Potty talk

What is it about being 3 and 4 that makes potty humor hilarious? My kids are at the height of this stage and it is driving me insane. Every time they pass gas, laughter erupts. And every chance they get, they throw a "potty" word into conversation.

Maybe it is because their recent potty training accomplishments are on their mind. At their age, being potty trained is probably their biggest accomplishment to date. Maybe they just like talking about it because it reminds them of how grown up they are.

Or, maybe its just funny, and I'm an old fuddy-duddy and just don't get it.

Either way, I'm hoping this phase passes quickly (no pun intended).

Last night in the bath, Bryn was making up her own funny versions to the opening song for the Playhouse Disney show "My Friends Tigger and Pooh". Since the word "pooh" was already in the lyrics, all she had to do was replace the word "Tigger" and she had a funny song. She sang about her friends "pooh and pee", "pooh and fart", and then "pooh and penis" (that last one I don't get). She and G were laughing so hard that one of them got the hiccoughs. Tears were streaming down their chubby little cheeks.

Do kids grow out of this stage, or am I only in for years of potty songs? I do remember the whole:

I'm going to first, and my pants are going to burst diarrhea (ugh, ugh) diarrhea . . . song that my friends and I used to think was first-rate comedy.

Ummmm, yeh. It probably isn't going to get much better anytime soon.

Your kids are watching: a cautionary tale

As a parent, there are countless times where I've felt my kids are igorning me. I tell them to clean their rooms - yet the rooms remain cluttered. I tell them to eat their broccoli - yet it remains, cold and untouched on their plates. In fact, it seems they ignore me more often then they listen.

Or so I thought.

As it turns out, they are listening to every single word I say. They are watching everything I do. And they are lying in wait - just hoping for the perfect moment to use those things against me. So are your kids.

Tonight, as I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, the girls and G's friend were sitting at the counter coloring. Bryn was sitting on the counter in front of them chatting away. In the middle of her 2-year-old run-on sentence, she picked a big ole nasty booger, and then she ATE it.

We were all obviously grossed out, so I took the opportunity to teach Bryn that it isn't polite to pick our boogers and eat them. It is very unsanitary (and I went on a lengthy explanation why). Besides, I told her, she doesn't see mommy eating boogers, daddy eating boogers, or her sister eating boogers.

Then, G's sweet friend piped up (who we shall call "jill" - to protect the daughter of what I was soon to find out is a booger eater). She told me how her daddy pick his nose and eats it - or sometimes he just rolls it into a ball and flicks it out the window, but only when he's driving.

Yikes!

Makes me scared to think what my kids are tellilng other people about me.

The barfs

In the continuing tradition of gross-out stories, here's another one:

Growing up in Kentucky, my family belonged to a swim club. It really wasn't as exclusive as it sounds, but there were no public pools in the area. So if we wanted to take swim lessons and have a place to swim, it was either the swim club or the YMCA. So, we opted for the swim club. We pretty much spent every single day at the pool, and occasionally would take friends. Since our friends weren't members, we would have to sign them in at the front desk. Then with all the technology of 1986, they would call the teenager at the back to let him know the name of our guest. We'd walk around to the back, and by the time we got there, the guests' names would be on the log.

On one particular day, my sister took her friend who we shall call Suzie Barth. (The Suzie is obviously made up, but Barth was her real last name.) We signed her in at the front, and walked around back. The boy at the desk asked her what her last name was.

Suzie: Barth
Boy at desk: Did you say "BARF??"
S: No, Barth
BOD: BARF? I don't see a Barf here
S: (getting a bit annoyed) No, Barth. B-A-R-T-H
BOD: Oh, Bar-TH. Here you are

For some reason I still find that day from over 20 years ago incredibly hilarious, but can't help but to think that maybe that should be my last name - because, you see, my family throws up (pukes, vomits, BARFS) more than any other family that I know.

My kids puke a lot - but don't most kids? But I vomit a lot too. When I was pregnant with both babies, I had hyperemesis, and pretty much threw up every single day of my pregnancies. Thats a lot of vomit. But even when I'm not pregnant, I'm fairly inclined to "blow chunks" more than the average adult. Even my husband gets in on the "fun". He lived for 2 years of his life in Siberia. He served an LDS mission there, and got really sick. The doctors are pretty sure he got radiation poisoning, but it still affects him. Without much warning, he can be seen running for the bathroom with his hand over his mouth.

Even our dear kitty is affected. She pukes at least twice a week. In fact, she left this lovely suprise for us just the other day - in my hubby's flip-flop no less:




Aren't you glad you read my blog!

Famous last words (and more TMI)

Going along with the theme of things you never knew about running, the topic for today is another unmentionable: chafing. Unfortunately, the increased friction of body parts rubbing onto body parts plus a little moisture (ie. sweat) can cause an uncomfortable condition known as chafing. Thankfully (and for reasons not quite understood, since I've got an extra 20+ pounds of "body parts" rubbing together on me) I'm not much of a chaffer (is that even a word?) But, it has been known to happen . So, I picked up a wonderful item at Fleet Feet called Body Glide (see picture at left).

It comes just like a stick of deodorant, and you basically run it all over the places on your body that are likely to chafe. It lubes things up, and eliminates the friction that can lead to painful chafing (keep your minds outta the gutter people!)

But, like I said, I rarely have the need for my Body Glide, and it rarely gets used. So, when I set out for a 15-miler the other day, I had a passing thought that maybe I should put some on. But I was already out the door and didn't want to go back. I reminded myself that, "self, you rarely chafe anyway, so you'll be ok."

But, you see, I wasn't ok. I had made a crucial mistake when putting on my running clothes: I had put on an old sports bra. So old in fact, that it was from the pre-baby days, when I was about 30 pounds lighter and the sisters were several letters lower in the alphabet. Now why I put this particular bra on, I have no explanation. My laundry was actually caught up, and I had better options. It was dark while I was getting dressed, so maybe I can claim night blindness. Regardless, there was some extra "friction" going on that I normally don't experience during my run.

I actually completed my 15+ miles without realizing my mistake. In fact, it wasn't until I got into the shower, and the stinging water hit my breasts, not unlike thousands of tiny needles. Its was agony. Boob chafing is by far the most painful kind of chafing (well, that a woman can experience. I can imagine that there may be something worse, but luckily I don't have to parts to ever find out).

I don't think I'll be making this mistake again.

**Why the heck can't I fix this spacing??

More than you wanted to know

**warning – the following post contains graphic images and descriptions of bodily functions. If you are easily grossed-out, you may want to skip this post.

I’m going to let all my non-running readers in on a little secret: there are sometimes “unpleasant” effects of running. The casual runner may not experience them, but anyone who has pushed their body to its limits knows that it can cause potentially embarrassing gastric symptoms. From what I understand, when a runner (or any athlete for that matter) is really pushing their body, their heart is pumping hard carrying the blood to the extremities. This naturally causes the blood to be taken away from internal organs, such as the digestive tract. And when the body pulls blood away from the digestive tract, it stops digesting. The body’s response is elimination. Yep – that’s right. I’m talking about puking and pooping. (aren't you glad that you're still reading?)

When I first started running a couple of years ago, the puking part didn’t come as a surprise. I suppose I still had memories of running the mile in elementary school, and how sick it made me feel. I’ve actually only thrown up twice from running: once at the end of my very first 5k and once just last week after I failed to property keep my electrolytes balanced during a 14 miler.

But the whole pooping thing was a surprise to me – I had no idea that running could affect the bowels. Luckily, I’m a pretty regular person so it rarely is an issue for me. I also frequent a running board, and there are topics about the bowels often enough that I was aware of the potential before the situation presented itself. I do have to admit though, that there have been a couple of occasions where I’ve been blessed to find an appropriately placed restroom – but only one where I wasn't so lucky.

I’ve heard stories and I’ve even seen pictures though, so I know that I’m not alone. Ironically, the morning after the lovely and talented Tiburon forwarded me an email with this picture,




I set off for my early morning run. I only had 3 miles on the schedule for that day, and I planned to run before work – which meant getting up at 4:30 am. It was still pitch-black outside, and there was nary a soul to be seen. My run started out well, and I was running a fast pace (which I try to do at least once a week). About a mile into my run, I started feeling some rumblings from the depths of my bowels. But, I wasn’t too worried – I had less than 2 miles until home and I’d never had issues before.

As I kept running though, the situation became more urgent and I began to wonder what I could do. I was on a residential street, with only dark homes and sleeping occupants. There weren’t any available places to relieve myself until I reached home - and home was still about a mile away. I started running faster so that I would get home more quickly, which only made the situation worse. I kept thinking about the picture from the email only the day before, and perhaps it was psychosomatic, but I started to worry what would happen IF? Real people don't crap themselves do they? Isn't that something reserved for the ultra-tough, elite runners who don't want to risk their first-place finish?

So, I did the only thing I could think of at the moment: I ran behind a large pine tree in an open space area, dropped my pants, and took care of business. After I was finished, I stepped a few feet to my left, and drug my bum over the grass. Then, I pulled up my pants and finished my run. It’s not something that I’m proud of, and I can only hope that the sprinklers washed things away before the poor landscape guys had to mow. But I did what I had to.

So there you have it: my most embarrassing running-related moment. It actually took me almost a month to get the courage to post it, so please be kind. And if you feel so obliged to share something with me that would make me feel better, I’d much appreciate it.