There are some other dirty words I've been contending with lately. Closely related to the human anatomy issue is the ever-dreaded potty training. Now, in the name of good personal hygiene, I have always had the child who has an accident take a quick shower. None of my other kids thought much of this. Well, it turns out that Monster Truck(2) really likes the shower. A LOT. He is quite joyful when he announces that he has peed/pooped himself AGAIN so "I need a shower!". The enthusiasm with which he delivers that sentence just can't be captured in the written word. Suffice it to say, he could just as easily be saying, "I'm going to Knotts Berry Farm! With Santa Claus!!!" Anyway, I don't really know what to do. As long as he keeps getting to get clean after an accident he's not going to try to stop having them. Do I let him walk around smelling like a port-a-potty?
Mucous is another dirty word I've been contending with. There seems to be a surplus of it in the world. Sadly, my children got my genes and therefore will most likely not learn to blow their noses until they go to college. (True story. I just couldn't do it.) They try. Several of them blow out their mouths into a tissue expecting to expectorate the junk in their noses. That's kind of funny, actually. I will continue to wipe their noses I guess. For the next 12 years.
Chores. SIGH. What can I even say about that? Ah. I know. To quote a (cyber) friend:
Yep. That about covers it. Bubba's(7) friend came over the other day to get Bubba(7) so they could go play at the friend's house. Bubba(7) had not quite finished his chores and he had to finish before they could leave. His friend stood there and watched with disdain while Bubba(7) unloaded the dishwasher. After a few minutes the friend said, "I don't have to do any chores." Bubba(7) shot me the stinkyeye and said, "That's because your mom is nice." (Slam the bowl down.) Me: (No, that's because your mom doesn't think you can do anything yourself you big baby.) Ok. So I admit it. That wasn't a nice thought. But really, do you have to come into my house and make my slaves start having thoughts about the injustices of their lives? I have already been dealing with a near-revolutionary uprising the past few months, no thanks to my next dirty word: Cabin Fever.
Ah, cabin fever. The current bane of my existence. I don't know who has it worse- me or the kids. No one wants to do any chores. No one wants to listen to the parents. No one wants to stay in this house for ten more seconds. I'm just sayin' is all. You know the other problem with being cooped up all winter long? Dirt.
Yes, Dirt. That is my last dirty word for this post. I never realized that Cabin Fever is the reason for Spring cleaning. I always had a vague impression that spring was just some arbitrary time someone picked because the weather is neither too cold nor too hot. WRONG. The reason spring cleaning is in the spring is because with a bunch of kids and no Alice in the house for almost 5 months straight, the house is dirtier than the garden. There are mystery handprints on the walls that have no explanation other than that their origins could not possibly have been any one of my children. ("It wasn't ME!") My children have managed to get crumbs in corners that no human (or vacuum) could ever fit into (behind the bunkbed, under the bookshelf, etc.) The kitchen floor hasn't been scrubbed in I'm-not-going-to-say-how-long (in part because of my feelings about mopping but also) because the kids haven't been able to be outside long enough for it to dry, so what's the point? Yesterday spring finally got here. I hope beyond hope it stays. The weather in This Place That I Live is a little unpredictable this time of year. I remember one June that it was 95 degrees one day and THE VERY NEXT DAY IT SNOWED. I am not making this up. Anyway, if the weather holds out at least for the weekend I'm going to get the dirt (and the dirty kids!) out of the house. Ooooo! It's going to be so great!