Another Potty Humor Post Because This is My Life Now

This week I had the brilliant idea to set up TheWiseOne with an account that he can text me through on the computer.

He’s 10. So, this seemed like a logical choice. Texting is so quick and accessible. But, I’m sure I don’t need to sing the praises of texting to you. I think the world understands the beauty of it well enough.

I thought it was especially amazing as I answered the call of Mother Nature, but she forgot to send me ample toilet paper.

As I used the last bits of precious ply, I snagged my phone off the counter (because, let’s be honest, we all take our phones with us) and sent the following message to TheWiseOne:

Me: “I have a first world problem. I need toilet paper upstairs. Can you help a sister out?”

I wait rather impatiently and strain to hear the sounds of my savior’s footsteps coming up the stairs.


I send another message: “Are you alive?! I don’t wanna use my own socks!!!”

Nothing. Suddenly this text messaging thing doesn’t seem so brilliant.

Now I have to resort to my back up–TheBaldEagle. I was trying not to bother him since he was in the basement working, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

I send a plea for help to TheBaldEagle: “I need TP for my bunghole. Just plug your nose and toss a roll.”

TheBaldEagle replies: “I’m in the basement pooping.”

This is quite possibly the most disappointing text of my life. The fates are surely laughing hysterically at me.What did I do to deserve this? Did I sit on a child and fart on him in a past life? Whatever I did, karma has arrived, and she has a sick sense of humor.

Now I’ve been sentenced to the unthinkable. I pull my pants up and do the waddle of shame to the nearest TP supply.

And then, after I’ve gotten myself clean and humanized again, I receive this text message from TheWiseOne: “I am alive, mommy.”

Thanks. Good to know.


Pooping. Alone. Yeah, right.

Doesn’t anyone think it’s unfair that your kids get to crap with the luxury of their own time while you–the parent–are practically tearing your sphincter in half trying to squeeze that poop out at the speed of light before one of the kids decides to impale the other?

Seriously. I think there should “parent counseling” before you’re allowed to have children similar to marriage counseling. It would go like this:

Counselor: “So, you think you’re ready to have a baby?”
Prospective Parents: “Yes! We can’t wait!”
Counselor: “Do you realize that pooping will never be the same again?”
Prospective Parents: “Uh, I guess so… Hadn’t really thought about it.”
Counselor: “Really. As in, you’ll be sitting on the pot with children on the other side screaming your name. It will be like being surrounded by mini paparazzi sans cameras, but louder.”
Prospective Parents: “Okay, well, we’ll manage.”
Counselor: “And you’ll need to poop so bad. You’ll be in the middle of trying to squeeze out a gnarly one and grunting answers to questions at the same time. Like, ‘Your sippy cuuuuuuup is by the FRIIIIIIIIIDGE!’ Here, why don’t you two go hide in the bathroom and we’ll practice”
Prospective Parents: “Um… maybe we’ll wait a couple years…”

Of all the things you have to do as a parent like cleaning up explosive newborn diapers that go all the way to the baby’s neck or scrubbing permanent markers off the wall or standing on stools to pull sticky-hand toys off the ceiling, you’d think we parents would have earned at least a few minutes to do the deed in peace and quiet.

But no. No. No. No.

As I went to the restroom today, the first thing I hear after sitting down is a small voice on the other side of the door calling, “I need to use the bathroom bad!”

Seriously? There are three other bathrooms in our house and this is the one you choose???

“Go upstairs!” I call.

“I don’t want to go upstairs alone,” he whines.

Of course. But that’s why you have siblings. For this sole purpose.

“Take Z-boy with you!” I command.

My yell is met with another voice.

“Hey Mom, why do you have Roblox on your computer?”

Oh! For the love of–


Silence. Then K-girl wailing in her nasal, sing-song voice from the kitchen table where she had been pleasantly finishing her supper. “I’m dooooone! I’m doooooone!”

“Z-boy,” I cry, “Can you help her down?!”

Honestly? Can’t they go two seconds without me? I mean, it’s nice to be needed, but this is ridiculous.

And then, “Mommy?! Where’s Mommy?!”

Okay. That’s it. I’m done. Maybe I can slide my underwear underneath the door and wave them like the white flag of surrender. Next time I see a toddler crapping in their pants at their own leisure, I’ll try not to be too jealous.

She’s Gonna Crap Her Pants, Isn’t She?

Timing is everything.

For example, I finally have the timing worked out perfectly for picking up TheLittlePrince from preschool. I know down-to-the-minute what time I need to start getting K-girl ready and corralled into the van in order to get to the preschool just in time to pick up TheLittlePrince.

That may sound trivial to you, but in toddler-land, arriving too early and having to wait for anything more than 2 minutes can mean the difference between a peaceful car ride…

…and utter toddler tantrum, banshee wailing, Barbie-throwing Hell.

Today’s pick up routine started perfectly.

***Cue ominous music. Dun dun DUN!***

Anyone with kids knows that even the best laid plans can go awry.

And mine did. It’s my fault really. I messed with the routine. I messed with the balance of the universe. I dared to look into the face of the Heavens and say, “Try me!”

Well, actually, I just ran upstairs to change my shoes.

But that’s when it happened. That’s when my toddler said, “Challenge accepted.”

Okay, that’s not true either. K-girl’s exact words were, “I pooped!”

So, yeah, that sucks when your kid poops at the last minute when you’re trying to get out the door. You guys get it. The real problem is…

…K-girl is potty trained. And there was a suspicious lump sticking out from the back of her perfectly formed toddler-tushy. And then she was looking at me with this expression that said, “I pooped! Good for me! Hmm, Mom doesn’t look super excited, though. I wonder why–ohhhh, yeeeeaaah! I’m supposed to be using the potty now! Ha ha! I always forget! My bad! Oh crap, mom looks like she’s about to crap her pants! I know, I’ll act like it was an accident and then she’ll feel so bad and tell me it’s okay because accidents happen… Right???”

***Cue crying toddler wailing, “Ewwww!”***

You can probably imagine my expression of motherly frustration. After all, they say girls are easier to potty train. I’ve already paid my dues with 3 boys! K-girl is supposed to make this easy for me! I trusted her!


But then fate looks down on me and smiles, and by some miracle, I actually arrive at preschool on time! Sweet!

I was, however, late picking up the boys from school, but that’s a whole other blog post.


No Shoes… No Thanks?

K-girl is a very strong-willed, opinionated 2-year-old, and we’re definitely having our battles. I’ve decided to go the kinder route and offer choices instead of forcing her to do things.

Recently we’ve been fighting the good fight of whether shoes are optional in 40 degree weather.

While I tend to think shoes should be worn, especially warm shoes like boots when the windshield has a heavy layer of frost, K-girl has decided that this frivolous accessory is no longer necessary. In fact, it lost its place in her wardrobe when Mommy hid the Minnie Mouse flip flops.

TheBaldEagle and I take turns driving the kids to school. When it comes to morning routines, I procrastinate. I’m not getting up any earlier than 6:06 am (not 6:05 because I need that extra minute). Actually, scratch that–I’m hitting snooze on that puppy until I wake up in a panic, sprint out of bed, and start throwing clothes at the boys.

So, one could reason that this is partially my fault. I’m well aware that K-girl no longer hold shoes in the high esteem that many women do and will vehemently protest them with every fiber of her being. And really, a wise mom would allow 30 minutes or so for this kind of “discussion”.

But not me–4 kids later, and I still haven’t learned.

So, I have every bit of 10 seconds to wage World War 3: Toddler Version. I already know I’m fighting a losing battle, so I decide not to fight.

Me: “K-girl, which shoe would you like to wear? The black, sparkly ones? Or the warm boots?” The enthusiasm is practically dripping from my voice and my faux grin could rival any Miss America.

There is a misleading hesitation next where my daughter actually pauses and looks at the shoes with consideration. K-girl slowly reaches out, her toddler fingers grip the black shoes.

I laugh maniacally inside. It worked! It worked! She’s alive! BAHAHAHA!

Then K-girl’s other hand reaches out… and she grips the boots.

My mind screams, “ABORT! ABORT!”

I’m frozen as I watch K-girl saunter away then silently launch both pairs of shoes across the house with the ease and grace of an Olympic thrower.

What do I do next? Get my morning workout, of course. Chasing a toddler in circles with a pair of shoes in hand is great cardio.


K-girl is Not One of Us

The fact of the matter is that I’m wrapped around a certain little girl’s finger.

It shames me to say that because I’ve always been so proud of my parental will power. But I guess that dissipates after you’ve had three mud-covered, power-bomb-throwing boys and finally get a soft and sweet girl.

Or sassy, fashionista girl, but whatever. Still a girl.

Our grocery store has these awesome carts that have a car attached to the front.


TheLittlePrince and K-girl LOVE it! And I love it because it keeps them still. (DISCLAIMER: These shopping carts will only keep children still, NOT quiet. They will squeak and squeal their little Smurf voices like midget banshees under the guise of making their car “honk”.)

The problem with these carts is that it lulls you into a false sense of security. The children love the cart. The children will not leave the cart. I can actually focus on purchasing groceries and finding great deals…

Then my Mommy sensor goes off. Thankfully we moms have eyes in the back of our heads, right?

This is as close as I’ll ever get to having eyes in the back of my head.

I turn around and see K-girl’s pudgy little fingers reach out just as she says, “Oh, I found da baby.” And then she gently takes the fabric baby doll from the shelf and cradles it tenderly in her arms with an expression of utter love and devotion.

My husband and I look at each other for a moment, helplessly.

Never (okay, let’s be honest, rarely) have we let the boys purchase a toy without them having earned money to do so or it being a special occasion. We’re all about teaching financial responsibility to our mini people. What do we do? How do you argue this with a 1-year-old? We’ve done it in the past, but suddenly in this moment, it escapes us!

All three boys are staring intently, waiting for my answer. They know that I pride myself on being fair. What is done for one, will be done for all. But do I really want to purchase overpriced, rickety grocery store toys times four?! Where the heck is my budget?! I’m panicked and stunned like a deer in the headlights. What do I do? What do I do?!

Suddenly it comes to me, I’ll do what any desperate parent would do in this situation! Simply ignore it and hope it goes away.

My husband sees the decision in my eyes and mutely agrees. It is an unspoken agreement. The princess shall keep her baby.

Because to take the baby would result in certain death.

We turn around and continue shopping as if nothing ever happened.

For a split second, I sense there will be protests. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the slack-jawed boys. I can hear the slight rumble in their throats as they prepare to proclaim the unfairness.

Then they stop. Suddenly, they understand:

“K-girl does not play by the same rules because K-girl is not one of us. K-girl does not even pee the way we do. She is her own special creature from another planet. She is not the rose among the thorns, but the lion among the hyenas. To challenge her authority is to look death in the eye and say, ‘Come get me, big boy.'”

We carry on with our grocery shopping. Crisis averted.

It’s going to be a long eighteen years.

Wisdom of TheLittlePrince

Let me share with you some 4-year-old wisdom and intellect, courtesy of TheLittlePrince…

–> “All the people in this world live in this world.”

–> “What does yogurt spell?”

–> “What does that stop sign say?”

–> “When I’m 56, I’m going to buy something cool.”

–> “Mommy, now you’re 31! And next year you’ll be 32. And the next year you’ll be 33. Then 34. Then 35. Then 36. Then 37. Then 38. Then 39. THEN 40!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then you’ll be 41…”

Bad Mom

1 minute before bedtime…

TheWiseOne: “Isn’t it bedtime?”
Me: “…….yeeessss.”
TheWiseOne: “Aren’t you being a bad mother?”
Me: “I was just giving you the last minute that you had left!”

Since when did our roles reverse???

One Dorky Husband! Ah ah ah!

A year ago, we bought this book for K-girl.

Have the fainting couch ready, ladies, because ISN’T THIS ADORABLE?! It is basically a counting book set to the world of Austen.

So, while I was cooking supper tonight (and K-girl kept trying to dance between me and the stove), TheBaldEagle was nice enough to distract K-girl with this book.

And I have to say I was much impressed. After all, it’s not exactly a manly book, and to see my big guy cuddle up so sweetly with our little one to read some Austen touched my heart. ❤

Until I heard this:

“One English village! Ah ah ah! Two rich gentlemen! Ah ah ah!”

For those of you who don’t understand what’s going on, let me bring back a piece of your childhood.

Oh yes, my husband was reading Austen to our child like the Count from Sesame Street.

But the kicker is when I heard this:

“Four marriage proposals! Ah ah ah! That Lizzie sure gets around!”

Note to self: Never let the hubs read Austen again.


Once upon a time there was a kind woman who had just bought a beautiful house.

When the woman moved into the house, she brought all her furniture, including a beautiful blue cabinet. Only, the walls were blue, too, and the cabinet no longer stood out. So, the woman decided to paint the cabinet a lovely yellow.

Enter VILLAIN (aka Z-boy)

Z-boy: “What are you doing?”
Kind Woman: “I’m painting the cabinet yellow.”
Z-boy: *weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth* “NOOOO! BUT BLUE IS MY FAVORITE COLOR!”
Kind Woman: “But the walls are blue! It’s fine! Now the cabinet will pop and make the blue walls look really nice!”
Z-boy: “It doesn’t go in here! It doesn’t look good!”
Me: “It’s fine!”
Z-boy: “Are you going to paint the walls yellow?!”
Kind Woman: *rolls eyes* “There’s only a quarter of a gallon here–not nearly enough to paint the walls. I could only paint one corner.”
Z-boy: “What all are you painting yellow?!”
Kind Woman: *channeling the patience of Job* “See everything on the cabinet that is blue? Well, it’s now going to be yellow.”
Z-boy: *sees a Frozen DVD sitting in the cabinet* “Are you painting Frozen yellow?!”
Kind Woman: “Is that part of the cabinet?”
Z-boy: “No…”
Kind Woman: “Then no.”
Z-boy: “It doesn’t look good. I don’t like it. You’re changing everything!”
Kind Woman: “Well, when you get to be an adult, you can paint everything in your house blue, and I will help you.”
Z-boy: *calming down* “Okay.”

Enter ANTAGONIST (aka TheWiseOne)

TheWiseOne: “Hey, Z-boy. She’s painting your room next.”

It’s a Fine Life

Warning: Newsies is an awesome musical, but if you haven’t seen it, you may not understand this post. So, do yourself a favor and watch Newsies!

TheBaldEagle was telling the boys what to do in the 4th of July parade…

TheBaldEagle: “I’ll be carrying the banner–”
TheBaldEagle: “My life is not a musical, but if you keep this up, it’s going to be a murder mystery.”
Me: :/

I’ll just leave this here: