Barefoot And Crazy…

Am I considered an alcoholic if I drink a pitcher of daiquiris in the middle of the afternoon in order to erase the image of my two year old painting himself if poo?


Why??  Why why why why why why WHY??

I knew better than to think this was over.  I did.  But that didn’t stop me from hoping, just a little bit, that my Poopcasso days were over.

Or, should I say, my Poopcasso Jr. days.

Clearly they aren’t, when this is the third time in a week I’ve found my “sweet” child covered in his own feces.  Not to mention the walls, window, and carpet.  At least this time he didn’t shove it all inside one of his busses.

The morning was going okay for the most part.  Mason and Leah pulled all of the toys out of the cabinet next to the tv. Then they shoved Kaleb inside. Then they got settled on the floor in front of the cabinet. For a good 30 minutes every time Kaleb opens one of the doors they shriek and squeal and laugh like little lunatics. Then he closes the door and they go silent. Door opens – shriek squeal, laugh. Door closes, quiet…
It was one of the most absurd things I’ve ever watched them do.

At the same time, both of my kids are volatile today.  Explosion after explosion.  Over the stupidest stuff.  A flash card.  No, seriously.  Not a pack of flash cards, not a ripped or broken flash card – over who was going to hold the flash card.  Seriously guys?  We have an entire bin full of flash cards – why are we fighting over this one?  In fact, I’m pretty sure we have multiple copies of this one.  Here – look, you can both have one…

Or you could both drop to the floor and start screaming like complete lunatics.  That works too.

Fighting over the giant teddy bear – if you don’t stop right this minute I’m going to give this ridiculous thing to Milo.  I’ll replace it as his bed.  You think I’m kidding??  Try me.  The dog loves this thing – and I have no problem removing it from the living room.

Or you could both drop to the floor and start screaming like complete lunatics.  That works too.

Mason, get your feet off of Kaleb.  Kaleb, take your foot off of Mason.  Mason!  No spitting!  Kaleb!  I said no spitting!  Well now I’m saying it to you too!  Stop that right now!  Keep your hands and feet to yourself!

Or you could both drop to the floor and start screaming like complete lunatics.  That works too.

The whole time this is happening, my niece is either inserting herself into the middle of the fiasco and fake crying, or she’s hiding in the cabinet.  No joke – hiding in the cabinet.  These kids are going to scar her for life.  Or maybe I am.  Maybe I’m actually effective when it comes to children I didn’t give birth to.  Considering she is the only one of them (little miss never sleeps) actually taking a nap.  All it took was one look from me and she was done.  Asleep in five minutes.

I go back and check in every few minutes because Mason has already been caught naked twice.  Then I hear Kaleb, yelling to me from the hallway that Mason is naked again.  Of course he is.  Why wouldn’t he be?  I mean seriously, how could I even think he would stay clothed?

What I didn’t expect was him naked – and completely covered in his own poo.  I stand there stunned for a minute as he stands at the window, gleefully rubbing himself down in crap as if it’s his very own rejuvenating skin cream.  And maybe it is, I don’t know.  What I do know is that it is nothing short of gross.  And I am horrified.  It’s like being sent back through time.  Here Desiree.  Hop on in the TARDIS so I can take you back in time – so you can relive the nightmare that was Poopcasso.

No, thanks.  I’ll pass.

Grab Mason, and give him his first experience with the shower head.  Not the nicest thing for me to do, no.  Then again, covering yourself in your own excrement and then proceeding to wipe it on the window, wall, and floor… well that’s not very nice either.  And it’s not as if I can give the kid a bath – he is completely covered in poo.  What good would sticking him in a tub do?  So, it’s shower time.  And he’s pissed.  Welcome to the club kid.

Get him washed, scrubbed, washed, scrubbed, and washed again for good measure.  Dry him off, stick him in a new diaper and jammies, put him in bed.  Clean the window.  Wall.  Carpet.  Point and shake finger at devil child.  Take.  A.  Nap.

Nope.  Nuh-Uh.  No joke, five minutes hasn’t even gone by and he’s naked again.

Are you freaking kidding me right now?  Seriously???  Seriously.  Why?

I’ll never know why.  Nobody knows why.  We all say “it’s a sensory issue”, and yet none of us can come up with any form of functional alternative solution.  Both the kids detest finger paint.  I mean, it’s actually pretty humorous.  I have a picture of Kaleb the first time I plopped his hands into finger paint – he actually looks like he might explode.

Kaleb was incessed that I stuck his hands in paint and smeared them around.  I still have that piece of paper hanging up

Kaleb was infuriated that I stuck his hands in paint and smeared them around. I still have that piece of paper hanging up

Mason is less than thrilled with this idea

Mason is less than thrilled with this idea

Mason was the same way.  Play-Doh?  Nope, they don’t really care for it all that much when it’s smooshy.  They only like it when it’s dry so they can crumble it up into the carpet.

Bean bags, squishy balls, balloons filled with everything from water to jell-o.  Nope.   Nadda.  Gotta have that poop.

So, I repeat my earlier question?

Does it make me an alcoholic if I drink an entire pitcher of daiquiris in the middle of the afternoon in order to rid myself of the image of Mason covered in crap??


Paint it Black…

I nearly had a heart attack at 3 o’clock this afternoon.

I thought – no – I KNEW Poopcasso Jr had made a comeback.

It couldn’t be.  He stopped!  And then I remembered.  Poopcasso Sr had experienced a relapse as well.  Right around this age.  Oh.  My.  God.  It’s true.  Kaleb went a whole six months without smearing poop on every surface in his room (including himself).  And then BAM!  Just like that he was back.  Staining the walls, floors, bed, toys, self, windows… of course it had to happen when I was unsuspecting and pregnant with Poopcasso Jr -so – I ended up tossing my cookies at the smell alone.  I was sick two more times before I could get him in the shower.  Three times after that before back-up arrived to help clean the mess I couldn’t get within ten feet of.  That was a wretched day.

So, when I opened door to Mason’s room this afternoon to wake him up from his nap, and was assaulted with The Stench – my first thought was “Oh no”.  When I then took two steps into his room and saw the dark brown smears all over the bed, I thought “Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh NO

I’m horrified, and realize that I am sending up silent prayers that I am not seeing what my eyes say I’m seeing.  “Poopcasso Jr was banished.  He was gone.  This was done with.  I refuse to accept this reality.  Give me a different one.”

And then I got right up to the bed and thought “What the hell??  Is that… cake??  Oh my God it is cake.  Cupcake.  The cupcakes!”

I experimented last night with a recipe for chocolate pudding filled cupcakes.  They were terrible.  I cannot bake cupcakes.  Pies and cookies?  I will kick butt.  Cupcakes?  Nope.  They are horrible every time.  Last night was not the exception.  The boys seemed to like them though.

Evidently, before I put Mason down for his nap, he managed to get his pudgy fingers on a cupcake, and stashed it somewhere in his room.  So, after I put him down for a nap, he must have ripped into it.  Thus creating the Poopcasso Jr illusion.  And, he really did poop.  In case you were wondering.  But he left it in his diaper.  Poopcasso Jr is still in retirement.  Thankfully.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love…

I know that the boys have a secret bet between them to see how far they can push me before I end up in the loony bin.  It’s not as secret as they think it is.  I see the devilish twinkle in the eye when dinner gets dumped in the dog’s water bowl; I recognize the crazy that calls to me when I give an order and find myself being laughed at wildly while simultaneously being ignored.  I have resigned myself to a lifetime of their crazy little attempts to get me in a nice white jacket.  However, in the midst of all this, I’m fairly certain they’re just straight up trying to give their father a stroke.  Here’s the difference between how they act for each of us separately…


I’ve finished making the boys dinner, and sit them down to eat.  Meanwhile, I have a phone call to make, and I have to make dinner for us (we can’t eat with the kids – it’s a catastrophe every time).  In the course of my fifteen minute phone call, while my hands are covered in pizza dough and cheese, the chaos that ensued would have been comical if it weren’t happening to me.  Mason gets up from the table – Kaleb screams at him.  Mason moves the table, Kaleb screams at him.  Mason takes his plate of food and dumps it in the dog’s water bowl, laughing all the while.  Kaleb and I both scream at him, I remove the dog’s bowl, empty it, clean it, dry it, refill it, put it back.  Mason drives two buses and a matchbox car through ranch dressing.  I remove the cars, put them in the sink, clean his hands, and scold (all while still on the phone and covered in pizza dough).  Mason starts finger painting in ranch dressing, realizes I’ve spotted him and am coming for him, and takes off to try and paint the couch before he is cleaned.  I catch him just in time… just in time for Kaleb to start losing his mind because he’s just now realized that since Mason dumped his dinner in Milo’s dish the only ranch dressing he has access to is Kaleb’s… overall it’s a disaster.  Yell for help before ranch fingers can smear his masterpiece on my clothes and Kaleb goes Hulk and upends everything in the kitchen.  And now you’ve gotten a preview of what it’s like when the Monsters eat dinner, one of these days I’ll tell you about the adventures we encounter while actually cooking dinner.

So, eventually we did get to eat dinner, I managed to escape without getting pizza dough, cheese, or ranch on my clothes, and the kids started screaming that they were hungry as soon as the kitchen was picked up.  Now, here’s why I think they’re trying to give Daddy a stroke…


On an average day, the kids manage to break at least one thing.  On top of their natural magnetism to disaster, Daddy generally has a “to do” list for himself a mile and a half long (seriously, it’s like the sprinklers are always broken).  This usually is a mix between things he wants/needs done, my “honey do” list, and the kids’ broken, ripped, torn, stepped on, snapped off mess of toys.  Even when he’s sick the poor guy can’t get a break.  You may recall from last week that the toilet in our bathroom got clogged.  You may also recall me mentioning not once but twice this week that I caught Mason dumping matchbox cars down the toilet in the boys’ bathroom.  Well, now it’s got the clog from hell.  I mean, really, like break two “professional grade” toilet snakes clogged.  We don’t know what is clogging it.  If it was a matchbox car, how the hell did it get that far into the drain?  If it’s not, what else could it be??  So, Kaleb goes to the bathroom last night and starts yelling that he’s out of “bums” (evidently this is now what we call toilet paper).  Todd goes to help him out, and realizes the toilet is overflowing.  And of course, it doesn’t help that once a day Kaleb just dropped a monster in the toilet (too much info?  oh well).  So, I’m in the kitchen making dinner and the next thing I know, I hear splashing, yelling, a bit of mostly kid friendly cursing, and I’m thinking Oooh there is no way I’m going anywhere near whatever that is.

After doing whatever it is that he’s doing to try and unclog the toilet, he manages to break the snake he just bought last week for our toilet (Daddy’s potty tool!).  So now he’s got to go to Lowes and get another, bigger one.  Kaleb pitches a fit, because he wants to go to, and he wants to get something to build.  However, Kaleb will not, under any circumstance, use our toilet.  He will only use his toilet.  Getting him to go to the bathroom in a new place is a 20 minute affair, and when we’re talking public places, forget about it.  Those aren’t “safe potties”.  Last year after he potty trained he went the last four months of school without peeing at all while at school.  He’d hold it till he got home.  Anyway, Daddy really needs to get in and out so he can fix the toilet, or Kaleb will not pee.  Doesn’t matter how bad he has to go, he won’t go.  And it’s bedtime, so this needs to get fixed and quick.  While he’s gone Kaleb and I plug in all the Christmas lights and light all the candles – about which Kaleb remarks “Gasp!  Mommy!  The fire dances!”  and I quickly think oh now, please don’t become engrossed in fire.  I really don’t want the house to burn down.  Please!  Daddy comes home from the store with a new snake and we make our back to the bathroom to help/watch.  It’s getting late, so I ask Kaleb what he wants to watch (he gets t.v. on non-school nights), and I got set up his t.v. for him.  I go back to the bathroom, and Kaleb comes back down the hallway, says something about something not working, but I’m not paying attention.  A few minutes later he says it again, and this time I’m listening, but I can’t quite catch what he said.  The third time he walked into the bathroom and yelled “That fricking thing is not working!”  Daddy and I both stop dead in our tracks and look at him.  Before I can register what happened, Daddy asks him to repeat what he said to make sure we heard correctly, and Kaleb takes off to bed.  I go hot on his heels and explain that that is not a word he is allowed to use until he is 18 and bigger than Mommy (which will probably be in two years, so I have to throw the age in there for good measure).  We make this a rule, and that is that.

Meanwhile, Daddy breaks the new snake.  Eventually he did manage to get it unclogged (we think).  Of course, by that time Mason is in bed, with a doll house, a dinosaur that bounces balls, and who knows what else.  The clearing of the bed becomes a scream fest, again.  The night before Daddy was up until after midnight trying to get the little Monster to sleep.  The kid refuses to sleep at night.

So, basically, the kids are trying to send him to the hospital, and me to the psych ward.  It’s probably working.  But they sure are cute when they wanna be.  Mostly.

Pirate Party!

Ode De Toilet

I am stunned.  Horrified, mystified, proud, and simply stunned.

For the second time this week, Mason (who was playing quietly in his room) decided to play with his toys in the toilet.  More surprising (because it’s becoming less of a surprise every day) than my 2 year old’s obsessive penchant for playing in the potty, is Kaleb’s reaction.

Kaleb is a strict, insane rule-enforcer (however, apparently because he’s in charge of making sure everyone else follows the rules, he is immune to them).  For years we have been trying to make him understand that it isn’t his job to enforce the rules – it’s ours.  For years he’s been refusing to accept this.  As a result, every rule my crazy, curious 2 year old breaks creates complete chaos (check out my alliteration).  Mason so much as tapping a house in the Christmas village with a finger results in screaming, throwing, pushing, pulling, insane meltdowns.

So, For Kaleb to find Mason in their bathroom, splish-splashing around in the toilet, you would expect a catastrophe.  The last thing I expected was for him to actually tell me that Mason is doing something wrong without physically reacting himself.  But that’s what happened.  Kaleb rounded the corner to go to the bathroom, and found Mason elbow deep in potty water.  I hear a shriek.  A squeak.  A “MASON!”.  I’m already on my feet heading that way, thinking Mason broke into Kaleb’s room again and has demolished the train tracks.  Just as I hit the corner Kaleb comes running around it and starts yelling:

“Mommy!  Mason is putting all of his toys in the other potty!  He can’t play with toys in the potty!  Now I can’t go potty!  You have to get Daddy’s tool and fix it!  Fix it Mommy!”

Now, if Mason and my entire bathroom weren’t covered in toilet water, when he had me thinking he was still playing with his blocks, I would have laughed my ass off.  But, as it was, Mason and the entire bathroom were covered in toilet water… again.  Take the toys out of the toilet, wipe everything down with a towel, wipe everything down with clorox wipes, strip, dry, and redress Mason… Kaleb is able to pee, Mason is not allowed to leave my sight, and now I have to mop on “I refuse to do housework on weekends” Sunday.

Grrrr kid.  Just freaking Grrrr.