Snotty Boy Chicken

So, get this: I'm in the shower. (Not NOW! It's a story!!) The Boy comes toddling in covered head to toe in tiny pieces of toilet paper. Kinda like feathers. The roll is stretched out across the bathroom floor. He looks like a tissued chicken. His snotty nose is blubbering down past his chin. This shower didn't last long. sigh. I get out, dry off, wipe his nose, and hurry to get dressed. My interest is piqued. Finding nothing, I conclude that the paper must be attached by some sort of booger-glue. Gross. I wipe the snot n' feathered child down and move on to cleaning the house. The kitchen first, where I scrub something brown and sticky off the floor. (Pepsi?). I finish the bathroom and move on to my mom's carpeted living room. That's where I discover the open syrup bottle . . . .

Big Break

"Ahem." She said. I turned from the cheesecake I was pondering while waiting for the slowest deli meat cutter in the world to finish. I see a pretty young woman, about my height with make-up overkill, waiting to speak to me. After a quick mental check from me (are small tight black dresses the new standard for walmart? No, probably not) I cover up the child finger print mustard stain at the bottom of my t-shirt anyway, and wait for her to go on. "Your children are beautiful! How old are they?" Okay, now I know something is up. Not that I don't think my children are gorgeous, but do other people really think that when (after shopping for 3 hours and 3 different stores) their hair is skeewompus, their eyes are red and bloodshot because of 30 different crying spells, and their faces are covered in the chocolate m&m's I bribed them with if they would be good for "just one more store"? Do they? Seems suspicious. I tell her their ages and she laughs and says it's cute how they are hugging eachother. I look down. I'd say it was more of a headlock/deathgrip, but I guess she called it how she saw it. She gives me a feather-light handshake and introduces herself as so and so from some casting company. "We've casted for bla bla and High School Musical. Do you think we could set up a time when we could have them come in?" These children? I think. Do you see them with toungues wide open waiting for the sprinklers to spray down on the zuccinni? Hmmm. . . I guess that is kind of cute. "I don't think so" I say. "Really? Oh, okay. Well, take it as a compliment, your children are beautiful. . . " and she walked away. She is right about that I suppose, but I think what she was selling was a bunch of huff, and besides, shuffling kids around to casting calls doesn't seem all that much fun. Too much waiting. Kids wiggle when they wait. It's exhausting. When the sloth of a meat cutter was finally done, we checked out and went home. Fame free and tired. Do you think they'll hate me when they're older for making them miss out on their "big break"?

Jelly Belly

How old are your children supposed to be when they stop believing you're the smartest person in the world? 13? 15? 5?!!! Five. Madisen's five and I've already lost it. I have no hold over her now, it's very depressing. I thought I could at least hold out until 8 or 9. No worries though, because she still thinks I'm awesome. She told me today I was NOT smarter than Jared (her uncle), but my brain was AWESOME! Does that seem like a sympathy compliment to you? I've been trying to rack my awesome brain to think of a reason for her shift from team Mom to team Jared. Could it be the fact that I spent a whole 20 minutes this morning making goofy sounds and faces to get her to stop playing the "copy-me" game? (she's got a killer copy-cat. ). No, probably not that. Because I sometimes forget things? No, I guess not. Ah, yes, I remember now. . . it must be because of last night when I lost the Jam lid. I made a pb&j for the boy. I went to put the jam back in the fridge and couldn't find the lid anywhere. Not on the counter, not behind me on the oven. Not back in the fridge, not on the floor, not on the counter where I had just barely looked . Oh! There it is: Stuck to my belly. Not the best accessory I must say.
Yup. It must be that.

Kinderdiscrimination

Sometimes people are just rude. Sometimes those people are about 3.5 feet tall. I'll explain. I've always known that children are cruel. Don't spread this around or anything, but I may have been the target of quite a bit of cruelty in elementary school. I had crooked front teeth and couldn't play kick ball. It's amazing I even survived. Thankfully I had an awesome BFF Lindsay. She was the pretty, popular, funny, amazing at kickball girl. I was her oddball sidekick. We got along beautifully. On the way to school yesterday Madisen was telling me about her 3 pre-school best buddies. I asked her who her best buddy was in Kindergarten. Here's how it went:
Madisen: Well, everyone is in two's.
Me: In two's?
Madisen: Yeah like Kaston is with Cooper, and Jerzie is with Aspen, and Mayu is with Hola, and Brinley used to be my best buddy but now she plays with Sydney. I'm just one.
What?? My daughter is just one? What's wrong with these children? Can't they see that she's so much fun to be around, she's completely sweet, angelic, beautiful? She practically has "I am cool" tattooed on her forehead! I felt like marching into the classroom, to teach those children a thing or two about choosing their friends. They obviously haven't been raised right.
Me: what about Billy? I hear you talk about Billy. . .
Madisen: Um. . . Billy is by himself, he's just one.
Me: Great! Why don't you be best buddies with Billy?
Madisen: (sighing) O-Kaaay Mom, but, he IS the smallest person in our class. . . .


That's right. My daughter the discriminator. Unfortunately we just can't change some people's views about short people.
Upon closer examination of the situation, I've decided that maybe I went about this all wrong. I guess I probably should have said it was wonderful she didn't have a best buddy because it's great to be best friends with everyone. I can't help it though. All those years of tortured torment otherwise known as 5th grade 6th grade and 7th grade. I can't change the past; however, I can teach Madisen how to trick her classmates into gluing their fingers together. . . .

If I had a dollar for. . .

Every time I needed a dollar, I'd be a rich woman. Also, if I had a dollar for every time someone told me I "never" answer my phone, I'd be rolling in the dough. It's always confusing, I think, "Wait, didn't I just answer my phone?" I pick up the phone every time I hear it ring. The phone rings, I pick it up. Just because the majority of the time my phone is left out in the car, or in my purse out in the car, or left inside my purse not out in the car, but in the dressing room of the store I last exited, does not mean I'm hard to get a hold of. Besides, who doesn't like a challenge? If I was easy to call, people would stop calling me because where's the fun in that? Don't get me wrong, I think cell phones are a beautiful thing. They've saved me from many a predicament. (Sometimes I almost run out of gas) It's just that a strong independent woman like me, who is always on the go, and in the mix of things (today I did laundry AND loaded the dishwasher. how's that for excitement?) can't be tied down by cellular leashes. Problem is, I want to have my cake and eat it too. Or make my calls and have you answer too. So. . . . . when I call tomorrow. . . you're um, gonna answer right?

Homeless Famous Waiter

Wheeewwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Long time no blog! Where have I been you ask? Homeless. Concerned? Don't be. A nice lady took pity on us, and now we're living the high life mortgage free. It definitely has it's benefits. When was the last time you were able to blow your money on matching family snuggies just because you could? That's what I thought. My Mom's been bombarded with tantrums and snotty noses. Thankfully the children have been angels, or she probably would have kicked my Lovetricity out by now. (he really knows how to throw a fit) Kidding Pete. I want to congratulate all of you for being famous by association. Maybe you haven't heard, but I am about to be a published writer. I have a friend who writes for the Tremonton Leader who showed my blog to his boss, and now I am going to have a column published once a month in their paper! How awesome is that?! So basically all I'm asking is a teensy favor. I don't need anyone to lie, I just want you be honest and gush in the comments about how you can't live a single day without reading my incredible blog, and then buy each member of your family a subscription to the Tremonton Leader. You'd do that for me right? No? Oh. . . . well this is awkward. Well, it's time to pick up Skye from school again. This kindergarten thing is killing me. My days of carefree play-all-day living are over. Now I have to pick up drop off every day and I have to do homework! Now I know what real Mom's do. I've officially become a real Mom. I thought that had already happened when I turned from fun, social, Jodi into giant human napkin. Nope, I was wrong. It's when you turn from giant napkin into Mom of School aged child. Better hurry up and get going so I can wait an hour in the parking lot! Tata!


-Jodi. Mom-of-School-Aged-Child

Friends don't fit in a box. But they sure can jinx.

I'm on the computer wasting precious packing time. I just can't seem to find any motivation, because it's a little bit illegal to stuff my friends in a box and take them with me. Cops frown on that. Phooey! We still have not come to the realization that we might be moving in two days. The papers are not signed yet and it seems any thought of the home selling will just put a big jinx on it. Speaking of jinx-Do you remember being young and "jinxing" your friends? If you were jinxed that was just it. They might as well duct tape your mouth closed because you were NOT talking. Tapping people on the shoulder, waving at kids you didn't usually talk to, raising your hand in class when you didn't know the answer just so the teacher would say your name. You had to. You'd been jinxed. You were held bound by the Jinx Law. No way around it. My friends took it one step further: "personal Jinx" . With personal Jinx you cannot talk until the person who jinxed you says your name. Then Oooooh Boy, you were in trouble. Might as well write the whole day off as a loss. My kids don't abide by the Jinx law. They're suspicious of Mommy coming up with a game where they're not allowed to talk. They think I made it up. It's not like I don't enjoy the shrilling music of one sibling yelling to the other, I'm just trying to have some quality time with my kids. They don't get it . It's those younger generations. They just don't know how to have fun anymore.*sigh*

Shea just told me the side of her brain hurts. . . do you think I could talk her into a nap to get rid of the pain?

Jodiisms

I have a deep dark secret. I must tell it because ever since it happened this morning, Pete has been itching to spread the rumor. I have to get it out there in my own words before he has peppered it with all of his embellishments. Here goes:

I was putting on my make up this morning, and picked up my foundation. It crashed to the floor and spilled an ugly mess all over the floor. I picked it up and looked at it and decided it was a pretty clean break. I wasn't going with out make-up today so I stuck my finger in what was left of the bottle and dotted it on my face. As I started to rub it in a chunk of glass scraped across my cheek. I said Ow! pretty audible, although, I was too embarrassed to tell Robyn (whom I was on the phone with) what had happened. So now I have glass flecked goop all across my face and I have to figure out how to remove it without scratching up my entire facial epidermis. Trick is, I only have one hand because my other is occupied with the phone. After successfully removing all of the prickly globs, and living to tell about it, I hung up with Robyn and called my husband. Before spilling the beans, I swore him to secrecy and scolded him for leaving me home alone when obviously I need constant supervision. Unfortunately, Pete won't leave a good story untold, so it's halfway around his job site right now. So now you have heard it from me.


Another day, another Jodiism.

Potty Time NOW! or whenever

I just got done at the burn clinic. Shea insists she needs to go potty. Right now. Can't wait. University Hospital is a happy little maze of skinny hallways, and too small signs. Can't find the bathroom. We finally find a little hole looking bathroom and try to open the door. It's locked. I keep jiggling and shaking the handle until it dawns on me that perhaps it is a one person only bathroom and some unsuspecting person may not feel comfortable about the frustrated door knob turns and 3 year old fist banging. Quickly we walk away like we didn't just freak somebody out. We hit the elevator button and get on with what I think is probably the scariest looking man in the hospital. Not too hard to do since I am usually suspicious of all old men, who are by themselves with scary dirty white beards, and holy flannel shirts. The elevator takes it's sweet time and I'm getting nervous about Shea. She is only 3 after all. When the door opens, Shea runs out as I am adjusting Jumbostroller to turn around and back our way out. I back right into someone in a wheel chair and stumble slightly on his feet-which are in casts. Nice. So I hurry to get out of their way so they can get around me down the hall. Turns out I went about hurrying the wrong way because they were trying to get onto the elevator where I was completely blocking them. So poor cast man gets thrusted forward by wheelchair driver and gets his legs almost stuck between the doors as they close. Thankfully Kindscaryman was there to catch the door and help him inside. What a nice fellow. Not like Thoughtlessmomlady running rampant through the hospital with Jumbostroller and potty dance child. So there we are on the main floor. Shea says she CANNOT wait and we rush to the next bathroom. She takes her time selecting from one of the 150 stalls until she finds the perfect one. Because she had a sucker in her mouth, I take it from her and put the stick end in mine to hold it while I take care of putting toilet paper on the seat for her and other things so her sucker doesn't get dirty. I know gross, but what else would I do with it? I get my hair all over it. I shut the stall door to wait for her to finish. Time goes by. Five whole minutes go by. I finally open the door to see Shea completely dressed and unpottied with one finger stuck in each ear. Apparently she was waiting for the next door neighbor to finish because she doesn't like the loud noise of the flush. Neighbor was taking a while. Shea gave up and we just washed her hands. And mine. And the sucker. There was no helping my sticky hair. Shea gets all excited about the motion sensored paper towel dispenser. So excited in fact that she's skipping out the door. She turns around to make sure I'm following and when she sees that I am, she turns right around and BAM! right into the water fountain. She took a spout to the chin. Bummer. It's time to go. And just when I feel we can't do any more damage, I walk out of the parking lot elevator slowly and unobservantly enough to let the doors close just in time for the lady helping two special needs adults in wheelchairs to not be able to catch it.

And this is why I don't leave the house. The end.


**to add insult to injury, the child didn't really need to go. not for hours.

And The Award Goes To:

Me! I award myself with the "First Day Of Kindergarten Drop Off Without Any Mom Tears Because Sudden Bursts Of Overly Sad Emotion Throughout The Day Don't Count Award" Or simply known as the FDOKDOWAMTBSBOOSETTDDC award! Yay! It's not that I'm patting myself on the back or anything, it's just that I don't think anyone can ever have too many awards, right? First of all, I'd like to thank Madisen, who without her tears shed over fears of missing Mommy at school, my emotional heart-string-dry-sobs would not have been possible. I'd also like to thank her for leaving me at the classroom door without a backward glance, and for also telling me she didn't miss me at all upon pick-up. I need to thank the parking lot attendants, who wave their proud orange wands high and wide even though it's obvious no one is going anywhere for a long time. I also appreciate Shea, who was a necessary part in delaying the 571 cars behind us when she decided to take off her seat belt right when Madisen was placed in the van, setting off several frantic parking attendants flagging their little hearts out to get us to hurry out of the way. And lastly I would like to thank Madisen's classmates for already teaching her about secrets they shouldn't tell anyone else. (And the Joke's on you J****e because Madisen went ahead and told me that you do not in fact have a twin sister.) Thank you everyone again! I leave you with pictures of the cutest little kindergartner I've ever seen:




just turn your head slightly to the left until I can find someone more computer savvy than myself.

Underground Robbery

I went to the Discovery Children's Museum today with my friend Crystal and her adorable kids. It's such a fun place. We bought a pass for Christmas so we've been several times since then.
Let me give you a little background info: A few months back Pete and me took the kids there and when we were trying to leave the underground parking we saw a sign: Cash or Checks only. Seriously? What year is this-1980? Who carries cash around? When did you last write out a check? And for a dollar? I don't think so. The Old Cashier Man gave us a good stern talkin' to about reading signs and yada yada. He finally gave up and told us he was taking down our license plate and we were going to owe him that dollar next time. That's right, we were shaking in our booties. Anyway, since then, I've remembered to validate parking inside the museum because it's one dollar instead of three, and I can use my card. Today however we stop to get validated and they tell us:
"well it's a dollar for up to three hours, but if you use a card there is a minimum purchase of five dollars. You can buy something from the store to make up for it. . . . "

WHAT?

ROBBERY!!! They WILL take money from us or they will NOT let us leave! What is this conspiracy? I'm a MEMBER for crying out loud! Haven't I paid my dues already? They know we can't use our cards outside, so they cook up this brilliant scheme.

Now I'm grumpy.

Watch out children's museum. You're gettin' a letter!

Looking Too Much, and Burning Hands

We had been driving around for a while running errands the other day when Shea told me her head hurt.
"you're head hurts?"
"Yes"
"Why does it hurt?"
"I think I've been looking too much"

I know how you feel Shea. Sometimes I definitely feel I have looked too, too much.
Yesterday was a sad day. I had Shea vacuuming her bedroom when I hear the 'crunch-crunch' of something too big being sucked up. I hear The Boy start to cry. I start running down the hall, and Shea meets me and yells terrified, "Mommy! I vacuumed up The Boy!"
Turns out she did not vacuum up ALL of the Boy, but his hand did take a beating. He has a pretty yucky friction burn. We get to go to the burn clinic tomorrow to have it looked at. The pediatrician threw out some words like "could damage his hand" and "possible skin graph" Yikes! I don't think it will go as far as the graph, but I'll let you know how it goes.
Thank you Jared and Von for coming to the rescue! Doc was pretty impressed with the wrapping skills! What would we do without you?