My Baby Beat Me Up

I've suffered a lot of parenting injuries. Bite marks. Bruises from being kicked. Untold mental anguish. Tory found a new way to hurt me today when he almost blew out my knee.

I was in our bedroom putting away laundry this morning. None of our children are supposed to be in our bedroom. It's the only room in the house where I can leave small, fragile objects in convenient locations in all of their non-childproofed glory.

As I left the room, Tory snuck around the corner and, sensing small fragile objects within his reach, ran into our room. I didn't know he was coming, and stepped into the doorway in time to meet him. Tory's forehead collided with my knee at full toddler speed. You'd think the result would be a kneecap to his head, giving him the worst of the impact. Somehow, though, his forehead struck right behind my kneecap, and apparently hit a ligament at exactly the wrong moment.

I collapsed onto our bed, rolling around until I was sure my knee could support weight. Tory staggered backward for a minute stunned from the impact, but quickly regained his senses and continued on his beeline for my stuff. I regained my senses in time to shoo him out of the room, with me limping behind.

I'm not sure what he did to me; I'm guessing it's a slight knee ligament strain. In sports terms, I'm probable for tomorrow. In realistic terms, I'm definite for tomorrow; nobody else will be around to keep the kids out of my stuff.

???

Do you know what toddlers are like? How they can pelt you with a question? And another? And another? And another? Until you're sick of questions? So sick of questions that you swear to never pay attention to them again?

I don't know what that's like. I suppose that's an advantage to having a four-year-old with delayed social skills. Abbie rarely asks questions, which I suppose has it's advantages. I'd like to hear her ask a few more questions though, such as "May I have Goldfish," instead of her current tactic which involves climbing into the cabinets, grabbing them herself, and acting outraged if I try to stop her.

Abbie's speech therapist also wants her to ask more questions. That's our job for this week, to encourage her to ask questions, and track the questions she asks.

Abbie is more into declarative statements than questions. Instead of asking for juice, she'll tell me she wants juice. Instead of asking why she can't have juice, she'll tell me she wants juice again. And again. And again. And again. And eventually instead of asking me why I'm crying, she'll tell me she wants juice.

Abbie's most common question is, "Where's (insert missing loved one's name here)?" She often utters this question when a brother shuts himself in the bedroom with a fun toy. I often hear this question right after mommy leaves for work. Usually this question is a precursor to a tantrum as she can't immediately see the person she wants, so it's a warning to take cover before she blows.

Abbie has an entire routine saved for when she sees someone or something hiding. If she sees a duck hiding behind a bush in a book, she'll ask "Who's that hiding behind that bush? Is that just a bush?" It's cute, but it's stolen straight from Dora in one of those scripted speeches she enjoys. When Dora sees Swiper hiding in a costume, such as a bush costume, she'll launch into the same routine. While I appreciate Abbie emulating a positive role model, we're still trying to encourage spontaneous speech.

That's all the questions I remember hearing from her. I'm reinforcing more. When she tells me she wants something, I make her ask for it. With luck, she'll soon be repeating "May I have juice, please?" ad nauseum.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Mommy had a rare day off work today. Naturally we spent the day working to replenish our Vital Supplies. We hit three stores and a restaurant for lunch while out of the house for four hours today. We bought the kids new toys, snacks, and a meal at a clown-themed fast food restaurant with a playground. Out of all these moments, one is burned firmly in the boys' heads as their favorite of the day.

As I left the club store during excursion hour #3, I left mommy at the checkout lane to pay for our merchandise. We bought milk, diapers, and so many pens the kids won't be able to lose all of them until at least next week. I had the three children with me, ready to load them into the car while mommy ran through the checkout lane in peace. The boys rode in a cart while Abbie walked beside me.

When I arrived at the car, I opened every door first. It was a hot day, made hotter by the asphalt parking lot radiating heat. Abbie boarded the car as soon as I opened her door. I walked to the rear of the car to pull the boys from the cart that still held them, and noticed they were enchanted by something at the front of the store.

I looked, and saw a large digger working away at the front of the store. It was tearing apart the asphalt in a roped off area, and lifting giant chunks of roadway into a dump truck. In other words, it was doing the coolest thing in the world. The boys simply stood in the cart, watching this awesome machine move asphalt chunks that were way bigger than they were.

Abbie was happy bouncing between seats in the car. Mommy was a no show as her checkout line was apparently moving slower than I'd hoped. The boys were happy staring open-mouthed at the digger. So I stood outside the car, making sure no one made a break for it.

When mommy finally emerged alive from the store several minutes later, the boys were still in place. We loaded everything and everyone in the car, and drove to the grocery store. The grocery store shopping could've gone much worse considering how long we'd been on the road. I thank that digger for part of it for giving the boys something to think about other than all the delicious snacks we weren't buying them in the grocery store.

The Car Show

Abbie wanted to watch television after supper tonight. She wants to watch television after supper most nights, as well as after lunch, before lunch, and just about any time she can get away with it. She usually wants to watch Dora, but that wasn't what she wanted tonight. She demanded a DVD, possibly something Looney Toon related. Mommy, having just completed the last in a series of difficult shifts, turned on the television, turned on the DVD player, and collapsed on the couch, ready to force Abbie to watch whatever (hopefully) kid-friendly DVD was in there.

The DVD that popped up was "Cars," the Disney/Pixar cartoon from a couple years ago. It's a mystery why this DVD was ready to go because it's never been a hit with our family. The kids generally can't sit still long enough to watch anything longer than a double-length episode of Dora, so we don't watch many movies in the first place. "Cars" has been exceptionally bad for our family, though, due largely to its lack of cute songs and memorable plot.

Mommy was tired, though, and I was still cleaning supper, so we let it play. To our surprise, the kids loved it. It's filled with cars, which appeals to the boys as well as the tomboy in Abbie. The action is fast and the colors are bright, which kept the kids' interest. Abbie had a lot of fun describing the action, even if she didn't fully understand why it was happening. Their favorite part was the tractor tipping scene, which makes me worry a little about the mean / low class streak running through them.

It wasn't perfect. The movie lost their interest in the second half as the hero learned important lessons about respecting the past, the importance of friends, and other things they don't care about. It was still good to see everyone slow down for an impromptu movie night while it lasted.

A Bead Day

Abbie emerged from the bathroom today and declared, "I pooped!"

Abbie occasionally claims she pooped, and it's always a false alarm. Usually she means she tooted. There's never poop in the toilet, unless Abbie pooped in her underwear and deposited that in the toilet. While I appreciate the effort on that move, I want her to cut down on the number of objects the poop touches on the way into the potty.

I checked the toilet to see if she did anything. Indeed, there was poop in it this morning. It was a little, tiny, carrot stick's worth, sliver of a poop. It was still poop, and it had fallen directly into the toilet.

"I want a bracelet!" Abbie exclaimed.

Mommy came home a few days ago with a sack full of bracelets. We're always looking for new ways to encourage Abbie to repeat the rare good behavior she shows, and mommy bought a bunch of cheap bracelets to use as a reward. I wasn't sure how deeply they would motivate her, but I figured they were worth a chance. I had forgotten about them since no one had mentioned them since mommy brought them home, but fortunately Abbie remembered.

I found the bracelet bag and let Abbie pick out her favorite. Abbie spent a minute searching for the perfect bracelet while I held off the boys, who were furious that Abbie was getting something they weren't.

Abbie slipped her new beaded bracelet on her wrist, and ran away with the boys hot on her tail. I smiled, hopeful that Abbie was finally making progress toward the ultimate goal of being 100% potty trained.

A half-hour later she pooped a full-size poop in her underwear. A half-hour after that I found her new bracelet ripped apart, its bead scattered about the bedroom. I picked up most of those beads this morning, and mommy found the rest tonight when they came out Tory's business end and into the diaper. I should've known he had bad bead intentions when I found several of them stored in a bowl like cereal. Fortunately those didn't get deposited directly into the potty.

Not So Happy

Our latest Happy Meal toy has a spy theme. It's a padlock-type contraction that doesn't lock. Instead it's meant to slip over a door knob or something similar. When the toy senses movement, such as the type caused by a door opening, the toy sounds an alarm. So it emits a loud and intentionally annoying sound* every time it moves.

Curse you, McDonalds. Why can't you just give out more cars?

* As opposed to the loud and unintentionally annoying sounds coming from most Happy Meal toys.

Shirt Tales

Ian ruined his first shirt this morning when he smeared poop on it while removing a poopy diaper.

Ian ruined his second shirt this morning when he snuck into the refrigerator and spilled about a quart of orange juice on it and the floor.

Ian ruined his third shirt this morning when he used a marker to color on it* instead of paper.

His fourth shirt lasted till the end of the day.

Why can't he be more like Tory? All he did was get a bloody nose. Three times today.

*And himself. And the walls. And Tory.

You Go On Up Ahead, I'll Stall

I always put the boys to bed first. I figure Abbie is older, so she should enjoy a later bedtime. Never mind that she naps about every other day now and needs to make up more sleep at night.

Everyone starts the bedtime routine in the boys' room for reading and singing, but Abbie separates after that. I lay the boys down in their room, close the door after Abbie slips out, and send her to bed.

Abbie, being the kind of toddler who puts all of her energy into mischief instead of things like potty training, has discovered the best way to use her time between me laying down the boys and sending her to bed. She stalls.

While I close the boys' door, Abbie runs. Sometimes she runs off to the living room to play quietly in hopes that I'll take the bait and find something else to do, which I too often do.

Other times she runs to our master bedroom to find mommy watching television in bed. From here she has many options. She can snuggle with mommy. She can watch television. She can sneak into the snacks mommy hides next to the bed.

After I put the boys down tonight, I found her nestled next to mommy in bed. She was doing her best impression of a cute child, smiling, cuddling, and keeping a safe distance from the snacks. She wanted to stay away from her bedroom, and was giving me no reason to drag her off to bed.

I let her snuggle with mommy for a minute while she let me watch television in peace for a minute. I then started to drag her, but she resisted.

"Do you want to go to bed?" I asked. "Or do you want to stall some more?"

"I want to stall," she said. At least she's honest.

A Sea of Orange

Abbie fed the fish today all by herself. While I appreciate the initiative she's showing, she still has a few things to learn. For example, she needs to know that the fish should get a pinch of food, not an entire container of food. Also, she needs to learn how to vacuum the aquarium when the amount of food rotting in the water gives the tank a noticeable tint.

MMM

Abbie recently discovered granola bars, and I'm happy to give them to her for lunch. Even though she insists on the rainbow chip variety with little fake M&M's baked in, they're still a healthful option.

Today I discovered that she's picking out the fake M&M's, and giving the part of the granola bar with actual nutritional content to the dog. This is why she can't have fake Lucky Charms either.

Nightmare out on the Town

In the car tonight, Abbie screamed, "I don't want to go home."

While I'm proud of her increasing abilities in expressive language, I denied her request. Our car was going directly home. Upon arrival, the bedtime routine was going to start even though it would be a half-hour early. The children would all go to sleep upon completion of the bedtime routine, regardless of how high the sun still hung above the horizon. The children had earned an early bedtime tonight.

The night began with a trip out to eat. Mommy wanted to eat out, but she wanted a dining experience slightly finer than that found in clown-themed restaurants. So we visited the Chinese buffet, a restaurant fine enough to offer metal utensils. Buffets are great for children because they eat cheap, the food comes fast, and if they don't like something they can just get something else. We've successfully eaten at the restaurant many times in the past, and it's the closest we come to quality family restaurant dining.

We started the meal as normal with mommy sitting at the table with the kids while I loaded a plate for them. When I returned with a plate overflowing with fruit and various fried foods, mommy left to fill a plate for herself. I knew we were in trouble when the children lost interest in eating before mommy returned.

I left to fill my plate, and returned to find the children had all taken different seats. Fair enough. I ate quickly, but it wasn't quick enough.

The children stood on their booth seats. I could accept that as long as they otherwise behaved. Soon they were jumping on their seats. Then they were looking over the seats at the innocent diners in the neighboring booths who were doubtlessly wondering what cave our family just emerged from.

I asked them to sit. They responded by ignoring me. I grabbed their arms and made them sit. They responded by bounding back up and hopping to the far end of the booth giggling the entire way. I held them close to keep them from standing, and they screamed until I let them go.

Everyone simultaneously behaved for a few short stretches, enough for me to stuff some food in my mouth. Occasionally they played under the table. Despite the germs and long-forgotten food certainly hiding under the table, I was relieved when they slipped down below because at least they were quiet and not bothering anyone.

They picked at their plates a few times throughout the meal. Mostly this resulted in smears of gelatin and pudding. They went after their drinks several times, frequently spilling through accidental and intentional means.

After Abbie blew a particularly violent bubble in her drink that splashed her in the face, I threatened her. If she didn't start behaving, we were going to go home. That's when she started screaming about not wanting to go home. I calmed her down long enough to watch her sit, grab her drink, and blow more bubbles.

We left before I even made my way to the ice cream station. The wait staff gave us fortune cookies on our way out. Those cookies are still in the car. As we drove away, the boys said, "Good-bye Chinese food." I have a feeling it's the last time they'll get to visit for a long time.

Different Poopy Problems

Abbie is still pooping in her underwear. Recently she's started throwing her dirty underwear directly into the toilet instead of on the floor. I guess that's progress.

Awkward

We took the children to the mall playground a couple days ago. While the children burned energy, mommy relaxed with a little shopping, and I sat with the kids and fretted over how much shopping mommy was doing.

It was a slow night at the playground. It's summer, so school is out, and all the mallrats had already fulfilled their mall time earlier in the day. Back-to-school shopping didn't start for a couple more weeks, and the Christmas shopping season was still several days away. Most of the other guardians at the playground appeared to be fathers like me, watching their children and fretting about how much shopping their wife was doing.

Eventually, a couple of women sat near me with an 18-month-old boy in a stroller. The boys, who had been happily playing on the playground most of this time, took notice of my new neighbors. Tory wandered to my side and stared. After a minute he pointed at the boy and announced, "It's a brown baby."

I kept a smile on my face while watching Tory watching this African-American group. Apparently they didn't hear or understand Tory, which was fine by me. I punted on this opportunity to teach Tory about race and how we're all the same inside even though we may look different on the outside. I ignored him for fear that a little encouragement might lead to an announcement of the skin color of every child he sees.

We live in a homogeneous suburb, and the boys don't see many people who aren't our pasty relatives. Abbie's preschool class had a few minorities, but otherwise almost everyone we see is white. It may have never occurred to the boys that people came in different shades, not even after extensive exposure to Dora.

Eventually Tory lost interest and wandered away, freeing a spot for Ian to stand and stare. Ian stared at the group for an uncomfortably long time despite my repeated attempts to distract him. The group was splitting a hot dog at the time, and I told the woman nearest me that he must be staring at their food. That may have been at least partly true, but Ian kept staring after the food disappeared.

Ian finally lost interest and left to play, freeing a spot for Abbie. Abbie paid no attention to our neighbors. Instead, she expressed her desire to leave. We'd been at the mall for 45 minutes, and that was enough for her. Knowing mommy had been shopping most of this time, I had to agree with her.

Walk this Way

Tory has lived cast-free for over a week now. He's mostly back to his old self. He's climbing, running, and jumping again. Of course he climbed, ran, and jumped with his cast on his leg, but now he can move much faster.

The only thing that still needs to return to normal is his gait. While Tory lived with his cast, he discovered that the easiest way to move was to turn his left cast leg outward. That gave his immobile leg the stability and agility to hobble along at sibling-chasing speeds.

Now that his cast is off, he's still turning his leg outward. When he walks, he holds his foot at as much as a 60-degree angle to the side, and continues to hobble like he did with his cast. This is an improvement over the first time he tried walking without a cast when his knee buckled and collapsed, but it's still not right.

I worry about his foot because that's my job as a full-time parent. The orthopedic doctor who treated his leg told us not to worry about his foot, that it should return to normal within a couple of weeks without help. I know it's improving and the average angle that he holds his foot to the side is slowly decreasing, but I still worry.

Just because I could, I let a physical therapist check his foot a couple days ago before Abbie's speech therapy. She moved his foot in every direction, and reported that he had no range of motion problems. He just needs time to regain his strength and flexibility, and maybe to remember how to walk.

I'm trying to help him remember how to walk by encouraging him to keep his feet pointed forward while walking. The lesson doesn't sink in, though, and he keeps walking with his foot at an angle. He'll get there, he just needs time. And maybe the occasional stretching exercise.

Let's Go out to the Theater

Mommy took Abbie to see a movie a couple days ago. An actual, full-length feature. In a movie theater. With other paying customers around.

This is a watershed moment in her development. I've heard that some children from birth will sit and stare at the television for hours at a time. I envy those parents because Abbie is not one of those children.* Abbie has never shown the inclination to sit still and watch something for 90 minutes. The closest she comes is watching "Mary Poppins," but even then we have to fast forward the DVD player to a song. She has trouble sitting through the double-length episodes of Dora.

The movie they saw is "Wall-E." Mommy knew she had to be cognizant of the other viewers in the theater. Even though this was a weekday matinee meaning there were about nine other people in the theater, and most of those were parents with young children who were also trying to be cognizant of the other viewers, Abbie's complaining could still annoy the other patrons. Mommy entered the theater with low expectations, ready to leave at the first whine.

Abbie did very well. The previews scared her, but she watched the short before the movie and settled down. She enjoyed about the first hour, laughed at the appropriate parts, and told mommy she wanted to leave. This desire to leave may be related to her suddenly running out of Gummi Bears. Mommy led her out of the theater as promised, and returned home to relay to me the great news. Then looked up the ending on the Internet because that's the only way she'll find out what happens before the DVD comes out.
* Neither are the boys, but that's a

The Things They Learn From TV

Tory: (Channels his inner Swiper and takes Abbie's book) You're too late! (He throws it about two feet away into the middle of the room). You'll never find it now!

Abbie: (Despairingly) I'll never get my book back.

Daddy: (Pointing to the middle of the room) It's right there!

Bring Your Children to Work Day

We dropped by to see mommy at work yesterday. I take the kids to see mommy at work fairly regularly. Everyone likes seeing each other. For the kids, it's a chance to connect with their mother and see what she does all day. For mommy, it's a reminder that no matter how many screamingly irate people she has to deal with, work is still quieter than home.

Mommy's coworkers know our kids fairly well because of these visits. They get to talk to the kids and discover who's broken what recently. They saw Tory after his leg went into a cast. They saw Ian after stitches went into his nose. They saw Abbie after she dislocated various appendages. Through these visits, her coworkers have discovered that our children have no regard for their personal safety, and I'm too overwhelmed to closely supervise them. And yet, they still haven't called protective services.

Abbie's Bump of the Day was a blow to her left eye. I didn't see what happened that morning and Abbie couldn't tell me through the screaming, but it involved a lot of sand on her face, and some bruising. I assumed that she fell off the swings.

When one of mommy's coworkers saw the bruise, he asked Abbie what happened.

"I fell off the house!" she said.

Everyone knew that Tory fell off the monkey bars when he broke his leg. Knowing that our children are climbers, they feared that Abbie had somehow climbed onto our roof and fallen to the ground. No, I assured them, she must have fallen off their playhouse. She's been climbing on that recently, and likely slipped and landed face-first in the sandlot. She only fell about four feet, not the ten feet from the roof to the ground.

Somehow that didn't sound much better. I may have to stop taking the kids in to see mommy when they have fresh scrapes because there's no way they're going to stop climbing and falling off of things.

How We Spent Independence Day

We started at the Lincoln Children's Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska. This is a phenomenal children's museum with an array of options to entertain the children, starting with one of these ball machines to distract the kids while mommy and daddy pay the admission.


Ian (back) and Tory (front) are driving a play truck. They love trucks, but this didn't hold their attention long. Apparently they like looking at them more than driving them.


Tory is standing at a water display with several stations to teach him about how water flows.


Tory chose to experiment in the water station by chucking things in the water and watching the splash, an effect he was already familiar with.


Ian is posing in an oversized chair. He's always been the small one, but he's not that small anymore.


Ian poses with a play hardhat, proving the museum doesn't mind when children swipe objects from the various exhibits and run around the halls with them.


Abbie plays with the pin-screen...


And this is the result.


Next we moved to the Lincoln Children's Zoo. Here Abbie and Tory learn where milk comes from: Plastic cows.


Abbie enjoys a pony ride.


Ian enjoys a pony ride. Tory did not take a pony ride. Unlike his siblings, he didn't throw a tantrum when he saw the ponies. He'll learn.


Tory was fascinated by the bats, here seen in a blur in the top-left corner.


Tory and a meerkat stare at each other.


Abbie enjoys the rabbit at the petting station. Mommy is trying to teach Ian to use gentle pettings. The lesson didn't entirely sink in.


Abbie turns the guinea pig petting station into a pick-up-a-guinea-pig station.


Daddy and Ian pose in a (faux) eagle's nest.


Tory points to a butterfly in the butterfly garden, encouraging it in vain to land on his finger. Abbie loved the butterflies, but was thoroughly spooked when they fluttered up to her, apparently expecting nectar. She eventually tried grabbing a few, an activity frowned upon by the zoo.


Abbie emerges from an egg.


Ian emerges from his egg. Tory is elsewhere, emerging from his poopy diaper.


The zoo leaves feed stations for their freerange peafowl, a fact the local squirrel population enjoys.


After working the children into a screaming, cranky mess, we took the kids home for the day. The next day we travelled to Omaha's Henry Doorly Zoo. Here Tory peers over a fence to watch a polar bear below.


I was able to get extremely close to a sun bear. I assume this was safe.


Abbie plays at a small waterfall, plugging a hole eroded by the water flowing down the concrete wall.


Tory watches the majestic artificial waterfall. He was probably looking for fish.


I never found out what kind of birds these are, but Tory watched them for about ten minutes.


The bird got tired of watching Tory before Tory tired of watching the bird.


I have to force one of my children into this pose on every trip to this zoo.


The kids rode the train while I walked across the zoo to this train station. Considering the kids were screaming by the time they reached the train station, I think I got the better deal. Tory and Ian are sitting with mommy while Abbie huddles with grandpa a couple rows behind them.

StuffIt

We have a spacious master bedroom. There's plenty of room for our queen-size bed and matching bedroom set. Any normal person would have plenty of space for a relaxing sleeping environment.

Unfortunately, we're not normal; we're packrats. Besides the bed and bedroom set, our room also has another dresser, a fish tank, an elliptical trainer, a bookshelf, a large computer desk, and a media shelf. Our room is tighter than it should be, but we still have enough space to navigate provided we've shoved all of the dirty clothes littering the floor into a pile in the corner, and I've tucked the computer chair into that nook between the fish tank and the elliptical trainer. Usually I can even successfully stumble to the bathroom at night without tripping over anything. It's cramped, but like I said, we're packrats, so we're used to being surrounded by too much stuff.

Tonight, during the wind down before bedtime, Abbie jumped on our bed while I stood next to it watching television. In one of those adorable displays of affection Abbie only demonstrates when bedtime looms, she jumped into my arms. This would've been cute, except I was too busy following a Scrubs non sequitur to notice her leaping at my neck. Her impact sent me stumbling backwards, but my feet were already pinned against the elliptical trainer with nowhere to go. I stepped back and crumpled backwards to the ground, hoping for the best. My flop sent the elliptical tipping over, but it never hit the ground because the fish tank stopped its fall. With Abbie lying on my chest convinced that she was in trouble, I watched the elliptical rock back upright while the fish tank swayed back and forth a few times.

When I was certain the fish tank wasn't about to tip onto me, I checked for damage. I confirmed that nothing was broken, organic or otherwise, and sent Abbie to her room. Abbie, possibly thinking she got off easy, complied and raced to her room. I slowly rose to my feet, grateful for that pile of dirty clothes under my back that broke my fall.

One Up, One Down

Tory's cast came off today. No longer do I have to worry about protecting his cast from moisture and sand. Now I have to worry about hurting his freshly exposed leg. I already banged his shin once today.

No More Tears

Abbie hated baths when she was a newborn. She hated the water, the soap, the cold, and, maybe most of all, she hated being forced to do something she didn't want to do.

Around nine months, Abbie hit a wonderful phase where she didn't mind taking a bath. She found fun things to do with the water. The soap was okay as long as it didn't go in her eyes. The cold could be avoided with a towel. We didn't have to force her to get in the tub.

We've been back to the forcing stage for a while now. I literally have to drag* her into the bathtub. The funny thing is, once she gets there, she loves it; I usually have to drag* her back out of the bathtub when it's time to start the bedtime routine. She loves the water. She knows how to adjust the water temperature if she's cold. As for the soap...

I left a freshly-opened bottle of children's shampoo on the bathroom counter after the last bath. Before supper yesterday, I sent Abbie into the bathroom to wash her hands. When she hadn't returned a couple minutes later, I entered the bathroom to investigate. Fortunately I entered the room slowly, because Abbie had dumped that almost full bottle of shampoo on the floor and storming into the bathroom at breakneck speed could've resulted in a broken neck if I had slipped. You'd think that with four years of practice I'd know to always put things away, but apparently not. I admonished her for wasting soap, and sent her off to supper while I figured out how to clean a lot of gooey soap off the floor.

Last night was bath night, and fortunately I had a spare bottle of shampoo. Mommy mocks my hoarding habit, but the extra bottle meant the kids had clean hair last night. At the end of the bath I left to grab a couple of towels. When I returned I found I had left the spare bottle of shampoo next to the tub, and Abbie had dumped most of it on the floor as well. You'd think that with four years of practice I'd know to never leave the kids unattended during a bath, but apparently not.

We're down to one bottle of children's shampoo with a few ounces left. I'll have to run to a store soon to restock my supply. I'll probably drag Abbie with me to the store against her will, too.

* Or at least carry.

Mad and Madder

Abbie knows how to turn on the television and DVD player. She doesn't know how to play a DVD, though, and it frustrates her to watch the menu screen repeat endlessly. Abbie's solution to this problem is to come get me to start the program. My solution to this problem is to take the DVD out of the player, especially since she didn't have permission to watch television anyway. Abbie didn't like my solution.