There is no try...

This morning I noticed Liam's sneakers on top of the heater in the kitchen, and asked Jake what he wore to school. (Today is a Free Dress-down day--no uniforms--and I have never known LT to opt to wear his dress shoes on such a day.) Jake hypothesized that Lt wore his hiking sneakers instead, but we both agreed it was odd since Liam had actually remembered to come to us the night before and ask for help getting the dog poop off his shoes (as opposed to coming up in front of us at 6:30am ten minutes before departure and saying, "So, weren't you guys going to clean off my shoes?" which would have resulted in the shoes being placed someplace that was not on his feet and not un-poopy) and Jake had gone down to the basement sink to show him how to use water and a brush to clean off the shoes.

See, Mark had originally put forth the idea of leaving for Kandy's the Monday before Thanksgiving week, but asked if we needed him for anything before then I admitted that I had planned on him being around so I could go to my OB appointment and G's parent-teacher conference, so he kindly waited till Thursday. Now I realize what his real plan was--from his perch in the Red Room he could see the progress various neighbors were making on their leaves, and figured at SOME point we would realize that OUR leaves had to be done, so he spent from Monday to Thursday hoping he'd still escape before we got around to noticing ourselves. Sure enough, we didn't have a chance to think about leaves until Sunday, when I realized that everyone on the block seemed to be hurrying to get their leaves out to the curb (around here, leaves merely have to be piled at the side of the road, and then trucks and things come by and whisk them away by the truckload) and figured, correctly, that our street was scheduled for pick-up within the next few days. So Sunday afternoon, after mass and teaching religion and Liam serving a later mass and Cory's basketball practice, I came home and informed everyone that all was not done, as we had to do the leaves. Jake (inefficiently) used the blower, I raked, and Liam and Bot hauled garbage cans full of leaves back and forth between filling them at the backyard piles and dumping them off the curb while Cory babysat everyone inside. We got it all done in just two hours, but of course, a few of us got some dog poop on our shoes thanks to--well, the dogs.

Liam had been excused while Jake and I took care of the last bit, but when he noticed the poop on his shoes and tried the hose, he found the hose frozen. I told him that we could use the basement sink for washing any poopy shoes off, and to hang on while Dad got the brush which we'd uncovered in the leaves so he could use it on his shoes. But Liam had already turned and gone inside, thinking the message was that "we," Jake and I, would use the basement sink for washing his shoes and thus, knowing the shoes should just go in the basement, went inside to dump them there and forget them. I also forgot them. (Jake's strategy for poopy shoes is to take them off just by the back door, put them on a bench to expose them to lots of rain and weather, and then leave them there, well-seasoned, for the dogs to eventually chew up, at which point he tells me he has no idea where his sneakers are and he needs new ones. At least Liam is ahead of him on that front.)

So last night we found the brush again when Liam brought up the sneakers and Jake escorted him down to tell him what to do and pick up a bit while Liam went to work. Instruction was given, but apparently little direct supervision of the task was provided. Liam emerged with his hands held out in front of him like they were full of the plague and then made a turn toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Upstairs."

"Why are you holding your hands like that?"

"Because i need to wash them." Apparently there was no hand soap by the basement sink, so my brilliant child thought that the answer to making his hands free of the germs, real and imaginary, that had him holding them away from his body as far as his arms could go, was to traipse up three floors, opening safety gates and doors along the way with these same hands. I pointed out the obvious conflicts that this plan and his aversion to germs and dirty things posed, as he'd be handling those same gates and doors on his way downstairs eventually, admirably avoiding the actual word "stupid"--though, like Matt, I am very good at using many words to convey "stupid" as clearly, if not even more obnoxiously, than if I'd just said the word. He used the kitchen sink sitting a foot to his right, and that was all any of us thought about the shoes last night.

But now Liam was off to school and his shoes were at home and Jake and I were looking at them. As i served breakfast to G and Dunc and Tim I eventually had a chance to make my way over and pick them up, at which point I exclaimed, "Ugh, they're soaked!" Then, having just stuck my hand into yucky soggy teenage shoes, I turned to find someone besides myself to blame--Jake. "Didn't you tell him to keep the water on the BOTTOM of the shoes, not to get the body of the shoes wet?"

"Yeah! I told him to try not to get the shoes themselves too wet--UCK!" He had found the shoes as unpleasantly soggy as I had. "They're just SOAKED!"

"Jacob, you don't tell him to TRY not to get them TOO wet--this is the kid who 'wets the brush a bit to brush his hair' which turns into making his hair soaking wet while showering the whole bathroom with the water he flings around with the brush trying to get a half gallon applied to his scalp. If you tell him to TRY not to get them wet, and they'll get wet! You don't tell him to TRY not to, you tell him 'Don't get the shoes wet!' and then we'll have a manageable level of damp to deal with!"

"I can't tell him not to get them wet at all, they're going to get a little wet most of the time, so I can tell him to TRY hard not to get--"

I held up the soaking shoes before plopping them back on the basement steps to spend a few weeks drying. "TRY?!?! There is no 'TRY,' there is only 'DO!' "

Apparently resorting to citing Yoda as an authority on how to instruct a youth to wash poop off his shoes without making them soaking wet was very amusing to Jake, as he just laughed, and when he spoke again after I took this chance to make exclamations about soaking wet shoes and hair and how our son takes to both verbal instruction and water, he agreed that telling Liam to "try" not to get his shoes wet was not the way to go and he, Jake, would be more commanding in the future of the lack of wetness to be expected in any tasks involving water.

Reason to Vacuum

So, I once had a friend--well, OK, I still have a friend, but she once said to me, "I can't believe you vacuum every day." (Keep in mind she was a previously-working, first-time mom who said at the start of her maternity leave before the baby was born that she was getting someone to come and clean the house "because I'm sure as heck not staying home to clean!" and who thus never used her vacuum herself, as there is almost no need in a house with two adults, one baby and more bathrooms than people--each bathroom gets used the equivalent of one person-day per week at that rate, and for that she needed someone to come clean? I could have done that cleaning while a baby is switching breasts...) I pointed to the crumbs on the floor after a feeding frenzy called "lunch" and said, "Sometimes more than once--what choice do I have?"

"Why bother? It's just going to look like this anyway tomorrow, so why not just leave it?"

I stared at her, dumbfounded, trying to remember she had not yet experienced a child who eats more than milk as I choked out, "Because if I didn't vacuum, by tomorrow this would not look like this, it would be TWICE as much food and dirt on the floor, plus rats!"

I admit, my standards have been worn down somewhat--I don't vacuum every day because I no longer have that automatic lull known as Nap when I can do a quick tidy and vacuum of the playroom/kitchen, make myself some lunch, and watch Law and Order in grown-up mode for about 38 minutes. Now the playroom is four times as large as in the old house with four times (almost) the kids and mess, I don't need to clean it up to be sane because I don't eat lunch in there or watch TV in there and sanity is a lost cause no matter how clean the playroom is anyway, I don't get to watch L&O anymore because there isn't a time when all the non-school-aged kids nap simultaneously, and I'm just a little more tired and lazy than I used to be in the cleaning area. And now that I have folks coming to clean half the house every two weeks, I admit, sometimes if it isn't THAT bad and no guests are expected I have occasionally gotten that "it can wait till the cleaners come, can't it?" attitude sneaking in.

Only, we have two dogs now, and we have a Timmy.

Timmy is not officially a toddler as he is not toddling yet, but he does hippity-hop (an odd form of mobility that is not crawling but gets him from here to there fast enough) and cruise (for the non-parental, "cruising" means standing up and moving while holding on to things--essentially, walking sideways with handholds) and explore. And so the dirt/dog hair becomes an issue.

I'm sure you think I wish to protect my little wee one from the perils of dog hair, dirt, and fallen foodbits he may come across, but not really. Unless it's a wad of hair or a half-eaten carrot or something else he could possibly choke on, I'm not that concerned for the child. Yes, his hands are constantly on the floor, and yes, they are also constantly in his mouth, but this is, I'm convinced, how babies are naturally supposed to build up strong immune systems--why else would God have put dirt and babies on the same geographic level of creation?

No, my concern is really for the environment. It's about wasted water.

Toddler-to-be explores. Toddler-to-be takes out bowls, cups, assorted unbreakable things that to good mother has put in the lower cabinets and drawers just so he can open doors and safely explore to his stimulatory delight. LOTS of bowls, cups and assorted unbreakable things (think how many cups and plastic containers for leftovers alone a family of nine might have on hand, add in measuring cups, mixing bowls, the holiday cookie cutters you can never find a good spot for, and every bright plastic anything that isn't actually a toy you can throw in a bin just so a baby can play with it, then multiply it by how many years experience you don't have running a household with kids and you might have half the idea). Toddler-to-be is very happy, very cute, very oh-look-at-his-development-happening-right-in-front-of-my-eyes as he dumps and distributes all the contents of all the cabinets all over the kitchen.

At some point, though, you have to clean up, and this is when you find out just how well dog hair is attracted to plastic.

Is there any item you might eat or use to prepared food that isn't covered in dog hair if I failed to vacuum in the past five minutes? Nope. That means everything--as in EVERY, SINGLE, THING--needs to be rinsed off. IF done in the sink, it takes up more than the sink, more than the dishdrain, more than all the counter space I have, while if I use the dishwasher it would require starting with an empty dishwasher and dedicating it to rinsing all these items when there's already a backlog of actual "dishes" waiting to be washed. Either way, it's a grand use of space and time and effort I can ill afford.

And as I tell the younger kids when they want to play with the faucet indefinitely, we need to leave some water for the fish. When I have to rinse off every plastic item Timmy can tear out of the cabinets, the fish are getting very worried indeed.

So this is why I now vacuum every ten minutes. I do it for the fish.

Duncan's Use of the Passive Voice

I think Jake would call it the passive voice, but it's whatever one calls it when someone says, "Pee is spilled all over me" instead of "I peed in my pants." Duncan makes excellent use of it when it comes to his recent spate of accidents.

"Oh no, I'm wet."

"Why are you wet? Did you pee in your pants?"

"Um, no, the pee is just all over my pants...."

Perfect little kid technique for avoiding the unpleasant acknowledgment of wrongdoing and still getting someone to help you with those uncomfortable pants "with pee on them." There's also the denial technique, in which he simply denies the reality of the wet pants.

"Duncan, your pants are wet! You should have gone to the bathroom!"

"Um, no Mom, my pants are not...and I will wear my blue Thomas shirt to school tomorrow. And after you get me NEW pants, we will have dinner! Isn't that great?!?!"

Today was an interesting example of the "acknowledgment of accident via uncertainty" method. I poked my head outside and asked, "Duncan, are your pants dry?"

"Huh?" A bad sign. Duncan would usually have a quick and exact reply, so this ambiguous answer was a red flag.

"Are your pants wet?" I enunciated clearly and increased the volume to make sure I was heard.

"Um, no."

"Are you SURE?"

"Yeah." Then he gave a little sideways glance upwards as if thinking intently and dropped his little bombshell. "I'm not so sure about poop, though." Then he acted quite upset and confused about why I wasn't happy with him--he can take denial to an impressive extent!

Cory

So, the other night Jake came home and put the second-floor kids to bed, and when he came down to get sippy cups for the little guys, I was just going to get Cory a cough drop and saw Garrett's vitamin case. "Did you give G his vitamins tonight?" I asked Jake. Garrett has been taking vitamins daily since he was three, and yet Jake consistently forgets to give them to him for some reason. Kind of like me and trying to mail anything.

"Yup." Jake replied.

"Wow. You're awesome!" (Trying the whole positive reinforcement thing.)
Cory pops right out with a dry, "Well, TODAY, anyway."

I immediately turned on her: "Corinne Elizabeth, that was not at all respectful of your father--and very nicely done, I might add."

Quote from Homework Time

I'm at the table as I type, overlooking G's homework and keeping Bot on task as well, with Cory roughly keeping herself on task, and Alex begins to grumble with frustration at some Lego issue or another.

Bot doesn't even look up as he says, "Alex, you don't even know what a hard life is, so stop pretending you're having one."

Cory spits out an immediate, "Neither do YOU."

I'm keeping my mouth shut--barely.

Happy School Year!

Well, from where I stand, which is at the kitchen counter at 6:35 in the morning, it's an auspicious start. Granted, Jake got up and interpreted "Hang around upstairs and help move Bot along" to mean "Be too dumb to pee before waking the kids and then, when they're awake and using up both upstairs bathrooms, go all the way downstairs to pee so that by the time you slowly make your way back upstairs Bot probably already skipped brushing his teeth and is ten minutes behind" but at least I thought to tell him that if he's going to go all the way downstairs he might as well put Bot's oatmeal in the microwave so it's done when they come down. Liam came down looking for socks because "get everything you need for the morning as far as clothing goes" is generally interpreted as "everything you might already have upstairs is good enough until you get dressed in the morning and realize you're missing something." Richard, when I told him last night to go find the basket with the neatly folded white polo uniform shirts, asking Cory where the basket was if necessary, and pick one about three shirts down because that would be his size, picked instead a winter turtleneck in Liam's size crumpled up in a pile, not a basket, of all winter stuff that had no hope of having a "three shirts down." When he came down to the second floor so clothed in wrinkled, long-sleeved knit polyester from his ears to his knees, and my eyes got wide, Jake did the most useful thing he did all morning besides walking them to the bus stop, which was to quietly tell me, "Let's keep it positive, keep it positive, we're getting him the right shirt, it's OK..." So I wanted to throw a fit, but didn't. Jake then took this calm demeanor to the kitchen where he stopped Bot, the slowest eater of the bunch, to give him a shoelace-tying lesson. Yes, at 6:15 in the morning, when Bot hasn't seen 6:15 since early June. I'm sure he learned a lot. Liam then made a "what? I was just sayin'..." comment about how it's interesting that Bot should learn shoe-tying late when Liam learned how to tie his laces early, to which Bot self-consciously started to say, "Be quiet, Liam!" before I shushed Liam and whispered that there is no Freivald mythology in which he was an early shoe-tie-er (tyer? Tier? Tire?) anyway. Liam claimed innocent befuddlement over what he possibly could have done wrong, making such a comment to the touchiest, most self-conscious, tear-prone kid awake at 6:15, and then followed Jake's cheerful pointing out the Bot had a plumber's crack and should pull up his shorts with, "Yeah, he's always showing his butt when he bends--" before I whispered that he was simply not to speak to his brother until lunch, and if he made him cry before school he was in trouble and don't worry about telling me why he's innocent, just be quiet.

The kids and even Mom were cheerful at the door, where they posed for pictures, and the bus showed up at not too far off its appointed time--6:47am--so Jake wasn't left waiting forever down the block. Now, Garrett is woken up but is relatively quiet under threat of doing math sheets if he's loud, there might be a little kids awake but they have yet to figure out we're up and downstairs, I'm emailing, and Jake is chortling over Ann Coulter's latest column and it's just about 7am. Other than the fact that we're up and Mark is still asleep (jerk), it's not a bad morning so far.

We'll see how tomorrow goes--Garrett starts but does not yet have a bus pass, and neither does Alex, who starts on Monday, and dealing with the lady at Transportation in the district is always fun exercise of her telling me she can't do anything and me knowing she CAN if I can just say the right things to not piss her off but make her feel that spending a couple minutes now fixing the issue is better than putting me off and having to deal with me later, and both Alex and Duncan still claim they are not going to kindergarten or preschool (though I bet if I switched them, Alex would be fine with going to preschool and Dunc would walk into a class in which he's too young to be in, just like he happily wanted to stay last year in the very class he refuses to go to this year--once I get them in the school, slowly getting them to the proper location within the school should be no problem, right?)

Dunc's stomping down the stairs--we're discovered, and the party is over.

Quick Alex Quote

So, Dunc starts hollering from the playroom, but since it's after 3pm and he's doing away with his nap to the misery of all around him, I'm not overly concerned. Yes, he probably thinks he got hurt, but it's extremely unlikely that I need to go to him, and he'll make his way to me to tell me what i need to kiss. Sure enough, he comes wailing mildly into the kitchen, but Alex reaches me first, to tell me hastily, "I hurt him on the head by ACCIDENT, Mom. It was only by ACCIDENT."

"You hurt him, though?"

"Yes, by ACCIDENT."

"With what?"

"The floor."

Both Cory and I can't help but giggle, which I'm trying to hide from Dunc because it will only piss him off, so I attempt a straight face as I ask, purely for Cory's entertainment, "So what, you picked up the floor and hit him with it?"

Now Alex is laughing, but I'm not sure he gets why WE think this is funny. "No, I just tickled his neck and he fell backwards."

So kisses to the back of Dunc's head and off they go. I need to make sure I don't just leave the floor lying around where the kids can get a hold of it, though.