I've moved...

Started using a new site for my rants...

http://forevermommy.wordpress.com/

If you are so inclined, please update to the new page :)

Potty Patrol

If I would have to pick, I think I would say potty training is my favorite part of parenthood...and by "favorite" I clearly mean most despised. The 1st run with the fe-mini, I was taken aback by how maddening it was and how frustrating the whole process could be. The random stop, drop and pee opportunities. The slick: "I will just stand here and pee and see if she notices." The morning pee sheets from nighttime slips. And the ever wonderful, in the middle of the store HAVING to pee that very instant or the threat of an aisle 3 wet clean up being immanent. Then there are all of the associates: the pull ups, the "waterproof" mattress cover, potty chairs (we bought 2 of those), potty books, potty dolls (for boys he is named Potty Scotty!) and the potty treats for celebratory purposes...there are really so many glorious aspects to choose from that to narrow it down to just one is impossible.

So now we are working on getting the Final Frontier out of diapers. My doctor told me when he turned two, "You can start potty training him now and he will be trained when he is 36 months or you can start potty training him at 35 months and he will be trained at 36 months." I was a little discouraged with that news but have always heard the boy bladder is a little tougher to coerce so I can't say I was surprised. At the same time I was a little relieved because I remember all of the months between 18 and about 30 with Girl Wonder that I spent pulling my hair out and cursing the urine fairies. I have to say this took a little of the pressure out. I was reminded again, as with the 1st, when he is ready you will know. He will just WANT to go. So this time around I am trying to remove the control freak from the equation and just let nature take it's course so to speak.

This being said I have wanted to provide the best "learning environment" possible for my little man. We have been using the other two kid potties and have noticed that things with a boy are juuuust a bit different. I didn't account for the "willy factor" when initially choosing these potty seats for my gal and after our first couple go rounds of wet floors upon evacuation I realized something had to be done or I may just pop another vein in my head. So I researched the millions of potty seat options online. Being that my boy isn't really a boy by his own admission but in fact just a grown man in a pint-sized body I recognized that he doesn't want no stinkin kiddie seat. He wants to sit on the big one like a real man! So I found this perfect little contraption complete with a ladder so the kid can climb up to the throne himself, handles so he can hold on while he "goes for a ride," a foot stool so he can further brace himself for the shuttle launch and a cushy, foamy seat complete with a "lip" to keep things from going awry so to speak. It really seemed like the most all-inclusive choice. To say I was thrilled was an understatement. I used to get excited about buying a new bathing suit and now my skirt gets blown up when I discover new and inventive contraptions made to teach my children basic life skills--my how things have changed.

So being there was something new in the house and size and weight matter in the animal kingdom, his older sister got 1st dibs on the test drive. She gave the new seat her seal of approval and then moved on. The boy got to see the item in action so when nature called he would be clear on how to mount it.

That time arose later that night when we were getting ready for bed. I don't know what it is but bedtime seems to be Deuce-thirty for both of my littles. This is when I have had the most success with the boy and his shuttle launches. This night was no different. So he ran in, jumped on the seat and within minutes came running out and celebrating, "I peed. I peed. I really, really peed." So his sister and I ran to the bowl and saw no evidence of such--false alarm. "OK buddy, just try again." Two minutes later, same drill. "OkkkkNooooo buddy! Hold on!!! DON'T MOOOOVE!" I quickly got to the bathroom and gathered as much toilet paper as humanly possible in hopes of capturing the wonder poop and by the time I tore the ply I heard a thud! Ahhhhhh! Nooooo!

There, in the hallway, lay his stool sample for all to see and as Mother of the Year, my first gut response was a loud and disgusted, "BOOOOOOO!!!!" Really? You booed your own kid for going to the bathroom? You BOOED him? REALLY? Yes, really. I don't know what came over me but all I can say is I am not proud of it and rest assured psychotherapy has already begun for such transgressions.

Girl Wonder came down to see what all the booing was about and saw the pile on the floor and immediately started in on the little fella. "Why did you poop on the floor, Chase?" You are supposed to go in the potty!" Meanwhile I am whisking away the excretion with my wad of wastepaper and throwing it in the toilet when the Hubba comes upstairs to see what the commotion is all about. The Reporter gives him the full update of the situation complete with ghastly noises and criticism and I am just about to turn around to say "Not a step closer!" but realized it was too late. I had gotten MOST of the dung wiped away but there were still a few nuggets of shrapnel left in the aftermath and the Hubba stepped right atop! UGH!

By this time I had realized that our reaction of disgust to this situation could have set our boy back months in terms of progress so I quickly changed the tune to that of joy and accomplishment. We danced around the bathroom and once everything was cleaned up, ran into the kitchen for the coveted "potty treats." While we stood around the crystal candy bowl waiting for the prince to make his choice the female counterpart pipes up with, "Why does HE get a potty treat? He pooped on the FLOOR not in the potty!" Trying to explain to a 4-year-old that her 2-year-old brother doesn't quite have the sensation of full evacuation down pat just yet is about as intelligent as trying to explain quantum physics.

Needless to say it was an eventful first run. Based on previous experience I am sure it is only going to get better. I look forward to the next few months and the defecation that it will bring. Good times for all to enjoy! Hope you enjoyed it too :)

Itsy Bitsy Spider...

I started a new workout program this weekend. Over his vaca, Hubba had taken it upon himself to rid our garage of all of its excessive crap and in the process made it very hospitable. He also managed to set up a pseudo-gym with a bench and accompanying set of weights so Mama could get her lift on. That's what I like to call a "win-win."

The fe-mini decided she wanted to join me on my highway to health. We hadn't completed even one circuit of the Hubba-derived exercise recipe when she started screaming. And I don't mean crying; I'm talkin Texas Chainsaw Massacre screaming. This was followed by a repetitive "Owie! Owie! Owie!" so I knew it wasn't from the exercise regimen. I begged to know what was wrong and she pulled up her shirt to reveal, "Something BIT meeeee!" And sure enough there was a distinct point of entry along with an almost immediate area of swelling. I assessed the surroundings and found one bastard spider laying on the cement complete with a look of guilt in his beadie little eyes. It didn't take me two seconds before I decided he needed to die. I quickly grabbed a dumb bell and obliterated the sneaky little schister! While Girl Wonder was thanking me for "saving her life" I realized I had just rid the situation of the offender and thus any clues to the toxicity level of said offender. I would have been smarter to capture the aggressor which would have in turn alleviated the next 45 minutes of subsequent Internet research trying to identify the evil enemy, half of which was spent listening to bellows of pain from the midget. The Hubba and I were both silently anticipating a trip to the ER. After about an hour of swelling regression and tear turn-off those fears subsided.

I never really got a positive ID on the arachnid but after some discussion we both agreed that the recent upswing in the spider population on the home front rendered some sort of action. We devised a plan of attack and I was sent out with marching orders--serious stuff on the outdoor perimeter and herbal homemade remedies for the indoors.

I sat at the store amongst thousands of bottles of toxicity made for all multi-segmented creatures. With kids in the cart, I mumbled out loud the each label and their apparent claims of carnage. Ant, fly, hornet, mosquito, rodent--evidently everything BUT spider. I was irked. I continued looking...bee, beetle, yellow jacket, wasp...then I stumbled upon the ever-respected "roach." Girl Wonder tilts her head to one side and says, "Roach?" and I replied "Yes, you know? Cockroach?" To which she further inquires, "What is cock?" to which I respond with laughter of uncontrollable proportions and she again says, "Mom! (as if to say: "Snap out of it. Get it together lady!") What is cock? What is it!?" and all I could come out with is just more silent, body-shaking laughter. And THIS, my friends, is a prime example of how my perpetual immaturity and grand mental capacity for potty humor continues to get me into conversational combat with this kid! Wish me luck in this large chore of actually raising a mature human being. At this rate it's really not looking good!

It's all in a name...

Some people tend to get the most information from their kids at night as they lay them down to sleep. I suppose being that I have been blessed with what can only be described as a "sleeper from hell" I am not one of those people. My moments of clarity regarding my gal come while she is atop her thrown...the porcelain one. I don't know why this summons her deep thoughts and worldly questions but I have grown to except this and almost embrace it. I will take "quality" time wherever I can get it and that includes being amongst excrement and odor.

Out of the clear blue sky (where most of these Toilet Tidbits come from) she starts talking about her name. She looks dead at me and says "Mom, I really don't like my name!" She's never voiced any distaste for it previously so I am a little taken aback and proceed to ask her why. She then explains: "Because it has the "My" word in it and it makes me feel like I'm saying everything is "Mine" and I don't like that." Perhaps this lends to the reason she is constantly claiming territory in the land but that is beside the point. So I take the bait and ask her what name she would prefer. Without hesitation she chimes in (as though she has been thinking about this for much longer than this 15 minute eradication) with her answer: "Chase! You can call me Chase because that would mean that you'd have to chase me all around." After pontificating the notion of having 2 kids with the same name, I do believe smoke began to pour from my ears. I pointed out that it would be a bit difficult to discern one Chase from the other and she assured me, "Oh if he runs away you won't have to handle it. I will put on full speed to get him." Hmmm, now THIS is a plan I can get on board with. I chase you and you chase him. That doesn't sound at ALL crazy. She is not as speedy as her brother and much less erratic. Boy Wonder starts off in a straight line as though there is a jet pack attached to his back and then suddenly he cuts to the left in a jutting, zig zagging motion, much like the talents of Adrian Peterson (HA-I can only hope!) Now I am 20 years removed from my soccer training and hate to admit that those hard "cuts" aren't as easy and fluid as they used to be. I do fear a blown ACL/MCL at some point in my competition as a mom. I have been pondering lately what the first injury to put me on the disabled list is going to be. For some reason I am leaning toward having a tooth knocked out but I suppose that is because that has been one of my biggest fears for all of my life is losing a tooth in combat. Probably the very reason that I chose swimming over the abundance of other sports I played as it always ended up in the "Least Likely Arena to Lose a Tooth in Battle" column of life but that is a different story altogether. All these previously recorded thoughts about my son needing to be garbed in protective gear and I feel that I should probably be outfitted in the same. Again, another story for another day...

At the end of the day I just found it interesting that Girl Wonder was so attuned to her sensitive side and the "vibe" her name is putting out there. The only thought I ever gave to my name is the fact that "Jo" rhymed with soooo many unappealing and insulting words but this realization didn't come until at least 4th grade when my classmates start recognizing the same. To be a "Ho" at age 8 was quite a tall order. I didn't even figure out how insulting "Blow" was until a much later date. And now realizing that I have doomed my daughter to the very same name fate I am beginning to think that this Conversation from the Throne will be continued a few years down the line. Now I will hold the interest of seeing if she can actually reach the age of 8 before her friends embark on this name-calling frenzy which sends her to the court house with a Request for Name Change. And so the Circle of Life continues :)

Camp Out?

A few months ago Girl Wonder got in her head that she needed to experience the Great Outdoors. She was insistent that camping was the missing piece to her puzzle. She talked about it quite a bit and asked on a fairly regular occasion when we could have a camp out. Suffice it to say, I was certain the answer to that question was "Never." Hubba Hubba has made it abundantly clear in the tenure of our relationship that under no uncertain circumstances was camping something he was willing to do. He detests being dirty, refuses to lay amongst critters and bugs and rather enjoys the lavish lifestyle of a stove/oven combo. I had to find a way to break it to her so I just came out with it. "Honey, Daddy really doesn't like camping so I don't think we will be going for quite some time <insert "never" here> Thinking this would take the wind out of her sails and I would soon after be wiping some tears she pipes up with: "Well, do you like camping?"...uh oh...I feel a trap coming on..."Yes, baby I love camping." (this coming from someone who has never packed more than a case of beer and a sleeping apparatus for a camping trip) and then she decides, "Well then, we will just wait until Daddy has to go out of town again for work and then WE will go camping!" Wow, the tender age of 4 and already plotting on what we will do when the proverbial cat is away.

Needless to say after sharing this transaction with the Hubba he was feeling a little sheepish--seemingly as though he was standing in the way of his little princess' happiness. So when he suggested that during his one vacation that he takes all year that we go camping I have to say I was a little surprised. I suppose a fine illustration to just how much he loves this gal. He quickly started researching places in Colorado with water and cabins--he was only willing to take this "camping" thing so far--and within hours our destination was determined and reservations were made.

Now I hear people talk about taking their kids camping ALL the time. After having traversed the experience the only question I am left with is WHYYYYYY!!!!????? I literally packed enough food and supplies to last us a good 6-month stay in a bomb shelter. Our house looked like a ghost town before we left as almost everything in it was coming with us. It just seemed stupid to me to haul all of our belongings 3 hours away just to unpack them and enjoy them outside for the sake of outside. We could have just popped a tent in the backyard and called it good. Honestly, I think if the wee one's would have experienced THAT we wouldn't have had to up the ante to a far-away excursion but whatever.

Luckily we got to take our pooch with on this vacation and I think he appreciated that about as much as any dog could. Our 1st stop was the Garden of the Gods (gorgeous) and boasting clouds that distended and inflated to the likes of a big head of blown-up cauliflower that you might see in a Macy's Day Parade. The sights were breathtaking and the heat was ON. The dog was about to pass out from all of the out-of-the-ordinary exercise in the mid-day heat and when we got back to the car he jumped right in. As we tried to associate the kids and get some food in them we heard a howling from someones engine, as though they were tearing down the road at 100 miles an hour. The Hubba and I looked at one another, looked around and we both came to it at the same time--the dog had propped his ass directly on the 1st piece of real estate in the car--the accelerator. Thank God for working brakes is all I have to say because that parking lot was FULL of cars, people and pets and with a 40 pound dog sitting on the "go" button we could have had quite an eventful experience. The pandemonium in my mind's eye is excessive...

 

Unfortunately, in-car navigation missed the updated version that included our campsite so we spent the better part of an hour searching for our final destination all the while to questions of "Haven't we gone this way already? Haven't we seen this part before?" Backseat driver takes on a whole new meaning. Once we arrived the kids were pleasantly surprised to find a huge playground right across the dirt patch from our cabin. It was a space filled with 70's era play equipment that begged to be climbed upon and beckoned a closed-head injury. The playground in particular touted a over sized metal merry-go-round to the likes of which I have not seen since I was their age. Truly I thought these were outlawed for safety reasons but backwoods Colorado evidently missed the memo. With a multitude of miniatures at the play area the kids jumped right in the action. The merry-go-round was irresistible. They climbed on along with about 17 other campers. I was quickly sized up and noted to be the biggest kid on the playground and therefore nominated the official pusher. OK. I'll bite. I could use a good work out. After about 30 minutes of hurling kids around in circles, listening to them scream with glee (none louder or girlier than my boy, of course) and stopping occasionally to let off a green passenger or two I set a goal. I decided that the day would only be a success if I forced one of them to lose their dinner. Try as I might my goal went unrecognized and I felt a tinge of defeat. Once the playground had cleared out a bit and most of the kids had gone back to their campsites disoriented my kids took a whirl at the apparatus on their own. This would be Boy Wonder's 1st lesson in centrifugal force. While I was the pusher my kids just sat down and held on for dear life. Left to their own devices a sense of bravery set in. The Moose was feeling like some sort of hot shot and decided that he was capable of things greater than himself. He branched out and tried on some tricks of the 8-year-olds who had come before him. As the merry went round he attempted to stand up, lean back, let the wind blow through his not so present hair and hold on with his head leaning outside of the bars into open space. Shockingly, the pull of this law of nature was more than he had bargained for and to say he went FLYING is an understatement. The next thing I knew his chubby little hands gave way and he was violently thrown from the apparatus. His head, being as large as it is, got kind of stuck under the moving vehicle and it finally pushed him out of the way of its tumultuous path and onto his face. This all happened in a matter of seconds at which point I am scooping him up to assess the damage, wishing we had brought his helmet, and he was SCREAMING! I figured he had broken an arm, a tooth or received a concussion. Once I got him turned around he looked up at me and all I could see were blue eyes--his face was COVERED in sand. His screaming mouth was FULL of sand. His nasal cavities were impacted with sand. He was NOT pleased. I got to quick work exfoliating his face and he is still wailing. I finally reached my whole hand inside of his mouth and scooped out no less than a quarter of a cup of dirt and then the crying immediately ceased. So I learned here that my son is not so much affected by pain as he is by irritation. Good to know. After a thorough dusting and further evaluation he had only a 4" long bleeding wound on his arm, a sand-burned elbow and a slightly more lumpy cranium. All in all I call that a win because if you had seen it happen you'da thought we'd be taking a trip to the ER.

This trip was filled with firsts. This was our first attempt at putting Boy Wonder into anything but a crib for sleep. The cabin was equipped with one queen bed and a bunk bed. We figured, by his age his sister had already been sleeping in a real bed for 6 months so surely he was ready too. HA! Being a risky venture to begin with we wanted to make sure he was as close to the ground as possible so he got the bottom bunk. Set both the kids up with their sleeping bags and pillows and thought that the days adventures would easily have exhausted them to the point of pass-out. Another "laugh out loud" thought. Hubba and I figured we would give them a chance to settle in and then retire once they had fallen asleep. We sat outside by the campfire and listened to the chaos ensue. Boy Wonder's new found freedom caused a ruckus and he was up and down and up and down again. So our attempt at some alone time fell short and we decided to go in and wrangle the beast. Once we were arrived the up/down program stopped. He was in his bed but couldn't seem to keep himself from talking whilst his sister could keep herself from telling him to shut up. Meanwhile she is up top, singing herself to sleep, kicking her legs like an Olympic runner. This wouldn't have been a big deal but the mattresses of the beds were coated with vinyl (I don't even WANT to know why) so with the rubbing of the polyester sleeping bag against this material there was easily more scratching than in an 80's rap song. To say it was obnoxious falls short of reality. The bed-time charades started at 8:30 and it was now approaching 11 and the girl was still strong at it. I was trying my damnedest to block it out but was just relieved that The Ox had decided to drift off--I'd call that a push. At about 11:30 I remember looking at my watch and realizing the scratching had almost ceased entirely and felt myself floating off to sleep. At 11:45 I hear the boy cry out. I looked down at the floor and saw a gleaming white heap in the pitch darkness and realized that he had dropped his coveted silky blankey. I rolled over to retrieve the blankey so he could resume to slumber and in my effort reached down to feel silky soft SKIN--the boy had tumbled out of bed and he, was in fact, the white crumpled ball on the cold, wooden floor. With my heart appropriately broken, I lifted him off the floor and positioned him between us in our bed. His response: "Fanks, Mom!" as though I had saved him from a burning fire. UGH

Now being that we never, and I mean NEVER allow our kids to come to bed with us this was a new experience. I didn't want him to fall again so between us was really the only option. From that point on I had to serve as human guard rail. The 1st couple of hours I spent head to head with him, we successfully breathed the same air and I could hear his little heart beat. It was actually kind of sweet...kind of. I was reminded of the famous song from Patrick Swayze's hit film "Dirty Dancing"...something along the lines of, "I feel your breath in my face, your body close to me..." but then became starkly aware that this song was not an ode to one's child. After the cuteness wore off the exhaustion set in. My body was contorted in such a way that would have made my Pilates instructor proud. Without such studious training in the arena I don't believe I could have held these "poses" for such a duration and saw this as an opportunity to hone my skills and practice my form. My head was wrenched back while the mini man nestled his head in my chest. Then at one point he had extended his arm across my face and pushed me with his leg so that I was literally given no more than a balance beam's worth of space in which to lay. After this experience I am sure I could work in the circus as a tight rope walker. I decided I was not going to get a lick of sleep in this position and opted to change direction and place my head at the bottom of the bed with the dog. You know it's bad when you choose to share air with a canine as opposed to your kid. With the absence of my body as a safety device Bam Bam rolled over and threatened to fall once again. I quickly fashioned my body into a net-like arrangement and cradled his head with the flexion of my foot. The remainder of my leg and side-body served as a back brace and he fell back to sleep. Unfortunately I didn't. I think I received a total of 45 minutes of sleep that night and woke up in DIRE need of coffee. The Hubba professed that he had about the same amount of sleep and it was then and there that I fell in love with him all over again. He looked at me with his droopy eyes and said "Baby, I was thinking that maybe we might think about perhaps going home tomorrow instead of the day after??" The joy that this brought me was inexplicable. The happy dance ensued as there was a light at the end of my tunnel. I sprinted to the front desk to boast of our early departure. Upon my return the kids has started to stir. My nighttime cohort climbed out of the room and looked up at me with his sort-of sad face and announced "Mommy, I pooped in your bed!" You have to be f#$%^ing kidding me? I said "Are you serious!?" and he said "Yes." so I hurried into the cabin to assess the damage. Upon investigating further I found that he hadn't in fact pooped but peed all over our comforter and sheet (now I'm thinking I know why the mattresses are covered in vinyl). Being that I was prepared for a nuclear holocaust I had packed replacement bed furnishings so luckily we were covered for yet another night.

The rest of that day was filled with a train ride, swimming, more playground time and 2 hours of straight down-pouring rain coupled with a thunder and lightning show. Monday couldn't come fast enough. Don't get me wrong, it was a "nice" time, a good 1st experience, an interesting outing but this is not something that I will be doing again any time soon. After asking the fe-mini if she'd enjoyed herself she responded affirmatively. I then prodded further to see if she was interested in a return venture that I was going to have to cleverly ward off to which she said, "Sure, I'll go but maybe not until I'm a little older." which in my estimation is when she is old enough to pack her own $h!t and sleep in her own cabin. I translated this to mean she appreciated the experience but wasn't interested in another go-round for quite a long time. And so I fell in love with her all over again too.

FOREVER Mommy!

A friend of mine asked me a couple of months ago if I was feeling "OK" because every time she read my blog it seemed like I was ranting about something and really down on myself. This gave me some serious pause and even lead to a fairly significant hiatus from writing. After all, my intention here is not to be Debbie Downer complete with the "Waah Waah Waah" music. After giving this some serious consideration I came up with a couple of things...#1. if my blog feels "negative" it doesn't need to be read. #2. even though I tend to complain a good bit about the in's and out's of parenthood, frankly I think that is just how I roll. I realized that it's not so much complaining as it is strenuously, emphatically observing. #3. somewhere, someone else may be bitching and nail-biting over the very same thing I bring to the table and actually not feel like Joan Crawford or Archie Bunker for losing their patience every so often. Lately my patience on this subject matter has been just about zero and I'm just curious as to how others deal with it.

Last week we had my niece from NY here for a visit  and invariably when we have company the kids kinda go wacko. Boy Wonder was "walking the dog" which consisted of pulling an entire roll of Christmas ribbon through the house by one end, leaving the other end somewhere near the Equator. Needless to say there was ribbon all over the top floor of the casa and I was none too thrilled. I walk upstairs to see this and immediately my blood boileth over. Silly? Perhaps. Real? DEFINITELY. My niece just nicely and kindly says, "Oh Chasey it looks like we have a mess here. It's OK, let's clean it up." Meanwhile I am at the top of the stairs about to have a stroke. I was inquisitive as to how she could be so patient and so happenstance about the whole thing? How she could just sweetly pick up the ribbon and get to work cleaning it up without popping a vein in her forehead was beyond me. I stood there knowing that I was some sort of defective who came unequipped with such pleasant parenting poise. I confessed that she had me beat in the patience arena and was going to be a great mom, then continued to lament over my lackluster ability to stay calm in these "moments of crisis." And then suddenly seven little words came tumbling from her lips that made this whole thing make sense..."Because you deal with it EVERY DAY!" Ahhhh! Why this hadn't occurred to me before is a mystery. And this leads me to my next segment of discussion...

In the past 2 years I have noticed a stark spike in the whole "Grand Inquisition." I did assume that Girl Wonder would come equipped with interesting and thought-provoking questions but I had no clue how rapid-fire, incessant and mind-numbing they would be. I suppose if I wasn't blessed with the Trifecta this whole thing would be more bearable but the fact that the triple-whammy is upon us just makes my head spin. I think I am going to do an experiment today and see how many times they use the word "Mommy?" in question form. This is what the drinking games of yore were made of..."OK, every time the short one says 'mommy' you have to take a shot!"...oh WOW, sounds like something straight out of the "Casey Anthony Parenting Handbook for Idiots"...

The thing is that half the time the question isn't even really a question. Again, I realize she is trying to figure out this complexity called "Life" but it can still send me for a whirl, can't it? She will ask questions about things she knows the full answer to which leads me to wonder if she KNOWS she is irritating me, if she has received a recent, unseen blunt trauma to the head by the minier version and has forgotten the answer or if she is checking to see if the answer is still the same as it was 5 minutes ago.

I can say to her, "Wow sweetie, good job on that head stand!" and she'll reply, "WHAT'S good job?"...umm, did you really just ask that? <I don't orate these words but I think them.> "Good" and "Job"--you are asking me what this is? Coming from a girl who at the age of 3 told me that her brother kept trying to swipe her milk because hers was more "impressive" and upon inquiring further to discern if she really knew what the definition of "impressive" was got this phrase back--"Yeah, you know? More appealing!" The words "good" and "job" clearly cannot baffle her. And then I have to have an internal discussion with myself as to whether or not I am really going to justify this nonsense with a response, complete with counting "1,2,3..." in my head just to keep from losing it entirely. I sense she is just looking for reiteration which at this point in the game I am all too unwilling to dole out. This whole asking question after question after question is just exhausting, making me feel more like Alex Trebec than a mom. And if they were REAL questions I think I would be more apt. Not more capable--just more apt. And this is where I am haunted by the phrase of my youth, "Are you talking just to hear yourself talk?" and wondering if there might be some validity to that statement in this situation. All I know is that it makes me want to pull my hair out.

But then there are occassions that she is asking good, hard questions. Here, my 1st assumption is that the kid is lying awake at night looking for ways to make me look stoopid. There are questions that come out her mouth that I want to vocally and strenuously answer, "SERIOUSLY!?!?" but I know upon asking that the answer is: "YES! Seriously." These are the types of questions that made me wish I had pursued a masters (or PhD for that matter) and they are rich questions that deserve answers. I, unfortunately, am just unequipped to give them. The most obvious would have to be "How did I get in your tummy?" (how does one REALLY answer that?) followed by "Are pirates real?"--do you want the long or short answer for that one? Then there's the good ol' "How is chicken made?" which brings us into the oh so comfortable topic about eating animals and which ones are off limits (at least in this country) and my favorite brain cramper of all-time, "Where do cells go when they die?" I've gone 34 years without wondering that. Perhaps now you can see why I want to bellow, "SERIOUSLY???" from the top of my lungs. Granted all viable, questions--I just have no clue how to go about answering them in 4-year-old speak.

Somehow the boy factor has entered the equation as well. He has either caught on to the aforementioned irritation and has embarked on the same barrage of "Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?" just to light my fire from another angle or he is just hitting the ground running and hoping to wear me out physically AND mentally. They are truly turning into the dynamic duo of inquisitional doom. He's only 2 so his questions have not yet met his sister's intellect but I do believe in a short time they will. With this joker I am foreseeing things like, "Why does this thing down here poke out every morning when I wake up?" along with, "Why doesn't this "cape" work when I jump off the top of the house?" as well as "Why does dog poop taste so much worse than human poop?" At the time of writing his favorite phrase in this arena is, "Mom I have a question to ask..." but when I ask him what he wants to ask he looks at me with a blank stare--I do believe this is his 2-year-old mind gearing up for some doozies. Or I will ask him a question and his answer is "Maybe, Of course." These are the types of things that insanity is made of! Just the other day we were talking about Titin the WonderDog and I was telling Boy Wonder that Titin could do tricks also to which he asked, "Does Titin go to gymnastics too?" Ummm, not quite buddy!

All this to say is I am heading into a realm of life where patience is paramount and I seem to be fresh out. I am brought to a deeper understanding about the conquests of parenthood and recognize that this is a job not only of strength, longevity and sticktoitiveness but clearly one of wits...and ignorance. I think if I can hone in and perfect just one of those skills I would be in good shape. So either I embark on a mission to become smarter or just figure out a way to ignore the inquisitions. The Magic 8 Ball says, "Outlook not so good." Looks like "Forever Mommy" is holding a WHOLE new meaning! Wish I could have foreseen the irony in the titling of my blog. ;)

Marking His Territory

I've toiled over what to title this excerpt of parenthood...there were so many viable options. My 1st thought was "Parental Retardation"--I think that is the most glaringly obvious title. A close 2nd was "Poool Party" and this was followed by "Gut-Check Sunday." After reading this feel free to insert the title you find most fitting.

Being that it has been hotter than Africa here as of late, the kids spend most of their afternoons frolicking in our backyard blow up pool. Since we live in a quiet, residential with 7' fences we generally just let our kids do their thing when it comes to backyard clothing and 9 times out of 10 they opt for the suits of birthdays. It is also noteworthy to mention that we are embarking on the infancy stages of potty training Boy Wonder. All this to say is, we should have seen it coming.

We weren't outside for 5 minutes and the Moose is already making whizzle on the side of the pool. My instinct is a sigh of relief as I figure at least he didn't do it IN the pool. We escort him to the outdoor potty that we have placed in the grass for such opportune teaching moments and coerce him to finish his business in the appropriate location. He insists he is done and jumps back in the water. Hubba and I continue our leisurely conversation. Ten minutes later the proverbial "Stool Pigeon" bellows the 3 words we never thought possible..."MOM, HE POOPED!" Hubba and I halted and stared at each other. He then asked, "There's poop in the pool?" and she snitches, "YA, THERE'S POOP!" I was half-waiting for the voice of Spaulding from Caddyshack to scream, "Doooodie! Doooodie!" but it never came. We both ran over to the side of the pool and watched in wonder. A submarine the size of the boy's forearm made its way amongst the waves and threatened to contaminate the occupants. Hubba looked over and said "I'm speechless. I don't even know what to do!" In addition to the "forearm" there were approximately 4 other portions of small intestine doing the backstroke. I quickly grabbed the skimmer and began to excavate, thoroughly gagging throughout. I just kept shaking my head and laughing, wondering how the hell I could be so ridiculous as to let this non-potty trained kid swim sans pants. I guess it's just that he has been in this pool naked no less than 100 times this summer and has never once so much as let out a grunt. Needless to say, the pool had to be deflated, drained and disinfected.

Whilst refilling the "temporary toilet" with water the kids hung out on the perimeter. Girl Wonder sat and bounced on the overly inflated basin, turned to me a knuckle and a half up the nostril and begged, "Mommy do you want to get your suit and come swimming with us?" Her request was followed by a swift insertion of the aforementioned, booger-laden finger into her cake hole. WHY must they do this!? I beg to know. I just get done fishing tot-turds out of the watering hole and you're shoving bats from the cave down your gullet. I'm sorry to say but your request to go swimming is less than well-received when accompanied with such antics. The Hubba scolded the act and explained that it was disgusting and impolite to ingest the nasal nectar. Meanwhile I am GAGGING...again!

No sooner had we resumed our conversation when the female 411 was throwing her brother under the bus yet again. As they waded in the ankle deep water she cries, "He's peeing again!" SERIOUSLY!? I don't know what's worse, the fact that the kid has relieved himself 3 times in 30 minutes or the fact that I wasn't smart enough to put a diaper on him after the 1st indiscretion. Needless to say, swim time was over.

The kids were evicted to the other side of the yard to extract some ripened vegetables from our garden which was followed by a quick trip to the kitchen for cleansing. Lord knows the dog has also marked his respective territory and it seems he and Boy Wonder do their "marking" in a similar manner. We just don't want to run the risk of ingesting dog urine. So we usher the kids up the deck and into the kitchen and about 30 seconds into the mission the town crier yells, "Mom, he did it again! He peed on the kitchen." Sure enough, I walk in to find the kid peeing all over the kitchen cabinets, rug and floor. AWESOME. Finally I get a clue and put a diaper on the miniature schnauzer and if I could have I would have smacked myself silly for allowing all of this "marking" to take place. Why on earth would I think that my simple request of, "Please stop peeing/pooping in non-designated areas." would be heeded? And again, why would I think that simply because he had relieved himself out the gates that he was "done?" Clearly there was lots more where that came from and lots of fluid reserves to keep us on our toes.

It was a day of revelation, reality and repulsion. Another chapter of "Humble" in the novel of life. Luckily I was in good enough spirits to laugh off a majority of the excretion. Today as I was changing him for his nap he looked up at me with sad eyes and confessed, "I pooped in the pool." to which I responded, "Yes, you did and how did that make you feel?" to which he stated, "Not very great." This was the perfect segue into the life lesson that everyone makes mistakes, life is not fool-proof and we are usually given a second chance to try things again. It felt good to be able to have that conversation with him. He smiled largely and gave me a tight hug. Guess I should take a piece of my own advice and lighten up on myself as without this written record of the incident it would all be forgotten 5 years from now as is true of most of our mistakes. My take home message here is, even if you are having a moment of "Parental Retardation" there is still a good chance that you'll get a re-do with the same exact predicament and an even better chance that you'll be the only one holding on to the memory of the mistake. I'm just trying to live each day better than the last. I'm not always successful but this is my goal. Even if I don't achieve this goal, I know there are little eyes watching me try and hopefully seeing that even if we can't take back our mistakes we can make every last effort to do it better next time!

Here's to always trying to do it better!