the elephant in the room

For reasons that only make sense if you are two years old, Greggory used the Elefun Game for target pee-practice while he was playing in our unfinished basement downstairs with the other children. I didn't get the memo, but apparently an Elefun Game makes quite a handy toilet in case of an emergency. (Emergencies can include laziness in not wanting to use the upstairs bathroom). I guess I can kind of see his point of view. They are both...shiny? with a hole in the middle?

I was less than pleased on the matter as I carried the dripping Elefun Game to the garbage. Greggory followed me upstairs, telling me that I needed to get that "thing, er rather, fing" out of the garbage and I reminded him that it was now broken because he had just peed on it.

He insisted that he hadn't peed on it, but in it so it would be fine.

On my wall, I have a sign with a quote by President Hinckley reading, Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured.

I wonder if he was including two-year-olds in that statement?

update on the dead meat

As for all you blogger-naggers out there, don't complain, I've been a little busy, sheesh...

Onto the post:

My loving father called me the other day wanting to know if I wanted any of the chicken that was, um, harvested. Heck yeah! I told him right away.

He said I could even have it for free. Okay, I said a little more haltingly, thinking there must be a catch.

He said I could have as much as I wanted--I just had to come down and get it. Hmm. My suspicions were increasing with every statement.

Here it was: I only had to come down and help break their necks, pull off all their feathers, and then clean their guts out. That's it. The grand stipulation.

Oh. I thought they had already done that? Well, it turns out that there were a few chickens left--as in thirty--that they hadn't quite gotten to yet. I thought about this. Could I really do this? I mean, my great-grandmothers did this practically on a daily basis for their dinner. I wasn't really a pure-bred 21st century girl was I? Maybe if I wore long latex gloves and a face mask and closed my eyes it wouldn't be so bad. Besides, it would just be a few hours of pure torture for ten organic, hormone free, preservative free, fresh chicken. For Free.

I would do it. I wouldn't kill them, but I could clean them out. (Remember, Cheapskates go above and beyond.)

Dad called me back a few hours later. I wouldn't need to come down after all. The chickens were already headed to a local butcher where he would do all the dirty work and present a store-worthy packaged chicken for the fee of $3 a chicken.

Well, great!! That's a bargain, if you ask me!!!

dead meat

I don't do a lot of posts about my father probably because I'm so busy dealing with certain minors. But that is something I will have to remedy because, you see, I have a great father. And when I say great I don't mean great as in future president great, but something even better. He's great at all the important stuff. He's also great at keeping it real.

He owns a big company, but underneath he's a farmer through and through. He's also a get-her-done kind of guy.

For example, we have a big family reunion today. We've been planning this reunion for many months and everyone in the family is very well aware about it.

I called my mother to enquire about today's events and exasperated she told me that she hasn't even starting to get ready for the reunion. The one that starts today. I asked her what she was up to and she told me that she was cleaning her kitchen. And then she was going to sanitize it.

Okay, that's not really a thing I would do in preparation for a huge family reunion but whatever floats her boat.

Then she told me that the reason that she needed to do this was because my father woke up this morning and maybe to mark the occaision of the big reunion, or maybe not (who am I to say?) went to his farm, beheaded thirty-five chickens that he had been raising for meat, brought them home and announced to my mother that he and the boys were gonna clean 'em out right there on the counter.

My mother, having been married for 30 years to this man, eventually relented knowing that she didn't really have a choice as there was the issue of the chickens dripping blood on her floor. My father, having been married for 30 years to this woman, should have known that she may not have liked doing this a) at all, and b) on the day of her family's reunion.

But, hey. At least dinner's planned.

oh boy

Boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy.....

Yes, I am referring to the little boys that live in my house whom I often refer to kindly as sons, but once in a great while they act more like little hyenas--up to no good and always giggling about it.

Today, after being exiled to the yard, (and yes, I did use that exact word as I banished them outdoors) I went to check on them. They were in the garage. Besides the fact that there were cheetos all over the garage floor, which wasn't really a huge deal because they are easy to clean up, there wasn't really anything that seemed suspicious until I tried to close the garage door and it just wouldn't budge even after pressing the button several times.

Roman then explained that as the door was going up he had used it as a sort of a ride and then somehow it just stopped working.

Great.

Well, I hope Roman enjoyed his day in exile because it just may be his last. Which poses the question, is nowhere safe for young lads of, say, four and two-almost-three? I think not.

I now know why there is a foreboding phrase of "oh boy" and not "oh girl".

missing

So I walked into the bathroom the other day and noticed that the toilet paper roll holder was missing. Immediately I went to find the Two-Year-Old.

I found him sitting on the couch, relaxing.

"Do you know where the toilet paper roll holder is, Greggory?"

Without taking his eyes off of the t.v., he shrugged and said, "I flushed it."

Matter-of-factly. No remorse there.

This fact was confirmed by a sudden wailing coming from the bathroom: Roman. Trying to flush his...business...down. It just wouldn't. Funny how a little thing like a toilet paper roll holder will cause such a ruckus.

Enters Weston.

At this point, I decided to join Greggory on the couch, very innocently, and wait.

Weston walks into the bathroom to help Roman. A slight pause followed. Then an outburst of Mormon swear words. A question, directed at me. (At least I assume it was directed at me.)

"Where's the toilet paper roll holder!!!" I guess it wasn't really as much an inquiry as it was a statement? Or a demand?

"Um, Greggory said he flushed it."

More Mormon swear words. And muttering as he walks into our room and comes out with a sort of fishing contraption made of hanger wire. You know, hangers really deserve much more credit than they receive. They are so useful for all sorts of things. But that's another post.

Greggory and I follow him into the bathroom for curious observation.

"Are you fishing, Daddy?" The Two-Year-Old asks in perfect innocence. (I truly think that children are born with the "innocence voice/look" as a defense mechanism to enhance their survival.)



"You're lucky." Was all he said.

cracked

I can't decide.

Are graham crackers the best thing since disposable diapers, or are they really a menace to the household lurking in the cupboard?

I used to think they were a sort of a solves-all. Kids hungry? Here's a graham cracker. Kids bored? Give 'em a graham cracker. Wanna build a house? Graham cracker to the rescue. Want s'more? Graham crackers, of course.

Well.

That is until I realized that they really don't fill the kidlets up. Five minutes later it's I'm still hungry! I mean, maybe if they were made out of hummus then it would be different. Come to think of it, maybe I could make my own recipe....

Also, I do considerably more sweeping when those blasted crackers are in my house. I swear everywhere I look all I see (beside children) are crumbs!! It's on the counters, on the floors and in the cupboard. And just when I get done sweeping the kitchen clean, here comes another child munching on a...graham cracker!!! It's impossible to eat those things without making a mess. Worth it? I think not.

I don't know. What do you think?

this may be slightly gross

Potty training Greggory is like giving birth.

I often hear myself saying, repeatedly, "Push, Greggory! Push, Greggory! You can do it!!...."

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

And the waiting! He'll say, Mommy! I've got to go potty!!! It's like a rocket blasts off and we rush to the toilet! But then---nothin'. So we make up potty songs and go through several false alarms and sometimes he goes. Sometimes he doesn't.

And sometimes his water will break, but it will really be pee and then I have to clean it up.

I bought him a toy tractor. That's what started this whole potty business because I figured he had to earn it, I couldn't just give it to him. And for the most part it has worked great. He's a full-time undy-wearer now.

Being the third child you would think that I have this potty-training business all figured out. Well, you would be.... wrong. All I know is that when the mother is finally ready to have the carpet cleaner as a permanent fixture in her living room, then it is time to train the child.