“Isaac has a juicy butt, Isaac has a juicy butt!” Zach
streaks past in nothing but what God gave him on the day he was born.
Isaac is streakin’ right behind, laughing in hilarity! He has no idea what a juicy butt is, but
Zachie is running and yelling out his name- so, that’s fun!
Zach, exasperated, collapses to the laminate floor with a
thud. “Ouch!”
Yeah, learning that floors hurts isn’t just a lesson we’re
learning- it’s literally a brand new lesson every day.
Everyday we discover, things that were hot yesterday are
still hot today. Everyday we discover jumping from the couch, to the ottoman,
to the floor and misjudging our landing hurts.
Everyday we discover, throwing toys will get mommy just has mad as
yesterday and cleaning up, and depending on the veracity and target- a red bum
may follow. Everyday we re-learn all the
sames of the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. And today it’s just as surprising as the
first time we learned that lesson.
However, what is retained and forever proclaimed, are butts. Zachie and Isaac have discovered their butts
and the lovely things that these funny parts produce.
No one ever tells you the things that kids not only will
say, but to the extent that you literally live it everyday.
Oh, sure- you know kids say the darndest things! And you know
they have antics and manipulations with those sweet face, those big eyes and
the sweetest words, motivated by their little desires. And you know they can be goofy and silly and
giddy with a never ending supply of energy. This is strange, because as you
raise these children, you also discover, they don’t eat! So where the heck does
this energy come from?!
But what you don’t know is how weird and bizarre your world
is going to get.
“I win! I beat you!
Hahahahaha!”
Oh, a game! Yes. A game. My boys play games. Do your young
children play games? Like, oh, Chutes and Ladders? Hungry Hippo? Maybe some version of Jenga?
They do?! That’s nice.
My boys play bath games. Like who can pee first. Who can pee
the most. Who can pee on the other. And no
one warned me how to address these moments.
“Stop peeing on your brother!”
“Get out of the trash and stop eating the paper!”
“Who put all the hot wheels in the fish tank?!”
“Who pooped on the kitchen table!?” (Yes, this is what happens when you are
trying to do dishes for a second and suddenly everyone is screaming and there’s
poop on the table.)
The culprit was Isaac. For some reason, in 5 seconds flat,
he climbed on the table. With sheer glee, I can only imagine, he ripped free
from his diaper and did what only comes natural to Isaac.
I know it was him, because his little naked butt went
haulin’ down the hallway. All the while,
Zachie screamed, “Poop! Poop! Poop!”
He’s very helpful.
I see families out and about, walking all Brady like around
town. Their sweet children dressed to the nine. Obedient, pious and calm. I’m ashamed to say, I may have asked these
people what their secret is.
“Benadryl?” I inquire.
They stare at me, I can tell they are eager to get away from me and my feral
children.
“I a race car!”
“Zoom, zoom like Bolt” And off he
goes! I take them to a Children’s Christmas party.
Zachie spends the entirety of it racing laps around the
facility. Literally, this is all he
does. Santa gives out a surprise arm in
one instance, swooping up Zachie.
Briefly, he is stunned into some sort of shocked adrenaline letdown; however this is brief, his eyes shine bright, he let’s out a
loud,
“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”
And he is released, he sprints away. Isaac desperately tries to keep up, his
little legs scrambling in futile effort and spends much of the time slamming into the
hard cement floor.
I hear the “Ohh, noo!” “Oh, dear!” And I see there’s an expectation for me to dramatically
kneel to my child’s side and whisk him up with kisses and “Poor baby!”
Isaac falls 15,000 times a day. He falls into the floor, the
wall, the couch, the bed, the toilet, the tub, off the bench, into the frig,
against the rails, off of the choo-choo.
So when Isaac falls on the hard cement floor, I fail to impress the
other parents. I just sit and watch if he cries. If he cries, I’ll get up.
“Hehehehe,” He giggles, and flies towards the
bathrooms.
Ok, I get up and dash towards
him. He beats me in. Luckily before he can crash land, he stretches
out his little hands and uses the toilet to keep himself upright. Nice.
And Zachie is still racing laps.
And we go home.
Sometimes I bring them to McDonald’s. Really, not to eat;
more to exert energy in a town there are few places for little busy bodies to
be cured of Cabin Fever.
We race laps there too. Well, Zachie does. And as he often
does, he misjudges the height of the climbing platforms and rams into one.
“MOOOOOOM!”
I come to investigate the results, “Are you okay?”
“My bones are dizzy”
I have no idea how to heal or confirm the validity of dizzy
bones. So I give the only advice I can
really only give, “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Shake it off.”
And he does! And he’s off again! As it turns out shaking it off cures a number
of Zachie only ailments; blood that hurts, arms that feel bad, eyes that are
sad and of course, dizzy bones.
Meanwhile, Isaac is not interested in McDonald’s play place,
nor is he interested in a toy or anything else kid designed. Isaac is
interested in the trash receptacle and the fact that there’s a door that opens.
This is worthy of much time and tantrums to get to.
Luckily, I've got my handy back up plan! “Isaac, look!
Chickens!”
Have I mentioned that Isaac loves chickens? He LOVES chickens. “CHICKENS!” Isaac also thinks all birds, including
Seagulls, are chickens.
There are “chickens” flying around McDonald’s parking
lot. He runs to window to watch them, he
scrunches up in sheer joy and signs contently, “Chickens.”
A lady smiles at him and says, “You all have chickens?”
I say, “No, he just really like chickens for some reason.”
“Oh.”
And of course, since we’re out at McDonald’s and it’s
usually chaotic on some level, someone must poop. There’s always gotta be poop,
otherwise, you’re not going out in public properly with my boys.
And then, we go home.
At home, I am learning what I sound like.
“You check your attitude!”
“You being rude!”
“I gonna spank your butt!”
'Relax, Jen!' You may be thinking. But this isn’t me. This my
Zachie. Lately, he has taken the roll of
disciplinarian of Isaac.
I remind Zach that I am in charge of the discipline around
here and that he should have patience with his brother, “He’s still learning,
Zachie, You need to be big helper, his teacher.”
“Humph,” Zachie hates that idea.” I NEVER play with you
again, Igee (family pet name for Isaac).” And he storms off. Never is about 5 minutes in this house.
Isaac, in a fit of smiles and anticipated tickles, charges
down the hallway. He’s pretty sure
someone is chasing him. No one is chasing him.
He squeals anyways, and of course, who can resist, we all chase
him. Zachie is playing with his brother
again.
They have retreated down the hall to play in their
room.
They emerge after a few minutes racing their trucks,
barreling full force toward the kitchen.
They have for reasons unexplained, stripped.
“Isaac has a juicy butt! Isaac has a juicy butt!”
I look up at Marc as they circle and I wanna ask, but I’ve
learned- asking isn’t always a good idea.
Isaac doesn't mind being accused of having one, who am I to question
what it is?
“Ok, boys! Calm down time, time for movie!” I round them up.
“Thomas, Thomas, Thomas,” Isaac has decided.
“I hate Thomas! NO!” Zachie has decided.
Oh no! They've developed ….. personal taste!
