The Dirty Mommy Club

You'd never know it by the seventeen loads of laundry I do every Saturday, but my kids spend the majority of their time playing at home in only their underwear. Whenever they get a chance, they strip off their clothes and go about their business.  

This happens so often, in fact, that we had to implement a couple of rules.  The first rule is that they are not allowed to leave the house without clothing.  The second rule is they must wear clothes in the house when we have company.

Yesterday morning we were neither heading out the door, nor expecting company, so naturally my kids were strutting their stuff in their unmentionables.  I take as many pictures as I can of them playing in their underwear  in an effort to build a substantial blackmail case against them in the event they turn into asshole teenagers. Regardless of my motives, they were playing, they weren't clothed.

It was a beautiful afternoon, so I announced that we would be heading outside to play after lunch. This of course entailed getting dressed.  Prior to getting dressed, I change diapers, do potty breaks, and so on.  Ella took advantage of going to the bathroom unencumbered, washed up her hands, walked back into her room, and sneezed.

Not just any sneeze.  If I had not witnessed it, I would have thought her sneeze to be that of a four hundred pound man with sleep apnea, not a four year old girl.  It was huge.  So big, in fact, that her underwear fell down.

'Mommy, I sneezed so hard, my panties fell off.'

Huh.  Let's hope this doesn't happen in high school.

Cheers Dirties

Since the inception of this blog, my eldest daughter has no doubt held the spotlight.  That's not to say that I love my other kids any less, it's just that, being the oldest, she has started everything before the others. But, as my son nears his third birthday, he is definitely starting to forge his own material.

After walking Ella to school last Wednesday, we stayed outside and played in the yard.  Currently, our yard is strewn with tonka trucks, sand buckets, and shovels.  Add to this our covered piles of topsoil (didn't quite get that sod laid before the frost), and we have a fortified construction site for little ones.

One of Hunter's favorite things to do is to gather rocks and put them in his dump truck.  He then drives his truck over to another spot, dumps his rocks out, and lines them all up.  Well, last Wednesday I thought it would be fun for me to grab the other dump truck and play along with Hunter at moving all of his rocks.

We had filled and dumped two loads before Hunter determined it was time to line up all of our rocks. To introduce a little learning, I had Hunter count his rocks out onto the ledge.  Then it was my turn.  And then we counted all of our rocks together.  Edge of your seat fun, I tell ya'.

Hunter then decided we should go back for a third load, so off we went to scrounge up some more rocks.  After bringing his rocks back to the ledge to unload and count, it was then my turn.  I picked out my rocks one by one, counting them as I lined them up on the ledge.  Hunter watched as I did this, and upon placing my last rock on the ledge, Hunter swooped them all off the ledge, announcing "Get your rocks off Mommy".

Since Dirty Daddy wasn't home, I decided to eat some left over Valentine's Day chocolate instead.  Chocolate is the next best thing to sex, right?  Or is it the other way around?

Cheers Dirties

Ella started school in September.  Catholic school. Which had me brushing up on all things papal so I didn't come off as a total atheist when she started asking questions.

I was born and raised Catholic, attending Sunday school, Catholic elementary and secondary schools, convinced that I would go to Hell for hitting my brother (not as big as deterrent as you would think), and knowing that God is always watching (cue showering in my bathing suit).

You would think with all those years under my belt, I would know all Catholic holidays, parables, and Bible passages.  You would be wrong.  Nonetheless, I want to answer Ella's questions, promote a loving and forgiving view of mankind, and have her know that Easter is about more than chocolate (it really is you know).

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, which is the first day of Lent.  Lent is the forty day season of preparation for Easter.  Traditionally, Catholics give up something for Lent as a symbol of fasting and repentance (that about wraps up our Cathecism lesson for today).     

Ella's days at school have provided her with a lot of knowledge of this time in the liturgical calendar. And I'm glad.  I'm not sure I could pull off a full explanation.  Enter parenting a school ager.  It's really more of a fill in the blanks job.  So I asked Ella what she was planning on giving up for Lent.  After the ensuing tantrum and explanation that she did not in fact have to give away her most favored possessions, Ella decided she was going to give up suckers.  I was very proud of Ella for this decision.  Although she doesn't get them often, she loves suckers.

This conversation, of course, lead to the conversation of what I would be giving up for Lent.  We batted around a few ideas, and then Ella said 'Diet Coke'.  As I gasped for breath, as the very suggestion of this left me breathless, and I realized she was serious.  

Note:  Anyone who knows me knows I would choose Diet Coke over oxygen.

I recovered and suggested a few other possibilities, but Ella would not be deterred.  She felt that giving up Diet Coke would show Jesus just how much I love him, and that was important to her.  A lifetime in purgatory  is less daunting that disappointing my daughter.

So, thank you Catholic school system, for totally shooting a giant hole through my parenting theory of do as I say.  And for the record, that bunny is holding a Diet Coke under his trench for me.  In thirty nine more days.

Cheers Dirties

I was an English major in university.  That meant a lot of books.  A LOT.  And a lot of books meant a lot of money.  Sure, I could have checked them out of the library (if I didn't mind waiting for the 46 people who had it on hold in front of me to finish with it), or I could have bought it used (if I didn't mind missing pages), but generally I just bought them new.  There weren't a lot of options in the early '90's.

I am far away from university now, and won't be re-entering that world, even if in a peripheral way, for many years to come (my oldest is only 4).  But I do have friends that have kids who will be entering university and college in the next year or two (yes, you Mel), so this is for them.

Enter Campus Book Rentals.  This amazing concept allows students to rent textbooks, saving between 40 and 90%.  Not only can you save cash, but you get to determine how long you want to rent it for.  Brilliant!

I took anthropology and still have my text book from the course.  I paid $76.00 for that book in 1993.  That equals $632.00 today.  But if Campus Book Rentals had been around, I could have rented it instead, and saved myself some cash.  You know, for important stuff, like my bar bill.

I am the Mama of three, so you can bet your dollar store pregnancy test that my kids will be taking advantage of this brilliance.  Unless I choose to work until I'm 70.  And since I'm working toward freedom 45, that likely won't happen.

In case saving 80% isn't enough to persuade you, Campus Book Rentals donates a portion of every book rental to Operation Smile.  Smart, good looking, and generous.  It's like looking in a mirror I tell ya.

So, for all you Mama's out there that have kids four and a half times the age of mine, this is something for you.  After all, the last thing I want to be know for is ageist children's blogging.

Cheers Dirties.

We've got a problem over here.  Every night, at 7:42pm, our problem arises.  It has been so disruptive that I've decided to take action.  No more messing around.  

You see, each night as I put my sweet boy to bed, the monsters come.  They don't hide in his closet or under his bed.  These monsters are ballsy, and hang out (pun so intended!) for all to see.

There is no way I could fall asleep with monsters watching, so it's no surprise that my two year old can't either.  Enter Monster Be Gone Spray.

Two sprays of this potent stuff and the monsters disappear.  And my little man can rest his head in peace.

I whipped up this little label, taped it to a can of Febreeze, and became my boy's savior.  And his room smells nice to boot.

So if you have monsters invading your littles' space, copy and paste the label, grab a can of Febreeze and call it a day.

Cheers Dirties.

I am a planner.  

I always have a plan.  I didn't say I always had a good one, but I always have one.  

I'm a 'who drank half my beer' kinda gal when looking at the glass of life. So not only do I have a plan, I have a contingency one too.

You know, just in case.

Some of my plans are small (put laundry away by Friday), and some are big (lose 25 lbs by Friday), but each stands as a reminder to me of what I would like to accomplish.  

Not that life always goes as planned.  Anyone who has ever awoke with only one shoe and can't remember how they got home will tell you that. 

I have been told planning is part of being a type A personality.  And it would seem that it is also genetic.

The other day, while driving home from playgroup, Ella says 'You know what Mama?'  

I didn't, so I said 'What baby?'

Ella responds 'I know when I'm going to be a Mommy.'  

'You do?' I ask, attempting, albeit poorly, to hide both my shock and humor at the conversation topic.  

I'm fully expecting Ella's response to send me into out loud laughter, as her concept of age is surrounded by the fact that she has to be eight to ride a scooter.  'Yes,' Ella says.  'When I'm thirty.'

Enter stunned silence.  

I'm all for having a plan.

Cheers Dirties.

It never fails.  The minute I step out of the shower, three little beings are waiting for me to participate in the beautification (I use that term loosely) process of Dirty Mommy.  It doesn't matter that I set them up with a book, a puzzle, or a tv show prior to jumping in the shower.  The water stops and the pitter patter of little feet commences.

Dirty Daddy was wise enough to put in a double vanity, so at least there is a little elbow room for me and my littles.  Emerson hangs out in her jolly jumper in the doorway, which makes her easily entertained.  All I have to say is 'jump, jump, jump' and she begins laughing and jumping.  The other two though, that's a little harder.

So I have come up with a few bathroom games that will allow you your hands to make yourself pretty and still keep your littles busy enough your makeup bag will be left alone.

Q-tips.  Not only are these perfect for cleaning ears and helping your eyeliner, they are perfect for making shapes.  I give Ella about eight of them, then ask her to make me a square, rectangle, triangle, and any other shape with a straight line.  This buys about ten minutes of time, plus she's honing her shape making skills.  A win-win, no?

Tampons.  That's right.  I said Tampons.  While not my favorite product to use because I don't welcome Aunt Ruby's visits, turns out they are fantastic to use for counting.  Especially when you have a Costco size box.  Hunter dumps the box and then starts counting them.  And Ella counts them into groups of fives and tens.  Not only are the kids sharing (gasp!), but they're learning a thing or two.  Or three or four.

L'Oreal Preference LB02.  Okay, I'm not completely a natural blonde.  And by completely I mean I was born a brunette, but have considered myself a blonde since the early nineties.  Regardless, there is a learning opportunity here people.  The box lists both numbers and letters.  Which is great.  I ask Ella and Hunter to find particular numbers and letters, which promotes their recognition.  I heart you L'Oreal on so many levels.

Well, there you have it.  Some bathroom fun that doesn't involve stuffing toy cars down the toilet or busting your Aveda blush into a million pieces.  And Mama gets spectacular in the process.

Cheers Dirties.