Boy vs. Girl

I've always been told that there is a very distinct difference between boys and girls but I always thought that was kind of a crock of shit. After my first angel hit the ground running I was pretty sure I had a system down. Sure she has her share of melt downs but all in all I like her a lot. So when this Y chromosome hit the bricks I figured it would be equally as effective to impart the same parenting tactics with him. Today was a prime example of why I was and am entirely wrong!

It's as though when I talk to him that he hears the words that I am saying, he ingests them as a normal human being but his actions tell me that something has unequivocally been lost in translation.

The Hubba is out of town at present and I just think these children can smell fear! It's like a finely tuned 6th sense. They can't see dead people but they sure as hell can see mom in a panic. I am trying to fake the front and act like it doesn't bother me that I have to play the role of a single parent for the next 3 days but I never have been much of an actress. This being said my patience is about on "E" even though this is just the beginning of my long weekend. My patience is on "E" most days so I have to clarify that it doesn't take much to get me there. Further proof that I was just not cut out for this whole mothering thing but whatever.

So I have to go to the store today...I don't mean "have to" as in this is an optional trip. I mean "have to" in the sense that I woke up this morning to make coffee (traditionally a "Rob Job") and found the coffee canister entirely defunct of anything remotely resembling coffee. I couldn't even make a pseudo-cup out of the vapors I found. This did NOT start the day on the right foot. So by the time I get the kids up and fed the withdrawal headache was already setting in. This does NOT bode well in the favor of the miniatures. Impatient mom with no coffee...I DO believe I have seen newspaper headlines that started with these very words! So I frantically drive to The Bucks to mainline the largest variety of mocha they could conjure and proceed to the grocery. And whilst we drive the female professes that she has to pee. I don't know why this sends me through the rafters but it does. I suppose partially because we have been engaging in what can only be considered "The Potty Wars" for the past few months where she is "holding it" for hours on end, leading to discomfort and the inevitable conversation about the possibility of infection. I am so tired of this conversation I actually feel like sleeping when I am having it. Literally TIRED of it.

So once we arrive at the store we rush to the bathroom. Oh my gosh, I now remember why public urination peeves me to no end...it's the bathrooms! Gross with a capital "G" and they expect us to let our kids pee in this locale? Of course they do, it is a place only the desperate will brave. So I take the appropriate measure to make the toilet as hospitable as possible all the while fielding questions about what the hell I am doing. She has never seen toilet seat covers and was kinda freaked by them. I kept telling her not to touch the seat so she is holding on to my shoulders while the Brute is running around the stall touching EVERY last morsel of real estate. I am trying to keep her hoisted so she can do her business and am kind of preoccupied, if you will. All the while I am telling the boy "No! Stop touching that! Don't touch that--it's GROSS! There are germs on that!" I was begging this kid to stop and he just kept looking at me like I was crazy. He has never had this kind of freedom in a bathroom because his sister has literally had stage fright about public peeing since forever. So I understand that he is fascinated by the tiny trash can attached to the stall with its shiny chrome sheen but this receptacle holds none other than sanitary napkins and most likely a dirty diaper or two and I just can't allow this. He doesn't have the 1st clue about sanitary napkins and can't for the life of him figure out why mom is so miffed by all of his exploration. So I am trying to figure out how to get the Moose to stop infecting himself with the plague while keeping my gal from falling into the Bowl of Doom. I only have two arms and they were both focused on baby girl buoyancy! I was holding her with one arm and holding him by the hood of his jacket with the other. That just caused him to freak and (hold my stomach for a moment) LAY DOWN on the soggy, disgusting floor. Needless to say I will be burning that outfit in a non-ceremonial bonfire in our backyard! But my gag-o-meter had finally hit its pinnacle when he slathered and caressed his hand on the back of the commode. I immediately abandoned my gal. Left her holding on to the handicapped bar to keep her afloat and proceeded to wash and hand sanitize the boy. Evidently the people at the store know how gross their bathrooms are or I believe they wouldn't offer both options. I was half tempted to run out to the Lysol aisle and douse him from head to toe but thought there could be some long term suffrage from such an act and figured these options would have to do.

I had also foolishly embarked on a new cart this trip. Ya know the ones that are the size of a boat and fit two pint-sized miniatures in the seated position? I had a ton of stuff to buy and didn't figure the gal wanted to be cramped up in the back of the cart with the surplus so I thought this was a smart, comfortable option for all. Boy was I wrong. The seat belts in those things are not meant for this boy. He outsmarted the apparatus about 5 minutes into our shop and therefore, spent the duration standing up and threatening to jump out. This obviously made me crazy to the point that I had easily said "Chase, SIT DOWN!" no less than 200 times. The girl has NEVER brought me this kind of grief. If I have to say something more than once it's kind of odd. So I tried the other seat with a bit better belt. Again, he wrangled his way out of that in no time at all. So I finally put him in the cart portion where he usually sits but since the area in this model of cart is sans belt there was nothing keeping him there. So the antics continued with me getting more and more irritated with each aisle. I proceeded to tell him that if he didn't listen and continued with this he would not be getting a treat. He called shenanigans. I retorted! When donut time came and his sister got one and he didn't you would have thought I was pulling his toenails out through his nostrils. I expected as much but I'm still always surprised at the dramatics he musters and it clearly & rightfully irks the other store-goers. I then tried to explain that his poor behavior throughout the store going experience was less than worthy of reward and he would be going home today with nothing! He cried a bit and finally whimpered "Ooookkkkk!"

So we make it back to the car by the grace of God and start heading home. At this time the fe-mini is indulging in her delight and turns to him and says "Here Chase! Would you like to share some of my donut?" Without blinking he reaches over and starts chomping as if to say "EAT THIS MOM! I got my treat anyway!" And all I could do was relish in the fact that I had the sweetest, most considerate little girl ever known. What an empathetic thing to do. She felt bad for her brother and wanted to share with him so he wouldn't be sad. She then proceeds to say "So, now that you have some bites of a treat maybe you'll stop acting like such a JERK!" The car goes silent. I start to shake with quiet convulsions--the kind that only come from the silent laughter you want no one to hear--church fart laughter. She continues to pepper him with the onslaught and tells him, "I should hope this treat will stop you from being such a jerk. Can't you see you are driving mommy CRAZY!?!" I shit you not, hand on the bible, this girl is going off on him and I had not one iota to do with any of it. Then she ramps up her cute, about to talk to a baby voice and softens the mood a bit, "You are driving her crazy! Do you know that? Do you? Do you? Do you?" almost coochie coochie coo-ish! I just couldn't believe my ears. Not only did she read him his rights but she was all Mary Poppins about it ("A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down") She wanted him to know he was being a turd but she also didn't want him to take it too hard. I swear she's more equipped to be a mom than I am! Yikes! Yet another page I will be taking from her book.

And this is what illustrated to me just how strikingly different we two are...boys & girls; men & women. But I was also shown how we compliment and play off of one another in such subtle ways, making this whole thing work. I'm so grateful for my children as they teach me every day just exactly how much I DON'T know about life!

Monday Monday...

So I get these emails every week with the subject line "Your 19-Month-Old: Week 1; Week 2; Week 3"...you get the picture.  So as the kid progresses I am privy to the things I can expect from this creature and milestones in which to look for.  I'm questioning why not ONE of these emails has ever had the subject line: "Your 19-Month-Old: Hold onto your f*(%ing shorts!"  Now I know not ALL kids are hell on wheels but you'd be hard-pressed to convince me that most boys aren't.  I just could not have picked a more polar opposite from my daughter if I had tried.  Granted she did/does have her issues as she decided that being awake for 92% of a given week is acceptable, she has just never pulled the kind of crap this one does.  Which is why I believe I am constantly amazed and totally unprepared for the shenanigans The Ox brings to the table.

Let's take this morning...I left the room for TWO minutes to brush my teeth (heaven forbid I take ANY time for self-hygiene) and come back into the room after about 30 seconds of silence only to find the table, floor, breakfast nook and all associated walls covered in tomato juice!  I do believe my exact words were "WTF!?"  Partially because of the shock of seeing red splattered all over everything and instinctively thinking it was blood and the other part was just plain, old fashioned shock.  This would have NEVER occurred to my female.  Something of this nature would just never have even entered her mind.  She would have written such off as preposterous!  I don't know how I know this, I just do.  I take that back...I think I know this because the same female had passed up the can of juice and pulled up a chair in the adjacent room once the tomfoolery commenced.  I believe she KNEW what was going to happen next and thought she needed to take cover.  Probably why she was buried under the couch cushions asking "What did Chase do, mommy?"  My point is, I can leave her in a room to brush my teeth and know that when I come back into it 2 minutes later it will be as I left it.  With the boy it is a literal crap shoot.  Most of the time it is as though a bomb went off upon my exit.  So am I supposed to get one of those kiddie leashes and attach him to me wherever I go?  I have already conceded to the fact that we will have nothing of value or decency until he moves out.  I left my eye glasses on my desk yesterday, turned my head to reach for some papers, turned back around to find him treating them like a Gumby toy, ripping them from limb to limb.  Maybe he is testing their durability?  I certainly know he is testing my patience.

And then this morning after our trip to the doctor (where we learned that not one but both children have contracted impetigo--most likely from dad's bout with Strep :-/) we were trying to scurry into the house. Ox decided that he needed to frolic in the yard for a moment which I completely encouraged.  I stood by the door and watched them play for a bit at which point he scoped out a pile of fecal remnants in our front yard that was left by our neighbor's dog.  His radar honed in on this pile and he conjured all of his mini-might to leap as high into the air as a toddler possibly could and land directly amidst the dung.  WHAT ON EARTH WOULD POSSESS HIM TO DO THIS?  He knew what it was...he kept saying "poop...poop!" and I do believe I have made it abundantly clear in our tenure together that poop is gross.  But it is like a moth to a flame.  A truly puzzling sight.  So needless to say, I rushed into the house to arm my hand with something to pick up the piles and found a plastic grocery bag.  Slipped it onto my hand as a glove of sorts...upon closing the claw, came to the realization that the bag had experienced a previous blow out and was without substance.  Grabbing a dog pile with a bare hand brings a special sort of feeling to my heart...one part dumb ass, two parts disgust, one part IRE with a dash of disbelief. 

They say you can start your day over at any time.  I've pressed the "redo" button on this day twice already.  Hoping things can only get better from here...