A Grand Award Bestowed

My gracious friend Kia granted me this beauty yesterday, and am so puffed up with pride I can hardly write:

I haven’t been this titillated since I was lauded with the “Kick Ass” award!

Like so many things in life, this accolade does have rules, and while I’m somewhat surprised Kia is actually following them, I firmly believe it is only because this award was granted by an actual MALE blogger:

1. Say one nice thing to a man in your life.

“I think you look rather fetching with your ski bib unzipped like that.”

The explanation:

Tonight H and I dragged out the old ski clothes for the surprise ski trip.  H has a conference in DC, so we are taking the boys, and then on the way back going to West Virginia to, at the very least, play in the snow.   (These are South Georgia boys and they’ve only seen snow once.)

Well, anyhoo, tonight we were trying on the ski clothes we haven’t worn since we had children and I’ll admit I was unable to bring my own ski pants over my thighs.  But that’s a childbirth thing, right?  I mean my hips spread to allow a child to be born, correct?

Well, H’s ski bib will not zip over his tum-tum.  (That’s what three babies did to him.)  He’s decided to wear it unzipped to his waist and cover the non-zipping portion with his metallic ski jacket.

The pictures should be grand!  Just wait!

2. List at least six ways that you measure success in your life (or for your blog).

1.  The van pulls out of the driveway and every child is wearing shoes.

2.  I manage to wear my extended wear, two-week contacts for eight weeks without contracting an eye contagion.

3.  I actually cook a perfect poached egg.

4.  At least one person reads this blog and leave a comment.  Yeah!  I’m not alone!

5.  My seven and eight-year-old boys can name the steps to salvation without thinking and my three-year-old has memorized the Fruit of the Spirit and the Lord’s Prayer.  Of course, I can’t claim that as my own success…

6.  My husband and my children still think I’m sorta fun.

3. Assign this award to six other blogs and leave them a comment telling the blogger that you’ve assigned them this award.

I’d love to award this to some people but it wouldn’t be prudent.  (You know who you are!)  There are so many others, and this is a hard call but I’m pressing forward with:

Bon Bon Gazette

Crazy Jugs

The Red Clay Diaries

Blue Monkey Butt

Down to Earth Mama

Van Pan (Finally a manly award you can actually flaunt!)

If you are a tad squeamed out by the award, just ignore it.  I never mean to offend!

Encouragement…

First, I want to thank everyone for their encouragement of late.  I have definitely felt your prayers!  I never realized I would meet so many dear friends through writing, and I thank God for putting each of you in my path.

I am incredibly late with many of these awards, so please forgive me if it’s been several weeks, or in some cases months, since you lauded me.  There’s also a chance that you aren’t the actual person who gave me the award and I am just a hapless blogger being tossed about the blogosphere, rudderless, mudent, flashing awards willy-nilly and trampling fearlessly all over blogging etiquette.

I also fear that I may have lost some awards in my disorganization and attention-deprived state.  If I have, please remind me and I will rectify the error!

I sincerely appreciate being appreciated, and I look forward to passing these along to others.  If you have already received this award, please forgive me.  I just can’t keep up anymore!

Heidi (Stone Fox) from Mom’s Ministry & More, and Felicia from Go Graham Go! both lauded me with this beauty:

The qualifications to receive the award are:
A. Display a cheerful attitude.
B. Love one another.
C. Make mistakes.
D. Learn from others.
E. Be a positive contributor to the blog world.
F. Love life.
G. Love kids.

The Rules:

1. Must link it back to the creator.
2. Post the rules.
3. Choose 5 people to give it to.
4. Recipients must fill the characteristics above.
5. Create a post to share this.
6. You must thank the winner.

My five picks are:

Katie-bug Journey

Everyday Adventures

The Life and Times of Bendy Ruggles

The Power of Housewife Word of Mouth

The Red Clay Diaries

Sweet Jaden at The Life and Times of Bendy Ruggles encouraged me with this peaceful butterfly award.

Now, here are the *rules* that go along with this award:

1. Put the award up on your blog
2. Add a link to the person who awarded it to you
3. Nominate at least seven other blogs
4. Add links to these blogs on your blog
5. Leave a message for your nominee on their blog

And I pass this award along to:

Everyday Adventures

The Power of Housewife Word of Mouth

Me Time

Down-to-Earth-Mama

Enchanted Dandelions

Crazy Jugs

Walking by Faith

Helene blessed me with this gem:

So, here are the rules for the Shiny Object (or “Brillante Weblog Premio” Award):

1. Place the logo on your blog.
2. Link to the person who awarded you.
3. You can nominate up to 5 blogs.
4. You can then add their links to your blog.
5. Leave a message in the comment section to each nominee on their blog.

And the winners are:

Great Stuff 4 Kids

The Domestic Fringe

Cool Mom Guide

The Girl in the Middle

Van Pan

Mrs. Bear bestowed these two lovelies on me sometime in the past, and I am just now getting around to acknowledging them.  I know she will forgive me though, because she always does!

On this cute bear action, I have no idea what the rules are but I am granting it to Katie-bug Journey,  The Red Clay Diaries,  Walking by Faith, Mom’s Ministry & More and  Three Peas in a Pod.  It’s quite a happy one!

This award does look impressive and cool…two things Mrs. Bear knows I strive to be.

This award in particular requires that I list six things that make me happy along with six other worthy bloggers that I’ll bestow this trinket to.

Six Happy Times:

1.  When H makes coffee the night before and we actually have real cream instead of Rice Dream, which, incidentally, tastes quite lousy in coffee and makes it turn a troubling gray color.

2.  When all my children sleep in their part of the house.  I don’t even care of they stay in their own beds…they can sleep on the floor, in the den, wherever, as long as they don’t wake me up!

3.  When I pick up Sue from preschool and they do not whisper to me quietly about how she had an accident in her pants…again.

4.  When I pick my boys up from their creative writing class and I do not have to hear about potentially “dicey” words either boy used in his story.  Also when I do not have to call the mothers of other children in the class to let them know that my children may have, inadvertently, introduced their sweet child to some risque language…all in the name of creative writing.  (There is such a thing as being too creative, I am starting to learn.)

5.  When, despite my disorganization and supposed (but not actual) apathy toward blog awards, my friends still bestow them upon me.

6.  When I hear the same scripture over and over again throughout a week, thereby being quite convinced that God is trying to get something through my thick, stubborn skull.  (This has happened a lot lately, for which I am quite excited!)

Go forth!

1.  Everyday Adventures

2.  Down-to-Earth Mama

3.  Good Enough Mama

4.  Ali the Lazy Dog

5.  The Girl in the Middle

6.  Good Fountain

Dannette at Everyday Adventures blessed me with this cutie:

Why It’s Important To Read Preschool Coloring Worksheets

Although I am accidentally homeschooling my (now 7) and 8-year-old boys, my three-year-old, Sue, attends a sweet church-based preschool several mornings per week.

She has a tiny “pack pack” which she brings home each day stuffed with colored apples, traced letters-of-the-day and the like.  I’ll have to admit when my first child went to pre-school, I seized the backpack every day, looking for evidence of advanced coloring skills and creativity.

Now I am enthusiastically excited about Sue’s coloring because she is the first child I’ve ever had who actually colors.  The boys would just slap a random, cromulent color streak across that special “letter of the day” and call it complete.

Sue, however, gingerly colors in the lines, traces her name and genuinely makes an effort.  It’s a new era for us…we’ve never witnessed fine motor skills like this.  A three-year-old who can actually button a coat?  Who knew?

Still, it’s not like I’m racing through the ‘pack pack’ every day after school to note how well she colored the apple tree, or scarecrow or whatever the season calls.

Big, big mistake!

So today, my tiny three-year-old approaches me at the pick-up line with these prophetic and painful words:

“Mama, CiCi died and Pastor Tom put her deadness in a shoe box; now she is in the ground in the woods over there.  He told us about it in the chapel and we sang songs for her and everything…Where were you, Mama?”

Whoahhhh…..wait a minute!  My head spins in disbelief and confusion…I thought this was the “Happy Harvest Hayride Day” where we wear orange and remember the blessings of the harvest…what’s this about a burial???

I looked down at her serious face.

“You mean, CiCi the cat…she…she… passed on?”  I asked in disbelief.

I kind of looked up at the crowd of mothers and teachers gathered around witnessing this interchange.  They nodded knowingly as if I were the greatest dolt of a mother to ever grace the school.

“Yes, Mama.  She died.  She’s dead.  She’s gone in a shoe box in the woods now.  Pastor Tom did it for us.  But we got to sing songs…”

I hustled my tiny sweetheart away from the throng…away from the confusion…so I could gather my own scattered thoughts for a moment.

I buckled Sue in the Britax.  And then in the depths of the van, beneath a crumpled Burger King bag, I found the previous day’s “pack-pack.”  I searched through the pack and amid the carefully colored Fall Leaf sheets and pumpkin seed art, I found a letter–carefully typed–explaining the untimely demise of “Ci Ci,” the preschool mascot cat…A sweet creature who camped near the front door of the school in a cat dome only to greet each child as he or she entered (or was coaxed into) the school each day.  Because of our allergies, I always had to remind gently, “See that sweet Ci Ci–now let’s just look and not touch her…”

Yet she was always there…every day… so dependable.

Until a parent unwittingly hit her with his or her van.

A touching memorial service was held for Ci Ci today; parents were encouraged to prepare their children in advance, and then attend the service with his or her child to assist in the grieving process.

My poor child grieved alone.

And then she burst into tears about a caterpillar that someone had killed on the playground.  And she cried and cried and cried in the clean, preschool bathroom as I held her, understanding at once her young, first-fruit brush with death and the transience of life.

And then she had diarrhea.

I finally calmed her down enough to take her back to the van, gently buckle her in, warn her brothers to be quiet, and promise to search for some high fructose corn syrup-free, dye-free, artificial color-free candy since the candy we ordered three weeks ago for this very same purpose had not yet arrived.

I tried one health store to no avail; they only boasted some wretched carmine-dyed nuts.   If you don’t know what carmine is, you’d better educate yourself–it’s a food coloring derived from boiling a cochineal bug.    So we slogged on to the next health food store only to hear the tell-tale “Oh!  Oh no!  The brown!  It’s coming!  It’s out!”

Yes, a soiled Britax car seat.  Candy abandoned we traipsed home for a bath, clothes change and the ever-challenging project of car seat dismantling.

It was a good day, though.  All in all.

And so I leave you with this sage word:  Read the preschool coloring sheets; they might be important.

Stone Fox Asked: Squatty Potty American Style

WARNING: These photos are not for the faint of heart, or the easily grossed-out.

This post is being perpetuated at the request of Heidi, AKA Stone Fox, at Mom’s Ministry and More.  She pontificated on the yuckified potties where she lives overseas and I told her we had some mighty putrid ones at our local football field.  She challenged me to photograph these and post them.

I seized that challenge!   I pledge to share those disturbing potty images below.

First, here is her indoor squatty potty.  (Mighty weird and mighty gross with all the standing, hunching and hovering that must go on.)

And now, the “American Dream” Squatty Potty Photo Essay:

My “delicate flower” 3-year-old would rather “tee tee a weed” in the woods behind the football field than attempt to grace this beast.  Can you blame her?

It gets more troubling:

There is never toilet paper here.  Why the lock?  Can someone explain this?

Here you see a supposed soap dispenser.  Who wants to wager whether or not there has been actual soap in here since the Nixon era?  Any takers?

Why would it matter if there was soap, however, since there is no running water anyway.  (There is a sink, though, which is a nice, decorative touch.)

It compliments the mirror:

It’s a nice place to relax, powder your nose, touch up your lipstick and freshen yourself a bit before getting back out there with the crowd to cheer on your team.

The generosity of this powder room never ceases to amaze me.  Whereas there is no running water, no toilet paper and certainly no paper towels, they do provide a lovely trashcan:

I leave you with an image of a dear, delicate fan who yearns to cheer for her team, and does so knowing that her only toileting options are those described above.

Now that is a fervent fan indeed!

These Are The Hands

These are the hands that were ready to eat dinner tonight just like this!

These are the hands that almost got the princess panties pulled down in time.  But didn’t.  And the “didn’t” ran all over the unsealed travertine tile in our recently renovated master bathroom.  And the two hands tried to rub in clean up the two types of “didn’t” with about $4.00 worth of “Kandoo” sensitive wipes before the queen was summoned.  So much for this sanctuary spa bath dream…

These are the hands that wrote a note to the rather proper single interior decorator friend of his mother thanking her for the opportunity to “learn more about roaches” in her home.  The mother of these hands did not bother to proofread the thank-you note before it was sent.

These are the hands that decided it made sense to bash a hard candy to bits (in order to prevent a small sister’s choking) yet chose the handle of a large kitchen knife for said bashing.  Miraculously, all fingers on these hands remain intact.

These are the hands that grasped a permanent green marker just quickly enough to make two largish green dots on a new Gymboree blouse.  (At least we wore it to preschool one time.)

These are the hands that will dig down in the greasy crevice behind a restaurant booth to excise a grimy penny with the same thrill as unearthing a Spanish doubloon.

These are my favorite hands in all the world.  I like them best when they are clean with trimmed fingernails.  But I’ll take ‘em like this, too!

Except not in my kitchen.

Potty Linguistics

When Edward turned two, he declared/deduced that poo poo should actually be called “brown” (because most of the time it was brown).  He then proceeded to call it such in all situations.  We have had to explain this lexical confusion/genius? to teachers, babysitters, friends’ parents: “If he says he needs to ‘make brown,’ that means he needs to poo poo.”

Our entire family has embraced this terminology for the past four years—even grandparents and great-grandparents:  “No, we’ve got to hurry, hurry!  He said brown—brown do you hear me?”

This of course changes the meaning of seemingly innocuous comments like “Brown Head” or “He smells like brown.”  Or, “I think there is dog brown on my shoe.”  “What’s that on the carpet—it looks like brown!”  Or the ever-popular: “This casserole is yuck–it tastes like brown!”

Not to mention the hilarity when reading Mr. Brown Can Moo.  You get the picture.

So now, not to be outdone, Sue has labeled tee tee “fountain.”  And now we have conversations like this: “Is it brown or just fountain?”  “There’s a little bit of fountain on my princess potty.”  “Uh-oh…fountain in the car seat!”  (Fountain over brown any day, I say!)

(There will be a lot to explain at preschool this year…perhaps I should prepare a handy glossary card.)

Today we were two hours away at Edward’s bi-monthly OT appointment, and we spent a generous amount of time trudging from gas station to “fast food outlet,” princess potty seat in hand, because a girl can’t “fountain” in a Sprite bottle or potato chip bag like a small boy.

Once we were headed back to our smallish town and were miles away from any potty spot, Edward announced his immediate need.  Still, this is no problem, we simply pulled over in some unsuspecting church parking lot.  He perched adroitly at the edge of the van door and relieved himself: “Look!  I’m a weed ‘pee er’!  I’m covering those weeds–look!”  Sue heard this and immediately screamed, “I want to be a weed ‘pee er’ like Edward!  I want to fountain a weed!  Let me out of this car seat so I can fountain!”

Submitting to Mr. Bubble

I know you are all on are on pins and needles wondering about the potty drama, and I am surprised to say we have had a certain amount of success with the Diego pants.  Simply put, the princesses can suffer in silence but Diego can no longer be put in such an, ahem, awkward position.

Somehow, Diego is far more important than Belle, Cinderella and Ariel.  I guess I could console myself with the fact that Sue does have two brothers, so it’s natural for her to shield the boy—right??  Is that good?  Is that bad?  I gather it’s a tad controversial if you think about it too long.

And now my book club is reading this book, Created to be His Helpmeet, about submission and I’m all queeged out about this, although I do agree with some parts.  (I guess part of me is still dealing with the reality of casserole caddies.)

But anyway, now that Sue has made her first tee tee “fountain” as she calls it, (when it is tee tee alone—no poo poo), her demands have begun.  It’s like she’s drunk with the power of it all.  “I’ll take my candy now…and this time I want CHOCOLATE…please.”

And the latest: “I don’t like this white…I need pink paper.”

I’m a slave to this potty stuff.  Remember, she starts her three-year-old preschool class in 22 days, and she must be potty trained by that point or she relinquishes her spot.   And if she loses her spot, I will have to entertain her all day, every single day, while I simultaneously homeschool my two boys.  And I have never homeschooled them together so I am just a wee bit nervous about all this newness.  (I’m sure you veteran homeschoolers out there are rolling your eyes at my whining–but remember, I’m an “accidental” homeschooler and I’m new to all this.)  I also won’t be able to carpool with my dear friend who has 5 children, is homeschooling three of them (also for the first time), and is about to adopt a 6th.

And all of this is a lot of pressure–pressure that has led me to consider importing 140 rolls of pink toilet paper from France.  (That’s the minimum.)  This is the color I believe Sue has in mind:

And here is a picture of the toilet paper laboratory (their word, not mine.)

In researching sources for tinted toiler paper, I found many people lamenting its disappearance from the US.  Why has it gone?  Irritation to the “private area,” of course, although the French toilet paper people claim to have perfected hypoallergenic colored toilet paper.  Alas, we don’t have that technology in the states.

I seem to remember avocado toilet paper in my childhood…and some pumpkin-like color.  These colors went great with the shag carpet my parents chose (and still have) in their bathroom.

And this leads me to an associated memory of Mr. Bubble.  Remember when Mr. Bubble was a powder that came in a large box?  He was simply grand–made the frothiest bubbles–and was such a happy, pink bubble man.

Here’s a link to the the commercial for those of you who are too young to remember.

Like most children growing up in the 1970s, I loved, loved, loved Mr. Bubble.  But then my parents discovered that he made our “tee tees” sting…and, lamentably, we couldn’t use him anymore.

Yet for some unknown/sadistic? reason, my mother kept the box for years and years and years.  Every time I opened that linen closet to procure a towel, or some white (or orange) toilet paper, Mr. Bubble jeered at me from the top shelf.  (Incidentally, the NIH has determined that Mr. Bubble did indeed cause “irritation to the urinary tract.”)

H was not surprised when I told about all of my findings: “Always back to the urethra…” he sighs.

My Beautiful Boy “Pull-Ups”

The potty training marathon continues.  Sue’s third birthday has come and gone, and still no progress.  Yesterday at her check-up, the nurse wanted her to produce a “specimen” in a small plastic cup.

Sue thrilled to the idea of tee teeing in a tiny cup.  She grunted…she groaned…she spoke directly to the moment: “Come out, tee tee, come out!”

As I silently prayed that she would be able to make, I could hear Edward’s voice echoing down the hall as he took his vision and hearing test alone with the nurse.  “What’s that device for?  Why does this button activate that part?  Are you sure you calibrated it correctly?”

(I always cringe inwardly when he is alone with an unknown adult because I really never know what will come out of his mouth, although I know it will be something shocking and I know the unknown adult will ask me several questions about it later.)

The pressure to urinate in a pediatrician bathroom decorated with jeering clown wallpaper was far too overwhelming and Sue crumpled under the challenge.  But she did want to take the cup home as a souvenir…it’s been rattling around in my purse ever since.

Oh, but I was so excited about my latest potty training plan for Sue that I announced it at her birthday party last week.  One of my friends even said, “Now that’s out-of-the-box parenting!”  (I was so proud.)

My plan was to make her wear BOY pull-ups.  She shrieked, she cried, she flailed at the thought.  “But I love those ’pincesses,’” she wailed.

Knowing she despises The Hulk, I told her we would get some Hulk panties.  “I don’t like that ‘geen’ monster Hulk.” I took her to Target with the threat of Hulk.  She’s jumping in protest…she’s fussing…she’s clinging with both hands to the very last princess Pull-up clinging to her tiny body…she’s noticing the Diego pull-ups…she’s smiling…she loves Diego…she wants those pull-ups.  “Diego can just run away from the tee tee,” she laughs.

Target does not have Hulk pull-ups any more.

So yesterday she got up, wet and soaking, and I pointed it out to her.  “Oh, that’s OK, I’ll go get one of my beautiful boy pull-ups.”

And it doesn’t matter that these pull-ups have the new “cool alert” system that is supposed to ”notify” the child when he or she has had an accident.

“Cool alert” is apparently refreshing in this hot July weather.

Potty Training Hits the 1-Year Mark!

“Ooops—those princesses are wet again!  Oh well…”

Yes, congratulations are in order for Sue, who, after one year of potty training still does not elect to use the potty.  It does not matter that we remodeled her bathroom with stylish travertine tile and purchased white “spa” towels with her own pink monogram.  It does not matter that everyone else in her preschool was potty trained mid-year.  It does not matter that she cannot move up in her Sunday school class until she potty trains.

(She prefers the baby class because she believes she is actually one of the teachers.  And at this point, the teachers like having her around since she is so tall she can actually pick up some of the wobbly, sobbing one-year-olds and calm them down.)

After hearing how tough it is to potty train boys (and managing to get that done for both by 2 ½ thanks to aiming at bushes and puffy floating cereal pieces), I was sure potty training Sue was going to be a cinch!  Boy was I wrong.

Below is a list of all the things friends and family have suggested, I have tried, but have failed.  Please pass along your own ideas!

• Allow child to purchase own pink, “princessy” panties.
• Buy decorative Princess Potty Seat.
• Buy Potty Seat that sings a song.
• Buy soft Potty Seat insert.
• Remodel 1990s era bathroom attached to her room.
• Have a Potty Party.
• Watch encouraging “potty videos” like “Bobby” and read potty-training books like Everyone Poops.
• Use incentives like candy, special trips to fun spots (like Chuck E. Cheese) and treasure boxes with prizes.
• Have older friends show her how they potty and be encouraging.
• Make a chart with stickers showing successes.

I have come to accept the cold, hard fact that she simply does not care.  Preschool starts in exactly eight weeks and to be eligible for the three-year-old class, one has to be potty-trained…hmmmmm…