Potty Chairs and Training Pants

What's going on in my world?  This:

I bought it over a week ago, which was a stress-loaded task in itself.  I was completely overwhelmed with all the potty chair options and am loathe to part with anymore of my money than I absolutely have to.  So, I came home with the cheapest option. 

Since then, I've come up with 900 excuses why it should sit, untouched, in the bathroom rather than be put to use.

Like, he's not even two and we're about to move again and his babysitter's about to go on vacation and Michael's schedule is all whack and I already feel like there's too much on my plate and I'M SO DREADING THIS TASK.  

That's the real reason.  I have a habit of just not doing anything I think I'm going to fail at doing.  Potty-training?  Seems like the hardest thing ever and a super easy way to add to my momFAIL list.

I had been successfully thwarting all suggestions that he was ready to start potty training.  He seemed to buck me every time I made a half-ass, lame attempt to get him to use the toilet, and I would say, "he isn't ready"and everyone would nod and agree and leave me alone.  It was all going so well.

Well, then the little traitor went and refused to potty in a swim diaper this weekend.  He told his Nana: "Diaper.  Potty."  and my mom said, "Um, no.  If you know you need to potty, you need to go to the big boy potty."  and you know what?  He freaking did it.  He pottied in the big boy potty for her.  

So, then we had to make a trip to Target, and now we own these too:

We seem to have all the necessary equipment and a child who is capable of using a big boy potty, and I know it's unacceptable to expect him to just wear diapers for the rest of his days. 

So, all we need now is a mommy brave enough to face this task with confidence and come out victorious.  

Volunteers?

This would be my sports double standard

Really, I'm happy for you that the Mavs won.  Truly.  But I don't care about basketball.  Just like I didn't care about baseball.  And I was told then to "suck it up and jump on the bandwagon."  I did as instructed, and are the Rangers the World Series champs?  That'd be a no.

So, no more with the bugging me to watch basketball or get on bandwagons I don't want to be on.  Just let me do interesting things while you watch your games and lose your minds.

It's bad enough that I have to sit and listen to two grown men argue (I literally thought there might be fisticuffs at one point) (don't you love the word fisticuffs) over the better strategy to win the game without the constant nagging to participate in the lunacy.  

NO ONE WHO MATTERS CAN HEAR YOU.  I'm the only one who can hear you, and I think you both sound ridiculous.  And stop yelling profanities at the TV every time someone misses a 3.  My baby can hear them.  And quit giving me that look for being on potty-mouth patrol.  You take him out in public and let him embarrass you with his foul mouth and then get back to me with that look.

I'm going to sit here and be normal. You sit over there and be insane all by yourself.  

Until the fall...When there's football...Then we'll all be crazy...Because we will all be on that bandwagon, and we will like it. 

My pint-sized Jekyl and Hyde

My kid keeps life interesting, that's for sure.  

We decided he's going through his terrible twos early after I got an email saying they could start at 18 months and he has turned into a pint-sized Jekyl and Hyde.

He's trouble, and he's so stinking cute, and knows the exact moment to turn on the charm.

This morning, he threw a big, ugly fit and kicked the daylights out of me while I changed his diaper and wriggled free of me after I got his pants on and ran all over the house while I was grinding my teeth and trying to get a shirt over his head.  

About the minute I was getting ready to give up and leave him in the care of our two dogs and go about my day (just kidding....mostly), he flipped the script and went all, "Hi mommy!  Shoes on.  Bye bye.  I loooooooooove you.  Carseat?"

Well played, little man.  Well played.

Silas throws a screaming fit for a million miles and finally succumbs to that nap he was fighting

Silas drags all of his bedding onto the cold, tile floor and finally stops screaming for the first time since we got home (that's my concealer that found its way into the dryer on his pillow - the concealer that usually lives in my makeup bag...hmmm)

Silas does his own hair with water from the dog dish and is then confined to that chair while I finish making dinner

Posting the unposted

I write a lot of drafts and don't share them.  Mostly, it's the even bitchier side of me (you didn't know?) having "Dear Diary" moments.  So, if anyone can figure out my password when I die, they'll have some half-finished ramblings (and some totally finished ones) for some light beach reading.

I thought I'd pull some of my favorite lines from my unpublished posts and put them here:

1. Today I am a camel and receipt of the "bitchy email of the day" officially broke my effing back
2. Never you mind about what I'm on. Just enjoy the mild euphoria until I turn back into one of those emo kids on South Park.
3. So, overall, I've made the right choices even if they seem stupid separately (and sometimes collectively).  
4. Michael is totally threatening to wax one of my eyebrows off because he saw it on Tosh.0 and has decided it would be hilarious.
5. I recall thinking I would not survive on three separate occasions between 2 a.m. Saturday morning and 11:30 p.m. Saturday night (just because you arrive home from the sleepover by noon the next day does not mean you have survived it - take my word for it). 
6. Sometimes I steal french fries from Silas.  And chicken nuggets.  What? It's not like he's ever in the history of ever cleaned his plate.
7. People who travel to other countries and come back and tell me how typically-American I am until their "European-ness" (or whatever) wears off annoy the $hit out of me.  
8. Plus, my son loves to dance, and there happened to be a Dance, Dance Revolution game that I happened to walk by 100 times until it caught his eye, and he climbed up, and I took pictures of him.
9. How terrible a human being am I that I'm a little glad Silas had a rough couple of weeks because we now hear a lot of "mommy!  mommy!" around our house?  
10. Whatevs.  I don't feel like being slapped today, so I'm leaving the pity party.  You're welcome to stay if you've got crap going on and want to wallow in it for a while, but we don't have money for beer or tequila, so it's a pretty lame party.

 

Michelle, why do you vent on your blog all. the. time.?

Yeah, I threw a tantrum the other day.  What of it?  I needed to vent.

I played nice with the general public yesterday, but this morning was another cluster-flip, so I'm not even going to ask if we can be friends again because I may forget my manners (and general vow to do better at life) and yell profanities if you happen to cut me off in traffic later this afternoon.  So, perhaps we can try again next week.

There was a Michelle once upon a time who was very meek and unassertive and afraid of her own shadow and wouldn't raise her voice at anyone (I swear.  You can totally call people and verify it).  But you know that scene in Enough with Jennifer Lopez where she breaks into the guys house and learns the layout in the dark and beats the crap out of him because she just can't take anymore of being a victim?  Yes, the mental equivalent of that happened to me somewhere around the age of 16 or 17, and I never looked back. 

And I hear complaints about my temper and how loud I am in general and have been called a b*tch more than once, but you know what you will never see?  You will never see me on the news being led away in handcuffs for driving my car through a fast food restaurant's plate glass window because they got my order wrong for the four-millionth time in a row and that was just not the day to forget to put cheese on my burger.  

So, you know, there's something to be said for venting your frustration on the regular. 

For working moms

This is my working-mom tirade.  It's my small way of giving back to the working-mom community by saying what you may have wanted to say for years.  (I stayed at home with little Silas for all of two months, and I know it's no picnic, but I can't write for you if you're a stay at home mom because I don't live that life.  But I'm sure with some editing, this can also apply to you if you need to forward it to someone who's making you lose your ever-loving mind.)

Yesterday?  I got the kid and myself dressed, I dropped the kid off at the babysitter, I fought traffic to work, I worked all day, I fought traffic back home, I picked up the kid, I let the dogs out, I cleaned the kitchen, I made dinner, I cleaned dinner off the floor and off the kid, I cleaned the kitchen again, I let the dogs out, I bathed the kid, I reasoned with the kid to to go to bed, I did laundry, I worked on what I didn't finish at work, I recorded the Mavs game and made sure to record overtime so that the husband could watch it when he got home, I refilled the kid's sippy, I worked some more, I refilled the kid's sippy and changed his diaper, I worked some more, I let the dogs out and fell into bed exhausted.

My day job is stressful.  Not rocket science, but there is someone needing something all the time.  It's a lot like being at home only it carries the stress of "if I lose my shit here, I can't pay the rent next month."

There is never enough money to cover everything, and God-forbid we have an emergency.  (Like last month when there were several trips to the ER at $100 a pop).

My neck has so many knots that sometimes I can't turn my head to the side.  I'm keeping whoever manufactures off-brand ibuprofen in business.  I'm in constant physical pain from the stress.

There are not really many points in my life where I'm doing the equivalent of lounging by the pool and sipping a margarita.  I've got stuff going on almost all the time.  If it's quiet in the physical world, it's still a whirlwind in my head.

My point?  Am I moody? for sure.  Can I be bitchy?  at times.  Am I crazy?  it's possible.  But I. have. reasons.  

So, I'm very sorry if I'm not meeting your needs in whatever capacity it is I'm supposed to be meeting them for whatever our relationship is, but I'm doing the very best I can.  So, get off my back.  Immediately.  

Because if you are the next person to make me cry or cause the veins in my forehead to bulge, I'm going to blow straight through those flashing yellow caution lights and go straight to red.

Ya dig?

A letter to Silas

Dear Silas,

Could you kindly stop beating on the bathroom door and crying pitifully when mommy goes in there and closes the door?  It's not like I've fallen into Narnia just because there is a door separating us.  It's not a secret portal.  I haven't escaped.  And I always make sure that there is another adult to terrorize lest you try to burn the house down or do cartwheels off the couch.  So, you can totally continue to do toddler things while I take a five minute shower.  I'm not even going to shave my legs.  Honest.

Also, seeing as you didn't start sleeping through the night until you were nine months old, it'd be great if you'd go back to doing that.  I love you too, but pleading for me to get you out of bed at 3 a.m. only serves to make us argue, and you don't seem to be big on logic right now.  So, mostly, you're just making me feel crazy for trying to reason with you.  I'm working on the whole patience thing, but I'm just going to be honest with you and let you know that I'm not even trying between the hours of midnight and 7 a.m.  Therefore, I cannot be held responsible for any tantrums that occur between those hours due to your insistence that I get out of bed.

Lastly, it's sweet that you like to share, but stop asking me for cheese and then giving it directly to the dogs.  You see, I'd just stop giving you cheese, but I have that mommy-fear that you aren't eating enough.  Denying you food when you actually ask for it just isn't an option.  So, just eat the cheese.  

I ask all of this with a big please, and you know the only response to that in our house is "O-kay!" since you're the one who made that rule.

Love, 

Mom