Y'all, it is HOT. We've been having a heat wave in my neck of the woods, which is brutal, considering our typical summer day would be considered a heat wave in many other parts of the country. The temperatures the past few days have neared 100 degrees, with the real feel exceeding 110. The humidity is a bitch, no dry heat for us for the most part. And it's so hot that even getting in our pool doesn't offer any relief — it feels more like a hot tub than a pool, and that's at 6:00 in the evening, not during the hottest part of the day.
I do not like the heat. I might be Southern bred, but one day I want to be Southern fled. I usually fail the "Are You A Real Southerner?" quizzes, and my body agrees — it does not do well with all the heat and humidity. Unless I've driving somewhere and that somewhere happens to be indoors, I usually hide out inside during the afternoons. My kids aren't fans of the heat, either, so they're more than content to hang out inside and do whatever activity I've come up with until the sun starts going down a little.
My husband, on the other hand, doesn't mind the heat a bit. He loves our mosquito infested region, which is one of the few flaws I've found with him. As such, we probably won't be relocating anywhere with milder temperatures during the summer anytime soon. Boo. Silver lining — at least I don't have to pack up and move boxes.
Yesterday we had the blinds closed, the lights off, and the air set at 74. I'd prefer to have had it lower, but it wouldn't have made much of a difference since our air conditioner won't get it below 76 when it's super hot out. The best unit on the market — one that is meant for a house larger than ours — is no match for a South Carolina heatwave.
Today our area has been lucky. Some rain moved in and brought the temps down to a real feel of around 90, so it's been easier to keep the house cooler. Unfortunately for me, I've pulled a muscle in my back and have been requiring the use of a heating pad. A heating pad, y'all. I'm trying to figure out who I pissed off in the universe, because that's cruel and unusual punishment.
How's the heat in your neck of the woods? Any pissed off HVAC units that are threatening to go on strike?
Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. If you'd like to see your funny/dorky story doodled, check out the details on this post.
I’ve been thinking about some things I’d like to do with this blog, and one of those things is to start having guest posts that are accompanied by a couple of my doodles. If you have a funny/dorky story or idea (it doesn’t have to be related to parenting) that you can make around a 300-word blog post out of, then either leave a message in the comments with your contact info or email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll go from there. Stories you’ve previously published on your blog are fine, too.
If there is enough interest in guest posts, I may do themed posts, so stories that are holiday/season specific may be saved for later.
Isn’t this an amazing opportunity? You get to see a poorly drawn version of yourself/your family! You get a chance to have arms that look like penises no matter how hard I try to make normal arms! There could even be an unintentional thigh gap!
That’s enough enthusiasm for now. Feel free to share this with any bloggers you think might be interested.
When you have young kids, you tend to do things that would make the casual observer raise their eyebrows. Things like having toddler potties in non-bathroom areas, making transportation noises for a spoonful of food, and singing songs to encourage picking up toys, brushing teeth, or using the toilet.
And then there is the clapping. Good lord, the clapping.
There are many times when you genuinely want to clap for the stuff your kid does. Crawling for the first time; those first steps; not spitting out spinach baby food; catching a ball — those are all very deserving of clapping.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop there. Eventually some children — cough, mine — expect you to clap for everything. It’s hard not to share in their enthusiasm, but after they’ve done a certain mundane thing X number of times, you’re not feeling it quite as much.
And other times, they don’t want you to clap for milestone type things so much as they want you to clap for things that were never goals in the first place.
Sorry, Baby Girl — you were the gassiest baby I’ve ever met. You did “drunk frat boy after eating a greasy pizza” type farts when you were less than a month old. They horrified everyone, and I’m pretty sure there were a few times people thought we were letting one rip and blaming it on the baby. I’m used to your “fahts” by now, so you’re not getting any claps on this one.
Sometimes kids want claps just for literally nothing — not for making a hoop for the umpteenth time or for flatulence. They just want claps and they want them now, dammit.
Before I develop carpal tunnel syndrome from all the clapping, maybe I should just download an Instant Audience app for my iPhone. Not only would there be lots of claps at the press of a button, but there could also be cheers and maybe even rebel yells. Or, if I’m lucky, maybe there would be boos and jeers that would come in handy for other situations — like being a sassypants or smudging my freshly cleaned glass door. Lazy parenting for the win!
Instead of asking what silly thing your kid likes to be clapped for, what do you do that deserves being clapped for once in a while?
A few weeks ago, I had fun with graphs. I showed that children are clingy as hell when you need them not to be. That was probably already a universal parenting truth, but the graph made it official. Today you get a few more graphs on parenting lessons I’ve learned. (And I had an idea for a cute pie chart, so there will probably be even more graphs in this blog’s future. Yay — I think?)
The first lesson I’ve learned has to do with puking in the car.
Back when Little Man was a baby, we bought a used car that was a few years old. It wasn’t overly nice, but the price was right, it was safe, and it got us where we needed to go. If something got spilled in it, it wasn’t a big deal — that kind of car. Care to guess how many times LM puked in that car? Once.
We now have a pretty new (we bought it brand new a year ago) and expensive (for us) car. It has all the bells and whistles, leather seats, and is just gorgeous. Now would you like to guess how many times that car has been puked in over the past year? Well over a dozen. The last time was yesterday, which just happened to be a few days after I cleaned it good and conditioned the leather. Little Man got car sick. He was able to get some of it in a paper bag, but as luck would have it, the bottom of the bag collapsed.
The next lesson has to do with diapers being soiled. This particular lesson is what made me take Baby Girl’s diapers a little earlier than planned, because I was annoyed with 30 cents worth of diaper being ruined in five minutes.
Baby Girl was one of those kids who often wouldn’t poop unless she had on a clean diaper. As soon as you’d take the diaper full of pee off, she’d work her magic and ruin a brand new diaper by crapping in it. This was true as a baby and true as a toddler. After we got to the point where I knew that she could tell me and use the toilet, that whole “get changed and squat” act started wearing thin. Diapers aren’t that expensive, but still.
The last one is something I’m sure all parents — heck, anyone who has ever given a child a gift — are familiar with.
That’s right — spend a buck on something and you’re guaranteed hours of play. Spend $50 on something and it might get played with a grand total of five minutes. Such was the case with Baby Girl’s birthday party over the weekend. We were supposed to have a pool party, but decided to move it indoors the morning of the party because of rain. We went to Walmart and bought some stuff to have indoors to make sure the kids would be entertained. We had a little bounce house that the toddlers spent a few minutes on, a bowling set that I don’t think anyone touched, a bean bag toss that wasn’t touched by anyone other than adults, and then we had some balloons and pool noodles that cost a grand total of $4. I don’t even have to say which items the kids gravitated to.
Any lessons or other universal parenting truths you’ve picked up on that you’d like to see in graph form in a future post?
Potty training is officially underway in the Dorky household. We stuck Baby Girl in underwear early last week. She’ll wear a pull-up when we leave the house and a diaper at night, but that’s it. Amazingly enough, so far, so good. She has one or two accidents most days, but has taken to it quite well. I rarely have to remind her to go on her own, either, and she was even dry one night this week. I think she’ll be there by the time preschool starts back up.
Like with anything else Baby Girl does, the potty training adventure has been quite amusing so far. She regularly gets cheered on for peeing or pooping in the potty, so she has been returning the favor.
Sometimes Baby Girl will walk around naked from the waist down. Since it’s warm, I’m not making her wear shorts inside, as there’s a good chance they’ll get soiled at some point during the day. She has taken this a step further, though. Occasionally she’ll ditch her Wonder Woman or Batman underwear and walk around with not a care in the world. My husband and I think it’s pretty funny, but Little Man? Not so much.
For the record, Little Man still doesn’t think much of streaking through the house after a shower if he forgets his pajamas. He’ll occasionally get modest and cover his chest, but that’s it. Pot meet kettle, Little Man.
My favorite part of potty training so far was when she attempted to use her potty in…the wrong way. I walked in to see this:
Little Man and my husband were in hysterics. I didn’t immediately get why and told her to get down, thinking that they shouldn’t be laughing at a toddler — whose sense of balance isn’t that great — standing on a flimsy plastic potty next to the fireplace. (I decided to stick her potty in the living room for the first few days so that it’d be more easily accessible to her. Kinda gross, but I think it helps having it closer for now.)
“She thinks she can pee standing up!” Little Man said, still cackling. Oh! She was trying to pee like a boy. I guess she’s walked in on her dad or brother and took notice. Sorry, Baby Girl — we can do almost anything they can do, except for that. Not without buying something like the GoGirl Female Urination Device, anyway.
Do you have any potty training adventures (or woes) you’d like to share?
Another family vacation bites the dust. As I mentioned in another post, we went back to Myrtle Beach and spent several nights at a fun resort. (“Fun resort” means there were water slides and splash pads for the kids and a poolside bar for the parents.) There were no major hiccups while we were away, every day was either overcast or sunny, and Baby Girl’s in-restaurant meltdowns were fewer than in the past. Winning!
Now we’re trying to get back into the swing of things. The luggage is mostly unpacked and put away, which is a step up from in the past, when I ignored a suitcase full of stuff for more than a week. (No, I’m not going to specify how long.) I’m also trying to organize all of our summer activities, plan Baby Girl’s birthday party, and catch up on dozens of blog posts. And there’s the matter of my own blog, of course. I’m sure some of y’all are in withdrawal mode, going without a Dorky Mom post for over a week. (And some of y’all might be thinking, “Back so soon?” Hehe.)
Since I know y’all are chomping at the bit for some details, I’ll give you a few. And I’ll save some for later, as my kids definitely gave me more material for this blog.
Remember when I posted about the odd — but not really bad — sunburn I got a couple weeks ago? Despite sunscreen and an umbrella, I got a weird sunburn on my leg. Odd, but no biggie. This vacation — despite plenty of preventative measures — I got the real deal of sunburns.
I made the mistake of not wearing my cover-up for a while and got a nasty burn on my chest. Other parts of me were dark pink/reddish and this part was more of a Merlot color it was so dark. The worst part (aside what legit feels like nerve pain in that area)? I got a nice reminder of how my body is doing gravity-wise when I take off my bra. You ladies know what I’m talking about. I think. Every damn shift or sway, I not only get a nice jolt of pain, but also get reminded that things ain’t where they once was. (Channeling my inner country girl on that last bit.)
Non-gravity defying breasts aside, let’s talk about what a kid should be excited about when going on vacation. Little Man counts down the days until he gets to get on water slides, body board in the ocean, and dig in the sand. Baby Girl gets excited about something different.
Before we went on vacation, I asked Baby Girl what she wanted to do at the beach.
“See the ice cream man!” she answered. I was rather impressed with her memory of getting ice cream at the beach a year ago, but that wasn’t quite what I was going for. True to her word, though, this is what she looked forward to every single day.
“I gonna see the ice cream man today?” she’d ask after waking up in the morning. The same question would be repeated twenty minutes later, after breakfast, in between breakfast and lunch, during lunch, etc. And finally the music from the ice cream truck would play and her dad would take her to pick something out.
And, I kid you not, if you ask her what kind of ice cream she had on vacation, Baby Girl will tell you all five of the different types of cones and popsicles she had. Again, her memory is most impressive.
Now for the last vacation expectation vs. reality. Since Baby Girl is getting older, there are certain things I expect of her — namely not eating poop or crapping in the tub. Anything gross that’s related to poop, really. I’ve been pooped on in the tub a few times, but now she tells us if she has to go. As Little Man would say, “Thank Zeus!” As such, I expect the same from her when swimming. Water’s water, so give us a head’s up so we can head to the bathroom, right?
She did tell me about the poop — after the fact. Just as I stood her up on the edge of the pool to jump in for a cannonball, she told me that she had pooped. Sure enough, when I glanced down at her crotch area, I saw watery streams of poop coming out. For the record, she was wearing a Little Swimmer diaper, but it was no match for Baby Girl’s bowels. I’ll spare you the details from there, but just know that some beach towels were ruined and that I had to avoid eye contact with people.
All in all, it was a great trip. We spent the majority of our time either by the water or in the water, which is what it’s all about for me. In the past, it has been a challenge to get Baby Girl to even touch the sand or ocean water without tears, so it was awesome to see her work her way up to digging in it a little and splashing around. As Borat would say, “Great success!”
The family and I are headed to Myrtle Beach tomorrow morning. Well, the plan is to head out tomorrow morning, but if I know my slow, disorganized family well at all, then we probably won’t make it out the door until after lunchtime. Drama over how many toys a child is allowed to bring will almost surely happen. If we’re lucky, though, maybe we’ll remember to bring our underwear, bras, and swimsuits. Somehow those things always get left behind and a trip to Target is necessary. Sometimes I think my husband believes I intentionally forget things just so we can stop at Target, but that isn’t the case.
Those of you who read my post about my and my husband’s anniversary trip know that we had a relaxing time at Myrtle Beach a week and a half ago. It was amazing. No “I hate the water!” or “I hate the sand!” or “Hey, I’ve got poops!” to get in the way of relaxation. (Well, no poops that I had to manage, anyway.)
This coming week will be different. Very different. I have no doubt that we’ll have an amazing time and make some wonderful memories, but y’all know how it is with little kids. They’ll try their damnedest to make sure relaxing doesn’t happen and make sure the bags under your eyes pre-vacation are twice as big post-vacation. Mama’s got an umbrella drink? Let’s get sand in it. Daddy’s trying to listen to music for a few minutes? Let’s get sand on him. We’re all nice and clean and ready to go out for a good meal? Let’s get sand coordinate meltdowns of epic proportions so Mom and Dad get to do the walk of shame and haul us out.
Things are definitely gonna change.
Bye bye, relaxation.
Bye bye, voodoo juice bucket (most likely).
Okay, maybe the shade and the beach bag won’t really disappear, but only crossing out one or two things wasn’t as dramatic.
Hello, family vacation.
And hello, judgmental strangers.
Not pictured is the fishing rod and net that Little Man wants to bring. I imagine that he’ll inspire a doodle with those.