The Travails of Training

Have you ever had a kid who just INSISTED they were ready to potty-train, only to refuse to follow the "Rules" of the potty?  You know, those silly little rules like,

'Don't poop in your hand, poop goes IN the toilet.'

or how about 'Why are you naked AGAIN? We don't get naked to go pee!'

and my personal favorite 'Poop is NOT an art medium.'

God knew what he was doing when he made sure that poop washes out.  Now some might think me blasphemous to say that, but you know what?  If it didn't wash out, we'd all be walking around alot dirtier and smellier.  Think about it.


Aaand we're BACK.  Hope you had fun contemplating a world where poo doesn't wash out. 

So, as moms (I trust the vast majority of people reading my inane babblings are women and/or mothers), we KNOW that to potty train, one must basically give up life as they know it for however long it takes to train said child.  This is in order to drop everything every 15 minutes to plop that cute little tushie on the pot and PRAISE THE HECK out of simply remaining semi-stationary on the pot for longer than 2.02 seconds.  Bribery of the first degree (in our house, 1 M&M) for staying on it until mommy says.  Bribery second degree (2 M&Ms) if pee makes it into the bowl in any way.  Third degree bribery for poop. 

I have to tell you, this kid is stubborn!  He announces he has to pee, but has never, not one single solitary time, peed on the toilet.  He can sit there till the cows come home and hold it.  But as soon as the air outside the bathroom hits his little butt-cheeks, it's like, well, Niagara Falls or something.  I don't get it.

I also don't get how I can manage to get him to poop on the pot, thereby earning his 3 M&Ms, but he still wants to fish?!  EW!  The other 2 never did this crap! They never finger-painted with excrement either, so it's all new.  Of course, they did not train until later either.  TT1 was 2.5 and TT2 was pushing 3 before he decided to get on board with the potty thing.  This whole insistence on big-boy stuff by the not-2-year-old is crazy, and more than a little sad.

My baby doesn't want to be a baby anymore, and is bent on leaving babydom as soon as possible, aided by the (questionable) experience of his older brothers.

Wow.  For a split second there, I actually thought about another baby, wistfully.  Then somebody screamed, somebody else wailed and everybody started tattling, so there goes that nightmare daydream.

Dang it, now I'm rambling again.  Bottom line is, potty training sucks.  I can no longer laugh at my poor cousin, who has 2 poo-painters.  I find myself considering roasting in the yard all day simply to enable the kid to run naked and water the plants and save myself some carpet cleaning.  I remember fondly the days I could change a wiggly infant on my lap, and the thought of stripping naked never crossed his little mind. 

I...oops.  It's time to pee.  Or maybe poop.  Or not. One just never knows.

The First Week of School

All I have to say is, Thank GOD that's over!

By day 3, there was tears and drama worthy of an Oscar.  And not just a nomination.  Who was it that told me girls are more dramatic than boys?  They apparently haven't met my boys.  If it wasn't TT1 flinging himself into histrionics at the classroom door, it was TT3 screaming for TT1 as we drove out of the parking lot.

And just WHERE was TT2 when all of this drama was unfolding?  Calmly working out his thumbs on the iTouch, slaying dinosaurs or crashing heilos.  Until the end of the day, when he continuously, monotonously, and irritatingly asked, 'When'm I goin' back ta my scool?'

Funny how big a difference almost 2 years makes.

Wow!

How do you like my new hawtness?  I decided I was tired of the same old blogger backgrounds and such, so I went on a search for free (yes, I can be cheap when I wanna) blog backgrounds and templates. 

Sheesh!  I never knew how many site there were for free blog stuff!  It was starting to get overwhelming, especially because I just wasn't finding quite the right mix of whimsical and elegant that I was looking for.  BUT (dun duh Dah DAH!) I found it! 

If you've perused my blog before (I know there are 3 of you out there!), you know the only horn I toot is my own, so it's kind of a big deal for me to tell you I totally adore Hot Bliggity Blog.  Freaking awesome designs to be had there, free for the taking.

So, I tried on a few (it's like shopping, only without mirrors and my unseemly reflection), and decided on this one.  What do you think?  Is it me?  Or am I just being pretentious?  Go ahead, I'm wearing my big girl panties today so I can take it.

So I put their button over yonder <-----.  Check them out, I promise you won't be disappointed!

Coming soon!
The first week of school, why I suck at being a mommy-mom, The Travails of (potty) Training, and other fun times.

Major, Epic, Parenting FAIL

Ok, it's been 10 days, the shock and jitters have worn off, and the scabs are (almost) gone.  What's the fail? you ask?  Oh, only taking 0.0000000001 seconds alone, resulting in a 17-foot, head-first free-fall to the floor below.  Said free-fall taken by TT3, who had been (and still is being) constantly reprimanded for climbing the stair railing and banisters.  Yes, he has a binkie, no he's not even 2 yet, yes, we know how big he is.  Thanks. 

This is what it looks like to fall 17 feet when you're almost 2:

His head and face turned a lovely shade of green the next day, almost enabling him to fade into the shrubbery in the backyard and at the park.  If it was me taking that plunge?  I'd be in a full body cast wondering who everyone is and why I'm in a full body cast.  God made 'em bendy and wiggly for a reason - bendy bounces, while stiff shatters. 

It's that time again...

Back to School night.  It was last night, it was pretty uninformative, other than letting us know where and to whom we should send TT1 on Monday.

But it WAS evident that his Kindy teacher had taken time to place him thoughtfully, and to ensure that his needs were going to be met by Mrs. X over the next year.  For example:

1. He is sitting rightnextto the teacher, up front
2. He has his own desk, while the majority of the other children have those little 2-seater tables with the bins for storage, which addresses his fastidious (at least at school) nature.
3. His partner in crime is in the same room, but not close enough to get in any trouble with.
4. The teacher uses a "money" system for discipline, and is very math-oriented - TT1 loves him some math (strange, must not be my child).
5. The teacher seems to be pretty calm and soft-spoken, but gives off that "I don't take any crap" aura, which is a definite must with TT1.

I'm looking forward to seeing him progress through 1st grade - I think he will do very well, it's just a bit overwhelming to find out everything the kids are expected to accomplish in this first "full" year of school.  D kept commenting on how he never took a test in 1st grade, never had to do homework, etc.  Well babe, times have changed! 

Hopefully, D and TT1 will both abide by the homework rules we discussed last week: He gets to unwind after school until 4 on regular days, then it's homework until mommy gets home, and finishing up after dinner if an hour didn't do it. 

I know, I'm living in a dream world where everyone follows my edicts without complaint or deviation, but we've got to start somewhere right???

#2, Crap, Poo and other names for, well, you know.

I used to snicker behind my hand at my cousin, who told horror stories about his adorable son's habit of finger painting with his own poop.  I say USED TO because, well, TT3 has graciously inducted us into the AA of poo-painters.  Oh JOY.

It's not enough for him to just dip a finger in and smear, oh no.  He basically shoves his entire hand down the back of the dang diaper to catch the poop as it exits, then proudly displays his crap-glove before smooshing it on all vertical and horizontal surfaces within reach, including his entire body. 

But, as D pointed out, it could be worse - he could be eating it (I just puked in my mouth a little).

All I really have to say on the subject is, thank God poop washes out! of pretty much everything.

Vacation? What vacation?

Seriously, I need to open a resort JUST for moms looking for a real, honest-to-maude vacation. 

A vacation where where nobody needs wiping down, hosing off or force-feeding. 

A vacation where nobody climbs into anyone elses' bed at 2 am looking for something. 

A vacation where nobody gives mommy stink-eye because the kids are screaming like banshees because there are no chicken nuggets on the menu.

A vacation where there are no bumps, bruises, fights, bites or other stupidity-induced.

A vacation where mom can SLEEP IN without someone (ahem babe) walking into the room every 5 minutes demanding to know if you intend to sleep all day.

A vacation where mom can eat her meal without paying any kid tax.  Likewise, her meal can be eaten while at it's intended temperature.

A vacation where mom can nap in the middle of the afternoon without waking suddenly to find a crayola-fied coffee table, a carpet full of the chips that were forbidden until after dinner, or anything flooded or otherwise wet.

Yes ladies, I am talking about a vacation ABSOLUTELY ALONE.  No men.  No kids.  No phones. No e-mail.  No fax.  In short, not one single distraction or reason to think about the little tyrants for as long as you wish.

I'll provide free activities, free alcohol and dinner you didn't have to shop for or cook. 

Of course, you will supply the tanning oil, smutty romance novels and The Guilt.  The Guilt, unfortunately, comes standard with every kid-free outing known to mom-kind.

It was nice dream while it lasted though, right?

Adventures in Vacationing

Vacation is very short this year.  Not so much sweet, but definitely short.  As in overnight to the beach kind of short.  But hey, we got out of town, right?

So, everyone was SUPEREXCITED...

I should have added air horn to the list of vacation supplies.  TT1 actually asked to sleep in longer.  So freakin much for the early departure time dearest husband who decided to leave at 6:30 and did not even get up until then.  But I digress.

I felt that, given the short time away, I would refrain from over scheduling every ever-loving minute and just go with the flow.  WRONG.  Oh, so WRONG!  Mommy had no plan, so the constant refrain was, 'What are we gonna do now/later/tonight/tomorrow', which is the same dang thing I hear every day at home!

Aaaaand I won the prize for calling all the stops.  I called Madera, Los Banos, Casa De Frutta, Random Gas Station, Random Gas Station, Parking Lot Potty.  I know my peanut bladders boys. 

Casa De Frutta was a hit.  I decided to let the guys ride the train, and they thought I was a hero.  Of course, when I refused to buy any of the delectable delights in the sweet shop, I became the meanest mommy again.

Santa Cruz was In.Sane.  I hadn't been since 6th grade.  I still remembered the old bandstand that required a special hook-on ladder to get up on.  I remembered like, the wooden roller coaster, the swings and a couple of other rides, not the stationary fair midway that greeted us after our hour-long journey to a parking place that cost as much as a tank of freaking gas (not really, but it sounded good right?). 

TT3 refused to ride anything but the carousel, and that was touchey, since the operator girl tried to touch his seatbelt and he flipped the flip out while TT1 and TT2 were trying to figure out how to UN buckle to get the cute blonde girl to come help them.  Ack.

Oh, and while we are on the subject of cute girls, um, cuties?  We all KNOW you are cute and firm and young - please stop flaunting all of your assets in less fabric than you are required to wear under your regular clothing.  You are 12 and you are proud of your new girls - I get it.  But when I have a 4-year-old already obsessed with boobs and cute girls, and you prance by combining his two loves, well, I have a problem.  Go jiggle your junk around in a dressing room while you try on some dang clothes!

I love the beach, really, I do.  I just do not love being the parent stuck lugging the overpacked stroller 80 miles from the boardwalk to the waters' edge all alone while everyone else is galivanting along and frolicking in the waves, leaving me to sweat like a swedish sauna junkie.  Cause that was fun. 

And there are two new Olympic competitions for the under 3 crowd:  Sand-put and shadow-stomping.  Because we all love being splattered with wet sand and water.

Alas, all good things must come to an end.  After the sand, the sun, the shopping and the teensy-tinsy hotel beds shared with adorable little feet and hands that are magnetically attracted to my kidneys and crotch, reality sets in and we return home.  Rejuvenated.  Refreshed.  And Relaxed.  Or not.