Okay, so not exactly MY poop. It was the little man's poop. But in an effort to pay homage to Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg, I stayed true to the phrasing.
We thought we were done. He'd finally mastered the art of using the toilet. Wiping, no, but that's a whole other siutation which I won't worry about right now. Nobody takes their mom to college with them because they can't wipe their own bum, right?
About a month ago, the little man went crazy. That is truly the only explanation I can come up with. A week before his fifth birthday, he got up from the living room floor, said "I'll be right back" and went into his room and closed the door. Now, a year ago this would have been cause for alarm as this would SURELY have meant he was in there dropping a trouser bomb, but we were past that. We were confident in his newfound skills and knew we were in a poop-free situation.
Or so we thought.
A few minutes later we heard the little man giggling and jumping up and down. Mr. Awesome went to his room to investigate what was happening, and I have never heard the tone that errupted from him seconds later. It was a mixture of anger, disgust, disbelief, shock...and then an eery calm, followed by silence.
Because what do you say when your almost five year old son takes off his pants, empties a cardboard box, crouches over the box and POOS? And then proceeds to check out the poo and wind up smearing it on the carpet and closet doors?
You say nothing. Because rage and despair have stolen your voice.
This incident was followed by another, where he made "a nest" of toilet paper on the floor in the bathroom and made a deposit, and several other times where he figured the best place to have a pee was in the corner of his bedroom.
Needless to say, all the Lego he'd been rewarded for his toilet achievements was promptly removed. I am happy (and relieved) to note that this phase has now passed and we are back to putting "things" where they should go, but it really shook my understanding of the child psyche. He got his Lego back and we're all good again...for now.
Parenthood. It gets you every time. Just when you think you've mastered one phase and finally moved on to greener pastures, your kid poos in a box.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Sunday, May 16, 2010
But When Does Mummy Get To Poop?!
The little man, as I've described in previous posts, is getting into EVERYTHING. He has also lost the ability to listen to ANYTHING I say, and will go so far as to blatantly do the opposite of what I'm asking.
I know, I know, this is par for the course for a three year old. Let me tell you, although there is some comfort knowing this phase will eventually end, that "par for the course" nugget of information doesn't actually help in the day to day dealings with my little hellian. He's not particularly mischievous, he's just utterly curious and always on the move. He cannot be trusted for a fraction of a second to sit still and not get into trouble, destroy something or tick off his sister.
And despite the hip-to-toe cast on the little miss, she is somehow on the verge of crawling. Through an intricate dance of inch-pivot-inch-pivot-inch, she can move amazing distances with surprising speed and agility. We're afraid that when the cast does come off next week she'll be off like a shot and we won't be able to catch her.
I've written about not being able to keep up with the household maintenance, but we've entered a whole new dimension now. With Mr. Awesome working or away, showers alone have become a thing of the past. Luckily, we have a large enough shower that the little man can happily play with his plastic cups while I manically clean off the spit-up/farm funk/potting soil/workout sweat that has him gagging and saying "Mummy stinks." Thanks for that, I already felt so pretty.
Although not relaxing or private, showers are fairly manageable. At least he's confined to a small-ish space and can't get into too much trouble. But there's another time that's not so easy. A time when some privacy would actually be kind of nice. A time when my movements (pun unintentional, I swear) are somewhat restricted to an arm's reach at best. And God forbid I lock the door to keep him out. That would either result in a knocking and yelling extravaganza, or him wandering off out of earshot and getting into some new adventure... think Thomas the Train meets the Dishwasher of Doom. Even having him in the room with me while I take care of business isn't the answer, as he can very easily just open the door and walk out.
It's fine in his world, as he still refuses to poop on the potty and continues to deposit "presents" ranging from grapes to grenades in his underwear on a twice-daily basis. HE doesn't need any privacy to get the job done.
And now, please refer back to the title...
I know, I know, this is par for the course for a three year old. Let me tell you, although there is some comfort knowing this phase will eventually end, that "par for the course" nugget of information doesn't actually help in the day to day dealings with my little hellian. He's not particularly mischievous, he's just utterly curious and always on the move. He cannot be trusted for a fraction of a second to sit still and not get into trouble, destroy something or tick off his sister.
And despite the hip-to-toe cast on the little miss, she is somehow on the verge of crawling. Through an intricate dance of inch-pivot-inch-pivot-inch, she can move amazing distances with surprising speed and agility. We're afraid that when the cast does come off next week she'll be off like a shot and we won't be able to catch her.
I've written about not being able to keep up with the household maintenance, but we've entered a whole new dimension now. With Mr. Awesome working or away, showers alone have become a thing of the past. Luckily, we have a large enough shower that the little man can happily play with his plastic cups while I manically clean off the spit-up/farm funk/potting soil/workout sweat that has him gagging and saying "Mummy stinks." Thanks for that, I already felt so pretty.
Although not relaxing or private, showers are fairly manageable. At least he's confined to a small-ish space and can't get into too much trouble. But there's another time that's not so easy. A time when some privacy would actually be kind of nice. A time when my movements (pun unintentional, I swear) are somewhat restricted to an arm's reach at best. And God forbid I lock the door to keep him out. That would either result in a knocking and yelling extravaganza, or him wandering off out of earshot and getting into some new adventure... think Thomas the Train meets the Dishwasher of Doom. Even having him in the room with me while I take care of business isn't the answer, as he can very easily just open the door and walk out.
It's fine in his world, as he still refuses to poop on the potty and continues to deposit "presents" ranging from grapes to grenades in his underwear on a twice-daily basis. HE doesn't need any privacy to get the job done.
And now, please refer back to the title...
Friday, April 30, 2010
The Day Mr. Awesome Broke the Baby
Today started out pretty well. I was only down 0.4 at Weight Watchers but at least I was down, right? I went for a great walk on a trail near our house and actually (are you sitting down?) JOGGED for part of it. Yes, I jogged. Pigs just might start flying by the window any minute, but I actually jogged. I'm planning on doing the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation CIBC Run for the Cure in October and running the 5K route. I'm also planning on not passing out at the end of it, so it may require some training of sorts.
I got into the shower when I got home and when I got out I heard the little miss crying over the baby monitor. She wasn't stopping, which is very unusual for her. I went to investigate. I found Mr. Awesome comforting my baby girl and the little man lying on the floor "hiding" as he does when she is upset.
Let's go with the short version. There was a change table, there was some rolling, and then there was a lot of crying. Despite the title of this post, it was not Mr. Awesome's fault (it just makes for better reading). It wasn't even the little man's fault. It was only a split second of distraction and she was down. It could have happened to either of us. She seems determined to get moving, and sometimes that means vertically instead of horizontally. She has occasionally rolled off much lower items before, and always recovers within about a minute. She wasn't calming down this time, but we couldn't see any obvious break or swelling. She did settle down for a few minutes here and there but then would start back up again. Any other kid and we may have figured it was just your standard crying, but our little miss doesn't cry very much. (This is why I don't talk about her very often. I'm afraid I'll jinx it.) Even the little man, the one always guaranteed to make her smile, wasn't having his usual effect. We decided to take her to Emergency to get her checked out just to make sure.
One awesome nurse and one hot doctor later ("Adam" - we never got his "Dr." name. When did things get so casual? What have Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs done to us?), we were in X-ray and told that something looks suspicious. Sure enough, Adam came back to tell us there was indeed a break and she would need a cast. Go figure, the little man gets into trouble climbing various things on a daily basis and our six month old daughter is the one that gets the first cast.
She's such a trooper. Once the drugs kicked in she was back to her smiley self (okay, she was stoned but she was still smiley), even while the cast was being put on. I don't know if you've ever seen an infant in a cast, but it's so sad. It goes right around her pelvis to lock in her hip and make sure she doesn't move her leg at all. Her diaper has to go on top of the cast, which will make her first dirty diaper an absolute nightmare. Things will get into places I don't even want to think about.
So, my little muffin is a neon pink cast for approximately two weeks. I feel like a new mom again. I have to learn how to hold her in this contraption, and I have to learn how to soothe the crying (a magic mix of breastfeeding and Ibuprofen seem to do the trick). I have to figure out how to change diapers around a solid mass. Actually, that part is a little like the prenatal class where they make you change a hard plastic doll that does nothing to prepare you for changing a real infant. I never thought that would ACTUALLY come in handy.
When we got home I had her on her playmat (as I will NOT be leaving her on the couch again, even for a second) and she had her giant neon pink leg up and over she rolled. She didn't even try the "easy" leg, she hoisted the Fiberglas trunk like it wasn't even there. She did kind of get stuck there though, she can't push up like she used to. I'm sure she'll figure it out soon.
Kids just amaze me. They are so resilient. They can bounce back from just about anything. But, as we learned today, they can't actually bounce.
I got into the shower when I got home and when I got out I heard the little miss crying over the baby monitor. She wasn't stopping, which is very unusual for her. I went to investigate. I found Mr. Awesome comforting my baby girl and the little man lying on the floor "hiding" as he does when she is upset.
Let's go with the short version. There was a change table, there was some rolling, and then there was a lot of crying. Despite the title of this post, it was not Mr. Awesome's fault (it just makes for better reading). It wasn't even the little man's fault. It was only a split second of distraction and she was down. It could have happened to either of us. She seems determined to get moving, and sometimes that means vertically instead of horizontally. She has occasionally rolled off much lower items before, and always recovers within about a minute. She wasn't calming down this time, but we couldn't see any obvious break or swelling. She did settle down for a few minutes here and there but then would start back up again. Any other kid and we may have figured it was just your standard crying, but our little miss doesn't cry very much. (This is why I don't talk about her very often. I'm afraid I'll jinx it.) Even the little man, the one always guaranteed to make her smile, wasn't having his usual effect. We decided to take her to Emergency to get her checked out just to make sure.
One awesome nurse and one hot doctor later ("Adam" - we never got his "Dr." name. When did things get so casual? What have Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs done to us?), we were in X-ray and told that something looks suspicious. Sure enough, Adam came back to tell us there was indeed a break and she would need a cast. Go figure, the little man gets into trouble climbing various things on a daily basis and our six month old daughter is the one that gets the first cast.
She's such a trooper. Once the drugs kicked in she was back to her smiley self (okay, she was stoned but she was still smiley), even while the cast was being put on. I don't know if you've ever seen an infant in a cast, but it's so sad. It goes right around her pelvis to lock in her hip and make sure she doesn't move her leg at all. Her diaper has to go on top of the cast, which will make her first dirty diaper an absolute nightmare. Things will get into places I don't even want to think about.
So, my little muffin is a neon pink cast for approximately two weeks. I feel like a new mom again. I have to learn how to hold her in this contraption, and I have to learn how to soothe the crying (a magic mix of breastfeeding and Ibuprofen seem to do the trick). I have to figure out how to change diapers around a solid mass. Actually, that part is a little like the prenatal class where they make you change a hard plastic doll that does nothing to prepare you for changing a real infant. I never thought that would ACTUALLY come in handy.
When we got home I had her on her playmat (as I will NOT be leaving her on the couch again, even for a second) and she had her giant neon pink leg up and over she rolled. She didn't even try the "easy" leg, she hoisted the Fiberglas trunk like it wasn't even there. She did kind of get stuck there though, she can't push up like she used to. I'm sure she'll figure it out soon.
Kids just amaze me. They are so resilient. They can bounce back from just about anything. But, as we learned today, they can't actually bounce.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wow. I'm Not Perfect. Who Knew?
Oh wait, I knew that.
I just reread last night's post and started crying. I actually considered deleting the whole post but I started this blog as an honest look at motherhood and my life, and deleting it would be anything but honest. Those were the feelings I was having in that moment. This is not a blog about being the perfect mom - a) I don't think that's possible and b) I would never have anything to write. I also know that there are women out there going through the same sort of thing, and maybe, just maybe we can commiserate and not feel so alone in the struggles. I will never delete a post just because I'm embarrassed about the feelings I was having when I wrote it.
Our kids are the two best things we've ever done. We're still getting to know the little miss as she grows and learns every day, and the little man is an awesome kid. He's excruciatingly shy with other kids or in large groups, but when it's just us or with a few friends around he's hilarious. His observations and funny little mannerisms melt my heart every single day. My heart is on a constant roller coaster between melting from the cuteness and then freezing from the whining, but I tell myself the freezing phase has to end sometime. It will likely be replaced by a lasting and all-consuming panic as he starts to gain some real independence and wants to walk to school alone or God forbid one day drive the car.
I read the last post to Mr. Awesome this morning and he's in favour of paper plates and nudity all the way. Big surprise. While nudity is fine, the paper plates will just create a lot of garbage and I'm not ready for rats to move in while we're sitting around naked. That's just not good hygiene.
In an effort to get back on track and avoid the infestation, I've already done a load and a half of laundry and the little man now has pants. I went to unload the dishwasher and I was about 12 items in when I realized it didn't get turned on last night. I was putting away dirty dishes. I am awesome. I am a freaking goddess of domestic grace. Perhaps I need to just stop and take a moment before I'm serving raw chicken and uncooked spaghetti.
I am going to set myself some manageable goals for today. Here's a start:
So, like I said, I'm not perfect. I'm not even close, but perfection isn't very interesting anyway. I'm just a basket case so I can be interesting for you, my readers. Yeah, that's it.
I just reread last night's post and started crying. I actually considered deleting the whole post but I started this blog as an honest look at motherhood and my life, and deleting it would be anything but honest. Those were the feelings I was having in that moment. This is not a blog about being the perfect mom - a) I don't think that's possible and b) I would never have anything to write. I also know that there are women out there going through the same sort of thing, and maybe, just maybe we can commiserate and not feel so alone in the struggles. I will never delete a post just because I'm embarrassed about the feelings I was having when I wrote it.
Our kids are the two best things we've ever done. We're still getting to know the little miss as she grows and learns every day, and the little man is an awesome kid. He's excruciatingly shy with other kids or in large groups, but when it's just us or with a few friends around he's hilarious. His observations and funny little mannerisms melt my heart every single day. My heart is on a constant roller coaster between melting from the cuteness and then freezing from the whining, but I tell myself the freezing phase has to end sometime. It will likely be replaced by a lasting and all-consuming panic as he starts to gain some real independence and wants to walk to school alone or God forbid one day drive the car.
I read the last post to Mr. Awesome this morning and he's in favour of paper plates and nudity all the way. Big surprise. While nudity is fine, the paper plates will just create a lot of garbage and I'm not ready for rats to move in while we're sitting around naked. That's just not good hygiene.
In an effort to get back on track and avoid the infestation, I've already done a load and a half of laundry and the little man now has pants. I went to unload the dishwasher and I was about 12 items in when I realized it didn't get turned on last night. I was putting away dirty dishes. I am awesome. I am a freaking goddess of domestic grace. Perhaps I need to just stop and take a moment before I'm serving raw chicken and uncooked spaghetti.
I am going to set myself some manageable goals for today. Here's a start:
- Breathe.
- Play trains with the little man.
- Take both kids for a walk (if it's not raining).
- Finish the dishes.
- Get through two more loads of laundry.
- Make dinner.
So, like I said, I'm not perfect. I'm not even close, but perfection isn't very interesting anyway. I'm just a basket case so I can be interesting for you, my readers. Yeah, that's it.
Paper Plates It Is
About a week before we left for our vacation, and over the four days since we've been home, I noticed a definite change in our house. I was managing just fine, for the most part keeping up with the never-ending laundry, dishes and general tidying. It was a chore, but it was almost all always getting done by the end of the day. Okay, maybe the next morning. I was meal planning, and a healthful and usually somewhat interesting dinner was ready by 5:30pm. Things were working.
Something has changed. I cannot keep up. It's not the vacation stuff, we had laundry in the unit and came home with just a few items left to be washed. It's more than that. The dishes are not done, there are toys EVERYWHERE and the laundry is piling up to the point that the little man doesn't have a clean pair of pants for tomorrow. I'm not even kidding. The kid will be pantsless. Thank God I can't get it together enough to make any early morning plans where he might actually need to get out of his pajamas.
What has changed? Why am I no longer capable of managing my house? There is some insidious wave of chaos seeping into our home and I can't stop it.
We have entered a new phase. If the little man isn't whining and clinging to my leg in the kitchen while I desperately try to do some dishes so we can actually eat the dinner I've managed to cobble together at the last minute now that meal planning has gone out the window, he's...quiet. Too quiet. Crap.
This USED to mean he was in his room, either dropping a bomb in his underpants in private or making a mess of his books, Megablocks, or some other fairly manageable business. No longer. He's in the bathroom throwing around toilet paper, he's in the other bathroom flushing my hair pick, he's in the laundry room doing God knows what, he's on a chair at the sink splashing water, he's letting himself out the front door... I cannot have him out of sight for a second. How the hell am I supposed to get anything done if I can't take my eyes off him?! Laundry is a fairly in and out task, but dishes and cooking require a bit of time stuck in one area. If he's not right there with me, I'm hooped. Crap.
I love my little boy and for the most part he's a funny, awesome little man that makes us laugh every day. The whining and the clinging, however, are soul-suckingly frustrating. I relish the few minutes a day where he's happily occupied elsewhere, and "elsewhere" never used to be cause for concern. Now I have two choices: increase his attachment-to-Mommy issues by basically chaining him to my leg, or let the house go into complete disrepair, eating off paper plates and living naked while I... wait, in both scenarios the house falls apart. Crap.
Why don't I catch up on chores after he goes to bed? Well, for starters, I'm pretty damned tired at the end of a can't-keep-up-with-it day. But the main reason is the little miss. God bless her, she's a good girl and I am NOT complaining (about her), but she doesn't go to sleep until at least 10pm. She's six months old now and starting to notice when I leave the room, so I can't get much done then either. Not to mention the fact that she eats NON-STOP from about 6pm until bedtime.
Where is Mr. Awesome, you ask? Mr. Awesome runs his own business, which means he doesn't have a "regular" workday schedule. Most evenings he's either out at clients or locked away in his office, fixing computers or designing websites. He works damned hard and will come to the rescue if I need it, like if the little man has woken up with another sleep tantrum while I'm feeding the little miss. Again.
It's late and I'm frustrated. I'm a control freak who does NOT like it when her house is spinning out of control. I am grateful everyday for the health and happiness of my family. I know that tomorrow is a new day and I will make some headway (is that how you spell that?) on my long list of to dos. The dishes will get done, most of the laundry will get at least washed and dried, and dinner will be made.
I just needed a rant. If it's to be paper plates and nudity, so be it.
Something has changed. I cannot keep up. It's not the vacation stuff, we had laundry in the unit and came home with just a few items left to be washed. It's more than that. The dishes are not done, there are toys EVERYWHERE and the laundry is piling up to the point that the little man doesn't have a clean pair of pants for tomorrow. I'm not even kidding. The kid will be pantsless. Thank God I can't get it together enough to make any early morning plans where he might actually need to get out of his pajamas.
What has changed? Why am I no longer capable of managing my house? There is some insidious wave of chaos seeping into our home and I can't stop it.
We have entered a new phase. If the little man isn't whining and clinging to my leg in the kitchen while I desperately try to do some dishes so we can actually eat the dinner I've managed to cobble together at the last minute now that meal planning has gone out the window, he's...quiet. Too quiet. Crap.
This USED to mean he was in his room, either dropping a bomb in his underpants in private or making a mess of his books, Megablocks, or some other fairly manageable business. No longer. He's in the bathroom throwing around toilet paper, he's in the other bathroom flushing my hair pick, he's in the laundry room doing God knows what, he's on a chair at the sink splashing water, he's letting himself out the front door... I cannot have him out of sight for a second. How the hell am I supposed to get anything done if I can't take my eyes off him?! Laundry is a fairly in and out task, but dishes and cooking require a bit of time stuck in one area. If he's not right there with me, I'm hooped. Crap.
I love my little boy and for the most part he's a funny, awesome little man that makes us laugh every day. The whining and the clinging, however, are soul-suckingly frustrating. I relish the few minutes a day where he's happily occupied elsewhere, and "elsewhere" never used to be cause for concern. Now I have two choices: increase his attachment-to-Mommy issues by basically chaining him to my leg, or let the house go into complete disrepair, eating off paper plates and living naked while I... wait, in both scenarios the house falls apart. Crap.
Why don't I catch up on chores after he goes to bed? Well, for starters, I'm pretty damned tired at the end of a can't-keep-up-with-it day. But the main reason is the little miss. God bless her, she's a good girl and I am NOT complaining (about her), but she doesn't go to sleep until at least 10pm. She's six months old now and starting to notice when I leave the room, so I can't get much done then either. Not to mention the fact that she eats NON-STOP from about 6pm until bedtime.
Where is Mr. Awesome, you ask? Mr. Awesome runs his own business, which means he doesn't have a "regular" workday schedule. Most evenings he's either out at clients or locked away in his office, fixing computers or designing websites. He works damned hard and will come to the rescue if I need it, like if the little man has woken up with another sleep tantrum while I'm feeding the little miss. Again.
It's late and I'm frustrated. I'm a control freak who does NOT like it when her house is spinning out of control. I am grateful everyday for the health and happiness of my family. I know that tomorrow is a new day and I will make some headway (is that how you spell that?) on my long list of to dos. The dishes will get done, most of the laundry will get at least washed and dried, and dinner will be made.
I just needed a rant. If it's to be paper plates and nudity, so be it.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Potty Training #2
That's not just a clever title. There was no previous post entitled Potty Training #1. This post is about poo. Let's just get that out in the open right now. And I promise you, I'm holding nothing back. This was a big day in our family and I feel the need to share. Read on if you dare, you have been warned.
Picture it: Vancouver, this afternoon. Costco seasonal furniture aisle. The little man begins to walk a bit funny, and Mr. Awesome inquires if he has to go pee. He claims he does, so Mr. Awesome grabs the folding potty seat and the boy and marches off to the restroom. The little miss and I continue our wandering, heading over to the produce section. I get a text message from my darling husband with only two words, but these two words would cause crippling panic in any parent alive.
CODE BROWN!!!
Before we go any further into this tale, let me provide a little background. The little man has been pretty successfully peeing on the potty for a couple of months now with a few accidents here and there. He has, however, refused to poo in the potty. He would prefer to drop a grenade in his underpants and then pretend it hasn't happened until we notice the bulge or smell the aroma. We diligently explain to him that poop should go in the potty, dump it in and let him flush, but the message just wasn't getting through. The good news was that they were always fairly solid and dropped into the toilet with very little mess.
Until yesterday.
For the first time ever, the little man had what Mr. Awesome refers to as "soup bum". I didn't include this tidbit in yesterday's post, but God Bless Nang Nang yet again, my mum must have changed him five times in the course of the two hours he was at her house.
We thought the tide had turned and didn't even hesitate as we set out on our bi-weekly (I'll admit it, sometimes weekly) trip to Costco.
So, given the events of yesterday, CODE BROWN took on a whole new meaning. Given that Mr. Awesome had gone equipped with only the toilet seat, he had already done his part in cleaning up the mess. It was then my job to take the little man back to the bathroom to put on his new underpants.
Fast forward a little. Mr. Awesome and I have now each made TWO trips into the Costco bathroom, the little man is in new underpants AND pants, and we have not actually had anything happen IN the toilet. We are now trying to finish our trip as fast as humanly possible, weaving in and out through the shopping cart traffic jam that is Costco on a Saturday.
We're now in frozen foods. Once again, the panicked expression crossed the little man's face. Mr. Awesome was done by this point and flat-out refused to go a third time. It was my turn and I was up to the challenge.
Given the inactivity on the toilet so far and the repeated false starts, I was pretty sure if I waited long enough we would see some action. My little man perched on his Diego folding potty seat and we waited. I offered lots of encouragement and we discussed the situation in as much detail as you can with an almost three year old.
I am sure the woman in the stall next to us was silently dying inside. This is what she would have heard:
"That's it buddy, you can do it!"
"Come on sweetie, just try and get it out."
"Oh! There you go, that's right, you can do it!"
"I can see it sweetie, come on, get it out!"
"That's so awesome buddy, I'll show you when you're done!"
"YEAH! Buddy, you did it! You pooped on the potty!"
(I was reminded of the Austin Powers scene in the bathroom where Austin says "Who does #2 work for?" and Tom Arnold cheers him on with "That's right Buddy, you show that turd who's boss!")
My little man pooped on the potty today and yes, maybe I've set my standards lower over the last three years, but man was I proud. He repeated the miracle when we got home, and seems to get just how much better it is than the trouser bombs he usually manufactures.
Never one to count my chickens before they've hatched, I will not assume we have now turned a corner in the potty training saga. We will see what happens tomorrow.
Picture it: Vancouver, this afternoon. Costco seasonal furniture aisle. The little man begins to walk a bit funny, and Mr. Awesome inquires if he has to go pee. He claims he does, so Mr. Awesome grabs the folding potty seat and the boy and marches off to the restroom. The little miss and I continue our wandering, heading over to the produce section. I get a text message from my darling husband with only two words, but these two words would cause crippling panic in any parent alive.
CODE BROWN!!!
Before we go any further into this tale, let me provide a little background. The little man has been pretty successfully peeing on the potty for a couple of months now with a few accidents here and there. He has, however, refused to poo in the potty. He would prefer to drop a grenade in his underpants and then pretend it hasn't happened until we notice the bulge or smell the aroma. We diligently explain to him that poop should go in the potty, dump it in and let him flush, but the message just wasn't getting through. The good news was that they were always fairly solid and dropped into the toilet with very little mess.
Until yesterday.
For the first time ever, the little man had what Mr. Awesome refers to as "soup bum". I didn't include this tidbit in yesterday's post, but God Bless Nang Nang yet again, my mum must have changed him five times in the course of the two hours he was at her house.
We thought the tide had turned and didn't even hesitate as we set out on our bi-weekly (I'll admit it, sometimes weekly) trip to Costco.
So, given the events of yesterday, CODE BROWN took on a whole new meaning. Given that Mr. Awesome had gone equipped with only the toilet seat, he had already done his part in cleaning up the mess. It was then my job to take the little man back to the bathroom to put on his new underpants.
Fast forward a little. Mr. Awesome and I have now each made TWO trips into the Costco bathroom, the little man is in new underpants AND pants, and we have not actually had anything happen IN the toilet. We are now trying to finish our trip as fast as humanly possible, weaving in and out through the shopping cart traffic jam that is Costco on a Saturday.
We're now in frozen foods. Once again, the panicked expression crossed the little man's face. Mr. Awesome was done by this point and flat-out refused to go a third time. It was my turn and I was up to the challenge.
Given the inactivity on the toilet so far and the repeated false starts, I was pretty sure if I waited long enough we would see some action. My little man perched on his Diego folding potty seat and we waited. I offered lots of encouragement and we discussed the situation in as much detail as you can with an almost three year old.
I am sure the woman in the stall next to us was silently dying inside. This is what she would have heard:
"That's it buddy, you can do it!"
"Come on sweetie, just try and get it out."
"Oh! There you go, that's right, you can do it!"
"I can see it sweetie, come on, get it out!"
"That's so awesome buddy, I'll show you when you're done!"
"YEAH! Buddy, you did it! You pooped on the potty!"
(I was reminded of the Austin Powers scene in the bathroom where Austin says "Who does #2 work for?" and Tom Arnold cheers him on with "That's right Buddy, you show that turd who's boss!")
My little man pooped on the potty today and yes, maybe I've set my standards lower over the last three years, but man was I proud. He repeated the miracle when we got home, and seems to get just how much better it is than the trouser bombs he usually manufactures.
Never one to count my chickens before they've hatched, I will not assume we have now turned a corner in the potty training saga. We will see what happens tomorrow.
Friday, March 26, 2010
A Toddler Free Day, or God Bless Nang Nang
The little man and my mom had one of their "dates" this afternoon, which included a trip to McD's and then play time at Nang Nang's. (She was originally going to be Nan, but this is what he came up with and it stuck. Our daughter won't get a choice, as Nang Nang will be Nang Nang forever.)
I needed this day. The little man and I have spent far too much time together. He's fine as soon as he's away from me, but while he's here he's clingy, whiny, screamy...I don't know how to add a "y" to "cry", but yes, he's that too. I love him more than life itself, but I think some occasional distance is healthy for both of us. Plus our house was a DISASTER.
When our house is messy, I'm able to let it go for a while. (I have to, or I would be driven to drink by trying to keep this place clean.) I do try to keep up with the tidying and "maintenance" cleaning, but every once in a while it all gets to be too much. Just walking in my front door stresses me out. I reached this point about a week ago but haven't had a chance to get it done. My stress level has been slowly rising with every toy he brings out of his room, or that I put away again and again.
My mom had given me a gift. The promise of three full hours in which I might actually be able to get something done. Thank you Nang Nang!
I made a plan. I wrote a task list. The little miss cooperated perfectly and went down for a 2.5hr nap right when I needed her to. I put away toys, I did dishes, laundry, I vacuumed, I mopped the hardwood that covers most of our house, I cleaned counters, sinks, mirrors, appliances, I scrubbed the shower floor...I did not stop until it was done.
Half-way through my spree, my mom came in with the little man. I panicked. I wasn't ready to stop! I wasn't ready for toys to be spread from here to kingdom come again! My panicking turned out to be unnecessary, they were just picking up some movies to take to her house (next door). Phew! My frenzy continued.
When all was said and done, I felt a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. When he finally came home and the inevitable whining and crying resumed, I was able (for the most part) to deal with it calmly and lovingly. We had a fairly stress-free dinner, bath and bedtime and he was asleep by 7pm. I AM SUPER MOM!
It's amazing what a clean house can do for my stress level. I am without a doubt a nicer person and a better mom when the house is clean. You'd better believe, when I'm back and work (i.e. full salary), we are getting house cleaners in to deal with this place at least twice a month. It will never get done otherwise, and Mr. Awesome doesn't get a say in this matter. (He reads this blog, so this is my way of breaking the news.) A cleaning service is cheaper than therapy.
Until that time, God Bless Nang Nang.
On a totally unrelated matter...
Today was my weekly weigh-in with Weight Watchers. I lost 4.4lbs! That's like Biggest Loser weight loss! The thing is, I have no idea what made this week any different than any other week. Same workouts, same food tracking, same, same, same. Does it matter? Nope. I am now only 20.8lbs from my goal!! WOO HOO!
I needed this day. The little man and I have spent far too much time together. He's fine as soon as he's away from me, but while he's here he's clingy, whiny, screamy...I don't know how to add a "y" to "cry", but yes, he's that too. I love him more than life itself, but I think some occasional distance is healthy for both of us. Plus our house was a DISASTER.
When our house is messy, I'm able to let it go for a while. (I have to, or I would be driven to drink by trying to keep this place clean.) I do try to keep up with the tidying and "maintenance" cleaning, but every once in a while it all gets to be too much. Just walking in my front door stresses me out. I reached this point about a week ago but haven't had a chance to get it done. My stress level has been slowly rising with every toy he brings out of his room, or that I put away again and again.
My mom had given me a gift. The promise of three full hours in which I might actually be able to get something done. Thank you Nang Nang!
I made a plan. I wrote a task list. The little miss cooperated perfectly and went down for a 2.5hr nap right when I needed her to. I put away toys, I did dishes, laundry, I vacuumed, I mopped the hardwood that covers most of our house, I cleaned counters, sinks, mirrors, appliances, I scrubbed the shower floor...I did not stop until it was done.
Half-way through my spree, my mom came in with the little man. I panicked. I wasn't ready to stop! I wasn't ready for toys to be spread from here to kingdom come again! My panicking turned out to be unnecessary, they were just picking up some movies to take to her house (next door). Phew! My frenzy continued.
When all was said and done, I felt a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. When he finally came home and the inevitable whining and crying resumed, I was able (for the most part) to deal with it calmly and lovingly. We had a fairly stress-free dinner, bath and bedtime and he was asleep by 7pm. I AM SUPER MOM!
It's amazing what a clean house can do for my stress level. I am without a doubt a nicer person and a better mom when the house is clean. You'd better believe, when I'm back and work (i.e. full salary), we are getting house cleaners in to deal with this place at least twice a month. It will never get done otherwise, and Mr. Awesome doesn't get a say in this matter. (He reads this blog, so this is my way of breaking the news.) A cleaning service is cheaper than therapy.
Until that time, God Bless Nang Nang.
On a totally unrelated matter...
Today was my weekly weigh-in with Weight Watchers. I lost 4.4lbs! That's like Biggest Loser weight loss! The thing is, I have no idea what made this week any different than any other week. Same workouts, same food tracking, same, same, same. Does it matter? Nope. I am now only 20.8lbs from my goal!! WOO HOO!
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Boy Who Cried Pee
My son is The Boy Who Cried Pee. We began potty training about a month ago. At recommendations from friends, we went cold turkey on diapers, moving to underpants for everything except nighttime. I have to say, he's doing pretty well. With the occasional accident, he does do his business on the potty most of the time. He knows if he says "Go pee" then we whisk him away to the bathroom and sit with him until he's done, clapping and cheering at his accomplishments.
The problem is, sometimes he just wants the 3 minute visit and congratulations. He'll announce his desires and we'll rush to the loo, only to sit and wait for something that never comes. After about 5 of these in a day, I began to doubt his honesty, doing the math back to when he'd last been and what he'd consumed since. Is this something you want to risk? Not believing a toddler when he says he has to pee is a dangerous gamble.
I long for the day he'll actually go in there by himself and sit down on his own to get 'er done. But until that day comes, we still jump to attention the minute he even whispers those words. That is, with the exception of first thing in the morning. I know when he comes into our room first thing in the morning and claims he has to go, that he has in fact already been in his Pull-Up and is just trying to get me out of bed. I also know that the Pull-Up will hold while I grab a few more minutes of warmth under the covers. Yes, the Pull-Up might fail one day, but that is a gamble I'm willing to take at 6:00am.
The problem is, sometimes he just wants the 3 minute visit and congratulations. He'll announce his desires and we'll rush to the loo, only to sit and wait for something that never comes. After about 5 of these in a day, I began to doubt his honesty, doing the math back to when he'd last been and what he'd consumed since. Is this something you want to risk? Not believing a toddler when he says he has to pee is a dangerous gamble.
I long for the day he'll actually go in there by himself and sit down on his own to get 'er done. But until that day comes, we still jump to attention the minute he even whispers those words. That is, with the exception of first thing in the morning. I know when he comes into our room first thing in the morning and claims he has to go, that he has in fact already been in his Pull-Up and is just trying to get me out of bed. I also know that the Pull-Up will hold while I grab a few more minutes of warmth under the covers. Yes, the Pull-Up might fail one day, but that is a gamble I'm willing to take at 6:00am.
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