Ooohh... The Underwear Fake

Today I was fooled by a three-year-old. In a lift-my-heart-up-and-then-smash-it kind of way. We were out shopping and she saw a rack of kids underwear. Then these magical words: "Let's get these, mom. We need these."
I hesitated, wary, and replied, "Who's going to wear them?"
"I am."
"You are? When?"
"Today."
"Really? You're going to wear underwear today?"
"Yes, can we buy them?"

If you've read the very first post in this blog, you'll know that potty training is well... not happening. I was trying to reign in my excitement and prevent the hope that was welling up inside of me from overflowing.

"You want to wear them when we get home?" I asked.
"No, later." Uh oh, my hope was already fading.
"Later as in when?"
"Later today."
"After your nap?"
"No, later."
"You're not going to wear them, are you?"
"No..." Big smile. "I tricked you!"

I am not exaggerating when I say that I was almost as excited as the moment I realized my husband was about to propose. You can imagine the disappointment, not to mention the chagrin, at being taken in by a tiny trickster. The underwear fake. That's a good one.

The Party, The Decision, and The Aftermath: Jacob's Revenge

On Friday afternoon/evening I attended my school's family-friendly staff party. All was going well until around 6:00. This is when Jacob normally goes to bed. He seemed fine though and Hannah was definitely enjoying herself (huge yard, swings, other kids, etc.). More importantly, the food wasn't ready, and I came to eat! So, despite past experiences suggesting that it's never a good idea to push Jacob too far past his bedtime, I decided to stay "just a bit longer".

Very soon, Jacob was yawning and was no longer content anywhere other than my arms. I began to question my decision. But the food was almost ready. I tried to fake him out by pretending we were getting ready to leave. I put him in his car seat and loaded the rest of our gear into the trunk. Then I sat down to eat my hamburger. So far so good.

I had about 3 bites left when Jacob started crying. Okay, it was time to go. Now all I had to do was collect Hannah and we'd we on our way. Home, baths, bed. Hannah, however, had other ideas. So in an embarrassing display of "look at my wonderful parenting abilities", I chased her around the yard. When I finally caught her, I had to carry her kicking and screaming past all the people politely pretending not to notice what could have passed for an abduction-in-process.

Fast forward to the middle of the night. Also known as "The Aftermath". Just to remind me that he doesn't like being late for bedtime, regardless of how soon somebody's hamburger will be ready, Jacob proceeded to wake up at least every hour and a half. The kind of wake-up that requires attention. Even nursing him back to sleep had no effect on the length of time between wake-ups. (I know, he's a bit old to be nursed back to sleep - please see "The Opposite of Weaning" post.)

Needless to say, in the future, there will be no hemming and hawing about whether or not to leave any event, no matter how exciting, if there's a chance it will interfere with Jacob's bedtime. Better yet, in the future, Jacob will actually be weaned and will no longer accompany me to events that conflict with his evidently inflexible schedule!

Steam Mop Joy... Revived!

Okay, so this really has nothing to do with kids, unless you consider that they make most of the mess.

Lately I had become quite disenfranchised with my Steam Mop. It seemed like it wasn't doing a very good job, I had to go over the same areas repeatedly, and it felt like work. There was a point, I recall, when I LOVED the Steam Mop. I thought it was the best thing ever, and practically did infomercials to everyone who came over. So what happened? Was the honeymoon period simply over? Had I really tired of the Steam Mop already?

To make matters worse, one day it wouldn't produce steam at all! Now I pretty much hated the Steam Mop... where was my receipt? I called Customer Service to complain and the helpful young man suggested I put some vinegar in the tank. So I did. Absolute magic! There was so much steam even my furniture feels cleaner. My floors are shining. The scary thing is, how long have I been "cleaning" my floors with a Steam Mop that wasn't really cleaning at all? I guess I never noticed the gradual decline in steam. Or that I was working harder to get spots off. That can happen when the intervals between cleaning are really long...

Ah, to have my beloved Steam Mop back again. And floors that shine in a matter of minutes. I really should be getting paid for my endorsement of this product. I might send this link to Shark headquarters.

Check the Toaster!

A while back, I warned Scott that it was important to check the toaster before using it because it's stored on a low, open shelf where Jacob often plays "rock band" with the pots and pans. A few days later, forgetting my warning, Scott put some bread in the toaster and within seconds the smell of burning "something" filled the air. It turned out Jacob had dropped a wooden cylinder into the toaster, which came out looking a bit like a BBQ'd hotdog.

Tonight, months after this mishap had time to leave my mind, I went to make some toast. It wouldn't pop down, but I kept trying, pushing the lever harder and harder. Finally, I looked inside. Lo and behold, a small wooden spoon was hiding in there. And a plastic fork was wedged on the other side, just in case I found the first one too easily. As if it's not already exciting enough discovering strange objects hidden inside a pot every time I take off a lid...

Time-outs and Hosting Mishaps

Today was a special day that we'd all been looking forward to: Jacob's 1st birthday party. Hannah has been talking about balloons and cake for days. Last night she helped clean up for the party. Despite the forecast for rain, all signs pointed to a lovely celebration.

Then we woke up. Somebody apparently woke up on the wrong side of her big-girl bed. Before breakfast, Hannah had already been sent to time-out. Now, she normally balks at the mere mention of time-out and quickly complies with whatever request has been made. Not today. Not even close. So, not only did she go to time-out kicking and screaming, but she refused to comply with the rules for leaving time-out. All she had to do was say sorry. Instead, she continued to tell me, "No way, Mom!" every time she was asked. Then when Scott went to talk to her, she ran away up the stairs! Now she was not only carried back to time-out, but she had TWO apologies to make. Over and over, we went to ask her if she was ready to say sorry. Over and over she declined, and not very nicely either. In the end, she spent a good chunk of the morning in time-out. Ah, what a great start to the day...

After naps, the guests began to trickle in. We were keeping things simple. Hamburgers, hot dogs, chips, and macaroni salad. Pop, beer, juice, water. Easy. No fuss. And no condiments, apparently. My ketchup was wheezing splatters of nothing, and the mustard was altogether empty. One set of guests, thankfully also neighbours, rescued us by running home to grab their own ketchup and mustard. It's not like we didn't have a specialty item - I mean, ketchup is pretty standard for a BBQ. Then, to top things off, I began offering beer. It was in the cold room instead of the fridge. Ooops. Not cold, and made obvious by being the "Cold Certified" type with the mountains that turn blue. No ketchup, no mustard, and warm beer.

Wow, do we ever know how to throw a party!

P.S. A few hours later and I just realized I bought drinking boxes for all the kids. Forgot to serve them! Had lots of thirsty kids...

How Early is Too Early?

This morning Jacob got up at 5:00. He used to get up at around 7:00, then started moving more toward 6:30, and on bad days he sometimes gets up at 6:00. So, in my head, wake-up time is still 7:00 (because that sounds like a reasonable time to me). On those days when he gets up closer to 6:00, I tell myself, "Well, it's only an hour early." Today, I knew it was WAY too early, but if 6:00 is acceptable because it's an hour before 7:00, then isn't 5:00 okay because it's only an hour earlier than what I've already deemed an acceptable wake-up time? You see the dilemma.

Not that it mattered what I thought. Jacob had no intentions of going back to sleep. Despite my feeble attempts at weaning, my first line of defense was to try to nurse him back to sleep. When that failed, I immediately tried to nurse him again. I thought I could trick him. Get him all sleepy and relaxed, kind of like hitting the re-set button. No luck. Then I brought him into bed with me to snuggle (yeah, right). He loved it - he kept crawling to the edges of the bed, playing with the idea of attempting a free fall. I tried barricading him in with pillows, but they became mountains to climb. I gave him a flashlight, which entertained him for about 3 seconds, and then he smacked me in the face with it.

So up we got. And of course, at around 7:30 (a perfect wake-up time) he was ready for his nap. Sure, now he sleeps!

P.S. I should mention we're not at home. He was in the room with me, otherwise I would have left him in his crib (and probably still had to get up - who am I kidding?)

I Don't Like You Talking

I was sitting at the kitchen table with Hannah, talking to Scott who was in the living room. Suddenly Hannah said, "I don't like you talking."

"You don't like me talking?" I repeated, unsure whether I'd heard her correctly.

"No, I don't like you talking. It's too loud." Then she turned to Scott and said, "I like you talking. It's nicer."

Ouch.

Poo and Rabbit

It almost sounds like I'm talking about two characters from Winnie the Pooh. Instead, I'm referring to what I found in Hannah's bed the other morning. I walked into her room and was immediately hit with the powerful scent of eau-de-somebody-pooed-her-pants. As my eyes adjusted to the small figure talking away to me from the bed, I realized she was wearing a much-too-small pink bunny costume. Little paws sprouted from above her ankles and wrists. Ears and a bunny nose hung down from a hood behind her head. A fluffy cotton-ball tail hovered dangerously close to her now-toxic diaper.

"I found my Halloween costume," she announced proudly. "I put it on to be warm."

Did she wear that thing all night? All I know is that I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland encountering this strange and smelly creature before I had quite woken up.

The Opposite of Weaning

Jacob is a few days away from turning one. I like the idea of having my kids weaned from nursing by about a year, so that would suggest that by the end of this month, he should we weaned. By this time with Hannah, we were down to one nursing a day, and it was nothing at all to cut that one out, too. Simple. Easy.

Now, Jacob hardly nurses during the day. Just twice, once before each nap. Which you will see is part of the pattern that makes me fear I will never be able to stop. Ever. During the night, I seem to feed him more than I did when he was a newborn. Because he keeps waking up, and if I feed him he goes right back to sleep and then so does everyone else. And it's no fun having both kids awake and a husband secretly planning to make an appointment for a vasectomy.

I know I shouldn't nurse him to sleep. I know he doesn't need to eat during the night. But it's like he has two modes: "Feed me and all will be peaceful and well" or "Try anything else to get me back to sleep and I will scream so loud and for so long that you will regret ever considering not just feeding me in the first place".

I think the only solution might be to pretend he's weaned and ship him off to stay with someone (say, the grandparents) for a weekend. Then when we pick him up, I can feign innocence. "What? He cried ALL night? That's strange. He usually sleeps right through..."

P.B. - The New Vaseline

For reasons I'll never fully understand, Hannah loves having Vaseline put on her face. This started when she was very small and we put some on her chapped cheeks. She sat so still as if we were performing some essential and delicate operation. Now that she is older, she often pretends she has "a little cut" on her nose and needs some Vaseline on it. "See mom? Do you see it? It's just tiny."

Well, lately she has started a new habit that is amusing, but also a tad disturbing. She uses peanut butter from her sandwiches as Vaseline. I looked over at her one day during lunch and there was a smear of P.B. under her nose and on both cheeks. And it has become a regular thing. She opens her sandwich, dips her finger in, and says, "this is my Vaseline", and then applies it with precision. Is it just me, or is this quite gross?

On a similar note, today she told me Jacob had a tiny cut on his nose and she wanted to put Vaseline on him to "make it all better". I've actually had to hide the Vaseline!

Losing the Battles and the War

This is an old email I sent out a few weeks ago, but it was the spark to starting this blog.

My first attempt at potty training was a dismal failure. No worries... we'll try again later. Well, later has arrived. After weeks of talking about "running out of diapers" and switching to underwear, the day finally arrived. Hannah was wearing her last diaper. She knew the drill. Underwear, foaming soap, smarties - oh, the joys of being a big girl! She'd seen it coming. She'd smiled when we talked about what would happen. And then...

Tears. Tantrums. An unhealthy attachment to a completely soaked diaper that was NOT coming off at any cost. Time went by. She settled down. I finally got the diaper off with a minimum of fuss as we prepared to get dressed. But then the tears and tantrums started again. She hid in her closet. She would not let be put those underwear on her. I know potty training is supposed to be a positive experience and this was anything but, yet how could I just give up after all the prep work I'd done? I mean, this day was a long time coming. However, as I pinned Hannah down and tried to put those underwear on, while she pulled them off and thrashed her legs, (it was a scene right out of Hellen Keller) I realized I was losing the battle. No, not the battle - I was losing the war. Jacob needed his nap. I needed a strong drink. Hannah needed to stop with the screaming, the writhing, the tears. She really, really needed to stop.

Bear in mind, this child has also refused to even sit on the potty. So assuming I did get the underwear to stay on (not looking likely) how on earth was I going to convince her to not only sit on the potty, but also actually pee on it? Alas, I "remembered" we might still have some diapers in her back pack so we found one and put it on. She's almost three. I know people say, "Don't worry. No kid ever goes to kindergarten in diapers!" Yeah, well, they haven't met Hannah.

Right now, she's sitting on the couch reading a book. Her face is swollen from crying. She's still sniffling. And I'm getting ready to unload the box of diapers from Costco that I've had in the trunk of the car all along.