My Kid Is a Potty-Training Genius

Yesterday morning, I was trying not to cry because it was morning and I had yet another hor.ib.le. night of sleep when Henry came running into the room and said "Potty?" His diaper from the night before was dry and he peed on the potty like a champ. Highlight of my day until...

After his nap, he dragged his potty in front of the TV and said "Potty!" I pulled his underwear and pants off, but then the phone rang, so I went to answer it.  When I came back into the room, he was sitting, watching TV and peeing. Of course, he didn't aim right and there was an ENORMOUS puddle of fresh pee around him (thank God for the hardwood), but I'm still declaring this a win. Especially because he did all this while eating a chicken nugget. I feel like it goes without saying that I am so proud of him.

Henry's birthday present?

That Time Henry Ran Away

In case you've never heard of the term the Arsenic Hour, let me explain it to you. It's the time of day when moms (or dads!) are trying to get dinner on and the kids are on their worst behavior. It's a recipe for disaster, which is why I never go into Arsenic Hour without an adult beverage, especially because Arsenic Hour is not an hour in my house. It starts at 4 p.m. and ends when the boys are in bed. 

Yesterday, was like any other Arsenic Hour. The TV was on. Henry and George were on the lookout for Daddy to come home and both went ape shit when he did walk in the door. (Let the record show that I receive no such fanfare when I return home). I was feeding Palmer. Music was playing. Dinner was cooking. But the balance between order and chaos is always precarious in my house as evidenced by my tale. 

Enter Hollis.

Hollis dropped by to pick up a few things, so we were talking in the kitchen. It's important to note that when Hollis and I talk, it can take hours to have a single conversation. Mostly because we should both probably be on some kind of attention deficit drug, but also because we both have kids and it's impossible to have a conversation uninterrupted. The ADD just makes it more fun because it can take us weeks to finish a single story. We were right in the middle of our third unfinished story when Ryan came downstairs and asked, "Where's Henry?"

I immediately called for George because the two are inseparable. Henry likes to think it's because they are best friends, but it's actually because he's like freaking Hansel and leaves a trail of crumbs, and now feces, wherever he goes. 

When Henry didn't answer and George didn't appear, Ryan immediately flew into Nervous Nelly mode and ran out the door. I, always the calm one, went upstairs to check and see if he was playing hide and seek, but Hollis shouted, "Oh, he's definitely outside!"

I ran out the door and, sure enough, our neighbor Amanda had George and Henry. Apparently, when Amanda was walking her dog, Doc, George burst out the storm door to play and Henry followed. 

What's great about this is that Ryan's reaction was, "Oh! Henry! You had us so worried!" and kissed his forehead. All the while, Henry was smiling at me guiltily. 

So if you ask Ryan what happened, he'll tell you that George burst out the door and Henry followed to stop him. If you ask me, I will tell you the truth. Henry saw George break out and followed suit, probably screaming, "Hey! Wait up, Dude!"

Wait up, Man!

Potty-Training Week

Number of successful potty trips to date: 4

Number of accidents: 3

(*Those of you without kids are going to *love* these posts).

I'm starting my post out old school style! Anyways, as I mentioned, we are potty-training this week. I started yesterday, and it's going okay so far, but it's also not our first attempt at potty-training.

Here's what I tried in the past:

• Reading 4 different books to compare methods and prepare
• Picking out underwear together
• M&Ms after every pee, cars after every poo
• Huge celebrations after making it in the potty
• Casually asking, "do you need to go to the potty?"
• Read every potty book I could find to him
• Watched every potty movie I could find to him (a new form of torture for myself, I have found)
• Trying to incorporate going potty into bed time routine and building from there
• Following him around and asking him to use the bathroom every 2 seconds
• Begging

For this endeavor, I've done nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm actually doing what my pediatrician said to do which is, explain to him we are going to the potty now and no more diapers. I put underwear on him and that's been that. I have asked him a few times if it's been a while since he's gone, but he screams, "NO!" like he's gone all teenager on me and is embarrassed I would even ask such a thing.

I am not getting upset or frustrated. I'm not stressing out. He had one accident yesterday and I acted like it was no big deal. I put him on the potty and let him pick out which new underwear he wanted to wear. No freakouts, no celebrations, no rewards. Just moved on. (I definitely put a diaper on him at night because I needed him to wake me up to change the sheets like I need to set my hair on fire).

I was a little discouraged at nap time yesterday and asked him if he wanted to wear a diaper or Big Boy Pants and he chose the BBPs. He didn't wet the bed, so we will see how today's nap goes. 

Riveting stuff, I know. Stay tuned eager readers for more updates on my son's bowel movements! Just kidding. I am not going to give you a play by play on this. The next time I post about potty-training, it will to declare victory!

Bringing the toilet in front of the TV. Well, if Mohammed won't come to the mountain...

If You Were to Judge Us By Our Trash...

You'd think we were alcoholic ballers. 

And you'd be half right.*



*Actually, we are just forgetful. Oh, and lazy.

As If I Needed Another Reason to Start Potty-Training

Tonight Ryan was changing Henry's diaper while I was furiously typing away trying to get my grad school paper finished. I, wisely, decided to play the game I used to play as a little girl called "If You Don't Talk, They Won't Know You are Listening." This is what I heard:

"No, Henry! Don't touch it!"

"Oh, GOD! Now it's on your hands!"

"Dammit! We're out of wipes" (Hmmm... wonder how that happened).

"OH MY GOD! NO! DON'T RUB YOUR EYES! HENRY, STOP!"

It goes without saying that I'm pretty sure we are going to have a massive case of pink eye at my house any day now. It's a waiting game.

In case you are wondering, "Hey, Jacque! Have you ever had pink eye before?" The answer is, yes. The last time I got pink eye, I was on Spring Break in college in the Bahamas and my friend, Katie, had to walk me around at night because I couldn't wear my contacts. Totally safe to be blind. When you're drunk. In a foreign country. In a massive crowd of people.

So without further ado, let the potty training countdown begin! Six days!

This Is Why I Have a Dog

This morning as I was doing laundry (still), Henry came running through the room leaving a stink trail in his wake.

Before I continue this tale, let me explain that Henry is still not potty-trained. It's becoming a thorn in my side, especially since I keep getting coupons for Pull-Ups in all the diaper packages I buy. I also get them spit out at me when I check out at the supermarket as if I need more reminders that Henry needs to be potty-trained. Fuck off, Huggies. Don't you think I want my child potty trained? Assholes.

Anyways, I grabbed Henry and he wanted to go "poopy in the potty". And I'm all, "Sure, boss, but you're a little late there". I peel off his poopy diaper, put him on his potty, and shut the door because the kid likes his privacy in the bathroom, and who could blame him? I haven't gone to the bathroom alone since 2010. I give him a few minutes to do his thing while I toss his dirty diaper outside in the trash and when I open the bathroom door it's like... I don't even know how to explain this... like a poop bomb went off. Like Hiroshima. 

Henry is scooting across the floor like a dog with worms and there is a puddle of pee on the floor and an imprint of a butt on the wall made out of poop. There is poop smeared on the toilet and on the vanity and even on the air vent, like he wanted to air out his butt or something. I can't scream, but I obviously want to. It's a terrifying mess. Incidentally, the potty made it out unscathed.

Instead I smiled and with a trembling voice and through gritted teeth I said, "Wow! You are such a big boy! You went poopy and peepee in the potty!" Even though I want to scream, "HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK?!? JESUS CHRIST! OH MY GOD!" 

I take him and wipe him down with 23,455 wipes. In case you're wondering why I didn't just put him in the bathtub, you should know that putting him in the bathtub would just be more of a mess and a fight since he hates getting out of the tub. Plus, he'd wake up the baby which I needed at that moment like I need a litter of kittens.

So after I send him off on his merry way, I go to wash my hands and grab the Lysol wipes when I see George. Licking his chops. I walk to the bathroom and what do you know? Aside from the lingering smell of fresh shit, and a little puddle, there is no trace of poop anywhere. 

And this is why I have a dog.

George knows how to earn his keep.

A Conversation with My Husband This Morning

Ryan: What do you want to get done today?

Me: Ugh. Well, I need to finish my paper, but we really need to do laundry. It's at a critical level.

Ryan: Oh my GOD! YES! WTF?!? (Gasp)

Me: (blank stare)

Me: (blink)

Me: (blank stare)

Me: Go on.

Ryan: No, I'm good.

In unrelated news, it's St. Patrick's Day. If you don't have kids, go drink your face off. If you have kids but got a babysitter, go drink your face off. If you have kids and don't have a babysitter, well, come over and do laundry with me.

Palmer says, Happy St. Patrick's Day! Now fold my clothes!

What's Working

I'm no Dr. Phil fanatic, but I really love when he asks, "How's that working for you?" Sometimes it just takes asking that question to find value or fault in something that you just deal with absentmindedly. So, Dr. Phil, here's what's working:


My hair
I have had long hair for about ten years, but last month I got sick of looking at my bedraggled mop. There was just too much maintenance and not enough time, so I decided to trade in my long hair for something sleek and pulled together. A part of me worries that this is a mom cliche haircut, but my mantra lately has been "it doesn't have to work forever; it just has to work right now". This haircut takes me 15 minutes to blow dry and looks the same every time. It's a win in my book, and if I change my mind, hey, hair grows!

Now you know who to stalk.

Yoga Pants
Obvi. This is basically my uniform. I put on yoga pants, a cardigan and some ballet flats and BOOM, I'm ready. The trick is finding the perfect pants, which I have just about mastered for myself. And no, they have never been to yoga class. Who has time for that? Keep reading.

And I look exactly like this in my yoga pants.

BB Cream
I'm not one for makeup crazes. The ombre nail polish thing sets off my OCD. BB Cream happened because I ran out of moisturizer and thought it would be a great way to keep my adorable metrosexual husband away from my product. I have had more compliments on my skin in the past two months than I have since... well, I can remember. It's like a tinted moisturizer put on with an airbrush machine. It's working. Mommy rikey. Daddy no rikey.

This is the one I use. No, I am not getting paid for this endorsement, but I should.

Now for what's not working.

Sleep
Oh. My. Umm... I want to go back in time to when I was in college complaining about being tired and punch that girl in the face. And then I want to make that girl go punch another girl in the face. I was not tired. You see, Palmer, aka Puff, aka P Diddy, likes to check in with me anywhere from 3-7 times a night. Sometimes, just for shits and giggles, Henry will also wake up and as soon as I open his door, he goes back to sleep. Occasionally George, the dog, and Gus, the cat will chime in. I feel like it goes without saying that when Ryan snores, I hit him. With my pillow. Filled with bricks.

I heard somewhere that prison guards have made prisoners stay up as a form of torture. I understand. This is an effective form of torture. It makes me tired. Duh. But lack of sleep also makes me indecisive, crabby, unmotivated, and depressed, which all make me feel like a bad mom, a bad wife, and a bad friend. My birthday is next month and I'm not interested in presents. I'm interested in a hotel room to myself.

Time
Once upon a time, a 24 year old me told a friend she was planning on starting her novel when she became a mom because she would have more time on her hands. Fire up the flux capacitor on the DeLorean, boys! I'm going to go beat the shit out of myself!

"WTF, McFly. I told you to bring the Cheetos!"

I somehow got bamboozled into going back to grad school. Something about finishing my degree by this fall in order to save 24 credits and $12,000 I'd already invested in my education... Don't get me wrong, I love grad school. It's like a four hour vacation every week, but on top of my job as a full time caretaker, chef, maid, financial planner, event coordinator, professional organizer, and errand runner, it is stressing me out a *little* bit.

So there you have it. What's working or not working for you? Feel free to use my post idea and link me up to your blog. Or however that works.

Cheers!

Henry's Big Boy Room- UPDATE

I know it's been like... Eight months since I posted about Henry's Big Boy Room, but I still can't say it's finished. I know, I know. Get it together. It's basically done, so I'll show you what it looks like right now:

His bed looks ridiculous at the moment because his blue madras duvet is in the wash and we failed yesterday at putting his bed on a bed frame. Rather, the bed frame failed us. Totally broken. The pillows are put up as a barrier so he doesn't slam into the wall.

I took all his books from the nursery and put them on this IKEA Expedit shelf for now. Eventually I'd like to make that little corner a reading nook like this:

Those little babies are also from IKEA! The idea is to put them on the wall to the left of the window, above his rocking chair:

So it's an organized mess at this point, but as soon as I put those spice racks up, I'll post the finished picture. I'd also like to put that measuring chart up, come to think of it... damn.