Something other than poop stories!

Alright, let's move on to something more pleasant -- SCHOOL IS BACK IN!

Rylan began first grade 2 weeks ago and I have been informed that her teacher already refers to her as "the little overachiever". Sounds about right. She has also started ballet lessons and loves getting to dance like "a real ballerina". Can't you see what a traditional ballet pose she is striking here?

OK, to be fair, this was before the first lesson, so let's all cut her some slack.

Another exciting thing in Rylan's life the last few days was to see the bloom of her sunflowers. She planted these with her Nana in the spring and we were supposed to help her water them every day when we watered our vegetable garden in the back yard. If you were only shown this picture, you might say, "Not bad, Terry family!"


Only we never got around to planting the vegetables, so the sunflowers got a little...neglected. Honestly, Boone and I were shocked that they bloomed, but she and Keaton were thrilled to death. Don't look too closely at the actual stems/leaves/general bendy-overness/lack of vitality, okay?


In any case, Rylan has a lot to be happy about in her little world, and what better way to celebrate than by hosting an event?


I'm not sure if my favorite thing about this is:

• that it is an actual advertisement for a cat show on her bedroom door
  
• that she chose to highlight the even as both free and "a cool one" (because nothing irritates me more than a "pricey and lame" cat show)
• that she ran out of tape so she attached the flyer with a stove sticker

Boone and I haven't heard anything more in the way of details about the cat show, but we HAVE seen trophies for the cats (works in progress) on her art desk. I promise to keep you all updated.

Keaton has also had a busy couple of weeks as he started preschool in mid-August. He is going 3 mornings a week which is just about perfect for him (and me) for the time being. This was the night of the open house. I look kind of weird but Keaton is cute so, whatever.


This was the actual first day. He loves going to school but has some challenges we are working through. It's a good thing he is so good looking because he charms people into putting up with a lot of his antics. If he was ugly he'd be in trouble (more than usual).

Case in point...


He helped himself to a "small" cup of yogurt and when the whole tub came gurgling out of the container, he just used it to wax the table! On second thought, that must be his charm oozing out because he didn't get reprimanded for this one bit.

So yeah. We are chugging along. We still have Branik, I just don't have "first day of a new activity" photos of him, so he's getting left out this time around.

What?

OK FINE. Because I am an honest blogger, I will post the only photo I have of Branik the last 2 weeks. It is freaky and blurry and he has blood and syrup and a sticker on his clothes, but this is how he looked tonight before dinner.

That's all I got. Senor Nosebleed Cross-Dressing Cousin It de la Syrup. So sue me.

In fairness to Branik I will also post what his older siblings looked like today. Also freaky/slightly disturbing. But very real, which is my whole goal with blogging.

The most embarrassing thing about these photos is that now you will all recognize Boone and I in our disguises when we go to Democratic events. Busted.

More Fun With Feces!

Okay. So my last post about Keaton's poop has prompted a few of you to email/call me with a request that I put in writing what has come to be known as "The Dumptruck Incident". I'm a people pleaser, so here you go...

Once upon a time, there was a 3 year old boy who LOVED volcanoes. He talked about them all the time, drew them on his Magna Doodle, and sculpted them out of play dough whenever he got the chance. He turned strawberries upside down to look like volcanoes, watched YouTube videos of eruptions, and even had a volcano birthday cake when he turned 3. The boy was particularly fond of an episode of Dora the Explorer where young heroine Dora leads an expedition through "the muddy mud pit", over the bridge, and to the volcano.

The little boy's mommy loved him and his siblings very much, but one day she thought she might throw herself in front of a bus if she didn't leave the house alone and have a few hours of priceless silence. The boy's daddy knew this about the mommy, and because he loved the mommy and the children very much, he sent the mommy to Target.

The wise daddy and the children waved goodbye to the mommy as the car screeched out of the driveway, and when she disappeared they went inside to eat lunch. Afterwards, the daddy put the 3 year old and his little brother down for their naps and got on the treadmill to exercise. Silly daddy!

About 45 minutes later, the daddy got off the treadmill and headed out towards the living room. He paused, however, in the hallway when he noticed a particular odor coming from the last bedroom on the left. As he approached the door the stench got stronger, and the daddy was sore afraid.

The daddy mustered all of his courage and opened the 3 year old's door and beheld a scene that was beyond anything he had ever witnessed.

There was the boy, wide awake and gleefully running around his room -- naked from the waist down -- pushing his dumptruck in front of him instead of taking his much needed nap.



"That's not so bad," you say?

*** Did I mention the part where he had poop smeared all down both legs from yanking his nasty Pull Up off? No? How about the part where he had removed a shelf from his little bookshelf, used it as a platform to hold the contents of his Pull Up, "shaped" said contents into a volcano/muddy mud pit (we still aren't totally sure which it was), and wiped his poopy hands on his shirt and his HAIR to clean them off? Did I tell you that part?

How about the part where he had driven his dumptruck through the "muddy mud pit" over and over and over again grinding tire tracks of poo all over his bedroom carpet? ALL. OVER.

Or the part where the poop was all stuck in the tire treads on the dumptruck, so that the daddy had to blast it off with a hose which caused the wheels to spin which sent stuff flying in a manner we like to call the "Sprinkler O' Poo"? Did I tell you all of that?

Good. Back to our story. ***

The little boy's daddy was not happy, and found himself uttering a question the little boy got asked several times a week while he was potty training:

"Keaton Blake! WHERE DOES OUR POOP GO?"

To which the little boy quickly replied, "On the yellow truck, Dad!"

So the boy went into the shower, and the truck stayed outside, and the daddy called the mommy and said in an eerily calm voice, "Where are you?"

"Just leaving Target. And yes, we can still pay the mortgage. At least part of it."

And the daddy said, "Can you please stop and get carpet cleaner?"

And the mommy said, "We have some. It's above the washing machine in the laundry room."

And the daddy said, "I used that. We need more."

And the mommy was frightened and said, "What happened?"

And the daddy said, "Just get the cleaner and come home."

So the mommy spent more money on materials for cleaning floors and returned home and beheld the magnitude of the nastiness that she had avoided by going to Target.

And the mommy smiled.

THE END

(Except for 6 days later when the little boy did it again in the living room -- this time running back into his bedroom to retrieve a different vehicle (you know, on PURPOSE, instead of out of convenience) -- while the mommy was away. The fact that I was gone both times this blessed event occured has assured me that divine intervention is a very real thing.)

Words I dread hearing...

"Mommy, we should only go poop in the potty."

Thus saith Keaton whilst using his hand to cover the evidence protruding from his backside. Apparently looking at pictures of Thomas engines on the computer is too good to tear yourself away, even for (seemingly) urgent reasons.

I never claimed to be tasteful -- only honest.

So that was today, but since I am already on the subject, let me quickly recap the most awesome 3 minutes of my day yesterday:

1:14 I get off the treadmill, dripping with sweat, and come out to check on Keaton. As I pass the hall bathroom, I notice a light on, and Thomas underwear on the floor next to the toilet. Uh-oh -- this is usually not good news. Oh Hurray! They are dry! He must have just forgotten to put them back on...let's go find him...

1:15 There he is..."Keaton, let's put your underwear back on, okay?" Keaton casts a nervous glance in my direction and doesn't move from his perch on the arm of the loveseat. I come closer to physically remove him from the couch, at which point he says to me, "Poop is too yucky."

1:15 1/2 OH. MY. FREAKING. NASTY. Dry heave. Gag. String of expletives running through my brain. Gag again.

1:15 3/4 Quick assessment of damage: poop on arm rest of loveseat; poop on fingers of right hand; poop on heel that he rested under his rear end; poop all over floor where said poopy heel contacted carpet over and over and over again; poop up and down opposite leg where boy "wiped" poopy heel on shin to clean it off.

1:16 Yell at Keaton not to move and frantically grab wipes. Start disgusting process of cleaning up Poop Fest 2008 while muttering under my breath and swearing in my head some more.

1:16 1/2 DOORBELL.

1:16 2/3 Me frantically yelling at now escaped 4 year old, "GET OVER HERE NOW!" Too late. Keaton is now standing totally naked from the waist down in the window to the side of the door, grinning wildly at the UPS man while pressing the family jewels into the glass.


Let's pause here to remember that I am soaked with sweat and have a handful of poopy baby wipes in my hand. Let's also point out that as I am home, running on my own treadmill, I am only wearing my sports bra (and also shorts, socks, and shoes, but no shirt). Did I mention the sports bra is white? And I am TOTALLY SOAKED?

Are we all on the same page now? Good.

So I can't exactly hide now because I have a nude 4 year old talking to the UPS man through the glass and unlocking the door at the same time. I have no choice but to go to the door and try to use it as a shield while I lean my head out enough to talk. Oh good! The guy has a 5 pound tub of protein powder in the box and it's too heavy and awkward for me to grab it using only my left hand and still manage to keep my nudist in the house! So into full view I go, apologizing profusely and avoiding eye contact.


Poor UPS man. Unless I am way hotter than his wife/girlfriend, in which case, Happy Birthday, pervert.


1:17 I shut the door totally humiliated and go back to the glorious task of cleaning fecal matter off a good portion of my front room.


You only WISH your life was this awesome...

OK so here's something I am just really curious about. When I was a kid, I remember my mom telling me that she spent $100 a week on groceries for our family of 6. She also had an in-home daycare/preschool, and I think she may have fed breakfast, snacks, and lunch to those children out of the same budget.

Now, I understand that it's been over 10 years since I lived at home and prices always rise due to inflation. I also am painfully aware of the huge jumps recently in dairy prices, grain prices, etc. But I can't help but be dumbfounded every time we grocery shop when our total comes, and today was no exception:

$221.74

I did not buy lobster. I did not buy steak. I did not buy Pull Ups. I did not buy makeup, cleaning supplies, pesticides, or school supplies. I bought bread, milk, eggs, yogurt, lunch meat, and produce. And maybe some pizza. And Blue Bell ice cream. And stuff to make a key lime pie...let's move on, shall we?

My point is that this was not some unusual grocery week -- nothing major, nothing fancy -- and I guarantee that before the week is out I will run back out "for bananas", which will end with an extra $20-$30 being spent.

It gets worse. On the weeks we go to Sam's Club we can drop over $300 without trying.

Anyway, my question is this:

What do you spend on groceries? Are we abnormal?

If you can't say something nice...

I want to blog. Really, I do.

I have just been so crusty lately that I don't dare open my mouth for fear of what might come out. And you don't deserve to have my bad attitude unleashed in all it's fury.

I will try to come up with something that is not a complaint/rant/gripe ASAP.

Until then...


P.S. My apologies to my children, my husband, Chrysta, Emma, Anne, pretty much anyone I go to church with, my neighbors, the chick I chewed out at the YMCA, and all the people included in my uncle's email list (to whom I "replied to all" with some snarky comment about John McCain -- do I need to tattoo "I'M A DEMOCRAT! on my forehead?) and anybody else I have already unleashed said fury on.

"Hi, you've reached the Terry's..."

I figure everyone deserves an explanation about my phone habits in case you missed what I said in my "about me" section.

I HATE the phone. Hate answering it, double -- no, TRIPLE hate making a call. Seriously, I will email you back almost immediately if you leave me a voicemail, but if getting back to you requires an actual phone call, yikes. Don't hold your breath.

This being the case, when I stumbled across this post today I thought, "Oh. My. Gosh. I have a twin!". I don't plan on making a habit of poaching people's blog entries on a regular basis, but I am still exploring the blogosphere and am still frequently delighted to find strangers who sound like I do in my head.

(Read this and then come on back)

http://borrowedlight.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-nemesis-phone.html

I don't know what my deal is. Like the above blogger, it's not that I don't like talking (clearly) and I do love socializing with friends, but something about the phone just irritates me to no end. I don't think I really need to elaborate more, because I would just be re-stating everything from the other post, but I do just want to make sure all my friends know -- it's not you, it's me.

The big 2-9

We celebrated earlier, but I just thought you'd all love to know that I spent the evening of my actual birthday crouched over the toilet and hurling my guts out while Boone commented in the background, "I think you are allergic to leaving the beach." Nice.

You may begin commenting on how sorry you feel for me and how unlucky it is to be ending yet another beach vacation with food poisoning (I already played this vomiting game in Myrtle Beach in June).

You may not comment on how I should just shut up that I have been on two beach vacations this summer.

And.....go!