The other day I met a new mommy at Ivy’s art class. She was a nice, well-dressed, well-spoken woman. She seemed to be intelligent and informed about things going on in the news.

We were enjoying our conversation when her daughter came over and said she needed to go to the bathroom. And the mommy got down to her daughter’s eye level, looked at her and said, “Okay, sweetie, do you need to go wee-wee or doodie?”

And it was all I could do not to crack up. Wee-wee? Doodie? Seriously? Who on Earth uses such silly terms for bathroom behavior, I thought in a fit of undeserved self-righteous judgment.

Then my daughter came over and said she needed to go poopy and pee pee.

Busted.

Though I would argue that poopy and pee pee are infinitely more dignified than wee-wee and doodie (ahem), I would lose that argument. Because, truth be told, there is nothing dignified about any of those words.

And yet we use them. My husband and I are grown adults with college educations and decent vocabularies and we say poopy and pee pee on a regular basis. Which, when you think about it, is pretty funny. We also say toot, boobies, and booty-hind (don’t ask). Good Lord, we are intelligent folks.

Having realized that day that I, too, engaged in potty baby talk I tried to think of alternatives that would be polite and not too silly. But I came up empty. Maybe that shows a lack of creativity on my part. Or maybe announcing exactly what biological matter is coming out of your body just can’t be both polite and intelligent sounding. Either way, it made me wonder what other parents do.

I’ve heard the arguments for calling private parts by their actual name and not coming up with silly names (though we apparently do that, too) but what is the dominant theory when dealing with bathroom vocabulary? Does anyone actually use “urinate” in place of pee pee with their kids?

So what is it? Poop? Tinkle? #1 and #2? What words do you teach your children to use when dealing with potty matters?

(And in case you’re wondering if I’m wondering how I got to the point where I blog about potty words the answer is yes. Yes I am.)

Kai and Ivy found these guys in their sandbox the other day. Actually, Kai ran in screaming, “Mom I just found the most hated creatures on the Earth and they are living in my sandbox!”

I thought she was exaggerating, but the more I look at them they do look pretty darn scary…

For more Wordless Wednesday, head over to 5 Minutes for Mom!

There are certain places in my house that I am relieved guests never have cause to enter. One such place is my refrigerator.

I am the worst about keeping it organized and neat. I am fully aware (thanks, mom) that there are certain ways to organize your refrigerator. Specific items go in certain spots. One drawer for veggies. One for fruit. Or meat. Or whatever.

But, as you can tell by the packages of hot dogs resting atop the bowl of fruit, I’m not good at such organizing endeavors. Which is why I’m thankful most people don’t get to see into my fridge.

I feel pretty confident that you guys can keep a secret though. So, do me a favor and let’s just keep this messy fridge business between us…

(BTW, your eyes do not deceive you. We actually do have 10 dozen eggs in there. Someone PLEASE come save me from these egg laying machines in my backyard!)

What about you? Do you have a room, closet, or cabinet you like to keep hidden?

1. It doesn’t always get better after two weeks. Sometimes it takes just a little bit longer. In my mind I only had to make it to the 2 week mark and then everything would be fine. Then I thought it would be easy. Much like everything that goes along with pregnancy, childbirth, and children it didn’t happen quite the way I had imagined. It’s a very individual process and for me it took about 3 and 1/2 weeks before it got easier. But, I’m so glad I waited.

2. Your breasts are capable of literally spraying your newborn in the face when they are too full. Which can make you feel a bit like a fire hose. Yeah, enough said.

3. Once you get the hang of it, it is actually super nice not to have to worry about bringing bottles with you everywhere you go. I’m one of those moms who could have 1 kid or 15 kids and still never quite get the hang of toting all the required supplies everywhere I go. At least with breastfeeding I know I won’t be leaving the essentials at home!

4. Your kids might feel the need to let everyone they meet at the grocery store, church, Target, etc. know that their mommy makes milk in her BOOOOBIEEEES!! And also to specify to unsuspecting waiters and waitresses that they do not drink boobie milk thankyouverymuch.

5. Your dad probably won’t be able to look you in the eye while you are breast feeding even if you are completely covered by your Hooter Hider and sitting across the room from him. Sorry, Dad.

You’d think that with three kids I would have been able to successfully breastfeed more than once, but I haven’t. Trav is the first of my kids I’ve actually been able to get this far with. And now that it is going better I think we’ll be in it for the long haul.

What about you? Is there anything you wish you’d been told about breastfeeding to make the process easier either emotionally or physically?

For more Wordless Wednesday head over to 5 Minutes for Mom!

This is me being brutally honest. Not just with you, but with myself. It’s all in the name of emotional accountability.

I knew this might happen. I was on the look-out. Which is why I probably noticed it sooner that I did last time.

You see, I’ve fallen down. Just a little.

It’s nothing bad or scary. And I refuse to feel guilty. But, today I will be headed to the pharmacy with my prescription in hand to try and get a little piece of normal back.

It didn’t happen like before. There was no emotional avalanche to get trapped under. But, rather, it happened slowly. Rock by rock. Until I spent every night awake watching to make sure my kids were breathing and every day trying to keep my leaden eyelids open. Or crying over my “lost youth” in anticipation of my 30th birthday. I’m just in a fog. Or a funk. Or whatever you call not being able to get dressed before noon. (Latey I call that a weekday, but whatever.)

There is simply too much. Too much hormones. Too much family drama. Too much economic turmoil. Too much of everything being piled onto my plate at one time.

And so with medicine I’ll get some relief. And some perspective. And my kids and husband will get a break from my exasperated self.

So, I’m looking forward to tomorrow. Because I’m convinced it will be a better day.

On Mother’s Day when you find an inch of standing water in the basement from a leaky bathtub that needs to be sealed and you have to run into Lowe’s by yourself to pick up the caulk so your husband can repair it and you can’t find the stinking caulk anywhere in the store and you realize you are going to have to ask someone (anyone) for help and all those people are apparently of the male persuasion you will discover that there is no good way to ask where the location of said item is.

For example (you may need to say this out loud to understand what I’m getting at here):

“Can you show me where you keep your caulk?”

“I need some caulk. Can you help me?”

“I’m looking for caulk and can’t find it. Can you point me in the right direction?”

Next time I’m totally sending Thomas in to deal with it.

I don’t think I have a picture more representative of my girls’ personalities. This is such a perfect depiction of Ivy and Kai. My hope is that they can always be this close despite their differences.

That is the hardest part of sisterhood.

For more Wordless Wednesday, head over to 5 Minutes for Mom!

If you’re related to me then you already know this.

My Total Truth this week is this: I cannot keep a secret. Cannot keep one to save my life.

If you tell me a bit of deliciously juicy gossip I will promise not to tell. And I will try. Oh, how I will try. But somehow it will slip out. Somehow I will accidentally call my mom and say, “OMG, I have something I have to tell you. But I promised not to tell so please keep it a secret okay?”

And she will promise not to tell. But guess what? This whole not-able-to-keep-a-secret problem I have? It’s genetic. And I promised not to disclose which parent I got it from. (I got it from my mom.) (See what I mean?)

It’s like I’m the TMZ of the family.

Lest you think I’m only untrustworthy of other people’s secrets let me say this. I tell my own secrets, too. All of them. When I have a “secret” about myself or something going on in my life I always call someone and tell them. Even (and often) when I don’t actually want to. And sometimes to the detriment of the situation. I cannot sit on a secret. It’s like trying to sit still with a fire ant colony in your pants. Painful. Frustrating. Impossible.

I’m convinced when it comes to secrets there are two types of people in this world. People who can lock a secret away in a special mental vault (my sister is this type) and people without any self-control who spill the beans despite their best efforts to the contrary. I’m obviously the latter. And not very proud of it.

What type are you?

Updated: Because I am clearly neurotic and paranoid and having a bit of Total Truth Tuesday remorse, I wanted to say that I am actually capable of keeping real secrets. You know, the kind that actually matter. If you’re a friend or relative and tell me something important and confidential I can keep it locked away. It is the, “Don’t tell mom, but I just got another speeding ticket.” type of secrets that leak out. Mostly among sisters.

Updated yet again: I am thinking I may just delete this post because in retrospect it was not a good idea. It was too absolute to actually be true. And also, I do have things people have told me in confidence that I haven’t told anyone (on my word, I really haven’t) and I always forget people who know me in real life actually read this and may not realize that I’m prone to slight exaggeration in my self-deprecation. **sigh**