Number three

Everyone knows that number one is code for pee and number two is synonymous with poop, but what, exactly, is number three you ask?

I think this video explains it best:

Hannah was just a baby when that commercial came out, so naturally, I found it hilarious and actually understood what they were talking about.  I can imagine that a non-parent/caregiver/nanny would watch it and think what the heck.  Poo explosions were a regular occurrence when the kids were babies, but I haven’t had to worry about it for at least a year.  Until recently….

Last week:

“Mommy, I need to go to the toilet!” Daniel tells me urgently at a friend’s house.  I pick him up and run to the bathroom.  At home he wears undies, but when we’re out, I don’t really want to deal with poopy underwear, so he wears a pull up.  I don’t really want to deal with poopy underwear any time, but it’s so much worse when we’re out.  Not to mention the pooped on garments sit there fermenting in a bag until we get home if he poops in undies while we are out.  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

I pull down his pants and underwear as fast as humanely possible and lift him up onto the toilet.  He wants down less than a second after I put him up.

“Nope.” He tells me.  False alarm.  He knows there is a poo coming soon, but he’s not so good with the actual timing. I know there must be one coming soon too, he hasn’t pooped in 2-3 days, and he’s a daily sort of boy.  The two tiny little wet fart type accidents he’s already had today make me think he’s holding it in and has a bit of overflow.  Yes, that’s a thing.  I know all about it because Hannah used to hold it in.  She still does sometimes, but I can tell when she’s doing it and make her go sit on the toilet.  I guess she figures if she’s already on the toilet she might as well just go, so it’s not really a problem anymore.

I think Daniel is doing it because he doesn’t want to poop his undies or pull up.  But he doesn’t want to go on the toilet either.

We have about five more false alarms at my friends house before we have to leave to go to a different friend’s house, one who’s house I’ve never been to before.

He has another false alarm there before I notice he’s lingering in the bathroom all by himself.  Just standing there, away from everyone.  A quick check of the pull up reveals he’s already started his poop, which is fine, I’m just glad he’s finally pooping.

“I need to go to the toilet!” He tells me.  But it’s not just a turtle head, there is already some poop in his pull up.  If I try to get if off, then put him on my friend’s toilet, I’m likely to get poop all over the toilet seat.  Not exactly what I want to do at someone else’s house.

“There’s already some in your pull up buddy, just finish your poop in your pull up.” I tell him.  If we were at home, I’d get poop everywhere and put him on the potty or toilet anyway.

I leave him to it and he stands in the bathroom by himself for ages before finally coming out.

“I’ll be right back, I just have to go to the car to get a new pull up and some wipes.” I tell my friend as Daniel sits down on the new carpet next to Hannah.

“Ok buddy, let’s go change your bottom.”  I tell him whilst picking him up.

That’s when I notice;  the 2-3 days worth of poop isn’t contained in his pull up.  Not even remotely.  We’re definitely talking about number threes here.  My eyes widen in horror as I realize there is a big brown spot of poop on my friend’s beige carpet.  Her brand new beige carpet.

My mind races.  Should I help clean up the carpet poop?  Should I run Daniel into the bathroom and deal with carpet poop later? I can’t believe there is poop on the carpet.  I should clean it up, but what about Daniel?  Won’t he just sit down again and make more poop spots?  My mind is made up in a second.

Holding Daniel by the armpits out in front of me as if he’s toxic, I run him to the bathroom, where there is a tiled floor, to change his clothes and clean him up.  The poop is half way up his back and oozing out both sides of the nappy.  I don’t even know where to begin.

“Do you have a hose outside?”  I ask my friend.

She looks at me like I’ve gone crazy.  It is the middle of winter after all.  “Yes, but you don’t need to do it outside.”

“Can I give him a bath here?”

“Of course.”  I think she is stifling laughter.

It’s impossible to peel his clothes off without spreading the poop, so now there is poop not only on his back, bottom, stomach, and legs, but also his shoulders.  The poo clothes are put in a plastic bag, which will have to ferment until I get home.  We somehow managed to get poop all over the bathroom floor as well.  There is even some on the bottom of Daniel’s shoe which has made poop tread marks on the tiles. The once white bathtub is streaked with brown.

Daniel is standing there, naked in the tub, delighted that he gets to have a bath in a foreign bathtub.  I don’t really want to get poop on someone else’s wash cloth, so I splash water on Daniel and wipe him down with my bare hand.  Once all the poop is off him, I use the warm water and my hand to get it all down the drain of the bathtub before using the baby bath I find on the side of the bathtub to wash both Daniel and the bathtub.

Daniel plays in the bath while I clean the poop off the bathroom floor and finally he and the bathroom are clean.  Number three has been dealt with.

Meanwhile, my friend, who is something like 39 weeks pregnant, is in her lounge room with Hannah and her daughter (who is under 2), cleaning up the soiled carpet.

“It’s a poo volcano!” I hear her say.  She is using vinegar and baking soda to fix her new carpet while Hannah’s giggles fill the room.  Luckily my friend has the kind of humour that finds poop hilarious.

Note to self: Always put Daniel on the toilet, even if at someone else’s house and pooping has already commenced.

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Copyright 2014 Sheri Thomson

The little listener

“Mom, there are lights on at the hospital,” Hannah tells me as we drive by.  I’m not sure why that should be weird since it is the middle of the day and the sky is full of clouds, but she says it as if it’s something super strange.

“There are always lights on at the hospital Sweetie.  There is always someone that needs to go to the hospital, no matter what time of day it is.  The hospital is open all day and all night.  Sometimes babies are even born in the middle of the night.

“Really?” She asks me, wanting to hear more.

“Yeah, remember before Daniel was born, I was in the hospital all night?  I didn’t have him in the middle of the night, I had him in the morning, but some ladies have babies at night.”

“So which one of us did you do a poo with when we were coming out?” She asks me with interest.

I try unsuccessfully to contain my laughter that is slightly laced with mortification. “How did you know about that?”

The cheeky eavesdropper

“I heard you telling someone a long time ago.”  Probably The Jess or Romana.  I don’t generally go around telling people that.

“That was when Daniel was coming out,” I tell her between laughs.

“Why did you poo?”

“Well, you have to push really hard to get a baby out, and if you don’t do a poo before it’s time for the baby to come out, then with all that pushing, a poo comes out too.”

Note to self, don’t talk about stuff when Hannah is even remotely in earshot.

And FYI, it’s normal to poo during birth.  Midwives take care of it as it happens and the mom is usually none the wiser.  The only reason I know is because I felt some wiping while I was pushing.  A giant baby head nestled against your perineum kind of trumps any feeling of poop coming out.

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And we’re back

Toy trains and wooden tracks were strewn about on the living room floor. The couch cushions we stacked precariously to make a little cubby house, or as Daniel likes to call it, a “bug house.” A big plastic truck sat in the middle of the hallway. Daniel’s pants were laying on the playroom floor (he likes to take them off). Dishes were piled on the kitchen bench. I only do them once per day, and I hadn’t and that time hadn’t come yet. Crumbs covered parts of the dining table because I didn’t have time to wipe them up before taking Hannah to school.

Daniel in his “bug house.” Rosie loves bug houses too.

At least I was dressed properly when the Telstra guy unexpectedly knocked on my door today though.  Not like the time the mailman knocked on the door when I was brushing my teeth and only wearing a towel. TPG did say that someone would come today, but then we called Optus, and requested to switch carriers. I assumed the Telstra guy wouldn’t come. Even if he did, I didn’t expect him to come inside.  How embarrassing.  Normally it wouldn’t be so bad, but Daniel has bronchitis and wasn’t at daycare today. Or yesterday.  He only goes two days a week.  I let him watch movies all day and even put the train stuff in the living room.  I normally don’t let them bring toys in there.  That’s what the play room (a.k.a. the dining room) is for.

Today was his second day at home all day, and he was feeling much better.  Yesterday he sat on the couch pretty much all day feeling pretty miserable and coughing lots, but today he was jumping around, dumping out toy buckets, making messes, and getting stir crazy in general.  I couldn’t play with him very much though because I have to keep up with my uni work.  The two days that he normally goes to daycare, I do my university stuff.  If I don’t, I’ll fall behind, and there’s no way I’ll be able to catch up.  Not with chemistry.

Needless to say, it was kind of embarrassing letting someone in the house when we were sitting on the couch watching a movie in the middle of the morning (I was watching my lecture on my computer. Daniel was watching a movie as he jumped on the couch and spread trains all over the floor) while the house is a bomb.  Oh well, we have internet now, so I don’t care.

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The underwear monster

Aaron’s underwear.  Hannah’s and Daniel’s.  Mine.  Clean. Dirty.  New. Old. The underwear monster is firmly against discrimination.  At first our undies were only stolen if we carelessly left them on the ground, or in a newly folded clothes pile we lazily didn’t put away.

As we caught on to the underwear monster though, we started making sure our undies were never, ever left out.  As soon as they are folded, we put them away.  When we get undressed for showers or baths, we put  our undies high up, out of reach until it goes in the hamper afterwards.

For a while, due to our vigilance, our underpants were safe.  But the underwear monster couldn’t resist.  She brazenly found new ways of fuelling her underwear addiction.  Despite the hamper being much taller than she is, she somehow managed to steal underpants without detection.  Today alone, I’ve lost two pairs.  They are now so full of holes that I had to put them in the bin.

When the kids forget to close their bedroom door, the underwear monster sneaks in, like a ninja in the night and snatches Hannah’s underwear from its home in a Dora the Explorer hanging pouch thing.  I think it’s supposed to house shoes, but whatever, underwear fits there too.

There is no stopping the underwear monster, she is an addict and underwear is her crack.

The underwear monster aka Rosie

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maggots

We don’t have a doggie door.  We plan to get one soon, but for right now, there is no such luxury.  For the first week or so when we got Rosie, we would just leave the back door open a little bit.  Just far enough so she could go out and in when she wanted/needed.  I wanted to make this whole potty training thing as easy for both of us as possible.

Unfortunately, with the open door, came the flies.  There were only a couple at first.  But then, seemingly overnight, their population exploded, which I suppose is not surprising considering a female lays 75-150 eggs per batch.  Flies were everywhere.  They followed us around the house trying to get moisture from our faces with their stupid sopping mouthparts, landing repeatedly despite our many attempts at the Aussie salute (for you non-Aussies, that means waving your hand(s) in front of your face to ward off flies).

a housefly and it’s disgusting sopping mouthparts. Image courtesy of jangala.co.uk

I made sure the bins in the house were tightly sealed.  I washed the dishes straight away after every meal, no food was left out, and I stopped leaving the back door open (resulting in lots of pee accidents).

But still, they lingered, copulating like wild dogs on our countertop, in the air, and in the bathroom, multiplying all the time.  At least when they are distracted by coitus, they’re easier to swat.

We cut the tops off two water bottles, inverted the top into the bottles like funnels, taped them on, and filled them with sugar syrup – home made fly traps.  A few flies wandered into the sticky liquid, unable to escape, but the majority of them flew on.

Upping the ante, we bought fly spray.  Aaron sprayed the bathroom and shut the door, killing about nine of the little buggers.  We covered everything in the kitchen with towels and he sprayed them as they slept on the kitchen ceiling.

Still there were more.  Not as many as before, but enough to be pretty darn annoying.

I went to clean the guinea pig cage yesterday morning and discovered about a thousand (I’m not even exaggerating, I mean, literally, a thousand) maggots in the bottom of the outside organics bin, and decided to kill them all.

 

Before finding the maggots, I remembered that Aaron said dog shampoo kills them, so yesterday morning when I was at the supermarket, I bought some.  Upon discovering the disgusting present in the bin, I promptly went online in search of the correct way to use said dog shampoo to kill the little suckers.

 

Unfortunately, only dog shampoos with a particular ingredient are useful in killing maggots.  The one I got does not have the needed ingredient.  Probably because I got one labelled “gentle.” My bad.  I did find a number of other ways to kill maggots though, so I picked one and got to work.

 

First, I chose the vinegar mixed with water trick, since I had a whole bunch of vinegar in the laundry cupboard (because I use it for cleaning and got it in bulk at Costco).  I poured it in, as well as down the sides of the bin to wash the creepers that were trying to escape back down into the pit of doom.  A bit later, I looked in the bin and found that a lot of them were still alive.

 

Another way to kill maggots is with boiling water, so I boiled a full pot of water in the kettle and poured that all over them too, then shut the lid to help lead them to their steamy deaths.

 

A bit later, I opened the lid of the bin again and peeked inside, nearly puking from the putrid smell of vinegar mixed with half cooked, off food scraps and dead maggots.  The whole bottom of the bin was covered in dead maggots, floating around in their watery grave, but a bunch more of the little brats were crawling up the sides of the bin, once again attempting escape.

 

A third way to kill maggots is with good old salt.  Just like with slugs and snails; pour it over them and watch them shrivel up as they dehydrate.

 

I grabbed our bulk salt container and headed back outside.  Before opening the bin, I salted all the escapees who had successfully exited the bin and were crawling around on the top of it, just outside the lids edge, and watched them shrivel up as they tried to wiggle away from the lethal dose of salt.

 

I opened the lid with my left hand and started salting more almost-escapees that were at the top of the bin.  As I salted them to their deaths, something hit my salting hand.  I glanced down at it immediately, realising with horror that a maggot had fallen off the bin lid and landed on my hand where it was currently wiggling around, mocking me.

 

A split second later, I was flapping my hand around like mad woman and accidentally dropped the whole bottle of salt into the pit of doom in the bottom of the bin.

 

I know it’s an organics bin, which is only for food scraps, twigs, grass, etc., but there was no way that I was sticking my hand all the way down into the festy bin full of putrid food and at least a thousand dead maggots.  So I shut the lid and ran off, leaving the hundred or so almost-escapees there in the bin, climbing the sides to freedom.

 

Oh well, at least I got most of them.

 

A couple hours later, I decided it was time to go back out again and finally clean the guinea pig cage, happy in the knowledge that most of the maggots were dead in the bin and I wouldn’t be merely adding dinner to their plates when I dumped the used straw into the bin.

 

I rolled the dirty straw up in the now urine soaked newspapers that lined the bottom of the guinea pig cage with gloved hands, in preparation to easily throw the whole bundle into the bin.

 

As I rolled, I was met with a horrible sight: hundreds of maggots had made their home in the bottom of the guinea pig cage, between the soiled newspapers and the green plastic.

 

I wish I still had the salt.  Or more vinegar (I used it all up in the bin).  Instead, I put the hose on jet stream mode and blasted those disgusting little creatures right out of there.

 

Hopefully, our that was the end of our fly problem.

 

The inside of the bin after all of my maggot killing. Only a few maggots escaped my wroth. I should have taken a before photo, but trust me, it’s better if you don’t see that.

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Where have they been

“Mommy, can I lick my train?” Daniel asked me as he held up one of his Thomas engines.

“No, don’t lick your train buddy.”

“Can I lick my hand?”

“No, don’t lick your hand, who knows what your hands have been touching.”  I told him, thinking of dirty dog toys, dirt, grass, boogers, etc.

“My penis.”  He told me matter of factly.

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Wet ‘n Wild Sydney

After waiting two weeks for our season pass armbands that serve as everything from gaining entry to paying for food to identifying particular people in photographs taken by the official photographers, opening day arrived at Wet ‘n Wild Sydney.  Our armbands still haven’t arrived. Instead, we waited in line before the park opened and had to collect and activate new ones.  We thought we’d be waiting in line for hours, since the crowd was predicted to be 20,000 strong on opening day, but my friend Romana, who got there before me, only waited a few minutes.

Since Romana brought Hannah’s best friend Violet, and I brought Hannah (Daniel was at daycare), we only got to experience the kids area and the lazy river.  So if you want to know about how cool the other slides and things are, you’re not going to find it on this post.  Sorry.  One day I will get there sans kids, but that hasn’t happened as yet.

The kids area had plenty of stuff for them to do.  First we came across a vast soft-fall covered water spout area with a downpour bucket and various sprinklers, where they very small kids, as well as older ones, can run around and get soaked without being in a pool of water.  There is also a slide area with one entrance at the bottom that goes either left or right at the top.  To the left are four slides that require tubes.  Two of the four slides only accept single tubes with single riders, who must be under a certain height or they are not allowed on.  Too bad if you have a really tall 8 year old, he won’t be allowed to go down those slides.

The other two slides allow double tubes, and as long as one of the riders is under the stick height, the other rider can be an older child or an adult. I took Hannah down the double tube slides.  Since she is small, I had to put my legs over half the hole area of her side to make sure she didn’t fall in.  This meant that I had to sit with my legs open, so I’m hoping that my swimmers stayed where they were supposed to whilst I got on the tube, otherwise the slide attendant would be getting an eyeful.  Note to self, wear shorts next time.  I did wear a skirt over my bikini bottoms, but that was clearly not helpful when laying on a tube with my legs spread.

At the bottom of the slides, a lifeguard was there to pull us to the steps and help Hannah get out, which was quite useful.  The morning slide attendants at the top of the slides let me take the GoPro down with me, saying that since it has a wrist strap, it was ok because there wasn’t any danger of it falling in.  The afternoon attendants, however, made me leave it at the top and come back for it.

To left were the body slides – the slides you go down with no tubes or anything else.  Unfortunately, they don’t allow anyone over a certain height to go down them at all, even if you are accompanying a 2 year old.  That was fine for us, since our girls are 4.  Hannah and Violet can walk up to the slides themselves, choose which slide they like, and then let the attendant tell them when to go while we wait at the bottom of their chosen slide to make sure they get out ok.

Some of the slides have a bit of water at the bottom, so an adult really needs to be there to make sure there are no drowning or choking on water incidents. You can also see the top of the slides and the line area from the bottom, which means sending a 4 year old up there by themselves is actually doable. It also means that there are a bunch of kids with no parents in the lines which equates to chaos, and cutting in line.  There are only two attendants to 6 slides, so if your child isn’t game enough to speak up when their chosen slide is called, they could be waiting quite a while.

There is no way that I could bring Daniel there by myself.  He would need me to take him up to the top of the slides (the smaller ones without water at the bottom, since adults are not allowed to go on the slightly bigger ones with the kids), and to wait in line with him, but he’d also need me to be there at the bottom so he didn’t get out and run off somewhere, or get upset that I wasn’t waiting there for him. There isn’t enough time to put a child on the slide and run then run down to meet him/her at the bottom, so it is impossible to take a small child to Wet ‘n Wild on your own.

The most ridiculous thing about Wet ‘n Wild is not the $16 burgers, although they are clearly a rip off, but the fact that parents can’t go down water slides in the kids area with their small children.

Speaking of $16 burgers, outside food isn’t allowed (although I brought my own snacks in and no one said anything. Shhh….), and all the food is ridiculously expensive.  Burgers and fries for $16, a hot dog for $6.  There aren’t many choices either.  Don’t forget to bring your own water as there are no water fountains (that we found anyway), and one bottle of water is $4.50.

We stayed at Wet ‘n Wild for the majority of the day, and we all had a great time, especially since the lines were incredibly short and there weren’t many people around (so much for that 20,000…).  We already have another trip planned, and many more after that 🙂  I’m definitely glad we purchased gold season passes.

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Flashback Friday: Pot plant

A comment my mom made on one of my blog posts the other day made me remember something funny that happened on my very first trip to Australia almost 13 years ago.

My exchange sister Lauren and I were going to her boyfriend (at the time) Michael’s house with Aaron.  We were probably wagging (skipping) school to play video games since we were naughty like that, but it also could have been after school.  Either way, Michael didn’t have his key.

“It’s ok, we keep a spare one under the pot plant,” Michael said.

“You have a POT PLANT???!!!!” I exclaimed, surprised.  “Isn’t there a cop living right next door?”

“Um…yeah, he doesn’t care about our pot plant.”  Michael told me, as the others looked at me strangely.

“That’s illegal where I come from.  You can’t have pot plants in the U.S.” I told them.

“What?! Why?  What’s wrong with pot plants? Pretty much everyone has them here.”

My eyes must have been as wide as saucers.  Why would everyone have pot plants?  I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

As I stood there, rather dumfounded, Michael lifted up a pot that contained a pretty flower.

“Oh, you mean POTTED plant.”

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The silly mommy

It’s been ages since I’ve had to worry about teething.  I can’t even remember when Daniel cut his last tooth.  I should be able to look it up in his baby book, but I have yet to fill it out.  I know, that’s terrible, but with the second child, there’s just never time for fluffy things like baby books.  Not even his name or birth date graces the inside, it’s just an empty book.  He’s had all of his baby teeth, minus the two year old molars, for over a year.  I can’t even remember his particular reactions to teething.

Until now.  It’s two year old molar time.  Right now it’s 5:17am and he just started crying again (and now he’s sitting on the couch watching Thomas). When I was up last night with him, I had to administer a dose of Nurofen to take the pain away and allow him to sleep.  When I went in his room, he was standing in his cot screaming.

“What’s wrong buddy?” I asked him.

“I want to watch Hiro and naughty Spencer on the TV, Mommy,” he to told me with a pained look on his face.  That’s what he calls the Thomas movie, ‘Hiro of the Rails.’

“No, it’s the middle of the night Buddy, it’s time for sleep.  Lay down.”

He did, but soon started crying again, and gnawing on his finger.  I gave him some Nurofen and he went to sleep a little while later.

He woke up the night before last as well.

“MOMMY THE BOOGER IN MY NOSE, GET IT!” He kept yelling out whilst crying. But there was no booger.

As soon as I woke up from my heavy slumber, I had to pee.  Daniel was still yelling out about his non-existent booger as I groggily climbed out of bed and put my fluffy pink bathrobe on.  It’s winter over here, and darn cold in the middle of the night.  I didn’t bother with my glasses, it was dark anyway.

Walking with my right hand in front of me to feel for any deviations from my planned path to the bathroom, I set off.

As I pushed the bathroom door open with my pointer finger, I stepped forward into the bathroom.

BANG!

The bathroom door was shut.  I jammed my finger and walked nose first straight into the door.  Why I thought it was not actually clicked shut, I have no idea.  It was 3am, I was half asleep, it was dark, and I wasn’t wearing glasses or contacts.

I don’t know exactly what happened to my finger when it jammed, but it’s still really sore and if I use it, it hurts.

Oh well, at least I didn’t break my nose.  That would have been pretty bad considering I’m a bridesmaid in another country in less than a month.

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The bridesmaid dress

“I’m definitely going to need to get this altered,” I said to the shop assistant as I tried on my bridesmaid dress for my cousin Jennifer’s wedding.  I’ve been waiting weeks for it and had to pay extra to get it from the U.S. in time for the wedding in September.

“You’re slightly too big for a size 1, and too small for a size 3, but we always order dresses too big rather than too small because it’s easy to take the in, but they can’t be let out.” They told me. “Just make sure that you wear a the strapless bra you plan to wear on the day when you take the dress to get altered.”

“I am.”

Awkward silence. “Oh.”

I think I probably could have fit in the size 1, but they didn’t have any in the shop when I ordered my dress, so we didn’t know for sure.

As it was, I pretty much looked like I was wearing a burlap sack, only not burlap coloured.  I was swimming in it.  Kind of like when I tried my dress for Lauren’s (my exchange student and host sister) wedding.  It too was ordered from the U.S., again in a size 3.  The rest of the bridal party tried their dresses on and looked fantastic, where as I looked absolutely ridiculous in mine.

A couple weeks and minus a couple yards of fabric later, it looked great.

My bridesmaid dress for Lauren’s wedding (after alterations…)

I took my new dress, which I can’t describe to you or show you a picture of because what fun is a wedding if everyone already knows what the bridal party is wearing?, to an alterations shop and put it on.

“That is big on you,” she lady told me when I emerged from the changing room holding up the strapless dress so my lack of boobs didn’t hang out.  Not that they could hang out, since they are virtually non-existent, but you know what I mean.

She pinned both sides and folded about a mile of the bottom up, courtesy of my short legs, before pinning that as well.

“Can you put the straps on too?” I asked her, pointing to the optional spaghetti straps that came with the dress, folded up in plastic bag attached to the tags.

“After it’s taken in, you won’t need the straps to hold the dress up.”

“I know, I just look ridiculous in strapless dresses.”

Ignoring all of the pinned up material that was hanging out everywhere, I looked in the mirror.  Phew, it was much better.

“Now I just need some boobs to fill it out.” I said jokingly.

“You can wear a strapless bra,” the lady told me.

“I am.”

“Oh,” she said, as her cheeks turned an embarrassed shade of red.

If you enjoyed reading this, please vote for my blog. All you have to do is click the link below. That’s it… Clicking the link brings you to the Top Mommy Blogs home page. You don’t have to do anything else. Any clicks from my site to theirs is a vote.  THANKS!

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