Snow in Texas; 2 Out of 3?

Last week it snowed in Texas for the second time this season! That is unheard of. Not only did it snow, it SNOWED! Record 12 inches in 2 days. And the weather reports are saying we will likely get another couple inches tomorrow. That would be 3 snow storms in one season. It didn't even snow once last year!
The boys were very excited. Even Wyatt got in on it this time. School was closed for both days, so I got to stay home with them. I was only able to keep them glued to the TV occupied in the house until after noon. It was still snowing really hard, but we went out to play anyway. No snowman this time, just lots of "snowball" fights. You get quotes on that because neither of my children can actually make a snowball. And since they were aiming primarily at me, I was not going to enlighten them.
Wyatt spent most of the time outside, his first real experience with snow, poking at it with his shoes and marveling in the footprints he was making. We always warned him when we lobbed a snowball his way. He would stop what he was doing and curl up in a turtle-like standing ball so that we could only hit his back. Once the snowball hit, he would stand up and continue about his business as if nothing happened. It wasn't until later that he noticed how much fun Ethan was having pelting me with snow that he decided to get in on the action. He would scoop up giant chunks of snow with both arms and toss them in my general direction. I would give him the obligatory screech and run away in time for it not to hit me and they would laugh like goons.
Living in a state that rarely sees snow, we do not own waterproof mittens or boots. We stayed out as long as our cotton gloves allowed. Luckily we avoided frostbite, but made quite a puddle as we striped down all the many layers of clothing in the middle of the foyer tile.

Wyatt making footprints

Wyatt the turtle

Ethan the flying nun

Wyatt chasing Ethan with a "snowball"

We Love Snow!

I Have Skinny Feet

There. I said it. And I am proud of it. I have gotten up at 5-freaking-am for the last week and a half and hauled my butt across town to the 24 Hour Fitness to get them too. Of course, I was expecting to have more then just skinny feet, but it's a good start. I guess it was too much to hope that the gods of fitness would start with my ass...

I actually haven't seen my ankles since about my 2nd trimester with Ethan. That would be more then 5 years ago if you are wondering. My feet and ankles were so swollen that I only had one pair of flip flops that I could squeeze my feet into. And by the end of the day, the straps would leave deep indentions across the top of my feet. When the swelling did not go down completely post pregnancy, I resigned myself to having a fabulous set of cankles. After Wyatt, the swelling on the tops of my feet stuck around too.

I did work on getting them back to normal. More water. More walking. Elevate when possible. Water pills. Some help, but I really thought I just had fat feet. I was still holding on to all the baby weight from my pregnancies, so why not keep the feet too? The doctors did blood tests, and hormone tests, and poked and prodded. Nothing.

So, this morning, after my work out, I glanced down at my feet and thought something was odd. I didn't quite place it at first. My feet just looked all bony. WHAT? There are bones in my feet? And look at those blue lines! And oh my lord---what are those round knobs on the sides??

So, yes my friends. Without any sort of medical training whatsoever, I have out smarted my doctors. I know why my feet and ankles were so swollen for five years. They were simply getting too much sleep.

A Successful First Tooth Fairy Run. Kinda.

Ethan has been working on this tooth for about a month now. Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle. He does this to me because he knows it upsets me a little. I guess I am still trying to work through the trauma of a string tied around my tooth connected to a door knob. Loose teeth freak me out. Like I threw up a little in my mouth when he wiggled it at me the first time.
I was seriously dreading the pulling. Luckily, so was he, so he didn't push me to do it. And he was having way to much fun with the freak-mom-out game. An apple snack did the trick and neither one of us was forced to actually separate the tooth from its root. Eww. There is the throw up again.
So we have been talking about the tooth fairy obviously for a couple weeks now.

Mommy, how does the tooth fairy know to come?
I have her cell phone number and I will call when its time.
Can the tooth fairy fly in the rain?
Yes. Her wings work better then a bee's wings.
How does she get into my room?
Magically through the window.
How does she carry all those teeth?
umm...magically.
What does she do with my tooth?
Look! Over there Ethan! Its the Pope!

Ethan was convinced that she would bring him a toy. I was thinking that would be a bad start since this kid is going to loose 30-some-odd teeth in the next couple of years. And so will Wyatt. I know I used to get a quarter or two. Looking back on that now, I am thinking---wow mom was cheap! To avoid that, I decided on five dollars. Five crisp $1 bills instead of a five dollar bill, though. He doesn't really understand money yet, but he will appreciate the quantity over quality. (Never fear, we have played the Metal, Paper, Plastic game. Ya know--Paper covers Metal, Plastic beats the sh*t out of both of them?)
There were some rookie mistakes made in actually carrying out my tooth fairy plan. First, when I put Ethan to bed with his tooth all tucked into the cutest little tooth fairy pillow ever, I put it right under the center of his pillow. He shares a queen size bed with Wyatt and he sleeps on the inside against the wall, though. Really hard to get it out for tooth retrieval! Luckily, Wyatt sleeps like a rock and Greg has long arms. And then there was the fairy dust. Oh the fairy dust. Ev.Re.Where.
My plan with the glitter was to sprinkle it in a trail from the window to his pillow. But it is really hard to sprinkle glitter by nightlight. You can actually only see glitter by its reflective quality, I think. Suffice it to say, that damn fairy was messy!
But I still consider all of that successful. The 'kinda' comes in at about 4am. Wyatt decided to wake everyone up a little earlier then normal by wetting the bed and then screaming bloody murder about it. So Ethan discovered his fairy booty and got all excited about the trail of fairy dust that he totally understood started at the window just like Mom said it would. (WIN! That kid is wicked smart!) That is also when I discovered the copious amounts of glitter I had used. Wyatt had rolled into what must have been a pile of it on Ethan's pillow and his face was completely covered. Ethan's neck, shoulders and hands were also very sparkly. They really could have stared in their own Vegas drag show. I should have taken a picture, but did I mention it was 4am? I knew Ethan would have trouble going back to sleep if I let him get too excited about his fairy visit, but I just couldn't help it. He was so happy! No way sleep was more important then that. There is not going to be another 1st tooth fairy visit in our home. By the time Wyatt starts loosing his baby teeth it will be all 'been there, done that'. So YY got his dry jammies and panties and drifted off to glittery sleep while E and I sat and talked about it for a little while in that annoyingly wonderful way that he has of retelling the same story 2 or 3 times in a row to someone who experienced the same event right along side of him. He fell asleep with a smile on his face. And so did I.

Christmas Overview and The Sacrifices Dogs Must Make

Well I should have know that it wouldn't happen. Never never promise more posts when you haven't already written them...
It didn't even happen the next day. Or even the next. Being more realistic with my time today, I am going to go ahead and say that I will be condensing what should probably be posts 3 and 4 into just one post. Christmas with our family usually takes a while considering Greg and I each have two sets of parents. That makes for some fairly spoiled grandchildren, and a lot of blog material.
First let me say that I am a Santa Genius. Or maybe a little crazy. Your choice. Greg and I were up wrapping presents on Christmas Eve. Or technically, it had gotten so late, that it was actually Christmas morning. The boys were not sleeping very well because of various cough, cold, snotty nose issues. I had already had to dash out of the living room and haul ass up the stairs three times to lock them back in their bedroom so that they didn't discover Santa in the middle of the living room, wrapping presents in pajamas and sipping a glass of wine. hmm... I may have just discovered the source of my genius without any help. Or at least why that third high speed trip up the stairs was a little perilous

Before we finally went to bed, I was making sure that everything was ready for the boys to come downstairs. Greg had already eaten the cookies and drank the milk the boys left out. I threw the carrots they left for the reindeer into the can outside so as not to be discovered in the regular trash. But it was just not enough. I was missing that spark. And that is when poor little Gracie-lou-lou distracted me at the wrong moment.

Now this is an old picture of poor Gracie being used as a pillow, but it was the best I could find. Do you see that big hairy tail? I was inspired.

Gracie didn't mind the sacrifice. Or at least she didn't mention it if she did mind. Greg might have mentioned that it was a little weird, but it worked! After last year, I couldn't wait to hear what Ethan would say when he woke me up. The first thing he said was "Mommy!! Santa left me hair and presents!" He totally got it!

We had Christmas with my Dad and Stepmom, my sister's family, and my brother this past weekend. That is 7 adults and 5 children under the age of 6 packed into my house. Always one we look forward to, though, because our Christmas dinner is Lobster! This is also the Christmas where Santa makes an appearance. My Dad has played Santa since the first grandchildren were born. (big bonus that Santa is my Dad, because I can use him all year long if the boys need a phone call to remind them that Santa is still watching.) But last year, Ethan totally busted him. Dad walked into the living room in full Santa gear with a bag full of presents and Ethan pointed and yelled "Hey! That's Pappy!" I dove from across the room and clamped my hand over his mouth. Luckily the other children, if they heard, were smart enough to keep their traps shut so that they would still get their presents.

I didn't want to risk Ethan outing Santa again, but this is the first year Wyatt would actually understand what was going on and (hopefully) not Freak Out. So we had a friend step in to play the role. He is actually the fiance of a coworker and the only one I could think of that Ethan had NO chance of recognizing. He is 20-something and doesn't have much kid experience. I told her it was a good "family-life test". If he could survive MY family, he should be good marriage material! He did a good job and the kids were Thrilled. Their were some costume malfunctions... Santa's belly looked a bit square. Kinda the same shape and size as a bed pillow... And Santa's real beard kept poking out from under his fake one. The lip piece just didn't have quite enough hair. I seriously considered finding Gracie to help supplement, but I held back. Dog hair taped under his nose might have pushed him right over the edge!

Petroleum Products Hate Me and My Children

So you may notice that this is the second post today. If I stay on target, it should be 2 out of 3. Or maybe 4. But that is a big IF. This is what happens when you are too busy to post, you have to play catch up while you are supposed to be working...

About a week ago, I had one of those moments. Yes THOSE moments. When deep down you know you should be paying more attention to a child that is being entirely too quiet. But instead, you have stupidly convinced yourself that he must have fallen asleep. Wyatt was in his car seat behind me on the way home from dinner. 5 minutes. It's not like we had to drive from one end of Dallas to the other. He did his damage in less then 5 minutes! I opened the car door to find that he had squeezed out an entire tube of Vaseline mostly into his hair!

Do you know how hard it is to get Vaseline out of hair? The first wash didn't do it. We basically just spread it to the rest of his hair. And added a fine slimy layer all over the bathtub. Tilex got it off the bathtub, but I thought that probably wasn't such a good idea to spray directly on the kid. I turned to my best internet friend, google. Google told me to use cornstarch. I said, Cornstarch? Are you sure google? He insisted.

It didn't work. Unless, of course, google was attempting to make a giant mess in my bathroom. Then it did work. Splendidly. But it did Not get the Vaseline out of Wyatt's beautiful blond hair. And cornstarch mixed with Vaseline actually makes a quite smelly paste. That Tilex does not remove.

His hair is completely dry in this picture. That is all Vaseline. Don't ask about the duct tape in the background...

I was eventually able to remove some of it with regular, non-messy, no drama dish washing soap. And the rest wore off after about 3 baths. Google failed.

But this was not to be the end of my hate-hate relationship with petroleum. Or google. Greg decided to take Ethan to a movie. On the way, he had to stop and get gas. (can you see where this might be headed?)

Now, when I have children with me and I have to stop to get gas, they stay in the car. You know, away from all the stinky dirty gas pumps, puddles of who knows what, and moving vehicles. But Greg likes to take his chances. Ethan was standing on one side of the gas hose and wanted to go to the other side. So he ducked under. Or attempted to, at least. His head came up too early and knocked the nozzle out of the hole, basically creating a gushing gasoline fountain. Greg, in an admitted moment of dumbassness, tried to put the nozzle back in the hole. Without clicking off that little locking feature that was letting gas spew Everywhere. They did not make it to the movie, but came home so that they could spread their gassyness all over my house. They Wreaked!

So google, how do you get gas out of clothes? Because two wash cycles with vinegar did not do it. You soak them in Coca-Cola, of course. Duh.

SNOW IN TEXAS!

Ethan remembers every time he has ever played in the snow. Because that is exactly two times. We don't get much snow here in Texas. And when we do, there is not much of it and it doesn't stick around for long.

Last week, we got a White Christmas. Ethan was thrilled. Wyatt was not. We made the obligatory snowman. Ethan likes to name them, so this one was Jackson, after his BFF. They raided my fridge for the parts and were able to come up with a baby carrot for a nose, but the eyes are green olives. You work with what you have people!

Ethan, thrilled

Wyatt, not thrilled

Jackson the Snowman, Ethan still thrilled

Happy Birthday Baby YY

My beautiful baby YY is not a baby any more. He told me so. He said "I big now". Until I told him that meant he was too big to cry and he quickly reversed his statement. "No Mommy, I little again!"
He is so much older then Ethan was at this age. He learns so much from his big brother. They seem to work on aerodynamics pretty often. "YA Wyatt! Jump! It won't hurt!" Sometimes they discuss recipes. "Eat it! Eat it!" Ethan even helped with potty training. "The pottys on the wall are ooinals. And you can't poop in them."
It does make it so much more shocking, though, when he shows me that he is still a baby by throwing a wall-eyed, bat shit crazy tantrum because of something so simple. A trauma incomprehensible to me, but totally real in his mind. Like being the first to open the car door. Or last to get shampooed. Unless the planets are aligned just so and then the order is reversed. Unless it's Wednesday. Or the sun is shining. Then all bets are off and there is no telling what it's going to be this time.

We Have Been Banned From Chinese Food

Because no one should be expected to read a blog post This long without a pretty picture to look at

We started potty training Wyatt about a week ago. Which I consider a little early because he is only two. But I am a firm believer in finding out what will motivate your child and then squeezing every single ounce of use out of it that you can. For Ethan, it was bubbles. Every time he used the potty, he got to go outside and blow bubbles. Simple. Easy to follow up on the reward.
Wyatt is a bit more of a challenge. Which was totally expected. That seems to be his theme in life. Whatever will make life just a little more difficult/messy/deafening for everyone else, do that. And then follow it with a beautiful smile so everyone feels grateful for the challenge/clean-up/ringing noise in their ears.
Wyatt found his own motivation in the form of a girl. I guess puberty hits problem children early.
Ethan decided he was going to marry one of the 4 year old girls at daycare. So Wyatt, in his never ending, and what I am sure will prove to be lifelong, attempt to one-up his big brother, decided to marry Gabby. Let me tell you, he is shooting a little high with this one. Gabby is the teenage daughter of Wyatt's daycare teacher. She is tall, athletic, gorgeous, and I have now decided, very smart. She told Wyatt that she would not marry him until he could go on the potty Every Time. Genius. Motivation.
In an attempt to impress his Fiance, he is really trying very hard. Well that, and he likes the new Lightning McQueen panties I bought him. And yes, Greg is mad that I called them panties ONE time and now Wyatt will not stop calling them that instead of underwear.
He is doing pretty well. It is still early, so accidents happen though.
Last night, I was not in the mood to cook dinner. So I sucked up my courage and decided we were finally going to go back to the Chinese buffet here in town. The last time we were there, Wyatt decided to cough-barf all over the table, the floor, and his clothes. It was a threefer that night---difficult, messy and deafening. We haven't been back in a while.
But last night, for some unknown reason, I couldn't resist the call of the sweet and sour chicken and the sushi bar. You can probably foresee at this point that I am regretting that urge.
It had already been a poop-filled day for me. Starting with the dog poop completely mushed into the incredibly unnecessarily intricate tread on my son's shoe. Then Ethan had a poop incident. I call it an incident because clearly a 5 year old can not be expected to understand the forces of gravity on a cling-on piece of poop. As a 35 year old, however, I understand that E=MC2, and that a soft piece of poop clinging to a child's buttcheek while in the sitting position will become dislodged upon standing and fall at a high rate of speed onto the floor. The rate of speed, while slow enough to leave poop particles along the entire length of leg from buttcheek to ankle, is fast enough to create a giant poop sploosh on the floor. Of a Chinese restaurant.
So understandably, if a bit regrettably, when I caught that unmistakable odor wafting from the backside of the non-diapered child, I told Greg that it was HIS turn to deal with it. Sensing the upcoming violence, Greg stepped in. With maybe a bit too much gusto. He picked up the child with one arm and pinned him to his chest so that he had a free hand. Before I could really understand what was happening or make a move to stop it, he made quick work of removing the shoes, grabbed Wyatt's jeans by one cuff and yanked. Rookie mistake. As a 35 year old, I now also understand that poop unrestrained by a diaper is incredibly aerodynamic. In a Chinese restaurant.

Boys Will Be Boys. No Matter How Young.

Bath time has always been my responsibility at our house. They splash and play in the tub making a big wet mess in the bathroom and we all have fun.
Knowing that little boys are not the cleanest animals on the planet, and this might be one of the scars I have left for a future wife to deal with, I always make sure that they clean their little boy parts very well. Now, not having these parts myself, I was at a little bit of a loss as to how to get it all clean. I taught Ethan to pull the skin back and clean "the purple part". With just me and the boys aware of this nomenclature, all was good. Purple parts got cleaned. Ethan was very upset when Daddy had to give them a bath one night and didn't clean the purple parts. Daddy was very upset that I had actually called it that.
Last night was a very late bath for us. I stopped just short of the white trash wet wipe bath and went for the soapy water quick dunk instead. This is when I discovered that Ethan had completely misinterpreted my insistence on cleanliness. Before I pulled him out of the tub he freaked out a little. He stood up and poked out his parts to me and said "Wait Mom! You have to clean the purple parts or they won't get any bigger!"

Yes, I Am Raising the Most Violent Boys Ever

The conversation started at Home Depot. Ethan was walking along beside me, touching, feeling and, yes, sometimes licking every shiny object we passed. Wyatt was in the cart screaming and yelling because he wanted to be able to touch, feel and lick everything big brother did. I explained to Wyatt that he couldn't get out of the cart because he was so cute someone would steal him from me. Anyone overhearing my boast might think that an exaggeration considering I was talking to a screaming, sweating, snotty two year old, but hey, he believed me.
Ethan wanted to teach him what to do if someone did try to steal him. Goes to show what a good big brother he is. At that age, my advice to my little brother was always "don't forget to wave good-bye" ;)

Wyatt, if someone tries to steal you, you have to kick them in the peepee and run away.

Umm. Clearly something Greg taught him.
Wyatt was on board with this, though. He continued to come up with all types of ways to lay some hurt down on said snotty-two-year-old stealers.

I poke him in his eyes and run back to you Mommy. I kick him in the face and run back to you Mommy. I punch him in the tummy. And then I pull his hair. And pinch him. And bite him on the arm.

Ethan could not be outdone, however. More violence was needed to ensure my Mother of the Year status to all of the other Home Depot patrons looking on with a mixture of sympathy and horror.

Well I would hit him on the head with a hammer. And then I would kick him in the tushi. And I would punch him in the eye. And then push him down in the mud.

But Wyatt wanted to have the last word. You could see his little mind trying so hard to come up with the most horrible thing to do to the child napper.

I...I...I....would change his diaper!