The Smurfs Made the Toothpaste

I SMURF blue toothpaste. I find it everywhere. Everywhere but in my kid's mouths. I find it on doorknobs, on chairs, bedspreads, cabinets- you name it. I even found it one time on my jog bra that I was wearing??? We've tried other brands that have other colors, but the truth is that my kids like the taste of the nasty blue toothpaste. I'm convinced one of the boys will become a dentist one day. Chase has always loved brushing his teeth, and he has taught Davis the art of spitting globs of blue in the sink and then "forgetting" to wash it down. (OH, and once it's dried, it's like peeling glue off off the sink with extra food particles for your enjoyment.) Davis has a fetish now that he HAS to brush his teeth immediately after something sweet. One would think that's a great habit, but it's kind of annoying when you are at a kid's birthday and he wants to leave to go home to brush his teeth because he just ate cake. Again???? AND then there's Vance. Thank goodness he's not old enough for the blue toothpaste, but I've found it in his mouth before. He uses the toddler toothpaste. However, he loves to stand on the stool in the bathroom and pretend "spitting" in the sink. I guess I should feel thankful we have good dental habits, but again, why blue? Some crazed man who has never had to clean a sink with dried blue toothpaste made the stuff. I am convinced he was either single or mad at his wife, and he really loved watching her scrub the bathroom to get the "blue" off the door. Either way, it gets the job done, but it makes mine a little more tough. :)

The Forgotten Blog

Yes, it's October 9th, and you wonder where I've been? School started, I began a new job, I'm on the P.T.A. Board at Chase's school and frankly life got more than crazy. I seriously cannot find enough time in a day to do everything I want to do or need to do. Clearly, I need to prioritize. I have to go to work which is not an option, but how do I get to all of those other things? Just when I feel my head spinning out of control, I realize that I need perspective. Isn't that what God does for us? After driving down I-40 earlier by myself with precious cargo, I realized that it's not all about the minutia. The clean sheets, the vacuumed floors, and the clean, folded laundry. I have felt very stressed about how to do it all, since especially right now, I feel like I'm doing about 50% with everything. I guess all that really matters is that I try to do most of my percentage with my kids, but how? Prayer. I need to focus more on prayer and clarity on how to pray. I have to confess that I'm not the best out-loud pray-er, or even the best quiet pray-er. Frankly, I'm kind of an ADD pray-er. I tend to get started on something, and I end up somewhere completely different. Today in church in Hickory with my parents, I found myself in a seriously ADD prayer moment, but then I looked over and saw all three of my very different children, and I realized that I think God sometimes wants us just to be. Just be present and listen. So I did, and I heard three little boys wanting mom's attention. I'm going to try this week to let the minutia go, and hopefully find some spots to just BE with my boys. Three is a lot, but it's also a blessing in so many ways. I never knew how completely different their personalities could be, but I thank God all the more for everything they give me and teach me.

Dutton Swim Team

In the town where we live, swim team is really big, or should I say gigantic. Everyone I know has their kids on swim teams, and they live up at the pool several nights a week. My husband and I aren't "swimmers." We never have been. I didn't grow up with swim team, and neither did he. Maybe that's why we are a family of non-swimmers? LOL
Recently, my four year old has learned to swim. I'm so proud of him it's ridiculous. We have tried swimming lessons at several different places, and each time he clung to me like glue. He either: (a) wouldn't get in the pool at all OR (b) I had to peel him off of me and drop him in kicking and screaming. Not fun at all. My oldest child was the same way, but peer pressure helped him. Of course he is the child that can be bought, so there you go.
There are many things as a mom that I can forgo, but swimming is not one of them. You need to at least know how to swim enough to get yourself out of a dangerous situation. This I can do, but I am pretty sure I couldn't swim several laps in a row right now if you paid me. I don't care if he isn't on the swim team, or never wants to be. Frankly, it will keep me from living at the pool during the summer which I am totally okay with. But to see him today put his entire head under, kick those feet, and flap those arms, (he has my beautiful form) makes me so proud of him. I'm going to buy some dive sticks and swim team warpaint and take him tomorrow to the pool and let him go at it. Go Dutton Sharks!

Inspector Gadget

It has occurred to me recently that if I could have any type of super power or special power, it would be to have a "Go-Go Gadget Arm." If you are a child of the 80's then you know who Inspector Gadget is and how he used his "Go- Go Gadget Arm" to solve any situation. With three kids, I drive a mini-van (which I swore against at one point in my life), and inevitably while driving down the road, I am requested to try to reach around and pick up the dropped Lego, pacifier, or drink. Since my third child, I have developed back issues- wonder why? I have had many a conversation with the kids about how mommy needs to pay attention to the road and keep her hands on the wheel. Only to get a smart remark about- "Then why are you holding your coffee or your phone?" The point is that I am not capable of reaching my arm around and picking up whatever it is you need off of the floorboard in the car. Now, if I were Inspector Gadget, then yes, I'd be glad to shoot my "Go-Go Gadget Arm" out to help you.

I've also discovered that it's not just the car where it would be useful. This arm would be a salvation for digging out objects that fall behind the washing machine or behind the sofa. Better yet, it would be awesome to use when I get down on my stomach to scrape for paci's, or as we call them "Baps," under the crib. Recently, my husband has also declared he has shoulder problems. No doubt. I believe him. As a parent, you know you are going to be tired beyond comprehension. You know as a woman your body will never be the same, and it's all worth it, but no one tells you that it would be fabulous to have an arm extension.

Lovey Kingdom

Lovey Kingdom

 Several years ago when my middle child was born, a good friend of mine was selling loveys wholesale out of her home. Since she is also my middle child's Godmother, we got the ultimate hook- up with these loveys. Frogs, monkeys, lions, lambs (blue and white), some embroidered with his name on them, and some not. We even became the recipients of a very large blanket frog. They are super soft. On the occasion that he climbs into bed with us at night when he is sick or scared, he will inevitably bring a lovey into the bed with him.  It is not uncommon to later find that lovey draped across my husband's face, though I doubt he'd admit it. These loveys have been with us for almost five years now. I haven't counted, but we must have at least ten or twelve, and that's not including the three or four my sixteen month old also has in his possession. They have been on car rides, to the hospital, doctor's offices, the pool, the grocery, and parks. I'm a  self- proclaimed germaphobe, and I don't really like things taken from the house where they can possibly swipe up the latest form of e coli. But with each child I have become more lax, and if it gets us more quickly out of the house and to our destination, so be it
Years ago we had an all out Dutton crisis on our hands when Monk Monk went missing. He'd traveled to my parents house, and we couldn't remember if he'd made it home. Not only was our house on high alert, but my parents were searching their grounds high and low. It was traumatic for our son because for whatever reason he had picked this one as his favorite. My friend tried to get a replacement, but short of having to run it over with our car to make it look like the old Monk Monk, he was just not the same. See, our son had picked the face where the mouth was and the smile was a half smile, and the ear was worn down just right. So, as you can imagine, the fake substitute did not suffice. We essentially gave up looking and tried to make Froggie or Lambie be next in line. After about a week or so I was outside with the kids, and I screamed. I must have screamed louder than I thought because my husband thought I'd seen a snake or rodent. He ran outside to find me jumping around because Monk Monk was found underneath our deck inside an old plastic fire truck. Now we have a rule, that only one lovey leaves the premises at a time.
The other night, my son came to climb in bed with us around 3:45 am. He was hungry. After finding a cereal bar and some milk and guiding him to his bed, he requested I lie down with him. He and my oldest son share bunk beds. The middle child is on the bottom bunk. I have a confession  that if ever I get a nap, which is rare, this is my favorite spot. It's like a cave. My years at sleep-away camp were always a dilemma...choose the top bunk and no one steps on it, or choose the bottom bunk and love the cave-like appeal. I think the cave is definitely my first choice as an adult. Once I climbed in his bed, I realized that he had created a "lovey barrier" by hanging all of the loveys from the top rail of his bunk bed. We have always called his mountain of loveys in his bed "Lovey Kingdom," but this took it to another level. I climbed in and as I snuggled in with him, I realized that the loveys were creating more than a cave appeal, and I actually felt safer. I know it sounds like I'm getting carried away, but it really made me feel just like a child again. There was no way the monsters in bad dreams could get me. I'm not even really sure if this is why he did it, and I've yet to ask, but I get it.  As a neat freak who makes the bunk beds every day (crazy I know) the hanging loveys just didn't give the room that ala Pottery Barn feel. So while making the bed the other day,  I took them all down. However now, after sleeping with them protecting me, I have decided to leave them up. After all, in a few years, I'm sure I'll be packing them up in a box trying to preserve his childhood through the face of a lamb. It's possible tonight, I may see if I can grab a lovey to put on my pillow, and I'm hoping it's one with the smell of his hair having just been washed. Better yet, maybe I can find one with some sweet sticky syrup from our Saturday morning pancake ritual. 

Monk Monk (the original)

A little bathroom humor

I have always disliked blogs. They are for narcissists. I mean, who really should ever write this much about themselves, or those in their lives? Yet, here I am. My sole purpose of this blog is to be able to chronicle what a day in the life of a Dutton boy is like. Since I have three, it shouldn't be hard. I'm sure my own opinions especially political or others might creep in from time to time. But if you are reading this, you must know that I am a highly opinionated person, and I won't apologize. My boys are my life, and the fourth one- my husband is included. I may dub him as largest boy from time to time. When trying to come up with a title for my blog, I decided not to think too hard and go for the thing that I feel is discussed most in our household. I have many more years of falling in toilets, and I cannot tell you how many times I do this. (One would think to look...) Yet, I feel it ultimately may be a privilege to try to survive in this group of "men" who will no doubt try to drown me before it's all over. I won't feign that bathroom humor is only a boy thing, and I often have gotten drawn in from time to time. Just this evening, the two older boys were in the bathtub making bubbles and discussing "parts." I mean, does this really ever change? I doubt it. I'm just thrilled they have each other to giggle with regarding these issues. However, while making the bed, I found myself laughing at them and then my husband joining in. Maybe it's not the best parenting to allow them to laugh about their bodily functions, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I think laughing in general is better than always stopping kids from their innate silly nature. Perhaps that's how we all become so serious as adults. I'm voting for a "bubble" bath if you know what I mean.