by Karen Alpert
We are the green beans, the green beans of the sea,
We grow from the ocean floor, come and eat me . . .
And yes, I know it’s like the stupidest song ever, but I’m making it up on the spot. Plus, while I’m singing it I’m actually thinking about which bottle of wine I’m going to open up tonight once the kiddos go to bed. Two more hours, two more hours, two more hours.
Anyways, the song goes on for a few more lines, and as soon as I’m done singing it, Zoey has a question.
ZOEY: Wait, are the green beans sad?
ME: Sad? No, why?
ZOEY: Because they’re gonna get eaten.
Awww shit, she totally took my story and spun it and now she’s gonna refuse to eat her green beans because now they have feelings. Shit shit shit shit shit. You better fix this now.
ME: Oh nooooo. Not at all. The green beans want to get eaten.
ZOEY: They do?
ME: Yup, that’s how they fulfill their life dream.
ZOEY: Really?
She looks doubtful.
ME: Really. That is literally why they are born. That is their life purpose. To get eaten. The only sad green beans are the ones that are still left on the plate.
Zoey looks down at the four sad green beans lying on her plate looking up at her. I mean no, they don’t really have eyes, but you know, I’m personifying or whatever the F that’s called.
And the next thing I know, she’s gobbling up every green bean on her plate. By the last one, she’s making a face like she can hardly take it anymore, but she finishes and looks satisfied.
And all the green beans lived happily ever after. Chewed up and slowly turning into poop. Except for Holden’s. He took a bite of one (poor amputee green bean), but the other two were dumped into the trash can where they were sad forever and ever. Not really. Really they high-fived each other and had a big party because they avoided getting eaten, but don’t tell my kids that.
The End.
HOLDEN: Mommy, do you want some penis?
I was about to say, “Ummm, no thank you,” until I turned around and saw him holding the jar of peanuts from the pantry. Phew.
ME: Yes, please.
Conversations I’ve had with my picky eaters
ME: Do you want oatmeal, cereal, eggs, or a bagel?
HOLDEN: I don’t know. Give me choices.
•
ZOEY: How many bites do I have to eat to get dessert?
ME: 2,927,103. I’m assuming they’re each gonna be the size of an atom.
•
ZOEY: Aggghhh, get it off, GET IT OFF!!!!!!! Hurry!!!!!! GET IT OFFFFF!!!
ME: Umm, excuse me, waitress, but can you remove the pickle from her plate?
•
ME: Muhahahahaha, I put spinach in your smoothie and you have no idea!!! But alas, I cannot brag about it or you’ll never fall for it again. Sigh.
HOLDEN: Nooooo, you peeled it too much!!!
ME: No, I didn’t, buddy. Look.
And I take out the tape measure and show him that the banana is 8 inches long and I peeled it to exactly 4 inches, precisely halfway, just the way he likes it.
•
ZOEY: It’s not fair!!! Holden got more bread than me!!!!
ME: Yeah, but you got a hole in your bread and he didn’t.
HOLDEN: Wahhh, I want a hole in my bread!! It’s not fair!!!
•
ZOEY: Mommm, this milk tastes like cow udders.
ME: Ewwww, I can’t even begin to imagine what cow udders taste like. Wait, yes, I can, and Zoey Lila Alpert, you are NOT allowed to think about that until you are much, much older.
Allllllllll the things my kids won’t eat, even if they are literally starving to death
A bun if there are poppy seeds on it
Pasta if there is green shit on top
Hot dogs if there are lines on it from the grill
A bagel if it’s toasted
A bagel if it’s too cold
Any apple except for a Honeycrisp apple
Any apple if I accidentally leave a tiny piece of the peel on it
The stupid little carrots and celery in a can of chicken noodle soup
Any constructed food item—cheese and crackers, tacos, s’mores, they all have to be deconstructed
Fruit if it’s green
The entire banana if there’s a brown spot on it anywhere
The outside of the ravioli (so, yes, I peel that shit off)
Anything on their plate if there’s one thing on their plate they don’t like
A pea if it’s wrinkly
A carrot if it’s been cut in half
Food they like that’s touching any food they don’t like, like even though Zoey loves cantaloupe, she won’t eat it if it’s in a fruit salad touching honeydew
Guacamole if you can tell it was made with avocado
Marinara sauce if there are tomatoes in it (hmmm)
Chicken nuggets that aren’t shaped like Mickey Mouse
Grilled cheese made with fancy cheese
Mac and cheese made with fancy cheese
Mac and cheese if there are bread crumbs on top (which means I have to eat the bread crumbs off, yayyy!)
A smoothie if they can detect any ingredient in it
Hot dogs without ketchup
French fries without ketchup
Chicken nuggets without ketchup
Their entire bowl of cereal if there’s one of those little burnt pieces in there
Bread with crust on it
Seedless watermelon if there are any seeds in it
Applesauce that’s in a bowl even though they’ll happily suck it out of a pouch
Tater tots (which officially makes them insane)
Bacon if it’s not crispy enough
Bacon if it’s too burnt
Square pizza slices without a handle (crust)
Anything once they’ve tasted it and it’s too hot
And like a shitload of other things, but I can’t keep writing it all right now because I have to go make dinner. And by make dinner, I mean call Domino’s. And God help us if we order half cheese, half pepperoni and one of the cheese pieces has a sliver of pepperoni on it and it ends up on one of my kids’ plates. Holy crap, shit fest.
ZOEY: Wow, Mommy, that building is soooo beautiful. What is it?
ME: Taco Bell.
And when I’ve had way too much to drink, I feel exactly the same way, kiddo.
Here an Orifice,
THERE AN ORIFICE,
Everywhere an Orifice Orifice
I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I SPEND CRAZY amounts of time in the bathroom with my little poop machines. Seriously, I just did the math and 17% of the time I spent with my kiddos this week was in the shitter. I shit you not. Which is why when my kid is taking like nine million years to take a dump, I’m constantly asking, “Are you done yet, are you done yet, are you done yet, now are you done?” over and over and over again. Can you imagine someone sitting there asking you that repeatedly while you’re trying to squeeze out a brown one? Helllllo, future constipation issues. It’s just one more way I’m F’ing up my kids. Awesome.
One SINGLE trip to the bathroom with my kid
ME: Let’s go try to use the potty.
HOLDEN: I don’t have to.
ME: Let’s just try. You haven’t gone since you woke up.
HOLDEN: No, I don’t have to.
ME: Well, I’m going now, so let’s try.
HOLDEN: Only if you carry me.
ME: Fine.
(I just didn’t feel like dealing, so I carried him in. Yeah, I know you’re probably thinking he’s going to grow up to be an entitled asshole because I carried him to the bathroom one time.)
HOLDEN: I want the big stall.
ME: It’s taken. Here’s one that’s open.
HOLDEN: I want the big one.
ME: Fine.
(Again, I don’t feel like arguing, so we wait a minute and it opens up.)
HOLDEN: What�
��s this? What’s this? What’s this? What’s this?
ME: Ewww, Holden, nooo, that’s gross, that’s where people throw their, uhhh, stuff. Don’t touch that! Don’t touch that!!!! I said DON’T TOUCH THATTTTT!
HOLDEN: I’m touching ittttt.
(Grrrrr.)
ME: Do you want to stand up or sit down?
HOLDEN:
ME: Do you want to stand up or sit down?
HOLDEN:
ME: Fine, I’ll go first.
HOLDEN: (as soon as I’m sitting on the potty) NOOOOOO, I WANTED TO GO FIRST!!!!
ME: Then you should have gone.
HOLDEN: (trying to push me off) Wahhhhhhh, get off!!!
ME: Holden, stop it right now. I’m done. Stand up or sit down?
HOLDEN:
ME: Fine, here.
HOLDEN: NOOOOO, I WANTED TO SIT!!!
ME: Arrrghh, fine.
(As soon as he’s sitting, Niagara Falls pours out of him.)
ME: I thought you didn’t have to go.
HOLDEN: Do you hear that?
ME: Yes.
HOLDEN: I’m pooooping.
ME: Awesome.
(Like four minutes later, which doesn’t really sound like that long, but go ahead and count out 240 seconds and then imagine doing that while you’re standing in a public restroom with nothing to do but watch the bulging purple vein on your rugrat’s forehead.)
ME: Are you done yet?
HOLDEN: No.
ME: Now are you done?
HOLDEN: No.
ME: NOW are you done?
HOLDEN: Do you smell that?
ME: Yes.
HOLDEN: Is it stinky?
ME: Yes.
HOLDEN: I’m done.
ME: Thank God. Bend over.
HOLDEN: No, I don’t need to wipe.
ME: You do need to wipe. You pooped.
HOLDEN: No, I didn’t poop.
ME: Yes, you did.
HOLDEN: NO, I DIDDDDDN’T!!!
ME: Look, there it is.
HOLDEN: There’s two. One. Two.
ME: Yes, now bend over.
HOLDEN: That one looks like a crocodile.
ME: Totally. Now bend over.
(He puts his forehead on the bathroom floor. Awesome. Can you catch any diseases through your forehead? I unlock the door.)
HOLDEN: I WANTED TO UNLOCK IT!!
ME: Okay, unlock it.
(I relock it and wait while he tries to unlock it, but he can’t figure it out.)
ME: Do you want my help?
HOLDEN: No.
(Insert the Jeopardy music here.)
ME: Can I help you, buddy?
HOLDEN: No.
ME: Here, lemme help.
(Thank God he lets me this time and doesn’t pitch a fit.)
ME: Time to wash our hands.
HOLDEN: I don’t have to.
ME: Yes, you do.
HOLDEN: No, I didn’t touch anything.
ME: Yes, you did. And we always wash our hands after going potty.
HOLDEN: No.
ME: Yes.
HOLDEN: No.
ME: They will not let you leave this bathroom until you wash your hands. It’s a rule.
(I don’t know who the F “they” are, but he buys it.)
HOLDEN: Don’t turn it on for me.
ME: You can’t reach it. Do you want a lift?
HOLDEN: No.
(He tries to reach the sink handle for a while.)
ME: Can I help you?
HOLDEN: No. (big pause) Helpppp meeee!!!
ME: Now go ahead and wash them.
(He puts his hand under the soap dispenser.)
ME: You need water first.
(He ignores me.)
ME: Holden, the soap won’t work without water.
(He still ignores me and starts to rub the soap without water, so I splash a little water into his hands.)
HOLDEN: Nooooo!!!!
ME: You need water. Rub it in. All over.
(He rubs the same spot on his palm for like 20 seconds.)
ME: The tops. Your fingers. All over. Twenty seconds.
HOLDEN: You count.
ME: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Okay, rinse them off.
HOLDEN: Count to 100.
ME: No, that’s good.
HOLDEN: Count to 100.
ME: 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100. (He has no F’ing clue I started in the middle.) Now wash them off.
(I have to lift him up like Superman so he doesn’t touch the soaking-wet counter and get drenched.)
ME: Here’s a paper towel.
HOLDEN: I wanted to get it.
(OMG, seeeeriously??? Can we pleeeease get out of here already?!!!)
ME: Fine, get it.
(He gets his own paper towel. AFTER I lift him up because he can’t reach and AFTER I put him down because the motion sensor won’t work for him so I have to get it for him. Imagine that.)
ME: Now throw it in the trash.
HOLDEN: I want to keep it.
ME: It’s dirty. Throw it in the trash.
(And he does and we finally walk out. And on the way out he drags his fingers along the wall of the public restroom. The wall that’s probably been speckled with fecal matter at some time. Awesome.)
HUBBY: What took you so long?
I give him the look of death.
Oh yeah, and this happens multiple times a day.
Let the potty training begin!!
Introducing the newest Olympic event . . . Synchronized Pooping!!!
LA LA LA LA LAAAAAA, just walking to Zoey’s bedroom to put some clothes away. I walk by my room. Normal. I walk by Holden’s room. Normal. I walk by the bathroom. WTF? No, wait a sec, to seriously do this WTF justice, I need to increase the font size, bold the shit out of it, and add like a thousand exclamation marks.
WTF?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Zoey and Holden are standing there wiping their tushies with toilet paper. Okay, now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that the view of young kiddos wiping their own asses is better than a view of the Grand Canyon from a helicopter. And yup, that’s usually right. But not this time. Remain calm, remain calm, remain calm, I tell myself. There has to be a reasonable answer.
ME: Hey guys. Whatcha doin’?
HIM: We’re wiping.
HER: Because we pooped.
Okay, so far these answers are reasonably normal.
ME: You both pooped?
THEM: Yes.
ME: Like Zoey pooped and then waited until Holden was done so you could wipe at the same time?
HER: No.
HIM: We did it together!
HER: Yeah, we shared the potty.
Nooooooo. Seriously? Seeeeeriously??? I’ve been trying to teach you guys to share things for years and THIS is when you decide to start? But I have to know.
ME: (fearful) Whatta you mean you shared it?
HER: We shared it!
ME: How?
HER: We both got on.
I’m picturing him sitting on the potty with her behind him, you know, like the way they would ride a horse together or the log flume ride at an amusement park, only a totally different kind of log this time. Ewwwww. Are you kidding me? And without pants on. But then Zoey proceeds to show me how I’m wrong and how actually they both sat sideways on the potty with their backs to each other. Awwww, tush to tush. How cute. NOT.