Poison Control and Breaking in to your own Home

Just an average day at the family home. But as I have come to realize, everyday is an adventure over here.

Today I felt mostly lazy/tired/ not feeling like doing much in the way of my motherly and wifely duties, if you will.

So during Gianna's nap, I sat down with Davy and watched some good old fashion "Land Before Time." Which, by the way, is frightening for a 2 almost 3 year old. (I recommend fast forwarding any "Sharptooth" T-Rex parts.)

When Gianna woke up, Davy and her chased each other around our little house for a good 10 minutes complete with screaming laughing and me checking in with them as they ran back and forth down the hallway 478 times. Then I heard something horrible. My door close to my bedroom with two little voices inside.

Horrible because the lock on the door is a ghetto button thing on the side and my lock-picking skills have not yet been able to break it. Davy loves to lock herself in my room. I know. I know. I need to get a new door, or a new door knob or tie Davy's hands behind her back or something. But I just haven't. She knows it's super naughty. And mostly it hasn't been too terrible besides the first horrific time when I climbed into my bedroom window from outside only to find she had let herself out.

Anyway, like a good little child, she opened the door to my disapproving headshakes and tisk tisk fingers "Davy! We cannot close Mommy's door."

"We can't?" She looked at me innocently with her big dark brown eyes.

"You cannot go in there with Gianna and close the door."

She seemed convinced and she walked out of the room. But she had a plan.

About 20 minutes later...

I walked down the hallway with Davy and Gianna close behind and attempted to get into my bedroom. The door was locked.

My initial paranoid thought was that a scary Peeping Tom was obviously in my bedroom and locked himself in. I had no idea you could lock my door and get out safely on the other side. It never occurred to my tiny brain.

But Davy, with her over-sized melon of a head knew that you could. And so she did. I don't know why I even ask her why he does these things, because she usually tries to trick me with some sort of double negative question .

"You don't want me to lock your door without Gianna and me inside?"


See what I mean? What does that even mean?

"No Davy, please do not lock my door, even when you and Gianna are not inside." I don't think I'm smart enough to be a parent. 

Thankfully my mother stopped over later and I was able to climb into my bedroom window like a creepster. It was hard without the added adrenalin of thinking a child is locked inside.

Then the three of us made our way to  Docter Yacker...not his real name. Just what Davy calls him.

Gianna was running like a wild woman around our little room in only a diaper as we waited for her 1 year checkup and other things related to that.

I could tell the Doctor genuinely was worried about her well-being as she climbed on the chairs fearlessly and as Davy stood on the chairs to reach more books on the shelves.

"It's just so dangerous when they are 1 and have no idea what they are doing."

He just kept shaking his head. "I'm surprised she doesn't have more bruises." 

Thank goodness she has a big sister to push her down and kick her over frequently so she has learned the art of catching her falls. She actually walks around with one arm straight out, palms out, to block people who get in her way.

On the way home from the Doctor, they both passed out and I had to do the carseat to house while asleep transfer. I really suck at it. But today I was successful.  I had resolved not to listen to NPR sit in the car in my driveway with them both for an hour or so while they slept.

When they woke up, Gianna promptly tried to eat one of those Cascade dishwasher detergent actionpacs. I stupidly put them under the sink and our kid lock thing was not secured. She took a bite and some of that heinous stuff got in her mouth. Just a teensy bit I think. Enough to make her breath smell like clean dishes. I called poison control right away and they said to give her lots to drink and call back if she upchucks. Thankfully she didn't.

After that little mishap. Obviously, they needed to be strapped in to protect them from further danger. So we went on a little stroller walk with our friends.

Then at dinner I almost  poisoned our entire family with natural gas. Somehow the flame went out mid-dinner prep and only when I noticed my throat was hurting did I find the culprit.

I think it is more than obvious that I am a danger to children and families everywhere.  On that note, goodnight.

Naughty Things

Don't worry this is G rated. Why is our world so messed up that I can't even use normal words anymore without them having connotations that I do not intend. Why world?

You said poop. I'm telling.

Anyway. I really think it's time that I give you a glimpse of some naughty things that Davy has done in the last year or so.

I have been meaning to blog about one after another. And I since I try not to be a Debbie Downer about the thrills of child rearing, I was hoping to group them all in one naughty post.  So here it is.

Please do not let this discourage you if one day, you too, hope to rear your own small person. Most small persons are not this mischieveous.

I have heard a few mind altering stories of kids in my day and the naughty things they do. The ones where you just silently thank God you don't have a kid like that, then you simultaneously thank your Mother for knowing how to raise you to not behave like a wild animal. And then you have kids yourself. I was an excellent parent before I had kids.

Sometimes kids just do crazy things.
Like this. Davy walked into the living room, pulled down her pants then defecated on the rug. Then she stripped down to nothing. Then she put her feet in it. Then she played in it with her hands and smeared it all over the rug and floor.

In her defense, I was in the restroom and she was a mere 6 feet from the door of it. FYI: the time lapse was between 1-2 minutes. You may be asking yourself, why the playing and smearing of feces? Desperate for attention? Lack of adequate play dough? Your guess is as good as mine.

I had this really cute wall paper giraffe in Gianna's room, glued to the wall. Apparently Davy hated it, because she ripped off Mr. Giraffe's poor head and most of his neck and part his legs.

If you look closely you can see her mind reeling with thoughts of destroying her nemesis, Mr. Giraffe

Poor Gianna. This is why we can't have nice things. Because your sister is crazy.

One day as I was changing Gianna's diaper, she ganked the Desitin without me noticing and silently headed to Gianna's room and decided to paint a good portion of her crib bars with Desitin. And in case you were wondering what Desitin is...it stinks, it stains, and it goes on raw baby bottoms. And based on personal experience can be used as a full sunblock if you have no skin pigmentation or have some crazy burn scars that can't see the light.

This is after I cleaned most of it up. I made her help me clean it up. Unfortunately, that was probably fun to her.  She loves cleaning if she can use massive amounts of baby wipes.  Who doesn't?

One day, she pooped on the floor in my room. Put boots on her hands and feet, walked through the poop, with her hands and feet. Then she walked on all fours around the house and tracked her special delivery. After I regained my composure I attempted to re-clothe her. Then I was scolded by this naked + 4 booted 2 year old and was told that she could not get dressed, because, obviously, she was an elephant and elephants do not use the potty or wear clothes. Good to know. I'm always learning over here. I was pretty sure that was a one time, for the books, incident. A tale we would laugh at one day.

Oh wait. Then she did it again in her room in the closet. Same nakedness. Same cleaned up 4 boots on hands and feet. Different defecation. All over the house.

I know what you are thinking. Bad parenting. And you're probably right. This pooping on the floor incident may or may not have been related to the conversation Davy and Daddy had the previous day concerning where animals use the restroom. She found it quite amusing that they do not use the potty. Pooping for the sake of imaginative play. Hmmm...this story reminds me of a small boy who was found in his crib with a dump truck and his own dump in it. Perhaps it was her dear Daddy himself. Karma baby. Grandma C.-You hoped he would have kids just like himself... and he did!

Mid- wall scribble. Complete with a stool. Where the h-e-double tooth picks was your mother?

I lost count with the pen and chalk and pencil drawings on dressers, walls, tables, bed spreads, couches, the floor. Thankfully, the magic eraser and I are BFFs and I have been mostly successful in removing said unwanted graffiti.

Then for a while, she wanted a piece of the trash can. I don't know what he did to her, but it must have been bad. She beat him to the ground and then resorted to kicking him before I could save poor Simple Human. I guess she got her way, because soon after we recycled him.

I guess I could tell you all about mysterious pools of yellow water we've found on the floor throughout the house, but I think that will fill it's own post.

And I'm terribly sorry I didn't photojournal any of the "use our home as a potty" shots. There is always next time. ;)

My Baby's not a Baby Anymore

A year ago today I gave birth to a tiny babe. It was a good time had by all.

And now she is pretty much a toddler. For a few months now I have had a walker on my hands. And a climber. Together they can be a dangerous combo.

I keep turning around to find her on top of high places smiling from ear to ear and attempting to launch herself into space. Not necessarily off the sides. Upward.

Today on her birthday I found her on my bed. Jumping. Laughing.

For about a week now, she has been climbing on top of the kids table and standing on top of it. Jumping. It's alarming.

Thankfully. I am usually about an arm's reach away from her and have a pretty vocal police force, aka Team Davy, on duty at all times. Sometimes Team Davy uses brute force to keep Gianna out of what she assumes is harm's way. Unfortunately we have had to deal with a fair share of injuries due to this enforcement. Headlocks, two armed shoving, tackling, or kicking are all techniques which have been employed to "keep Gianna safe."

Tomorrow I am planning to hold a meeting and flesh out some new strategies that are less violent.

On a positive note, Gianna is tough. She holds her own. And she still looks cute. Davy can hardly take her down at times. And as a mom, it's hard not to be a little proud. Except, for the small fact, that she is my tiny princess baby girl. And my taller princess and her are WWF-style wrestling

Happy Birthday my other little wild thing.