Hidden Mickeys and Allergic Reactions

Hello Readers -

It has been a few days, and I've been compiling a list of things to blog about.  I have several, so let's just jump right in, shall we?

1. Let's discuss my outing today.  Today, I took C3 to Home Depot, Babies R Us, and JoAnn Fabric.  I decided that they needed to learn (C&C, that is) how to walk around a store, and proper ettiquite.  They were SO amazingly good, it was astonishing.  They looked around, and did touch stuff at the stores, but when I asked them to keep walking or put something back, they did without incident, and they were pleasant and polite to others!  We still need to work on them realizing other people are out, too, and they can't just stop in the middle of the aisle, but for a first time out, it was completely successful!  I was proud!

During this outing, though, a few non-C-related things happened I will share.

First, the woman at JoAnn who cut my ribbons was an older lady named "Maud."  I shouldn't even have had to look at her nametag.  There was something so strikingly stereotypical about an older lady working the fabric section of JoAnn with the name Maud.  Loved it.  She was sweet.

The cashier, on the other hand, was the second person today to kind of piss me off.

Now, I know my kids are big.  Chris and Connor esp.  I know that when people look at Connor and find out his age, they're surprised.  But I'm getting a little tired of people being like, "Oh my, what a big baby!"  I get it.  He's big. How about focusing on his giant smile, or his bright blue eyes instead of his body?  

The first time today I got comments was at Babies R Us.  The cashier there was an older lady (because I think they think they can just say ANYTHING).  She said,

"Let me guess, they're 1, 2, and 3 years old?" 

I smiled politely.

"Nope, they're twins and they're 2, and he is 8 months old."  

She leans in to study Connor.

"Nooo!" she proclaims, as if I'm already lying about his age.  "He's a BIG one!"

I laugh politely as I usually do.

"Yup, he's tall."

"Wow!"

"Yup."

<insert more comments about his size>  

Eventually it subsided, and we left.  Sigh.

At JoAnn, the cashier got a little more personal.  Again, an older lady.

"Are they twins?"

"Yes."

"2?"

"Yes."

"And this one is…what, 15 months?"

<Let's ignore the fact that that would mean I would have had to get pregnant with Connor IMMEDIATELY.  Like, the day I left the hospital.  Not that it would have been impossible, but c'mon, does Connor REALLY look 15 months old???  No.>

"Ah, no, he just turned 8 months."

"No way!"

"Yup."

"Was he breastfed?  Because I find that breastfed babies are chubbier."

"Nope, not at all."

<Then she delves into a diatribe about HER daughter's 3 kids and how the boys were nursed and were so much bigger than the girl who wasn't nursed as long because of some medical complications.>

"Well," I said, pointing to Courtney.  "She's pretty tiny, and they were all fed the same stuff, so…"

<insert more amazement at Connor's size/age, polite smiles from me, and then we left>

I usually don't mind people asking questions - I STILL get asked if C&C are identical or not (Um, one has a PENIS, people…what do YOU think?) and that's fine.  I know seeing me out with 3 little ones draws attention - and it really, REALLY does.  We draw attention EVERYWHERE we go - are we really that much of a circus sideshow?  I wouldn't think so.  It's endearing, and I don't mind feeling a bit special, but every once in a while, I would like people to STOP marveling over my family.  ("Wow!  You're brave having them so close together!"  "I would NEVER have had more after MY twins, they terrified me!"  "You're a saint!" [really? not even close])  Thank goodness that usually the women end their ramblings with a "they're precious, though!" or "how CUTE!" so I don't feel like such a freak.

Only my friend Sarah who's singleton and twins are even closer together than mine really gets this, I think.  But I don't know.  Anyone else get treated like a leper when you go out?

And while we're talking about that, I love to point out to Jason that when he takes the twins out, or Connor alone, he gets ALL KINDS of attention from women fawning all over him, but at Home Depot today, several ruggedly handsome guys practically ran down the aisle away from me.  Okay, not entirely true.  They smiled at the kids, but I could hear their brains thinking, "Thank GOD those aren't MY kids."

<sigh>

Okay, I'm frazzled now.  What number are we one?  2? Alright.

Here's a funny, quick anecdote.  Last night, after dinner, Courtney and Connor were playing behind the couch, and all I could hear was Courtney telling Connor what to do (ahh, such foreshadowing…).  Next thing I know, I hear her shout, "C'mon, boy, let's go!"  I don't know where she wanted him to go, but I laughed at how she said it.  That girl.

3. Every once in a while, Chris pitches a fit when I try to change his diaper.  Usually it's when he's dirty.  Now, Courtney, she'll tell you she's dirty.  She'll proudly march right up to you and say, "I pooped."  Chris you could smell from across the room, and when confronted with a, "Chris, did you poop?" he'll ALWAYS reply, "No."  

So, he's been fighting me lately on the changing table. This does not make this unpleasant process ANY prettier.  I'm trying to hold his ankles with my left hand while trying to wipe him with the right, all the while, he's whining and screaming, and squirming left and right, occasionally arching his back and going completely stiff.  It's not easy, and the boy is STRONG.  

Our pediatrician (whom I otherwise ADORE, don't get me wrong) suggested that we learn how to change their diapers with them standing upright.  Okay, has anyone ever tried this?  It is H-A-R-D.  It is, in NO WAY, easier than battling a squirming child who is millimeters away from smushing his feet in his own poop.

This is a skill I will never master.  I will stick to battling Chris to change him the normal way, and not worry about trying to defy gravity and change him vertically.  Not. Going. To. Happen.

Another note about changing boys, because it really does take twice as long as changing girls - what is their obsession with their junk?!  I'm constantly swatting their hands away so that they don't get them dirty.  OBNOX.  And, I know it doesn't change when they get older.  Chris was playing with himself in the utero - we saw it at a sonogram.  

On to number 4.  So, because they were so amazing on our outing this morning, I got the kids Happy Meals for lunch.  I forgot to ask for apples instead of fries (judge me, i don't care) and so the kids were ELATED.  The funny part happened at the end of the meal when they took their now-empty fry bags and put them on their hands.  I hear them repeating, "Dog poop.  Dog poop."

I look at them confused.  "Did you just say, 'dog poop'?"  Chris nods, and says it again.  Then I understand. 

See, Hubs uses the clear newspaper bags as poop bags on walks, and to do so, he pulls the bag over his hand, picks up the excrement, and then pulls his arm through, trapping the stuff inside the bag.  The kids have obviously seen him do this, and thought they'd pretend their fry bags were being used to pick up poop.

Lovely.

Here are pics of them using their fry bags as dog poop bags:

Kids really do say the darnedest things.

5.  We're on 5, right?  Yeah. 

Dinner last night.  I made a new whole wheat Chicken Helper we'd never had before.  It was Lemon and Herb, and it looked good on the box.  After I got it home and studied the directions, I knew I was going to make a damn mess out of what should have been an easy dinner.

Per the usual, my meal ended up more liquidy than desired, but regardless, we ate it.  It was okay - not terrific, but edible.  I also made salads with Italian dressing for everyone.  This is not new - we've all had Italian dressing before.

Maybe it was that I used Wish Bone instead of Kraft.  Maybe it was the Chicken Helper (that neither kid ate, btw.  At least, I didn't see either one eat it.)  Either way, the next thing we knew, we look over and Chris' face looked like this:

Allergic reaction, we're thinking.  To what?  We have no clue.  That makes it worse.  I immediately check his entire body to make sure he wasn't breaking into hives.  And, when he scratched his neck a few moments later, I was sure he was trying to tell me his throat was closing.  (It wasn't.)  It seemed to be a contact-reaction. No where else developed the red blotchiness.  I broke out the children's Benadryl and dispensed it.  I watched him like a freaking hawk for about 15 minutes, knowing full well that if he was going into anaphylactic shock, it would have happened almost immediately (I think?  I should probably know.  I DO have an Epipen...).  By about 20 minutes later, it had gone away.  I was completely relieved.  What was it?  No clue.  But you can bet your bippy we will test the salad dressing again another night to see if it happens again, and I will not buy that not-so-good-anyway Chicken Helper.  

PS, it NEVER bothered him.  He never itched, or complained, or even whined.  You'll notice, he's even smiling in the above picture and saying "Cheeeeeese."  He was probably just wondering why Mommy and Daddy were arguing over dosing amounts, and Mommy kept pulling his shirt up.

Moving on.

Number 6 is one of my personal favorites.  It took place yesterday at lunch.  Yes, I'm jumping around, and I don't care.  Keep up, people.

Chris is OBSESSED with blueberries.  He would eat them 24/7 if I allowed him.  Every time he asks for "More more blueberries pleeeeeeeeeease," all I hear in my head is the line from Willy Wonka when Mr. Beauregarde says, "I've got a blueberry for a daughter."  Except in this case, it's my son (Obv.).

Anyway, I digress.  At lunch, they were enjoying blueberries, when Chris starts shouting, "Bickey Mouse!  Bickey Mouse!" and pointing at his plate. <No, I don't KNOW why he can say the "M" in Minnie, and Mouse, but NOT in Mickey.> I lean over and I see what he's pointing at on his plate:

When he looked at his plate, he did, indeed, see Bickey Mouse.  A HIDDEN Bickey Mouse.  If you can't see it, you're not a real Disney fan.

Does it surprise ANYONE that my kids can pick out a hidden Mickey in their food? It shouldn't.

Alright, that about does it for me.  Just another day in the life.  I will leave you with a picture of what I found Courtney had done the other day when I left the room for 2 seconds to mix a bottle for Connor (note to reader: I didn't even really leave the room - there's a cut out from the kitchen to the living room):

This is called "emptying the stuffed animal box in 10 seconds."