When living in the world of toddler boys, few things are more significant than when they finally decide to use the potty. It means a level of independence, fewer diapers, and a lot more mess! Ever see the sings in a bathroom saying "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be sweet, wipe the seat!" ?? Yeah, that is non-applicable in the world of wee little winky dinks, and chubby little fingers.
Yesterday Troy absolutely refused to wear a diaper. I put one on him, he hid and took it off. I tracked, captured, and pinned down the wriggling little beast, attempting repeatedly to deploy the shit containing devices. To absolutely no avail. He dodged, twirled, kicked, wiggled, slithered, and clawed his way out of them every time... Finally, I caved. "Ok" I said "You win."
Troy was extremely delighted by my defeat, he squealed with delight, and streaked about the house for the better part of an hour. That was when I became suspicious, and began checking for winky dribble. None. Ok, must be he hasn't had enough fluids today. In mid-thought nikki walks through the front door, completely disrupting the plan I was forming, to again capture and diaper the beast. Off he runs...
Meanwhile, I question Nikki as to why she is home before 1500- apparently it was a 1/2 day. What a great mom I am, completely escaped being stored in my memory banks. She walks away abruptly, stating that the need to urinate is becoming imminent. I follow down the hall, still questioning, when I hear her squeal in a sickeningly sweet voice "Troy!!! Youe Peed In The POTTY!!!". I round the corner just in time to see my half naked child on tippy toes, grasping the rim of the toilet with one hand, and his we little winky dink in the other, leaned almost far enough over to cause a surge of adrenaline at the thought of him falling head first into the porcelain pisser."I point it DOWN!" he says, and sure enough, I see that he had. Not one drop landed on the clean tiled floor.
This is but one more step toward my baby becoming my little man... I wish I could freeze him just how he is now, for a couple more years. At least.
On the other hand, it sure beats getting squirted in the face first thing in the morning, when you come to realize just a moment too late, that the little bugger isn't done yet.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
On The Topic Of The Alarm Clock
When an alarm is set, it is supposed to sound. That sound is intended to alert one to a specific time, date, warning, etc. Correct?
This morning, my "Wake The Fuck Up!" alarm failed. For some unknown reason, it simply did not sound. Perhaps it was saying fuck you, I am unsure that the alarm could in fact think- Personally, I would detest being used to rouse a bitchy human at 0620 daily, only to be clutched by clumsy fingers that are still sleep numb, dropped, slammed about, or cursed at. Who is to say that the alarm had not finally reached its abuse limit?
At 0643 today, Nikki roused me. Her internal alarm was accurate enough. She was dressed, hair brushed, shoes on, backpack in hand... I was in bed, curled against my lovely, in happy dream land, drooling on my pillow.
"Mom!" in a hushed tone, through the veil of sleep drifted to me. "MOM!" more urgent this time. "Mother! it is 6:43!!!!". Oh Shit! the realization struck me, that my faithful teli had not vibrated on the nightstand... my mind raced, time was wasting. I did the math. 7 minutes to get dressed, out the door, and to the bus stop. It takes almost 4 minutes to get to the bus stop- Mr. Nathan is always on time.
I jumped up, groped for some pants. Found them! Triumph. Now, I need a shirt. Oh crap, wheres my bra? Fuck it! No time! I pulled on a sweatshirt and stumbled towards the kitchen... I had shoes somewhere.
By the time we got to the front door, three minutes had elapsed. I was sweating. Cutting it a little close this time- But we would have missed it entirely, had it not been for Nikki's sense of duty, and her honesty. I do not know many children who would not have gone straight back to bed after realizing that their parents were still asleep.
So, in reward of her good behavior, I did the thing I bitch almost constantly about- especially when I see children at the bus stop munching on honey buns & pop tarts. I gave her a cookie. For her good behavior, of course.
We made it to the stop just in time.
This morning, my "Wake The Fuck Up!" alarm failed. For some unknown reason, it simply did not sound. Perhaps it was saying fuck you, I am unsure that the alarm could in fact think- Personally, I would detest being used to rouse a bitchy human at 0620 daily, only to be clutched by clumsy fingers that are still sleep numb, dropped, slammed about, or cursed at. Who is to say that the alarm had not finally reached its abuse limit?
At 0643 today, Nikki roused me. Her internal alarm was accurate enough. She was dressed, hair brushed, shoes on, backpack in hand... I was in bed, curled against my lovely, in happy dream land, drooling on my pillow.
"Mom!" in a hushed tone, through the veil of sleep drifted to me. "MOM!" more urgent this time. "Mother! it is 6:43!!!!". Oh Shit! the realization struck me, that my faithful teli had not vibrated on the nightstand... my mind raced, time was wasting. I did the math. 7 minutes to get dressed, out the door, and to the bus stop. It takes almost 4 minutes to get to the bus stop- Mr. Nathan is always on time.
I jumped up, groped for some pants. Found them! Triumph. Now, I need a shirt. Oh crap, wheres my bra? Fuck it! No time! I pulled on a sweatshirt and stumbled towards the kitchen... I had shoes somewhere.
By the time we got to the front door, three minutes had elapsed. I was sweating. Cutting it a little close this time- But we would have missed it entirely, had it not been for Nikki's sense of duty, and her honesty. I do not know many children who would not have gone straight back to bed after realizing that their parents were still asleep.
So, in reward of her good behavior, I did the thing I bitch almost constantly about- especially when I see children at the bus stop munching on honey buns & pop tarts. I gave her a cookie. For her good behavior, of course.
We made it to the stop just in time.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
On A Rolling Sea Of Vomit
Over the weekend, I was reminded of the power of vomit. Oh, the things vomit can do for you- turning an otherwise calm, strong stomach, into a puddle of jelly in your gut. A puddle of boiling pepper jelly.
Friday, Nikki came home feeling out of sorts, and I should have known what I was in for, bless it. I was hopeful, but at the supper table, she said that she wasn't feeling well, and then refused to eat. Being the suspicious type, I refused to believe that it could simply be a stomach bug, and not a ploy to drive me insane. (conspiracy theory anyone?- children are here to slowly drive us into the nuthatch, it is their purpose in life.)
After supper she decided that a rousing game of tic tac toe would be stimulating, and while perched on my beautiful vintage sofa, suddenly realized that the sea must be stormy. Had trouble gaining her sea legs quickly enough... which resulted not in a smattering of potato salad, blueberry pomegranate yogurt, and animal crackers, but a gelatinous sea of white and purple- reminiscent of our stars, minus the stripes.
Unfortunately, it did not end there. While it would have been wiser to contain the erupting mess, we are dealing with an 8 1/2 year old (the 1/2 is extremely important). The only wisdom she has to offer, is that farts and water don't mix (if you've ever let a nasty one go in the shower, you'll understand how true that is!), so she proceeded st stagger down the hall, leaving what appeared to be a purple slug trail behind her. Upon reaching the bathroom, she again vomited on the beautiful tiled floor just through the threshold, and again, in front of the toilet. Not a single purple clot made it into the porcelain piss hole.
The cleanup was enormous. It is truly amazing just how much vomit an anorexic 8 1/2 year old can generate! After soaking up the mess on the sofa, on the floor in front of it, down the hall, in the bathroom, and pouring natures miracle on it all (which actually worked!! no pukey smell in the house!), I began stripping the sofa of its cushion covers. I knew as I did, that they would never be the same again, it made sense to wash both of them in an attempt to hide the fact that they were ruined.
After much swearing, administering ibuprofen to the feverish Nikki, and positioning myself under a steamy flow of water- I felt much better. Until...
The next day, when i had dried the sofa cushion covers- they no longer fit. I expected this. After about half an hour of swearing and sweating, forcing the blasted things back together, I came to the conclusion that if ever she did anything like this again, i would make her eat it.
Sunday night she vomited again, and I was forced to keep her home from school on monday. There are reasons that once a child reaches a certain age, they are sent to school 7 hours a day. It is not because they must learn arithmetic...
Friday, Nikki came home feeling out of sorts, and I should have known what I was in for, bless it. I was hopeful, but at the supper table, she said that she wasn't feeling well, and then refused to eat. Being the suspicious type, I refused to believe that it could simply be a stomach bug, and not a ploy to drive me insane. (conspiracy theory anyone?- children are here to slowly drive us into the nuthatch, it is their purpose in life.)
After supper she decided that a rousing game of tic tac toe would be stimulating, and while perched on my beautiful vintage sofa, suddenly realized that the sea must be stormy. Had trouble gaining her sea legs quickly enough... which resulted not in a smattering of potato salad, blueberry pomegranate yogurt, and animal crackers, but a gelatinous sea of white and purple- reminiscent of our stars, minus the stripes.
Unfortunately, it did not end there. While it would have been wiser to contain the erupting mess, we are dealing with an 8 1/2 year old (the 1/2 is extremely important). The only wisdom she has to offer, is that farts and water don't mix (if you've ever let a nasty one go in the shower, you'll understand how true that is!), so she proceeded st stagger down the hall, leaving what appeared to be a purple slug trail behind her. Upon reaching the bathroom, she again vomited on the beautiful tiled floor just through the threshold, and again, in front of the toilet. Not a single purple clot made it into the porcelain piss hole.
The cleanup was enormous. It is truly amazing just how much vomit an anorexic 8 1/2 year old can generate! After soaking up the mess on the sofa, on the floor in front of it, down the hall, in the bathroom, and pouring natures miracle on it all (which actually worked!! no pukey smell in the house!), I began stripping the sofa of its cushion covers. I knew as I did, that they would never be the same again, it made sense to wash both of them in an attempt to hide the fact that they were ruined.
After much swearing, administering ibuprofen to the feverish Nikki, and positioning myself under a steamy flow of water- I felt much better. Until...
The next day, when i had dried the sofa cushion covers- they no longer fit. I expected this. After about half an hour of swearing and sweating, forcing the blasted things back together, I came to the conclusion that if ever she did anything like this again, i would make her eat it.
Sunday night she vomited again, and I was forced to keep her home from school on monday. There are reasons that once a child reaches a certain age, they are sent to school 7 hours a day. It is not because they must learn arithmetic...
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Farts
After two consecutive days eating chili for supper, the house has become a large, brick & siding disguised gas chamber. Upon entering the boys bedroom this morning, I was knocked back by the sickly aroma of black beans, onions, and beef that have been processed by toddlers digestive systems. As if to corroborate the assumption I had made in regards to the noxious fumes, Troy announced that he had "Tinky Parts". If you do not speak Troyesse already, I will translate for you. It means "Stinky Farts". Stinky Farts was not all that the lingering aroma implied, It was in fact, bean shits. I located the wipes, and a crap saddle, sat on the floor and waited. Troy waddled down the hall, in his movements appearing as though he had a coconut clenched between his knees. I knew at that moment what I was in for. He laid down on his back in front of me, raised his legs straight up, grimacing as he did, and said one word. "EWWW." I'll let the imagination take it from there, sparing you the gory details. Lets just say that I deserve a spotlight on "Dirty Jobs".
Fast forward to breakfast, which of all words, Damon still can not properly pronounce- it still comes out "Brickswift". But he can pronounce words like Discombobulated without falter, go figure. They are seated at the table with their corn chex & soy milk, when all of a sudden, I hear a thunderous roar. Almost as loud as our inconsiderate neighbor with the excessively large, gas guzzling, swamp trolling pickup. I look around, Damon is smiling. Troy is too. No one admits to being the originator of the cloud of green haze that now hovers around the light fixture in the dining room... it is a conspiracy.
After "Brickswift" I sent them to their room to pickup the matchbox cars, reserving the right to fresh air, I did not enter. Not until Damon politely requested that I open their window, and turn the fan on to remove the farts, which brought into question whether or not DHEC would deem the room uninhabitable for humans. I opened the window.
After "cleaning" his room, Damon requested some celery sticks with ranch, so we migrated again to the kitchen to obtain said snack. While cleaning the celery, and trying to locate the special plate (which I can not for the life of me, understand why it is so special, aside from the small chip on the edge, which he always points away from himself) which I was unable to do, and was tempted to turn another plate into a "special" plate (see above description of special plate) to end the whining, we finally agreed on a new plate, and called it special. Standing next to the refrigerator, Damon asks me what is for supper, and if we had any tuna. I told him we did not, but offered fishy cakes as an alternative. He willingly accepted my offer of little salmon cakes with dill and lime, only then telling me that he did not want any more chili. Nor did he want any more chili mac. "See Mommy" he said "The Mac is ok, it doesn't make me have farts. But I don't want anymore chili, because it makes me have stinky farts, and bean poop." So I told him, desperately trying to maintain my composure, that "We're not going to have any more chili for a while." With Relief in his eyes, he says "Good, Troy's farts stink a lot!" At which point Troy, who has been standing silently by, watching and listening, lets go of a massive amount of gas from his overly pressurized bowels- Giggling hysterically he yells "Tinky Parts!!" and runs down the hall.
The Chili is almost gone, maybe I can finish it for lunch. I will not be making any more for a significantly long period of time. The Troops have been compliant so far, but I fear that the ongoing presence of Chili as a menu item, will cause a civil war. That, and I think my farts are stinkier.
Fast forward to breakfast, which of all words, Damon still can not properly pronounce- it still comes out "Brickswift". But he can pronounce words like Discombobulated without falter, go figure. They are seated at the table with their corn chex & soy milk, when all of a sudden, I hear a thunderous roar. Almost as loud as our inconsiderate neighbor with the excessively large, gas guzzling, swamp trolling pickup. I look around, Damon is smiling. Troy is too. No one admits to being the originator of the cloud of green haze that now hovers around the light fixture in the dining room... it is a conspiracy.
After "Brickswift" I sent them to their room to pickup the matchbox cars, reserving the right to fresh air, I did not enter. Not until Damon politely requested that I open their window, and turn the fan on to remove the farts, which brought into question whether or not DHEC would deem the room uninhabitable for humans. I opened the window.
After "cleaning" his room, Damon requested some celery sticks with ranch, so we migrated again to the kitchen to obtain said snack. While cleaning the celery, and trying to locate the special plate (which I can not for the life of me, understand why it is so special, aside from the small chip on the edge, which he always points away from himself) which I was unable to do, and was tempted to turn another plate into a "special" plate (see above description of special plate) to end the whining, we finally agreed on a new plate, and called it special. Standing next to the refrigerator, Damon asks me what is for supper, and if we had any tuna. I told him we did not, but offered fishy cakes as an alternative. He willingly accepted my offer of little salmon cakes with dill and lime, only then telling me that he did not want any more chili. Nor did he want any more chili mac. "See Mommy" he said "The Mac is ok, it doesn't make me have farts. But I don't want anymore chili, because it makes me have stinky farts, and bean poop." So I told him, desperately trying to maintain my composure, that "We're not going to have any more chili for a while." With Relief in his eyes, he says "Good, Troy's farts stink a lot!" At which point Troy, who has been standing silently by, watching and listening, lets go of a massive amount of gas from his overly pressurized bowels- Giggling hysterically he yells "Tinky Parts!!" and runs down the hall.
The Chili is almost gone, maybe I can finish it for lunch. I will not be making any more for a significantly long period of time. The Troops have been compliant so far, but I fear that the ongoing presence of Chili as a menu item, will cause a civil war. That, and I think my farts are stinkier.
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