I'd Like to Thank...

As I sit here watching the People's Choice Awards, I realize that I have never accepted an award in front of an adoring audience. This makes sense considering that I am not a actress or songstress. I am not a philanthropist, a small town hero, nor have I done anything to inspire peace across the globe. However, that doesn't change the fact that I really want (really, really want) to win a golden statue. I want to sit in the crowd and act surprised when they call my name. I want to stand at the podium and thank God, family, and all the people who made my win possible. Of course I would thank my fans , who motivate me to keep doing whatever it is I'm being awarded for. I would end my speech with something witty (because that's what my fans would expect from me), and humbly exit stage left. I would steer clear from the ugly cry, or anything else snot inducing (but depending on the audience, may shed a single tear). I have it all planned out minus one annoying detail; who in heck would give me an award?

Being a mom is stressful. Surely there should be an award to distinguish the good moms from the ones who suck (some moms suck. Sad, but true). There should be an entire award show dedicated to our hard work (like the People's Choice Awards), with categories like, "Best Boo Boo Kisser", and "Best Last Minute School Project Puller-Offer". Nominees would show up in designer gowns, and walk the red carpet as the paparazzi snapped photos. TMZ would shout out inappropriate questions, and for one evening we would pretend like we didn't spend the majority of our time dedicated to another human being.

Until then, I will continue to practice my "surprised" face and acceptance speech (cause all you other moms are going down!).

What category would you win ? (This is your chance to make up your own award. Don't worry, you're the only nominee so your destined to win.)

Currently Seeking Backyard

We live in an apartment. An apartment that shrinks constantly as my boys grow bigger. The other day, my two oldest boys were playing football in the house. Casually tossing the football back and forth in the living room as if there were goal posts behind the couch. I (for what I am sure had to be the 517th time) asked them not to play football in the house. Surprisingly, they listened and within minutes the football was put away. However, they traded it for a soccer ball, that they began kicking back and forth.

After explaining my predicament to a (childless) friend, she responded, “yeah, I think kids are kind of like dogs. They need room to play”. I agree (well, maybe minus the dog part. Although, little boys do have a knack for peeing on everything except the toilet).

Having 3 boys, it has become crystal clear that I need a backyard. A well lit backyard that will keep my boys busy from the time they get out of school, until dinner. Included in this fantasy is the assumption that all of the outside activity will make them so tired, that they will want to go to bed immediately following dinner and bath time (if in reality it doesn’t actually work like this, please don’t ruin my fantasy. In lieu of an actual backyard this dream is all I got).

For now, my search continues for the perfect backyard (I’m positive that a backyard will soon be a crucial part of my sanity).

It Could Be A Sign

My 18 month old son went to bed one night, and woke up talking (or so it seems). He has established a whole new vocabulary that for the most part is food related. He surprised the entire family when he demanded “bri-bries” (French Fries), and left both my husband and I speechless when he requested “McDonalds” and enunciated all three syllables. He can also say pizza, juice, and most commonly, “Foooooood!”.

As I sit here, 3 weeks deep into a diet (that I am convinced will result in my utter hotness), I can’t help but wonder if maybe (just maybe) we eat fast food too often. The fact that my 1 yr old can place his own order at the drive thru gives me a clue. I have yet to order the boys Apple Dippers instead of French fries (because a riot would erupt immediately), so I can’t claim that I make smart choices when eating out. The only logical option is to cook.

Under normal circumstances (normal referring to spending the majority of the day at leisure, watching something corny on Lifetime), I like to cook. I enjoy trying out new recipes, and pretending to be Betty Crocker the Domestic Goddess. However, after work, cooking is the last thing I want to do. Especially when homework needs to be done and the house still needs to be picked up. I’d much rather be waited on.

So far, I have sucked it up and cooked anyway. To my surprise, most days I can get dinner on the table in less than 30 minutes. It actually saves me time(eating at a sit down restaurant is at least a 2 hour process). My 6 and 5 year old haven’t complained much either. I’ve only had to answer one question regarding the change.

“Mommy, when are we going to eat real food. Like McDonalds or something?”

Go Girl, Go Potty

A couple of weeks ago, my two oldest sons had the opportunity to play football at PacBell park, during halftime of an UFL (http://www.ufl-football.com/) game. Like most games, I had the opportunity to hang out with the daughters of one of the coaches. It allows me to experience what life would be like with a daughter (albeit for only a couple of hours).

As we tailgated, the boys were busy throwing the football and running amuck. Us girls were standing around impatiently waiting to enter the stadium, when my faux daughter suddenly had to use the restroom. I was faced with a parenting conundrum I had yet to experience. Parking lots are not usually equipped with restrooms. In this case, the only choice was a port-a-potty (port-a-potty’s freak me out. I would rather get punched repeatedly in the stomach then be forced to enter one. Actually “using” one would be absolutely out of the question). This is never an issue with my boys. Boys can find a tree, bush (on occasion the side of one’s car) and relive their bladder quickly and effectively. In mere seconds, the crisis is averted and we can move on to non-potty related activities. In this case, I could not send the little girl to a nearby bush. Panicked (yes, panicked. This whole situation was new to me and I had no idea what to do), I sent her to her dad. Surely he had a magic solution that this boy mom had not thought of. That was not the case, he simply pointed to the port-a-potty across the parking lot.

I armed the little girl with everything I could think of.

Baby Wipes: They can clean almost anything
Hand Sanitizer: Self Explanatory
A little Prayer: Considering that my phobia would not allow me to get too close to the port-a-potty, she was going to need all the extra help she could get.

She did the impossible, and survived the port-a-potty (with virtually no help from me). Thank GOD I have little boys. I am positive the stress of the potty alone would do me in.

Note to dads: Using a port-a-potty is cruel and unusual punishment. It is NEVER okay for the penis-challenged!

Look what I found: www.go-girl.com

It's a Boy!!

{The following is an excerpt from my book Surviving 3 Boys. It is a guide to parenting boys, with blog excerpts to keep it fun. Let me know what you think. Your opinion is important to me. Please feel free to Tweet, Facebook, or email this article. The more input the better.}

When I was pregnant with my first child, I could not wait to find out what I was having.

There are several urban legends circulating on the internet that promise to determine the sex of your child before the standard 20 week ultrasound. Some are easy enough, like the Chinese Gender Calendar. It only requires you know the age of the mother at the time of conception, and what month the magic happened. There are others that require a chemistry degree, and an adventurous spirit. Ala the Crystal Draino test. This test involves mixing the mothers urine with Crystal Draino, and observing the concoction until it changes colors (from what I have read, the end result is a smelly, disgusting mess, with inconclusive results). I absolutely do not recommend any test that requires bathroom chemicals, but do recommend you read other peoples accounts of using this method. It is hilarious.

I consulted the Chinese Gender calendar, magic 8 ball, and listened to the random women on the streets who gave their predictions based on the shape of my belly (round and high suggests a boys, and as one women delicately put it, “your fat all over, your having a girl”. She didn’t know I was fat all over before I got pregnant).

I counted down the days to the ultrasound appointment. By the time of the actual appointment we had a full house. My OBGYN was gracious enough to accommodate the crowd, who included my husband, mom, mother in law, and I. We all gazed at the tiny screen, and had the same reaction as the doctor pointed to what was undeniably a penis. “It’s a Boy!” we cheered. My husband, who for the most part is always cool, calm, and collected, raised both of his arms in the air like a ref signaling a touchdown. Both of the new grandparents wiped away tears, and in that moment I knew how lucky my little boy ways.

You confirmed it’s a boy, so now what? Shopping of course! At 20 weeks you’re in your second trimester and still have the energy to do things, like walk (walking during your third trimester takes a bit more effort). Now is the perfect time to shop for your registry. The registry wand possesses powers that can turn any practical mom, into a shopping maniac. Nice to haves, becomes HAVE to haves, and pretty soon your registry is littered with things you’ll never use. I heard a very pregnant woman tell her husband at a department store, “It doesn’t matter what we register for, we are getting it for free”! On the contrary, bad registry items are purchased at the expense of something you would have actually used. Free is also an overstatement. People are only buying you gifts because they know from now on, all your money will be consumed by the little person free-loading in your belly (pity-presents).

Wanting more? Be sure to purchase my book. Coming soon to a store near you.

Things I've Learned Parenting Little Boys!

1. If you come across tiny underwear and are unsure rather or not their clean or dirty, DO NOT SMELL THEM to find out. Just assume they are dirty, put them in the laundry, and sanitize your hands immediately.

2. Farts are funny. Little boys will fart anywhere (including on you), in front of anyone (including your priest), and laugh about it hysterically. This condition lasts well into adulthood, and is contagious (I’m laughing now just thinking about farts: absolutely infected with inappropriate laughter)

3. Boys never stop moving, and their idle hands are the devils workshop. When not entertained, they pass their time by climbing, jumping, running, exploring, and throwing at Tasmanian Devil speed. They need things to do; your sanity (and quite possibly your home) depends on it.

4. Remote control obsession begins at birth (or close to it). I’m out numbered in my house, 4 to 1. If you are in a similar situation, just give in to Sunday football. It’s a war you will not win.

5. Never ask a (male) stranger for advice when purchasing an athletic cup. There is gesturing and pointing involved, that under any other circumstances would be considered inappropriate (it’s embarrassing all the same).

6. HotWheels are a safety hazard that only effects adults. Stepping on a HotWheel will undoubtedly leave you hopping around in pain (they are the male equivalent to Barbie shoes). Keep an eye out for them, there sneaky and show up unexpectedly.

7. Little boys are always hungry. ALWAYS! It doesn’t matter if they have eaten 5 minutes or 5 hours ago, they’re hungry. Keep snacks everywhere, you’ll never know when you need them.

8. Organized sports (Little League, Pop Warner, Soccer) will take over your life. Your weekends, and evenings will be dominated by cleats and coaches. Understanding and accepting this early with make the experience more enjoyable in the long run. You are now a mommy, and Super Fan (entertain yourself by figuring out ways to embarrass your husband and kids. It works wonderfully for me).

9. The penis obsession starts as soon as they find it (usually at a couple of months old), and if my husband is any indication…..it never ends.

10. They may be crazy, rough, and rude; but nobody loves mom like a little boy!

My Little Petri Dishes

I have a friend who calls kids human Petri dishes, which for the most part is true (even more so if you have kids in Daycare or School). Kids carry germs with what seems like super human immunity. A runny nose for them, most definitely will result in a hideous flu for me (in bed all day, covers drawn to just below my eyes, cursing all people under 4 feet). Early Sunday morning my oldest son came in my room complaining of a sore throat. First I asked him a series of questions to determine if he was really sick (phantom illness runs rampant in my house, especially around chore or bedtime. Recently my 5 year old son told me he had “the cramps”. I can’t wait to tell him that story when he is older, and completely grossed out by what that actually implies. I gave him some water, and miraculously he was cured).

Sore throat confirmed, Nyquil and Chloroseptic down, all that was left was one pitiful looking 6 year old boy. Clearly in need of snuggles, I did what any mom would do. I snuggled my little Petri dish, breathing his germy air. However, given the chance to snuggle a little boy (who most days would much rather play than humor his mom with hug), is worth the threat of the plague. A few hours later, he and his brothers were running around the house causing havoc as usual. (That is, until it was time to wake up for school. . . .)

Obnoxious Plan

I sometimes have conversations with my boys that I wish I could record. I’m positive that if retold it would somehow lose its punch, and more importantly it’s humor. However, I am going to do my best to recreate two conversations I had with my sons last week.

Obnoxious

Journey (age 6): Mom, are we (himself and his brother) obnoxious?

Mom: (Convinced that Journey has no idea what obnoxious means, I ask..) What do you think obnoxious means?

Journey: Annoying, and talks to much and loud.

Mom: (Wow, he kind of hit the nail on the head with that one) No baby, you guys aren’t obnoxious.

Journey: But we’re annoying

Justice (age 5): and we talk a lot, right mom?

Mom: You’re not annoying (but you do talk a lot… no way I can argue that)

Journey: Yes we are, remember when you said we were getting on your nerves?

Mom: (How come his memory can’t be this good when I tell him not to forget to turn in his homework) Yes, sometimes you get on my nerves, but not in an obnoxious way. Sponge Bob, and that scary lady from So You Think You Can Dance are obnoxious. Not you.

Journey: Well, I think I’m obnoxious.

Mom: Well, I don’t. I think you guys are perfect

Lesson learned: The older your kids get, the harder it is to lie to them.

You Got to Have a Plan

This conversation took place at 7:30 a.m.

Journey: What did you have planned for your life?

Mom: What!?!

Journey: What did you plan for your life?

Mom: (WTH? How old is this kid... 50? And it’s 7:30 in the morning, way too early for an essay question. What do I say….)

Journey: (Looking at me as if he can’t believe it’s taking so long for me to come up with an answer. I can hear him thinking “and to think you USED to be my hero”)

Mom: To be happy at home with my family, and have a career that I love. (Shameless plug: I would love to blog for a living. Anyone out there looking to employ a sarcastic mommy blogger, I’m ready to start today!)

Journey: That’s it? (what do you mean that’s it?) What about us, did you plan that for your life?

Mom: Of course! I always knew I wanted kids. I just didn’t know they’d be as wonderful as you guys.

Lesson Learned: Regardless of age, when a man asks a “deep question” at the end, it always boils down to them

Ask, Ask, Ask

Kids ask tons of questions. I once read an article that said the average 3 year old asks 400 questions a day. At 3, both my sons easily beat that statistic. From the moment they could form sentences, the questions have been coming in nonstop, and on several occasions have left me stumped (or laughing hysterically). I made a list of the some of the more “special” questions they have asked.


• How come God doesn’t have a wife? (There is a joke in here somewhere, and If given enough time I could come up with a punch line. However, my son was very serious when he posed this question, so I answered him the best I could: Ask your Dad)

• If God is a corn-dog could I eat him? (Yes, you read that correctly. This is what happens when you tell your kids god is everywhere. They conclude that god is their corn-dog)

• Do cars drive with fart gas, or a different kind of gas? (If cars were powered by human gas; my boys would see to it that I would never have to buy gas again.)

• How come people don’t have bones in their lips? (Because then we’d have beaks, and kissing would be significantly harder)

• How do you sneeze and scream in Chinese? (When I was a kid, I once asked my mom if the Chinese restaurant served “Chinese Coca Cola”. I guess the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree)

• How many people are on earth? (Thank God for Google. 6.78 Billion)

• Can you still live if your head get’s cut off? (I am always happy to answer these questions, because I’m sure in doing so I am preventing deadly experimentation)

If it’s true that kids learn by asking questions, my boys are well on their way to becoming geniuses. I on the other hand, am counting down the days until they can Google there own questions.

Football Mom!

Sure, my boys play football. However, I am not one of those obnoxious Pop Warner moms. I do not make baked treats embellished with the team logo. I do not wear custom t-shirts with my sons name on the back. I cheer, but only at an acceptable volume, as not to disrupt the other fans. I do not encourage my son to "get" or harm the opposing team. I am, at all times, a model for Pop Warner parent behavior.

Who's that carrying the ball down the field? That's my son Journey heading towards the end zone! (In a voice SO loud the opposing stands can hear) GO JOURNEY, GO, GO! TOUCHDOWN! MY baby made a touchdown! In your other Mom's faces! What's that? Your son hasn't made a touchdown this season? That's probably because he SUCKS!

Like I was saying, I am not one of those obnoxious team moms, and I am happy to serve as an example to football moms everywhere.

Mommy Lapse

On occasion, one of my boys will say something that causes me to respond like a preteen, instead of the wonderful parent I am. I refer to this as a mommy lapse. Mommy lapses are generally followed by regret, and the desire to turn back time for a do-over.

For example: This morning when I was walking my 5 year old to Kindergarten, we had this conversation.

Son: Can I walk to class by myself?
Mom: No
Son: You're really getting on my nerves!

What I said: Anyways! You're getting on my nerves! (It's amazing how quickly I can turn into a 15 year old girl. I usually save such behavior for when I'm watching Twilight or Saved By the Bell re-runs.)

What I wish I said: You don't say that to your mom (you should say it in your head like I do).
It's rude and disrespectful!

Son: 1 point
Mom: -1 point

There always next time. . . and at the end of the day, Mom always wins.

3rd Times A Charm

I am mom to 3 wild and crazy boys. When you are mom to more than one child, your parenting style tends to become more relaxed, with each new addition. Here are a few examples.

Baby Shower Registry

Baby # 1: I registered for any and every baby item I could. Including my favorite must have, the baby wipe warmer.

Baby# 2: I attempted to be practical about the items I registered for. The baby wipe warmer did not get any use the first time around (warm wipes are not important during 3 a.m. diaper changes).

Baby# 3: Onesies , diapers and car-seat (everything else is a luxury). What the heck is a baby wipe warmer?

101.1 Fever:

Baby # 1: Must get baby to the ER ASAP

Baby #2: Give the baby some Tylenol, and call the pediatrician

Baby #3: You figure the baby’s probably teething, and give him Tylenol so he will feel better and not keep you up all night.

Baby Drops Pacifier on floor

Baby # 1: Immediately boil some water, and dip contaminated pacifier in. You can never be too careful, germs are everywhere.

Baby #2: Rinse the pacifier under the sink, and shake it dry. It’s not like he dropped the pacifier outside.

Baby #3: Quickly suck the pacifier, and give it back to baby. (Don’t act like you have never done this before. Saliva is mother-natures disinfectant.)


First Steps:

Baby # 1: I could not wait until baby started walking. I read all the parenting websites, and wanted to make sure he was walking at a developmentally appropriate time.

Baby # 2: I better understood baby milestones, and decided Baby will walk when he is ready (and my gentle encouragement wouldn’t hurt).

Baby # 3: Walking means chasing a toddler around the house; I hope baby takes his sweet time (and by the way, parenting websites can kiss my ass)

Candy

Baby # 1: Absolutely no candy.

Baby # 2: Candy only on very special occasions… like Halloween and Christmas…

Baby # 3: “If you stop crying, mommy will give you this lovely lolli-pop”

Experiencing motherhood as a rookie is fantastic, however I’ve had a blast experiencing it as a Pro.

To you rookie moms who want to know what the real difference is: Pro moms know that there is little you can do to permanently screw-up your kids (unless your Octomom, your instincts are usually right). Sit back, relax, and most importantly… Have Fun. Your kids will thank you for it.

Stretchy Like a Rubber Band

I have three babies (well, mostly big boys who I will always refer to as my babies) by way of three C-sections. Explaining the birth process to my boys always omitted the traditional exit route. I opted to instead say, "then the doctor takes the baby out". Both boys concluded that the only way the doctor could take the baby out was by way of some type of surgery.

Recently, I decided to tell them how most babies enter the world. The conversation went like this:

Mom: Most moms push babies out of there vagina.

Boys: (general looks of shock and horror) But Mom, there vagina's would be SO broken!

Mom: (my sentiments exactly, however I gave the mommy correct answer) Well, the vagina stretches so the baby can come out. The doctor also gives the mommy medicine so it doesn't hurt much.

Boys: Why do you even want to be a girl! (smart, smart boys)

The conversation ended with me thoroughly entertained, and the subject remained virtually untouched until recently.

While on vacation, my oldest son Journey asked his much older cousin (26), "Why don't you have kids"? He further explained, "It's not that painful because they give you medicine and your vagina is stretchy like a rubber band". A little taken aback by Journey's knowledge of her vagina, she simply stated, "Oh. Thank You".

Next, we will work on when it is, and is not appropriate to discuss a woman's vagina.

Don't Speak!

On Saturday, I saw No Doubt in concert. I took my time getting ready; cute dress, flawless make-up, and salon worthy hair. Feeling like a queen, and worthy of the Hot Mom of the Year award, I left for the concert.

As the lights on the stage grew brighter, a silhouette of the band appeared. 20,000 voices cheered in anticipation, as Gwen Stefani stepped on stage. Standing in mid drift perfection, wearing low rise pants and a tiny shirt, Mrs. Stefani stole my self esteem.

As she belted out "Don't Speak", I couldn't help but wonder what magic she possessed to have both six pack abs and two children. Convinced that such a combination must be the result of something other worldly, I worked on a spell of my own:

As I eat this garlic fry,
That's sure to make it to my thighs,
Send these calories, grease and fat,
To her tummy, that is impossibly flat!

Surprisingly, it didn't work (but the garlic fries were fantastic).

Song Blocker

Song Blocker: You and your kid(s) are driving in the car, when your favorite song comes on the radio. Excited, you turn up the volume and sing along as if your auditioning for American Idol (you definitely wouldn't make it to Vegas, but nobody would deny your passion and focus). Mid falsetto you hear the familiar call of your child, "Mommy! Mom! MOM!"

Trying your best to ignore your kid (who surely doesn't want anything important. He's not bleeding, crying, or choking), you turn up the radio. However the calls are getting louder, your patience getting thinner, and it's very apparent that American Idol will not be picking you this season. You begrudgingly turn down the radio and answer your child.

Once you have explained the theories of quantum physics to your 5 year old, you turn up the radio to find that your favorite song is over.

You have just been Song Blocked! And your child is a Song Blocker!

Are You Ready For Some Football!!

Before I got married, I had absolutely no interest in sports. After I got married, I still had absolutely no interest in sports. However, over the years through what I can only explain as marriage osmosis, I have managed to pick up a basic understanding of football.

Three sons and one Pop Warner season under my belt, I am now far from a pro, but understand the elementary do's, and more importantly the do not's of youth sports. As I enter our second season of tiny helmets and pads, allow me to share what I've learned.


1. It is never ok for a mom to call her son "baby", "sweetie", [insert adorable name here] on or near the playing field. Coaches and fathers alike agree that even though your son is super cute in his tiny uniform, on the field he's a MAN! (albeit a tiny man)

2. Don't take your camera on the field to snap pictures during a game. This "do not" also applies to scrimmage games. (This is actually advice I do not plan to take. I will chance the evil stares and admonishments from the refs to get the perfect picture. Maybe not now, but someday my boys will thank me!)

3. Should your son get injured during a game, do not go onto the field unless the coach invites you to do so. Most of the time the embarrassment felt from seeing your mom on the field is far worse than the pain of said injury. (Thankfully, I have yet to come across this situation, but have witnessed other moms stand back while their sons were tended to by their coaches. It looked hard, but certainly not impossible)

4. Most importantly, have FUN. Make friends, eat nachos, gossip about the moms on the opposing team, and maybe even catch a game or two.

Toddler Dialing

Toddler Dialing: Not to be confused with drunk or butt dialing, toddler dialing has far more annoying consequences. As a mother, I am guilty.

Toddler is crying, and generally unhappy with the toys available to play with. No one will let him have the remote, and the shiny key chain with all the jingling keys are out of his reach. Mom (that's me) is tired, and desperate for quiet, and ignores the fact that Toddler (that's Jordan) has made himself quiet with her Blackberry (yes, the Blackberry that Dad has told Mom is not a toy).

Fifteen minutes later the phone rings. Mom answers and has the following conversation.

Mom: Hello

Caller: Did you know your son just called me. I was on the phone with him for 10 minutes, and all he said was "Hi".

Mom: My bad, I'll keep a better eye on him.
(Your 10 minute annoyance bought me 10 minutes of peace. SO worth it. I definitely will not keep a better eye on him)

Caller: OK.

Being a victim of "my child is so cute, listen to him talk" dialing (which I think is worse than toddler dialing), I completely understand how annoying this is for the end caller. I have come up with a fool proof solution for both situations. . . . .

Hang up the phone.

Read All About It!

Journey (6) has a strange preoccupation with current events. Not that I think it’s a bad thing; any person who can give me Obama’s daily schedule is impressive. However, his love for news media begs the question rather or not he is old enough to see everything. Politics and traffic aside, the news also covers the seedier side of life. Robberies’, murder, kidnappings, not to mention the fugitives on the loose.

This morning Journey announced, “There was a robbery at a store. I have to watch the news tonight to find out what happened”. (He also announced they put Michael Jackson in a Gold Suitcase. Wanting to avoid the question storm that would most definitely follow if I corrected him, I opted to let him believe it indeed was a very large suitcase. How else would Michael take everything to heaven?)

Two Things:

1. What 6 year old purposely watches the news, and actually listens and understands what’s going on?

2. Where do I draw the line? If my 6 going on 60 year old son is truly interested, do I allow him to watch? (His knowledge of traffic conditions comes in handy during the morning commute)

The V-Chip automatically assumes that no kid in his right mind would watch the news. Therefore it does not automatically filter out the news when set to a PG rating. To create this filter, I would have to manually select every news show and channel. Something I would rather not do, but would if necessary (it sounds eerily similar to work).

Parents (and the occasional non-parent reader) what do you think? Is the evening and morning news inappropriate for a 6 year old?

Crappy, McCrappington

For the past several days, Jordan (14 months) has been suffering from diarrhea. (Not wimpy diarrhea. I'm talking about what my 6 year old calls "water crap" mixed with lots of booty crumbs). As a result, those of us who are responsible for changing his diaper are suffering too (not to mention those individuals within smelling distance). Initially I wasn't concerned. His change in poop did not come with any additional symptoms. No fever, dehydration (we've been giving him plenty of fluids), or anything else that would point to a more serious condition.

However, our list of casualties grew. Several pairs of pants, upholstery, blankets, towels and mattress have been fatally stained. Not wanting anymore fatalities, I left a message for the pediatrician. A few hours later, this is the message I received:

"For diarrhea you want to use milk that has no milk sugar in it like lactose free milk. Some foods that are good for diarrhea are: apple sauce, bananas, carrots and the most useful, rice. Yogurt is wonderful because it has active cultures in it and that puts some friendly germs into the gut. If there is blood in the diarrhea, then we have to do another whole sort of thinking. (Um, yeah duh!) Sorry to have missed you. I will try and call you later..."

(We have a fabulous pediatrician. He sees all 3 boys, and always gives practical advice.)

Hopefully sharing this information will help other parents keep there house diarrhea free.

So far, we have tried yogurt and are crossing our fingers for a speedy recovery!

Bring On The Chores!

Understanding that child labor is frowned upon, I wanted to better understand what chores were considered age appropriate for my sons. Our home has endured the hurricane force messes my boys have made, and it only seems fair that they participate in cleaning it. After searching the internet this is what I found:



2-4 Year Olds

• help dust
• put napkins on table
• help put away toys
• put laundry in hamper
• help feed pet

4-7 Year Olds

• Set the table or help set the table
• put away toys/things
• help feed pets
• water plants
• help set table
• help make bed
• dust
• put laundry in hamper
• help put dishes in dishwasher
• water the garden
• help wipe up messes
• help with yard work (rake with child's rake or plant flowers, etc.)
• help clear table

Not quite what I hoped for. I pictured my oldest boys wearing aprons and carrying feather dusters cleaning the house with the same speed and enthusiasm they mess it up. According to the chart, that would not be happening. Chores would be nothing like free maid service. In fact, it seems as if parental supervision is required.

I decided to see exactly what the boys were capable of, and asked them to clean the Living Room. To my surprise they agreed without much protest. 15 minutes later, a very excited Journey and Justice (my big boys) asked me to look at the living room. Emerging from my upstairs bedroom, I was amazed to find a very clean living room. My Tasmanian Devils managed to make the living room presentable in a very short period of time.

I hugged them both and praised them for a job well done.

I was then asked, “How much money do we get for cleaning the living room?”

I responded, “Nothing. You live here, you’re supposed to clean up”.

My oldest son (a budding capitalist), at the tender age of 6 replied, “Mom, no one works for free!”

So much for free labor.