While we await the results of Taterbug's blood test for Celiac disease and a gluten allergy, I've tried to remove all gluten from her diet. It's pretty cool to see her no longer in pain and to be a much happier little kid. I'm pretty confident we've discovered the cause of her digestional discomfort and I just hope the tests confirm this. It would make life so much easier to know what is making her feel so yucky.

I stopped by Eureka Natural Foods tonight and picked up a few items to tide her over until we get the results. I about had a heart attack when I began looking at the prices. I also quickly realized what a major life change she'll have should she test positive. I've heard that even McDonald's french fries have gluten but I haven't really found a solid answer on that. Thankfully, I've found gluten free brownie and chocolate chip cookie mix to ease her little sweet tooth. And tomorrow morning, she'll dine on gluten free pancakes. We'll make it work.

Any suggestions on local places for the anti-gluten child? Crazy enough, but Amazon.com has some great prices on gluten free groceries. My brown truck boyfriends might be visiting again, and soon.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Gunny and Taters had a top secret meeting last night and I found out the results of their conversation this morning. Taters had left her journal lying open on my desk, which makes it fair game in the parent world, and I looked down to see a face I immediately recognized. Gunny had evidently sought out her services as a crime scene sketch artist and she had provided him with a composite sketch of Mrs. Grumpy. This is what I saw:

The resemblance is uncanny - especially with that cigarette perched precariously in Mrs. Grumpy's fingertips. Please keep in mind that I had to get Tater's permission to post this rendition. This was also in addition to the 23 page letter of release I had to sign in blood, promising that I would not share my findings with the paranormal institute nor would I directly profit from her drawings without first giving her a 50% cut. That's my girl.

Posted by Mommazilla at 06:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

What Taterbug says her classroom smelled like today after the bean and cheese burrito hot lunch. Gosh, I don't miss the whole classroom scene so much.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Nine years ago today, I was inducted into the secret life of motherhood. My baby girl, queen of our castle, and boss of her brothers came silently into the world at 1:41 PM on 12-26-99. I had been laboring since midnight the night before and was unpleasantly surprised at how painful the whole process was. When it was time to push, I vehemently denied wanting to participate and rather asked the midwife to hook up a chain and pull her on out. After all, I had done my part and was physically and emotionally exhausted.

I did end up pushing and after an hour, she was finally delivered; a silent, beautiful, purple little baby doll. She was not breathing and did not have a heartbeat. Hubby was videotaping the whole process, unknowing that our little girl was on the verge of something terrible. The nurses feverishly revived her as the rest of us were oblivous to what was going on. You can actually see her start to pink up in the video and her first kitten-like cry makes me bawl everytime I watch it. A few minutes of resuscitation brought us a screaming little girl and she hasn't shut up since.

Happy birthday Taterbug, Shalimar Keisha, Ms. Fashionista, Tea, Butthead, T-Bug, Bubba and whatever other name fits her at the time. We love you!

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Almost twenty years ago yesterday, my Grandma Joe passed away. I had just turned 13 and it was the first real death and funeral I actually remembered. Each year on the 23rd, I remember her by saying a little prayer for both Grandma and my dad, since it was his mom. It's my own way of letting her know I remember and good way for my kids to have some neat memories of a family member they've never met.

Or so I thought.

Gunny has a new friend and I was introduced to her yesterday. Her name is Mrs. Grumpy and she's an "owed yady." She likes to sit on the couch and enjoys watching the kitties play. Her preferred resting spot is on Gunny's Spiderman blankie, either on the couch or just next to it. She loves C-dub and Taters but isn't so sure about Mom and Dad.

She's Gunny's first imaginary friend and it's seriously freaking me out.

I thought Gunny had just thought of a new name for the kittens but he was adamant that it was a "yady." He'd walk over and pat the couch where he said that Mrs. Grumpy was sitting. A few minutes later, he'd tell me that Mrs. Grumpy was "yaffing" or "goin' outta da room," and then point to a certain area. It was so strange to see him act like that; as if he thought there was a real person there.

Taters is freaked out and wants me to buy a Oujia board so that she can "talk" to Mrs. Grumpy. I vetoed that plan. She swears she's feeling temperature changes and has a tingly back of the neck feeling whenever she sits on the couch. No more "Goosebumps" books for her and certainly no more "Ghost Hunters."

Is it coincidental that he discovered an imaginary old lady friend named after my Grandma's personality on the anniversary of her death? That was a mouthful but my nerves are as frazzled as that last sentence sounded.

What do you think? Is it Grandma Joe? Or could it be just the active imagination of an almost three year old? I'm not sure what I believe but I don't think anyone can have too many angels looking after them.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

It's been a lot of fun this Christmas trying to teach the older two kids that by giving gifts sometimes you can get the most joy. It seems for the most part, they're starting to understand how much fun it is to trick, tease, and outright lie - all in the name of the Christmas spirit.

Their school has really helped me in showing them how to be "givers" rather than just "receivers," during this holiday season. They host a little store where the kids are allowed to go in and make small purchases of donated items. I sent Taters and C-dub each with $6 last week and they were both very excited to be "rich." Six one dollar bills can turn a kid into a high roller. Just ask Taters.

Before they left the house, C-dub and I had a brief conversation about the holiday store.

C-dub: Mom, how'd dey get a store in da office?
Mommazilla: Well, they didn't actually bring a store in. They just use your library and fill up the tables with lots of good stuff.
C-dub: I weally hope they have Hotwheels. I need sum new ones.
Mommazilla: C-dub, you don't buy for yourself, you buy for me or daddy, or even Taters and Gunny. This is your special shopping trip for the family.

He looks a little perplexed, pissed off even. For a six year old, in the book of fairness, this just doesn't sit well. After a couple of processing minutes, he finally simmers down into the idea that he'd have to shop for us.

C-dub: You still like takin' pictures, Mom?
Mommazilla: I do. It's my hobby.
C-dub: Oh, do you need any camera caps? You said Gun-Gun stole some of 'em. I rack my brain to figure out what a "camera cap" is.
Mommazilla: Do you mean lens caps?
C-dub: Yeah, dat's what I said. Camera caps.

I dropped the kiddos off at school and returned home to take a long "Calgon Take Me Away" bath - wuth Gun-Gun of course. When it was time for pick-up. C-dub was happily waiting on the sidewalk in front of his classroom, clutching a fat paperbag he had obviously decorated himself. As he got into the car, he informed me the store was out of camera caps but he had found the next best thing.

C-dub: You wanna open your present, Mom?
Mommazilla: Nope, not until Christmas. I'm really excited to see what it is!
C-dub: Are ya sure you don't weally wanna open it? I won't tell Dad or the elf.
Mommazilla: No thanks, dude. Let's just get home.
C-dub: But I weally think you should open it. You could use it at yer work.
Mommazilla: But C-dub, you are supposed to wait until Christmas.
C-dub: You could dest wrap it back up again. Just take a wittle peak.

After his strong argument of it just taking a little peak and his promise not to rat me out to Dad or the elf, I carefully unwrapped the gift. He watched my face as I opened up my third identical school mug. I smiled and gave him a big hug.

C-dub: It's dest what you wanted, huh Mom. Now you can dwink all da coffee ya want!
Mommazilla: It's exactly what I wanted. Thank you very much.
C-dub: Don't worry 'bout those camera caps. I'll tell the elf you still need'em.
Mommazilla: That would be great.

One kid down, two to go - on the joys of gift giving this Christmas.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The beloved germs of grammar school followed my children home and gave C-dub and Gun-Gun "the boffs" - at least this is what Gun-Gun named it. He informed me last night at 1:30 AM he had "boffed" on his bed and this morning he had "boffed" on the floor. Poor little guy. He kept apologizing for his boffs. This blessed little flu bug hit our family last year just around the same time; I'm starting to think our candy canes might be laced with ickiness.

While C-dub was much better today and managed to drag his little Kindergarten butt to school, Gun-Gun was not faring so well. He was acting a little lethargic but still gave me some goofy giggles. His little glazed eyes revealed how bad his tummy actually felt and the projectile vomit was a clue as well. Thanks goodness this happened after Taterbug left for school. She tends to be a sympathetic barfer and I didn't need another load of laundry. The ten I did today were enough.

The one thing that perks Gunny up when he's feeling bad is laughter especially laughter caused by goofy cartoon characters playing obnxious videos or busting insanely loud grumpies. I knew exactly where to go to cheer him up; Youtube. Here is our selection of videos for your viewing enjoyment:

For the best "busted grumpies" I offer you these family favorites:

Gunny's favorite splashed with a little chubby gummy bear butt nudity:

The song makes this one a keeper:

And you can't help but love the song "Axel F" even if this creepy little dude is singing it:

I have now given you some tools to put in your parental toolbox, the next time you need some cheap entertainment for your sick or bored child.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

For the life of me, I can't get these friggin' videos to load correctly. Thank goodness the audio is cute.

Jingle Bells (The Nice Version)

Jingle Bells (The Naughty Version)

Posted by Mommazilla at 12:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Via "Elf On The Shelf." This kooky little kit is the perfect way to promote peace and happiness amongst your children...at least until Christmas arrives. Heck, you could probably even use it on your significant other if they still profess their love for Santa. Remember, if you still believe, you'll get more presents.

The full kit costs about $30 and it comes in a special box that you can personalize on the front with a message. Within the kit, you get a freaky looking elf, a hardbound book, and a carrying case to keep the elf during his off time.

After you open it, your supposed to name your elf (our guy is Elfred) and then allow your children to look and talk to him, but not touch him. I guess elves are weird about their personal space and I'm not sure if they bite or what not, so just play it safe and keep their grimy little fingers off. I think the book says something nice like the elf's recording feature will reset and erase all Christmas wishes if you touch it. I like my gruesome version better.

After you've named and ogled Merv the Perv (did I mention how creepy that little elf looks, seriously - you be the judge)...

Read the book. It explains the tradition in kid terms and it's actually a cute little story. It says every night the elf magically transports itself back to the North Pole to deliver messages and his observations to Santa Claus. Children are supposed to talk to the elf (but remember, don't touch the elf hence you face losing a finger or two, Chucky style) and let him know what they want for Christmas. Wise parents can stay within earshot and use the information accordingly.

In our home, the kids have turned Elfred into the tattling God. Rather than threatening to tell Mommazilla or Hubby, I hear:

"Sissy! I'm gonna tell Elfred and you won't get nothin' for Chwistmas!"

Or:

"I'm gonna grab your hand and touch Elfred so he'll forget what you want for Christmas!"

It's kinda nice. He gets the brunt of the verbal punishment while I get to sit back and watch. He never asks for my opinion and I don't offer him any parenting advice. I really don't want to step on any little turned up toes.

Every night, Merv hides himself (with the aid of a parent) and the next morning, the kids have to find him, but again - no touching. It would be tragic to have them missing fingers for Christmas. Ultimately, it turns into a big fun game of elf blackmail. I've found having a direct line to Santa Clause is a powerful tool in the art of blackmail.

I'm not sure what I'm gonna do when it's time to say goodbye to Elfred. I'm really losing some leverage with the monsters and this makes me scared. I was thinking of some possible substitutes in the meanwhile. Like, "Midge on the Fridge." I could use some nasty old baby doll that would have a direct link back to the queen of some trailer park and if the kids misbehaved, no more pork rinds or soda pop. Now that's punishment. Or how about "Thor on the Floor?" I have some old He-Man dolls that I could substitute and if the kids were little turds, He-Man could report directly back to Skeletor and cause them to be banished from Grayskull. And just for information, He-Man was not a doll; he was an action figure - so Uncle R, you can feel better now.

I doubt that any of my suggestions will get my anywhere but I will give myself a pat on the back for trying. Anything you can do to stay ahead of your children is a good thing - especially at Christmas time.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I had the most scariest, vomit churning, gut wrenching day of my life today and I'm still sick over it. I wasn't even sure if I was going to share it with my blogging world but decided it might serve as a good reminder that you can never be too careful with your little ones.

I sometimes have to work the night shift and last night was one of them. The plan for today was to allow me to get some sleep while Hubby and both sets of grandparents worked on getting our almost six cords of wood stacked. C-dub was at his buddy's house, Taters had a friend over, and Gunny was going to help stack wood (a.k.a. play in the mud and throw sticks around). The plan was good for everyone - or so we thought.

At about 11AM, I am sleeping very soundly when I hear my bedroom door open up and my dad come rushing in. He looks panicked and he yells at me to get up because Gunny was no where to be found. He explains that Gunny had been missing for almost fifteen minutes and they thought he may have trooped up into the wooded area behind our house. We live in a semi-rural location with lots of redwood groves and a sometimes flowing creek that runs through our property. We've had a bear, mountain lion, and a duck-eating bobcat make their presence known; needless to say, I almost threw up when he told me Gunny was out there, possibly in the thick of it and by himself.

I ran outside barefoot, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and a terrified look on my face. We had the whole neighborhood (thank God for wonderful neighbors) searching for him and after another fifteen minutes, we decided to call the sheriff's department since our efforts had been futile. After being transferred several times, we were finally told that someone would be on their way. We didn't care who; we just wanted more bodies to help us search for our baby.

About another ten minutes went by and I was up on the hillside with Hubby, sobbing and thinking the absolute worst. In between the tears, I could hear Grandma D's voice yelling Gunny's name and then, "You're in big trouble!" It was the sweetest sentence I had ever hear her say. Hubby and I ran down the hill and into the driveway where we franticly waited for Grandma D to arrive with our little wanderer, whom she had found just down the street at our neighbor's place.

When she pulled in, Gunny was soaking wet and had bits of shrubbery stuck to his clothes. He had managed to walk through the woods and onto our neighbor's adjoining property about a 1/16th of a mile away. It's not really that far if you look at it, but nearly equivalent to 10 miles for tiny toddler feet.

I grabbed him up and started bawling (again), all the while trying to tell him how wrong it was to do what he did. He looked at me and I saw his bottom lip start to quiver. His only reply to me was, "I wuv you Mama. I was scawered." He then put his head down on my shoulder and began to cry, hugging me tightly and patting my back. Oh my God, Gunny, I was scawered too.

After a nice warm bath and an angry lecture fit for a two year old, he took a nice, long, nap and was no worse for wear when he eventually woke up several hours later.

Looking back, I am amazed that he was able to get past two sets of grandparents, a dad, a big sister and her buddy, a fence line, and three pet pooches who tend to "herd" him - but he did, and he did so quite successfully. I still feel so much emotion when I think about what "could" of happened and I thank God that it did not. I love that little man so much that having just a taste of him being gone was enough for a lifetime.

I've ordered a "kid locater" device tonight he'll be wearing from now on. This will follow the two books on how to parent a hard headed child, I'm borrowing from a friend. Hubby and I also discussed possibly fencing the property - although we're talking about over two acres of fencing which is going to be quite expensive and time consuming. Our final thought is on how we turn a wandering toddler into a little boy who will at least acknowledge us when we call to him? How do you make a two year old understand that he just about gave all his family members a heart attack? How do you "parent" rather than just "chase" your child? I think I need Dr. Phil or maybe even the Super Nanny to get us going on the right track.

I'm reading and re-reading articles on child discipline and punishment - two words which are evidently not supposed to be interchangeable when dealing with a toddler. The lecture, tears, and pure panic he saw seemed to make an impression at the time on his little two year old psyche. Some friends asked if I "beat his butt" when he got home. No, I didn't. I was so happy to have his little butt back in my arms the last thing I thought about was to spank it. And, I don't want to delve into the spanking issue on this posting because I believe it's a personal decision that every parent has to make and live with. It's an option that I did not choose today.

I think my biggest quandary is that I feel like a new parent during this process. I had absolutely zero trouble with his brother and sister at this age so I don't know what the heck I'm doing wrong with him. I know it's the way he's geared but it's scares the crap out of me and goes to show that we all have to buckle down and work together to tame this tiny savage beast. Gunny truly shows that it does take a village to raise a child and I will hopefully become a better parent out of the process.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Did you know that the movie, 'Barnyard," is so hystewical and hilwawious that it will give you a chuckle in your throat? You betcha. C-dub told me so tonight. I can hear him in my room all sprawled out on my bed, laughing at the antics of the cows. Good times.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've been making a conscious attempt to avoid McDonald's like the plague. Not just because the food is terrible for someone trying to get rid of some extra baggage, but it's getting expensive. My kids have protested but after a month, they've finally given up knowing that I wasn't going to give in. It's been a really good thing for my family's health and my my pocketbook. But it hurts. It hurts so bad.

Weakness set in today. I smelled the waft of french fries being cooked to delectable goodness. When I turned to fondly gaze upon our local Mickey D's, it's golden arches were seductively waving one shiny finger at me in a "come hither" gesture. Of course I complied. My greasy lover wanted me, needed me, and I fell under his voodoo love spell.

The good thing about McDonald's is that our local one has a nice playground. I don't feel as guilty letting the kids have a Happy Meal if I know they're gonna run part of it off prior to leaving. And since it no longer has a ball pit, I don't have to worry about them finding hypodermic needles, razor blades, vomit, or poisonous snakes.

When I pulled into the parking lot, the kids were so excited that they were chanting and screaming how wonderful their young, voluptuous, porcelain skinned, blue eyed mother was. Of course, I was humble about the whole situation and told them to quiet down and only profess their flattery when we were in the company of other mothers whom needed to be impressed. :-)

When we got to the playground, the kids hungrily ate their burgers and fries and slurped down the ever forbidden soda-pop. Am I the only one that uses this term? I hope not. After eating, they ran off to play with the other little snot-nosed punks (literally, it is the cold season) and proceeded to break glass with their high octave screaming.

Everything was going great until Taterbug came down the slide and marched over to me, obviously embarrassed. I asked her what had her panties in a bunch and after she lectured me for using such a weird phrase, informed me that Gunny had taken over the top portion of the play equipment. He was not allowing any children to utilize the top little playhut and he was yelling at them to, "Get out!" I assured Taterbug that he was probably just playing a game with the other kids and she looked at me sternly and replied:

"Mom, he's poopin'. That's why he won't let anybody up. He told that little girl over there to get out until he's done. I'm so embarrassed and I think I'm gonna puke 'cuz he smells so bad."

I sat there, quietly eating my fries and contemplating how to get him out of his sequestered prison without first causing his "load" to squish up his back and down his legs. Yes, he still wears a diaper, THANK GOD, but he's not a sweet little baby anymore. He poops like a man. I swear on this.

I called to Gunny to come down the slide and see me (as this was unfortunately the only way down) and received no reply. I looked up and could see him through the plastic window in the play area; his little face was red and sweaty and he had a look of determination.

I finally heard a stern little man child's voice say, "No Momma. I poopin'. Yeave me awone."

I gulped my soda and looked around to see if any of the other moms and grandmas had heard Gunny's proclamation. The snickers and smiles answered my question.

"Ok Gun. Just come down when you're done." I said as sweetly as possible.

"Alwight Momma." He grunted his reply. I was obviously ruining his mojo.

A short time later, I heard a couple of shrieks of, "What stinks so bad?!", and Gunny reappeared. None of the kids protested when I told them it was time to go and we quietly loaded into the car. On the way home, we had the sunroof open and all four windows down in a frantic way to ventilate out the smell. It was bad. Very bad.

I guess this will teach me to eat at McDonald's. Geesh.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

My BFF Sandruh stopped by awhile back, to drop off some books and chit-chat. Before she came over, I begged and pleaded for her to bring her daughter so that I could take a couple of pictures. She has a beautiful little girl and I wanted some practice. Selfish I know, but persistence paid off and she brought Joey over.

Gunny loves Joey, even though he can never remember her name and just calls her "widdle gewl" or "hey yew." He followed her around during the picture taking and promptly lined up to give his best "cheese!" when I asked her to smile.

I don't know about you, but a skeleton shirt doesn't exactly go with a gorgeous little girl. And my gosh, my kid is a pale little Swede. He and I need to hit the tanning salon.

Here's one of my favorites:

Her Gap winning pose:

And a final close-up of the cutie:

Thanks again Sandruh and Joey! I look forward to the wedding :-).

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Is the mud puddles. Actually, I love the rain and look forward to when the gloomy weather settles in and takes over Humboldt County. We have a beautiful wood stove that gets used throughout the winter and it truly creates such a cozy feel. Plus, it keeps the PG&E guy away since it cuts our bill in half when we avoid using our energy efficient forced air heater.

I'm not the only one in my family who loves what rain brings; so do my boys. Mud boggin' at it's finest, all in the comfort of our front yard.

As a little kid, I also loved the huge mud puddle that would form in front of our house every year. My brother and I (normally hacking with our seasonal case of bronchitis) would make mud angels in the street and see how far we could get with our bikes.

An even more special treat was during high water times when our grandma's ranch in Ferndale would flood. To an adult, this is a very tragic and scary thing, with a lot of hardwork to follow. To a kid, it's a great way to find awesome mud and get away with playing mud hockey on your grandma's hardwood floor. My brother and I would ride our BMX bikes all over the backroads of Ferndale, driving through foot deep water exposing ourself to the yuckiness of old flood water. Aww, those were the days. I wouldn't even think to allow my kiddos to do the same thing nowadays, but in the 80's life seemed to be a bit more simple, if not cleaner.

Do you like the rain? Or am I alone on this?

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

"Sorry 'bout that guys," was all I heard coming from Gunny as I cleaned up the kitchen after making C-dub's birthday cake. Evidently, Gunny thought he'd try C-dub's birthday cake rather than waiting until after dinner with the rest of us. C-dub was pretty torked but Gunny assured me that I had done a "gweat job" on the cake. He was also very apologetic to C-dub and it was funny watching him try to give his brother "loves" all the while having the offending frosting smeared across his face.

Thanks Gunny, now stay out of it!

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My little man-child, bestest monster truck driver, ax-man, and all around little love bug, turns six tomorrow. I was looking back over his baby pictures - which I still need to scan in since they're on old fashioned film negatives - and it made me wonder where the time went. I remember being pregnant with him, puking my guts out for the first four months, and then feeling like I was carsick for the remainder. When I finally had him, at the petite size of 8 lb. 8 oz., I had no clue what to do with a baby boy with a fireman's hose. That kid shot me numerous times until I figured out how to cover pieces and parts with a diaper. And now, he's a big six year old. I just can't believe how the time has flown. He's reading and writing and I'm so proud. I guess you can't tell :-).

No matter how old he gets, some things will never change:

He still sucks the same fingers:

He still enjoys "getting into" his food:

He still loves gettin' dirty:

He still loves wrastlin' and to make his mommy scared:

He still loves the snow - only five minutes at a time:

And he's still Hubby's bestfriend and hunting buddy:

I love ya, C-dub. Have a wonderful 6th birthday little man.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

As I was doing the fifty millioneth load of laundry from this weekend's hunting trip, I came across these:

Look closer. Do you see the knees?

Evidently Papa Tom noticed that C-dub's knees had some major blowouts over the weekend. When he asked C-dub, "Are your knees hungry? You've got some holes there, buddy." C-dub didn't really know what to say other than to give him his goofy, googley eyed face and say, "Nooo, Papa Tom."

When C-dub was getting dressed, Papa Tom carefully cut off all the excess strands and smoothed the knees out, placing duct tape across the knees to keep them in one piece. Papa Tom didn't want his oldest grandson to be in religious jeans all weekend.

The jeans turned out near perfect and C-dub didn't know what to think about his "fixed" pants. I think they look kinda cool. We'll see how many washings they live through.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

My children are far more worldly than I thought and they proved this fact the other day. C-dub had ran into my bedroom, shrieking and pulling at the back of his jeans. Taters was in hot pursuit, belly laughing and pointing at C-dub's obvious discomfort. Gunny, not knowing what the heck was going on, followed the two into the bedroom and proceeded to scream his enjoyment of the raucous event. I sat on the bed and tried to smother myself with a pillow. Just kidding.

Once I got the screaming/shrieking/insane laughter stopped, I asked C-dub what was the matter and I put my hands on his shoulders in order to turn him around and look at what he had been pulling at behind his back. As I moved him I quickly saw the problem: approximately eight inches of Spongebob undies were pulled up his poor little butt crack and he was having trouble removing this cotton torture. As I helped free him from the hellacious wedgie inflicted upon him by his evil sister, Taters informed me that C-dub had received a "Texas wedgie" from her willing and capable hands.

Taters: How'd you like that Texas wedgie C-dub? She's snorting and grinning, obviously content with the big sister torture she had provided.
C-dub: That's not funny, Sissy! It hurted my butt!
Taters: You know C-dub, you're gonna need surgery to get that thing out. She's still grinning like the Chesire cat.
C-dub: What's sergawee, Momma? In typical C-dub fashion, he's beginning to panic at the unknown.
Mommazilla: C-dub, I almost have it out so no surgery for you. You just need to stay away from Taters and her Texas wedgies. Maybe next time she'll go easy and stick to a small state wedgie. Like Rhode Island or something.
C-dub: Ok Momma, thanks. See Sissy? No sergawee for me. You were wonggg!!

Free from his torture and with a pair of undies stretched at least two sizes to big, C-dub ran off to play with his little brother, staying away from the faux Texan with killer wedgie skills.

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I have the sniffles and no, it's not because I've come down with the Humboldt County crud. My sweet little C-dub, the king of momma's boys and keeper of my heart, has started kindergarten. I remember being sad on Tater's first day of kindergarten but I knew that she would be fine. Miss Independant practically kicked my butt out the door the first day of school and has had the same 'tude ever since.

C-dub, on the other hand, is much more sensitive and a little more needy than his older sis, so leaving him in the big, colorful classroom was a little unnerving. As I dropped him off, I thought to myself, who will tell me all day that he loves me? Who will tell me how pretty I am and how I'm the bestest cooker in the whole wide world? Who will ask me questions all day long and hint about how he wants to go to the park, zoo, Bounce-A-Rama, etc.? Ok, that's a part I won't miss so much.

And most importantly, what will I do with this guy?

Who's gonna play trucks and cars in the mud with him? Who's gonna take baths and have submarine races and farting contests? The poor kid won't know what to do with himself because I certainly won't fit the bill. Brudder is his bestfriend, not Momma.

The kindergarten teacher is great and C-dub already commented on how pretty she was so at least she'll have his attention. He's just like his father in that sense. He will be fine. He will be fine. He will be fine. Ok, I think I'm starting to believe it.

Gun-Gun and I are home now and the house is quiet. Too quiet. I didn't realize how much I'd miss the constant sound of chaos and raucous noises. We have lots of crayons and wall space so he'll have plenty to do. His older sibling, "Noggin" is also on 24/7 guaranteeing me some breaks.

Is it 1:15 PM yet?

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Good news. C-dub informed me today that I'm bound to have an excellent daughter-in-law (in about 50 years or so).

C-dub: Mom?
Mommazilla: Yeah?
C-dub: If danger was a beautiful woman, I'd probably marry her.
Mommazilla: Oh, that's nice C-dub. Let's just wait a coupla years, K?
C-dub: OK Mom.

I guess C-dub has his sights set high. I look forward to eventually meeting the woman who fits the bill.

Posted by Mommazilla at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I recently took C-dub to his first eye doctor appointment. He has great vision but since my little man-child is starting Kindergarten this year, I wanted him to be thoroughly checked out. I made the appointment so that he, Taters, and myself could all get checked out at one visit rather than having to travel to Eureka on three separate occasions. I also thought it would be good for him to watch his sister go through the same process as he tends to be the family "Paranoid Pete."

When we got to the appointment, Taters climbed up into the chair and sailed through her exam. When it came to C-dub's turn, he reluctantly climbed into the chair and informed her that he would not be doing the "alphabet stuff" today and that he preferred arrows. Knowing that C-dub tends to get stage fright, I assured the doctor that he did know his alphabet and that he'd be happy to show her his stuff. C-dub gave me a dirty look but then, like his sister, showed his skillz at letter and number recognition. I was so proud...and relieved, as Kindergarten starts in a coupla weeks.

C-dub proceeded to point out whenever he could see the "dirt" in his eyes (it was actually the veins of his eye - rather creepy if you ask me) and giggle when Taters made fun of him when he was placed in front of the freakish eye checking machine. That's a technical name, just in case you didn't know.

C-dub had almost completed his exam when he started to chat with the doctor about glass eyes. Evidently he had heard about the glory of glass eyes during an episode of either Spongebob or Chowder. He asked her how well you could see out of a glass eye and if you could pick your own color. The doctor was very nice and obliged his questions with simplified answers. Taters and I were holding in our giggles about his questions for fear of not being able to control them. At the end, C-dub concluded that it really wouldn't be that much fun to have a glass eye and I heartily agreed.

Prior to leaving the appointment, it was my turn in the chair and the two little heathens had to maintain their composure for ten more minutes. They did good for a little while and I quickly found how difficult it was to give them the "look" whilst having your chin perched on the eye checking machine. As I sat there hissing through my teeth to "knock it off," I could hear the giggles getting louder and I was finding it harder not to join in. When the doctor finally removed the eye checking machine, I could see why the monsters were in hysterics. They were mimicking my precarious position in the seat with little jaws jutted forward and googly eyes pointed directly at me. When they saw that the equipment had been removed from my face, they quickly sat up, looking at each other, and finally released the suppressed laughter - even cracking a smile on the otherwise serious doctor.

The appointment went well and I was happy to hear that my prescription had not changed and no glass eye would be needed. C-dub did ask me again later if I could have a glass eye, what color I'd want. I told him hot pink and he said I was "weyerd." Go figure.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The super reclusive and uber secretive hygiene bug has made it's way into my eight year old daughter's life and our world has been turned upside down. I've lost my blowdryer, fancy hair products, and lip gloss to a small child who now thinks she knows fashion better than I do - and the sad thing is, she probably does. The worst part about it all is that she has taken over my bathroom when she has a perfectly functioning throne right outside her door but evidently, her little brother's lack of aim just isn't too appealing.

I knew this day would come and I'm actually glad that she's taken an interest in how she looks and smells. What I don't enjoy is that I'm losing my stuff in the process. I've discovered that I really don't care for sharing and I'm actually a rather selfish snot when it comes right down to it. I typically treat myself when it comes to bath and hair products; it's the one area where I don't mind spending a bit more since it's a personal treat. Well, Taters has also developed a similar type love of the good stuff and she's been resembling a fruit cocktail whenever she gets out of my bathroom. I tried to scare her away from my Blackberry Vanilla bathwash by telling her the bees would think she's a gigantic flower. Yeah, that didn't work too well and proceeded to use up the tube explaining to me how important it was to use layers of soap rather than just a quick scrub.

I guess I should just get used to it because I really don't want her love of hygiene to go away. It's just going to be an expensive habit for the duration of the next ten or so years.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

And one more re-visit because this is probably one of my favorite stories about C-dub.

If there is one thing that I've learned as a parent it's that each child is different and should come with their own parenting manual. Since no such Baby Bible exists, hubby and I typically fly by the seat of our pants, with a little help from very knowledgeable grandparents and a stiff shot of whiskey here and there. However, recently there was a situation that neither experienced grandparents nor hard liquor could help; it was how to cope with our five year old son and his infatuation with lovely lady lumps.

Yes, my son discovered the beauty of a woman's breasts and for the past several weeks, we've been fighting the battle of the booby. I'm not sure that I can put my finger on when his infatuation began, but it's sure been a nipply situation to deal with. In hindsight, I remember C-dub being abnormally interested in whether or not I would be changing into my pajamas at night and if it would be necessary for me to remove my shirt. Thinking that this sweet little man-child was concerned with his momma's need for my warmth, I would give him a big hug and he would always squeeze me back. All the while, he’d be pressing his little cherubic face firmly against my chesticles, looking like the Cheshire cat. The saga continued and every now and then I'd find a stray Victoria's Secret catalog curled up under his Fisher Price racetrack, strangely dog-eared and marked up with crayon.

Even with those circumstances, I still wasn't convinced that my sweet little angel was becoming interested in the female anatomy... Sure, he would stop dead in his tracks when a Playtex Cross Your Heart commercial came on and yeah, I did think it was a little strange that he'd always offer to fold my laundry, but then again, maybe he was just earning brownie points for Santa? It wasn't until I had a conversation with his preschool teacher did I learn of the significance of his desire to be closer to the pillow buddies.

After weighing the facts of the case, I asked Miss K if C-dub had ever made any off the wall ta-tas comments while in class. She looked at me with a little surprise and her facial expressions quickly turned to shock.

"You know, last week while we were doing our exercises, C-dub just stopped and stared while I was doing jumping jacks. I thought he was just trying to see how I was doing it, but his eyes were focused on... Oh my!"

That was it. I knew then and there that my man-child had been macking on his preschool teacher. It was time for hubby to intervene before things got even more out of hand and other women were victimized by C-dub’s wandering peepers. I knew this certainly wasn’t my area so I instructed hubby on some of the areas to cover…privacy, implications of being a Peeping Tom, etc., etc... I did my own internet research and spoke with other moms of boys and discovered that his current obsession with lactoids was rather innocent in nature. In other words, he knew what he liked; he just didn't know why he liked them. He was finally noticing that girls and boys had differences, and boy did he like what he was seeing!

Hubby called C-dub into our bedroom one night while I stayed in the living room with Gun-Gun and Taterbug. Taterbug noticed C-dub's absence and asked why the boys were having a talk that she was not included in on. I didn't know what to say but being the brainiac that she is, she quickly asked, "Is it because of that boob thing? I don't know what his problem is but he'd better stop staring at yours Mom. It’s weird."

The conversation was brief yet effective as I am once again safe to dress and undress in the comfort of my own room, and without the offering assistance of C-dub. I still have to deal with Gun-Gun and his hooter infatuation but at least he's a little less vocal and certainly not as obvious with his affections. C-dub seems no worse for wear and he’s back to playing monster trucks and racing his cars with never a mention of his previous bigguns’ affliction. I truly look forward to the day when I can give a copy of this blog to his first girlfriend ;o).

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Don't you love to wake up to the sound of, "Mom, I'm not feeling so well - insert barfing sound here - !" And no, it never happens while your beloved child is hovering precariously over the toilet or even in the vicinity of the bathroom. Evidently, vomiting children crave the reassurance of comfortable carpeting, as C-dub did the other day.

I typically have pretty healthy kids with only the occasional cold here and there. So when the stomach bug hits our house, I'm on an anti-bacterial high, cleaning and scrubbing every possible surface that may contain something to pass on. I hate being sick but it's that much worse when it's a little fella or perhaps even a Hubby (since men tend to be sicker than most) contract something that requires a double dose of toilet paper.

In between the bouts of sickness, getting cold water, and making lunch for the healthy Taterbug, I've been working on getting Gun-Gun accustomed to his "big boy" bed. He's the new owner of a lower bunk but he's just not havin' it. For the past two days, he's gotten out of naptime due to a hectic schedule and errands. Fate was not smiling down upon him today because when nap time came, I escorted him into his room and tucked him in. All the way out to the room, I'm trying to be as animated as possible about the joys of his new bed. We cheered and marched all the way out to the big boy bedroom, but his little brakes came on as soon as we hit the threshold.

He doesn't "yike it."
He's "scawed."
He wants to "pway outshide!"

The excuses go on and on but I think we're slowly winning the battle of the bed. Now only if we could get that potty training thing down...

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Well, we're far past the first words uttered by sweet little Gun-Gun, but now we're on to the biggies - like the words that inspire an immediate reaction out of mommy or daddy. Yes, you know the words that every child stumbles upon and then wonders what to do with their new found power of attention. Cuss words, profanity, bad words, whatever you call them, Gunny have discovered the power of the spoken word through the help of fellow family members. His word(s) of choice?

Gawd Damwit!

And yes, there is an exclamation point after that because he says it with such fervor - his little veins poke out the side of his temple and neck as he yells it for whatever reason.

When I first heard him say it a few months back, it was a mimic of a not-so-careful parent (probably me) dealing with some frustration. I was shocked to see my little baby mouth those words and I immediately corrected him and then placed a secret call to Hubby to share the funny story.

Flash forward to this past week. Grandma L watched the munchkins on Sunday morning and Gunny decided to be a holy terror (actually, no worse than normal). After removing his diaper and pooping on his bedroom floor, he then proceeded to let the ducklings out of their cage to have free reign of our household as he knew Grandma L was tied up on poop patrol. While the ducklings chirped, running through the kitchen, a sweet little Gunny followed right behind admiring how "twute" they were. Of course, Taterbug and C-dub seeing the excitement began to scream and laugh all the while egging Gunny on and causing the ducklings to have their own accidents, thankfully on the linoleum.

Grandma L wasn't too happy 'bout this, and emitted the dreaded words that Gunny had previously developed a love for. Gunny, hearing his catch phrase, immediately started uttering it throughout the house in his best Marlboro Man voice.

Gawd Damwit Grandma L!
Gawd Damwit duckies!
Gawd Damwit Tata!
Gawd Damwit Cajun!

When I finally got home, there was a brief mention of the escapades that had befell my house earlier but no mention of the verbal altercation until Taterbug popped up with the comment that Gunny had used the "GD" word again. Grandma L threw her a quick scowl and reminded her that they weren't going to talk about it. Oops Grandma, you got caught! I assured her it wasn't the first or last time we'd hear Gunny use that phrase but that we all needed to be more careful of our household mynah bird.

As I'm writing this post this morning, I can hear Gunny in the kitchen trying to get his Hotwheels out from under the stove. He can't reach them and I hear him say, "Gawd Damwit kars!" C-dub starts laughing and Taters is quick to join in on the fun. I quickly call an informal family meeting and sit Gun-Gun in the time-out chair.

It was cute while it lasted but seriously, I shouldn’t have to worry about censorship for my two-year-old or the fear that he might mouth off in public. We’re going to tackle his utterings by correction and then ignoring the words he's spoken. No more laughing or snickering from anyone, including myself. I’m hoping this works because I’ve never experienced a potty-mouthed toddler before. I really don’t want this to be the start of his criminal history nor the beginnings of an incorrigible juvenile. I’m not interested in having to look up metal file loaf cake recipes so I can visit him in Juvie. Any suggestions? On the discipline – not the recipes :-).

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Here's a recipe we made today and it was so good I thought I'd pass it on:

(1) day of lukewarm sunshine
(1) freshly turned dirt pile
Approximately (20) gallons of yucky well water
(10) monster trucks
(5) Hotwheels
(2) Dirty little boys
A big handful of giggles

Mix together and enjoy! The fun will last hours and the shower and soap it takes to clean them off, will last just about as long.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

My daughter is fickle. Like a barracuda in the sea of life, the shiniest thing will attract her and she'll quickly move on to the next prey if her attention is diverted. Yes, she's just like her mother. Tater and I have what I like to call, "commitment issues" since we both seem to have visions of grandeur that eventually fade into afterthoughts when the next hobby is presented to us - even if we've already spent a tremendous amount of time and energy on the previous task. A quick peek in my garage will show you the Craftsman rolling cart filled full of unused cake decorating tips. It's parked right next to the art supplies, egg incubators and kitchen supplies that were going to be side projects and superb venues for moneymaking; eh, not so much now that I look back. You can add glitter or sequins to any pile of crap and we'd probably start collecting it. It's just so sad.

Tater has presented this same sort of "barracudesque" (that's my own word) in the sports arena, although Hubby and I have tried to encourage her into doing something - anything - just not the art or sport of coach surfing. Neither of us are huge sports enthusiasts but we do our best to try and encourage our children to be the opposite of their TV and Internet loving parents with "spreadage" issues.

When introducing sports to Tater, we started off with what I thought was a surefire win, soccer. When I was younger, I was a huge soccer fan and played throughout my school career. Every Saturday morning, my mom would lug Uncle R and I to various parks where we'd kick our little hearts out and run 'til we were sweaty and sufficiently muddy (it was always wet during soccer season). When I had my own kids I was confident I would get a at least one soccer player out of the bunch and I was pretty sure it was going to be Tater because she had my short and stocky soccer girl physique.

I mentioned soccer and she asked if you really had to run as much as she had heard. When I told her that yes, you have to run in soccer, she told me that she wasn't too interested in getting sweaty or dirty. Plus, the idea of giving up her Saturday morning sleep-in sessions was just too much for her to handle.

The next introduction to sports came in the form of T-ball, the sport that ALL kids love, right? Wrong. I was barely two months prego with Gunny and in my heightened emotional state, thought it would be a great bonding process to coach her T-ball team. First of all, you cannot successfully keep four, five, and six year olds from picking their noses and making daisy chains while on base. Second of all, no matter how many times the goofy coaches rounds the bases in the correct direction, there will always be one kid who wants to go the opposite way when they actually hit the ball. Let's just say T-ball wasn't her thing; she spent most of her time in the outfield dancing like Hannah Montana or yelling at me when she couldn't hit a "coach pitched" ball. I was obviously sucked as a pitcher because she told me so daily.

We ended her sports career with karate. She quickly realized she was a lover and not a fighter and spent most of the time admiring herself in the mirror. She looked so freakin' adorable doing her little moves and making those verbal outbursts but I just couldn't keep her interested when she found out that you didn't get breaks every 15 minutes and that her teacher actually expected her to work hard. The only day that I actually saw her enjoy herself was when she was sparring and accidentally gave a little kid a bloody nose. I was actually very surprised at her take on the situation as she is normally a very caring little girl. She finally admitted to me that she smiled so much when it happened because the kid was a little jerk to her and she was glad she gave him some "paybacks." Ugh, karate career over until appropriate maturity could be reached. I didn't want a little loaded weapon whoopin' up on fellow first graders.

Hubby and I were about to give up on trying to helping her envelop new hobbies and interests when I saw an ad for the Ferndale Repertory Theater's Young Actor's Workshop. It was a month long program taught by a talented actress named Denise Ryles. If you want to see the embodiment of spunk and charisma, Denise would be the poster child. What a neat lady.

I showed Tater the flyer and asked her is she was interested. I didn't let the desperation of a mother searching for her child's happiness, leak out too badly and I honestly didn't really think she'd be interested. But then again, I thought soccer was going to be a sure thing. I actually saw a sparkle in her eye and she instantly told me she wanted to do it. Her drama queen side had seen the light and she was going to give it a try.

For a month, Tater spent nine hours a week at this workshop and she loved it. She would come home and give me total attitude, professing that she was "acting" and that I needed to "chill out." Yeah, that only worked a coupla times before she learned I didn't appreciate her method acting. She'd also reminded her brothers several times a day that she needed to watch certain shows or listen to certain music, because she was going to be an "Acktohrr" (insert fake British accent and an eyeroll) and "Acktohrrs" had to practice their craft.

It was really nice to see her interested and satisfied in what she was doing. It was also a crack-up to hear her describe practicing in the Ferndale Repertory Theater. She swears that it's haunted and smells like "corpse." I was intrigued that an eight year old would know what "corpse" smelled like, but she assured me that she did. I think she's watched too many Montel Williams/Sylvia Browne shows or perhaps read too many "Ghostbumps" books. She had it dead set in her mind that she and her little acting buddies only had their three practicing days to send the ghosts to the "light." Ok Tater, whatever floats your boat. I just reminded her that she could play "Ghost Whisperer" all she wanted but she still needed to memorize her lines.

Over the weekend, she had her final performance and I was so proud of her. She did great and remembered all her lines. She was quite the little ham and had to be gently removed from the stage after her first performance. She gets that from her dad - I'm the shy one ;-).

Ultimately, the lesson we learned from all this is that you really can't guide your child into any of your own interests. Kids will discover their own likes and dislikes, and on their own time frame. Sure, I'd love to raise a kickass soccer playing girl, but I'm more than satisfied with my little Acktohrr (insert snooty, uppity tone here) and the many performances she brings into our lives.

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Gunny loves McDonald's and my infatuation with their french fries has not helped the situation. We oftentimes drive by our local Mickey D's on the way to Grandma's and each time, it's a conversation over whether or not we can stop for "frenchy fries." Typically it's a "no" unless the weather is nice and I can run them hard on the germ infested playground to work off their nuggets. I don't feel so guilty letting them eat junk if they are getting a bit of exercise out of the process.

I expected the usual question as I drove by McDonald's today but rather than ask me if we could stop, he held his own conversation:

Gun-Gun: We go to Ickdonalds? Frenchy fries?
Gun-Gun's Other Side: No. No Ickdonalds ooday.
Gun-Gun: Wuhhyyyy?
Gun'Gun's Other Side: Cuz.
Gun-Gun: Ohhh tayyyy.

Problem solved, courtesy of Gun-Gun's dual personalities.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I seriously think my two year old has taken up the habit of smoking. Somewhere in the midst of his diapers and wipies, I think he's sequestered a pack of unfiltered Camels and a lighter - for his smoking pleasure. No, I haven't noticed his pudgy little fingers turning a tarry brown color nor has he developed premature wrinkling around his mouth and eyes. But, he has the sound - you know, the husky, sexy smoker's drawl - that low rumbling Marlboro Man of a two year old kind of voice. And the best thing is that he can turn it on and off, mainly when he's torked at a sibling or at mom and dad.

This morning, my little Marlboro Man woke up in a rather grumpy mood and stumbled into our bedroom around the ripe 'ole time of 6AM. He instantly came in demanding his cocoa and was none to happy to hear that neither mom nor dad were interested in getting up and fixing it for him. His sweet little pleas turned into the angry little smoker and Hubby finally gave in just to have some peace and quiet.

When I was finally in alert mode around 9AM (I don't do mornings), he again whipped out the Marlboro Man side and attempted to bully me out of a second cup of cocoa and some three year old ho-ho's he found in the junk drawer. As a mother, I'm impermeable to threats and I'm not usually effected by the ever loving "puppy dog" face (parents, you know what I'm talking about - lip trembling, slight welling of the tears, etc.) but this rumbling growl that emitted from his tiny body was something I was not prepared for. I was aghast at such nastiness and the look in his eyes meant business. So rather than giving in, we negotiated a breakfast deal. He could have a bite of the three year old ho-ho's, but then he have to chase it with a bowl of cereal sans the cocoa. He growled in agreement and used his best Marlboro Man husky voice to say, "Tanks Mamuh."

I'm very happy that he's becoming a more verbal creature but I'm finding that along with the sweetness comes the sourpuss. He has a hot little temper (no idea where he got that from, wink, wink!) and now he's just able to express it better through his sexy smoker's growl. It's really hard not to laugh when you hear it, but I think that just torks him off even more. Ahhh, the joy of the terrible twos...why did it seem so much easier with my older two?

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)