Forgive My Life

Archive for the ‘That Totally Happened’ Category

Potty training. It’s really a fun time full of cheering and bribing and washing shit out of fabric. Baby W has his jar full of Smarties on top of the TV..ready for when I try to lure him onto the toilet. So far, things have been going well.

I’m going to pretend that the 2 times he peed in G’s closet didn’t happen…especially since one of those times he was supposed to be going into the bathroom but made a beeline for G’s room. Poor G…he said “THIS IS WHY HE ISN’T ALLOWED IN MY ROOM!!!”. Ummmm, who could’ve predicted that the kid would squat in your freaking closet?? Make sure your toys are picked up!

W was dry for 2 days in his adorable little teeny gitchies! Seriously…can they make those things any more adorable???? Today we went for coffee after dropping Girly off at preschool. I thought “Hey, I will do some studying. W will entertain himself with toys and cookies. Life is great!”. We settled in and he said “Mama, I need to pee.”.

The washroom is in the next building.

I asked if maybe he could just pee in his diaper and he said “Yes. No…I need to pee in toilet.”. Whatever…we’ll go to the washroom.

W has a thing about being mostly nekkid to go pee so we’re in the bathroom in a church basement (which is, strangely, hot as hell!!) and he’s stripping down (including his socks). I sit him up on the toilet and do the countdown (3, 2, 1, BLAST OFF!).

Then he pees on me. Like a fire hose. It shoots over the front of the toilet and onto me as I was squatting in front of him. I try desperately to aim it into the toilet and I swear it shoots straight up…completely covering my hand in pee. I am grabbing at the toilet paper with my free hand and the fucking single ply paper is breaking in single squares. SINGLE SQUARES! There is pee fucking everywhere and I can’t get more than 3 squares of toilet paper!

When the pee was finally finished (no joke: this was post-cryogenic Austin Powers pee), I wiped down my hand, his legs, the toilet, and the floor before W pointed out the pee on my leg. He had peed all over my right calf and all over my entire crotch area..making it look like I had wet myself.

And then it hit me….we still have to go back to the coffee shop. I look like I lost bladder control and I have to go back to the coffee shop. Where people are. I re-dressed W and buttoned my jacket over the wet spot. Honestly, what else am I going to do? I can’t go home and change so I had to go back with wet pants…worried the whole time that I smelled like urine.

With the boys in hockey again this winter I have realized that any chance I have at sleeping in is gone. Hubby was out of the house at 6:30 to take the 2 to their games and I was happily sleeping in my warm bed.

The dog started howling..jolting me from that happy sleep and leaving me wondering what the fuck his problem was. Oh, he had probably seen the boys long enough to realize that he hadn’t been taken out of his kennel. I gritted my teeth and hoped that he would shut the fuck up before he woke up any of the kids. Having sensed that it was way before 7, therefore too early to be out of his kennel, he shut up. Maybe he grew bored of the howling instead…one will never know.

None of the little kids had heard the dog so I rolled back over and hoped they would all stay sleeping until at least 9. I could tell he was awake before he even started moving around… His co-sleeper still firmly attached to our bed means that any time is appropriate for him to crawl into our bed for morning snuggles. By morning snuggles I mean stealing the blankets, kicking me in the stomach, and shoving his hands in my shirt.

He opted to skip all of his morning rituals for a prompt “I all done. I go downstairs! You coming, mama?” while he climbed off of the bed. 7:45…a far cry from 9. All of the coffee in the world couldn’t save me.

Thanks to his inability to sit quietly on the couch, Girly woke up and a fight broke out immediately over who the fuck knows what. The fight ended quickly and girly remembered that she had some new (hand me down) dressed that she wanted to wear. They both went upstairs while she got dressed and she yelled downstairs that wee boy was in the buff.

He was in the bathroom trying to climb onto the toilet. Great sign that maybe we ¬†should work on potty training!! He squeezed out a little poop while girly and I cheered. And then it happened……

Girly, in her beautiful dress, stood in the doorway of the bathroom and shuffled the skirt. I was coaxing the boy to pee just a little. And the dog…he played a rather innocent role of hanging out in the background. He sniffed at Girly’s dress like he sniffs at most things…rather ambivalently. Suddenly, it was different. Suddenly, something caught his nose. Suddenly, he lifted his leg and started peeing on the dress.

He peed on the fucking dress while Girly was wearing it and I could do nothing to stop it.

I sent him outside and quickly grabbed the stuff to clean it up, remembering that the boy was still on the toilet waiting for a bum wipe. By the time I got back up there, he was trying to climb off of the toilet. Girly stood by the tub, shoulders hunched, sulking in her freshly pissed on dress. Wipe a bum, clean up pee, help Girly out of the dress… She went to get dressed again; into jeans and a shirt this time. Her expression mirrored how I felt; sad, defeated, and angry.

I looked at the clock. It was 7:59. I took a mental inventory of the alcohol we have in the house; there was a half bottle of wine in the fridge. I resisted the urge to take it with me back up to bed.

I’ve had a startling realization this morning…. this is my new normal. This chaos and weird shit that happens…. this is my NORMAL! I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, really.

Dog barks at 6:20 so I get up, thinking that he needs to do business. He doesn’t need to do business…his focus is chasing after me and licking my bare legs. I don’t know why having the dog lick my legs grosses me out so much but I want to never wear shorts again.

I had planned to make the kids pumpkin bake this week but we ended up a day late so I made it this morning. There is a reason I usually bake it the night before and that is because it takes forever to bake! I turned the oven on and got everything mixed together before I realized that there was a very bright orange in the oven.

Oh yeah…whatever spilled in the bottom of the oven was on fire. There was a moment right before the panic struck that I was envisioning trying to get 5 sleeping kids and all of my important shit out of the house before it burned to the ground.

The chunk on fire was probably the size of a grape so I figured I could probably grasp it with the barbecue tongs. I didn’t really expect to have the chunk crumble as I picked it up…spreading the flaming coals all over the bottom of the oven. Shit.

I had to actually crush the bits of charcoal food remnants with a flipper and scrape them out of the oven; all the while trying not to burn my hand.

This is probably a sign that I need to run the self clean cycle on the oven. I should also figure out how to use the fire extinguisher.

Just a random mention..no big deal..but the dog totally tried to trip me while I hauled the laundry basket down the stairs. I’m pretty sure it was payback for eating bacon in front of him. Or maybe the barking at 6:20 was all part of his master plan to off me today.

13 years ago, Billy and I got hitched. I would say that it was a dream wedding but it really wasn’t. We were married on a grassy area between 2 busy roads in clothes that we would wear on a normal day.

It’s strange how fast 13 years goes by. The phrase “Time flies when you’re having fun” doesn’t really seem to apply here, however… I think having 5 kids is the reason 13 years has flown by.

I had high hopes for today… we’re having steak (bacon wrapped perhaps?) for supper. 13 is the steak & bacon anniversary, right? No? Okay, well…here it is. Who needs gold or silver when you’ve got steak & bacon?!?

My high hopes were shattered last night when I couldn’t breathe. Stupid dust allergies and the fact that my kids’ bedrooms are absolute shitholes that were in such desperate need of being cleaned that I risked it. I am paying for it dearly. Oh, last night Wylder woke up and his damn sippy cup spilled all over the bed so I had to stay in one position so that I wouldn’t roll into the wet spot.

I tried to sleep in a little but realized that I needed to go see Gavin’s teacher so I should probably look remotely decent.

Then the dog….ugh…. he followed me, nipped at my ankles, and slammed into my legs while I tried to get my morning cheerfulness on.

Thankfully, Billy was able to pick up the boys and bring them to school. Not so thankfully, the dog yakked all over the couch minutes after he left. Possibly, it was his anniversary gift to us… totally unappreciated though.

Let’s just hope that his gift isn’t a sign of how the rest of the day will go.

I’ve suggested coconut oil to a few people to help them or their kids keep things moving. In the digestive area. Like..if you haven’t pooped… Logan has had to take coconut oil a few times and it takes only a couple of hours to do its job. Even though I suggest it, I have never actually tried it myself.

When I told my sister to give her youngest coconut oil mixed with cocoa powder and maple syrup, I couldn’t have guessed that it would taste so good! Like cake icing!

I had skipped breakfast and after lunch I felt like having a snack so I whipped up a bowl of chocolate coconut oil, peeled myself a banana, and went to town.

I licked the bowl clean, started in on the dishes and then it hit me. Stomach pain and bad noises. I must have had a bit of a panicked look on my face because Billy asked what was wrong and all I could say was “Ohhh..I did a bad, bad thing…”

Oh God…I was afraid to even fart! And then I didn’t know if I was going to puke so I locked myself in the bathroom just in case. 2 out of 5 kids interrupted me during my deep thoughts before I succumbed to the idea that I might be dying and I would rather die in my own bed.

I laid in bed for a while; curled up in the fetal position.

I really have no one to blame for this but myself and that pisses me off.

My littlest Picasso loves sprucing up otherwise boring areas of the house…like the walls, or the cupboards, or my purse….

I’m on the verge of throwing out every pen, pencil, crayon, marker, and eyeliner because this shit is nuts. I have bought stock in Mr. Clean because I am buying Magic Erasers at fucking Costco.

At this point I should mention that Magic Eraser will strip the finish off a table before it will actually take the Sharpie off. Oh, it will also strip paint off walls before the crayon is completely removed. I have a love hate thing going on with Magic Erasers.

I should also mention that I dislike all things arts and crafts. I would love to give my kids the experience of finger painting, rolling play dough, gluing, and cutting but it’s the epic disaster they leave behind that has me wishing I had alcohol in the house!

Little Picasso loves colouring and I do encourage him to colour on paper. He turned my very important list into the prettiest little colouring ever and I could hardly be upset because he had kept the crayon on the paper only!

But Little Picasso enjoys snapping crayons. The little bits usually end up on the floor and Furry Hoover likes anything on the floor.

Poor yellow crayon…

I shoo’ed the dog outside and picked up bits of yellow from the rug.

Little Picasso took the dog’s enthusiasm for the yellow crayon as a sign that these suckers tasted good and decided to nom on blue crayon. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught him eating inedible things. He has an affinity for Anya’s sparkly lip gloss.

What goes in, must go out; The 2 creatures, whose poop I have to clean up, shit rainbows and sparkles.

The boy and his dog are thick as thieves. They’ve teamed up and I will never be safe again.

It started with me deciding I would take a bath. Lack of sleep impairs my judgement.

Billy texted that he was 15 minutes away and I confidently climbed into the bath while encouraging the kids to play in Anya’s room. Wylder, the water fanatic, clawed at his clothes in an attempt to give me some splashy company. Perhaps, my little friend, if you wouldn’t cram plastic toys in my exposed areas, you could join me. He settled for sticking both hands in the water while I negotiated with him to leave the room.

I sent him downstairs to check out the window for his Dad and he left. He didn’t settle for a look out the window, though. Nope, no way…he was going to have a look see out the front door. The dog, realizing that his little person has absolutely no control over him, saw his chance at freedom.

Back up in the tub I realized that I would never be able to get the dog back in the house unless he could see me. Dripping wet, towel barely wrapped around me, and angry, I ran to the door. The dog, probably sensing the rage, decided to take shelter in the neighbour’s yard. Of course this means that I will have to actually step outside, into the rain, and track that little beast down.

In that moment, he could have decided he wanted to play but he willingly came back into the house. I doled out a round of “No. Bad dog!”, told Wylder to leave the door shut, and tried to convince them, again, to play in Anya’s room.

Back into the tub…water not as warm as it was before… 5 more minutes and Billy would be home.

Anya in her room, Wylder and Rory dog downstairs, me in the tub…and then there was a noise. Refrigerator noise. Bottles clanging around.

Another attempt to convince Wylder into Anya’s room failed and things were suddenly too quiet downstairs. I am too late for whatever bad things are going on and I know it. I quickly throw the towel on and rush down the stairs to find an empty bottle of sesame oil in the middle of the living room. A trail of oil leading from the kitchen and into the living room, the dog happily lapping up what he could, and the boy smiling at me. WTF?????

Hands and knees, dripping wet, towel draped over me, and I cleaned up the oil. As if on cue, Billy walked in. I finished cleaning and warned him that if anyone even dared to come into the bathroom, there would be HELL to pay!

My bath sucked.

Later, with Rory napping beside me, I realized that his fur was covered in sesame oil. He stunk like freaking Chinese food!! Wylder had poured (probably quite deliberately) sesame oil on the dog.

I condensed the story into 140 characters, posted about it on Twitter, and then this happened….

Kudos, Dan! In all of my FML ranting, I didn’t even make the dog/Chinese food connection!

Now it’s become obvious that Wylder was probably trying to prepare the dog to be eaten. I mean…he is a foodie’s child so he has plenty of experience with marinades. Had I also found the coconut aminos on the dog, I would worry but clearly his tastes aren’t refined enough to properly prepare the dog so I think Rory is safe. For now.


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