Piss pellets: I used to be a supermodel before them!

Its almost 9am...I'm waiting for my 3rd of fourth loads of clothes to finish in the wash so I can hang them out and realized I would be totally done of it wasn't for the "Attack of the Piss Pellets" again.

Do you know what I am talking about?

I've decided that forcing my kids into potty training was NOT going to work for us...at this moment I have one completely done, day/night...only problem is that she has an attachment to her pullups. Even though she never wets them she refuses to wear big girl undies.

The second girl was almost done until she had the flu months ago and she regressed. Now she is getting back into it...#1's are no problem but #2's are hit and miss.

The boy? I think he would let me change his undies till the day he gets married.

I thought the days of a diaper sneaking past me and into the wash were long gone. I was a tyrant when it came to inspection of the loads...till this am.

There is nothing worse in life then reaching into a freshly washed load in the machine to have gel-ly pellets coat your fingers. A dreaded diaper. You pull the diaper out praying it didn't explode and more likely then not it has. Those pellets (piss pellets as I call them) coat everything...the drum, every piece of clothing...and heaven help you if you have something fleecy in there.

One time (as my fb status readers can remember) I was shaking out the pellets and I got some in my eye...and snorted them up my nose and back out of my mouth. It was a dark day in this household...between sobs and gags I felt I was at my lowest.

This morning I woke up at the crack of dawn, fully rested and racing downstairs before everyone woke up. I saw the sun and thought....HA! I will have my clothes hung out before the judging eyes of the clothesline police have a chance to complain. It was a no-go...piss pellets!!

I like to blame G, because he gave them a shower last...but the blame lies here...don't tell him.

So here I sit, one load behind in my conquering or the laundry pile...I'm looking out at half my clothes falling off the line.."*tsk tsk she didn't hang properly again* and realizing the moral(s) of my story...

• Use cloth diapers
• Potty train your kids before they walk
• check all pieces of laundry for unwashable objects
• hire a maid
• when all else fails, blame someone else, the baby daddy is a good one

And finally....don't wake up too early in the morning, nothing good comes out of it. Now I must go sweep, the deadly piss pellets are stubborn enough to warrant a second sweeping in this house! grr

...don't even get me started on my run in with crayons in the dryer...its truly a wonder they let me have kids some days.

The above doesn't look like much...but these, my dear friends, are piss pellets!! I blame them of me turning fat and ugly...I used to be a supermodel you know :P

When is it my turn to scrape the bowl?

"Good moms let you lick the beaters, great moms turn them off first" Unknown


As a child the best part of Mom baking was licking the beaters...the Holy Grail was being able to lick the bowl. Now, of course, my mother was one of those ones who scraped the batter off of everything so you barely taste the lingerings. However, pure joy was finding that little blob she forgot under one of the loops or snuck the spatula before she had a chance to strip it.


As a kiddo, I would be heartbroken and shocked when Mom would chuck the dishes in the sink before I had a chance to inspect...and the horror when the time came I had to compete with the dreaded brothers! Obviously the person who invented electric mixers never had brothers to compete with or they would have made a 3 beater machine.


I can recall thinking "When I get bigger and I bake in my own house, those beaters are all mine and I'm not even going to scrape them!" Hence, the reason I really, deep down started baking and cooking: first dibs!


Alas, tis not so. I have come full circle.


Now I heard all the lectures...salmonella, worms in your belly from raw dough...but pshaaaawwww I am addicted to raw!! Cake, cookie, bread, rolls, biscuits...I've even munched on pie dough. I can't help it. I'm a rebel...I'm on the edge baby..LOOK OUT!




My children are now at the age they want to help with the baking...but I am not stupid, I know the real reason is because they want in on my batter territory. Don't get me wrong, I do love my children but they are cruisin' for trouble messing with my beaters.


I had an epiphany today. My life has come full circle once again...I am now the mother with three little birds with their mouths open waiting for the beaters...once again I am at the losing end. I have become my mother.


I get to do the work, I get to clean while these three minions get to lick all the precious raw batter, and now THEY are complaining I don't leave enough 'stuff on the sticks'....you know what I say?


"Too bad, you'll get worms in your belly and when you get my age you can lick all the batter you want!"
*knowing full well the cycle of suffrage will continue....only this time I forgot to scrape the spatula off and I am sitting in a dark corner with my lappy and my worm filled batter...and the kids can't find me...SHHHHHHHH! I'm breaking the cycle!

PS: by licking the beaters/bowl....I mean just that, not the urban dictionary definition...that would be a totally different story and a new therapy session!