I'm a Whiner

This post is about potty training and everything that goes along with it. You have been warned.

I have two sets of two kids. The Big Kids are 20 months apart. Five years later, we had the first of the Little Kids who are 16 months apart.

The Big Kids were nightmares to potty train. We were first time parents, reading all the materials, talking with the pediatrician, watching for all of the signs that said that our son was ready. We started when he was two. It didn't take. We tried again at three and he was finally fully potty trained sometime after his fourth birthday. I potty trained that kid for almost two years. We started with his sister when she was almost three years old. She is now eight and a half and is just barely, barely, dry during most days. She still has some days when she will have an accident and she wets the bed every. single. night. We have seen the pediatrician, counselors, a urologist; everyone says she will grow out of it. The way I see it, I potty trained her for nearly six years. Six years, people. Six years of washing multiple pairs of undies and pants per day. You can only imagine the smell.

Now the Little Kids are potty training age. One just turned three and the other will be two in a few months. Occasionally I'll set them on the potty and occasionally they'll go, but for the most part I ignore the fact that I should be working with them. I've heard it all.

Don't wait too long.

Don't start too early.

You have to be consistent.

Mine trained themselves.

Just wait until they're ready.

This weekend, we visited relatives across the state; a drive of about three hours. On the way home, we took our time, seeing the sites and stopping for lots of breaks. We were on the home stretch, the last hour of the trip when little Jack piped up. "Out!"

"You can't get out of your seat, buddy."

"Out!"

"I'm sorry. I know that you want out but we're not home yet."

A few moments of silence, then, "I poopy."

"You're poopy?"

"Uh-huh. A change a bum."

This seemed highly suspect to me, so I asked big brother Mike to give him a sniff. The verdict?

"He smells fresh."

The little smarty pants was just looking for an excuse to get out of his seat, which I thought was very sweet, endearing and sneaky.

I was sharing this story with my best pal and she said "That kid asks to have his bum changed? He needs to be potty trained!"

She is so right. I'm just prolonging the arrival of that most dreaded parenting landmark: potty training.

The point was further hammered home when, ten minutes ago, my three-year-old walked up to me, informed me that he was poopy and then asked me to change his diaper.

I really need to work on potty training, but my heart is not in it. I wish there was a camp you could send your kids away to and they would come home potty trained.

I need to just put on my big girl panties, put them in big boy underpants and do it, but I don't want to. (Imagine that last bit in the whiniest voice you can imagine, because that's how I say it.) I know that we'll save a bunch of money if we don't have to buy diapers or wipes. Yeah, I'm not green. I guess I'll also be doing my environmental part. Plus it's just ridiculous to have kids that old not potty trained.

I just don't want to!

Exactly How Much...

...is a butt-load of sand?


Is that a metric or imperial measurement?


Who cares? That is one happy kid.

My Son the Feminist

I was weeding in my flower bed this evening and admiring a particularly stunning pansy. I pointed it out to Mike and said, "Look at this! The color combinations, the symmetry, there isn't a man on this planet who can create beauty as well as God does."

He agreed, thought for a moment and then asked, "What about a woman? Do you think there's a woman who could make something as beautiful as what God makes?"

My son is awesome.

Credit Card Case

I carry a lot of cards. A lot. Debit card, driver's license, insurance card for every family member (seriously), library cards, rewards cards for every freaking store in a thirty mile radius. Lots of cards. I can never find a wallet that will fit all of my cards. I finally found one of those hard shell cases that fit all of my cards (hooray!) and I've loved it for a couple of years.

Today that case bit the dust. (boo!)

So I decided to make a new one. Behold:




I made it up as I went along, so it's a little rough. I used striped fabric, which enhanced the crooked stitching. I also didn't give myself enough extra room so each pocket is a little tighter than I'd like it to be. There are two pockets behind each of the card pockets that could be used for receipts or cash. I originally wanted to include a pocket on the outside for my phone, but I had to cut, re-cut, sew, pick out seams and re-sew so many times that I just said "Forget it!"

Maybe if I make another one it will have a phone pocket. And I won't use striped fabric.

Adam Shows Us...Blue Steel!

Jack has been playing with the kitten for most of the morning and I decided to get it on video because it's so stinking cute. I ended up getting more than cute boy and kitty footage, as you will see.



I have no idea what Adam is doing, but it's awesome. I think Derek Zoolander is his inspiration.

An Adam Story

This is one of those moments that probably only Moe and I will think is funny, but I'm posting it here anyway.

Adam has recently gotten into labeling people, like Mike is a big boy, Noel is a big girl, Jack is a baby, Daddy is a big kid, etc. I love that Adam recognizes that Daddy is a kid. He even labeled my Visiting Teachers the other day. When they stood up to leave he said, "What are those kids doing?"

Today when he woke up, everyone was still in their rooms. That is a new experience for him, because he usually sleeps later than everyone else. He asked me, "Where is Mike?" I told him that Mike was in his room, so Adam went and knocked on Mike's door.

Knock knock.

"Who is it?"

"It's A-num (rhymes with Adam). Da kid!"

Like there would be any other. Kid, you're one-in-a-million.

Still, Not So Nice

Noel just finished the second grade. There was a girl in her class that is a bit of a queen bee. Okay, that's an understatement. That little girl is a witch. She is eight going on forty -three. A really bitter, mean forty-three. She is, in my humble opinion, spoiled rotten by her parents. She is always very well dressed, her hair is perfectly groomed and she knows everything there is to know about anything that a second grade girl would think was cool. She also believes herself to be the queen of the second grade.

Noel really, really wants this girl to like her. And she does, sometimes. She is fickle and moody and bossy. I do not like this child. I encourage Noel to be nice to her but I try to help Noel understand that not all people are nice. There are people who think that what you wear or the toys you have are what matters.

You know what I say? You have a lisp, mean girl. Go ahead and be nice one minute and then mock the second some poor girl's back is turned. I love to hear you say "Sthe is tho thtupid!" It makes my day.

Noel may not wear designer clothes. Her hair is not always impeccably coiffed. Sometimes it isn't even brushed. But she can say her esses.

Thuck on that.