"Raising a kid is part joy and part guerrilla warfare."
~Ed Asner

Friday, August 06, 2010

Takes me back...


Takes me back to those hot, humid days sitting in a classroom with all the windows open because the air conditioners in our high school didn't work.  It was hard to ignore the pungent smell of country permeating the room.  As you walked through the school you could smell the manure wafting through the hallways.  Sometimes there would be half a dozen kids or so passed out from the smell. (Just kidding, I'm sure it wasn't from the manure.)  I had four years of that.  And people wonder why I spent most of my high school years, well at least the last two, out of school.  School was very important to me and I suffered through that part of the year but eventually got used to the smell.  I also worked in daycare and let me tell you; being in a room full of babies will make or break your sense of smell quickly.  People would walk into the infant room and start gagging and and say, "What's that smell?"  We, the teachers, would turn and say, "What smell?"  The point is, I got used to it and when Noah needs his diaper changed, I don't send out for the hazmat team like Kris does.  (I'm the hazmat team, by the way.)  Another thing, babies and children who drink soy milk have the most foul smelling diapers.  It's true.

Since the moment our sweet birthday boy woke up yesterday morning he has been in a mood.  He's irritable, emotional, mad and upset with no provocation; flinging himself about lamenting and moaning about his struggles; nothing makes him happy.  What's worse than a woman having PMS?  A toddler named beast who has all the symptoms of PMS.  This morning we took Izzie and the beast to Northville for the BuyNowMichigan Festival.  It wasn't too big and just enough people for Izzie to not get overwhelmed.  She had a great time.  She listened to a girl sing and play the keyboard.  She enjoyed the fresh, squeezed lemonade.  There were a couple moments of terror when she encountered Paws, the Tigers Mascot, twice.  And Daddy didn't help things at all.  To him, it was a giant, stuffed Tiger.  To Izzie, it was a giant Tiger walking towards her with his paws out.  Izzie had a little ice cream and even had her blood pressured checked at the health fair.  Noah. Noah. Noah.  He cried and cranked and growled the whole time.  He had his legs propped over the bar of the stroller and looked like a monkey.  He got mad when I gave him lemonade and starting protesting for milk.  He took his sandals off and cried for me to put them back on.  I did.  He took them back off so I took them.  He got mad and cried.  This mood continued as the day went on.  This afternoon Noah decided to really let me know how he felt by having a blowout in his room.  I was laying on the couch with Izzie for a few minutes.  Noah started climbing all over me.  Suddenly, Izzie says,"Momma, Noah has poop on his leg,"  Indeed he did.  He had poop on his legs, up his back, in his fingernails, and of course coming out of his diaper everywhere.  I cleaned him, trimmed his fingernails and sanitized his whole body.  Then I went into his room.  The rocking chair, Izzie's bed, the floor...All covered with my son's feces.  After sanitizing the nursery I went into the living room.  The couch, the floor, the rug, and a few toys...covered with the most unpleasant part of my son.  I sanitized everything I could see.  It still smells, but it doesn't really bother me.  Izzie, on the other hand, is dying from Noah's poopy smell, according to her.  I don't know where she gets her dramatic flair from.

Noah is still crabby.  Izzie is still dying.

The End...of this day...Thank God.

Oh, but hey, I just discovered that I don't have whole milk, which I need for the cupcakes I'm making for Noah's birthday soooo.....I'm piling the babies in the truck and heading to the store.

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