Brick

Last week we learned something shocking about the minions.  It was a regular Friday afternoon at daycare pick up, I was loading the Molly into the car (aka the "Sexfire") and Chris ran into the building with Jack in his arms to sign the kids out of the fire log and pick up the shirts that Molly had drooled through.*  Chris was standing at Molly's cubby retrieving the above mentioned saliva soaked t-shirts when one of the daycare staff approached him.

"Jack is doing really well on the toilet." She said simply.

Chris responded with a blank look, dumbfounded and eventually said.

"This Jack?" as if she'd just mentioned that he'd mastered playing Brahms Rhapsody in B Minor.

"Don't you read the notes?"

BUSTED.

Hail to the King Baby!

She gave Chris a disappointed head shake and explained that they were toilet training our children unbeknownst to us.  Apparently Molly is doing just fine as well, but Master Jack has mad toilet skills.**  We knew that our kids would potty train in the senior toddler room, we just didn't know when and I sort of thought they'd hand us a manual when they started.  Something like, "It's time to wish away the diaper genie" or "Welcome to urgent bathroom trips and lots of accidents"

Daycare leaves notes each day on what the kids eat, how long they nap for and a diaper diary.  I usually skim the nap schedule to foresee any evening meltdowns as well as how much they've eaten that particular day so I can determine whether or not I need to stuff them like they're Hansel and Gretal so they don't keep us up all night starving.  Chris and I usually ignore the diaper diary unless we suspect the minions are ill or it says in giant bold print "BRING IN MORE DIAPERS".

When Chris told me what had happened it explained a few recent events.  The other night, right before bath time Jack started playing with the toilet seat.  I am extremely paranoid because of several incidents from my childhood involving toilet clogs*** so I shut the lid and moved him away.  He proceeded to pee all over the ground beside the bath, which I suppose is better than the alternative inside the bath.  Parenting fail on my end.

So I guess we're potty training now.  Weird.  Now every day, after hours at work deciphering business acronyms we've entered the world of SOT (sat on the toilet) and POT (peed on the toilet).  I still don't know the code for number two (SHOT??)

Want Multiple Momstrosity updates on Facebook click here

*Molly teething creates saliva akin to aliens Kang and Kodos from The Simpsons.
**One can assume that he inherited from my father who has a full on book caddie in his washroom that would rival many libraries.
***My brother once (as a toddler) flushed my giant novelty soap in the shape of a Toucan down the commode and another time our dog Max thought it would be a good idea to ram his Kong chew toy down the toilet.  Both resulted in the removal of the toilet seat and a lot of swearing from my father.

Gone Fishing

For my tenth birthday I decided that I really wanted lobster.  I'd never tried it before, but it seemed really grown up, and after-all I was in the double-digits then and it was time to show everyone how mature and cultured I was - clearly.  My parents fulfilled my birthday wish and took us to a chain restaurant designed for, "the seafood lover in you".  I promptly ordered an entire lobster and was presented with a giant lobster, complete with buggy eyes and antenae.  I sheepishly took one bite of the giant alien bug from the sea, decided I hated it, but was old enough to understand that my parents were going to be spending a lot of money on my one bite experiment.   My father generously offered to trade the hamburger that he'd ordered for my lobster.   Gee, I wonder if he had suspected that this would happen?   As an adult I love lobster, surf and turf is one of my absolute favorite things, however I don't remember the moment when the change from hate to mouth watering love occurred.

This weekend a group of us went out to a beer tasting and dinner with a friend who is in town from the UK.  After beer, but before dinner, I sent a text to our sitter L asking her how things were going.  I didn't want, or expect the reply I'd get, something along the lines of.  L: I moved your Diaper Genie.  X decided that they wanted a mid-nap snack, pried open the Genie from their crib and secured themselves a dirty wipe to munch on.  They were quite smiley and pleased with themselves*  BTW where are your spare crib sheets - Poo everywhere!**

I can't honestly say that I wasn't guilty of similar grossness when I was a child, so maybe it runs in the family. As a toddler I routinely ate potted plants, dirt and sand from the sand box.***  As a young child Chris locked himself in a closet and ate all of his sister's Easy Bake Oven Cake mix raw.  His mother found him covered in white powder, looking like Pacino in the infamous Scarface coke scene, with a giant sh%t eating grin on his face - a funny story, but a little vanilla compared to some of my grosser antics.

This is me on Easter in 1979 (If that isn't obvious enough by my stylish shirt and bangs) enjoying a giant chocolate Mickey Mouse.

When I was a toddler my parents had a giant fish tank in the basement that was full of guppies.  One evening at a family get together my aunt sat down on a bench across from the fish tank.  She set her hand down beside her onto something cold, wet and slimy.  On the bench she discovered a dead, headless fish and upon further investigation my parents found several other headless guppies on the floor behind the tank. Apparently I'd developed a penchant for fishing and sushi, two things that I still love today. Completely unrelated two fish died in our tank this weekend****. 

Apparently this type of exploration, albeit gross is a normal part of development.  Does this mean that X will like mushrooms and other food that is grown in feces as they get older, just like I enjoy sushi?  I don't know. 

*Chris wants me to stop telling this story because it's gross and he thinks it's going to become really embarrassing for our children as they get older.  This is why I have taken off the name indicator, all anyone (who I haven't already told this story to) will ever know is that one of our children liked to eat poo when they were ten and a half months old.

**X is fine, thankfully.  L gets a gold star for being a good sport and taking care of sh$t - literally.  

***Because of these stories I was afraid that I would develop Pica during pregnancy, luckily I did not.  Definition of Pica: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pica_(disorder)

****We suspect Ick, and no I did not bite their heads off.