Mickey Mouse has a potty mouth.

I walked into the room Duckie is staying in this morning, still half asleep as my sweet 3 year old (I still can't believe I have a 3 year old!) bounced into my lap and said, "You're my best girl, god dammit!"

I nearly choked on my spit and was immediately awake.

Slowly, I asked her, "Where did you hear that?"

Admittedly, Momma has a potty mouth, but I try desperately to sensor myself, yet my child still correctly knows how to use "shit." But "god dammit" is something I simply never say. And neither does J.

"Mickey Mouse says it," H answered.

Only this past week has H ever seen a show with Mickey Mouse or have any real concept of who he is. J is pretty anti-all characters, and I have no deep connection to any so have been indifferent. And since we don't have cable at home it's not really an issue. But since we've been at my sister in laws house, Disney Junior (is that what it's called?) has become a part of our mornings.

J would just be thrilled to know.

"I don't think Mickey Mouse says that, love," I replied.

"Yep. He does."

 Anyone who's ever come into contact with a 3 year old knows that arguing with them is futile. So I moved on. "What do you think 'god dammit' means?"

"Oh, you know," her contagious smile still plastered to her face, "it's synonymous for 'oh my goodness!'"

"Then why don't we say 'oh my goodness' instead? It sounds a bit nicer to me."

Her eyebrows arched high as she sighed. "Okaaaay. But Mickey Mouse doesn't actually say 'oh my goodness.' He says 'god dammit.'"

I don't love admitting I'm wrong. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe J knows something I don't about characters and Mickey really is corrupting my kids.

I mean, at least according to my 3 year old it is so.

What lies ahead: being a kid now is scary

Admittedly, I have mixed feelings as each day passes and I watch my children grow.

One part of me, of course, loves watching them grow and blossom into themselves.

Another part of me misses the baby snuggles and tiny coos.

Mostly though, I miss the safety that infancy provides from the rest of the world because I'm slightly terrified of what the rest of the world has become or is becoming.

Although I fear for my boy, I fear more for my girl. Because girls are catty and brutal and demoralizing and hold grudges for eternity. Because its become normal for 4 year olds to play with whore dolls and 6 year old to dress like prostitutes. 8 year old are kissing while 10 year olds are judging each other on their sex appeal and body fat. 12 year olds are dieting and 14 year old are having sex. 16 year olds are bullying others so terribly they feel suicide is their only escape.

And everyone is saying, "Oh, not my daughter!" But yes, it's likely your daughter. And that's terrifying.

Because it could be my daughter too, some day. And I don't want a world where these things are normal for her.

Because it certainly didn't seem this brutal even 10 years ago when I was a young teenager, so how much worse can it get in 10 more years?

And it's not just girls, obviously.

Chivalry is lost on boys today. They think sex is something that can forcefully be taken because a girl is drunk or kissed him or wore a short skirt. Their respect for women, and themselves, is often non-existent.

All of these kids are entitled. They purposefully break iPhones so they will receive the newest version. They wear $200 jeans and never say "thank you" for the meal put on the table for them.

So yes, I have mixed emotions about my children growing up.

"Just do your best" people say. "Teach them to know and do better."

Obviously that's the plan, but these are things they should never even have to deal with.

I played with dolls when I was 4, and even 12, but they didn't wear lingerie. I thought boys had cooties at 8, and 18, kissing them wasn't really on my mind. (Okay, not really at 18, but at 17...). At 14 the idea of sex was disturbing to me. At 16, I didn't realize bullying existed outside of the TV shows where kids stole the lunch money from other kids. All of this and I was not a sheltered kid. Not even a little bit.

What has happened in our culture in the past decade to make all of this acceptable? What has changed?

Because, dudes, it just seems to get worse everyday to be a kid, and that is so not the goal.

I wish I knew the solution, that's for sure. But I don't. I can only hope that showing my children love and compassion, teaching them that might does not equal right, modeling kind words and anger control, and doing my best to help them learn empathy and forgiveness does even a shred of good in preparing them for what lies ahead.

TV and reading is emotionally different once you have kids

Before I had kids my favorite show was Law and Order SVU.

I have a double major in History and International Studies. My concentration in history was the Holocaust; in International Studies it was Human Rights. I wrote my history thesis over medical ethics, detailing the gory, atrocious experiments done to many people, including children, during World War II. My International Studies final presentation was over Human Trafficking in SE Asia, primarily the trafficking of little girls for the purpose of sex slavery.

These things all made my stomach churn, of course. Writing an essay over child soldiers made me depressed for a week. I got drawn in and attached, but not so deeply that they gave me nightmares or I felt like I couldn't watch, read, or study such things. I never avoided them and I rarely cried.

After I had H I stopped watching SVU. It'd freak me out, thinking of these terrible things ever happening to my children. Even fairy tales where the mother died would rip my heart out.

But nothing struck a chord so deeply quite like the book I'm currently reading.

I've had the same, terrible nightmare now for three nights all because of one single page in the book.

The book is "The Storyteller" by Jodi Picoult. She's been my favorite author for the past ten years and I'm always first in line to purchase her newest book.

Her last two books were slightly disappointing for me, so I was thrilled that this book was so enticing and the storyline was intriguing. It tells the story of a 25 year old girl who (unknowingly) befriends a 95 year old SS Guard who worked at the same concentration camp her grandmother had survived.

During the man's recollection of being a guard he tells how during one extermination a mother carried her toddler daughter to the ditch of bodies they'd been ordered to lay down on top of for their murders. The mother, telling her child not to open her eyes no matter what, tucks the little girl into the dead bodies as if tucking her into bed. She then sings a lullaby to her daughter. After the slew of guns have gone off the little girl is still beneath her now dead mother, wrapped lovingly in her arms, singing the lullaby as well. The guard shoots her in the head.

I've dreamt this scenario 3 times now. Each time it's my dear H and I, and the dream, the very idea, is far too much to handle. The idea of something so terrible happening to any precious life, most especially my own child, is simply not fathomable.

It's crazy to think I once could read and watch this kind of stuff, and although it made me upset, it didn't affect me half as much as it does now. Before I had children. Before I understood what it truly meant to watch my heart walk outside of my body.

Needless to say, I'll be screening even my books better from now on.

Toy rotation fail

Right after Christmas I decided to set up a toy rotational system in the kids play room because there was just so much. Truth is, there is still too much in there. But I was trying to find out what worked for us.

Well, I put all the other toys in nice bins and what not in the closet with the intent to rotate things like puzzles, etc., weekly.

I've read a lot about people doing this with great success. It kept things new and fresh for the kids so they didn't get bored, and they got to fully utilize all of their toys.

Well, when I was digging in the closet this past week I for Easter baskets I realized that I'd yet to rotate their toys. Not even once.

Epic fail.

So now I've got to come up with a better system, because they have some seriously awesome things that I'd like for them to utilize. Fun, but educational toys.

Although I deeply believe in play through learning and all that jazz, I'd like them to still use the kick-ass educational things they own. And they do. And they love them. But obviously sitting in a closet un-rotated isn't doing anyone any good.

So now I'm off to figure out a better system.

What happened to the good ol' days of sticks and rocks as toys? No rotation necessary.

Spring is coming!

Spring is just around the corner! I can nearly taste it!

Nevermind it's technically been spring for nearly 2 weeks now.

I decided that if spring didn't want to come to us, we'd come to it! So I spent most of the morning yesterday transferring all of our winter clothes into boxes and pulling out spring and summer clothes.

Of course, after watching the cold-weather clothes disappear H asked, "But what if we're cold, Momma?"

Well, hopefully spring gets the memo pretty quick that we're not waiting around for it and gets its act together. Because we're just not cold weather people.

Until then, we'll pretend it wasn't 40 degrees while Miss H ran around without anything on her legs (her choice - I tried to put tights on her!)

Aha, now I get it!

Before I had kids I was, obviously, the perfect parent. We all are until we actually have the screaming, puking baby in our living room or the possessed toddler running around naked peeing in the vents (yes, toddlers are possessed. All of them are.)

I remember being pregnant with H and walking into Menards seeing a couple with their older baby in nothing but a long-sleeved onesie and leggings. The couple was wearing their winter coats because it was effing cold out. Dear God, this child didn’t even have socks on. I was appalled and I commented on it to J. It stuck in my head so much that a year later when I was walking into Menards with my own unclothed Dragon Baby I turned to J and said, “Yep, we’re totally those parents. I get it now.”

I’ve had a lot of aha, now I get it! moments.

I would cook only one meal. I would not cater to my children, they would be served three healthy meals and they could take it or leave it. Yep, uh huh. I soooo do that. Not. In a lot of ways I do. I don’t make multiple meals, that’s for sure. Other than for breakfast. The kids get served the same thing J and I do. And they’re good at eating just about anything. But I also know that if I’m making asparagus I’d better make 3lbs and I still likely will not get any to eat. And if I make steak and non-green veggies I’m going to have to make a big ol’ fruit salad and that’s primarily what my children would eat. Yep, I only cook one meal. But it’s not what I’d meant.

I’d never feed my kids fast food. I’m pretty sure B’s first solid food was Wendy’s French fries. Enough said.

I would never yell at my children. Fail. Ridiculous fail. But I’m also working on that not being something I ever do again. I so do not want my kids growing up and their childhood memories being, “Wow, my mom sure yelled a lot.”

My kids would never sleep in my bed. I’m not sure my kids know they have their own beds sometimes…on the upside, it makes traveling way easier!

I wouldn’t be one of those moms who looked like crap all the time. I mean, really, how hard is it to take a shower, blow dry your hair, put on a little make up, and put together a good-fitting, cute outfit? Well, let me tell you. It’s really hard. Really, extremely, difficult. Unless you find it easy to navigate a shower with two small children who want to help wash your legs and scream because you’re hogging the water and cry uncontrollably just when they see the blow dryer and they’ve crumbled your make-up to pieces and you don’t own two articles of clothing that properly fits your saggy boobs and spread hips. But I mean, it’s not that hard, right?

I would never ignore my children. Oh, you know what I’m talking about. The lady in the supermarket whose pestering toddler asks 20 times for a box of cookies and mom doesn’t seem to hear but you want to use your slingshot to knock the kid out with your frozen chicken. Or the mom who is pushing her kids on the swings while navigating her iPhone instead of savoring every single precious moment of her child flying through the air. Yeah, well…never say never. Sometimes after calmly saying, “I understand you want those cookies. Mommy hears you. And I know you’re upset and frustrated I said no” the only thing you really can do is ignore them as you slowly began to lose your mind and your cool. Or after pushing your child for over an hour and realizing you’ve yet to speak to another human being who is over 3 feet tall today, you need a little social media in your life.

My children would never eat in the car. It’s a choking hazard. I can’t even see them rear-facing, by god! Not to mention the atrocious mess. I don’t want freaking cheerios and half-eaten fruit leathers and sippy cups littering my car. Yeah. Right. Eat anything you want. Just please, please don’t scream. I’ll even give you those damn cookies from the supermarket I just told you that you couldn’t have if you promise to be quiet for the five minutes we’re in the car.

I would not blare those god-awful toddler tunes in my car. Yeah, see the above paragraph. We can listen to “There’s a Dinosaur Knocking at My Door” and “Un Elefante” fifty eleven billion times if you just. don’t. scream.

My kids would always be clean, cute, and well-dressed. They’re mostly clean. Bathing in mud puddles is good enough, right? And, I mean, we wash hands before most meals. That has to count for something. And they do get baths that B stands and hysterically pees in the water every. single. time. But urine is sterile, right? And they do own cute, matching outfits. But only momma would pick them out, and obviously if momma picks out clothes it is the end of the world. So go ahead, sweet girl, wear the batman shirt, the lime green pettiskirt, the red heart tights, and monster rain boots. And B…well, just wear something. I’ll wipe yesterdays breakfast off your face tonight. If I remember.

My kids would never watch TV. That lasted the first 15 months of H’s life. That counts for something, right?

Yep, I remember the good ol’ days before I had little babes and what a fantastic Mom I was. And then I had kids. And then I ate a lot of my words.

Good thing I like to eat, that’s all I can say.

I peed on my foot and lost a kid all before 11am

Jokes on me.

It should have been painfully obvious this morning that the Fates are happy jokers and were going to have their fun with me today. It started when I had to wake my children up at 7:30am. My babes are always up at 6am. They are my little alarm clocks. So of course I didn't think twice about scheduling Mr. B's psychology study at the local university at 8 am. That'd give us a whopping 2 hours to get ready and get there. No big deal.

No such luck of course.

Don't get me wrong now. I am freaking thrilled that my kids slept that late. It's awesome and amazing. And B only woke up once last night, which is icing on the cake. Well, other than the fact that H had to poop three times in the middle of the night, during which time she told me, "I think I ate too much chocolate. That was just a bad idea." So, you know, if she'd slept through I'd have had real sleep last night. Alas, when your bowels call, you gotta answer!

After dressing them mostly in their sleep and shuffling them into the car, I made it three blocks from the house only to realize that I'd forgotten my phone. I was all ready too late to turn around and get it. It's probably a good thing for me to exist without it to be honest. I'm on that dang thing all. the. time. Mostly it's my connection to the outside world most days.

At the university, after showing H where we'd be and getting her set up a sheet away from us (literally, we were divided by a sheet), with her watching us on a video monitor (because she's not like most kids who happily goes to play with a student in the play room), we did the study. B looked ridiculously cute with the hat and cameras all attached to him.

When we were done each of the kids received a book to take home and I ended up taking home a packet to do another study with B which consists of me writing down what he's doing every 30 minutes for the next three days. For real. Every 30 minutes.

H and B were hungry by then, of course, so we went to the bagel shop around the corner of the library, which was our next destination. They both chose chocolate chip bagels that they didn't eat and instead drank way too much of my iced coffee.

If we're being honest, my kids probably have a coffee problem.

You could probably call it an addiction.

Finally we were off to the library. We turned in overdue library books and CDs (yay for no late fee charges on children's materials!). H chose a Curious George DVD and a Dinosaur Train  DVD to check out for car viewing. She also picked out two books while Momma chose the book "Words are not for Hurting" and 2 Spanish music CDs.

The kids then played in the play area. We played some serious grocery store and B was an awesome cashier while H and two other little girls brought him tons of things to ring up. I knew one of the little girls and her mother from a few playdates, so when B needed a diaper change she offered to keep H for me who was content playing.

Off B and I went right around the corner to the bathrooms that are in the children's area. After B was changed I realized I really needed to pee. Of course, sitting on the toilet, mid-pee, B grabs the door handle and pulls down and I heard a very unsettling click! This is how I learned the door unlocked simply by opening it from the inside.

As he began to pull it open I yelled, probably too loudly, "No!" and jumped up to stop him both from opening the door completely and darting out into the library. I immediately felt pee all over my heel and shoe. Fan-freaking-tastic. Let's just say it's not easy to stop peeing mid-stream. I know, this is so much more than you ever wanted to know.

B immediately fell onto the dirty bathroom floor sobbing. I'm sure everyone who could hear the debacle thought I'd just beat him, and with the way he was reacting, I'd have thought that too. While I cleaned myself up and tried my best to assure him all was okay, huge, thick tears rolled down his cheeks.

When I finally lifted him up into my arms, I said to him, "Really now? You think the whole world needs to watch Momma potty?" Immediately he grinned that terribly sweet, mischievous smile and he was perfectly fine. Go figure.

When it was finally time to go, because there is only 2 hour parking and I don't particularly want a ticket, H was using the computers.

She asked to stay on the computer while I grabbed our jackets. Since she's not my runner and is super awesome at staying put, I agreed since I was only going 10 feet away.

Yeah, 10 feet.

10 feet away, I turned around and she was gone.

The library was sparse, I shouted her name. "H! H.P.! Where are you? H! I need you to speak to Mommy, please."

Silence.

Utter, dead silence.  I walked down a few aisles of books to no avail, keeping my eye on B who was hogging the water fountain and bathing his jacket in it.

"H!" I yelled again.

Nothing. At this point, I was definitely feeling panicky. My heart was racing and my face was hot. Immediately I was sure someone had kidnapped her and I hadn't managed to see him go past me to get to the exit.

And then.

Then. There she was. In the middle of an aisle, trying her best to hide.

"H!" She looked at me, smiled, and took off.

I refused to run after her, and she stopped a few aisles down where I walked up to her, grabbed her, and told her she was never, ever allowed to run or hide from Mommy. That Momma had been very scared something had happened to her. She seemed pretty sorrowful, but regardless, I'll probably have anxiety about that now.

When we finally made it out to the car they decided then that they wanted their bagels from earlier.

Thank God I'd had the sense to bring them with.

And it's only Monday.