Just The Two of Us

It's Bound to Happen, Right? HA!

Friday night found us at Karen & Nathan's house for the night, playing with the kids while the lucky parents started a weekend away. 

It's just another thing I love about RW, he jumps right in.  He isn't just there to make sure no one gets seriously maimed, sets the house on fire, or kills a sibling in a freak accident.  He's there to engage.  He reads with the kids, he engages in riveting conversation ("Did you KNOW that I can count to NINE THOUSAND without stopping EVEN ONCE?  Yeah.  I did it on the way to the volleyball game! Want to hear me?")  Like I said, riveting.

Saturday morning we awoke to bright sun.  RW was all over that.  "KIDS!  Let's go for a HIKE!"  They sort of stared at him until pocket knives, magnifying glasses and snacks were mentioned, and then everyone suddenly sprung into action. I didn't see them again for an hour, which was more than impressive, as despite the sun, it was only 18 degrees outside.

After the hike and the subsequent bonfire (thank you farmer, for burning brush on this particular day!), Keira and RW were standing in the kitchen having another one of those riveting conversations, when 3-yr-old Keira piped up with this doozy:

"[RW], are you my grandpa?"  Clearly she still needs some work on family relationships.  Sitting in the other room, I overheard this and practically choked on my ice water from the laughter.  I'm fairly certain that RDub was disappointed that there was a witness to this question.

"No, silly girl!  I'm not your GRANDPA!!!"

She was undeterred.  "But you ARE a grandpa, right?"

I'm not sure I even heard RW's response, I was too busy laughing laughing laughing.  There are certain advantages to marrying someone older, mainly that you are always younger.  Thus, the laughter.  

Regardless of the relationship, there's simply no way RW could be offended by her:

...just give him another few years before giving him the grandpa label!

Doggin' It

It's Monday.  That means it's Pinterest Monday.  The day where I  extol the praises of actually doing some Pinterest projects, not just "pinning" them in a sort of "this is a great idea and someday I think this would be fabulous to do with the kids" sort of way.  Because before you know it, those kids will be 28 years old and may just be no longer interested in the cool hot dogs you can make for them.  Trust me.  It could  will happen.

In fact, I was front and center to this weird "the kids actually grow-up phenomenon" this past weekend.  The same day that I did the project below, I also made a ginger-bread house with The Kids.  Last time I checked, all four of those children were participants in the Rent-A-Kid program.  All four love the ginger-bread house every year.  Ok, they have loved it the years we've actually done it, which to be honest, isn't every one of them.  But they remind me every year that it's time -  we need to build that house.  And so this year I was on top of it.  I brought it over.  

We started honing our decorating skills, but it didn't take me too long to see that we were missing some one.  Quaid, who is now seven (I'm sorry?  Who gave him permission to grow up?  Huh?  I was.not.consulted.) decided that being in the other room with his daddy and RW was certainly way cooler than making a ginger-bread house with us.  Well then.  I'm just warning you.. it will happen to you too.

Back to Pinterest (seeing as it is, actually, Pinterest Monday).  I saw the way cool idea (I know, it's not proper sentence structure) of making hot dogs with spaghetti running through them.  Just to be clear, I didn't think this would be way cool for RDub and myself, but for The Kids. [cough].  I brought all the gear over to their house.  "All the gear" sounds a bit overwhelming.  "Gear" consisted only of hot dogs and spaghetti.  Oh, and some buns in case they wanted them.  I made sure The Kids were busy elsewhere, and I covertly started making my magical hot dogs.

I know.  Cool, right?  I threaded the noodles through and dropped them into a pot of boiling water.  And then after that I stood there and told Karen what a fab meal I made the night before, but seeing as that isn't relevant to this conversation, I'll skip to the final product:

Thinking I was oh-so-clever, I cornered 6-yr-old Ava and asked her how the noodles got in the middle of the hot dog.

She excitedly and matter-of-factly said, "OH! You take the noodles when they're stiff?  And poke them through the hot dog?  And them cook them.  That's how you do that."

So much for putting one over on her. 

So thus completes another Pinterest idea project.  And as for Quaid?  I'm guessing I need to come up with some cooler stuff to do.  Because clearly, the ginger-bread house didn't really cut it for him.   Growing up is for the dogs.

Glowing Reviews - Pinterist Interest

So how many of you have heard about Pinterest?  The site that can keep you completely occupied for hours - a mind-boggling sucker of time.  And yet, so addicting.  You wouldn't believe how many great ideas I've found on Pinterest.  Like I posted on Facebook not so long ago, I've found so many amazing things for my wedding!  Too bad I got married 13 year ago.

So many cool ideas. The problem is, how many of them do you suppose I'll actually do?

Well. That's where the blog comes in.  Every Monday for the next conceivable future, I will be posting on something that I made, cooked, organized, or whatever else, based on an idea from Pinterest.  Should be interesting.

So since today is Monday, and since I've just announced that Monday's will be Pinterest days, here goes. My very first Pinterest experiment.

Did you know.. (AMAZING what one learns from Pinterest!) that when you mix baking soda and peroxide with Mountain Dew, the Mountain Dew glows like a light-bulb?  Huh?  Did you know that?  I didn't know that either until Pinterest educated me.  What a fun "science" experiment to do with the kids, right?  And for those of you who are new here, by "kids", I mean our friend's kids.  Since we don't have any of our own, we are owners of and participators in the Rent-A-Kid program.  Never heard of it?  Well now you have.  We rent them for a time and give 'em back.  

So anyway, I arrived at Karen and Nathan's house with 4 bottles of Mountain Dew and much fan-fare.  I told those kids that we were going to do the COOLEST thing EVER with Mountain Dew.  We were going to turn it into a FLASHLIGHT.  They were duly impressed and couldn't wait to give it a try.  However, I made them wait until we were done making our chicken mummy.  Yeah, that's another post.

After the chicken was on it's merry way to mummization, we got out the baking soda, peroxide and Mountain Dew.  I started, in my best teacher voice, to explain chemical reactions to a 7-yr-old, a 6-yr-old, a 5-yr-old, and a 2-yr-old.  They weren't much interested in chemical reactions, per say.  I'd say they were more results-oriented.  They just wanted to see the Mountain Dew, in all of it's sugary glory, glow.

We turned off all the lights and gathered 'round.  I carefully spooned in the baking soda.  I measured out the peroxide and slowly poured it into the bottle.  I capped the lid on tight and shook that bottle like it was my own personal earthquake.  And then we stared at it, waiting for it to glow.

And we stared at it some more.

Nothing.

Nada.

No go on the glow.

Wanting to salvage just a little dignity, and in addition not pass up a teaching moment, I recovered by stating emphatically to the kids:

"..and THAT, kids, is why we don't believe everything we read on the internet."

They didn't think that was quite as funny as I did.

I'm hoping next week's Pinterest review will be a little more glowing than this week's was.

Roman Invasion

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when the following suddenly appeared on my Google calendar:  11a - 4p Roman Activity.  I was fairly certain how it appeared - it just may have something to do with the fact that Karen has the username/password to my calendar, and every now and again things pop up without me scheduling them in myself. 

Seeing as Karen is a home-schooling, part-time-working (little known fact.. I'm actually her supervisor at work bwa hahaha) , homemade bread-making mother of 4 spirited kids, I offer to help out on occasion, mainly doing school "projects" with the kids.  This one had me stumped - an activity about ancient Rome for 4, 6 & 7 yr olds?  Although a live demonstration of Christians being thrown in the arena with the lions may certainly make a strong impression on their young minds, and virtually guarantee that they not forget that particular school lesson, I was a little thrown off about the ethical implications.  And the legal ones - those too.  Plus, I like everyone involved and want them to live.  Is that selfish of me?

So back to the "Roman Activity."  I pondered it.  I Googled it.  I Googled it again.  Nada. Nothing.  My mind was was viciously stuck on the arena lions - that idea seemed to have taken up so much space in my brain that my thoughts had no room for anything else.  I casually mentioned this "Roman Activity" to RW, and he said something that finally, finally sparked my dormant imagination.  Roman communication.  Sweet.

Armed with my great idea, I showed up and went to work.  I ordered Karen to bring me 4 large white t-shirts.  Ordered may not be exactly what I did, but I'd like to think I was channeling the leadership of Caesar.  Appropriately dressed kids?  Check.

 
Now for the absolute genius of my "project".  I wanted to show the kids one method of delivering messages in the ancient Roman world... runners.  I figured I could pretty much couch anything as being "fun" at this age, so I asked them, if they wanted to wear their shoes or go barefoot?  There was a resounding "BAREFOOT", so I went with it.  On their gravel driveway.  Oh - I didn't say I was barefoot - I'm a little older than they are and understand the insanity of certain choices.  They'll learn soon enough.

 
Not everyone can take the ancient game of Telephone along with bare feet on a gravel driveway and make it a school project about ancient Rome, now can they?  Yup, uh huh.  That's why I'm so in demand.  It's that kind of brilliance that makes me so... popular with my students.  If you'd like help on any of your kid's school projects, you can schedule me in anytime.  Oh, except you'd need access to my Google calendar.  Good luck with that one.

Can Anyone Tell Me...

... how to keep a 2-year-old from continually shedding her clothes?

 

...and how to snag cuddle time with RDub before someone else claims him?

 

...and how to keep my car clean in the midst of a snow-storm?

 
Just wondering.

Navigating a Snow Storm

Do you have a GPS?  We do.  Personally, I have a love/hate relationship with Gracie, our GPS.  Gracie actually used to be British, but RW thought she was too bossy, so now she's just plain old American Gracie.  I love Gracie, because I don't have to fiddle with trying to read a map or MapQuest directions whilst navigating in unknown territory.  I just sit back and wait for Gracie to tell me what to do.  Granted, you actually do actually have to pay attention when Gracie speaks.  Just ask RDub~but I'll leave that for another post. 

Last night two big events converged.  1) The first big snowstorm of the winter fell upon us, and  2) RDub and I stayed with our bestest friend's 4 kids overnight.  Karen & Nathan left on Wednesday, so the kids were actually at one of their family member's homes.  I had to pick them up.  In unknown territory.  In a snowstorm, driving a vehicle that wasn't mine (I decided to go with the car that already had all of the car seats in them , as if you don't have kids, you are car seat illiterate). 

One forgets how much one relies on a vehicle they know and are used to when driving on snow and ice.  For the record, Karen's van does.not.stop in snow.  After the 2nd stop sign that I skidded through, I kept repeating this mantra to myself...

"Go slow, van does not stop. Go slow, van does not stop. Go slow, van does not stop."

I slowly made my way over to Karen's brother's house, where I was to rendezvous with the kids.  As I had never been to this particular house, I was somewhat counting on Gracie to get me there.  Ok, to be honest, "somewhat" is an understatement.  I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I was 100% relying on Gracie.  Only Gracie was on borrowed time.  Leaving the house in a rush, I couldn't actually find the car charger for Gracie.  I was counting on a long battery life and a dash of good luck.  Only luck is the wrong word.  I recall that in addition to the mantra above, I was also repeating this prayer:

"Oh Lord, please help the batteries to last.  Please help me not to hit anyone.  This isn't my car.  If I must hit someone, please let it be before I pick up the kids.  Those aren't my kids. Please help me get them home safely."

Yeah, over and over and over again.  Between that and "Go slow, van does not stop", I had my head full.

Eventually, Gracie ever so graciously told me "You have reached your destination".  I looked at the address.  Yup, that is the address Karen gave me.  I confidently pulled into the driveway, relieved that the van and myself had arrived in one piece.  "Confident" is a smidgen overstated.  For those that live somewhat south of me, let me educate you.  When it is snowing, everything is white.  If the driveway/road/parking lot has not yet been plowed, it can be... difficult to decide what is driveway and what is $45,000 landscaping.  This was the case here.  I pulled in, mightily hoping that I wasn't driving over someone's lawn.  Or even worse, someone's pond.  That would be bad. 

I parked the van and sludged through calf-deep snow to the front door.  Hmm.  I did remember thinking that the house was awfully quiet for containing 7 children.  But I powered on, and rang the doorbell, trying to be polite and not look directly through the window to see what could be keeping those kids so quiet.  Whatever it was, I certainly wanted to learn from it.

I waited.  And waited.

Eventually, a woman opened the door.  Ever so quick on my feet, I blurted out:

"YOU'RE not Emily!" [yes, aren't I eloquent?]

Random Lady: "No."  [talkative sort]

ME: "Sorry, I plugged the address into the GPS, and it brought me here."

Random Lady: [stares at me. Like I said, talkative sort]

ME: "Umm yeah.  Sorry about that.  I'll just.... be off."

Random Lady: "The dog won't hurt you."

Good to know.

This was the address that Karen gave me.  Nice job, Karen.

I blindly turned around (again, $45,000 landscaping?  I do not know.) and drove down the street looking for a place to pull over and call Emily.  Unfortunately, that "place" was about 6 miles down the road.  When I pulled out my phone, it suddenly struck me that I had no idea where I was.  How can I get directions if I don't know where I am?  I grabbed Gracie and pressed the ever handy "Where Am I" function, having high expectations of Gracie's knowledge.

A blurb appeared in all red, and in size 36(?) font.  "YOU ARE ON AN UNIDENTIFIABLE, UNNAMED ROAD"

Really? Now what?

Knowing I had no real choice, I dialed Emily's number anyway.

Emily: "DEB!  Are you okay?  The weather is terrible!"

Me: "Umm, so is your address.... xxx 217th St E?"

Emily: "Yes! Where are you?"

Me: "Well... I went to that address and you weren't there." [I didn't say that exactly, but that was the gist of it]

Emily: "OH!  Didn't Karen TELL you that we share a driveway?  You can't actually SEE our house from the road."

No. No, Karen decidedly did not tell me that.

As it turns out, I had to go back to talkative [not] lady's driveway and sit there to wait for Emily to drive the kids up her driveway in the snowstorm, because she actually knew where her driveway was, and I did not.  Un-plowed and covered in snow is a risk.  I was wise enough not to take it.

We got home safely.  I didn't not skid through any more intersections. It kept snowing.  And I was on to navigating something else... kids.  And Gracie couldn't really help me with that.

A Prickly Situation

From time to time I do various "projects" with Karen's kids.  These "projects" can range from creating a volcano eruption, to baking something, to Fishies in the Sea (a particularly popular one that involved Gummi fishes and blue jello.  Yeah - they still ask for that one from time to time).  Pretty much every time I'm at their house, one of the kids asks.. "Deb.. did you bring a PROjeeect?"  Most of the time, the answer is "no", but every once in a blue moon, they get lucky.

Such was the case this particular evening a while back.  I HAD brought a "project".  This particular learning experiment involved a little plastic biodome in which one plants cactus seeds.  There were little rocks to decorate, good soil, stickers to put on the side of the biodome (big fans of that!)  It all came boxed in a neat little package, ready for us to plant our cacti. Easy peasy, right?  That's what I thought. I roped RW into helping me out, and the kids piled onto the kitchen counter ready to dig in (literally.  Jentzen's favorite part was using his hands as a dirt scoop). 

We poured the dirt into the containter, we opened various bags of decorative rocks, and the kids got busy.  Now one thing you need to understand about RDub and I.  Pretty much whenever we purchase something (big OR small) that involves a box with various parts in it, we are the fortunate(?) ones to purchase the box WITHOUT all of the parts.  It never fails.  We are the ones shlepping back into Home Depot or wherever, trying to balance a 300 lb air-conditioner (or whatever it happens to be that particular day) between us.  It's a special little thing we have going. 

The little cactus biodome must have know about our track record on incomplete parts.  It didn't let us down.  Now, I really could have gotten by without all of the packets of decorative rocks.  Or even the dirt.  Dirt is readily available around my parts.  But the cactus SEEDS?  Yeah... our kit was missing the seeds. Now I don't know if you are a flora or geology expert, but if you are, you are most likely aware that neither the desert OR cactus plants are found in Minnesota.

So I did what any good teacher would have done. Sorta mumbled something about no seeds and then proceeded to tell the kids to water it and set it on the counter.  Yes, I really did tell impressionable young minds to water the clod of dirt and decorative rocks because the cactus needs water to grow.  I mentioned to Karen that I'd need to find some cactus seeds.  I then proceeded to forget about the whole thing.  Except I remembered every time I was over there, and saw the sorry thing still obediently sitting on the counter waiting for the cactus to grow.  I was told by the kids that they were regularly watering it, and I do admit a little pang of guilt.  But I shoved that aside and got on with life.

Until one night when I was wandering about IKEA with my sisters.  We happened upon the plant section and what did my eyes see?  CACTI! (that is the plural of cactus, right?  I'm not movitivated to look it up right at this moment.)  Grown cactus plants!  Total and complete SCORE.  I scooped a couple up and took them home with me. (can you see where this is going?)

A few nights later we were over at Karen & Nathan's house.  I asked the kids if they had been watering (the clod of dirt and decorative rocks). 

Impressionable young minds:  "DEB!  We keep WATERING, but nothing GROWS!"

ME:  "Well, I think you should give it a good watering before you go to bed tonight!"

Impressionable young minds: "OK - Great IDEA DEB!" They promptly started that task.

And then they went to bed.  And I got to work.  Now Karen was POSITIVE that the kids wouldn't be fooled - I wasn't so sure.  I was going to try anyway.  I transformed the clod of dirt and decorative rocks into this:

Fast-forward to the next day.  I get a phone call:

Impressionable young mind: "DEB!!!  There are 2 CACTUS PLANTS!!  You were RIGHT!  We just needed to keep WATERING THEM!"

I can only hope I haven't permanently damaged their education.  And Karen thinks she has me roped into teaching history to her kids?  She may want to rethink that.

Conversations

Pretty much everyone who reads this blog knows that RW and I don't have kids of our own.  However, we have enough nieces and nephews and a few "practically" nieces and nephews to keep us busy.  Today I was busting a move around my house [translated: being VERY productive], ticking the chores right off my [long] list, when the phone rang.  It was Ava, Karen's 4-year-old daughter.  She is a child that I put into the "practically niece or nephew" category.  We see her a lot.  Along with her brothers and sister.  So this is how the conversation went today:

AVA: "DEB!  Are you COMING OVER today?"

ME: "Not today, Ava.  I'm sorry!"

AVA: "But why NOT?"

ME: "Because I have to clean my house."

AVA:  "NO NO NO DEB!!! I mean AFTER you're done cleaning the house!" [does anyone else see a career in sales for Ava?]

Anyway, the conversation went on. And on some more.  We had moved on from cleaning the house to RW's and my upcoming trip to Mexico.  I was explaining to her that even though she sees snow when she looks out the window, in Mexico it's nice and warm - warm enough to go to the pool.

AVA: "Deb?  What kind of swimsuit do you have?"

ME: [hmmm.  What's she looking for here?  I decide to play it simple.] "It's black and white."

AVA: "What color is [RW]'s"?

ME: "Blue"

Long pause.

AVA: "Could you send over some pictures of those?"

Right.  Let me get right on that!  I do believe that she is the only person in the entire universe to ever ask me for swimsuit pictures of ME.  And rightly so.  Although Ava IS a budding fashionista.  She once told her mom (who was working in our BIG ol' garden at the time) to please "go in and change", because "that shirt doesn't look good on you, Mom." This is from a 4-year-old.  Frightening, isn't it? 

The conversation went on from there.  And on some more.  Right about the time I was about to give up trying to explain the difference between NEW Mexico (where her uncle lives) and Mexico, the conversation was over.  But that was ok.  I had my kid-fix for the day.  And really?  Who couldn't love that Ava?

Pointing the Finger at Costco

RW and I, as mentioned before, frequently participate in the "rent-a-kid" program.  Mainly the kids we "rent" are Karen and Nathan's kids.  Quaid just turned 5, Ava just turned 4, Jentzen is about to turn 3, and Keira is still a baby.  Last week Karen asked me if I could watch them for a couple hours.  Oh sure.. no problem.

Now, she had also asked me if I was going to Costco anytime soon, because she needed some chicken.  I did have a few things I needed to get, so I decided that the perfect time to go would be with the 4 kids when I watched them on Friday.  Karen liked this plan - after all, I was watching her kids AND doing her grocery shopping, what could be better?!

She must have thought about this a little bit more before Friday arrived.  Hmmm. Deb doesn't have any kids.  Hmmm.  She's not "practiced" taking them all out in public.  Hmmm.  All four of them at not only a grocery store, but a mammoth place such as Costco?  Hmmmm.  But Karen is ever-so diplomatic, and as we swapped vehicles on Friday, just casually mentioned that she'd take Keira with her.  Good plan.

So the 3 older kids and myself took off on our trek to Costco.  There's always interesting conversation with kids in the car.  There must be something about being stuck in a seat, strapped down, barely able to see out the window that makes talking non-stop to the back of an adult's head the most necessary thing to do.  Non-stop.  Talking.  Really, it's mostly a monologue.  I don't think they really care much what I have to say, it's mostly important that they KNOW I'm listening.  I did get one juicy tid-bit on the way to Costco:

A: "It was my mommy's birthday!"

ME: "I know it was!  Did you have a birthday cake for her?"

Q: "Yup.  But she didn't eat any of it."

ME: "Why not?"

A: "Well, she just wanted to make sure WE got to eat some.  So there'd be ENOUGH for us!"

Q: [very authoritatively] "AVA NO!  She didn't EAT any of it because she couldn't POOP!  She didn't want to make it WORSE."

Well, then.

We got to Costco, and spent the first 20 minutes in the bathroom so everyone could go potty.  It would be my luck to have a completely loaded cart and three kids declaring that they had to GO POTTY.  NOW!  So I took Karen's advice and we went before we did anything else at Costco.

We wandered the aisles, me telling Jentzen about every 6 1/2 seconds to please don't sit on the very edge of the shopping cart, and making our way to all of the free samples (the kids think I'm the coolest thing EVER.  They got MANY treats.  They didn't know they were free.  I'll take it.)

We were almost out of there, and I was patting myself on the back. The kids were alive.  They weren't injured.  No one wet their pants.  I didn't lose anyone.  No one got snatched by a bad man.  They didn't embarass me. Karen, they embarrassed [you know, with that cake story], but not me (and coincidentally, that story was actually news to Karen, as well.  At least that's what she says...). 

Oh how I spoke too soon.  As we were standing in the big long line to leave the store, I noticed other adults glancing in our direction.  And then more adults.  Mothers, with disapproving looks, first at the kids, and then at me.  With trepidation I turned my head to the children.  And I cringed.  It seems as if Quaid and Ava were proudly displaying their abilities in finger-curling.  You know - how they can keep 3 of their fingers down but keep one of them up?  Unfortunately, that one was the middle finger.  On all four little hands.  Very proudly displayed.  To everyone.

I wish I had promptly taken two small boxes out of the cart and handed one to each kid so they could put their fingers to better use.  But I did start speaking loudly to the kids, telling them that "When they see THEIR MOMMY, I will tell HER what good kids they've been at Costco."  Subtle, huh?  I know, I know. I could have just as well turned around and yelled "STOP STARING.  They aren't MY kids and I don't even have ANY kids and when you don't HAVE ANY kids you don't know what to EXPECT IN PUBLIC and forgoodnesssakes they are just 5 and 4 and DON'T EVEN KNOW about their middle fingers yet.  And I'm NOT GOING TO TELL THEM right now." Sure, I could have done that.  But I didn't. You know why?  'Cause I actually thought it was quite funny. 

And despite the disapproving glances, you KNOW what these women were REALLY thinking... "Thank goodness MY kid isn't doing that right now!"  Because anyone who's a parent knows that anything's possible when you are out in public with small children.  And now I do too.

101 Uses for a Lawn Sprinkler

Many of you know that I have 40+ nieces and nephews, along with 5+ GREAT nieces and nephews (well, actually they are all great, but you get the picture).  Oddly enough, the little peeps we see most often aren't actually related to us ~ they belong to our great friends Karen & Nathan.  It helps that they live close by, whereas our related crew are spread out all over the world.  Anyway, these kids (Quaid, Ava, Jentzen & Keira) are frequent beneficiaries of our "Rent-a-Kid" program.  For the uninformed, the Rent-a-Kid program is like a club for those who don't have their own kids ~ borrow someone elses, and then send them home.  Actually, we made that up.

One particular day about 1 1/2 years ago, RW and I instituted the Rent-a-Kid program for the afternoon, and took Quaid (then 3), Ava (then 2), and Jentzen (then not quite 1) to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum.  We figured that the kids LOVE to "stroller", and we'd been wanting to go there and walk around for quite some time.

All went well.  The kids DID love to "stroller", although they did get a little irritated that RW ate most of their cheese sticks and Cheerios (note to self:  feed RW BEFORE GOING OUT).  I think that RW was convinced that they were too young to notice.  Guess what?  They were decidedly OLD ENOUGH TO NOTICE.  Even little Jentzen.

Now, do you happen to remember when your kids were 3, 2 & 1?  Quaid was pretty on top of things, but Ava was still solidly in the midst of potty-training.  We did make several stops at the bathrooms along the paths to take the 2 older ones potty.  All seemed to be fine.  Fine, that is, until we got back to the parking lot.  I started smelling something...not quite right.

ME: "Ava ~ did you go poopies?"

AVA: [stares up at me real innocently]

ME: "I think you DID!  Let me find the diaper bag and we can change your Pull-Up."

I started digging around in the car looking for Ava's Pull-Ups and wipes.  Meanwhile, RW was trying his best to look extremely busy with the 2 boys (yeah. I wasn't convinced.)  All of the sudden I hear RW in quite the panic:

RW: "AVA!  LEAVE THEM ON, LEAVE THEM ON!"

I yanked my head out of the car (banging it in the process) and turned around.  Ava, trying to be helpful, was in the process of taking off her Pull-Up.  The Pull-Up that had experienced a huge blow-out.  This Pull-Up was seriously...USED.  And heavy.  And odiferous (is that a word?).  And then it happened.  RW & I both lunged for her, but we were too slow. She started using her FEET to get the Pull-Up off.  Now her butt, legs AND feet had poop all over them.

By this time, RW was yelling to me to DO SOMETHING.  I was digging around trying to find the wipes.  They weren't there.  They weren't anywhere.  I grabbed the phone and called Karen:

Karen: "Yeeeesss?  Are you..."

ME: [cutting her off] "WHERE ARE THE WIPES?"

Karen: [slightly curious] "In the diaper bag."

ME: "NO THEY AREN'T!  WHERE IN THE DIAPER BAG I CAN'T FIND THEM I NEED THEM RIGHT NOW THEY BETTER BE IN THERE WE HAVE A POOP EMERGENCY!!!"

Karen: [decidedly more curious - I don't ever call her in a panic] "Deb [giggling], calm down.  They are in the black diaper bag in the short pocket on the side. The one with the zipper." [I think at this point she was trying hard not to really laugh]

ME: "FOUND THEM GOTTA GO" click.

By this time, precious moments have gone by.  Moments in which a 2 year old cannot stand still, no matter what the issue was.  I yanked my head out of the car again, and see RW striding away from the car holding 1/2 naked Ava out in front of him.

ME: "What are you DOING?" [trying to ignore the flabbergasted stares from the little old ladies getting into their car...]

RW: "I'm going to WASH HER OFF"

I look in the direction that RW was headed, and realized what he was about to do.  He was heading for the automatic sprinkler system.  Not kidding.  He was going to hold that little Ava butt over those lawn sprinklers and clean 'er up.  Just think about that for a moment.

ME: [yelling] "But I FOUND  the wipes!" [by this time the old ladies were about to have a stroke]

RW (thankfully) turned around and came back to the car.  By this time poor Ava needed a full body cleaning.  She had scratched her rear-end, so now we had poop on her butt, her legs, her feet AND her hands.

We cleaned her up and stopped to catch our breath.  The Rent-a-Kid program had taken a turn for the worse. We got everyone strapped into the car and pulled out of the parking spot.

Ava: "Deb I went poop, didn't I? And I saw a squirrel!"

Yes, Ava.  Yes you did.  And you can thank me for saving you from the automatic, industrial-sized lawn sprinkler.