Wild turkeys, meet my daughter. I guess.

Emma has a new hobby.

And I don’t like it one bit.

Oh, hunting.

Killing animals bothers me. They’re just living their lives in the wild, trying to survive…then BOOM! Dead. But they didn’t do anything to you! Don’t you feel a tiny bit sad the second before you pull the trigger knowing you have the power to end that animal’s life?

Killing aside, how is hunting fun? You sit in a chair you installed 30 feet up in the air. And you sit…for hours. Sometimes it’s rainy. Sometimes it’s snowy. It’s always cold. Don’t you get bored? What if you have to pee? What if you have to poop? What if you fall asleep in your chair, 30 feet up in a tree, because you woke up at 3 am to hunt? Or how about sitting in a cold and muddy tent, looking up at the sky waiting for ducks. Ducks. The neighborhood pets of the local pond.

Scott knows I will laugh at him when he tells me how bad he was shaking when a huge buck walks past his tree stand.

Scott knows I will blab to my sisters how he pooped in the woods then buried it so the animals won’t smell his scent.

Scott knows I will shake my head at his “names” he gives each deer on his trail cameras.

If Scott has a bad luck streak, he blames me practicing witchcraft in the house while he’s gone.

Scott has found his match. It’s his own offspring. He has been whispering in Emma’s sweet little diamond-pierced ear about turkey hunting. Scott promised her she can go turkey hunting with him no matter how many times I pop in Bambi in the DVD player. She understands she will just sit in the tent and watch Scott; she will not be doing the shooting. He took her to Cabelas to get her first spring camo gear a few nights ago. I texted my 100% girlie girl sister, Jessica, to send in her troops of tutus, makeup and glitter. It didn’t work. Emma is hooked.

I love that she gets to have special time with her daddy. I just wish it was lying on a beach in Florida.

Will that pink tutu blend in with the woods?

I can’t see her! Where did she go?

When the husband is away.

Scott went out of town for work this week.

Hey, watch this –  things will go wrong that wouldn’t normally go wrong if he didn’t have to go out of town. It’s Murphy’s Law coming to you, live! From my house!

Scott told me he would be gone from Thursday until Sunday. OK. Sure. I can handle this. Really, the only time he’s missed is the 6 pm – bedtime time slot anyway. I got it. Sell, sell, sell! Send me a picture of the Alamo.

Thursday: Emma had to get 3 cavities filled. Emma’s appointment went smoothly. But I had to bring Kate, my curveball. Entertaining a 2-year-old in a waiting room is the last place I wanted to be.

Kate was clingy. She whined about other kids sharing toys with her. She ripped my necklace off my neck and made herself a lasso to fling at the woman across from me. She had a meltdown when I took it away.

We came home. I got the girls fed and Emma off to school.

Kate goes down for a nap. Ten minutes later. *cough* *cough* GAG, SPLATTER. GAG, SPLATTER.”Mommy!!!”…GAG, SPLATTER.

No. No. No. NOOOO!!!

The stench hit me on the 3rd step up. It was everywhere. The bed sheets. The wall. The carpet in bedroom. The carpet in hallway. I was trying to exhale as long as possible.

I grabbed Kate and held her. Puke goes flying across my shirt. I turn my shirt up from the bottom and she neatly filled my shirt like a bowl of soup. Why didn’t I just carry her to the toilet? I do not know.

I pull off her clothes and start the throw up pile to go in laundry. I put Kate in the bath. She throws up in water. Kate looks at me, with a droopy, dazed face and asks, “why is ‘dere poop in here.” Poor kid was out of it. I start over then had to drag her with me to pick up Emma from school.

On the walk home, Emma poops her pants on accident. Of course.

The girls didn’t eat dinner that night. Emma wasn’t feeling too good either. Both girls went to bed early. I had a hot date in my sweats with the laundry machine the rest of the night.

Friday: I woke up to Emma screaming about poop. I stumbled into her room and see a blurred dark pile of something in the middle of her room. I didn’t have my contacts in so I got on my hands and knees to see if this is the source of the smell or a toy. Dog crap. The dinosaur dump of dumps 1 inch from my face. Bailey!! The 8-year-old black lab, the dog who would roll over and die before peeing or pooping in the house, knelt down and pushed a steamy fat one for all of us to breathe in as the sun came up. She has never done this since her puppy days. Of course.

I go downstairs to get more carpet cleaner and realize it’s like a cold tundra in the living room. I check the thermostat. It’s down to 62. Our heater broke. I figure out that I needed to change our filter. Well, what do you know when I take a look outside. Snow. A steady stream of big fat flakes went on for at least an hour. Nice of you to show up to the party, snow. I move along some more laundry then realize the washer is leaking water all over the floor. Of course.

I decide that we’ll just hang out upstairs where it was a lot warmer. I would figure out the filter and the washer later, after the snow went away. I cursed the Universe for putting me in the husband-out-of-town twilight zone. I might have cried. I drop Emma off at school. By the time I get Kate and myself ready to run errands, our heater kicks back on. And then like Disney magic… the dark clouds moved away…the glorious sun came out. It was 55 degrees by the time Emma got out of school. What snow? I’m pretty sure that only existed in my head. That is Kansas for you. What a freak of nature with the weather and my twilight zone house. I’m convinced the Universe knew I was a single parent at that moment in time. None of this would have happened if Scott didn’t have to go out of town. Guarantee it.

Scott just walked in. Everything is normal again, even if it’s only been 15 minutes since he’s been here. If I have learned anything from this weekend, it’s that you single parents are ROCK. STARS. You really deserve a medal. I applaud every one of you.

Kate’s Timeouts.

Kate, Miss Terrible Two.

I hate to compare but it’s only natural when you have two or more kids. When Emma was two, I thought “terrible twos” was a myth. Emma had her moments, she was known to have meltdowns occasionally. She definitely told us “no!” a lot. She never liked car rides but she would fall asleep easily in the car. That’s all I really remember. The nurse at the pediatrician told me at Emma’s two year old check up that two-year-olds can be so sweet and “terrible twos” is really exaggerated by most parents. I completely agreed.

Along comes Kate, age 2:

Main Entry:  terrible twos
Part of Speech:  n
Definition:  a stage of development in which toddler behavior is a particular challenge
Example:  Alternately clingy, whiny, negative, fearful, and loud, their unpredictable behavior is epic, and it’s often been written off as the TerribleTwos.

Yep. That’s her! I could also add a few adjectives to this. The child will put up a fight when she’s in trouble. She will try her best to get in the last word.

Let’s say she does something to get in trouble: biting Emma, repeatedly not listening to us when we say stop throwing food on the ground for the dogs, coloring on the carpet with markers, pouring a whole bottle of soap on the carpet in her bathroom, plotting her next tantrum, picking out what old folk’s home she’s going to send us to….

We will firmly tell her NO and she gets sent to “timeout” in her room. She’s usually kicking, screaming and crying as we carry her to her room. The second we shut the door, her cries shut off like a light switch. She’s completely quiet. You wouldn’t even know she was in there. She will stay in her room until we come get her. Once we go in to get her out, there will be a pee puddle on the carpet. Her pants will be soaked. She will be standing there with her arms folded, staring at us. No emotion in her face.

She pees her pants on purpose at every timeout.

I have even put a diaper on her before shutting the door. That didn’t work – she just took it off and squatted. This has been going on for months. Some say that maybe she’s so upset she wets herself. I assure you, these are not “accidents”. Her actions have given herself a new nickname by daddy – she went from “bulldog” to “she-devil”.

A few weeks ago, we took the girls to Lowe’s to return something. Scott and I were talking to the cashier. Emma and Kate were playing on the flatbed carts behind us. Kate started to jump, making a loud banging sound. I turn around and tell her no. She continues. Scott turns and firmly tells her to knock it off.

The cashier then says to us, “Oh, I think she may have wet her britches. She got that look in her eye.” That look in her eye was her giving us the evil stare-down. She completely wet herself.

I pick her up and take her to the car where I keep extra sets of underwear. I change her underwear and put her in the car seat. We drove over to Home Depot next. Since I didn’t have any extra pants for her, I wrapped my scarf around her waist like a skirt. I carry her inside. I ask her, “Kate, did you have an accident or did you pee because daddy yelled at you?” No response. She stares straight ahead. “You can tell me, Kate. I won’t get mad. Did you pee on purpose?” She still stares straight ahead and then I feel her patting my back. “Kate!” She squirms down and runs off with with Emma.

A Saturday night.

I made french onion soup and grilled cheese for dinner tonight.

Emma gobbled up her half of the grilled cheese and wanted more. Scott got up and started making her another one.

He throws one buttered bread on the pan, throws the cheese and another buttered bread on top. He spins around.

Where’s the spatula?

Huh? It should be right there?

No, it’s not. I can’t find it…

Look in sink?

(I get up and  help him look. I held the tongs up right by the pan). Hello!! It was right here!!

Those are tongs!

Yeah, so?

That’s not a spatula! 

Well, they work fine. A spatula? You think a spatula would work for flipping grilled cheese over?

You are nuts to use tongs. Oh yeah forgot who I’m talking to – the world’s worst cook.

Well, figure it out McGyver. I did. Use what you have available. Use the tongs! Isn’t this like Boy Scouts 101?  (I am now laughing at my McGyver and Boy Scouts joke. I have my head buried in my arms, laughing).  Aren’t I funny? Why aren’t you laughing with me?

Now my grilled cheese is burnt because I was supposed to looking for tongs and not a spatula. And we have no more cheese. 

Oh my gosh, Scott! Really? You can’t be angry at me! Maybe you should have had your utensils ready before you threw buttered bread on the burner! I’m going to blog about you. A spatula is like what you use to scrape out dough from a bowl.

You know what I’m talking about. The long one.

It’s not called a spatula.

Yes, it is.

 

Saturday nights at our house = lame.

He did smile when he sat down to eat. Told me he loved me – even if I can’t cook.

Which would you make grilled cheese with?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hunting season is over.

I think the deer Scott shot got a little revenge in the afterlife.

This would be Scott’s truck. He went hunting with his friends in a little town in Northwest Kansas. He called me eight hours after it happened.

No one was hurt.

The truck still works. It’s just even uglier now.

Our home association loves us.

The grill is being held together by a string. He refuses to sell it.

3 Things.

Two things on my mind.

1. Christmas music/decorations – I am one of those people that start listening to Christmas music as soon as Halloween is over. I was searching frantically through the stations in the car on November 1st. I didn’t hear one Christmas song. I call my mom in a panic. She didn’t hear any either. My sisters said there was nothing on in Tulsa or St. Louis. I get on the internet and find out that one of the stations will start the day after Thanksgiving. Damnit! The Scrooges won! My husband is one of those people, a Scrooge. He probably called in and yelled about skipping Thanksgiving. Ugh. People. Is it so bad? You can change the station you know. I’m sure your life won’t be drastically altered if you can’t listen to the regular soft rock programming – which I highly doubt you listen to anyway. That vast majority of Christmas music is Christian music. How can you have so much hate for it? The holidays are called the holidays-with-an-s for a reason! We’re celebrating Thanksgiving at my house this year with Scott’s side of the family. We are also celebrating Christmas since the real Christmas will be spent with my family. You can bet my house will be fully decorated down to the last strand of tinsel. My lights are already up outside (but not on, mostly b/c I’m scared of our homeowners association). I will be blasting “Sounds of the Season” from my TV. Emma will be belting out the high notes to “O Holy Night” for everyone to hear. And Kate will be running around, probably naked – like the baby Jesus himself. Christmas music makes me happy. My rant is off my chest now.

2. Pinterest – When I’m bored I go to this website. I make room in my schedule to be bored. Ok, fine…I waste my time. But I wouldn’t really say completely wasting. As a mom of two young girls, I have found this website is a tremendous tool. It has everything: decorating kids rooms, recipes (maybe a little bit too much on the dessert though), games/playdate ideas with kids, diy projects for around the house, inspirational quotes. I can’t really describe it other than it’s like looking at a magazine with no articles or ads. Or looking at a google image search but way more organized. I have caved on the whole “Elf on a Shelf” thing based off the adorable ways to hide the elf.

 

How cute are these?!

I’m just glad my phone doesn’t have an app for pinterest. Uh, watch out iPhone users – you do have one. I’m trying to use it more as a tool (Christmas gift ideas, teacher gift ideas, Thanksgiving recipes) than just randomly going through page after page. I’ll try harder once the newness of it has gone down.

3. Scott’s hunting friends are back for a week (so they say). It’s better this year with the bigger house. They are sleeping in the unfinished basement on air mattresses. Not looking forward to the deer va-jay-jay juice smell. Hope they like Christmas music in November.

I have a new son!

My life with a newborn:

– The crying in the middle of the night.

– The getting up out of bed and trying to figure out what baby wants in the middle of the night.

– The energy that is zapped out of you from lack of sleep. Wonder how it’s possible to care for other 2 children during day.

– Napping when baby naps (and if older children let you).

– Preparing “meals” for baby and other children

– Timing feedings. Timing pee and poops.

– Getting baby dressed. Getting baby dressed again when they spoil on their shirt.

– Taking over an hour to give baby a bath.

– Taking about two hours to “make sure you have everything” to leave the house for the pumpkin patch with baby.

– Changing diapers

– Don’t have time for “me” time. The only “me” time is in the shower – if I’m lucky to get one.

– Begging the 5 year old to help mommy out. Praying the 2 year old doesn’t hurt baby.

– Getting baby to the many doctor appts.

This baby is a little different. This baby boy is 30 years old. My husband morphed into this newborn thing after ACL surgery.

I’m running this ship, for the most part, alone. It’s hard and tiring. 3 kids. Whew. I don’t know how those single moms of 3 + do it. They deserve a medal.

This ACL surgery is no joke. Scott is on (although, he’s tapered himself off) heavy duty pain meds. He has an ice bucket that runs cold water around his knee; the ice bucket needs to be changed with new ice every 4  hours. He needs everything brought to him – meds, food, water, snacks, remote control, computer. He has physical therapy. He has doctor appts. Showers take at least an hour with my help. I even had to help him pee for the first few days. I have to watch him around stairs. I have to block Kate from getting too aggressive with daddy’s knee. I have to help him dress his knee. I have to help him get dressed. He cries out in pain the mornings. He does the God-forbidding waking me up at 3 am wanting water or meds or help to bathroom.

The only thing I’m glad not to be doing is taking care of a circumcision. And breast feeding. And this baby didn’t give me an extra 20 pounds to lose.

I want my happy, (somewhat) helpful husband back and this newborn-energy-zapping-son to go away.

5 Question Friday

Now it’s officially Friday…

1. What phrase, or phrases, do you say a lot (holy cow, geez, seriously?)

Hmmm…I’m not sure. I would have to look to Emma and Kate to find out since they repeat everything I say.  So…”freakin'” and “that is sick” (meaning ‘gross’ and not the hipper version meaning ‘awesome’).

2. Swimming: Are you a kamikaze off the boat, take the plunge from the deep end, or a gradual, slow submersion from the shore or shallow end kind of person?

Depends on weather and water temperature. Hot outside, warm water means I will jump in. Warm/cool outside and cool water means I’ll gradually get in. I would rather swim/tread in deep water than stand in shallow. Touching the bottom with my feet kinda freaks me out – even in pools, I don’t want to step on dead bugs *Gag*. Unfortunately, I am in the shallow end often playing and watching the girls.

3. Have any tattoos? If not, what would you get?

Nope. I could never decide on where to put it. Or what to get. Plus, I don’t like the idea of a needle under my skin. Again, this reminds me of another Friends episode where Phoebe gets a tattoo that is a single blue dot because she chickened out. That Phoebe and I have a lot in common.

4. What is your favorite tree?

I love maples because of the colors in the fall. I also love Willows…tons of shade and it just looks like a tree a kid would play in.

5. Two pronged question: What is your favorite non-physical thing about your spouse? What is your favorite physical thing about your spouse or significant other?

Non-physical: I (or the girls for that matter) can be in the worst, most pissed off mood and he will make me laugh somehow. He can find humor in everything. I think that is one reason my kids are so animated. This is also probably why our family talks about poop and other inappropriate topics too often. Only Scott can come home from work with crap in his pants, laughing.
Physical:  He’s super strong. It’s like having a super hero in my house. I can ask him to open any jar screwed in with super glue and he will have little or no struggle. He has also broken several window locks because he will open them not realizing the lock is on.  This super hero quality will come in handy when we move…

Running.

Scott wants to run the 5k in KC next month. Scott doesn’t normally do much cardio. I’m actually shocked he told me he’s going to do it. He sticks to lifting free weights.

Then Scott asked me if I would do it with him. And asked me again tonight.

HA!

N-freakin-O. I hate cardio. I hate running, no, no – LOATHE running. My best mile in high school P.E. – 12 minutes. And that was trying really hard. I generally came dragging in dead last.

Yeah, I’ll do like 10 or 15 minutes on an eliptical machine at the gym. Then I’m off to the free weights with the big boys for an hour. Or a toning/strengthening/sculpting class. Scott has rubbed off on me. I didn’t work out until I met Scott. He got me hooked on the free weights.

I like the feeling of jello limbs when I’m done. I like the achy burn the next day. I love protein shakes. I even secretly love working my legs so hard that I have to let myself fall on the toilet seat instead of squatting down normally. The pain makes me feel like I did something good. I would rather work hard lifting weights than feeling like a hamster on a treadmill. I would rather do a bikini fitness show than run a 5k. I would rather do 1,000 situps than run around my block. Are you getting my seriousness on this running issue? For me, it sucks. I know a lot of you that read my blog love to run. Don’t worry – I think you’re just a tiny bit crazy. Just a tiny bit.

So Scott keeps bugging me to join him. He doesn’t like cardio either and said he would take it easy for this 5k. His easy is my “passing-out”. I know very well that Scott is an overall great athlete. He would smoke me out of the water. If he wants to be easy on me, he better have intentions of walking the majority of the way.

I have been ignoring his requests for me to join him. Someone, please, join him! Anyone! He needs to stop bothering me. I will cheer him on and encourage him however he needs it. But I’m not joining him.

Now, signing off…time for some Jackie Warner.

Mommy Pook.

Ever since Emma’s asthma diagnosis, Scott has been worrying. A lot.

I get texts every day asking if Emma is coughing. Or if she’s having allergy symptoms. Or if she played outside at school today. Or if we played outside for our weekly playdate. Or if she’s been outside on our swingset. I get a list of questions from him when he walks in the door.

On any given day he can tell you exactly what the mold, pollen, and air pollution counts are.

Like all his hobbies, he researches obsessively. He gets all the facts he can find about allergies and asthma. He follows all nurses and doctors orders or advice. There is nothing he doesn’t know about the subjects.

He does things as simple as making sure she gets a bath every night including washing her hair to make sure the pollen is off her. He has also suggested things as extreme as getting rid of both dogs so they don’t bring in pollen. He has been on a farmers market frenzy looking for local honey. He read that your body can build a resistance to the pollen allergy if you eat the local honey. He hasn’t found any honey yet. It would not surprise me one bit if he started his own little bee hive in the backyard of our new house. The playdate moms would LOVE that one…geez. He tells me he knows he worries too much. Good thing he has me to balance him out. I have faith in the daily maintenance inhaler. I try not to obsess about her outdoor time. I want her to be a normal kid and play outdoors. But seriously, it’s like living with a strict nurse. Daddy Pook, Rn.

Emma has fallen in love with Scott after all this attention from him. They are inseparable. Emma wants to do everything with him. She follows him. She talks like him. She listens to his hunting stories. She takes pictures with dead turkeys, holding their fan out. She wants to listen to “daddy’s country music” in the car. She suggests going to Cabela’s on the weekend with him. She wants to marry him. She will always pick Scott over me, lately.

Scott wanted to go workout a few days ago. Emma was in tears when he said he was leaving. She begged him not to go. He felt terrible. He debated if he should go. I told him to just go. I could handle her. Somehow after almost 5 years, we have switched roles. I feel like Scott has stepped into the role of a “new” mom.

Constantly worrying about the child’s health…

Sneaking out to get time to yourself…

The terrible guilt you have when you do leave your crying child behind….

Feeling like you call your pediatrician way too much over tiny details…

Someone always waiting for you, banging on the door, the second you step out of the shower…

I remember Scott used to get upset at “baby” Emma because she didn’t “love” him. She would scream at him. She didn’t want anything to do with him most days. He would tell baby Emma that he can’t wait until she’s 3 or 4 and they could play around. His patience is paid off. She’s head over heels around him. They are both obsessed with each other.

I’m ok with this, for now. I still have my little peta-shirt-wearing, Kate, on Team Mommy.