A Belated Merry Christmas From the Little Engineer

A little blurry but you get the point - Jack says "CHEEEESE!" on Christmas from the back of his new train, and wearing his new conductor (engineer?) hat.

Not for the Faint of Poop

There are some things about parenting that you just absolutely, positively, 100% CANNOT avoid.  No matter what.  Like, for example...poop.

I would consider myself a poopaphobe (I imagine there is a real word for that, but I am afraid to google it...there is all kinds of weird stuff out there I *do not* want to know about but imagine I would learn about if I googled "poop phobia" or something along those lines).

In our house, Charles handles all matter fecal.  The littler box needs cleaning? The poop-filled toilet overflowed onto the floor and saturated the carpet?  The cat had an "accident" in the dirty clothes?  Charles is the man.  He knows I won't even try to handle it.

But with your own kid, it's a different.  I can't just call in Charles every time Jack has a poopy diaper (and Lord knows, in the beginning almost every diaper was a poopy diaper!).  To be honest, when it's your own child, it's not nearly as traumatizing as you would expect.  I don't think there's anything that Jack could produce that would completely gross me out (not saying I WANT puke and pee and poop and boogers on me, but it is certainly not as bad as I had imagined it would be).

So this brings me to today's Poop Event.

After Jack's nap, I was changing his diaper.  I was surprised to find a nice little "shart" in his diaper.  And it had been there awhile, which means it was now the consistency of play-doh after it's been left out for a couple of hours, only sticker.  It took way more wipes than it should have to remove this small amount of poop, and the more I wiped, the more it just sort of balled up and got pushed around.  Yeah, realllllllly, reallllllllllly fun (let me just take this moment  to recognize the fact that never in a million years did I think I would be writing about this kind of thing on the Internet).  I finally had it all - except one. little. poop ball.  And wouldn't you know, the damn thing rolled onto the floor when I was trying to wipe it up, and wouldn't you know, that new carpet we bought that is textured and hides stains so well worked just perfectly and that little ball of poop disappeared into the carpet.  Ugh.

So, I started searching around for it, meanwhile holding Jack's legs in my left hand because I didn't want it to get stuck on him somewhere.  So I grabbed a wipe and started dabbing it around the carpet, hoping it would pick it up (it didn't). I finished diapering Jack and the next thing I knew, he was up and running and I was after him and I am embarrassed to admit, I forgot all about the lone piece of poop (which, by the way, was LITTLE...like, the size of a pinhead maybe...don't think I left a big log on the floor, please).

So the poop was forgotten and may have never been thought about again.  But we know that is not the case.

Not long after all this went down, we were back on the floor for another diaper change.  I finished snapping the diaper on (it was cloth) and sent Jack on his way.  I stood up and moved towards the kitchen to wash my hands.  Right before I turned the water on, I noticed something...small, brown, sticky and stinky...on the palm of my hand.

Yep.  You guessed it.  I found the poop.  

Maybe it's time for potty training...

Another Year Older and Deeper in Debt, I Owe My Soul to the Company Store! (or, a reflection of my 32nd year on this planet)

OK, I am kind of being silly with the title of this post because I actually love my job and don't feel like I really owe my soul to the company store (don't know what I'm talking about or think I am not making sense as usual??  Hehe...I'm talking about the song "Sixteen Tons" which I have been singing to myself since second grade, when someone lip-synced to it for the Talent Show).  But I turned 33 (33!!) yesterday and truth be told, I am a year older and deeper in debt than I was last year - which is why "Sixteen Tons" is haunting me right now...

A year ago we actually weren't in debt, aside from a car payment and a house payment (which, I realize, are technically debt).  And I was a year younger (imagine that - a year younger and not in debt).  But then we decided we were going to sell our house (honey I love you, but give me 5th avenue!).  Well, selling a  house isn't as simple as just listing it on the internet.  Maybe it was at one time - like spring of 2004 when we sold our California condo in one day after listing one ad in the paper - but this is Texas in 2010.  Ain't that easy anymore.  In order to sell our house, we had to fix our house.  Hence the debt part.  A lot of debt.

Without boring you with all of the details and setbacks, it is safe to say that I thought this place would *NEVER* be up for sale.  So imagine my shock as I pulled up to our house on Wednesday and saw it - like a golden beacon of light in a dark night on a country road with no streetlights (that would be *my* street) - a FOR SALE sign right next to our mailbox!!  A little early birthday surprise, you could call it.

When I think of this past year, the main themes that pop into my head are: house, baby who is no longer a baby, work, debt, weight (as in, not being able to lose any), and wanting to move (not in that particular order - I would have to say "baby" would come first if I were to list them in order of relevance).  When I read back over those themes, I think, "wow - how boring am I!?"  What happened to the old me, who would have thought of things like husband, horses, travel, books, and wine if I were asked for that same list three yers ago?  I guess I know the anwer to that - that old me became a parent (and got a few years older). 

I guess I have realized that when you have a kid - and when you get older - your priorities shift.  I am no longer the priority.  My priority now is my child.  And when I think of him, I think, "OK, we need to move so he can have friends and we can be closer to Dallas so Charles doesn't have an hour commute each way and I can eventually stay at home which means we need a cheaper house in a new location which means we must sell this house which means we must fix it which means we must spend a lot of money to make it perfect first which means we must work lots of hours and take out lots of loans and wow wouldn't it be nice to ride a horse or lose these ten pounds I can't get rid of?"  So, in a nutshell, that explains my thought process for the last 365 days or so.

Of course, there are other things - physical things - that signal I am getting older and am also a parent.  It's not all just boring and responsible thoughts!  Other fun things remind me of my age, like buying a pair of pants that said "tummy control" on the label and being secretly grateful they exist (although this did send me shooting back in time to a day that I remember very clearly - I was 15 and at a horsehow in Sacramento - and my friend Valerie and I were relentlessly picking on our mothers because we discovered they were wearing elastic-waistband shorts...now I'm like, "bring 'em on!").  My hair has lost its bounce and curl thanks to post-pregnancy hormones that are haunting me two years later, my old bras are stuffed in a drawer somewhere in the off-chance I may - someday - wear them again, my knees hurt if they are bent for too long and I take awhile to straighten up if I've been sitting on the floor for any length of time (you know, like for five minutes or longer).

I'm sure some of this is to blame on poor eating habits and no exercise.  But still - it kinda sucks! 

The good thing is, at least for the part about being boring and in debt, I think this is really just a season in my life.  I hope, when I turn 34 and reflect on this coming year, that I won't be in debt and that I may actually have been on a horse again.  I hope we have moved and Jack has some little friends (not to mention, I hope I have some friends!). 

And if not - well, the only important thing is that we are happy and healthy, and despite all of my whining, we have those two things covered.  And for that, I am very, very grateful.  I may be another year older and deeper in debt, but I owe my soul to whoever it is out there that has hooked us up with happiness and health. 

Jack - the one I would wear tummy control pants for every day if I had to!  :)



The Scorpion Ranch

We used to joke that we could name this place (our house, that is) The Scorpion Ranch.  After all, we breed them, we raise them. We slaughter them.  Of course, we don't do any of this on PURPOSE (except the slaughtering part), but it seems that we thrive as scorpion breeders.

We see, on average, probably one socorpion every week.  Many of these encounters are of the (very) close kind.  I have been stung twice now (Scorpion Sting Number Two is what has prompted this post).  My husband has been stung once.  I have found scorpions in the shower - specifically, on my arm, my shoulder, and climbing up my leg.  That's right - IN THE SHOWER.  I have found scorpions in bed (hence Scorpion Sting One and Scorpion Two for me, and Scorpion Sting One for Charles - yeah, you read that right, we were stung in bed - three times in a six year period).  We find them crawling across the floor and up and down the walls.  They are in the bathtub, in my dirty clothes pile (think it took me long to shake out my dirty clothes before doing any laundry or God forbid, wearing something that was in the laundry pile?), hiding betwen the washing machine and the dryer.  They. Are. Everywhere.  EVERYWHERE, I tell you!! 

So that brings me to Scorpion Sting Number Two.  December 14th, 2010. The night got off to a rough start with Jack waking up, screaming, around midnight.  We finally figured it was his tummy and probably a result of his dinner (not one, but two quesadillas!).  It took a good thirty minutes to get him settled back down again, and I ended up laying down with him (which I often do).  He woke up again, fussing and crying, around 5:00 AM.  Around this time I got up to pee and crawled back into bed, completely unaware of the scorpion that was at this time somewhere very near me (and my sleeping toddler).  Well - it found me!

Around 5:30 I felt something crawling down my neck towards my shoulder.  I did what any reasonable Scorpion wrangler would do.  I FLIPPED THE EFF OUT.  The second I hit it, it went for the kill and pierced my neck.  Luckily, I must have brushed at it at the same time because the stinger brushed my neck/shoulder rather than leaving me with a scorpion puncture wound.  It still hurt though.

Anyway, I jumped (JUMPED) out of bed, yelling "Scorpion!  Scorpion! Scorpioooonnnnnn!!" and pulled my shirt off at the same time.  Charles jumped out of bed as well, and Jack woke up (crying, of course...and probably scared to pieces).  I found the little bugger crawling out of the arm of my shirt (which at this point was lying on the bed). 

Because this sting was not nearly as intense as the first time I was stung, I was able to think clearly and put this to work as a learning opportunity for Jack (who had cheered up considerably when he realized I was freaking out over a scorpion - the kid loves bugs). "Jack, what do you do when you see a scorpion?" I asked.

He replied with "No touch! Dada get it."  SO proud.

And Dada get it, he did. Much to Jack's delight, that scorpion went DOWWWWWN. 

I need to back up a second though and reiterate: THERE WAS A SCORPION IN BED WITH MY SLEEPING CHILD.  Aaaagggghhhhhh!!!!! 

It is not easy to manage scorpions.  The Orkin Man, who was out not long ago, gave us scorpion traps - yes, traps - to catch them. A Scorpion trap is a sticky little box that they crawl into and get stuck on.  Of course, you have to guess about where to put them and then hope a scorpion A) stumbles across it, and B) decides to walk into it...but should those things happen, you have one less scorpion.

We happen to be out of scorpion traps at the moment, but it's safe to say we will be stocking up.  Here's hoping they have scorpion traps at Walmart!

Sooooo....I am thinking of resurrecting this blog.  It's been a year or more since I've written in it and I have started and abandoned yet another blog (which waits for me out in the blogosphere should I ever wish to return - except that I deleted all my posts).  The thing about this blog is that I like the name.  Burp Cloths and Saddle Pads.  It's cute, right?!?  So i think I shall return.