Splish Splash and a Bar of Soap

Bath time in our house can be so silly/fun/maddening/crazy/chaotic/educational/hilarious.  Take your pick of any of those adjectives, because it usually starts with one, jumps to another and ends on something totally different.  You never know which combination will define the bath lottery on any given evening.

Two nights ago, B-man and Wee-man were sharing bath time, as they normally do.  It was going quite smoothly - neither one had hit, bit or splashed the other (or the entire floor and surrounding walls) and we were having a grand ole' time.

After a few minutes, I noticed that the water was murkier than usual, and B-man showed me why when he held up a decorative bar of soap that I usually keep in a cute little bird bath holder on the bathroom counter.  I guess he had grabbed it on his way to the tub and I hadn't noticed.

If you look at the picture below, it's the yellow bar in the back - the one that is much smaller than the others.

I didn't mind that he took it (that's what it's for right? and a boy CHOOSING soap!?!) - I told him to use it well and scrub all of his fingers and toes and whatever else he felt needed washing.  But not to get it on his face or in his eyes.  Typically I don't let them use bars of soap for this reason - they definitely don't adhere to the "no tears" claim and inevitably, someone ends up crying with soap in their eyes and the whole bathtime mood goes down the drain right then and there.

A few minutes later, I look at B-man and he is examining the bar of soap closely, and then smelling it (this particular one smells like vanilla).  Then, ever so carefully, he sticks out his tongue and touches the bar of soap with it.  Smacks his lips.  Smiles at me. 

I said, B-man, soap does not taste good, so don't eat it, okay? 

Blank stare.

Then he says, "Does Ralphie like it when he eats the soap?"

I said, "On A Christmas Story you mean?  When he gets in trouble for saying bad words?" 

B-man:  "Yeah.  What bad words did he say?"

Me: "I don't know.  But they were not nice, and his mom makes him eat soap and it does not taste good."

B-man:  "Well I think this soap will taste good, because it smells really good."

Before I could respond, Wee-man started freaking out because he had leaned back too far in the tub and accidentally went under, so I was consumed with calming him down, getting him out and drying him off.  I had sort of turned my back on B-man while doing all of this, and when I whirled back around, he had half of the bar of soap stuck in his mouth.

I said, "Oh no sweetie, that is going to taste so bad, take it out."

He took it out and stared at me for a moment.  I waited for the second freak-out once the horrible soap aftertaste hit.  Nothing happened.

I said, "Didn't that taste awful?"

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "No."

I sensed lying but said nothing.

I started to leave the bathroom to chase after Wee-man, and turned around at the door to see the funniest thing. 

B-man was furiously wiping his tongue and then gulping large amounts of bath water and swishing and spitting.  Then the freak-out started.

"MOOOOOOMMMMM!  MOOOOOMMM! AAAAAAGGGHHH!!!"

I casually walked back in (trying really hard not to laugh) and said, "What is it?"

He looked at me with an equal mix of panic and disgust and said, "It's yucky!! It tastes really bad, and this water tastes bad too, and I can't get it off! HELP ME!!"

B-man didn't realize that the water he was gulping and spitting was so laden with soap from having it in the bathtub that it was of no use for ridding his tongue of the horrible soap taste.  It would be akin to trying to lessen the effects of a jalepeno pepper by swishing with hot salsa.

After he had turned on the tap and guzzled about a gallon of water, he stepped out of the tub and said, "Poor, poor Ralphie.  I hope he got some chocolate milk after that."

I think my bars of pretty soap are safe for awhile.

A Thread on Gingerbread....

I can't believe how long it's been since my last post.....the hours and days this time of year seem to just slip away, much like the brown, crunchy leaves off the trees in my back yard.

I have been busy working, shopping, wrapping, decorating, going, doing, being, seeing.... and writing has fallen to the back of the "to do" list.  We've had school parties, work parties, family parties, friend parties and birthday parties.  December wins most festive month for us, hands down.

The boys are out of school and have been enjoying some time outdoors in the unseasonably warm weather we've recently had.  Despite it feeling like spring for a few days, they are totally focused on Christmas and upcoming visits from out-of-town family members, and of course from Santa Claus himself.

Disregarding the lesson I learned last year (and the year before), I gave in to a cute little red box on sale with even cuter contents, and purchased a ginger bread house for us to build and decorate for Christmas.

What happened last year you ask?  Well, our pretty little gingerbread house had bites taken out of each side, missing gum drops, gum balls and sprees from the roof and windows, and the little sidewalk constructed of peppermints and candy canes was sporting some dangerous gaping holes.  I mean, no gingerbread man could have safely crossed.  At one point I just handed the whole thing over to them and told them to munch away.  This was on the same day we made it.  Uh huh.  Didn't even last a DAY.  But, it was fun.  And I appreciated the time we spent together to make it.

This year, the house has already lasted TWO days.  That's 'cause I stuck it up high.  But, we did work with less materials - because with each candy bag we opened, they insisted on "testing" multiple pieces.  You know, to make sure they wouldn't corrode the icing foundation or anything.

I also started with the idea of following some sort of logical decorating pattern, but then G-man said, "Hey Mom, why do we have to follow a plan?"  I said, "You know what?  We don't! Get creative! Go crazy! Be unique!"

Allowing them to decorate it however they pleased and in whatever fashion was, oddly enough, very freeing.  A former perfectionist and slightly OCD person about orderliness, I have really learned to let those characteristics fall by the wayside.  It's been very therapeutic and quite liberating.  I still drive my husband crazy with my occasional organizing freak outs, but I'm not as particular about it as I used to be.  My kids broke me, and that's perfectly okay with me. 

So anyway, I give you the Three Small Men gingerbread house:

I especially like how B-man broke up his candy canes and abstractly placed them on the roof.

G-man ate his.

Those two little slots in front of the house?  Those are supposed to hold two gingerbread cookies that you decorate as well - a Santa and a tree.  Well, Wee-man polished those off before we could even ice them.

But hey, we have a house, it's cute, and it's lasted more than a day!

And, to finish off the evening in true Three Small Men style (with a good laugh), G-man really amused me when he told me that he's really glad people don't live in gingerbread houses anymore like they used to, because it must have been a lot of work to keep the birds and squirrels from eating your house.  :)

     

                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Girl Wednesday

Tonight's post is short, sweet and has nothing to do with small men.

Sometimes, I have to step away from the testosterone and immerse myself in a decorating magazine or slather on a sea salt scrub or do anything feminine for heaven's sake. 

So, tonight I wanted to share two Christmas display ideas.  They would actually be really simple for anyone to do - even someone who is not Martha Stewart-ly inclined ('cause I'm sure not).

First - a super easy and eye-catching way I display all of our Christmas cards each year.  Get yourself some garland greenery (I use two long pieces connected together) and hang around a door frame.  Spruce up with ornaments, berries or clip-on birds.  When your cards come in, use a hole-punch and punch a hole at the top of each card.  Tie each card on with colored ribbon.  Voila. 

Next, a very rustic (and inexpensive - mine was free!) buffet or sideboard display. 

I gathered dead tree limbs from our backyard and arranged them in a glass hurricane with snippings from our fragrant rosemary bush out front (smells wonderful).  Then I tied on red ribbon bows and hung my grandmother's antique 1950s ornaments (can't find these babies in stores) on some of the limbs. 

It makes me think of my Mema. I love it.

See, that's it.  I told you it would be short and sweet.

Happy tree limb hunting!

Saving the Toys - One Suitcase at a Time

Yesterday morning started out like any other – the boys waking up too dang early and demanding their chocolate “muck” (milk) and cartoons.  Some days they bask around the living room, lazily starting their day and letting me hold them on my lap for awhile.  Other mornings (like yesterday) they immediately go into what I call “combat” mode and have initiated a game of seek and destroy hide n’ seek or a version of wrestling that inevitably ends with someone crying real tears. 

I was super tired and not feeling so great when I woke up, so I sat down at the kitchen table with messy hair, a steaming cup of coffee and the Sunday paper after they ventured off in search of something more exciting.  I started to peruse a few retail ads, and then -

BAM!

CRASH!

WHACK!

THUD!

I of course get up to see what is going on in the playroom down the hall, and am greeted with this visual:

In a matter of a mere 10 minutes, they had managed to “rearrange” the (somewhat) organized space into total chaos.  Every toy had been pulled from the bins.  Books were scattered.  They had even included pillows and blankets from an adjacent room.  All this by 8:00 a.m.  Who ARE these creatures?? 

I stood there for a second, them looking at me, me looking at the mess, them looking at me some more.

And I smiled and calmly said, “Well, thanks guys, this is the PERFECT opportunity to get rid of some toys!  Let me go get the trash bags!”

As I walk off, I hear shouts of “NO MOM!!” and “It’s okay, we’re picking it all up now, Mom.”  “Mom?”  “Mom?”

I walked back to the kitchen and told the hubby to gear up for a cleanin’ out, because we needed to make more room for new Christmas toys anyway, and honestly, there are lots of toys in there that never get played with that could totally make a less fortunate child’s day.

Lest you think we actually purchased most of these toys and/or that my kids are slightly spoiled, I will clarify here that we most certainly did not and that yes, they are.  With three small boys comes three birthdays a year, and when you figure they each get around 10 toys per birthday, well, that’s 30 toys.  Add in 10-15 toys per child for Christmas, and, well, you get the point.   We have a large family.  It accumulates.

I finished my coffee and two powdered donuts (really good fuel, those things) and grabbed a box of huge black trash bags in the pantry.

I shuffle back to the playroom (still in pajamas and slippers) and re-announce the most terrible plan they have ever heard.  As I’m speaking, I look down and notice that G-man is furiously stuffing multiple items into his little blue suitcase that has literally been covered in Lego stickers, so much so that you can’t tell it’s actually a Toy Story 3 suitcase.  I mean, he went to town on this thing one day, using up an entire 50 page book of Lego stickers.  Somewhere under there, Buzz and Woody were smiling, but maybe not anymore.

I said, “What are you doing?”

He said, “What’s it look like?? I’m packing.”

I said, “Are you going somewhere today?”

He said, “HELLO, I’m saving my toys.”

I said, “From what?”

He scowled, “FROM YOU!”

With that, he attempted to close up the suitcase, but it was so full of crap toys that he couldn’t zip it up.  So, in a panic, he closed it up best he could and clumsily pulled it down the hall to his room, probably giving himself a hernia in the process.

I commenced to de-trashing the playroom by, oddly enough, trashing items.  We ended up with three or four full, heavy bags – most to donate. 

Later on I walked down to G-man’s room to investigate what he had hoarded from the playroom cleansing, and he immediately informed me there was “an animal rescue center” in his closet that I was not to disturb, that the animals were scared of me and that I should under no circumstances open his closet door. 

I took a quick peek later that afternoon, and realized he had mainly rescued stuffed animals, a plastic leopard and an assortment of “dudes" (action figures).  What can I say, the boy has a soft spot for fuzzy bears and little wilderness creatures. 

A soft spot and bad packing skills.

The 7th Day of Christmas Brings: Ornamental Change

Well it’s all things Christmas around our house (at least on the inside), and the boys are as rowdy as ever, since the time change and rapidly dropping temperatures in the evening mean it’s too dark and cold to expel any energy outside.  So, my faithful couch pillows take the brunt of their pent-up boyish aggression, serving as weapons, airborne missiles, cannonball absorbers and fort-building materials all in one.  And, as much mystery goop as I’ve had to wipe off my couch and love seat, thank God we decided on leather some years ago. 

I did something new this year and bought an Advent calendar.  I've always wanted one for my own kids, as I have very fond memories of receiving one each year from my grandparents with little chocolates tucked inside each little door representing the days of December.  I got a good one on sale at Pottery Barn (20% off plus free shipping) with pockets generous enough to hold goodies for three kids and made of a sturdy burlap material that won’t fall apart the first time someone tries to swing from it (I hope). 

As you can see from the photo, I’ve already discovered that we can only utilize the top two rows at this point, because anything placed lower = free for the taking.  Try explaining “one a day” to a two or three year-old.  I did actually try, and also found out it didn’t work too well.  But, they can start to get the idea. Most of the pockets contain cookies or candy or inexpensive little toys I found at various stores (the whoopee cushions for $1 a piece were a BIG hit – go figure!)  The novelty is at its peak now, and my plan as we descend further into the month is to make the final week, or at least the final day, a charitable opportunity.  I’m still mulling over the various possibilities.

My mother-in-law (who I miss dearly) was an all-out Christmas aficionado and we inherited many of her seasonal treasures, including hand-made bead ornaments like this one.

I try to buy a few (meaningful) new ones each year, and happened upon this adorable nest with three eggs (perfect!) – had to have it, and it was only $3 at Pier 1. 

I also found three white, feathery angel wing ornaments there for $1.95 a piece.  That place is decorated to the hilt – I could have spent hours just browsing. 

Anyway, I went to place the new ones on the tree the other evening once six little eyes were shut, the house was quiet and a steaming cup of decaf coffee was warming my hand, and realized someone (or some ones) had so creatively rearranged various ornaments for me.  Upon closer inspection, I realized that not only had ornaments been moved, but they had been broken and then “disguised” (I’m guessing that was the idea) to look like completely new ornaments.  One broken glass ball had been “fixed” with a plastic toy vehicle sitting on top of it, and I found other similar artistic re-workings of broken or missing ornaments.

All in all, I counted two broken glass spheres, a broken Santa, a disfigured gold star and three ornament hangers with no ornament attached – said ornaments still MIA and unaccounted for. 

In their place, I found little toy cars, a small plastic cow, a miniature plastic farmer guy and some hardened mysterious matter – possibly a play-doh creation.  At first I was infuriated, but that soon turned to amusement and then laughter as I realized that whoever did it had a streak of inventiveness to make such a whole-hearted attempt at masking the evidence of foul play. 

Obviously, having plastic toy cars and farm animals stand in for ornaments worked quite nicely for a few days, because I didn’t notice any observable gaps in the tree where my charming ornaments once hung. 

My kids can sometimes be naughty with a streak of brilliance.  Is there a middle column on Santa’s list?

Mono Mom-O Hits the Coast (and her pillow)....

Well friends, it’s been a super-dee-duper busy week since I last posted, what with a baby’s birthday, Thanksgiving, traveling across Texas, rounds of sickness, a trip to the ER for Bman and then mom (that would be me) getting diagnosed with an immunodisaster.  That’s code for:  I have mono, which basically means I have run my immune system into the ground and it’s giving me a good whipping in return.  It seems that high levels of stress, lack of sleep and not enough vitamins and minerals can actually shut your body down.  Who knew??  Apparently I am a lot weaker than I thought, because I know LOTS of moms out there who run on only Starbucks and McDonald’s for fuel and manage perfectly well with 4 hours of sleep and some really good under-eye cream. 

Anyway, I have been told to get lots of rest (ha!!), lots of fluids (does coffee count?) and take as much off my plate as possible (I’ll skip the carbs).  I would like to know which Disney fairy-land school these doctors attended, because everyone knows that a mother does not have the time nor extra effort it takes to do any of those things.  Well, ok, maybe it’s not that hard to drink extra water.  But sleeping and skimping on responsibilities?  Forget about it.  What really stinks is that during a season of plates piled high with caloric goodness, trans-fats and enough sugar to put you in a diabetic coma, all of which I can’t refuse, I’ve been told I can’t work out. Can’t. Work. Out.  If I do, something horrible could happen, like my spleen (which is temporarily enlarged) could burst and then I'm in a real pickle.  Well, I don’t know about my spleen, but my butt says this is a real problem, especially since my jeans now look like I’m wearing the ones from high school. 

So, my December resolution is to just revel in the delights of the season, and worry about getting back in shape in January.  They tell me this mono thing can hang around for months, and I’m already into month two, so hopefully the worst is behind me.  Well, it actually is, if you go back to the butt thing…..

Anyway, please understand that this new blogging venture is not something I’m going to “take off my plate,” but it may have to be something I put on the back burner for a month or two.  I love writing and I’m still going to journal the thoughts that I can’t stand letting go to waste, but some nights, I’m probably going to prefer the fluff, fluff of my pillow over the hum, hum of the computer.  

Now, for something more cheerful, here are some pics from our (awesome!) trip to my dad's house on the coast for Thanksgiving, which included uh-mazing food, hours of fishing, a toasty bonfire, Girl Scout badge-worthy s'mores and silly driveway chalk silhouhettes.  Please note the astonishing resemblance of me to the chalk drawing labeled "Mom" - I mean, my hair-do is the bomb.  I know the photo layout sucks, but guess what - I still haven't figured out how to change the settings.

     

And now, if you’ll excuse me, the fluff, fluff of my pillow is calling.