X-Man burst through the bathroom door, only to find that his sibling was using it. No worries. He stripped off his pants and hopped into the bathtub and relieved himself. I was surprisingly ok with that.

Life’s been a handful recently. The kids’ activities keep us going, going, going. Rain or shine. It’s been pouring rain, but that didn’t put a damper on the kids’ spirits as the tore around the playground during Mac’s football practice. I was trying to keep an eye on Mac, making sure he was listening when I saw a cute naked tushy atop the playground equipment. X-Man had gleefully stripped off his pants and underwear, as they were wet. Wet from the rain, but wet nonetheless. I don’t run. Unless there’s a naked toddler involved. Then I can run very quickly.

X-Man was horrified at the thought of having to put his pants back on, wet and everything. But he complied and listened to the fierce warnings  I issued concerning the dress code on the playground. I was aware that his pants were cut to fit a diaper, and he most certainly was not wearing a diaper. Sure enough, minutes later the lack of a diaper and the wet jeans conspired against X-Man yet again. He was again atop the equipment, in front of the same police officer dad as before, jeans around his ankles. Although this time, he was struggling to keep his underpants up. He figured girded loins were sufficient, pants were not so much.

Of course, he wouldn’t have his pants so wet if he didn’t insist on laying flat on his tummy to blow bubbles in the rain puddles. Again, along with the publically nudity, this was a first time experience for me. 

Cinco has taken to carrying a large duck around the house. A large duck that a sister of mine was convinced my children needed. He's an unwieldy size, so she ends up carrying him by the neck, in a charming strangle hold.

Life this week involves the duck. Unless Cinco spots greener pastures. She spent the morning hauling the duck around, while trying to carry various remotes to TV and DVD. Over all it was a disaster, lots of droppage, shrieks and tears. With a healthy demand for me to turn on the TV for her. Cinco's still missing the sleeping X-Man, despite the presence on a duck in her life. She seeks to drown her sorrows in Netflix, snuggled on the couch with her duck.

There is an interesting phenomenon I've discovered raising my boys. It's the rare pair of pants that makes it from Mac to X-Man. Most shirts have stains on them. But shoes survive. Most likely because they are so rarely worn.

These are a pair of such sandals that have survived my sons. They're are not well made. But they connect with both boys in a special way. They're Mac's "scary" sandals. That's what he always called them. He wasn't scared of them, maybe he thought he would scare others wearing them. The thought of Mac hurtling towards you, scary sandals or no, is itself a intimidating thought.

X-Man too has embraced these sandals. He doesn't call them scary, rather he's upgraded them. He calls them his "Doctor Dooms". Which considering what happens when X-Man is involved with much of anything....seems apt. Right now X-Man is running around the house, clutching his sandals, but not wearing them, and yelling "DOCTOR DOOM!!!!"

It's odd, because neither one of them ever named another pair of shoes, but both of them have a special name for this pair. And they were both rather ambivalent about wearing them, cool if they did, no biggie if they wore another pair. I am perplexed. And knowing me, I'll probably end up hanging on to this pair of scary Dr. Dooms.

The duck is good for riding too.....

We have reached the point where I believe the neighbors will start worrying if X-Man doesn’t dance naked in the front yard. I mean, it will clearly indicate that all is not normal in our household.  I can be ready for it…..waiting for his foray into interpretive dancing….yet again. But his ability to sneak out is alarming. As is his failure to be thwarted by deadbolts.  It often happens as the father figure is leaving for work, X-Man is doing his morning business on the potty and jumps off to bellow goodbye.  Or it’s because the UPS guy no longer rings the doorbell during nap time but always manages to stop by when X-Man’s stripped down. Basically the routine is the naked X-Man makes it once around the van before he’s caught. The boy is very fast.

Trying to keep X-Man clothed is a full time job. He’s doing very well with the potty training, well he’s trained. I simply forgot the last part of the lesson, always put your clothes on.

Also, it might be time to work on his not announcing all potty related thought quite so loudly. X-Man being who he is, his first full phrase was “ew doss gigusting.” After learning to use the potty he tacked on some more to the phrase “Ew doss gigusting poop in the potty.” Which is what he announces, in his oh so indoor voice, whenever he sees anything that reminds him of anything potty related. Like a giant cow picture in a produce market. Surrounded by health conscious hipsters. I tried to teach him about cows and that whatever he has deemed “gigusting” was most likely udders. Or something.

He keeps me on my toes.

It’s been a beautiful fall day. With heavy winds. I’ve been enjoying it and threw open all the windows in the house to allow in the fresh fall air. Should have thought about that before breaking it to X-Man that I couldn’t find any of his minion underpants. And that we needed to brush his teeth. I almost judge my neighbors for NOT calling the police. Clearly someone was being murdered……or dressed. To add insult to injury, when he tried to toss some duplos into their container, he missed. I half expected him to rend his garments.

X-Man isn’t napping anymore. We’ve reached an understanding, naps aren’t required, but quiet time is. If not for his recharging, then for mine. I find myself craving the couple of hours of relative quiet that comes with Cinco and X-Man napping. So, I let X-Man have his quiet time. Which means I hear the sound of toys being dumped out and him thumping around upstairs and he stays upstairs. The relative quiet is uneasy, as X-Man does know how to open his door now. But that can be effective as it allows for easy access to the bathroom. Which typically is a good thing.

Until today. As I sat, trying to read and heard the unmistakable “plop….plop…plop” of water. From somewhere. And of course, that somewhere was indeed the upstairs bathroom.  I rushed upstairs to be met by the sight of my stark naked three year old son, sitting in the bathroom sink, water running. And of course, this sink lacked the overflow protections any normal sink would have, so the overflow spread all over the floor and the counter.  

I just stared. It had been a day already, and I just couldn’t process what I was seeing. Including how on earth he got himself entirely in the sink. He helpfully chirped “I wash mommy!” On closer inspection of my reaction he realized that he probably should hide and struggled to unwedge himself from the sink. “I sleep mommy!” A fifty pound toddler goes into a bathroom sink much easier than he comes out of it. 

We’re going to have to brush up on the definition of quiet time it seems.

Did you know that you can burn corn on the cob? Trying to cook dinner between soccer drop off and soccer pick up will lead to burnt corn.  Did you know that an 18 month old will not eat corn on the cob if it is burnt? See those seven burned kernels ruin the whole ear. At least for her discerning palate. She’ll stick with eating Destin.

X-Man and Mac also regarded the slightly burned areas with skepticism. I told them it was popped corn and they ceased to complain.

My morning house cleaning—which when you think about it is a totally absurd endeavor—was interrupted by Cinco’s screaming. X-Man had her by the arm and was pulling her away from her toys. He was yelling “Sleep bebebess sleep!!!!” He personally enjoys sitting in Cinco’s bed, and wanted her to get in with him. She grumpily assented, after realizing that the door would stay open, meaning it wasn’t really nap time.

X-Man covered her up with blankets, gave her a binky and patted her head while singing. While I personally wouldn’t find being whacked on the head while X-Man yodeled away particularly relaxing, Cinco nearly passed out. But try as I might, I couldn’t get X-Man to role model the behavior himself. However, Cinco look suspiciously like she might pass out.

Suddenly X-Man bolted out of Cinco’s bed and ran back to the toys her had dragged her away from.  He settled down in front of the very toy she had been playing with and launched into a new game. Cinco came stumbling out after him, clearly drowsy, screaming for the toy she had touched last.

Well played X-Man. Well played.

School is back in session. This means work, lots of work for me. It’s either my kids who need help, or student through work. Either way, free time is a fleeting memory. Which leaves little time to blog.

Cinco, on the other hand, has too much free time. The school aged kids are back to getting up early, the father figure supervises their breakfast and morning routine while I work. So of course, Cinco gets up with them. However, X-Man sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps. Up to three hours after everyone else gets up. This leaves three hours in which Cinco has to entertain herself. She’s not a fan. Watching TV seems like a great idea, until she realizes no one else is watching it with her. So she wanders into the school room. I was prepared for having to entertain little ones during school hours, so I broke out the color wonder markers and paper to keep her entertained. It took all of five seconds for her to realize that she had coloring pages and markers while everyone else had notebooks and pencils. And that would not do. So the crawled up on the table and starting fighting Baby over her pencil. And notebook. She determined that she was best suited to sit in the middle of the table so that she could draw on everyone’s work to her heart’s content. This does not create a pleasant educational environment.

So Cinco finds herself ejected from the office, often. And so she follows me around the house. Yelling. I think she wants me to carry her around the house, to search for X-Man. She’s pretty certain that I’m hiding him from her.

X-Man himself is turning over a bit of a behavior leaf. We still have epic meltdowns. Mostly concerning my lack of hospitality towards the rocks he finds. And by rocks, I mostly mean large chunks of concrete, leftovers from our remodel. I don’t know where he’s finding them; I thought they had been all removed. Nevertheless, they are his preciouses. He loves them and likes to drop them on the wood floor. Keeping the rocks outside of the house isn’t an acceptable solution for him. However, storing his precious chunks of concrete on top of the fridge, just fine. I don’t understand, I just keep rocks away from my wood floor.

X-Man’s frustration with life is abating however. He’s speaking English more and he’s comfortable using the potty. For the most part. I forgot about one aspect of potty training. Remembering to put the underpants and pants back on after the fact. The result is a potty trained three year old who is still without pants, most of the time. He can also open the back door, so often I find him outside, swinging away, in the buff. It’s quite the show, which is probably why Cinco is so bored when he’s not awake. 

I wish I had thought ahead. But I guess that’s the point of an impromptu trip to the beach. I’ve been parenting for over a decade and still I thought that they would just go up to their knees in the ocean. Funny, funny thoughts. At least I remembered changes of clothing.

I didn’t seem to remember I was bringing a three year old boy to the beach. And that he would charge headfirst into the ocean. The first wave wasn’t big enough for his liking, so he promptly sat down in the tide. And as it drifted back, he rolled around in the wet sand. For good measure.

Cinco was quite smitten as well. That is until she discovered that she wasn’t in control of the ocean. She was personally offended that the water determined to come to her, rather than wait for her to come to it. She scolded it quite firmly. She also was annoyed by seagulls’ tendency to take off as you approach them.  But running around on the beach was quite enjoyable for her.

Mac tends to be a more cautious child. Except when in the ocean. He quickly decided that the water was awesome and that he should go all in. Seriously, all in. And he was happy to report to us about all the “gross slimy” sea weed and jelly fish carcasses he encountered. I also learned my voice does not carry over the roar of the waves.  

After X-Man was good and soaking, and had immersed himself in the pits of sand his sisters’ dug, it was time to go back. This meant a trek across a large dry sand patch. Cinco kept yelling at her older sisters. She was tired of walking along side me and wanted to walk with them. But they were walking too fast, which resulted in a lecture from Cinco. The child runs the whole family.

We rinsed the sand off, but X-Man needed a fuller treatment. He was stripped down to his underwear, which prompted Mac to ask “Isn’t that not polite? Or at least very embarrassing?” I hissed at him to keep quiet as we headed back to the car, X-Man strutted his stuff while clad only in his superhero tighty whities. 

The trip took longer than it should have. Mostly because X-Man kept collecting rocks and stuffing them in his underwear. Rather than risk a scene, I humored him and continued our stroll. With a three year old. With rocks in his underwear. Providing entertainment to those following us.

Like our family routinely does.