The New Welcome Gift

First impressions last forever. At least that's what the elusive "they" say, right?

So the other day we visited our new next door neighbors (and I mean next-next-next door -- We could see into our kids' bedrooms if we were creepy enough to try) for a quick handshake introduction. You know, "Nice to meet you. We'll be neighbors and we're so fricken thrilled. If you ever need anything ..." and all that obligatory nicey-nice neighborly welcoming committee stuff that lasts until YOUR DAUGHTER PISSES ON YOUR NEW NEIGHBORS BRAND NEW CARPET!

Yep. That's right. Pigtails, who recently potty trained (or so we thought) at the ripe old age of 2.5, rained down the "golden showers" on our brand spanking new neighbors' brand spanking new carpet last Saturday. What better way to introduce ourselves than to make like a dog and pee on the nearest thing. "Hi. Let me clean that stranger-kid piss, I mean MY stranger-kid's piss, off your newly unfurled berber for ya. So sorry." Way to start our neighborly friendship off on the right schmut.

At first I tried to conceal telltale Pigtails' wet patch, slipping out the new neighbors' front door (remember we're so damn close as neighbors that we could fart and hear each other) to my cleaning chemicals cupboard for my trusty Resolve carpet stain/odor remover. It wasn't long before my clean-it-up-before-they-notice-and-judge-me-and-my-leaky-daughter plan was foiled. The gorgeous new working mom next door busted me red handled, spraying a noxious substance on her daughter's princess room rug.

"Um, whatcha' doing?" she asked.

"Well, uh ... This is so embarrassing and it's never happened before ... and, uh, she's been potty trained going on three weeks now and hasn't had an accident ... and ..."

"She peed on the floor?"

"Yes. Exactly."

Luckily my new pretty neighbor didn't seem fazed. She has two young kids of her own. She refused to let me clean it up and patted Pigtails' pee spot with her own two hands, something I never would have done if the pee were on the other carpet. I have this lame thing about "other" kids' pee and pooh. I've always hated changing any diapers other than those hugging the 2-D flat butts of my three children.

I haven't talked to my new neighbors since my daughter's pissy introduction to them. I wouldn't know what to say. At least she didn't drop a deuce on 'em, like a booger-nosed kid did on our playroom berber right after we installed it two years ago.

Would I feel as bad about the whole thing if Pigtails were a dog? Somehow I think a pet dog peeing on a new neighbors' carpet would have been better.

If your kids have ever done this, feel free to piss and tell. I'm curious.

Betty Crocker Breakfast

Pigtails never fails to crawl into our bed every morning at dawn, reeking of pee drenched Huggies, only slightly sour morning breath (the worst doesn't hit until four or so) and mystery baby powder (I've hardly ever sprinkled any on her bottom, not even when she was a newborn).

A newly uploaded annoying chime coming from my husband's bedside Blackberry woke all three of us up this morning.

Unlike me, Pigtails fell right back to sleep. We lucked out on the third baby with a self-soothing model. Insert thumb, twirl hair and Pigtails is knocks right back out.

Fully asleep again, Pigtails karate kicked off the covers - she never could stand being swaddled or covered up in any way, it's a wonder she keeps her clothes on at all - and frowned, at least her drooly lips appeared down-turned from behind the pulsing thumb she has perma-jammed between them. Whimpering followed.

"It's okay, baby girl," I whispered near her ear, trying to stop another way too-early wake up before it started.

"No it's not okay," she said after plucking her thumb from her pout. Her eyes were still sealed shut in slumber.

"What, honey? Whaddyou' say to Mummy just now?"

"It's not okay! I want MY OWN chocolate cake for my birffday, Mommy! I WANT CAKE!"

Sure enough, when Pigtails woke up three hours later for the day with her white-blonde hair all tangled up like a tumbleweed beehive, the first thing she asked for was the chocolate cake of her dreams.

"Where's MY birffday cake, Mommy?" she demanded, as if I'd prepared one for breakfast.