Too Much Crap!

I think the USA has a problem...yes, we have lots of problems, I know that..I watch my husband watch the news. (I try not to get too close to him as he may start spewing opinions all over the place and then I can't leave...) We're an average middle class American family, sometimes money is tight, sometimes we can play a little. (Mostly money is tight, thanks to Exxon/Mobil/Chevron/Texaco/insert oil company name here...but that's a whole 'nother Oprah) I try not to spend on useless crap, but somehow, we've been a victim of sick consumerism.
WE HAVE TOO MUCH CRAP IN OUR GARAGE! We have so much crap in our garage that I can't empty the crap in our closets into the garage. WAY TOO MUCH CRAP!
My kids are growing out of all kinds of things, toys, clothes, highchairs, basic baby wares, and I can't even walk in there to see what crap it is, nor can I get rid of it because, there's just way too much crap to deal with! CRAP!
SO, I'm basically blogging to procrastinate dealing with the crap. I have all kinds of family coming this week for the kids' birthdays, so that means that the crap that has been sitting in their room will be accompanied by new and improved crap in the form of birthday presents. It's all well and good. I shouldn't complain because we are very blessed and our kids truly are, too.....just way to much crap...

Friggin' Genius

So, I have this husband...smartest dude ever, sometimes. Wanna make 10 different technologies talk that were never designed to? He's your man! Can't get your satellite TV to work? No problem! He's on it! Want to design a post production house using a matchbox, 10 thimbles and a case of "AAA" batteries? He's all over it, like white on rice! Wanna have have him help your almost 2-year old wash her hands? DON'T DO IT!

We were coming in from playing outside yesterday. I asked the hubby to help the baby girl wash her hands in the bathroom. There is a short stool and a tall stool next to the sink. The tall stool is for her and the short stool is for my naturally much taller almost 5-year old son. She stands on the short stool. Captain Brainfart, thinks, "Hmmmm...this stool isn't working". I'm pretty sure that most of the free world would solve this problem by then placing her on the tall stool, right? oh, nooooo. Not my husband...what does this technically savvy, mechanical genius do? HE PUTS THE SHORT STOOL ON TOP, (Yup, you heard me!!!!) ON TOP! OF THE OTHER STOOL!!!!

uh, huh.......I see the fear in your eyes...if you know my daughter, she LOVES this idea of stacking climbing devices....To her, my extreme sports baby, it's like skydiving with a bungee cord parachute!!!!
So Captain Brainfart sees that his little cohort, Concusion Girl, is facinated with this idea and begins to stack the stools to climb them herself, and from the kitchen I hear this, "hmmm....oh, crap...."

Me (in kitchen, preparing dinner):What's wrong?

CBF: uh...I shouldn't have showed her that.

Me: ..showed her what?

CBF: How to stack the stools so she could be taller....

Me: You did WHAT?

CBF: uh...I know, that was stupid....

ME: Duh!? Now she's going to break her neck! OMG! You have a time out! Go sit on your bed!

Well, since we were kinda joking around, my son was LOVING THIS! His Dad got a time out and had to sit on the edge of his bed!!! That ROCKS! In his world, he's the only one who has to endure this kind of torture!!!!

Hubby walks to the bedroom, and my son, giddy as all heck, is walking behind him, giggling like mad! "Daddy has a time out! hee, heehoo, hoo, hah, ha, haw!"

So hubby sits on the bed, and our little boy sits next to him.

Little boy: Now you have to say sorry.

CBF: Sorry

Little Boy: ...for.....

CBF: ...for stacking the stools. I'm sorry for stacking the stools.

Little Boy: Okay, don't do that, Dad.

CBF: Okay, I won't.

Well, I think hubby learned his lesson. At least I hope he did, or he might get a big ole' spankin'!

The Devil Wears Osh Kosh

My daughter is in no way the devil...I know that...she is full of kisses and endless hugs and cuddles, but she has a diva streak in her. She's one of those kids that you've probably seen at the mall, stomping with arms crossed, bottom lip flying out, when her mother doesn't buy her what she want's RIGHT NOW! Or the kid at the grocery store lying on the floor screaming "NO!" over and over at the top of her lungs, just being an absolute poopie-head!
This baby girl has made me realize that I have no place judging other parents EVER! I try to teach my kids discipline lovingly, and they get a good spoonful of it. My son... easy to discipline, pushes the line a bit, but will quickly follow in time and get who's the boss. Disciplining my daughter is like negotiating with IRAN. You try to push, she pushes back HARDER. She demands, you refuse, she demands, you refuse, she demands, you refuse, she demands, you warn, she strikes with physical assault, you send her to time out, she cusses you out in trucker-like baby babble, you close door, she makes like North Korea and agrees to false promises to be released, and the cycle begins AGAIN! Ya see why I haven't blogged in 10 days? By the way, she's not even 2 yet....LORDY, LORDY LORD!

So, as quick as she is, she has begun to potty train herself....in some ways this can be a good thing, in some ways, it's just another way to torture my tired old mind. So this is the way it usually goes: Baby Girl pats her butt and says "Poo-poo, Mama, Poo-poo!" Off we run to the potty to begin what I like to call "The Musical Crapper Game!" I put her on the toilet with a kiddie seat in place to keep her from swimming off yonder. (She's done that several times!) She's sitting there and in my mind I hear Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass playing Tijuana Taxi.(Provided for you in the music bar on the side....maestro...) She gets on and off and on and off and on and off and pretends to "Fa' dooooowwww"!" (fall down) 10,000 times, asks me to sing about 50 preschool songs and then says she's done, then "NO! No done!", then she's says she's done, then not, then done, then not. So, I begin the "if you can't decide, I'll decide for you" power struggle and say she has until I count to 3 to get her pull-up on...."One" (she cuts in) "Teeeeeyoooo, Teeeeeeeee! Fa' dooooww!" "No, babe, WE ARE DONE!" "Mama, poo-poo!" "Pants on, girlfriend!" "NO! POOPOO!" "Then please sit and poop!" She sits still, FINALLY....pees, and then we begin the "Get your pull-up on Polka"! By now, I need to use the toilet myself, so it's a race to gets her drawers up and my drawers down! Tired yet?! Wait, there's more! WE HAVE TO WASH HANDS!!!!!! AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!