What I Did This Weekend…

I defended my stance on the dirt pile after being called a “douche” for blogging about it on Friday. Fantastic vocabulary, Dave…all that law schoolin’ really paid off, huh? Just kidding, I’m totally cool with the 10th anniversary dirt pile. So cool in fact, that when the second pile was delivered yesterday morning,  I silently watched with delight while casting the hairy eyeball upon my unsuspecting husband.

He’s so romantical and stuff. Okay, I’ll fess us…he wants to build a flagstone wall so I can plant a pretty garden on the bald, weedy hill.

As the dirt pile (also filled with refuse) was dumped from the busted dump truck, I sat in the front seat of my sexy grey minivan. That’s right. I like to spend Saturday mornings with a cup of java and some Amor All wipes, scrubbing gobs of rotting banana and dog snot from its interior. I originally walked onto the porch with my cup o’ Joe intending to soak up the morning sunshine on a wicker chair. I don’t know, maybe it was Kate’s incessant shrieking or something that caused me to enter the minivan and start scrubbing. I was still in my pajamas… No, that’s not entirely true… I was wearing pajama bottoms and a bathrobe.

20 minutes into Scrub Fest and locked inside while the exterior was hosed down, I got hot. Really hot. So I took off the bathrobe and commenced Topless Scrub Fest 2011. But no one noticed because the doors where all closed. Dave finally peeked into a window and I saw his eyes widen with surprise. Somehow I don’t think that a 40 year old woman with bed head and coffee breath really fulfilled any naked car wash fantasies. Thankfully, the dirt delivery person arrived before Topless Scrub Fest began.

Then we went to Toys R Us. Again. 

Next, we purposely dragged the kids into this huge Goodwill in South Portland because they dragged us through Toys R Us. Smart, aren’t we? Tit for tat, man.

We scored a vintage oil painting (trés shabby chic) for $1.99. I’d show you a picture, but I’m too lazy and two cocktails into my evening and stuff. (No wonder no one tunes in to No. 7 anymore, huh?)

Vintage Californian Artist Oil Painting Period Frame

Not our $1.99 Goodwill oil painting, but you get the picture.

Today, we hired a new babysitter, drove to Old Port and inhaled a pile of sushi. Then, guess where we went? We went to Toys R Us. AGAIN.

It’s Gwen’s birthday tomorrow. So yesterday’s Toys R Us mission was held to uncover what the kid wanted. You know… since we totally forgot that she was turning 5. I guess we could have told her that the second dirt pile was hers, but I didn’t have the heart. From experience, I can attest to the fact that getting dirt for a momentous occasion sucks.

Anywho… we nabbed the last pink daisy covered Razor scooter, some Hello Kitty shades and a creepy puppy dog that wags its tail. The best part of our Toys R Us date was the discovery of some stuffed guinea pigs that simply must repeat whatever you say. Hecho in China. We taught the whole shelf to say, “Wazzzzzup, douchebag?”

I Say Chatimals Talking Guinea Pig

Then we left.
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Hey, Diddle Diddle

Privacy. It’s a precious commodity once you become a parent. Back when I spent my days working and living my life in blissful silence, I had no idea how good I had it. I was clueless to the fact at any given moment; millions of parents throughout the world are taking showers while tiny humans stand inches away watching like creepy little voyeurs. I have a peeper. She stands on the other side of the glass door while I shower and presses her face to glass to gawk. Her peeping is often peppered with a running commentary on the parts being washed. “Oh….boobies, Mama?” or “Feet! Feet!” The problem with these pint-sized peeping toms is that they aren’t at all secretive in their observation of your most intimate moments.

Window Peeping

Once upon a time, I was able to utilize the bathroom without an audience. Now, it seems, there is a constant flow of traffic through the master bath. They like to be kept abreast of current events and feel entirely comfortable sharing your bathroom secrets with complete strangers. Why, just last week a lovely man was here cleaning our boiler and stupidly, I used the bathroom at the top of the basement stairs. Like a moth to a flame, it took only moments for Kate to begin pounding on the door. The clincher was her demanding and piercingly loud line of questioning. “You Poop, Mama?” No Kate, but thanks for planting that gem in the brain of Mr. Boiler Repairman. I tried to pretend it never happened as I handed him a check.

What’s the draw? Do they have radar? Is there some sort of universal beacon that alerts them when parents are indisposed? Seriously, they play alone for hours without showing their little faces, but the moment they hear that barely perceptible click as you close the bathroom door, they are overcome with the undying need to join you. The thing is, they don’t just join you – they observe. They soak it all in and at some point, they begin asking questions.

Gwen is simply dying to know why I occasionally wear diapers. Just last week, David overheard her take on panty liners.

“Joe… once I saw that mommy peed in her pants and now she needs to wear diapers.”

“HUH?”

“I’m serious. She peed her pants.”

The worst part is when they sneak up on you. One day last week, I was fresh out of the shower and enjoying that the hairdryer was effectively drowning out kid-noise. My towel had dropped to the floor, but I was alone so it was A-Okay… until I suddenly I felt tiny fingers crawling dangerously close to…well, use your imagination. After I was done screaming in surprise, I looked down to see Kate who was enthralled with ‘the situation.’ There’s nothing quite as disconcerting as a surprise hand in your nether-region. Hey, Diddle Diddle… remind me to buy some locks for the bathroom doors.

courtesy http://www.omodern.com/

Click the brown box below if you were at all amused by my lack of privacy.
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