Potty Me? Yes! Potty You!

Is there a light at the end of this potty training tunnel?

Because I feel like I’m sitting here alone and lost in this dark and dismal tunnel with a fistful of damp matches.

…Hoping beyond hope that the tide will turn...Dreaming of potty victory…Praying to the ceramic gods…

I have cajoled. I have bribed. I have waited. I have charted.

Finally, only to turn the other cheek…ahem.

However, I have learned that sometimes when you’re frustrated and over wrought…And, when you just can’t take it anymore as you are swirling down the drain hole of mamma madness…

Magic can occur…

“Bippity boppity boo…
Here’s some potty magic for you…”

FLUSH!

With all of the creatures lurking in my home,(here, here, here) why I hadn’t considered putting in a call to my Potty Godmother, I will never know. But, there she stood. She was dressed in magic fairy blue with a sparkling wand held high over the pot.

“Next time, child, give the Potty Godmother a call.
Buns are my expertise. I guide them. I train them. I get them to sit.
I show them. I teach them. I get them to sh*t.
You see, it’s my trade. My line of work.
Gimme a call before mom goes beserk.”

She left me with her business card and a feel for her wit.

Priscella, Potty GodMother
1-800-U2-CAN-SH*T

Put Up Your Dukes!!

The hysterics began slowly, building gradually and then peaked with one sharp, explosive piercing SCREECH!

Now, mind you, the panic would have been contained if the furry legged, multi-eyed beast of an arachnid had stayed in his corner of the tub.

But, oh, no.

This fierce bug had postured himself into a threatening stance. Perched on his hind legs, front legs balled into a fist, Spidey eyeballs rolling…..

And, pinchers pinching.

Not sure what this fella had in mind.

Guess he figured he could take me.

Maybe even thought I had it coming.

Perhaps he had planned to teach me a lesson.

Gimme a taste of my own medicine.

Serve me a knuckle sandwich even.

Typically, I am not one to back down from a fight. But, I just couldn’t see myself locking horns with this critter. Just not my thing.

I scurried off, tail between my legs, to fetch my hubby.

Hubby stomped in with his size 10 boots, eager to provide a quick and easy, albeit messy, solution.

And, then, I re-considered.

“Wait!”

Hubby hesitated, boot hovering over my opponent, quizzical look on his face.

“Ah…..um….I mean.…well…” I attempted to explain my thoughts.

Hubby raised an eyebrow.

“Ya gotta admire the spunk,” I said.

“Go get a cup.”

And, tonight, somewhere in our garden, a lone soldier returns home to the village, full of tales of bath tubs and gentle giants.

“…And, so, I gave her the ol’ one, two…See?
Tryin’ to mess with the likes of me.
Ain’t happenin’ on my watch. No, sir!
Next time, I’ll clock her where it counts…”

Worry Shrew...

I am not a worry wart. Not me. No way. No how.

Me?

I am a worry shrew.

Yes, a worry shrew, complete with a wart, a snaggle tooth and a rolling, lazy eye.

I burn the midnight oil as I run endless circles, wringing my knobbly fingers and hissing my endless worries.

When I am in the thick of a spell, I scold. I curse. I growl and I spit.

Nothing soothes my prickly thoughts or calms my crabby demeanor.

Yes, I am a worry shrew.

As for those worry warts?

Well…..they’re just a bunch of sissies ….

Grrrrrrr…

'Twas a dozey kinda day....

We were having a dozy afternoon in the backyard

With Pappa in his swim trunks and I in my floppy hat.

Our gals were about to settle down

For a nice hammocky nap….

When out from our bedroom there arose such a clatter

I sprang from my lawn chair to see what was the matter

Away to the glass slider, I flew like a flash

Ran into the slider and felt like an a*s

My computer screen was emitting an eerie blue glow

And I began to shiver, sweat and scream, “Oh, Lord no…”

My very own Apple computer was yelling “COME HERE!!…

Your Mamma talk blog has been up all year.

Have you forgotten? Haven’t you ignored her enough?”

Then, my keyboard began to type up some stuff…

“You have a blog. A lonely blog, too.

She feels neglected and she’s feeling quite blue.”

Well, I tried to explain and I started to Boo-Hoo

“We were on vacation and the kids had the flu.

Besides, who blogs in the summer, see here for a clue.”

“’Enough,” screamed the ‘puter, “You know what to do!”

So, here I sit hoping and praying that this will do.

Some bad poetry and goofy off season fun.

Now, back to the wading pool. I was enjoying the sun!

Good, Clean Fun Review

My girls were thrilled to take a dip with this Dino-Fizz egg from Smith and Vandiver. Once this fizz bomb dissolved, a little Stegasaurus emerged! It was quite the science experiment…just add water and a couple Princess Paleontologists, of course.

Among the benefits..

-PH balanced to be gentle and non-irritating to skin and eyes
- Sulfate-free and non-toxic
- Phalate-free certified natural fragrance
- Paraben and formaldehyde free
- No colors, synthetic fragrances or animal by-products

We also sampled some Dino Bubbles. After all the roaring was complete, my girls went to bed, clean, soothed and ready for some dino dreams….A big thank you to Smith and Vandiver for supplying the samples!

Blueberry Bandit

My daughter is a blueberry bandit. True, she is passionate about most fruits.

But, blueberries?

Blueberries hold a special power over my little one. Yes, I am afraid blueberries have attained movie star status in our home.

A blueberry sighting is followed by screeching, shaking, and near hysterics.

“Booooberriesss!!”

I am afraid she is a bit of a blueberry groupie.

“I love boooberries.”

She’s proud President of the blueberry fan club, even.

“More booooberries?”

She’s quite possibly crossing the lines into blueberry stalking...

“Where’d the boooberry go?”

Some say she’s criminal in her passion.

“Sweetheart, let Mommy wipe that blueberry stain off your face.”

You don’t think this could lead to blueberry OCD, do you?

“Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.”

Could this pave the way to addiction?

“Can I score some ‘boo off ya, bro?”

Hubs and I thought about going cold turkey. Pull the blueberry plug. Cut off the supply. Bite the blueberry bullet and stop the blueberry madness once and for all.

Lasted a day.

“Staaawberries?”

The Show Must Go On!

“Hurry! The show is about to start!”

I grabbed hubby’s hand and led him to our seats. Luckily, we scored front row and center seating, atop overturned laundry baskets in the center of the playroom.

The lights were dimmed and Hello Kitty flashlights illuminated the dancers. The jewelry box music played again and again as the dancers twirled spontaneously.

“Bravo!” Pops and I shouted which, of course, led to more repetitive twirling and scarf flailing. The dancers were decked in their best show time gear with crooked tiaras slipping, fluffy boas bouncing and plastic Princess pumps flopping.

The energy was pumping, the clapping was escalating and the dancers were bouncing.

And, then a slip occurred. A purple boa became entangled around a Cinderella pump. A bit of a domino effect occurred, with dancers landing atop of dancers. Tiaras left their owners and shiny plastic beads spewed across the floor.

The audience sat with baited breath and a touch of knuckle biting.

However, much to the dismay of the silent and shocked crowd, a quick recovery was made.

Sure, they were a bit disheveled. Sure, they had to make due with broken do-dads and ruffled boas. Sure, they had to rustle up some quick thinking and unrehearsed hustling.

But, even in a pink, Princess playroom, the show must go on.

Encore!

A little dip

It’s been years since I’ve done anything of the sort.

But, now that I’ve given it a whirl, I’m in.

I spent the better half of the morning properly waterlogging the lower half of my body in our new wading pool in the backyard.

When my daughters first invited me into the inflatable hippo pool for a dip, I waved it off. I assumed there wasn’t room. Surely I’d manage to pop the poor thing. I shuddered at the thought of a neighbor peeking over the fence to discover me lodged between a water toy and a toddler, all white, jiggly and fully exposed.

Then, something overcame me. I threw my inhibitions to the wind and joined in the splashy, summery fun. The gals moved over and seemed to rather enjoy using my belly as a dock for their sailboats.

Seems things work out better when you sprinkle a little fun in your day….between the loads of laundry, I mean.

Gotta try it more often.

Go ahead. Dare ya.

Hullabaloo and the Hippo, too!!

Of course, I didn't mean to get caught up in the hullabaloo. I never planned for things to get so out of hand.

What began as a friendly game of Hungry Hippo between a father and his daughters turned into a rumpus.

I prefaced the game with a bit of a warning. "Check your competitive edge at the door, cowboy."

He nodded enthusiastically, apparently more than willing to throw the game, allowing the under 5 crowd to take all the glory.

As the game began, at first I thought he was just laying it on a little too thick.

"Give 'em a little fight, honey," I said as I refilled lemonades.

Didn't take me too long to figure out the beads of sweat and the vice grip on his designated hippo weren't for show. My honey couldn't get his game on. He was a rookie and he was getting his hiney handed to him.....in a hurry!

I quickly came to assist.

"It's all in the wrist."

"Don't snap the hippos mouth so quickly. Patience."

"Put your back into it!"

"For crying out loud. They're slaughtering you!!"

I just couldn't stand by watching it anymore.

Pushing him aside, I took the Hungry Hippo helm.

And, that's how we all ended up in the toy aisle at Target.

Apparently, too much vigor can jam a Hungry Hippo and put a bit of a damper on an evening.

Next time, we'll stick with Candyland. Don't think that game should get too sticky.

Razzle Dazzle

My girls were up to their elbows in the craft box. They had plans in the making. It would be the most glorious Father’s Day card. The Pappa of all Father’s day cards, actually.

Their glorious giggles bounced about the room as the glue dripped and the glitter scattered. Only the fanciest pens would be used. Care would be taken when sketching the stick figures. Glitter glue and leftover Christmas tinsel would serve as framing. And, one stray pink feather would complete the deal, glued atop daddy’s triangular pink head.

And their father’s reaction?

Papa puffed up with pride and promptly pinned the painting in a place of prominence. Then, he posed for a picture while pointing at his candid pictorial.

‘Cuz it takes a heck of a guy to look pretty in pink.


(And, please, people. I promised no posting of the pic, despite the peer pressure. Just a play by play. It seems Pops prefers privacy. My pardons!)

Congratulations to my winner of my first giveaway! Kat from My Girls and Me is the winner of the Magic Bullet. Thank you to everyone who entered!You all are the best!