My son is taking swimming lessons -- the kind where Mommy has to GET IN the pool too. Nothing like squeezing your out-of-shape-you-thought-you-were-in-the-clear-because-it's-almost-November body into a bathing suit to take your resistant toddler clear across town to a non-heated pool smack in the middle of dinner time (oh and your husband is out of town for work so you have to find a babysitter for the baby) only to have him say the whole time, "I am all done with swimming, Mommy."
To try to distract him from our teeth chattering and to inspire some interest, we start talking about opposites (one of his favorite games -- see post on "conversations").
He asks, "Mommy, what is the opposite of float?"
"Sink."
"Like in the kitchen? That is always full of dirty dishes?"
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Conversations
"Mommy, can I hold your ring?"
"No, this ring is special. We cannot lose it. Mommy wears it every day. It means Mommy is married to Daddy because Mommy loves Daddy."
"Am I married?"
"No, but you can get married when you are a grown-up."
"Is [sister] married?"
"No, but she can get married when she is a grown-up too."
"I don't want to get married. I just want to be a daddy."
"Good luck with that."
_______________________________
"Mommy, what is that on your forehead?"
"My eyebrow."
"No, what is that line on your forehead?"
"Oh, that would be a wrinkle."
"Why are there so many of them?"
________________________________
"The opposite of big is small. Big like an elephant and small like a bug.
The opposite of up is down. Up in the sky and down on the ground.
The opposite of young is old. Young like baby [sister] and old like Mommy. Or a dinosaur."
"No, this ring is special. We cannot lose it. Mommy wears it every day. It means Mommy is married to Daddy because Mommy loves Daddy."
"Am I married?"
"No, but you can get married when you are a grown-up."
"Is [sister] married?"
"No, but she can get married when she is a grown-up too."
"I don't want to get married. I just want to be a daddy."
"Good luck with that."
_______________________________
"Mommy, what is that on your forehead?"
"My eyebrow."
"No, what is that line on your forehead?"
"Oh, that would be a wrinkle."
"Why are there so many of them?"
________________________________
"The opposite of big is small. Big like an elephant and small like a bug.
The opposite of up is down. Up in the sky and down on the ground.
The opposite of young is old. Young like baby [sister] and old like Mommy. Or a dinosaur."
Friday, October 14, 2011
The power of the cookie
I have learned recently of the power of cookies.... to make a toddler go on the potty chair. My almost 3-year old son FINALLY pooped on the potty and received the much anticipated cookie he has been promised for what seems like forever. (My husband bought the box of cookies weeks ago and obviously he and I have just been eating them after the kids go to bed... Good thing there were still 2 left for this unexpected and much prayed for event.)
Side notes which will be relevant: Poop was large man-sized-poop
Also, my son usually only poops once a day.
Later in the day kids and I are at my second home (also known as the grocery store in some cultures). And to promote this potty-progress, I get more cookies and go so far as to allow my son to hold them in the cart (which he does, very carefully, as if this box were actually the holy grail). Just as we enter the last aisle and I am about to wrap up a fairly uneventful shopping trip, I hear, "I have to poop, Mommy."
I know this is not true (review side notes above) and this is solely in the hopes of breaking into the holy cookies. I try all my tricks to dissuade him, but he insists that yes, in fact, he does have to poop. And no, he cannot wait until we get home. He has to poop here, at the grocery store.
I drive the bus that is this ridiculous shopping cart -- with a huge plastic car stuck on the front that provides him with the illusion that he is driving -- to the rest room, park it, unstrap both kids, and get the party started.
Seeing no other option, I put my 10-month old crawl-happy daughter down on the public restroom floor while I get his shoes, pants, and underwear off. It takes her about 1.5 seconds to sense her freedom and she of course takes off. I frantically try blocking her path with my leg while holding him on the potty (requiring me to adopt a half-squat position with one leg straight) but she is too quick and too smart. Up, over my leg she goes, under the door, and out of the stall. This means my son has to use both hands to hold himself up, touching more of a public toilet than he has ever touched before (which I guess was going to happen at some point) while I retrieve Houdini-baby.
Once we were all corralled back together, he says (shockingly), "I don't have to go."
Thankfully the hand-sanitizer fairy had visited the restroom so I was able to bathe them in Purell immediately.
Side notes which will be relevant: Poop was large man-sized-poop
Also, my son usually only poops once a day.
Later in the day kids and I are at my second home (also known as the grocery store in some cultures). And to promote this potty-progress, I get more cookies and go so far as to allow my son to hold them in the cart (which he does, very carefully, as if this box were actually the holy grail). Just as we enter the last aisle and I am about to wrap up a fairly uneventful shopping trip, I hear, "I have to poop, Mommy."
I know this is not true (review side notes above) and this is solely in the hopes of breaking into the holy cookies. I try all my tricks to dissuade him, but he insists that yes, in fact, he does have to poop. And no, he cannot wait until we get home. He has to poop here, at the grocery store.
I drive the bus that is this ridiculous shopping cart -- with a huge plastic car stuck on the front that provides him with the illusion that he is driving -- to the rest room, park it, unstrap both kids, and get the party started.
Seeing no other option, I put my 10-month old crawl-happy daughter down on the public restroom floor while I get his shoes, pants, and underwear off. It takes her about 1.5 seconds to sense her freedom and she of course takes off. I frantically try blocking her path with my leg while holding him on the potty (requiring me to adopt a half-squat position with one leg straight) but she is too quick and too smart. Up, over my leg she goes, under the door, and out of the stall. This means my son has to use both hands to hold himself up, touching more of a public toilet than he has ever touched before (which I guess was going to happen at some point) while I retrieve Houdini-baby.
Once we were all corralled back together, he says (shockingly), "I don't have to go."
Thankfully the hand-sanitizer fairy had visited the restroom so I was able to bathe them in Purell immediately.
Friday, September 30, 2011
In defense of soccer moms....
You know who she is -- maniacal cell phone talking, Starbucks chugging, mini-van driving woman weaving in and out of traffic, all with those cute stickers on her back window of Mom, Dad, 3 kids, a dog and a cat, as well as a proud bumper sticker proclaiming her 5th grader's honor roll status. Maybe you are her. Maybe you judge her. Maybe you swear you will never be her...
Well, I have recently begun to realize and appreciate the reasons behind said "soccer mom's" crazed behavior on the road.
First: the cell phone stuck to her ear. She is probably on the phone with one of her children's teachers discussing an "incident" from school that day, or a coach volunteering to bring snack for the team to the next practice, or the pediatrician trying to schedule a flu shot, or maybe, just maybe, she is on the phone with a girlfriend she has been trying to connect with for weeks. Now, with her children physically strapped in and unable to climb up her leg and grab the phone out of her hand, she is taking 10 minutes to catch up with that friend. Likely, however, one of the first 3 scenarios is accurate.
Second: the Starbucks coffee. This is a necessity due her functioning on 47 minutes of sleep because of one child teething, one child up 3 times with nightmares, and planning an upcoming birthday party at midnight since that is the only time everything else is done and there is peace and quiet. Or maybe she just felt that she deserved a $4.00 coffee as she looks down at her 7-year old outfit and $1.00 plastic flip-flops. (And if you are about to say that she should take herself shopping, trust me, she has thought about it. What woman does not want new trendy clothes? But then the thought of having to search the racks, try on clothes, and wait in the endless check-out line with the two small people in tow negates any desire for a new outfit, hence the sad ensemble that is now covered in $4.00 coffee.)
Third: The crazy driving. This is likely due to her timing her day down to the second and not having the option to allow for traffic, construction, or slow-poke drivers. Child #1 needs to be picked up at 2:30. Child #2 did not go down for nap until 1:00 (despite Mom's best efforts) so, being the best mom she can be, she let child #2 sleep as long as possible before ripping her from her peaceful sleep to throw her in the car in order to pick up child #1 on time. Or maybe she is driving like a maniac trying to get the kids home for lunch before they fall asleep in the car so that they eat a good lunch and take full naps at home, thus preventing several meltdowns that would occur otherwise.
Although my kids are still quite young, I do drive a mini-van, and my son does play 2-year old soccer, so I guess TECHNICALLY I am a soccer mom. And I am here to say to all of the other sleep-deprived moms with unbrushed hair and mis-matched shoes who are zipping by cops and accidentally uttering 4-letter words we pray our kids don't repeat, I am with you. No one gets it but us.
Well, I have recently begun to realize and appreciate the reasons behind said "soccer mom's" crazed behavior on the road.
First: the cell phone stuck to her ear. She is probably on the phone with one of her children's teachers discussing an "incident" from school that day, or a coach volunteering to bring snack for the team to the next practice, or the pediatrician trying to schedule a flu shot, or maybe, just maybe, she is on the phone with a girlfriend she has been trying to connect with for weeks. Now, with her children physically strapped in and unable to climb up her leg and grab the phone out of her hand, she is taking 10 minutes to catch up with that friend. Likely, however, one of the first 3 scenarios is accurate.
Second: the Starbucks coffee. This is a necessity due her functioning on 47 minutes of sleep because of one child teething, one child up 3 times with nightmares, and planning an upcoming birthday party at midnight since that is the only time everything else is done and there is peace and quiet. Or maybe she just felt that she deserved a $4.00 coffee as she looks down at her 7-year old outfit and $1.00 plastic flip-flops. (And if you are about to say that she should take herself shopping, trust me, she has thought about it. What woman does not want new trendy clothes? But then the thought of having to search the racks, try on clothes, and wait in the endless check-out line with the two small people in tow negates any desire for a new outfit, hence the sad ensemble that is now covered in $4.00 coffee.)
Third: The crazy driving. This is likely due to her timing her day down to the second and not having the option to allow for traffic, construction, or slow-poke drivers. Child #1 needs to be picked up at 2:30. Child #2 did not go down for nap until 1:00 (despite Mom's best efforts) so, being the best mom she can be, she let child #2 sleep as long as possible before ripping her from her peaceful sleep to throw her in the car in order to pick up child #1 on time. Or maybe she is driving like a maniac trying to get the kids home for lunch before they fall asleep in the car so that they eat a good lunch and take full naps at home, thus preventing several meltdowns that would occur otherwise.
Although my kids are still quite young, I do drive a mini-van, and my son does play 2-year old soccer, so I guess TECHNICALLY I am a soccer mom. And I am here to say to all of the other sleep-deprived moms with unbrushed hair and mis-matched shoes who are zipping by cops and accidentally uttering 4-letter words we pray our kids don't repeat, I am with you. No one gets it but us.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
1st day of school
1st day of school (school = 2 year old Children's Day Out) report:
All sorts of compliments about his academics -- attention span, knowledge, etc.
But did anyone else's kids poop / pee through all THREE of the outfits I brought, only to be sent home in the random church donation pants? Nope -- only mine.
Conversation on the way home:
"If you want to go back to school, you need to tell your teacher when you have to poop and pee and go on the potty. You cannot poop and pee in your underpants."
"I won't go back to school. I will just stay home with Mommy."
Sigh.
All sorts of compliments about his academics -- attention span, knowledge, etc.
But did anyone else's kids poop / pee through all THREE of the outfits I brought, only to be sent home in the random church donation pants? Nope -- only mine.
Conversation on the way home:
"If you want to go back to school, you need to tell your teacher when you have to poop and pee and go on the potty. You cannot poop and pee in your underpants."
"I won't go back to school. I will just stay home with Mommy."
Sigh.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
A poop story to top all other poop stories
Just when you think you have seen / done it all with your kids' poop...
Toddler runs into room yelling, "I pooped in my underpants! I pooped in my underpants!"
You put down your morning glass of wine... (Just kidding! You wish!) Likely, you put down the laundry you are folding, or your cold coffee poured 2 hours ago, or maybe just your other child, and with a sigh say, "Okay. Let's clean you up."
Once in the bathroom, you survey the situation and stupidly think that the clean-up will not be too bad -- it is a solid mass, easily flushable, after which the underpants will be thrown in the washer.
You begin helping your child pull down his stinky underpants as is the usual routine. However, he is so upset about having pooped in his underpants that he won't stand still and loses his footing... and yep, he puts his foot down, smashing the "solid mass" into a poop-patty in the underwear. And yes, he put his foot directly in it. As he is still a bit unsteady on his feet, he then picks his foot up and puts it down again, making a distinct poop-print on the floor. Also, while you were attempting to hold Mr. Wobbly-legs steady, you also toppled a bit and indeed put your hand in the poop underwear as well.
Meanwhile, child #2 is screaming bloody murder in the other room and has just started crawling, so you can only imagine what she is eating, climbing on, etc. You actually have to say the words, "Hold on, sweetie. Mommy will come get you as soon as I wash the poop off of our hands and feet."
And then you return to the rest of your glamorous life.
Toddler runs into room yelling, "I pooped in my underpants! I pooped in my underpants!"
You put down your morning glass of wine... (Just kidding! You wish!) Likely, you put down the laundry you are folding, or your cold coffee poured 2 hours ago, or maybe just your other child, and with a sigh say, "Okay. Let's clean you up."
Once in the bathroom, you survey the situation and stupidly think that the clean-up will not be too bad -- it is a solid mass, easily flushable, after which the underpants will be thrown in the washer.
You begin helping your child pull down his stinky underpants as is the usual routine. However, he is so upset about having pooped in his underpants that he won't stand still and loses his footing... and yep, he puts his foot down, smashing the "solid mass" into a poop-patty in the underwear. And yes, he put his foot directly in it. As he is still a bit unsteady on his feet, he then picks his foot up and puts it down again, making a distinct poop-print on the floor. Also, while you were attempting to hold Mr. Wobbly-legs steady, you also toppled a bit and indeed put your hand in the poop underwear as well.
Meanwhile, child #2 is screaming bloody murder in the other room and has just started crawling, so you can only imagine what she is eating, climbing on, etc. You actually have to say the words, "Hold on, sweetie. Mommy will come get you as soon as I wash the poop off of our hands and feet."
And then you return to the rest of your glamorous life.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A short letter
To all critics of mommies who live in sweatpants:
Next time you pull a freshly laundered outfit directly from the dryer, put it on, and have your child explosively poop all over it 12 minutes later, then criticize those of us who sometimes don't bother to put in the effort.
Signed, a mommy in sweats (who was in a pretty dress earlier)
Next time you pull a freshly laundered outfit directly from the dryer, put it on, and have your child explosively poop all over it 12 minutes later, then criticize those of us who sometimes don't bother to put in the effort.
Signed, a mommy in sweats (who was in a pretty dress earlier)
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