This week has been longer than most. Obviously, since it's been 10 days since my last post and for that, I am a bad blogger. Seriously though? M and I were just talking a little while ago about how loooong this week has been - and not in a good way. We were sagging with relief at it's end, breathing deeply, when what should we hear from another room? "Uh-oh. Mommy Daddy I have a pooop!"

[whimper]

As we flew in to the bathroom, we were greeted by the following scene: A pull-up on the floor. A poop...next to the potty. On the floor. A girl-child with her pants around her ankles and her mouth completely covered in...black?

I did not even know where to begin. Clearly, she had been eating markers. Clearly, she had missed the potty but tried really hard not to. Clearly, I should not have been trying to take a moment's worth of deep breathing before she was in bed.

M went to work on the poop on the floor. I went to work on her face. And then checked myself and cleaned off her bum. And then her face. But here's the dirty secret about Rose Art's water soluble, washable markers: THEY AREN'T. Even after the bathroom and the girl-child's bum were de-poopified, the face, the teeth, the tongue...were not.

I don't think I've ever had her brush her teeth for that long. Or rinse and spit so many times.

It seemed a most fitting end to this work week though, arguably one of the longest work weeks in the history of work weeks. Truly, there is nothing more perspective inducing than seeing your toddler literally covered, head-to-toe, in a giant mess.

I'm grateful that it's over.

The ray of sunshine in all of it? The fact that she really did try to make it to the potty in time. Were it not for the fact that I forgot to lift up the lid on her little pot, she probably would have done well. So, I do take that responsibility.

It's time to breathe out now.

Down Home Wisdom - Not Always Wise

There is a saying, probably as old as the hills. It is a saying that, for some reason, middle-aged women often lay before me in conversation. It is: "If Momma ain't happy, ain't no one happy!" In every instance, it's followed up with a knowing wink, a little nudge-nudge, and an, "Amiright?"

I hate that saying. In fact, the next time someone throws it out there in conversation, I'm going to respond, "NO! You are NOT right!!"

Let's nevermind the fact that I believe that any unhappy family member will, to a greater or lesser degree, affect the general happiness of the entire family. In the last couple of weeks especially, I have come to determine that ultimately, in families with young toddlers, the real saying should be, "If baby ain't happy, ain't no one happy."

Never had I dreamt of the power of a two year old. She does determine when we will be happy and when we will not. If misery loves company, then there are many days where she's got close companions in this household for sure.

An irate, irritable, or just plain stubborn two year old is capable of pegging the family's Happy Meter at zero. In fact, there are times when I'm fairly sure that she's engineering the Happy Meter to reach into the negative numbers.

I understand the age. I understand the push and pull, the Jekyll and Hyde, the love and loathing. I've just never experienced it so acutely, so clearly, as I have lately. I mean, it's bad enough that we are, apparently, nothing more than trained circus bears, here for her amusement ("MOMMY! SING A SONG!" - mentally, I always add a "DIDI MAU" to this, and the many other like it, demand(s))...

Now, we're only allowed happiness when she is happy.

Nope. Mothers do not mandate the mood in their households. Their children do. And while it is possible to remain happy in spite of a tiny whirling dervish's best efforts, they are still at the forefront of Mood Control.

Best of luck with that. And the next time someone starts to say to you, "If Momma ain't..." - slap them for me, will you?

The Switch is Flipped

It has been a long week. In fact, it feels as though it's been the Longest Week Ever. Between M having serious issues with his job (to the unintentional detriment of the household mood) and A suddenly and ferociously exhibiting every negative aspect of Toddlerdom you can fathom, I am ready for some Mommy/Daddy Alone Time tomorrow night.

The thing I've realized about this coming of age saga is that it really is as if a switch was turned on, starting Monday. It's the week where Mommy Can Do No Right. A kiss has been enough to set off a litany of wrongs perpetrated unto her, beginning with, "MY HEAD MOMMY! NO TOUCH MY HEAD!! NO KISS MY HEAD!!!! MINE!!!!"and culminating in, "BWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

This, of course, will set the tone for the remainder of the day.

It's also tough to watch. It's hard to see your child losing her mind and inevitably, we can see when things have gotten to the point of no return - that stage of the tantrum wherein the child has forgotten what they were mad about and is now just mad because they're mad and they don't know why they're mad so now they're scared and mad which scares them more...

You can see where that's going - and seasoned parents, you can please stop pointing and laughing at me now. Really.

We try to rationalize it anyway. She's mad at me because I've been TDY a lot lately and this started after I returned from drill. She's in a growth

Motherhood and Youth

Sunday morning found us shopping at Target for some necessities (diapers) and a few incidentals as well. A excitedly picked out what I can only describe as the LOUDEST PAIR OF PANTS EVER - leggings with large seahorses printed on, in every color of the rainbow. Of course, we got the matching top which was far more subdued - a turquoise blue with two seahorses, nose to nose. On her, it's adorable. Loud, but appropriate. And I remarked to M later that night, "It must be nice to be 2 and be able to wear something that loud and pull it off."

"Well," he said, "There are more than a few women who..."

I didn't let him finish the thought. "I SAID, and pull it off."

"Ah. Good point."

I was thinking of the article I had read earlier in the day that discussed, rather venomously, youth obsessed mothers, particularly those who share crushes with their tween and teen daughters. My initial reaction was to be mildly revolted by these women

MoR Reviews Toddler TV!

I’m a bad parent. We are bad parents. We let our toddler watch TV. There. I’ve said it. Feel free to pelt me with granola and pamphlets, but if you do, it’s a safe bet that this article is not for you. It is, instead, a not-so-in-depth review of Toddler Time TV Shows. Yes, today, I am…The Critic. So let’s dive right in!

How to Tell When Your Child is Full of Poopnstuffs

Dear Mom: Remember the bunny slippers you laughed at about a year or so ago? You remember...don't you? My soppy little bunnies with the every-which-way ears and limp whiskers, staring at you forlornly as they cuddled my feet...Yes! Those bunnies, the open back ones with tiny little cotton tails! You do remember! Well, remember how you asked if I was ever going to grow up and I screamed, "NOANDYOUCAN'TMAKE ME!!!" and then ran to my room and slammed the door?

I have found an adult use for them.

They entertain your beloved grand-demon-spawn, my cruel cherub child.

Yes, dear reader...the title will become relevant in a moment. I was just painting the scene for you.

So tonight, I donned my soppy bunnies. And my sweet, fresh faced, pink cheeked angel shrieked, "BUHHIES!!!" and followed me out of the room, stopping me every 6 inches to flop to my feet and hug and kiss them. Now, hugging is no quiet affair for this child. She places her head on the huggees shoulder (or...well...bunny face) and says, oh-so affectionately, "Awwww..." and squeezes tight. It's so sweet it practically squeezes treacle out of oxygen molecules.

I finally made it to the kitchne, the ultimate goal, where I started to do the dishes. My darling child promptly flopped to the floor and hugged and kissed the bunnies while I sudsed and rinsed the dinner dishes.

Finally, her father came in from taking out the rubbish and I exhorted her to show him how she hugged the bunnies. After all, there really is something rather endearing and funny about having your feet repeatedly hugged simply because they transform into soppy rabbits with crooked ears...

She smiled at me and raised one tiny, little size baby 5, feety pajama clad foot, brought it down hard on my right bunny and declared, "'TOMP!"

Then ran off laughing her golden head off.

Poopnstuffs. She has it.

So you see, Mom, I'm much more adult than you would think. I would never stomp a bunny.

The Potty. The Bathmat. And Me.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, M and I sat down and decided that at age 18 months, this tiny bundle of...bundle of...well...bundle would start to potty train. It seemed reasonable. We had a friend who had successfully trained each one of her grandchildren at that very age in just 3 days each. We teased her that she'd be training ours too...but of course, we didn't really intend to torture a dear friend that way. Or did we?

Back then, it seemed an eternity away - a pie in the sky notion, a bridge not to be crossed for a long time.

But on Columbus Day, A turned 18 months and she has actually taken any decision on our parts with respect to the where and when she will potty train completely out of our hands, crumpled it up, chewed on it a bit, stomped on it and then tossed it in the garbage ("What a wonderful help you are, Bean!" I proudly exclaim).

You see, our not-so-little bundle of....bundle, started getting interested in just what exactly goes on behind that closed bathroom door when Mommy or Daddy are occupying it about two months ago. As a result of that, neither M nor myself have had much private time to sit, do our business and escape the clamor of the household. The child insists on following us in and repeatedly pointing between our legs yelling, "PEE! PEEPAH-EE MAMA!!!! PEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Occasionally, she'll pepper the running PEE dialogue with, "Poop? Toot?" [facepalm]

In spite of her obvious willingness to learn to secrets of the privy, we didn't push. We were in the throes of some major issues and life changes and were trying to keep the routine as close to normal as possible for her. We moved a month and a half ago and we're still not pushing. In fact, the idea of potty training at 18 months had really just sort of fallen off of our radar.

But, about 3 weeks after the move, at Babies R Us (shopping for new feety pajamas no less), the little bean broke free and ran, shrieking with delight and yelling, "GO GO GO!!!!" across the store faster than it took me to fling the pajamas I was inspecting, fall on my face and recover and get after her. She had actually gotten out of my line of sight, but fortunately, she's loud. Oh so very loud. So I followed her siren noises (she makes those too when on A Mission) and found that she was at the back of the store, investigating the training potties.

"Pah-ee, Mama!" she pointed excitedly. "PAH-EE!!" I was a little put off that she recognized a plastic frog as a potty (and it was) but realized that what she really recognized was the picture of the smiling cherub sitting in the familiar potty position on the box. And so it went. Every potty she could reach was pulled out, sat upon, fondled, examined and put into two piles: "Maybe" and "Nooooo". All of this was done by her and her alone while I stood, open mouthed in awe and just a little bit of horror, and sort of...let her comparison shop.
 
She finally settled on the cheapest potty, a simple tan and green affair that converts to a step stool and is made of sustainable materials. It's the Nature's Way Eco Potty. I should note that, while I do not consider myself an Eco-Warrior or even very green (nor do I care all that much either), I do make a point to recycle a lot and I have been buying environmentally friendly cleaners. But it's not a general point of discussion in the household, so I had to laugh silently as she passed by all of the flashy, fun potties for something so simple, so cheap and so...green!


She wanted to carry her "pah-ee" herself and as she toddled back to find Daddy and show him, she also stopped to show every single person along the way. She proudly held out her self selected potty and, with an ear to ear grin would exclaim, "PAH-EE!!" I got a few wan smiles, some confused looks and a couple of good laughs in my general direction, but A was wholly unphased by the lack of excited response from strangers. She was simply too proud to be carrying, in her arms, her very own potty.

The night she brought the potty home beaming with pride she spent nearly the entire post-dinner, pre-bed time sitting on it, waiting to pee. The lack of anything happening while actually on the potty hasn't discouraged her one bit. It's her potty, it's her choice, it's her excitement.

Since then, she takes it on herself to sit on it each night. Nothing has happened in it yet, though not for lack of her checking to see. She'll look between her legs and then look up, beaming, and ask, "Pee?" Sometimes, she'll stand up and check the catch basin to see if anything materialized. Tonight, of course, she sat. She checked. She beamed. Nothing. So, she got up and began throwing her bath toys into the filling tub...and peed.

All I could do was sigh and think, well, we're getting closer. She peed by the potty...

But that night - the first night living in a house with a baby potty nestled next to ours, after she had gone to bed, M and I sat on the back porch, watching the stars and I tried not to cry a little. As I explained to him - while the prospect of not having to buy diapers anymore is an exciting one and I can finally see the light of a diaper free household dawning on the distant horizon, the very fact that our daughter, at 18 months, chose, on her own, to pick out a potty and try to use it is just a little heartbreaking. She's no longer a little bundle of warm, sweet smelling, independent cheerful joy. She's fast turning into a big bundle of warm, sweet smelling, independent cheerful joy - with her own very articulate thoughts and one calling her own shots. In short, she's growing up and doing it just a little bit faster than I thought I was ready for.