“What’s that on my toe?”

The kids were playing very nicely by themselves in the living room. I decided to take the opportunity to do all the chopping, peeling, and other prep work for dinner.

Daniel was playing happily at the play kitchen. Opening the cupboard and pulling all of the dishes out, then closing it again. Over and over. He loves the play kitchen.

Hannah was dancing around and watching Peppa Pig. She loves dancing. And watching Peppa Pig.

I was peeling some sweet potato. Lost in my own thoughts. Probably fantasising about being on the Amazing Race Australia. Yes I’m obsessed. Whatever.

“Mommy, what’s that on my toe?” Hannah asked me, all concerned.

I looked over at her, expecting to see some toy or sticker adorning her toe(s). Maybe some food.

But it was brown.

Oh please no.

How could it be? She was wearing pants. And underwear.

Handcraft Toddler Girls Toddler Disney Princess 7 Pack Panty

I stepped over the baby-proof fence separating the kitchen and living room.

Daniel saw me coming and crawled towards me as I hopped the fence, giggling happily with every step.

I knelt down next to Hannah. I needed to get a good look. I needed to relieve my fears and confirm that the offending item was a piece of raisin. Or half-eaten cracker. Or even a half-chewed piece of brown paper.

But it wasn’t.

“DON’T MOVE HANNAH!” Ok, so I may have over-reacted just a little.

“DANIEL NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He was still coming for us. Straight towards Hannah and her manky poo-covered toe.

Oh goodness, there’s poop on the floor too!

“HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!!”

I picked up Daniel and carried him to the other side of the room.

I picked up Hannah and carried her, as far out in front of me as I possibly could (I don’t want poo on me!), to the bathroom.

“STAY THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

Daniel was once again gleefully crawling towards the poo spots on the carpet at breakneck speed.

I picked him up and put him on the other side of the room again and quickly got the carpet cleaner and a rag out of the cupboard.

“MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!! MOMMY!!!!!!!” Hannah was screaming and crying in the bathroom. But she didn’t move.

“STAY THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

I held Daniel at bay with my foot while I scrubbed the carpet, sprayed some more, and scrubbed again. Daniel really wanted to get at that carpet and see what all the fuss was about. Cheeky monkey.

“MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I finished cleaning the carpet (I had to do that first so Daniel wasn’t out in the living room eating poop while I cleaned Hannah up. You know how it is…) and went to Hannah in the bathroom.

I took her pants off.

Oh *%$#.

It was everywhere.

I tried to get her underwear off without retching and/or getting poop all over myself and/or the bathroom.

It was all down her legs. All over her butt. All over her front.

I wiped her up as best as I could with wipes while Daniel banged on the bathroom door, crying and yelling “Momma! Momma!” over and over again.

“STAY RIGHT THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

I had to leave the bathroom to put all the filthy wipes in the poop bucket (aka sealed bucket where I put the days dirty nappies), and the even more filthy underwear in the soaking bucket in the laundry room.

I held those soiled undies in front of me like they were on fire and headed toward the laundry room, leaving a still crying Hannah in the bathroom.

Daniel, joyful at the sight of my re-emergence, decided it was a good time to play walk-while-holding-on-to-mommy’s-leg. Which is basically exactly as it sounds, but with gigantic smiles and lots of giggles.

My pants nearly falling down, poo nearly falling out of the underpants, I took step after slow step, Daniel attached to my leg stepping his little legs as fast as he could to keep up, giggling all the while.

Hannah stood in the bathroom door, legs covered in poo, screaming as I walked away from her.

I somehow managed to get the undies to the laundry room without spilling and once again had to lock an un-amused Daniel out of the bathroom while I cleaned Hannah up in the bathtub.

Sigh.

I hate potty training.

A Potty for Me!: A Lift-the-Flap Instruction Manual

That was over a week ago. Before her third birthday. She has since pooped in the toilet. Please, oh please dear God, help her poop in the toilet again.

Yay! She pooped in the toilet again just now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

Death of the Day nap

Oh. My. Gosh. The screaming.  The SCREAMING! I don’t handle screaming very well.  It kind of makes me feel a little crazy.  Like I want to curl up in a little ball and rock back and forth.  And cry.  A lot.  And I’m not a crier.  Or sometimes it makes me want to go out to the garage and give the punching bag a walloping while screaming my lungs out.  Not that I can.  My wrist still isn’t strong enough for that sort of thing. Instead, I take a deep breath, roll my eyes a little bit, scream inside my head but not out loud, and swallow my frustration/annoyance/anger/crazy. Whatever, I’m sure I’m not the only mom who feels this way.  In fact, I know I’m not.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that it was four a.m.  As in a.m. The morning. Daniel (7 months old) woke for the millionth time that night. ( In hindsight, it was probably teething.  Found his 3rd little toothy peg just today.  When he bit my finger.  Wild little baby).  Hannah (2.5 years old) used to sleep through all of Daniel’s night wakings.  They share a room by the way. But recently, she started waking. Every. Single. Time. Sigh.

I gave Daniel his 4am feed and took him back to their room to put him in bed. He was already asleep in my arms.  The booby seems to have that affect.  I carefully laid him in his cot (crib).

“MOMMY I WANT TO GET UP!!!” Hannah screamed. Sigh.

“WAAAAAAAAAA!!” Yeah, now Danny was up too.

“No Hannah, it’s the middle of the night, it’s time to sleep still.”

“I want to go out in the play room with you.”

“With me? I’m not going in the play room, I’m going back to bed. To sleep.”

“I WANT TO GET UP NOW WWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!”

And that’s when I wanted to curl up and/or punch things and scream. But instead, I crawled in her bed with her and laid down.

“It’s time to sleep sweetie, it’s not time to get up yet.”  With me in there with her, she laid back down. And the screaming stopped. Not a moment too soon. Daniel was playing in his cot.  And then fussing.  And then he went to sleep.  Good boy.

Hannah, on the other hand, did not want to sleep.  She was talking to herself.  She was wiggling all over the place. She was constantly shoving her little hand in my face to make sure I was still there.  I tried to sleep.  I pushed myself as far away from her as I possibly could.  Which wasn’t far at all, since Hannah has a junior bed.  Smaller than a single bed, bigger than a cot. And by bigger, I mean longer.  Not wider.  Luckily I’m small. I could feel her every movement.  Whenever she turned her head, hair flung all over my face.

She laid there, moving about for ages. Finally, she went to sleep. And then of course, Daniel woke up.  It was 6am.  And Daniels noise woke Hannah up again. SIGH.

That is when I decided Hannah would no longer have a day nap.  She hasn’t really wanted to for a while anyway.

Now she has quiet time instead of nap time. She can’t do it in her room because she has started banging on the door whilst asking (ahem, yelling ) to come out. She can’t do it in Aaron and my room because she’d destroy all of our board games, play with my make up, lose all of my jewellery, and generally get into mischief. So, due to lack of other options, she’s on the couch with a sippy cup of milk, and Mickey Mouse on TV, while I attempt to get some chores done.

Did I mention that nap time was my sanity hour?  Yes people, my one hour during the day when I can pee all by myself, not have to take care of anyone else’s pee, not attempt to get someone to say please all the time, not have to put anyone in time out, and not have to answer a million “why? why?” questions.  Sure, I have to fold clothes and stuff, but I could fold the heck out of those clothes, whilst watching whatever  I wanted to on TV, and sip a piping hot cup of tea that I didn’t have to worry about small humans grabbing and getting subsequent burns from.

We’ve only been having quiet time for a couple of days now.  But it’s been pretty much going like this:

1. Hannah drinks her milk quietly on the couch whilst watching her chosen cartoon.

2. Finishes milk.

3. Gets off couch. “Mommy, what are you doing? Can I help?”

4. Gets toy stroller and runs it all around the apartment. Purposely hits walls and doors with it.

5. Poops in her underpants.  I attempt to get them off without losing any of the poop, or getting it all over her and/or me.

6. I fail.  Poop is all over bathroom floor.

7. “Hannah, STAND right there. Don’t move. I just need to get a wipe for your bottom.”

8. She doesn’t listen.  Sits on the lid of her potty.  Gets poo everywhere.

9. “Hannah, I told you not to move!”

10. sits on the bathroom floor.  Gets poo all over that too.

11. After getting cleaned up, she goes to her box full of instruments.  Yes, FULL of them.  Bongos, maracas, recorder, tamborine, some other weird ones that I have no idea what are even called.  All are noisy.  Starts making “music.”

12. Sigh. Yeah, quiet time.  Awesome. Can’t you tell?

How do you do quiet time for your toddler(s)?

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

Babies are like puppies

Puppies and babies…. Sure, babies require a lot more work, but they really are a lot alike:

Puppies like to chew on anything and everything.

So do babies.

Puppies seem to like shoes the best.

photo courtesy of http://blog.naver.com

So do babies.

Hannah chewing shoes at 8 months old

Puppies try to follow you around wherever you go, getting upset when they can’t see you or get to you.

He got too tired following us, so we had to put him in the pram

So do babies.

Mommy, let me out, I'm trying to follow Daddy!!! Hannah 10 months old.

Puppies pee all over the place.

Zoe peed on my shirt. My clean shirt. Read about it here

So do babies.

Puppies playfully nip you.

photo courtesy of http://dogs.icanhascheezburger.com/2009/12/10/cute-puppy-pictures-got-nose-2/

So do babies.

Hannah biting Aaron's nose the day she was born

Puppies get into all of your stuff.

photo courtesy of http://funnelcloud.blogspot.com.au/2011/01/bad-dog.html

So do babies.

Daniel getting into our video games

Puppies are always want to sit in your lap.

photo courtesy of life.time.com

So do babies.

Hannah in my lap at 5 months old

I could go on and on, but then you’d get bored. So I won’t…

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What happens when YOU jump rope?

“Here’s the personal massager you ordered.” the dirty old delivery man said.

Oh my gosh, WHAT!?!?!?!  “I did NOT order a personal massager!” I practically yelled at him.

Sorry about the messy writing...still have to do everything with my left hand

“You’re Sheri ____?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t order any personal massager!”

“And feminine moisturiser.” He read off the customs declaration on the package.

I gave him a weird look.

Of course it probably didn’t help that I was dripping wet with only a pink towel around myself.  It was 6 days before Christmas and we were waiting on a big package full of all our Christmas presents that we ordered from the states.  I wasn’t about to miss the arrival of that package.

I was in the middle of my morning shower when I heard the knock on the door. Sure I could have let him leave a note and then picked it up at the post office.  But I have 2 kids.  And 2 hands. That leaves no hands for carrying the package from the post office to the car.  Did I mention that the post office is on the busiest street in my town?

So I jumped out of that shower like a drowned rat on the scent of cheese and excitedly ran for my front door, glad that the Christmas package was actually arriving before Christmas.

“Well, enjoy your surprise package then.”  Yeah thanks old man.

I looked at the package in my hands wondering who the heck would send me a “personal massager.”

“Kegel exerciser. Feminine Moisturiser.” The customs declaration said. Oh…It was just some products to review on my blog. So why was the dirty old delivery man telling me it was a personal massager?  And even if it was, no one would ever, EVER want the delivery man to say it out loud.

I jumped at the chance to review a pelvic floor exerciser for Intimina.  We all know how child birth weakens the pelvic floor.  I couldn’t even jump rope without a little pee coming out.  I wrote a blog post about it. So embarrassing!  Add another birth and I was in serious need of some pelvic floor help.

Kegel exercisers

I have to say I was a little intimidated by the fact that I had to actually put something…er...in there.  I still have memories of my over zealous use of the epi-no when I was pregnant with Hannah.  Long story short, I over inflated it (it’s supposed to stretch you out a bit so you don’t tear giving birth), and it made me bleed. Ick.

When I finally tried out the little pink kegel exerciser, it was fine.  It didn’t hurt, and once in place, I didn’t even notice it.

The Laselle Kegel Exercisers work by “providing a solid object for you to flex around for more effective strengthening.” The weighted ball inside causes vibrations that prompt your pelvic floor to contract and relax.  I couldn’t find anywhere on their website or the packaging how long you’re supposed to use them each day, so I just went about my chores with it for about 20 minutes, with some flex and holding.

An email from Intima let me know that it’s like any other exercise; you start with a few reps and a small amount of time and then increase to suit your needs.

All I know is: I can jump up and down (I can’t really jump rope, my arm is still in a cast…), and no pee comes out.  Kegel Exercisers: $15.95AUD. Jumping without soiling my underpants: priceless.

To buy in the U.S. click here

To buy in Australia click here

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The truth about hair loss

A couple months ago:

I was in the shower, combing the conditioner through my hair.  When I finished, I held the comb in front of me to rinse it off before putting it away.

I looked at the comb. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my system.  I nearly screamed in shock. The comb was full of hair.  Not just a little bit. Full.

I ran my fingers through my wet hair.  Strand upon strand of hair tangled around my fingers, completely free of my head.  Oh. My. Gosh. WTFrick?

Then I remembered. It happened after I had Hannah too.  Only that time I had no idea having a baby can make your hair fall out.  At least this time I knew. Except I seemed to have pushed that horroble memory from my brain.

Now:

My hair is still falling out. It’s slowing down, but it’s still going.  My pony tail (if I could make one) is about half the thickness it usually is. And my hair is thin anyway.  Most of the time my left ear decides to look ridiculous and poke out through my thin, stick-straight hair. No, never the right ear, only the left, no matter how I part it.

My hairline started to recede.  And let me just tell you, I have a rather unfortunate hairline anyway.  So much so, that my entire life, I’ve had some form of fringe/bangs.  When I was little, it was the straight across, grab some scissors and do it myself  bangs.  Fine, until I was 17. I was awkward like that.  Then and now, it’s varying lenghts of the side swept fringe.  All to cover my unfortunate hair line.

In my experience, getting my hair dyed makes it look thicker.  So off to the salon I went.  To be a blonde again.  I got a lot of length off and added layers so it would have some body and make me look not so bald, and cover that obnoxious ear. It looked pretty ok.  For a couple weeks.

But after a while all that hair starts to grow back.  All at once. Crap.  Sure it’s a good thing.  Except my natural hair colour is mousey/dirty dishwater brownish-blonde.  And right now my hair is dyed blonde.

Through my nicely blonded hair now pokes thousands of dirty dishwater brownish-blonde hairs.  Sticking straight up.  My hairline is a mass of tiny brownish-blonde hairs beyond the blonded line. Sticking straight down, all in my face and obvious.

They will continue to grow and stick out and up for months until finally they have enough weight to hold them down.  It’s like a poorly done I-kind-of-wanted-a-mullet-but-chickened-out-at-the-last-minute type thing.  It’s horrible really. Anything even remotely resembling a mullet is.

Last time this happened (after Hannah was born), I just put it in a ponytail and smoothed it all down with hairspray.  That seemed to hide it pretty well. Except for the little corner of hairline that shows where the side sweeping starts.

But my wrist is broken.  I can’t put my hair up.  Or do anything else with it for that matter. So not only is it sticking up everywhere, it’s also all tangly, not washed very well, and pretty much looks as if some birds had a wild all night party in it.  And my cast is starting to smell. Sigh.

P.S. Do you like my left-handed drawings? Had to do them on the iPad (which probably made it easier) since the graphics tablet still isn’t working.

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The Santa photo

My dad is a photographer.  I used to be a photographer (and of course I can still be one if I so chose…).  So you’d think with cameras around all the time, Hannah would be the most photogenic little thing ever.  Except she’s not.  She never has been.  I hardly have any photos of her smiling.  The only way to get one is to have the person taking the photo pretty much hide in the bushes while Hannah goes about her business.  As soon she sees that camera, the serious face, the frowny face, or the angry face comes out.  Or the running legs, straight towards the camera in hopes of grabbing it.

Needless to say, getting a good Santa photo is pretty much impossible.  Last year The Jess and I took her while Aaron was at work and we ended up having to sit with her in the photo.  That of course, was kind of odd since Aaron wasn’t in the photo, so we had to go back and get one with Hannah and Aaron.

But now Hannah loves Santa.  He features in a couple Mickey Mouse episodes, and even a Dora episode.  I told Hannah we were going to see Santa, and that she’d get to sit with him, and tell him what she wants for Christmas.  She was very excited.  She was asking to go all morning.

Aaron carried her over to Santa’s sleigh, but there was no smile.  No squeal of delight.  No excited “Hi Santa!!”  Nope, there was a frowny face, silence, a lot of staring, and about a foot between her and Santa.

On the other side of Santa, there was a little Daniel, sitting on his lap, ravenously hungry after waiting in the Santa line for half an hour.  Fingers in mouth, eyes anywhere but the camera.  Then the crying started.  Seems babies really are ruled by their stomachs.

Before we got there, I had high hopes of getting the perfect Santa photo.

But instead, it looked like this:

Maybe if Santa wasn’t just sitting there, with his blank stare and unmoving body.  I remember sitting on Santa’s lap when I was little.  He always asked me what I wanted for Christmas, showed lots of enthusiasm and then gave me a candy cane at the end.

A couple days later we decided to try again, since I didn’t have a decent photo to buy the first time.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!  I don’t want to see Santa!!!!”  Hannah screamed.  She was not impressed.

The moment her bottom hit that squishy seat next to Santa, her face crinkled up, tears poured from her eyes.  She stood up and held out her little arms, screaming for me to come and get her.

Daniel was in a good mood.  His belly was full, he’d had a good nap. He was smiling like a trooper.  So in the end, this is what we ended up with:

Which is great, if we only had one child.  Oh well, it’s better than nothing.

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Breastfeeding: Would you do it in public?

I’ve never been one for formula because a) breast milk is very good for babies, b) formula is expensive and I’m…well…cheap, and c) formula seems to require way too much effort for my liking.  Sterilise bottles, mix the formula, heat it up, wash all the bottles. Sigh.

So what happens when a fully breastfed baby is taken out for the day?  Sure, you could express some milk and bottle feed that to the baby.  But some babies, like mine, won’t take a bottle.  To them, a bottle is just an icky plastic thing that someone is trying to shove in their mouths instead of the warm nice booby where they can snuggle up with mommy while having their meal.  A bottle in the mouth induces a wild flapping attack complete with screaming.  Anyone looking on would think the baby is being cruelly tortured.

What do we do?  The baby has to be fed.

Well, I’ll tell you:  I just whip the girls out wherever I am.  Sure if there is a mothers room, I’ll go there to feed Daniel.  They are much easier.  They have nice plush chairs to sit on, a little play area for Hannah, and best of all, they are out of the public eye.  Of course not all places have these awesome mother’s rooms, so often I have no choice.

Like the other week, when The Jess and I took the kids to the city (and by the city, I mean Sydney) to visit Aaron at work for lunch.  Sydney is about an hours train ride from where we live.  We could drive, but driving in the city is a bit scary, and finding parking is virtually impossible and ridiculously expensive. So, train it was.  We got there alright, but by the time we started for home, Daniel was hungry.

No worries, I just fed him on the train.  Everyone else looked very uncomfortable.  No one would sit next to me, opting instead to stand up.

“That’s disgusting.”  I heard one teenager tell her friend.  Well how do you think you got your nutrients when you were a baby?  It didn’t bother me any, my baby was hungry, and no one could even see anything.  Except for the back of a baby.  A baby head was in front of my boob, obscuring it from view, a baby body was in front of my bare stomach (it had to be bare, you gotta pull your shirt up to let the boob out.  Unless you’re wearing a very low top and have floppy boobs (I have neither).  Then you can go over your shirt.) hiding it as well.  I put Daniel’s head in front of me before pulling my breastfeeding bra down, so there is no nipple to be seen the entire time.  Ok fine, except when he decides to pull off and smile at me, but I can’t really control that.  Plus it’s adorable.  But even then, only someone sitting beside me would be able to see it.

Tuesday, Jess, the kids, and I, had to pick up some stuff Aaron bought GraysOnline  .  They have this big area with lounges where you wait while they get your stuff and call your number.  Daniel was hungry.  I sat down and fed him.  He wasn’t finished when they called my number.  I stood up and went to the counter, still feeding Daniel as I walked.  Boy did I get some strange looks.  My stomach was hanging out that time.  Can’t really hide it when standing….

Then we went to Costco where I saw a lady walking around breastfeeding while shopping.  I wanted to hug her.  I thought it was great.  The baby was hungry, she fed it.  Why do people think that’s so weird?  It’s not like there’s anywhere to sit and feed a baby at Costco.  I suppose you could sit on one of their demo outdoor furniture settings (I may have contemplated such a thing…), but I don’t think they would have appreciated that too much.

So would you breastfeed in public?  Why or why not?

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Just like Daddy

How do you know if your child has done a poo?  You pull open the top of their pants and nappy and peer in of course.  You could go by smell, but sometimes that’s a false alarm.  Kids fart.  Farts stink….  You get what I’m saying.  We always check Hannah’s nappy this way.  Yes, she’s still in a nappy.  Sigh.  She refuses to wear big girl undies and flails like an octopus on red cordial caught in a net  if you try to put her on the potty.  Plus I have a newborn.  That doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time for potty training.  Giant sigh (about the potty training, not the newborn…).

Anyway, that is totally not the point of this post.

The other day, Hannah, cheeky girl that she is, went up to Aaron and pulled at the back of his pants.

“Did Daddy do a poo poo?”  He asked her.

“Yeah.”  She said, a cheeky grin plastered on her face.

“I don’t think so, Daddy does poo poos on the potty!  Let me check,” Aaron humoured her as he put his hand down the back of his pants, pretending to search for non-existent poo.

“What??!!!  Where’d this come from??!!!!”

Hannah looked at him mischievously, as she erupted in laughter.

Aaron held up the tip of a yellow crayon.  “How did this get in there?!!”

“I PUT IT THERE!!!” She exclaimed proudly.

I sat back, watching and laughing my head off.  Aaron has always been the joker of the family.  A “torment” as Grandma puts it.  He’s all light-hearted and silly like that.  So yeah, I think it’s HILARIOUS that Hannah torments him back.

Aaron handed the crayon back to her.

She walked straight back to Aaron, pulled at the back of his pants and in went the crayon again.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

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There’s poo on it

Aaron took Hannah to an indoor play place the other day.  Hannah loves these play places, as you may remember from this post/video.

She was playing in the ball bit, happily climbing about, tossing balls around, when she came upon a dented ball.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

She pulled it out and held it up to Daddy, looking at him all serious-like.  “I need to go wash it.”  She told him.  She was, of course, talking about putting it in the pretend washing machine they had there. “It has poo on it.” She declared.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

And off she went, to put the ball in the washing machine.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

Note: the ball did not actually have poo on it.  Just so you know….

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