Toddler Demands: What Gives?

Yesterday, like nearly every other morning, I brought Mac downstairs after he awoke.  Here’s what happened in the next 1 minute and 45 seconds:

The minute his little feet hit the floor, he raced to his Legos.  “Lego, Ego, Ego” he demanded forcefully while pulling the bin from the shelf.

I sat down on the floor and opened the tub of Legos for him.

“Fresh!” he said.

“Ok.  Let’s get that wet diaper off of you,” I say motioning towards him tugging on his pants.

“No!  Pants!  Pants!” he whined.

“Sure.  You can just wear your pants for a little while without the diaper.”

I pull up his pants and he shoves three Legos at me, “HELP!”

“Do you want the blue on top of the green?” I ask.

“CRACK!  CRACK!” he orders.

I put the Legos down and drag myself off the floor and head to the kitchen for crackers.

He follows hot on my heels “Help!  Help!” he exclaims, jamming the Legos into my thigh as I’m putting a couple of crackers in a bowl.

“Ok.  Mommy can help,” I sigh, sidestepping him, putting the bowl of crackers on his little table and clicking the Legos together quickly.

“GURT!! GRUT! GRRRRRRUUUUUUTTTTT!”  He wails while pulling on the freezer drawer (because for some sick and inexplicable reason he will only eat yogurt while standing in front of the open freezer).

I feel my eye start to twitch.

When I was working outside of the home, I used to dread getting to work early.  I’m not a morning person and EVERY TIME I’d walk in the front door early, there were two obnoxious Financial Advisors lying in wait.  They wouldn’t even say “Good Morning” before they started ranting and raving and whining about whatever their seemingly urgent issue was that day.  It was positively infuriating.

And NOW?  Now, my nearly two-year old is making them look like complete amateurs.

Is this normal?  Where did he learn to fire of 25 demands in 20 seconds?  I do not speak this way to other people.  (Well, not out loud at least).  Where did he learn this?!

I did a little reading.  Apparently, this sort of behavior is completely normal.  This is what kids his age do.

Oh well, at least he’s on track developmentally. . .Would someone please pass the prescription drugs and booze to Mommy?  NOW!!!!!

Can You Afford to Be a Stay At Home Mom or Dad?

Let’s say you are seriously considering becoming a Stay at Home Mom (or Dad) after the birth of your first child.  Certainly, doing what’s best for your child is your top priority.  However, like nearly every other parent faced with this decision, your mind quickly shifts to finances.

Can we afford it?

It’s a question you will fearfully ponder for months.  Perhaps you’ll make spreadsheets.  Perhaps you and your partner will decide what little luxuries or conveniences you are willing to sacrifice in order for one of you to stay home.

Maybe the numbers are so, so close but you aren’t quite there yet. . .Maybe you’re not even sure where to begin?

Good news, I’m here to help!

Here are a few of the MONEY SAVING STRATEGIES I’ve learned since becoming a SAHM:

1.  TOILETRIES:  You can save a mint on these pricey items!  Once you become a parent,  you will seldom have a free minute to shower and brush your teeth, let alone use deodorant, a razor, deep conditioning treatments, or even beauty balm.  You can count on using only about 1/8 of any personal hygiene products you used as a well-groomed, fully functional member of society once baby arrives – maybe even less if you have multiples.

EXCEPT toilet paper.  You’re going to be trapped at home all day swilling coffee and booze.  Expect the toilet paper budget to increase.  Of course, it won’t increase much as most times you’ll barely have time to take care of business let alone fully address the “follow up.”

2.  CLOTHING:  You can claim this will “never happen to me” but trust me, it will.  THE NEXT TIME YOU ACTUALLY NEED WELL-MADE, WELL-TAILORED CLOTHING WILL BE THE KID’S COLLEGE GRADUATION OR YOUR OWN FUNERAL  – whichever occurs first.

Until said time, you will rotate the same four pairs of yoga/sweat pants and six tee-shirts for EVERYTHING, EVERYDAY.  You will exercise in them.  You will spend the day in them.  At night you will put on a fresh set and sleep in them.

You will no longer have any need for dry-cleaners, tailors, or even accessories. (Um can someone please remind me where I put my wedding band three weeks ago?)

Sure, one day you new mommies might slip into a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans and a nice silk blouse in an attempt to pull yourself out of the emotionally draining, life-sucking vortex that is motherhood.  The kid WILL puke and you will NEVER make that mistake again.

Trust me, SAHM or SAHD, your clothing budget is going to be just a fraction of what it was.

Your Pre-Parenting Wardrobe. . .

Your Pre-Parenting Wardrobe. . .

Clothes You Actually Wear. . .

Clothes You Actually Wear. . .

3.  HOUSEHOLD MAINTENANCE AND DECOR:  Oh I know some of you blissfully pregnant couples are still operating under the false premise that your sofa will remain pristine; that you can child-proof around your favorite toss pillows, stereo components,  and knickknacks.

Listen to me: YOU ARE SCREWED!!

Your house WILL be TRASHED.  It doesn’t matter if you have one baby or triplets; if you have a boy or a girl.  Your house will look like shit by the time your little bundle of joy celebrates their first birthday:  baby gates, toys, yogurt splatters, vomit, poop on the baseboard moulding, fingerprints EVERYWHERE!

It’s amazing how quickly it comes to this.  It’s even more astounding to acknowledge you no longer give a flying flip about any of it.

You will no longer have the time or energy to trawl your favorite stores for charming household decor or fabulous surround sound system upgrades.   Resign yourself to the fact that you will likely just wait for the kid to turn 18, burn whatever is left, and start over.

*Bonus Tip:  You might want to start a separate savings account for this specific purpose.

We've trashed our 113-year old hardwood floors!

We’ve trashed our 113-year old hardwood floors. . .Sigh.

4.  SOCIAL – Pre-baby, did you have routine happy hours with friends or colleagues from work?  Did you have brunch and get a mani with a girlfriend every Sunday morning?  Did you play golf twice a week?  Did you enjoy movies or concerts with your partner?  Fancy dinners at the “hottest” restaurants?

DONE.  YOU’RE SO DONE!

Slash that healthy, happy, relaxing “me-time” shit from your budget.  It ain’t happenin.’

5.  ENTERTAINMENT & HOBBIES – Do you enjoy TV, using the phone, reading books or magazines?  Maybe you love watching movies in bed?  Embroidery?  Stamp Collecting?  Painting?  Baking?  Falconry?  (really, falconry?!  How are you still reading this post?)

Ummm. . .I’m sorry to break it to you but. . .

You might as well, just cut the budget for your personal entertainment and hobbies to damned near ZERO!

You’re not going to have ANY time to use the phone, watch TV, read magazines or books.  DO NOT KID YOURSELF.  Kiss your leisure time long and hard.  You won’t meet again until you are quite possibly too old to enjoy it.

Cancel your landline.  Cancel the premium cable package.  Cut your magazine subscriptions by three-quarters.

* Bonus Tip:  While you’re at it, convince yourself that your new exciting and rewarding hobbies include folding laundry, assembling bottles and sippy cups fresh from the dishwasher, and scraping dried banana off the floor with your unmanicured fingernails.

6. PERSONAL – Sex, sex, (NO MORE SEX IS LESS SEXPENSIVE!)  If prior to conceiving you were using birth control, don’t worry about spending money on it after the baby arrives.  THE BABY IS THE BIRTH CONTROL!  The crying, the feeding, the sleepless nights.  Heaven really help you if you choose to co-sleep!

Once the baby is older?  Their behavior should also serve as sufficient birth control.  No one feels amorous after the kid flushes 67 Legos down the toilet or demands 6 drinks of water during a 1 hour nap.

* Bonus Tip:  Be sure to also remove from your non-fixed expenditures anything related to intimacy. . .lingerie, flowers, chocolates, champagne, oysters. . .or um. . .whatever else floats your boat.

7.  FOOD & DINING –  Forget it.  For months you don’t want to take the newborn into a crummy restaurant where s/he could come in contact with the filthy public.  Shortly thereafter, you don’t want to subject the filthy public or crummy restaurant staff to your raging toddler.

But what about cooking fresh organic meals at home?  We want to serve our baby only the best quality food and that can be expensive, says you.

Trust me, after your kid goes on hunger strike and refuses to eat anything that IS NOT orange or heavily salted for 3 weeks straight, you won’t give a damn.  You’ll feed your kid ANYTHING.  ANYTHING s/he will swallow. . .Even if it’s canned soup and generic potato chips. . .

8.  TRAVEL –  BAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!  It’s hard enough to get across town.  I DARE you to book a week-long vacation.  Good luck, sucka!  I hear Disney has great deals.  BLERGH.  Traveling with children sucks.  It’s a waste of money.  Trust me, stay home and be miserable.  It’s way more cost-effective.

9.  KID – If you’ve followed me this far, I can tell you’re committed.  So listen carefully:  KIDS DO NOT NEED A BUNCH OF STUPID TOYS!!  If you’re worried you cannot adequately provide stimulation and amusement for your child on your budget, rest assured you can.

Still not convinced?  Give a toddler a brand new toy in a box.  See what gets more action:  The Toy or The Box.

Cut out the middle man and toss the kid a new box every couple of days.  It’s environmentally friendly too.

When the box trick gets old, start making up games:  match the socks, pick up crumbs off the floor (count them), scrub the toilet while wearing something stupid on your head.

Kid’s are easily influenced by your enthusiasm and delusion.  Trust me.  I have experience.

All this fun stuff and he'd still rather beat together two muffin tins!

All this fun stuff and he’d still rather beat together two muffin tins!

10.  EXTRAS – Are you worried about “extras”?  Will you have the budget to get friends and family gifts and cards for special occasions?  Chances are you won’t always.  Equally certain?  You won’t remember the special occasions anyway due to the mental eraser that is parenting.

Who has time to worry about swapping $5.25 cards and $20 gift cards anyway?  Enact a “no gift policy” immediately.  (You’ll be happier, and so will everyone else.  Trust me.)

What about all the extras for the child?  You wonder.  What about birthday parties and extra curricular activities, etc.?    True.  These sorts of items can add up.  They not only cost money, they also cost parents a lot of time.

That is why your supreme parenting goal should be to raise a DORK.  Yes.  A dork.  A kid that far enjoys hanging out in his or her room alone reading.  Books are free to borrow from the library.  You avoid stupid soccer practices and birthday parties and the associated costs.  Plus, everyone knows dorks grow up to be the most successful folks on the planet.

Adorable Dork in Training.

Adorable Dork in Training.

There you have it. . .10 extremely useful cost cutting strategies for a Stay at Home Parent’s budget.  I hope you found it helpful!  Now, go edit your spreadsheets!  Maybe you’ll even find a few extra pennies for some cheap booze or a lottery ticket!

 

Friday Funny: Look, Do U Want It To Poop Or Not?! The SEQUEL

Ohmahdearlawd!!  My Sister’s Kids are a comedic goldmine!  And she should do stand up comedy.  Here’s my completely unoriginal, kinda’ crass (and graphic), (hopefully) funny for your FRIDAY.  Thank you Sister!:

1.  Here are the deets regarding the title of this post.  Gavmomof2 commented “I have visions of my 70s baby alive doll mixed with the stare of chuckie!  LOL!”

I’ll let you decide if her visual was accurate:

Baby Alive

The text from my sister that accompanied the photo?  “This is that creepy ass baby alive doll. . .that I had to clean out. . .She is even pointing at me like. . .You BITCH!!!!”

A few days later I find this little gem waiting for me with my text messages:  (It’s GRAPHIC).

baby alive 2

“And AGAIN I find her baby doll’s ass not cleaned!!!!!!  She is NOT a good mother to her Baby Alive.  At least I found it before it all dried up in there again!  Hahahaha!”

(Sister should definitely run over this thing with her car.  It’s disgusting.)

And finally, when I asked Sister if I could use this for my blog she said I should check with her daily:

“I always have fresh material.  There is never a dull moment!  My personal favorite was Son not showering for months and me cracking the case wide open with my detective skills!”

Me:  What?  Really?  MONTHS?  How did he not have fungus or yeast or worse growing on him?

Sister:  Oh yeah, he’s foul.  I told him a fungus would consume his one nut and his father and I would ruin the other one if he didn’t effing shower regularly!  Hahahahaha!

Are you speechless at this point too?

All I can get out between the crying-laughing mixed with terror at the prospect of having my Kid get older is:  Hope you have a great weekend! XO

How We Apply Our “No Cry Policy” To A Toddler

Over the weekend we went to my in-laws for brunch.  Mac did a relatively good job behaving himself but there were a few moments when we were dangerously on the verge of a full-blown tantrum.

It’s his age, of course.  

One of his more impressive fits occurred when his Uncle Mike was attempting to assist him with a shirt and jacket so they could go outside.  Mac was not feelin’ it.  At. All.  There was screaming and squirming and tears.

Of course, I attempted to explain to Mac that he had to put on his shirt and coat before he could go outside – just like we do EVERY TIME we go outside – but my logic seemed lost on him at that moment.  I’m not certain if part of it was the fact that Uncle Mike was helping him or if he was hungry and overwhelmed by having so many people around?  Who knows?  The bottom line was there were a few intense moments until  we could get him outside.

Later, my Mother In Law said she thought it was good that I allowed Mac to cry at that moment.  I’m glad she thought my reaction was appropriate but it kinda’ made me wonder what she anticipated my response was going to be exactly?

Did they actually think our policy of never allowing our child to cry himself to sleep would carry over into trying to continually assuage the demands of a headstrong, fickle 21 month-old?

I made a comment about choosing your battles.  But that was a wholly over-simplified explanation of how we parent.

Long before Mac was born, we agreed that we would never allow our child to cry himself to sleep.  We also agreed that when our child was an infant, we would never allow him to just “cry.”  His needs would be addressed immediately.   We did this in an effort to build trust, a sense of security, and confidence.

While we have no judgements about folks that use another “sleep training” method that involves “crying it out” to any degree, we agreed using a nurture to sleep method worked best for us.

However, that doesn’t mean that we NEVER let our nearly two-year old cry.  Yes, he still never cries himself to sleep.  The longest I’ll allow him in the crib upset is 2 to 3 minutes.  Because I know if he’s not settled in that time, something needs addressed:  hunger, discomfort, etc. (And when he was younger, he was removed from the crib immediately upon crying).

However, as he becomes older, we understand he needs to express his daily frustrations.  Currently, our tactic involves explaining the situation, suggesting words he could use to express himself more effectively, and waiting with him until he feels better (holding him if he’ll allow it).

Certainly, we do pick our battles.  Some things just aren’t negotiable – like having the doctor check your ears, or being properly dressed before going outside in the cold.  If that causes a situation where the little guy gets upset, we offer understanding and comfort, but we remain firm.

There are other times when we do our best to distract, remove him from the situation, offer an alternative activity, etc. in addition to attempting to comfort him the best we can.

And finally, sometimes, I do just give in.  If the kid wants help himself to 10 plastic kitchen utensils instead of 2, what do I care?  If he would rather play with blocks than rush out for a walk, no problem.  If he pushes me away when I ask for a kiss, I’m not going to force him to kiss me.  Ultimately, he will be making his own decisions and allowing him to build confidence in his choices in a safe environment, is something we believe is important.

There are a lot more tears these days.  It’s exhausting for sure.  Yet, in the end, all we can hope is our methods will help our son be quietly confident, able to effectively express his emotions, and make good choices.

Are there other ways to accomplish these goals?  Of course.  Our parenting methods won’t work for every child or every situation.  So far, they are working for us. . .maybe not so great for poor Uncle Mike the other morning. . .but it was kinda’ nice not to have to button up the Kid’s stupid shirt myself. . .

Kid's about to lose it right into poor Great Grandma Jean's hearing aid.  She's 96 year's old can you believe it?!  She's awesome.

Kid’s about to lose it right into poor Great Grandma Jean’s hearing aid.   She’s awesome.

Dear Congress, For the Sake of My Marriage, Get Your S%$^&*! Together!

My Husband works for the Government.

I think?  

I’m pretty sure?

Whatever.  He goes somewhere for 9 hours a day and typically comes home every evening too tired to argue with me or paw all over me.

IT’S HEAVEN!!

I can’t imagine our marriage could even get any better!

Marriage is very delicate you know.  Once you have a good thing going, you don’t mess with it.

I’ll admit, I don’t pay much attention to the news since Mac was born.  It just seems like a bunch of alarmist garbage that I could do without. . .

So I wasn’t really prepared when Husband came home about a week ago and casually mentioned there was a decent chance he would be furloughed one day a week if the Government couldn’t figure things out.

Huh?

Sure, some logical or practical folks might panic at this sort of news for financial reasons.

I’m not those folks.

My immediate reaction was:  What?  Wait.  What?  You’re going to be home one extra day EVERY week?!  FOR MONTHS?!

THIS IS HUGE!

THIS IS A HUGE PROBLEM!

Currently, Husband and I have very neat, tidy, clearly defined roles.  My “workplace” is this house and it’s full of cool secret shit I don’t disclose. . .like where I put a Gallon of milk, my kid’s socks, or Babe The Woodland Squirrel.  His “workplace” is a place I imagine which is also full of cool secret shit he can’t (or won’t) talk about.

I do not enter his workplace.  He only enters my workplace on weekends. . .when ahem presumably we are both taking a break from our “work.”

This arrangement has performed beautifully for us since mid-May of 2011 when I went on maternity leave.

Now it’s in jeopardy!

If Congress can’t get their shit together, I’m errr We’re screwed.

My Husband is kind and funny. . .thoughtful. . .compassionate. . .all that I could want. . .

BUT. . .

He uses at least six drinking glasses per day.

He burns through 3 pair of socks per day minimum.

He passes a LOT of gas.

He gets the Kid worked up into such a lather I can barely deal.

He loads the dishwasher weird.

He talks so EFFING loud and so much in the morning, not even his awesome dippy eggs on wheat toast served to me in bed can make it right. . .

He asks questions that make me feel all stabby. . .Like “Where is the Milk?” when he’s standing in front of the open refrigerator with one hand on the milk.

And worst of all?!  Our toilet paper subscription with Amazon.com is going to need serious adjusting.

Congress, please, please, please get your $%^&R*^$^%$#  together.  Please?

Where Do You Think Mac Learned This Magical Hand in the Pants Move?!

Where Do You Think Mac Learned This Magical Hand in the Pants Move?!

I Skipped Church and My Breasts Look Fabulous!

It’s often all too convenient for a slovenly stay at home mother like myself to ignore her foundation garments.

Don’t worry.  This isn’t a post discussing my quest for fancy knickers.

Or perhaps I owe you an apology?

Because this is about my quest is contain my ample sweater meat.  And I skipped church in my quest to do so.

New  Blog Entry:  We skipped Church but both Daddy and Mommy have been saying AMEN a LOT today.

New Blog Entry: We skipped Church but both Daddy and Mommy have been saying AMEN a LOT today.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I have an ample bosom.  Long before Mac was born, my D cup threatened to runneth over.  So I added a few letters to my bra size and upgraded to a minimizer function and tried to forget about the old fun bags.

I avoided button front shirts. . .or added a cute cashmere T-shirt over them to hide any gaping.  I spent a considerable amount of time trying to gage if my breasts appeared symmetrical and appropriately shaped (not too pointy, not to round, not too low, not to high and cleavage-ey) in my public attire.

Then I got knocked up.

And I braced myself.

But none of my ginormous breast-inflation nightmares ever unfolded.  I wore the same couple saggy bras through my entire pregnancy.

And after I was certain breast-feeding wasn’t going to pan out, I purchased a few utilitarian bras, in the size I guessed I was.

They worked out pretty well.  But after 16 months, I had to admit, I had literally stretched these faithful friends to the max.  For a few weeks, I occasionally just wedged my breasts into my pant’s pockets if I was running a quick errand, hoping no one would notice.

Then I got the bright idea that if I just yanked hard enough on the straps, these faithful bras could still serve their purpose.  So I cut and sewed the adjustable parts of the shoulder straps so they wouldn’t slip, slide or budge.

This enabled me to press my every faithful foundation garments into service for a considerably longer time.  It also enabled them to painfully dig themselves into my shoulders.

Lately, though, I was forced to admit, these bras were trash.  They were literally starting to rub me raw over the shoulder, under the arm, along my undoubtedly smokin’ hot and sexy back fat.

I could feel half my breast slip out of the underwire if I raised my arm.  I was continually “adjusting.”

I HAD TO GET NEW BRAS!  After 21 months, I was LONG overdue.

I had read heady claims regarding the magic of having a bra that actually fit.  I read stories in magazines about how a bra should fit.  I knew the terms.  I knew the requisites.  I knew I had to get a bra fitting.

Feeling my boobs slide out of the underside of my chaffing bra was doing nothing for my mental state.

Bra fitting STAT.

So Sunday afternoon after a nice brunch with Chris’ family, after Mac fell asleep in the car, Chris dumped me off in front of the Macy’s.

Chris:  You going to get a little something special?

Me:  Um no.  Budget remember?

Chris:  Will you at least text me photos of the ones you are trying on?

Me:  Certainly not.  But there will probably be some female sales associate helping me put on a bra.

Chris:  Really?  Can you at least text me if she’s hot?

Me:  Slams car door.

The mall was PACKED.  Macy’s was a complete cluster.

I trolled around the intimate apparel department for a bit.  I could only find one sales associate and they seemed to be wholly occupied trying to find a gloriously small breasted woman a “barely there” type bra that had to be made by Calvin Klein, and “couldn’t be too lacy, or too smooth, something in between.”  This woman also had with her a girl who appeared to be about 3 years old and BORED. . .It wasn’t pretty.

At that moment I made the decision to flee to the comforting arms of my old mistress:  Sadly, not church but Nordstrom.

I walked into their Lingerie department to find it pleasantly uncluttered.  They didn’t have a huge selection of the kind of bras I thought I wanted on display but I knew before I could drop serious coin on a bra, I had to be measured. . .and keep an open mind. . .

I approached the lady at the cash register.

“Um. . .I need to purchase some bras but I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know my size since I had a baby.  Do you do bra fittings?  Could I get one quickly?”

She was like 23.  Enviable eyebrows.  Lovely manicure.  Modest engagement ring.  Stylish black gauzy scarf printed with X’s and O’s.

“Of course!”  She said enthusiastically.  “Let me get my key.”

There’s a secret key for bra fittings?  I started to sweat.  Jesus.  The pressure.

She left another woman who was ready to purchase a bathrobe waiting while I followed a few steps behind her on her quest for the key.  The holy grail of perky boobs!  My stomach was in knots.

Imagine my surprise when she grabbed a key, opened a fitting room door, and stepped in with me.

“What size do you think you are?” She queries.

“Exactly 1.5 of those little personal watermelons on one side, maybe 1.75 on the other” I tell her.

She doesn’t even crack a smile.  Probably because I reek of sweat, spoiled milk, brunch time lox, and desperation.

She wrangles a tape measure around my rib cage and says I likely had the band size correct all along.

She returns with an arm-full of brassieres with letters closer to my middle initial (L) than my first initial (D).

I had never actually been fitted in this fashion before so I ditched my old bra, closed my eyes, baring my saggy sorry excuse for breasts, had her hand me the garment to try on, leaned over like read you should do, and wiggled the gals into the cups.  Then I stood up and turned around with my back towards her so she could hook me up and adjust things.

I wished I was sweating less.  

I refused to look at my pasty white stomach paunch.  NOTE:  Splurge on GOOD muffin top obliterating JEANS next.

Sweet, sweet, ah-mazing gal must have helped me try on 13 different bras.  At least 13 times she had to see my sorry excuse for breasts.

Bless her, she didn’t laugh once.

She didn’t laugh when I insisted I jump up and down to test the “jiggle factor.”  She also didn’t laugh when I asked her to “Please just do whatever it takes to make everything look like it is where it’s supposed to be.”

And she even kept a straight face when I asked to try on a sports bra.

It took about 40 minutes and nearly $150 but I walked out of there with my head and breasts held high.

At least until Chris asked, “What did the sales associate look like?”

“Look, Do U Want It To Poop Or Not?”

Long time readers of this blog know I have two sisters and two brothers.  One sister just had her first baby about 5 weeks ago.  The other sister has a son age 12 and a daughter age 6.  They are amazing children.  Still, she has her hands plenty full.

Friday night about 11:30, I was in the depths of our basement sorting through a bunch of stuff I stashed down there when I was too pregnant to think straight.  The time had come for me to get a handle on that situation and get the basement back in good functional order before we decided to go crazy birding during spring migration. (Or have more children.  Did I say that out loud?  Fudge.   I’m not pregnant.)

A good cleaning or organizing always seems more fun with a little cocktail and I figured while I was at it, perhaps the sister with the two children might also be awake enjoying her Friday evening.  So I sent her a text mentioning I was losing my mind sorting through the basement.

I hadn’t heard from her in a bit and I was hoping for a phone call.  I had to wait until the next morning for the response. . .but it was so, so worth it!

What follows is the hilarious text exchange. . .(My sister is so, so, so funny.  She kills me!)

I’m using this material with her permission of course.  And because this is nearly the entire text dialogue verbatim,  just to be clear, my sister is discussing a doll that eats and poops. 

Me (at 11:06PM):  You awake?  I think I’m losing my mind.

Sister (at 7:31AM – next day):  Hey I just got up and saw ur text.  I went to bed at 9:30 last night – both kids have colds.

Me:  All is well.  I was joking about losing my mind.   Just hadn’t heard from you lately.  Love u. Xo.

Sister:  Oh okay.  Well u know. . .my life is so interesting. . .I spent hours unclogging a baby doll’s ass that eats and shits.  Daughter let the crap dry in her baby’s butt for weeks and I had to use a screwdriver and Q-tips to unclog her bung hole. . .Ugh.  It never stops!  LOL.”

Sister:  Daughter was all like why do u have a screwdriver up my baby’s butt. . .I WAS LIKE, LOOK DO U WANT IT TO POOP OR NOT?

Me:  I’m crying, I’m laughing so hard.

Sister:  Worst part was she had fed it peas and the Q-tips were coming out of her ass neon green. . .I thought the shit we do as parents. LOL.  I honestly felt like I was molesting this poor doll just to get the crystalized peas out of her ass.  At one point Husband says to me, why is there a doll face down ass up with a screwdriver in its ass on my workbench in the garage?  I looked at him all hot and sweaty from working this doll over and said. . .don’t effing worry about it, go play your video game. . .I have this all under control.  Husband said ya, sure looks like it!  LOL

Sister:  Keep in mind it took me hours to remove the impaction and Daughter played with the doll all of 10 minutes tops after I fixed it. . .Now I swear that creepy-ass baby glares at me every time I walk into Daughter’s room. . .

Me:  Oh my gawd!  I’m dying!    I’ll bet that doll IS giving you creepy looks.  Dolls are freaky to begin with.  I can’t imagine what happens after u give them a colonoscopy with a screw driver!