Pee Poop Toot
Mood:  d'oh
Topic: the almighty blond kids

If you ever want to make someone under 11 laugh (or, if they are male, someone under 150), speak any combination of the words pee, poop, and toot.  Adults have their own terms for it (piss, shit, fart) that often cause reaction of hilarity.  For proof of this, rent the movie Dumb and Dumber.

On the door of Audrey's room, along with the obligatory standard, No Boys Allowd [sic, and backwards "s"], is a cut-out fish bearing the handwritten words Pee Poop Toot.  They are this first grader's strongest swear words.  Small wonder; she rides the school bus, after all. 

Long has my household known every word by heart of the Peanuts classic, It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown.  We in fact quote Peppermint Patty on a regular basis:  MARCY!  YOU MADE EGG SOUP!  AAARGH!!  For you see, poor Marcy is clueless about boiling eggs for coloring.  So this is our one-liner for every ignorant mishap.  HUNTER!  I'll say as his gooey melted candy comes out of the dryer, still in his pants pocket.  YOU MADE EGG SOUP!  AAARGH!!

Only, today Audrey one-upped the famous line, touting, MARCY!  YOU MADE EGG POOP!  Hunter laughted so hard I thought he would pee, poop, and toot.  (And, honestly, how did we ever miss this clever modification?)

Tobey has a few select songs that he regularly sings.  One in his repertoire is "We Will Rock You" (Queen), only tonight the words were We will, we will poop poop!  Followed by wild and unanimous laughter.

People, that's three poop references in one day.  ONE day in the life of the potty-minded blond kids.  But if you consider our household (do you remember my post on the prevalence of bodily functions in our daily lives?), it doesn't take long to connect the dots.  For example, this evening, Tobey came cheerfully bounding down the stairs, butt naked, to not only inform me that HE WIPED HIS OWN BUTT after pooping, but to exhibit the evidence; after his announcement, he shoved his naked fanny in the air for me to inspect.  He then prompted me up the steps and to the bathroom, whence he could show off the contents of the toilet, complete with browned toilet paper.  Poop, then, is the stuff of celebration.

Toots, well, who needs a kazoo choir when you have the Blond Kid Trio after Nacho Night?

And pee.  It completes the triangle.  At bedtime tonight (see? in twelve hours I've come up with a blog's worth of examples) both boys aimed for the toilet simultaneously; Tobey missed by a wide margine.  It was the subject of much repeated simulated replay.  Cue the giggles, especially while Mom does the mopping.

Which means when,  today (today), Tobey tagged along with me while I taught music class to a room of 3-year-olds, I hardly batted an eye when I held up a picture of a rose bud (to rhyme with "mud"), asked And what is this? and heard his familiar voice pipe up for all to hear, Mom, it's a rose butt.

H_llow_en
Mood:  rushed
Topic: the almighty blond kids

So the puke waited, at least.  But it was the Halloween of the missing goblinry. 

Every year we buy the kids glow sticks to wear in a set of neclaces we bought long ago.  Two hours before trick-or-treating the ghost necklace couldn't be found.  Despite best efforts to place them in a "sure to be safe" place, we couldn't remember where that place exactly was.  So one kid wore the glow stick hanging from a string we ripped off a birthday gift bag.

Audrey had this glowing staff that went with her costume, and lo was she ever looking forward to that!  The school said no weapons, not even fake plastic ones, for the class Halloween bash.  And so Audrey waited with bated breath for trick-or-treat time so she could wield her staff.  This staff, by the way, comes in three pieces: the top part which glows, and two lengthening rods (designed by a guy, clearly).  The middle rod is the connector between top and bottom.  Naturally, it was the middle connecting piece which disappeared.  So Audrey's staff was held together with the all-magical, ever-spooky duct tape. 

And then we spent 5 minutes in the van, in the garage, with kids strapped into seat belts, while we tried to remember what we did with one of the glow sticks.  Then we backed out of the garage, stopped short, and I ran back in the house for my witch hat (which I ended up ditching before night's end anyway, thanks to a windy night).

While trick-or-treating, Audrey lost her mask.  She didn't like wearing it anyway.  Which was why it fell out of her belt, unnoticed. 

We carried three sleeping goblins into the house as the clock struck 9:50 - well after bedtime for our school kids.  And so as Hunter climbed into bed, I invited him to "just put your costume anywhere until we can deal with it tomorrow."  This morning, his candy bag was no where to be found.  We even went so far as to call the people at the last house we visited last night.  But once daylight came in full, what should be peaking out from under a HUNG UP Halloween costume but an orange pumpkin bag!  And wouldn't you know it, that was like the first time EVER that Hunter didn't throw everything on the floor.

This morning Tobey ate Snickers and M&M's for breakfast (my motto is, let's just get it over with).  He spent the rest of the day in a zombie state, from exhaustion and probably bad nutrition.  So when I got the phone call from the school nurse that Audrey was hosting a headache and stomache ache, I didn't wonder long.  (Unfortunately, at this point we're declaring virus; better today than yesterday!  Sleep away, kid.)

As for all our missing goblinry, I don't know where it has gone.  We don't care anymore, which is a sure sign that we will find it all within the week.  But, for all the missing stuff today I did come across one thing extra in the house:  WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHICH OF MY BOYS KEEPS BRINGING IN THE LIVE FROGS???  Because nothing says SPOOK like one hopping out from under my bed.  GAWD.

Good ol' Golden Rule Days
Mood:  happy
Topic: the almighty blond kids

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAWWW!

Ok.  I just had to get that out of my system.  Whew.  One fourth grader: Check.  One first grader: Check.  One at home, happily playing by himself: Check.  And one mother, who just drank her first hot cup of coffee in three months: Check.

'Nuff said.

 

Blond Kid Bytes
Mood:  a-ok
Topic: the almighty blond kids

Tobey has a beloved toy frog of green stretchy rubber.  When it didn't turn up for a few days, we were worried what had happened to it.  Imagine my delight, then, when Tobey stood at the top of the stairs announcing "Mommy!  It FROGGY!"  As he stepped down the stairs, squealing in his thrill, I ran to meet him and offer my congrats, crying, "Tobey, let me see!"  At which point he held up his prize to my face; from his position on the stairs, this brought Froggy right to my eye level.  To my horror, "Froggy" wiggled and gave a frightened "chirp, chirp."  I was staring at the underbelly of a real live toad, held in the firm grip of a very happy little boy.  Gasps and cringes, this is what moms of little boys are made of.

Audrey, I realize, has been getting a lot of press time in the blog lately.  She is at that ripe age between imagination and understanding where everything she says is so darned cute.  Which brings us to our lunch date at Taco Bell:  Behind the counter stood a very large, unenthusiastic cashier.  From our seats I could see Audrey staring at her, and when my daughter opened her mouth I thoroughly expected to shush a comment about the woman's gainly size.  What I heard instead was the very last thing I expected:  "Mom, when I grow up I want to be a server.  A server at Taco Bell."  "Really?" I said, "I figured you'd want to be a movie star or something."  Audrey: "Well, I DO want to be a movie star.  I want to be a movie star AND a server at Taco Bell.  Do you think I'll have time for both?"  Me: "I doubt it."  Audrey:  "Well, I'm going to try."  Five minutes later, a host of young adults in army uniforms walked into Taco Bell.  "Mommy, what are those people?"  Me:  "Their uniform says 'U.S. Army' so they must be in the army."  Audrey:  "I want to be a server, a movie star, and an army."  Me:  "Oh?  An army of one, eh?"  Audrey:  "Yep."  Me, considering the flame of fight that burns in my little girl:  "THAT I believe you could do well."

Hunter spent the last week at church camp.  Audrey, Tobey, and I went down to pick him up on Friday.  During the ride home as we discussed the week's events in each others' lives, I noted to Hunter that Audrey and Tobey cried profusely at their departure from camp on the day we dropped Hunter off.  "They probably knew it didn't feel right to leave without a member of our family, " insighted Hunter.  "It didn't feel right to me either."  I dearly love those moments when my child takes what I didn't even realize was in my heart, and puts it in the perfect words.  For what Hunter said states exactly what I know to be true, every time the kids carry my heart away from home.

Mystery Reader
Mood:  surprised
Topic: the almighty blond kids
Theirs is a love-hate relationship, not unlike that of many siblings. But when Hunter and Audrey reveal that love side, my heart never fails to melt.

Audrey's kindergarten class was putting on something called Mystery Reader. The concept is that some familiar person, typically a parent, shows up to read a book to the class; this appearance remains a surprise to the class (including the kid to whom the Mystery Reader is related) until the moment he/she walks in the door. It's been a hit since Hunter's kindergarten days: I'll never forget the look on Hunter's face when I showed up with Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree." The purpose is simple (to promote reading) and well-received by even those kids whose parents aren't involved. Who doesn't love a surprise?

When the form came home to sign up for Mystery Reader in Audrey's class, I fully intended to fill it out. The accompanying letter listed, under "Who" of the Who-What-Where formula, "parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, or whomever would want to participate." Casually, I showed this to Hunter. Five minutes later, he'd filled out the form to be Mystery Reader. He knew the very book he'd read ("A Little Bug Went Ka-choo" - one from my childhood) because Audrey loved for him to read it to her.

The teacher sent us a letter telling Hunter to be there at 12:30 on Wednesday. And keep it secret.

Yesterday morning Audrey cried when the bus came. "I don't want to go to school," she moaned. It was all Hunter and I (mostly I) could do to contain the secret. "You'll be glad you went today," was all I could safely manage.

At 3:00 p.m. the kids were waiting for me just outside the school building. I hadn't even made it across the parking lot before Audrey came running, "Mom! You'll never guess who our Mystery Reader was today!" They both were glowing as they told their story: Hunter waiting in the hallway, listening as Mrs. P gave hints and waited for guesses about who the Myster Reader could be. The look on Audrey's face. The way the kindergartners laughed at Hunter's comical delivery of the part where the worm kicks the tree (I've seen it: He raises one eyebrow just so). The questions Hunter was asked afterward ("How old is your book?" "REALLY old. My mom had it as a kid"). Hunter's third grade teacher referring to him as "Mystery Reader" all day.

This is the stuff that moms' hearts are filled with; it is a given that we love our children. There is no such guarantee that the kids we love will love each other. So when that happens? That's called Heaven on Earth. What a sweet mystery that is.

Indiana Jones: A Blond Kids Perspective
Mood:  silly
Topic: the almighty blond kids

So we were watching that 80's classic "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" - which is about the worst thing to show a group of kids with wild imaginations.  And we watched it before bed time.

My kids got hooked on Indy back at Disney World, the MGM Studio park boasting a Dr. Jones attraction or two.  We then rented "Raiders of the Lost Ark" (why aren't adventure movies so PG anymore?); the kiddos were riveted.

On a chance and a whim, I rented "Temple of Doom"; the kids were giddy with anticipation.  So I loaded them up with warnings and lectures of the Remember, it's only a movie! genre and plopped them down with plates of pizza in front of the TV screen.

Iffy moment number one:  The assassin gets Indy's whip and winds up in the ceiling fan. 

Me:  Ok, kids.  Close your eyes!

[The assassin hangs. The camera shifts.]

Me:  Ok, kids.  Open your eyes!

[The camera offers one last unexpected look at the deceased, suspended from ceiling fan.]

Kids:  MOM!

Me:  Oops!  Um.  Ok, just remember that ceiling fans can't really hold that much body weight.  Won't happen to you!  Nuh-uh. 

Next iffy moment:  Billions of insects and various creepy crawlies appear in the tunnel, some of which are crawling on the characters.

Hunter:  Look!  That's a brown [something something] spider!  It's the same kind they showed in the Harry Potter movie with the...

Everyone else:  Shut up, Hunter.

Girl character in movie:  I broke a nail!

Audrey:  Mom, can we paint our nails tomorrow?

Girl character:  AAAAAAHHHHHH!

Audrey:  Should I close my eyes, Mom?

Me:  Not anymore.

Third iffy moment:  The sacrifice in which the guy wearing the bull horns and backlit in red demonic lighting takes the guy's heart out with his bare hand. 

Me:  Um, ok, just so you know, this guy is going to die.  Close your eyes, kids.

[Sacrificed dude chants faster and faster.  The heart beat noise begins.  Demon guy praises the skull statue and then goes for the dude's heart.]

Me:  Since I know you all are peaking through your fingers anyway, that whole scene was physically impossible.

Hunter:  This is the scariest thing we've ever seen.

Me:  Um, you won't like this next part either then.

[Dude is lowered into molten lava, bursts into flames, and then his heart - in the hand of the demon guy - also bursts into flames.]

Me:  We should turn this off.

Kids:  NO!  NO!

Me:  Ok, the scary scene seems to be over.

Hunter:  [puts hands back over eyes]

Me:  What's the matter now?

Hunter:  They're kissing.

Indy is forced to drink the Blood Of The Black Sleep from a shrunken head.

Hunter:  Just tell us when it's over.

Me:  This isn't even scary.

Audrey:  I'm not watching this either.

Me:  Maybe we should turn this off.

Kids:  NO!  NO!

[Camera shot is of the child emperor, under the spell of the black sleep, performing voodoo on an Indy-dressed doll complete with hat.  Indy immediately grabs in agony at the very respective point where the needle enters the doll.]

Hunter:  I know, it's only a movie.  No one actually performs voodoo.

Me:  Um.  Well.  Let's go with that.

Indy is in on the next sacrifice.  The kids assume (wrongly) that Indy will be the one lowered into the molten lava.

Hunter:  When Indiana Jones was Han Solo, he was frozen.  This time, he's being lowered into burning lava. 

Audrey:  I already know Indy's not going to die.

Hunter:  Yeah.  There's a third movie.

Indy and a very strong bad guy are duking it out on a conveyor belt leading to a rock-crushing steam roller thingy.

Me:  Close your eyes again, you guys.

[Camera shows guy's cape getting caught, pulling him into the roller.  He emits a scream as we see him disappear.]

Me:  Ok, open your eyes now.

Kids:  Is it over?

[The roller turns over to reveal a large red streak of blood, accompanied by sickening noises.]

Kids:  MOM!

By the time we get to the runaway cart ride, the scene on the collapsed bridge with the hungry alligators below, and the attempted heart removal sacrifice on Indy by the demon guy, my kids are essentially immune to all the gore and trickery.  That, combined with their hunch that Indy will stick around so he can be in the sequel, tells me that Hollywood's work here is done.  Well, sort of:  In this 80's PG adventure movie, Indiana Jones doesn't use the F-word even once.

The Church Hussie, A Midnight Bath, and A Touch of Hollywood
Mood:  rushed
Now Playing: Major Disney and Dreamworks Productions Soundtracks
Topic: the almighty blond kids

Here we go:  Fly-By Blogging.  Fasten your seat belts.

1.  The Church Hussie:  Audrey, ten years ahead of herself, snuck a bikini to church and excused herself during Sunday School to go put it on.  The horror: The Sunday Schoolers were performing in worship that day.  By "performing" I don't dare elaborate, except that I caught Audrey in the hall before it got to the point where a pole and kinky boots could've been involved.  My goodness, this is starting early.

2.  A Midnight Bath:  Misery loves company.  In the middle of the night, feverish and achy, I gave up on sleep and began roaming the house - whence I heard Audrey, from her room, tossing and turning as well.  Tandem flu.  In barely a whisper I dared, "Audrey, you wanna get in a bath with me?"  She jumped at the invitation.  So there we were in the middle of the night, everyone else asleep, steeping ourselves in warm water, rubbing each other's backs, and delighting in being together in the oddest of circumstances.  Wouldn't you know it, twenty minutes later we were both crashed in her bed, oblivious to the world.  Proof, Dear Readers, that God exists, for even in the most miserable of situations, good can arise.

3.  A Touch Of Hollywood:  The annual school talent show was today.  The audition the kids forgot to sign up for became a moot point when the winter storms rolled in and school was canceled, rendering the music teacher helpless amid a stack of audition forms and no time to deal with them.  So she called everyone in on Tuesday, whether they signed up or not, and my kids inevitably made the primary cut.  Eleven acts displayed their talents this afternoon in the school gym, while one very overtired two-year-old squawked from his stroller (Guess.  Who.); of the eleven acts, Hunter and Audrey were two.  Audrey stole hearts as the little kindergartner who belted out Mulan's "Reflection" from memory, on key, with fake vibrato.  Hunter gave a thoughtful rendition of the Ben Folds number "Still" from Over the Hedge.  My bets are that both will make the final cut:  The teachers pick their favorite five performers, and then those get to strut their stuff for the community talent show next month (which isn't so much of a prize when you figure you have to sit through two hours of high school show choir, middle school band, and various other "talents" just to do your bit).  And if you think I'm saying this just because I'm the mom, my bets are also that first place will go to the fully-costumed Hmong dancers who looked like they stepped straight out of Epcot.  Whatever the results, the kids did awesome.  As for the squawky two-year-old, he is napping.  NOW.  Dammit.

What little boys are made of
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: the almighty blond kids

Snakes, snails, puppy dog tails....I get it.  Snakes, snails, and all things gooey are definitely in the picture with little boys around.  The puppy dog tails represent that part of the canine most likely to be wiggly.  Bull's eye.

Last night I did a toy purge.  I do these once in a while when the kids' rooms seem to get so brimming with material possessions that we can't quite get the door shut.  Read:  Two sets of spoiling, competitive grandparents; one parent who grew up spoiled; one parent who wished he would have; and three kids who absolutely keep track, if not a detailed inventory, of how much the siblings have in comparison to him- or herself.  "Oh look, a pair of pink gloves on sale to replace Audrey's ripped ones!" is not spoken unless there is enough money in pocket to displace that indignant look on Hunter's face. 

So as I loaded bag after bag with toys, to be stored in the laundry room for the duration of Tobey's latest "dump-and-throw" phase, I was alarmed at the disproportion:  From Audrey's room, I filled exactly one bag, the contents being entirely stuffed Care Bears from last year's fad. 

From the boys' rooms?  Three bags apiece, containing variations of snakes, snails, and stuffed puppies - tails sometimes intact.  But also robots, Hot Wheels, tractors, trains, action figures, dinosaurs, Legos, and many a thing I held up, wondering WHAT the HECK it was and WHO on EARTH paid money for it.  One such item was a 4-inch figure with a grossly disfigured face.  Swivel the head, and you're looking at an even more revolting face. 

And in each of the boys' case, all the above-mentioned inventory?  Was completely mixed together, disorganized, and impossible to actually play with without the aid of a search-and-rescue for its proper assembly.

So.  In review.  Girl's room:  One bag of Care Bears.  Boy's room:  Three bags of God only knows what.

And before anyone gives me a "Not fair!" over the difference, the defining judgement was the general level of chaos generating from the toy box.  Girl:  Room organized, tidied, and generally quite inviting.  Slight disorder from Tobey's propensity to fling the Care Bears.  Big deal.  And then, Boy:  The neatness of an air carrier crash site.  Things shoved in indiscriminate bins, shelves, and boxes.  Do they go there?  Who cares!  The goal is always the illusion of clean.  As long as I don't open a drawer, closet door, or look in pretty much any crevice.

Of course the girl has her moments.  Audrey is an expert at keeping up with her brothers.  Actually, that should read, leading her brothers, even in their own boy games.  But once again, we have the classic example of Girl being organized in thought, with Boy pretty much standing there, needing direction.  Hmm.

Through the course of mothering two boys and one girl, I thus feel entitled and capable of making the following conclusion, at least on behalf of our Blond Kid family, if not the general world population:  What girls are made of is both sugary and spicy; we can melt in your mouths like shortbread, at once soothing and coaxing.  Yet we are strong and dominating, like Louisiana Hot Sauce.  Go ahead and try to wash us down.  No really.

What boys are made of, then:  Gooey things and the part of the dog anatomically closest to the spot from which the messes form.

A Princess Never Waits
Mood:  chillin'
Topic: the almighty blond kids

Last night Audrey and another little girl were playing in princess dress-up costumes.  Audrey was convincing her friend to display patience (probably so she could take advantage of a longer turn at something) when she was told, "A princess never waits!"  Boy did this stick.

All morning Audrey has been reminding us that A Princess Never Waits.  Take turns with Tobey for a ride on his pedal tractor?  "A princess never waits!"  I told Audrey I'd get to refilling her cereal bowl when I'd finished what I'm doing: "A princess never waits!"  You get the idea.

Then Hunter caught wind of Audrey's new mantra.  This was the resulting conversation:

Audrey:  A princess never waits!

Hunter:  Actually, Audrey, that's not true.

Audrey:  Yes it is!  A princess never waits!

Hunter:  No, a princess is very patient.

Audrey:  No way!  A princess never waits!

Hunter:  Audrey.  I've read a lot of history books.  In every one of them, the queens, kings, and princesses have good manners.  Including patience.  Especially patience.

Audrey:  [No longer listening.  In fact, at this point standing on the back of my couch like she's crossing a balance beam.]

ME:  Audrey, get down.  NOW.

Audrey:  [Ignores everyone.]

ME:  Audrey.  A princess never waits?  This princess isn't going to wait for you to listen before she hauls your butt to your room.

Audrey:  [Gets down.  Heads up the stairs.  And from a distance within the house...]  A princess never waits!

KID BRAG KID BRAG KID BRAG
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: the almighty blond kids
I love parent-teacher conference week because OUR KIDS ARE FREAKISHLY BRILLIANT.  Two glowing reviews last night.  I pray that it lasts through, you know, grad school.