Wiping Butts

Is it weird I still wipe my 4 year olds butt?

I insist on wiping all my kids butts until they pass a rigorous proficiency test that proves they are capable of thoroughly cleaning their own areas.


Poop is disgusting, I hate it.

No. Look me square in the computer monitor so I know your with me.

I. FREAKING. HATE. POOP.

I've written extensively about my professional hatred of sh*t.



I use 7-10 wipes every time I change Baby Kenley's diaper.

My Husband is ridiculously frugal and almost vomits every time he witnesses my wasteful wipee usage.

It's caused significant probs in our marriage. Worth it though.
I'm not about to use one wipe and let baby crap seep through onto my hands.

Back to wiping my 4 year olds butt though.....

I don't want him to do a sub-par job and then I have to scrub the residual skid marks out of his undies. GROSS.

When it comes to wiping your kid's butt, how old is too old?

A while ago, my friend Christie was APPALLED that I still wiped Cryin Ryan's butt. He was around 4 years old at the time.
She said she would literally kill herself if she was still wiping her kid's bum at that age.

That was the first time I looked inward and realized that I couldn't wipe his butt till he goes to college (although I am a fantastic mom so I totally would.)

I seriously googled "how to teach your kid to wipe his own ass".

One of the articles suggested demonstrating it.
Like, I'm supposed to pantomime wiping my own rear end in front of my children?
No thank you Mam', I have already messed up my kids enough.

And I really don't want my kids telling the neighbors how "mommy pulls down her pants and we saw her butthole."


I know butt-wiping is a skill everyone should master. And as a devoted mother, is it my job to teach them.
I just really don't want to scrub it out of their underwear though!!!...….

That's DIS-GUST-ING.

I'm not about to wash poop undies with the rest of our laundry. 
I gag when I think about poop undies, Tide detergent, my clothes, and fabric softener marinating together in a washing machine. 
*dry heaves.

I have thrown multiple pair of undies away because a miniscule speck of turd was on it.
Frugal husband wasn't happy about that game plan either.

I know I'm going to have to teach Tyler, my precious little angel of a 4 year old, to wipe in the near future.

Pray for me and all the poop stamps that will litter my household and permeate his clothing.

Vernal Adventure/March 2016: Part I

Dinosaurs play a large role in my 4 year old's life.
Like any other little boy he is in love with anything that kills and eats other living things.

I can't wait until he turns 8 and I can teach him about Hannibal Lector. I think 8 years old is mature enough to start the serial killer conversation, right? Yeah, I'm right. 

Ryan knows the names of way too many dinosaurs. He asks all these insightful questions about them that I have to google then pretend I know.

I am a girl! When I was young I was playing with naked Barbies and Quints dolls, not memorizing dino facts and begging my mom to watch Jurassic Park again.

Um yeah, I let my 4 year old watch all the Jurassic Park movies. Bad parenting move? Absolutely. But those 6 hours of uninterrupted mommy time was worth it.


Husband had to travel overnight to Vernal, Utah for work last March.
It just so happens that Vernal is the Dinosaur capital of Utah so the kids and I decided to go with him.

It was magical, as one might expect the dino capital of Utah to be.

Special Moments:

While Jared made some sales calls, I hung out with the terror children at a small town McDonald's. This McDonald's did not have a play place. We had to wait there for Husband for over an hour. I tried to be an awesome mom and brought a ton of travel toys to occupy and educate my children's curious minds.Instead Titty-Monkey Tyler ran away from me, to the back of the McDonald's kitchen. He hit over stacks of cups then ran all the way in the back. No one knew what to do. All the workers were like, WTF.
Finally I ran back there and found him grinning and proud behind a stack of boxes.

He looks sweet but is actually a little punk.

I grabbed T-Bag and brought him back to the table. I realized he was missing a shoe. I had to do the McDonald's walk of shame back behind the counter to retrieve it.

We left promptly after that and walked across the street to a rundown Family Dollar Store. Nothing that exciting happened except for the fact that I felt like everyone in there was going to rape and stab me, then kill my children.

But, as it turns out, my children and I are still alive and un-raped. #miracleshappen

After Jared was done working we went to a Western Heritage Museum. Mostly cause it was free.
We were the only ones there. The exceptional friendly and helpful old lady volunteer had to turn on all the lights for us.

My husband is hot. 

She gave the kids a scavenger hunt which would have been fun if my kids were older and a lot less hyper-active.

Naturally, Ryan's favorite exhibit was the old fashioned toilet. He was so excited about it that he squatted and pretended to poop by grunting and dumping a handful of skittles between his legs.

I was proud of his creativity.


end.

Oh yeah, we stayed at the SpringHill Suites and the staff was amazing and gave the boys tiny baby wash, lotion, and a cute squirting bath toy because my kids ran behind the counter and took them.
The rooms were new, clean, and big. Breakfast was great.

But the indoor pool area smelled like shit.

(Sorry for the s-word, but that was the only word that would suffice for the steamy, shit-smelling pool.)

Sloth Arm

Cryin' Ryan is a clever little kid.
He is funny, kind, and creative.

He is also foul, gross, and disgusting.


He is so creative/disgusting that every time he poops, he feels inspired to vividly describe it to me.

When I hear, "MOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!! CAN YOU WIPE MY BUTT?!?!?!?!"
I know three bad things are coming my way:

1. the actual wiping of the butt
2. an accurate description of his dump
3. the throw-up that comes up the back of my throat.

What's most disturbing is that his descriptions are usually detailed and correct.

Some of the most cringe-worthy portrayals of his dumps include:

• a battle axe
• a long neck dino
• beans
• corn on the cob with some kernels eaten off
• dead coral reef
• butt-mud

And of course the most recent and unsettling depiction:

• a sloth arm.

Let my say that again:

• A sloth. arm. 

Probs one of the grossest things I've ever heard.
I don't know if I'm up for boy-momming anymore. 


Now I need to go brush my teeth.

Stink Tyler

Tyler stinks.

I know humans can smell pretty gross in general but I had no idea a baby poop could reach this magnitude of stink.

Even when he was a newborn and breast fed his poop was pretty unpleasant, which was weird because generally breast fed babies dumps don't really smell like anything.

EVERYONE who has ever babysat him comments on how foul his dirty diapers are. For real. T-bags poop is so vile that people take the time to comment on it.

Tyler's stench made my friend Marianne so grossed out she messed up her song on the piano.
It is not normal.

Something is genetically wrong with his insides. His guts have to be rotten.

When he poops Ryan feels the need to vividly describe how offensive the poop is.

Some especially creative descriptions include:

Hey MOOOOOOOMMMMM! Tyler smells like

• dead lizards are in his butt
• rotten turkey
• old maple syrup
• 1000 rotten eggs
• someone put dog poop in his diaper
• two hamsters killed each other in a fight
• a long neck dinosaur poop
• potato-ish

Now my brain can imagine what dead hamsters smell like and I can't ever forget that.

Changing his diaper is the low point of my day.

Have you ever literally felt a smile drop off your face? I don't mean like you lose your train of thought then realize your frowning. I mean like you have an innocent happy smile then something happens and that smile is dragged down by pure disappointment.

That's what happens to me every time I realize Tyler destroyed his diaper. That also happens every time I have to change the diaper genie sausage.

He found a Stink Bug in the garage and made friends with it.

I let him play with it because if the bug sprayed him, it would probably be a scent improvement.

And recently he started trying to eat his boogers. So that's exciting.

Poop Rant

(WARNING to Christie: This blog is gross, as is a solid 97% of all my posts..... my whole life is gross.)


Poop. Everywhere.

That's how I began my day. Crusted poop clinging to the inside of my baby's sleep-sack.
I unzipped it and opened it up to free my infant and was assaulted with the scent of sin.

This is the same face T-Bag was making as I assessed the situation: 

So we meet again Poop.......

I looked that poop right in the eye and cursed it's existence.
I fought tears and frustration as I cleaned baby Tyler up for the 565853th time.

I realize that a write about poop more than your average blogger, but my intense hatred of all things poop deserves a platform.

I have to mentally prepare myself every time I change a diaper. I double up on wipes and use a minimum of 10 baby wipes per baby dump.

I get chills up my spine when 3 year old Cryin' Ryan has been grunting in the bathroom and I hear the ominous call, "MAAAMMMMMMMM!!! YOU COME WIPE MY BUTT?!"

I clean my toilets obsessively, as if my salvation was dependent upon the lack poo particles found in my bathrooms.

I cannot accurately describe my rage towards human filth, so maybe the following list will enhance your understanding of my feelings.

Things I would rather do than deal with human feces:

• Quit my job - Which almost happened when I was a teenager working at Taco Bell. Someone shat ALL OVER a bathroom stall, my boss told me to clean it, I told her I will seriously quit that second if I really had to clean it. The boss cleaned it herself.
• Grow out my mustache.
• Eat insects.
• Clean up dead rotting mice - I actually trade my mom, who offered to deal with my kids poop for a few hours if I cleaned out the rat traps in her basement. Best trade ever.
• Have church people stop by my house unannounced, then feel insecure with myself because its 2pm and I'm still in my pajamas.
• Have an adult acne breakout.
• Punch myself in the face.
• Contract a mild strain of Rabies.

Maybe I should go to therapy.
Amen.

This picture has nothing to do with the post, I just felt that if I'm going to post about poop, a picture of Ryan should be included:

Potty Training 2.0

I started potty training my 3 year old, Ryan, a couple of weeks after Titty Monkey was born in March. No, he is still not potty-trained and  yes, we started almost 6 months ago.

I began with the "chill parent"/lazy-as-crap approach, which means I bought him Pull-Ups and every few hours I asked him if he wanted to take a dump in the toilet.

He would always answer, "no, Ryan like a poo in his pants..." and then he would happily go squat in a corner somewhere.

 

Obviously, this method wasn't producing results (except in the corner). I did the whole sticker chart and reward system. I gave him stickers for pee and handfuls of marshmallows for poo. He got sick of the rewards after one day.

I tried other rewards. Candy, toys, trips to the park, watching Netflix and letting him run around naked.... I even let him play with that brown play-dough hoping he would be inspired.

Our most problematic times came when I would want him to try going in the toilet at set intervals. Apparently, little boys do not appreciate being snatched from their toys every 20 min.

Every time I made him go, one of is would end up in tears... and by that I mean HE would end up in tears since I hate crying.

Finally he sort of starting to get the hang of it, but still preferred to convenience of going straight in his pants.
We had a road trip coming up, so I made an executive (read: lazy) parenting decision. Ryan would wear diapers on the trip. I didn't want to mix Ryan's inevitable accidents with his cloth-covered car seat.

Bad Parenting Decision #56845

Fast forward to after the trip.....
He basically wants nothing to do with the toilet.

I know my parenting recorded is not pristine but I really don't need another testament of my crappy mothering skills.

I just really, really, really hate poop.

As for now i'm using the excuse that I can't potty train him until we get settle in a house, and his bowel can move in a consistent environment.

 

 

Oh yes.

Here is a picture of my diaper-clad kid pretending to be a tortoise. ("Not a turtle, mom!!! I is a tortoise!!!!!!)

 

 

Proud moments all around.

 

 

 

P.S. Ryan pooped in the bath last night

 

P.S.S. If you ever need parenting advice, let me know.

 

 

 

 



Cutting Logs

Ryan was uninterested in using the toilet. He was all too happy to run around with a load in his pants. I proposed the idea of potty training to him and he said, "no tanks, Ryan pee diaper. I'm little."
Yep. Little and disgusting.

My utter contempt for changing diapers has led me to put the smack down the last week and a half.
I was using Pull-Ups for a while but saw no real progress. Finally I accepted the fact that I would have to put underwear on him and embrace the foul mess that would follow.

We quickly got the whole pee situation under control after a two days and 16 loads of laundry.

I was really grateful that I have wood floors throughout my house and a leather couch because Ryan left snail trails everywhere.

I was also thankful for my industrial sized bottle of Lysol with bleach and my unreliable short term memory.

We still had a BIG problem though.
Ryan REFUSED to #2 in the toilet. He did once a couple months ago, so I knew he was capable.

I tried everything, but he preferred to hide behind the chair and poop in shame.

I really wanted to avoid buying him a bunch of toys to bribe him with, but I was getting desperate. Wiping a three year old logs that are literally spackled in his crack is disturbing. The only spackling I like to see involves drywall, not my kid's butt.

Plus, with 2 kids in diapers, the amount of Diaper Genie sausages I have been making is unacceptable.

We went to Target and I let him pick out any toy he wanted. The deal was that if he dumped in the toilet and not on his pants, that he would get to play with said toys for 15 minutes. After the 15 we would put the toys away until a subsequent #2 filled the toilet. And so on.

We went to the toy section of the store and Ryan ran around like a madman for 20 minutes before picking this out:

The Play Doh Saw Mill.

A toy that oozes out brown logs that you cut with a circular saw.

How appropriate.

P.S. Ever since I bribed him with the toys Ryan has pooped in the toilet EVERY SINGLE TIME. No accidents since.....

Little punk....

Toilet Realizations

Cryin Ryan has NO interest in potty training.
He tells me, "no thanks mom, no thanks."

I can't blame him. I'm not that excited about it either.

The only sign of bodily function awareness came at Christmastime when a worried Ryan ran up to me and questioned:

"Momma! I toot by my penis?!?!"

Yes Ryan. You toot by your penis.
This realization seemed like an important milestone, so I noted it in his baby book.


I had lofty goals of potty training him before baby #2 comes.

I bought one of those kid seats that fit on top on an adult toilet. I really didn't want to be cleaning out one of those nasty potty chairs all the time.

What I didn't prepare for was Ryan's complete disgust with the toilet.

His whole life I have drilled it into his head that "we don't touch or play in the toilet, it's gross". In hindsight, maybe I should have been a little less extreme, because now he is too grossed out to use it.

I was forced to buy one of those dumb child-size potty chairs.

Our only dollop of success

 



Ryan was more open to sitting on a toilet his own size, but still preferred squatting in a corner and dumping in his diaper.


After an honest conversation with myself, I gave up.
Fighting a toddler to poop in his potty chair is no fun when I am throwing up in the toilet next to him. The disgustingness outweighs any convenience.

I was surprised a few days ago to learn that Pee-toddler was, again, more aware of his body than I assumed.

He brought me a diaper and disgustedly told me:

 

"Moooomm! Ryan poo shapes out his butt. Eeeww, yuck!!!!!"

Once again, I duly noted it in his baby book.

Revised Toilet Philosophy

The Scott Family's toilet philosophy has been officially revised.

 Months ago, I realized my brilliant earth saving technique - if it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down. - is just not feasible when kids are involved.

I really don't want Cryin Ryan growing up thinking its appropriate to pee in people's toilets and let it marinate.

I also reconsidered my toilet dogma when I got pregnant and started throwing up every time I ate something.

The last thing I wanted to deal with while simultaneously vomiting and peering my pants was having my face inches away from pee soup.

I'm kind of a psycho when it comes to bathroom cleanliness. I clean my bathrooms 3 times a week.

Now that I have morning sickness and spend an obscene amount of time staring down toilet bowls, I'm even crazier. After a couple weeks of scrubbing bathrooms everyday, I finally dedicated one of the main floor bathrooms as my "puke sanctuary".


No one is allowed to #1 or #2 or #3 in my safe place.
I think I will add some vanilla candles and play some Enya.


It's probably one of the best idea's I've had in weeks.

Little Baby Poop-Hands

I have spent the last few days coming to terms with the fact that Ryan is no longer the precious little pee-baby I once knew.

Four days ago:

He emptied  around 30 sweaters from my closet and rolled around in them. Little pieces of banana and cheerios where embedded in every "hand-wash only" piece of clothing.

Three days ago:

He saw that I had started a bath. I left the room for 4.79 seconds and when I came back, he had jumped in..... completely dressed.

I was about to shower anyway, so I stripped down and joined him. I was sitting in the tub, peeling his clothes off when I smelt pee. 

Oops! I must have forgotten that he loves to pee and probably had at least 1/2 - 1 full cup of urine in his diaper..... Since the diaper was fully submerged in the water all the baby piss was seeping through his diaper into the bath water I was playing in. 

Luckily for me, I remembered reading somewhere that swimming in baby urine is good for the skin.


Two days ago:

Pee-baby showcased his physical dexterity by skillfully climbing out of his crib and waking me up with an evil/proud giggle and a 2-handed slap in the face. Instead of waking up and caring for my child, I put a pillow over my head and let him run wild through the house for an hour. 

When I did drag my listless body out of bed, I was pleased to discover that Pee-Toddler had only eaten 3 entire tubes of chapstick. 

Only after I video taped him crawling out did I realize my mistake in encouraging his anti-authority behavior.

Now I have to figure out a new method of caging him up at night.


And finally, yesterday:

I was in the office pretending to work hard when Pee-Toddler came in and tried to crawl on my lap. 
I pushed him off asap because I smelt something foul. 
Ryan was covered in poop.

He had taken off all of his clothes and pinched a huge loaf in his diaper. 


After completing his #2, he stuck his right hand down the back of his diaper, grabbed some soft serve and wiped it onto his belly. With a continuous motion he drug his hand up over his face and onto his hair. 
(Though I was not an actual eye-witness to the poop incident, I am pretty sure this is exactly what happened given the evidence presented.)

 I HATE poop, so no, I didn't take a picture. I was too busy hating my life.

Immediately after I threw Ryan in the bath (yep, the same bath he made pee-soup in a couple day before) I had to go on a hunt for any fece(s) he may have distributed around the house. I didn't find any smears besides the ones on Ryan's body, but for the rest of the day I was suspicious.


I felt betrayed by my own flesh and blood. 

This was just another situation where I was so offended that I am not going to go to church for at least two weeks.

Only someone who loves poop a lot would wipe it in their own hair.
From here on out, I reserve the right to refer to Cryin' Ryan as "Poop-hands" where I see fit.

 seriously you guys, amen.

Victory Interrupted

My diet is about 75% candy. For reals.
Because of this I have irregular bowel movements.
I only drop the kids off at the pool every few days.

Most married couples I know have little reservations about pooping, farting and peeing in front of one another. Jared certainly thinks this is ok. My day is not complete until he dumps a load while I'm in the bathroom.

 That's great that people feel so comfortable in front of each other that they will drain all of their body's nastiness out while the other is watching.

I, however, prefer to keep a little mystery when it comes to my personal fluids. A woman should always keep a little mystery.
I have never gone #2 in front of my husband. I don't even like to do it when he's in the house.
We have had some big arguments about him walking in on my while I take a pee.

Yesterday Jare-Bear knew I was struggling with a ferocious bout of constipation. When I finally felt confident enough, I snuck into the bathroom.

20 seconds later I was rudely interrupted when I heard this playing in the hallway:

Jared started cheering me on.
"You can do it Emily!!!!"
"Don't give up"
"De-fense! De-fense! De-fense!"


It totally messed up my concentration.
I wanted to knock him out.
amen.

Christie and Emily

Here are some of my favorite friends:

Christie and Emily 

(and Emily's pants-less kid, D.C.)

They were my bridesmaids at my wedding..... 

Mostly because they had a lot of stuff to blackmail me with so I had to keep them under close supervision.

The one in the middle, Cristie, is about 8 months pregnant with her first child, a boy. 
I know.....  she looks amazingly hot you can barely tell she is knocked up. Don't worry, I secretly hate her for it too. 

Dang my friends are hot. 

 You may wonder why I am holding Emily's kid while she is holding Pee-Baby. The truth is that Pee-Baby followed Emily around all night. I didn't know he liked large breasted blondes so much. 

I am holding her kid, D.C.,  because he is hilarious and I adore trouble-maker kids.

You also may wonder why D.C. is not wearing pants. This picture was taken after D.C. took a dump in the toilet. He is not potty-trained yet so this was kind of a big deal. It took close to 20 minutes, but you better believe he delivered. 

He was inspired to use the toilet after he walked in on me peeing.

Emily's older boy, Kyson was a sweet angel who protected Ryan while D.C. tried to play with him. Then Kyson nicely put himself to bed when he got tired.  

They boys ate pizza while Emily and I scared the crap out of Christie with our motherhood stories.

I apologize for all the horror stories Christie. Please hang out with us again the next time I'm in town. 

You can read Christie's funny blog here.

P.S. Lisa Glista is awesome and funny too.

Christmas Pooghnut

My parents were in charge of the Annual Barlocker Christmas Party this year.

My Dad's side of the family and anyone else lucky enough to bear the name "Barlocker" is invited.

These parties are usually peppered with inappropriateness and too many kids to count. Like most Mormons, I don't even know how many cousins I have.

We rented out a lodge up Mill Creek Canyon in Utah. There was a huge fireplace and an epic sledding hill.
Santa even came to visit!

I look so much better in pictures that are blurry.

 But the highlight of my night was this:

 The Christmas Pooghnut

After dinner, my mom whipped up some homemade doughnuts while everyone else went sledding.  Isn't my mom the 2nd best mom ever!?!?! (I am #1)

Mom was frying the doughnuts when she decided to get all fancy and try to make one of those twisted doughnuts.

Needless to say, her doughnut twist looked more like Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo.

She showed me and I immediately knew I had to cover it in chocolate frosting. Since it was fresh from the fryer, the frosting melted and gave the Pooghnut a realistic slipperiness.

  

We tried to give it to my 3 year old nephew. He stared suspiciously at the Pooghnut, then said,

"Um...... that is not a doughnut."

 I offered it to all the kids as they came in from sledding. No takers.

Luckily, the Pooghnut was not wasted. My favorite brother Jake happily ate it up as all our little cousins watched with horror.

My mom didn't try to make any other fancy doughnuts for the rest of the night.

 My baby is so cute. amen.