It's Only 10:00 am

This morning I cleaned human poop out of my kitchen pantry and that's not even the worst part of the day.

We are working really hard at finally getting Benny potty trained. It still seems like failure most of the time. I really think he would do fine if his mother was more competent. I get busy and forget or I miss signs until it's too late and we have accident after accident.

This morning after breakfast, I let him play for a mere three minutes and then had him sit on the potty. He said he didn't want to try and wiggled off. So I set the oven timer for 5 minutes, which turned out to be one minute too long.

He was running around, peering in the pantry - I'm not sure why because as I said before, we just finished breakfast - when he yelled, "Bean go pee pee!"

"Ok, hold still, I'll come clean you up. Oh, you pooped too. That's ok, we'll try again."

Ben is upset. He's flailing and crying so I'm trying to be loving, encouraging, what the books say you're supposed to do. But like I said, he's very upset. So as I slide his Buzz Lightyear undies down his legs, he begins scissor kicking wildly flinging poop into my kitchen pantry. The you-know-what literally hit a fan.

Grrr! You essentially threw poop on our food. Thankfully it was just a box of Corn Chex that nobody likes and Brandy's dog food tin, but for crying out loud. Get a hold of yourself and do not fling poo. Never. Ever. Under any circumstance will it ever be ok to throw poop. And especially not where we keep our food!

Why is this so hard? Is it this hard for everyone? I feel like I either want to cover most of my house in tarps or keep Ben outside. I truly wish my mom was here, she could potty train a puppy in under a week. She would have had this all wrapped up by now.

As everything is cleaned up and I'm calming down, I make my signature mistake and say, "That is seriously nasty. I can't imagine anything more disgusting than poop in your pantry."

In literature this is called foreshadowing - the author gives hints about what's to come. I'm not sure why I compulsively doom my life with this little trick, but I always do.

I take the kids downstairs to play outside and find something even more horrendous - the small and large intestines of what I guess is a bunny. My only clue is the large patches of fur blowing in the breeze. Gary, the ruthless assassin, has stuck again... and now he's eating his prey.

Ben opens the door for Brandy and she starts sniffing it. We have to dispose of this quickly!

Chuck offers to help and gives me my choice of holding the bag or welding the pooper scooper. I choose the bag. As he picks it up, he says, "Ugh, it's heavy!" I lose it and start heaving. Chuck starts yelling, "Close your eyes! Close 'em now! You know that if you throw up, I'll throw up! Close your eyes!"

As I avert my eyes, I get a glimpse of my watch and realize that it's not even 10:00 am. Sigh. I don't want to live in my house anymore. Someone, please take me away from here with the all the poop and dead bodies.

Confession

I know I'm not supposed to say this - actually I'm pretty sure I'm not even supposed to think it - but I here we go.

I hate recycling. I mean I really really hate it. It is my most aggravating chore and I change at least three poopy diapers a day.

I know. It's un-American. It's selfish. But it's also really annoying.

First off, you have to wash your trash. It already feels like I spend half of my waking hours washing dishes (and trash). It would be so much easier to turn 45 degrees and simply throw the trash away. After all, it is trash. But no, you have to wash the trash, walk it to the garage and sort it further.

Second, we have to dispose of it ourselves. I know what you're thinking, "Just pay the extra $7.00/month and let the trash company pick it up. No wonder you hate recycling, Cheapskate."

But it's not that simple for us. Our trash company (mandated by our home owner's association) does not offer recycling services. We could use another company for $11.00/month, but they only take plastics 1 and 2.

Only 1 and 2? Are you kidding!? That excludes our newspaper sleeves, shopping bags, PediaSure and baby food containers. After a month of sorting the plastics - in addition to sorting recycling in general - I gave up. Despite my best efforts, there were always PPVs in with the 1s and 2s.

Which brings me to my next point, it's annoying to sort your trash. I don't sort my laundry this well and I'm going to keep and wear these clothes again. This is garbage, it seriously should not be so complicated.

But the straw that breaks the camel's back is the actual disposing of the recycling. We have to load mounds and mounds of trash into my vehicle (Chuck won't use his) and drive it to not one, but two different drop-off spots. We take most of it to a school that supposedly gets money for the recycling they bring in and we take the glass, steal cans, and batteries to an actual recycling center. (You might note that the hours are also extra lame - Sundays until 4:00 pm and Mondays till 6:00. Really?)

Because I'm short on time and cheap when it comes to gas, I load up the van with the intent of dropping it off on my way to another errand. But someone always poops their pants right when it's time to leave and I end up saying, "I'll just drop it off on my way home."

Which never ever happens because one of my two children is bawling on the way home. So I say, "I'll do it tomorrow when I go into work."

And that never happens because at that point, it's been about 30 hours since I loaded the car and I've totally forgotten there's three cubic feet of garbage in the back of my vehicle. Until I open the hatch and realize despite all my washing, trash is still trash and a little on the smelly side and now I'm officially driving a "Trash Van".

Recycling both runs and ruins my life. Sometimes I actually don't buy something because I don't want to deal with disposing of it or the bag it comes in.

The only thing worse than recycling is the bone-crushing guilt of not recycling. You win Recycling. I'll keep washing and driving most of my garbage around town. You win.

11 Months... Already

Today Susanna is 11 months old and I truly don't know where the time went. So, here's an update on her little life.

Little Miss is beginning to add words to her vocabulary and loves to test them out on her world. So far she says:

1. Dada (This was her first word. I guess technically she said, "Hi Dada." I think she thought the phrase was Chuck's name.)
2. Hi. (She says "Hi" or "Hey" depending on what someone has said to her.)
3. Mama (This was her third word and she only uses it when she's angry. As in, "Mama! Get me out of this car seat!")
4. Ga (She clearly means Gary as she crawls after him pointing and hollering. However, this is a broad term she uses for Brandy and pretty much all dogs and cats.)
5. At (I'm almost positive this is, "Cat.")
6. Amen (She actually said, "A-ma" but said it at the end of a prayer and it seemed so intentional, Ben was in stitches.)
7. Yeah (I really think she says, "Yes" sometimes.)

And that is a good thing because she also likes to shake her head "No". At first I thought she was just mimicking me, but then she threw a green bean off her highchair, looked me in the eye and shook her head no without any prompting. Someday, I think this baby is going to give me a run for my money.

Currently, she's keeping me on my toes because she's on a suicide mission with the nasty/dangerous things she puts in her mouth. Here's the short list:

1. Dirt
2. Grass seed
3. Dandelions (like a dozen)
4. A live worm
5. A dead worm (She was extra angry when I took this one away.)
6. Landscaping stones of all sizes
7. Jagged concrete chunks
8. Leaves
9. Sidewalk chalk
10. Dog food
11. Tissue paper (Trying on shoes at Dick's Sporting Goods)
12. A band aid (Also from the floor at Dick's - Ew!)
13. Approximately $2.53 in change (This is cumulative)
14. Aluminum foil
15. Pretty much anything else that will fit.

I remember my mom telling me that she had to call Poison Control four times before Joseph was three years old. She said she was sure they were going to take him away from her. I haven't called Poison Control yet, but I did go ahead and save the number in my phone.

I love you, Miss Ba-Nan!

Dandelion Face