Little Help Here

I truly thought that when I decided to begin potty training the boys that they'd learn at the same time.

I had another thought coming. 

Once I decided it was time, I did lots of reading. 

The most useful of all of the information that I read was written by fellow blogger Shannon at Stickers & Glitter about The Potty Watch. 

After reading her post I literally ran to my computer and ordered two! 

Once they arrived I explained to the boys how the watches worked and told them that we'd start going in the potty tomorrow. I got them all excited about the idea and we prepped for it all day and into the evening. 

After they got up, I had them each pee in the potty and then put on real underwear and pants and we strapped on the watches. 

David was totally into it and when the watch played the music and the lights blinked he yell, "Potty time!" and run into the bathroom. 

Daniel would run behind the sofa. 

The initial reward was a sticker but that was only good for a couple of days before they both lost interest in the stickers and, quite frankly, I got tired of scraping them off the floor, windows, furniture, cabinets...you get the picture.

I finally decided that pee would be rewarded with two jelly beans but a poop would earn the Holy Grail: Chocolate. 

This was no incentive for Daniel at all. In fact Daniel was totally non-plussed about the whole thing.  

Meanwhile, David was so into it that he figured out that he could squeeze out one turd at a time and get a piece of chocolate for each one! Clever little bugger! 

By day four David was out of diapers completely even at night. 

In fact, the night I decided to put him to bed without a diaper was after I found him crying in the hallway because he couldn't figure out how to put his diaper back on after going to the bathroom. 

That day we made a trip to the store for nightlights. 

I even had him practice getting up and going to the potty with only the nightlight on so it wouldn't be totally foreign territory for him. 

Daniel was showing no improvement...at all. 

I stuck with it. Everything I read said that you train for a week and if there is no progress you stop and try again in a couple of weeks. 

After Daniel ran behind the sofa for the seventh day in a row I gave up and put him back in a diaper and continued to reward David. 

By the end of the week David was trained...completely. 

He was telling everyone that he, "was a big boy because he poops in the potty but Daniel was still wearing a baby diaper." 

REALLY?! 

Where the heck did that come from?! 

We've tried again and again with Daniel with no success. 

Before Christmas I asked Daniel if he knew what mommy wanted 'the most of all' for Christmas. He replied with, "What?" I said, "Mommy really wants you to poop in the potty." He gave me the most pathetic, 'You're really not going to like this answer' look followed by, "No." Then reached up and put his arm around my neck, leaned in and said, "How about a necklace?"

I laughed so hard that I almost wet his bed!

We tried again a couple of weeks ago...spent the weekend cleaning urine off the floor - Allow me to recommend hardwood floors people - It's worth the extra money in the long run! 

I've all but given up. 

However, On three different occasions I have discovered him coming out of the bathroom with his diaper undone and when asked he says that he went pee-pee in the potty. 

There is hope. 

The last time was a couple of days ago when I walked into my bathroom to find him in front of my potty, pants down to his knees, diaper open on one side. 

He looked at me and said, "Little help here" and looked down at his diaper. 

Yes sweetie I will give you a little help! 

Now...can you please poop in the potty?!

Gag!

I can't get over how fast time flies now that we have kids! It seems like just yesterday I was bawling my eyes out over another failed IVF attempt and here we are with 14 month old twins who are using sign language, trying to talk and putting things that are not trash in the trash can.

Not only can they put things in that shouldn't be thrown away but they take things out that should.

The kitchen trashcan has a lock on it that, when we remember to use it, keeps them from opening it. The diaper pails do not and the cans in the bathrooms are just open ones.

There are telltale signs that the children have been in the bathrooms: the toilet lids are down, toilet paper is on the counter or window sill and the trash cans are on the counter. They love to pull things out of the trash cans and hand them to me like their presenting me with the Crown Jewels!

The looks on their faces say, "Look mommy! I got you a used snot rag. Isn't it great?!"

Until recently we didn't worry about them getting into the diaper pails. I mean really, who opens those things if they don't have to. I guess ones nose needs to be higher than the lid to get the full effect of the odor but still...Gag!

About a week ago I was headed downstairs when I noticed the Engineer on the floor next to the diaper pail with a dirty diaper in his lap...a poopie diaper to be exact! He had one hand on the diaper and one in the poop and was looking a little concerned about what he was going to do about it.

Even he knew that this was not something that should go in his mouth.

I came close to screaming but bit my tongue so I wouldn't scare him into crawling away leaving a trail of poopie handprints on the one area of the first floor that has carpeting.

I picked him up, deposited the diaper back in the trashcan and headed into the bathroom to try to wash the hand of a 14 month old while holding him at the same time. I did manage but neither of us was happy when we it was over.

The other night I did that oatmeal in the crockpot overnight recipe - it was delicious by the way. I peeled and sliced the apples, put the apple peels, seeds, cores, etc. in the trash, turned on the crockpot and went to bed. The following morning when we came downstairs the oatmeal smelled heavenly. I helped myself to two (yes two) large bowls which I shared with the boys while they also had their morning banana and clementines.

About 20 minutes after finishing breakfast and cleaning up I was exercising my OCD by separating the kids' blocks, chew toys and stuffies when the Engineer rounded the corner munching on something and waving what appeared to be a slice of bacon. Mmmmm BACON!

Wait...where did he get bacon?!

Upon further inspection I discovered that it was, in fact, not bacon but rather apple peels that he pulled out of the kitchen trashcan...that I had forgotten to lock...again.

I made two New Year's resolutions this year. 1. Clean the office AKA the Abyss (See Flat Surface Disease). 2. Keep said office clean.

In an effort to keep this year's resolutions I tied a rope around my waist the other day and ventured into the Abyss while the boys were napping. I actually made really good progress and had to empty the round-file twice.

The first time I dumped the office trash into the large can in the garage I heard, "Do you need a tow truck, call me, I'm on the way."

Huh?

"Beep, Beep!"

Wait, what?!

I pushed on the top of the trash, "My name's Tommy and this is my Tow Truck."

Crap! That's where that toy ended up!

I began removing the stuff I had just dumped in, and looked into the bottom of the can to see a light blinking behind the white plastic of the bag from the DIAPER PAIL!

Eeeeeeeew! No no no no nooooooo not that...Anything but that!!!

I began to bargain...

I considered putting the lid on and pretending that I heard and seen nothing. But my conscience just wouldn't let me do it so, I tore a hole in the end of the bag and removed Tommy and his Tow Truck. Evidently it had been in the very bottom corner of the bag and had not contacted any of the poopie-ness that potentially comes with being in the diaper pail bag.

I refilled the trashcan, carried the toy truck into the house, promptly hosed it down with antibacterial cleaner, scrubbed it off with paper towels and then scrubbed myself off.

Poop doesn't particularly scare me. I mean it's just poop and it stinks but it's not like it's going to leap up out of the diaper and smear itself on me. Trash picking the diaper pail bag skeeves me out more than a poopie diaper does.

This is not the case for the hubby. He tends to freak out a bit about poop and I think I've figured out why.

When I change a poopie diaper I don't inspect or analyze the contents. I open it, scrape the poop off their butt, clean with additional wipes, wrap them in the dirty diaper and put it in the pail.

Hubby analyzes.

No wonder he is prone to gagging!

I try to feed the kids balanced meals and most of the time, to my surprise, I actually achieve this goal.

The kids will eat just about anything but hubby won't eat broccoli. He does eat peas, green beans, spinach and Brussels sprouts. Nights we don't do green we do carrots or corn - I know more of a starch than a veggie but I'm trying.

Recently we had a couple of nights of baked chicken with sweet potato fries and green beans. Well rounded meals complete with cookies for dessert. Unless we have fresh pears then they want nothing to do with cookies. But I digress...

Sometime during that week hubby was changing the stuntman's diaper when I heard, "The green stuff is not processing."

"Hmmm," I thought to myself, "that's interesting."

No sooner did I finish this thought did I hear, "DID YOU HEAR ME??? THE GREEN STUFF IS NOT PROCESSING!"

I replied that I did indeed hear him but that there was nothing I could do about it. I did, however, thank him for his observation.

Once he had finished the diaper change and washed his hands he remarked that it was really disgusting. I pointed out that if he spent less time analyzing it, he might not gag.  "After all," I said, "you're just changing a diaper, not trying to recover a pair of ingested diamond earrings."

He gagged.

HELLO!!!

I've discovered that there is a very distinctive succession of events that lead to tears.

It usually goes like this: Thump, "Whoa!" and then screaming.

This doesn't happen just anytime, it happens when my hubby is with the boys. They love to play with daddy and daddy loves to play with them. The problem is that they get so wound up they lose the ability to control their movements and he doesn't always know when to stop.

The perfect example of this happened yesterday while I was well...shall we say, indisposed?

The master bath is located directly above the family room and the sound carries right through the floor! I could hear the boys - all three of them - giggling away then heard Thump, "Whoa!" and then screaming, followed by, "Oh my God!"

Oy Vey! OMG means blood!

Unless it's his own, hubby doesn't handle the sight of blood well. Anyone else's, especially one of the kids, and all bets are off. Composure goes out the window and panic sets in.

He began to scream for me and I foolishly tried to yell a response.

I then heard him wrestling with the gate at the bottom of the stairs while I desperately tried to finish my "business."

He yanked the bathroom door open just as I pulled my pants up and stood there, with a bleeding stuntman in his arms, looking shocked to see me by the toilet. Not sure what he thought I was doing but, "I have to go to the bathroom," usually means one of two things.

I grabbed the first aid box (not kit, we've learned that the small kits just don't cut it for us) out from under the sink and got to work.

Stuntman had bitten his tongue.

Saliva made it look like he was going to bleed to death, but as far as actual blood goes there wasn't much and it stopped bleeding very quickly.

Hubby announced that he had to go back downstairs because, in his state of panic, he'd left the Engineer on the sofa!

Seriously?!

His panicked states are pretty much the same regardless of the circumstances. His ability to think or act rationally just goes right out the window!

The other day while changing the Stuntman's diaper, the stuntman decided to poop. I had the Kitchen Aid whirling away and didn't hear him screaming for me. Suddenly there was loud banging followed by louder, "HELLO!!!"

I sprinted up the stairs to find hubby with a screaming stuntman on the table, legs up in the air as daddy desperately cleaned up the poop. The Engineer was on the floor screaming because daddy's screaming had frightened him.

Ummmm.....Yeah... really?! You were screaming because of poop?!

OMG! 

Despite his panic and gagging, there really wasn't much I could do. So I picked up the hysterical Engineer and tried to calm him while trying desperately not to yell at my hubby and upset the babies even more.

Most of the time he's a really laid back guy. Evidently, poop and blood are his kryptonite.

He's one of the handiest hubbies on the world. Need recessed lighting installed? How about hardwood floors? Sheetrock? He's the guy. He really can do anything except walk through a room without hitting a toy.

He. Never. Looks. Down.

We are 13 months into this parenting thing. He has tripped over countless toys. He has fallen down, stubbed his toes, and made things squeak in the dark and yet he has not adjusted his walk.

It's weird. I noticed early on that, while in the house, I had developed a gate that allows me to move forward, without scuffing my feet, by barely lifting my foot off the floor. This way if I do contact something I don't step on it or trip over it, I push it out of the way. Sort of along the same lines as the old trains with the cow catcher on the front.

We have a play-mat that we keep upstairs for the boys. We use the mat more as a home-base for the upstairs toys because we can move it from room to room as needed. At night we usually put it in the hallway out of the line of traffic so we don't trip over it in the dark.

Hubby decided the other night that he would leave it on the floor in the bedroom, precisely placed so as to not trip over it if he had to get one of the kids.

It didn't work.

He tripped.

And tripped.

And tripped.

The mat has these tube things that arch up and connect diagonally at the corners. Once in, it's like trying to get out of a crab trap.

The toys rattled, the one set to come on with motion began to play music and he even stepped on the praying Angel, "Now I lay me down..."

"Shit!"

Snark.

"Shut up," he said with a laugh.

Don't Put That in Your Mouth!

I have mentioned in previous posts that hubby and I have our usual chores around the house. I do the laundry and cleaning and he does the guy stuff like taking out the trash. One morning a few weeks ago, after harvesting the pumpkins and squash, before leaving for work, he decided to empty the diaper pail in the playroom.

To be honest, it was really stinky!

I love that he takes out the trash and does the "hubby jobs" around the house. I hate that he has this really annoying habit of forgetting to put a new bag in the can.  As was the case this particular morning.

I didn't notice this until I rushed one of my boys to the diaper changing table with a massive blowout in his footie pajamas.

Not good!

Hmmm...well, I thought, I'll just put the diaper at the end of the changing table and dispose of it when I was finished. In theory this should have worked out really well.

There was a fatal flaw in my thinking.

At 11 months he is pretty long and his feet come to the end of the diaper changing pad. I couldn't leave him on the table to go get a new bag, I couldn't set him on the floor covered in poop and couldn't put the diaper on the floor because my other son was now standing between my legs.

I removed said diaper and placed it at the foot of the changing pad, hoping for the best, and tackled things with the wipes. Lots and lots of wipes. I piled them up on the offending diaper and grabbed a new diaper to put on him.

That's when the trouble started.

The boys' desire to squirm or rollover is directly proportional to the amount of crap on their butts. The bigger the poop, the more they want to squirm.

When I prevented him from rolling over he got really mad and slammed his feet down...right into the poop filled diaper.

I screamed. Yeah really actually screamed. It sort of...splashed!

My scream startled him and he began to cry, then in a show of some sort of twin solidarity, the other one started to cry too.

Greaaaaat!

Not only do I have a colossal friggin mess but now I have two screaming children to deal with, one of whom was also naked and covered with poop!

When all was said and done, the baby had a new diaper, tears had been dried, the pad on the changing table had been changed and, most importantly, there was a new bag in the diaper pail. Of course I handled it like a pro but then again I am here alone, it's not like anyone else was going to do it. It's just another poopie experience to add to the list.

But...what I am proud of is the fact that I didn't call my hubby and rip him a new one. I didn't even send him an obnoxious text message. Mostly because one of the boys fell down again and needed his boo-boo kissed and by the time I finished dealing with that it was snack time. Ranting at him about something like a trash bag just seemed so menial at that point.

Falling down is the norm around here. They are constantly hitting their heads...usually on the floor. They have learned to avoid the coffee table and the bottom of the kitchen hutch but they trip...when crawling no less, and face-plant. Either or both have been known to have pretty good bruises on their foreheads at least once a week.

I've gotten used to the sounds of their playing...and falling. Depending on the sound of the thump, I've learned to respond appropriately. Sounds in general tell me what's going on but more importantly, the sound of silence is even more telling.

Last week, during our morning ritual, I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the rocker in the bedroom while the kids played in the hallway. They like to crawl around in the hallway, the bathroom,  their room and our closet.

It suddenly dawned on me that it was completely silent.

Not good!

I left my coffee and headed down the hall to find that one of the boys had unraveled most of a roll of toilet paper, which was now piled up in the middle of the floor, and the other was happily chewing away on a wad of it that was so big it would make a professional baseball player jealous.

About the time I walked into the bathroom the one that had been doing the unrolling, discovered this little handle thingy on the toilet tank.

Flush!!!

Unfortunately, he liked the sound. Fortunately, it takes about 35 seconds to refill the tank on the toilet. Which is approximately the amount of time necessary to gather up the toilet paper, remove the disgusting pulp from the one's mouth and move both boys out of the room and close the door.

The bathroom door is now closed all the time and, just in case one of us should happen to leave the door open, the toilet paper is now located on the edge of the sink.

I draw the line at removing the flush handle.

As I've mentioned, I like to start my day slowly with a cup of coffee and the boys like to play upstairs. We now keep all doors upstairs closed with the exception of the master bedroom and the master closet.

They love to play in the closet.

Chewing on shoelaces is a favorite pastime as is, evidently pulling dirty clothes out of the laundry basket that serves as our hamper.

This was discovered one morning as I sat happily rocking away, sipping my coffee and reading the news. I noticed that the boys were a little too quite. As I was getting up to head into the closet to see what they were doing, one of them came crawling out of the closet with a pair of my panties in his mouth like a lion dragging home a kill!

Eeeeeeeeeew!!!

Nobody saw it and if I didn't write about it, no one would even know...but I was mortified! They carry stuff in their mouths all the time...just not my underwear. I don't even think it would have been ok if he had had a clean pair in his mouth. Somethings you just don't put in your mouth...period!

This no doubt will not be the last time that I am completely grossed out by something that one of my boys' puts in his mouth. I am sure the words, "Don't put that in your mouth!" will be said at least a million times but hey, that battle's got to be better than dealing with a flailing, poop-covered baby...Right?!

The Blow-Out System

The list of things that gross me out is getting pretty long. I didn't used to be the type of person that one would consider squeamish (well unless you consider my arachnophobia but that's a fear not a gross-out factor) that was before I stepped in cold baby puke on my way to bed. Hubby asked why I didn't step in it while it was warm? Funny guy.

When the boys are in their highchairs snacking on Cheerios they tend to drop a considerable amount of them into the chair alongside their thighs and near their adorable little behinds. We usually reach down, scoop them up and put them back on their trays. This is an every day, sometimes multiple times a day, occurrence. So much so in fact that I no longer do the full-body flinch when coming in contact with wet, mushy Cheerios. Its just part of the experience.

Imagine my surprise the other night when I reached into the highchair to do the usual Cheerio harvest and came up with a handful of poop! Yup, baby poop! Not the brownish-yellow poop that one usually envisions when the words baby and poop are uttered in the same sentence; this was spinach week. The poo was exceptionally dark and well, leafy.

I screamed.

Hubby ran in from the other room to see what was going on only to discover me standing in the middle of the kitchen with my left hand covered in poop (oh and I was overdue to cut my nails - I'll let you draw that picture) telling him to get the paper towels to put down on the changing table.

We have come up with a "system" for dealing with blowouts, which for one of my boys seems to be a way of life. One of us grabs the paper towels and lays them out on the changing table. The other, carrying the baby, as my grandmother would say, "Like they were carrying a dead cat," brings the child in and puts him down on the towels and commences to change the diaper and clothing. While that is being done the first parent - usually the hubby - returns to the scene of the crime to deal with the clean up.

Minor blowouts are dealt with Clorox Clean-Ups. Major blowouts require the use of the garden hose which, I believe, we have resorted to at least five times now. If the hose is necessary, once the chunks are removed the highchair cover - which by the way is made of the most incredible material known to man - is taken to the washing machine where it is then washed on the "sanitize" cycle.

Once the diaper has been removed and all traces of poop have been scraped off the tushy, the diaper, wipes and paper towels go directly into the trashcan. This keeps us - and when I say us I mean me see Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat - from having to wash the changing pad cover every time there is a blow-out.

My hubby thinks I take pity on him when I choose to change the diapers but really I am taking pity on the babies. Hubby is wonderful and jumps in to help out on nearly everything but I am a better diaper changer in these scenarios so it is less stressful for the kids and, as much as I am humored by the sound, it keeps him from gagging!

He has come close the throwing up about three times, which in the span of nine months is not that much but I have never gagged. I guess that's because when I know there is a poopie diaper I expect it to be um...poopie.

There is nothing about poop that is attractive to look at.

I can't even begin to tell you the number of times that I have heard, "Oh! My! God!" when he is changing a diaper. Initially the OMG! was followed by the very distinct sound of gagging. He’s gotten better with the gagging but is still surprised on a regular basis.

I just can't fathom the shock.

Seriously...You couldn't smell that?