness of breath.  It’s a term we use often in the healthcare arena to refer to a plethora of patients with health conditions rendering breathing difficult and laborious.  There is a new category with whom this term can be widely used and that is mothers attempting their first jogs after having a baby.  I’ve never been an elite runner but I do have one marathon under my belt and make the 2.2 mile course around my subdivision a regular part of my exercise routine.  Or made it a routine until the birth of my third child, sweet Gabriel.    With each child it has taken me slightly longer to return to my regular jogs and I’m happy to announce that after 5 months I am finally ready to lace up those running shoes again.  Being a physical therapist I know the importance of a gradual return to activity so I started with a walk/run around my usual path with Gabe (a feather-light 15 pounds in the jogging stroller).  After a  few attempts I was able to make the jog easily without stopping to walk.  The adrenaline rush felt great and did wonders for my ego.  Last weekend I decided to take the two older kids out for a jog so I loaded their combined 60+ pounds in the double jogging stroller and off we set.  As I began the jog I explained to them the importance of exercising regularly.  “Why?” Tyler asked.  Shocking.  “Well buddy, it’s good for your heart,” I said, my breathing growing labored after only a block.  “Why, Mom?” he asked again.  “Well, (huff, huff) when you run (puff, puff) you make (huff, huff) your heart (huff, puff) beat faster (huff, huff, huff) which makes it (huff, huff, puff, puff) stronger.  “What, Mom?” Madelyn asked.  Apparently with all the huffing and puffing she could not hear the answer.  I’ll try another approach.  Deep breath…….”Whenyourunyourheartbeatsfastwhichmakesitstronger” (HUFF,HUFF,HUFF,HUFF!) “What?” they both ask in unison.  “NO MORE TALKING!” I bark out, my heart pounding in my chest, my lungs on fire, my self esteem bruised.  I am two blocks from home.

On The Floor

Jennifer Lopez is getting a lot of press these days with the divorce and all.  It got me thinking about her hit song On the Floor.  I mean, here is a woman who is 42 years old and the mother of 3 year old twins singing about breaking a sweat on the dance floor as she drinks a little more.  Really???  Is this what other mothers  in their 40’s are doing right now?  I think not.  I decided to re-write the lyrics.  My song will still be called On the Floor but it will be referring to the location most of us normal mothers are at risk of collapsing at any moment.
(If the formatting below looks funny visit my actual blog at http://pilatesbycarrie.blogspot.com/)

J LO’s Lyrics                                                             Carrie’s Lyrics 

It’s a new generation                                              It’s a new generation

Of party people                                                       Of Moms and Dads

Let me introduce you to my party people         Let me introduce you to my 3 darling children

In the club…………                                                    Under five……………

If you go hard you gotta get on the floor               If you spill milk you gotta clean up the floor

If you’re a party freak then step on the floor        To be excused you gotta eat a little more

If you’re an animal then tear up the floor             Before you play you gotta do all your chores

Break a sweat on the floor                                    Test me, I’m out the door

Yeah we work on the floor                                     Yeah I’ll walk out that door

Don’t stop keep it moving                                     Non-stop always moving

Put your drinks up                                                  Put your shoes on

Pick your body up and drop it on the floor        Pick your toys up, put em back where they go

Let the rhythm change your world on the floor    Better go pee now or you’ll pee on the floor

You know we’re running sh*t                             We're running late march your
tonight on the floor                                              butts out the door

Brazil, Morocco                                                      Playground, storytime,

London to Ibiza                                                       Preschool to Playdates

Straight to LA, New York                                        Straight to the pool, the doctor

Vegas to Africa                                                      Drive thru to McDonalds

Dance the night away                                           Blink the night is gone

Live your life and stay young on the floor            Wake up, step on a toy left on the floor

Dance the night away                                           Blink the day is gone

Grab somebody drink a little more                  Start the baths, read a book and shut the door

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala                                    Wah,wah,wah,wah,wah,wah,wah,wah,wah

Tonight we gon’ be it on the floor                         Tonight you better stay in your beds!

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala                              Wah,wah,wah,wah,wah,wah,wah,
Tonight we gon' be it on the floor           I'm begging you to STAY IN YOUR BEDS!

I know you got it clap your hands on the floor     Baby’s crying, wants to nurse a little more

And keep rockin, rock it up on the floor                He rocked a deuce, now it leaked on the floor

If you’re a criminal kill it on the floor                    I burped him and he spit up on the floor

Steal it quick on the floor, on the floor                  So much crap on this floor, on this floor

Don’t stop keep it moving                                      Non-stop always moving

Put your drinks up                                                   Wash your hands please

It’s getting ill it’s getting sick on the floor             Or you’ll get ill, you’ll get sick on the floor

We never quit, we never rest on the floor      We get no sleep, never rest when you’re sick

If I ain’t wrong we’ll probably die on the floor       If I ain’t wrong you’ll all three give it to me

Brazil, Morocco                                                       Boogers, and vomit

London to Ibiza                                                        Strep throat to a fever

Straight to LA, New York                                         All from a bug, a germ

Vegas to Africa                                                        A tiny amoeba

Dance the night away                                             Blink the night is gone

Live your life and stay young on the floor              Coffee pot I love you evermore

Dance the night away                                             Blink the day is gone

Grab somebody drink a little more                         Think I’ll join J LO to drink a little more

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala                                      Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala

Tonight we gon’ be it on the floor                           On second thought I think I’ll hit that floor

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala                                       Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala

Tonight we gon’ be it on the floor      Come on honey we gon’ be it on the floor!         

P.S. Congratulations Jaime!  You are the winner of the super cute bracelet (FYI:  I use the online site random.org to select the winners in a totally fair manner).  Jaime's "New Use For An Old Thing" is to use the Bounce dryer sheets as a dust rag to quickly wipe off the dust bunnies on her bedroom furniture.  Clever!  I will make sure you get your prize ASAP!

P.P.S.  My Prenatal Pilates class is full but there is a waiting list.  There are 3 spots left in the Postnatal Pilates class due to start Aug 20th.  Visit http://www.pilatesbycarrie.com/ for more info!

Mother of Invention

There is a saying:  Necessity is the Mother of Invention.  No  where is this more evident than the One Step Ahead catalog.  It is a catalog of children’s products, many of which are boasted to be parent-invented.  I stumbled upon this photo.

It is a nasal aspirator designed to remove gunk  from your child’s nose by having the parent suck it through a long tube.  The description promises it is “impossible to draw goop up the tube.”  Nevertheless.

It got me thinking about all the crazy inventions moms and dads (and siblings) have stumbled upon over the years based on sheer necessity.  Another of my favorite magazines, Real Simple, has a section called New Uses For Old Things.  For example, they recommend using lifesavers candy to hold a candle in place without putting holes in your cake or an empty tissue box to gather those annoying grocery store plastic bags.  I thought it would be fun to merge these ideas and take a poll about your own crazy inventions or New Uses For Old Things.

It didn’t take long for me to come up with some examples of my own.

My sister and I recently took a road trip to Michigan with our combined 5 kids crammed into the back of my Honda Pilot (my husband still adamantly refuses to join the millions of soccer moms toting their toddlers around in a mini-van).  It was next to impossible to reach the 2 kids in the third row and I started to panic as I envisioned the passenger seat person attempting cirque de soleil-style maneuvers to meet their requests (more snacks, a juice box, switch the DVD, etc).  So as I was perusing the dollar section at Target….it came to me.  I bought a caddy and a key clip which I fastened to a bungee cord that spanned the distance from the passenger seat coat hanger to the one in the third row and bottaboom bottabing…..our own personal snack distributing zip line! 

Not all of my inventions or New Uses For Old Things are as patent-worthy as this one but in no order, here they are:

Cereal box as dividing wall at kitchen table for 2 arguing toddlers.

Ceiling fan as mobile for fussy newborn when you just don’t have the time (or energy) for another game of goochy-goochy-goo!

Your finger as a makeshift toothbrush for your child when you are running late and have the toothpaste but can’t find that missing toothbrush (a piece of gum works well if you can’t find either).

Cup and spoon as bath toys when you are on vacation.

Car heating vent on full blast for drying wet clothes when unable to go home to change.

Cell phone backlight as makeshift flashlight to negotiate your way safely to bed or help re-navigate little ones back to their own beds when you don’t want to turn on the light.

Pillows on the floor next to bed as safe landing spot when transitioning child to “Big Boy/Girl Bed”

Articles of clothing held in place by a rolled up window as a poor man’s sunshade when the beating sun threatens to wake a sleeping child on a long car trip.

Jump rope as lasso for long-range carseat rocking (courtesy of my 4 year old).

Kitchen tongs as retriever of matchbox car that sank to the bottom of a toilet full of….. (recommend throwing away immediately afterwards)!

So, here’s the poll question:  What have you invented, been meaning to invent in your “spare” time, or what New Use For an Old Thing have you come up with???  Comment to this blog and you will be entered to win this super fun bracelet that I spotted at a boutique in Naperville.  It is a stretchy beaded bracelet with a funky broach pinned on (pretty nifty invention, huh???!) 

P.S.  I have 1 spot left in the next Prenatal Pilates session which will take place on Wednesday evenings from 7:30-9:00 PM starting August 10th and ending Sept 21st (skipping Aug 31st).  If you or someone you know may be interested check out my website for more details. (http://www.pilatesbycarrie.com/)

P.P.S.  My next Postnatal session will tentatively be held on Saturday mornings from 9:00-10:30 AM starting Aug 20th and ending Oct 1st (skipping Sept 3rd).

A Mother's Prayer

I woke up at 6:42 AM according to the bedside alarm clock which I haven’t needed to set since my first child was born over 4 years ago.  I am disoriented from lack of sleep but slowly I start piecing things together.  Gabriel, my 5 month old is asleep on his side in front of me, my body forming a “C” around his tiny frame, the nipple from my exposed breast resting on his cheek.  Ah yes, I remember bringing him into our bed to nurse him at some point during the night.  Did he actually eat and at what time…..I do not know.  I crane my neck behind me but my husband’s space is empty…he must be at work already.  What day is it?  Friday.  My day off.  I say a silent prayer.

Dear Lord,

Let me patient with the kids today,

Let me speak in soft tones,

Let me answer all their questions without saying “Because I said so”,

Let me praise rather than criticize,

Let me…….

My prayer is interrupted by Tyler waking up…on the wrong side of bed.  Crying, he enters my room waking Gabriel who starts to fuss wondering what happened to the food source that was at his disposal for the better part of the night.   “When is my play date going to be?”  Tyler half whimpers and half whines.  “Two weeks and two days,” I say which transforms the whimpers into full blown sobs.  I take a deep breath as I recite the prayer to myself:  Let me be patient, let me be patient.  I fish around the files in my head searching for some parenting advice from the no less than 5 books I have read recently before settling on How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen, and Listen So Your Kids Will Talk.   “It sounds like you are upset because you want the play date to be today, right buddy?”  But he cannot hear me over the hysteria of his own crying (complete with loss of breath and near-gagging).  I grab Gabe and leave a blubbering Tyler to wallow in his sorrow and I almost bump into Madelyn in the hallway, a diaper full of pee weighing her PJ bottoms to the ground.  “Good morning, Squirt,” I chirp happily even if it isn’t as genuine as I would like.  “Come on down for breakfast!”  “I want water and milk and juice,” she demands angrily.  I would like to match her tone with an equally loud “Who do you think I am…your personal waitress!” but instead I say, “Can you say please, honey?”  Speak in soft tones, speak in soft tones.  Tyler finally joins us at the breakfast table as I start pouring milk (with a side of water AND juice for Madelyn), Gabe hoisted up on my left hip.  “I don’t want breakfast,” Tyler says.  Let me be patient and speak in soft tones.  “You have to eat something, buddy,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper as I slowly unlatch Gabe’s tiny fingers from my hair, but not before he grabs a fistful and pulls it loose from its roots.  “WHY???!!!!” he grunts.  “Because I…….” I catch myself before recovering with “…..I want you to grow big and strong and have enough energy to play all day!”  Just then Madelyn pokes Tyler and the fighting begins.  Let me praise and not criticize.  I desperately attempt to find something praiseworthy about the situation as my blood pressure rises a few more points on the scale.  “Madelyn, please keep your hands to yourself.  I like the way you are keeping your feet to yourself.”  She glances down at her feet pleased with the new idea I have given her and stretches out her leg far enough so her big toe just barely grazes Tyler’s chair which sends him into fits of rage.  (Who writes these parenting books, anyways?!!!)  I feel myself spiraling out of control as I set a squirmy Gabe into his exersaucer, a bowl of Cheerios in front of Tyler and a smorgasbord of beverages in front of Madelyn.  “I wanted waffles!” Tyler screams.  “I wanted orange juice not apple juice!” Madelyn screams.  Gabriel, unable to talk yet, just screams.  I feel like a Loony Tunes cartoon as my face turns bright red, steam emits from my ears like a tea kettle, and my eyeballs spiral around in their sockets.  It is 7:12 AM.  But it’s 5:00 somewhere.