Be Careful What You Wish For

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you're fully aware that we are living with one of the most horrific of creatures known to man...the whiny three-year old. The whining has been day and night, literally from the moment he opens his eyes in the morning until he shuts them again at night. The only reprieve we've been given, oddly enough, is when we're not at home. The minute we step back over our threshold it starts again, sometimes even as we pull into the driveway.

I'm scared to even put this in writing, but it appears that we MAY be seeing a downswing in the whining. I actually wondered if the Little Man was suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder, because the second the weather took a turn for the better it seemed to abate slightly. I assure you however, it is by no means gone. We are now down to whining only 65% of the waking hours we spend at home, as opposed to the 90% we've been living with for the past six months. I'll take any improvement I can get at this point.

This post is less about the phase we've been living with and more about the phase that seems to be starting. Let me say this very clearly: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR. We've been hoping for so long that the whining phase would end that we never even considered what might come next. I bet you're sitting there with bated breath just waiting to hear what we're facing now. Well let me tell you, this phase is a whole new level of excrutiating Hell joy.

This phase is what we like to call Selective Hearing. I'm sure you're familiar with it, as most men suffer from this affliction from time to time...selectively, if you will. This condition only flares up when the Little Man is doing something he is not supposed to be doing, quite often when he is on the verge of breaking something, be it himself or a household item.

We calmly and clearly ask that he stop what he is doing. We calmly and clearly ask again. And again. We then suggest a time out might be in order. Then we ask again. It's about at this point that I lose all conscious memory and Angry Mummy starts to wake up. I think some yelling ensues, some crying (sometimes him, sometimes me), and a time out.

Where it gets really difficult is when we're out in public. What do you do to a) stop your child doing what he's doing, b) teach him that he has to listen to Mummy and Daddy, and c) not look like a raving lunatic that is completely governed by their three year old?

As this phase is so new, I really have NO idea how to effectively deal with it. We're seeing some success with claiming we simply cannot understand what he's saying when he whines, but any tactics on how to deal with being ignored and blatantly disobeyed elude me completely. Being ignored really doesn't work for me. Maybe it's my need for attention, but that's an issue for a whole other post.

I'll keep you posted on how this develops. Comments are appreciated... it would be nice to know SOMEONE is listening!

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...

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:

1. Breathe.
2. Play trains with the little man.
   
3. Take both kids for a walk (if it's not raining).
4. Finish the dishes.
   
5. Get through two more loads of laundry.
6. Make dinner.
   

I would also like to mow the lawn if it's not raining, but in an effort to curb my unrealistic and over-achieving tendencies I will leave that off the list. Maybe.

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.

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.

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've Never Been a Journaler

I love notebooks. Pretty books of pretty pages wrapped in pretty paper. Blank pages just begging to be filled with profound thoughts and memories of my life. I tried. I tried valiantly. I tried repeatedly.

When I was 10 yrs old I got an "Annie" diary, complete with little gold lock and key. I completed five entries in five days and never wrote again. At least once a year until around age 20, I would discover the perfect notebook, the one that would finally inspire me to journal on a long term basis. Some never even saw pen touch paper. Some got as far as a week of dedicated writing and then shut forever. I got a travel diary for a 6-month NZ trip. I wrote religiously for the flight from Vancouver to Auckland, and for my first 2 days in Wellington. That was it. Thank God I took pictures.

For our first wedding anniversary, my husband and I decided to go with the traditional gift theme of paper. He bought me a very cool notebook made up of all kinds of different papers - maps, graph paper, envelopes, vellum. It is absolutely beautiful, and I just love it. The problem is, I didn't want to repeat history and use it for something pointless and then never look at it again. I didn't dare begin a journal that would inevitably get stuffed away in a box within the month. I kept it safe for 4 years, feeling guilty that I wasn't using his lovely gift. I only recently unearthed it to actually put it to use. It is now my fitness inspiration and motivation book, which I fill with inspirational statements cut out of magazines, short notes about significant achievements in my weight loss journey, and reminders of why I started my fitness quest in the first place. With no schedule for journal entries and no self-imposed strict format for how to fill up the book, I believe I may have found the perfect use for this book.

So why, when I am obviously HOPELESS at journalling, would I ever consider starting a blog? Well, as a mom of an almost 3 year old boy and an almost 4 month old daughter, life is filled with adventures, some happy and some that make me want to tear out what's left of my post-pregnancy hormonally challenged hair. Add to that the fact that I've decided to actually embark on and commit to a new healthy lifestyle (with the help of Weight Watchers). I am on a quest to lose 60lbs before I return to work in October, and I am NOT what you would call athletic. I love TV and I love food, so this is indeed a major life change! All these things come with a variety of pitfalls, so I figured I needed somewhere to vent. What better place than the interweb?? Somewhat anonymous and not as scary as a blank page on my nightstand.

I may never get a single reader, but then again, with my history, I may never write another post. :)