Quarantine #fail at the drive-thru vet

Scarlett and I attempted the “drive thru” option at the vet’s office, because Thor (the puppy) needed his next round of shots, and Scarlett spotted a flea on Rocky (OMG!). Sounded easy enough … you pull up, call them, and they come get your dogs.

We arrived on time, but they were “running behind.” (Just like a normal doctor’s appointment), so we sat there for the longest 25 minutes ever (the dogs both wanted to sit in my lap …and also look out the window, while also fighting, honking the horn, etc.). They FINALLY come to get the dogs, but they say they only want to take one at a time. Well, Thor loses his mind when they take Rocky … he jumps in the back seat and immediately pees all over Scarlett. She starts screaming, so I tell her to put him in the cargo area and start handing her paper napkins and Clorox wipes.

Thor does not enjoy the cargo area, so he pees there too (thank goodness I had a big blanket down from a flower purchase a few weeks ago.) He starts barking like crazy and then hits the button to fold the seat down on Scarlett. She’s screaming again, he’s barking, and I’m laughing because it’s literally like an insane asylum in my truck.

The vet tech brings Rocky back, and he immediately lays down to chill. We all get a nice 20-minute break while Thor is gone … but when they bring him back, it’s like he had two espressos and an adrenaline shot. He’s running back and forth over Scarlett in the backseat, she’s screaming at him again, so finally I’m like “put him back in solitary!”

He starts barking non-stop, but we are only a five-minute drive home, so we decide we can handle it. About two minutes later, the whole car fills up with the smell of crap. Scarlett is holding her nose, I can barely breathe … she looks in the back and says “Mom! He pooped THREE TIMES back there!”  He stops barking, and we hang our heads out the window the rest of the way home.

Rhonda and Scarlett – 0; Thor – 5.

Dog chaos
I laugh, so I don’t cry.

Potty Monkey

When you become a parent, the days of going into a bathroom alone are pretty much over. And now that Anabella is almost potty trained, she finds the bathroom to be a place where everyone is welcome.

The scene: I’m in the bathroom doing my business, but then the door quickly swings wide open …

Anabella: MOMMY! You’re going POTTY!

Me: Yes, I am. I’ll be out in a minute.

Anabella: (Completely ignoring me) Are you going peepee and poopoo, mommy?

Me: (Completely ignoring Anabella)

Anabella: You’re going peepee and poopoo in the POTTY! You get a prize, mommy!

Me: Umm, okay. Thanks.

Anabella: (very serious face) I have to see it first.

Me: I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t really need a prize.

Anabella: Are you done? Let me see! Don’t flush, mommy! (practically pushing me off the toilet)

Me: (Feeling like I’ve been transported into the movie Freaky Friday) Okay, you can flush for me. (Head to sink to wash hands and regain self respect.)

Anabella: Good job, mommy. You did it! (pauses) OOOH, STINKY! (flushes toilet)

Me: (Wondering what I did to deserve this.)

Anabella: Come on, mommy! Let’s go get your prize! (Starts to run toward kitchen, but then stops abruptly. Turns to me with another very serious look on her face.) You only get ONE prize, mommy.

And here it is. My prize for not pooping my pants.

So clearly it’s time to reconsider my potty-training tactics. While I would like to believe that Anabella was just being an excited three-year-old child, I think she was actually teaching me a lesson in bathroom dignity for all people, big and small.

But then again, I don’t lie about pooping to get stickers.

The B.S. Cafe is now serving a healthy portion of role reversal with a side of TP.

Will the POOP ever stop?

I walked into my bedroom Friday night to find this pillow on the floor. (Don’t worry, I don’t have exercise mats on the floor in my room … this was taken at the pillow’s new home … the garage.)

From the distance, I was like “Hmmm, what’s that pillow doing in here? And what is on it? That couldn’t be … no … that isn’t … SH*T!!!!”

So of course I scream for Dan, because this clearly happened on his watch.

Dan: That’s definitely Frankie. Frankie sh*t all over that thing.

Me: So you are saying you think Frankie balanced on this ball while doing his business. Or you think he moved around so he could crap on various different spots on it?

Dan: I don’t know! That’s definitely dog sh*t.

Upon further investigation, we noticed spots on the carpet where poop had previously resided. And then it became crystal clear what happened.

Me: Anabella, did Frankie poop?

Anabella: Yes, in your bedroom. I cleaned it up.

Me: (in my head) OMG, are you serious? You used a silk, Marge Carson pillow to roll up dog sh*t off the floor? WTF??

Me: (out loud) That was really nice of you to help clean up, Anabella. Next time, tell mommy or daddy and let’s use a paper towel, okay?

Anabella: (big, sweet smile) Okay, mommy.

Clearly, the poop is never going to stop. Ever since Anabella arrived, it has been a constant in my life … kind of like sunrises, Pinot Grigio and cussing.

And if you are wondering why I still have the Poop Pillow, it’s because my irrational mind is not totally convinced yet that it can’t be cleaned.

Weekend Disturbia

It was a wonderful weekend…lots of QT with the girls, a 90-minute massage, and tailgating with the hubby at the Texans game. It was perfect, except for two of the most disturbing incidents in my recent life.

Saturday morning, we wake up to Scarlett making silly sounds through the baby monitor.

Hubby: Good morning. I had a really nice dream about you last night.

Me: Really? Well I dreamed that I was having sex with Donald Trump. (I have no filter first thing in the morning.)

Hubby: WHY?

Me: I don’t know! But if it makes you feel any better, he had a really small penis.

Hubby: I could have guessed that.

Of course I spent the rest of the day trying to decipher my dream. I’m sure it goes without saying that I do not find him attractive. I hadn’t been talking about him or seen him on TV recently. So WTF?

Fast-forward to Sunday.

It was a gorgeous day…sunny, cool and slightly windy. We are out in the parking lot at Reliant Stadium tailgating before the game, and suddenly I have to go…like NOW. So I did what I never do…I used the port-o-potty.

I was taking care of my business when I felt something splash back UP onto my butt cheek. AHHHHH! NO! Not blue poo water on my butt cheek!! I had come armed with hand sanitizer and paper towels, but no amount of sanitizer on my cheek made it feel clean. In fact, I have never left more dirty. Ugh.

It was all I could think about for the next 3 hours. The hubby tried to calm me down, but all I could think about was that spot on my butt cheek and God only knows WHO’S poo water on it.

As soon as we got home, I stripped off my clothes and washed them in boiling hot water. Then I went straight to the shower where I washed that spot for about half an hour.

I can still feel the poo water on that cheek…I’ll never recover.

A moment of clarity…courtesy of PetsMart

Finally. My new job description presents itself. Thank you, PetsMart.

That’s right. I’m a “Stool Manager.” Don’t be sad for me. I run a department of 6, not including myself.
  • There’s the two cats, who produce three litter boxes of stool per week.
  • Next are the two dogs, who produce at least a Target bag full of stool once a week. And as a bonus, Winston the Bulldog works overtime, bringing me extra stool in the form of dingle berries at least once a day. (Note to bloggy friends: Do not buy a dog that has an a**hole that points up. You will be wiping his butt until the day he dies.)
  • Finally, we have the two little girls. One who produces adult-like poo and likes to spread it around, literally. And the smaller one, who kindly keeps it in her diaper, but produces a stool that is slightly less appealing to the senses…if that’s really even possible.

And to think, just 3 years ago I was just a measly self-employed communications consultant who had the world in her hand. Look at me now people!

“What the F*ck?” Wednesday

One way to keep the 2 year old somewhat in line while nursing the baby is to turn on Sesame Street or The Wiggles. It’s a not a perfect trick, but it does keep the destruction and tantrums minimal. But, it also turns my mind to mush, being that I am a “captive” audience.

So, I have been watching so much children’s programming that I have found myself having issues with Elmo or Greg or whoever. For instance, Murray was explaining how all the Wiggles and their friends helped out with the furniture when they moved into Wiggle house. But in the next episode, the Little Wiggles are living in Wiggle house with all the same furnishings. WTF Wiggles? Did you think that would slide past me?

And Elmo…well, I love him. I rarely get too crazy watching him, but he needs to stop with the third person references. It gets old when Regis Philbin does it and it’s getting old with you too, Elmo. I also don’t believe that Mr. Penguin wanted his peanut butter sandwich on pumpernickel bread. I understand that the letter of the day was “P”, but WTF Sesame Street? No one would order a peanut butter on pumpernickel with a potato and pineapple. No one.

I would think that maybe I was losing my mind a little, if my husband hadn’t recently mentioned that he is having “issues” with Winnie the Pooh. Apparently, Winnie gave Roo a honey jar to present to his mom for her birthday, but he had eaten all the honey first. And on another episode he ate everyone’s Halloween candy. So Dan thinks Winnie is a fat, lazy, inconsiderate bear who is sending the wrong messages to children. Take that, Pooh!

And speaking of….just a little update on PoopFest 2007. Whenever my daughter goes #2 now, she comes and tells us that she has “bad poo”…which is much better than having her smear it on the walls. So, if any of you parents out there experience it, cold showers are the answer. Say no to bad poo, kids!

New Tricks

Although it appears that PoopFest 2007 may have finally come to an end, nothing is ever boring with my precious Anabella. I mean, she can’t just be good, right?

So her new trick…

After putting her to bed one night last week, my mommy radar kicked in and I had that feeling that I should check the monitor to see if she was okay. When i turned on the video, I was greeted by my little girl doing what I have dubbed as “Toddler Tae Bo” in the nude. She was standing in bed, doing all kinds of kicks and jumps and toe touches. I have to admit that it was pretty friggin funny, until I pictured what would happen if she need to potty.

So I ran upstairs and was greeted by little Miss NakedPants smiling all sweetly. “HI!” she said. Then she walked over to the dresser, picked up her pajamas and diaper (which she had folded up neatly before placing them there), and brought them to me. I redressed her, kissed her goodnight, and we made it through the evening without further incident.

Until two days later when it was time for another nighttime nuddie workout.

My week in review

Unfortunately, my life is pretty boring at the moment. It’s all babies, lessons in patience, and watching TV. But to keep myself entertained, I have been keeping track of some personal stats. Here are the current tallies:

  • Times I’ve been projectile puked on: 2
  • Times I’ve been peed on while changing a diaper: 2
  • Pounds lost: 33 (I gained 50, so don’t be too impressed, especially since I still had “baby weight” from the last one!)
  • Number of cold showers for Anabella after playing with poop since the baby came home: 3
  • Number of things I have bought off infomercials: 0 (this is quite a feat)
  • Number of things I am very tempted to buy off an infomercial: 2 (The Tobi steamer looks really cool.)
  • Number of times I have been tempted to drink heavily after dealing with terrible two year old: Countless

Cease Fire

I am very happy to report that we have not experienced any more poo problems since Sunday. Of course, I’ve been on Red Alert 24/7…always watching for the poo making face and reprimanding my little monkey whenever she reaches toward the back of her diaper.

However there was an incident yesterday….she ate TWO bananas for lunch. She has always loved bananas, and usually has one with breakfast, but instead of eating her fabulous Mexican lunch of chicken, cheese, rice, tortillas, etc., she just kept saying “banana” over and over. So I gave her one, which she ate very quickly and then said “more.” So I gave her another.

I would also like to mention that she was playing with her toes a lot yesterday.

So let’s take a poll…

Labor Day (Poo) Party Weekend

The holiday took on a whole new meaning at our house this year. On Friday, my sweet little daughter found a new fun way to pass the time…playing with her own poo. I went to get her from her afternoon nap, and even though her diaper and pants were still on, little pieces of poo were everywhere.

She’s been in a toddler bed for several months now, so we have a baby gate at her bedroom door to keep her from freely roaming around at night. Apparently she wasn’t pleased with the pace at which I came to release her from captivity, so she decided to throw poo over the gate to let me know. It was like visiting the zoo and having the monkeys throw crap at you.

So after 45 minutes of “laboring” over poo cleanup, I started to get a little worried. Why does she not find this disgusting? How could I stop this from happening again? After a little online research, I found that this is a fairly common problem in toddlers (WHEW) and also found several ideas for putting a stop to the problem.

Unfortunately for the babysitter (the crazy sitter from past posts), I forgot to share all of this information and she was greeted with a similar scene when she went to get Ms. Thing from her bedroom on Sunday morning. (We were at a swanky hotel for a one-night “babymoon”.) Whoops.

Later that evening, the hubby commented that perhaps our little angel was doing this because she was immediately whisked into a bubble bath after each incident, which is her all time favorite thing at the moment.

So even though I am worried all over again (if she is this clever at 2, what is she going to be like at 16?), the idea has also helped me to get over the grody factor because now my child is a genius, not just some average poo-flinger.