A Few Cliches & Cuteless Overload

My baby boy is three, y'all.  THREE.












His first 6 months seemed like a hellishly long time, some of which I've tried to remember not to remember.  For real.  But from 6 months on, it's been a fun ride.  I mean, I 'm trying not to get all sappy and full of cliches, but really that's where I head.  I know that first pic is upside down--I have no idea how to fix it and it was just too cute.  The second one is the Ell-Monster headed home from the hospital.

SO to ring in THREE years, we had a big ol' birthday party.  It was unanimous success that cost a small fortune held at E's gymnastics gym.  (I think that's redundant, but I don't know how to fix it.  I blame the baby.  The one in my stomach).  I remember seeing pics from a birthday party one of my friend's had for her one-year-old and that I was certain I was not  going to be the parents with the over-the-top decorations, parent costumes and taking theme to extremes for a TODDLER.

Well, I'm still not that mom.  I was totally swayed to part with my hard-earned Holiday Bonus for birthday party fun because it didn't require crazy cleaning, crazy clean-up or crazy decorations.  I'm lazy, y'all.  I mean, I even ordered decorations from Etsy all printed and cut out instead of the PDFs because it just seemed too much.  None of it mattered because it was FUN.  And now is the time where I convince you by spamming you with cuteness.

How cute is that nephew of mine?  He LOVED the trampoline.  Loved.  

Really what I'm trying to say is that all the kids loved the trampolines.  

Did I mention that the party came with TWO facilitators?  They entertained, organized and corralled children, not to mention that they unloaded my car, decorated the room and then loaded my car back up at the end.  I LURVE them.  

Sweet baby standing up with just a bit of support from Aunt Manny.  No idea why Manny's hand appears purple here.  I must've mucked up the color balance.  Again.

Ell's friend Sophie.  He was beyond excited that his friends from the sitter were there for him.  

A little front roll action for Abby.

The kids loved chasing the balloons.  

Here they are sitting on the parachute.  This activity was beyond fun.  Nope.  I didn't get a picture.  I was having too much fun.   

Sweet Hudson hopping down the trampoline.  He really didn't want to leave that activity

Exactly a millisecond before Ell let go. . . on the count of one, not three.  Silly boy loves to fall into the pit.  

He got a medal! At first he proclaimed that it read "Happy Bir-day, Ehhyaa," but then loudly proclaimed, "I don't want it."  I was proud, I tell you.

So excited about candles.  This was the second attempt, because on the first he blew out the candles before we could sing or snap a picture one.  

With Cheyanne, his buddy from the sitter.

Aunt Deana and Little Bit.  

Balloons are so magical to kids.  I don't know why I forget such simple things.  So yep, it was a good day.  Beyond good.  And no need for me to put on a costume to prove it.  

Mental Health in a Vibrating Chair

Today my Heather came over for a visit.  It had been a ridiculously long time since I had seen her, but no worry, my 2 year old immediately recalled that she's the number one person willing to play hide-and-hide with him (no editing mistake--he only wants to hide and be chased).  Eventually poor Heather got to sit and even got to take off her impervious-to-cold soccer shoes.  That's when Ell busted out with this, upon seeing her feet and pointing,

My Mommy don't have those anymore.  

 Yep.  I still have feet.  Toes even.  What did I not have any longer?  Painted toenails.  This wasn't because I took the polish off--oh no.  This was because it had been so long since my piggies were painted that it had all grown off.  Even off the big toe. Sad.  That's what happens when you have two kids and a full-time job during a recession.

That moment is when Heather and I looked at each other and we knew. . . we KNEW our destiny.  Pedicures.  Sometimes that vibrating, massaging chair and some girlfriend-time is all you need to make you forget about re-arranging the garage.  Trust me.  Totally rationalized worth it.

Adventures in Poop, Vol. III

Today's adventure is brought to you by the concept of wiping.  Yes, wiping someone's arse, other than your own.  It's not my favorite job, but after 3 years of day in-day out wiping, I'm kind of used to it.  Enter in the Standing Wipe.  The Standing Wipe makes things challenging, but it can  be done.

After 3 years of the wiping, you would think the arse of the person being wiped would understand the concept. The answer to that assumption is no, a resounding NO.  How did we learn this, you may ask?  As my husband was on poop-patrol, it was by accident that I found out this horrific lesson.  It was as I heard,

No, Elliott!  We don't wipe our face after we've wiped our hineys.  

Yep.  You got it.  Post-hiney wipe on.the.face.

Boys are Gross.

Adventures in Poop. Vol. II

Ell-Monster had a make-up gymnastics class yesterday evening.  Chris and I did a quick hand-off, where as soon as I walked in the door to take care of Brook-Brook, he loaded Ell up in the car and off they went.  Around 15 minutes later, I received a text from my dear husband saying,

Your son just informed me that he removed his diaper and is now going commando.

Sneaky little toot!  I mean we've been working on the potty-thing at home, but out?  No way in hell. . . . I mean, unless the parentals are pre-occupied with kid hand-off.  So yeah. . . that's how the E-Monster got to experience his first public toilet.  After the morning I had, I was glad for Daddy to take a hit.  Vengeful?  Maybe.  Fair?  Absolutely.

A Side of Poop in the Morning

Lemme tell ya a little tale. This morning, I was changing Brook-Brook's clothes when I hear Ell banging around in the kids' bathroom. I call for him--several times--and get no response. Finally he comes into B's room and I ask what he's been doing and if he made a mess? Yes, he says with a twinkle in his eyes. Then I notice that he's removed his diaper--I asked if he went poopy. "Yes," he says proudly, "Humprhey ate it." Gross. I walk into the bathroom and find the pot of the potty chair in the sink. Ell puffs out his chest and says, "I cwean up. I wash it wif soap."



And that is how one becomes obsessed with Clorox and Lysol--even when skeptical of the chemicals in all mass-produced cleaners--AND justifies a morning stop at Starbucks.  Too much to handle by 7:20 in the morning.  The end.