Potty training, part 1

Ack, where have I been?  I've been here, actually.  Not writing.

To be honest, I haven't had anything interesting to say.  Until now.

SUBJECT: POTTY TRAINING

For nearly four years, this has been a struggle in my house.  My son refused, flat out refused , to even entertain the thought of trying.  He liked his diapers.  When he went in them, he didn't care.  Wearing a dirty diaper didn't make him feel uncomfortable.  Same with Pull-ups.  (Yes, EVEN the the kind that get all freezy when you urinate in them, which is supposed to be mighty irritating!)

For weeks at a time, I would have this child of mine run about in the nude.  Would he go in the toilet?  No.  He would go on the floor.  Right there on the floor, with a great deal of cleaning up involved...and a certain amount of mumbling under my breath.  He had a potty chair, with cool pictures of cars on it.  He had a seat that went over the regular toilet, with more cool pictures of cars.  (This was a failure, because at the age of two he got it stuck on his head, causing a great deal of trauma and tears.  For months, he was terrified of that damn thing.)

We tried sticker charts.  I tried dancing and singing. I read him potty books.  He watched potty videos.  Elmo could not convince this kid of mine to go, so how could I?! I read books, thousands of articles, "fool-proof" potty training tips, and asked for professional advice from his pediatrician.  I Googled, on more than one occasion, "WHY DOES MY SON HATE ME" in all caps, just like that.  I tried bribery.  Promises of Disneyland, water parks, new toys, etc.  NOTHING.  Let me tell you again, just in case you aren't getting the point here...NOTHING WORKED.

In case you were wondering what Landon's pediatrician said....she told me to "Wait until he was ready" and to "not push the issue".

I waited.  I didn't even mention it to him.  I changed him without making any remarks about the toilet whatsoever.  Meanwhile, I was visualizing my son as a college student, and me...old, withered, and half-insane, driving to his dorm to change him.

Let me tell you about something else that nearly drove me to the brink of insanity: other parents.

I have often said it, and I stand by my statement still: One of the worst parts of parenting is other parents. 

They come at you with bushels of unwanted advice.  Whats more, when they find out that your kiddo isn't potty trained yet....they sit back, face puffed up with arrogant pride, eyebrows slightly raised, and they say, "MY kids were all potty trained by 18 months."

This is when you are allowed to clap for them is a sarcastic fashion, before telling them to get the *explicitive* out of your house.  Unless you aren't at your house, in which case I find that a very abrupt "Good day to you!" will suffice.  Explicitive optional.

I was at the store one time, begrudgingly filling my cart with pull-ups.  For whatever reason, an older gentleman began a conversation with me about his six children, and how they were ALL potty trained as soon as they could walk.  "If they can walk, they can use a toilet!" he said, his face taking on the usual expression of a know-it-all. 

Knowing how to walk, eh?  My son can walk.  He can talk, sing, dance, pour himself a glass of milk, make a sandwich, use the microwave, CHANGE HIS OWN PULL-UP, count to 100, recognize words, tell a detailed story, and make his bed.....but he will not go to the bathroom in the toilet.  I say "WILL NOT" because he CAN.  He just wont.  Not with manipulation, threats, or anything else.  Not on a train, not in the rain. 

Again, his pediatrician said to wait.  Wait for what, exactly?  The apocalypse? I felt like a failure as a parent.  I couldn't figure out in the hell what was going wrong.  I wanted to lend him out to a better mom who could properly teach him how, and then request him back when it clicked with him.

(Oh, and in case you're wondering...I tried just putting underwear on him [any kind he wanted!] and letting him just go...but it never got to the point where he would stop going in his pants.  There were messes constantly.  He never got the idea to just use the toilet, or his potty seat, or even outside...I didn't care!)

This was making me pull my hair out and lose sleep...until one week before he turned four.  Suddenly, magically, he was going the bathroom in the toilet.  No prompting or begging from me, just going.  He was clearly proud of himself, because it was his idea.  It was a birthday miracle!  I wanted to alert the masses, but I didn't want any of those puffy faced, arrogant parents to be like, "He wasn't already potty trained?!"
 No, you *****.  No he was not.  Now he is.  He goes in the toilet, every single time.  We have had minor accidents, but other than that the transition has been outstanding.  I am thrilled.  He now wears boxers (he doesn't want to wear underwear..which is a bummer, because I can only find toddler boxers online) all of the time, without issue.

Lessons to be learned: Don't be a puffy faced, slightly raised eyebrow parent.  All children are different, go at their own pace, and do things when they're comfortable with them.  No amount of effort on my part was going to speed up the process.  (Also, he hates sticker charts, what gives?)

One day. What a load of crockery.

Something ridiculous has come to my immediate attention.

Yesterday was bipolar awareness day.  (I'm aware, are you?) 
Ridiculous: WE GET ONLY ONE DAY?!  I have half a mind to quit taking my Lithium and get really angry about this.  (That part was a joke.  You can all laugh now.)

Shockingly, it was also yesterday that I thought to myself...."I wonder what month bipolar awareness month is?"  I put those quotation marks there because I think out loud.  I'm a moderately raging bipolar, so this sort of behavior is expected of me.  *Strokes imaginary beard, sticks a cigar in ear, looks askance*

Being the extreme procrastinator that I am, I didn't bother utilizing Google until today, and then I realized that I only had ONE DAY, and I missed it.

THEREFORE - I officially pronouce the entire month of October to be bipolar awareness month.  Become aware!  If you don't become aware, you will by Halloween, at which point we'll all do this really tasteless Doctor Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde bit.  It will be hilarious and not at all classy.  Get ready for that.

I will not apologize for the above image.  I briefly contemplated superimposing my face onto one of the figures, but it turns out that I'm really lazy.  It's a side effect of being too awesome. 

New subject.

Exactly one week from today, I will find myself in Reno, Nevada.  I will have to get there by way of plane, because it would seem that jogging is out of the question.  (I'm lazy, recall that part?)
It has been nearly 20 years since I have been in any sort of flying contraption, and I am not excited in the least.  To be brutally honest with the lot of you, I am horrified.  The fear of flying, for me, far exceeds my fear of anything else in the world.  More than spiders, monkeys, spider-monkeys, childbirth without drugs, giant squid, and even going out in public without cosmetics.  Egads!  I've been waking up with intense panic attacks and thoughts of certain doom.  Also, all of this "It's safer than driving!" bullshit does not help me in the slightest.  I'm not afraid of a plane crash (although I admit, that would be pretty scary), I'm afraid of the SKY.  I don't want to be in the sky.  I don't even like to LOOK at the sky, do you understand?  Clouds are nice, because they prevent me from seeing this seemingly endless nothingness, which I am now expected to be up in. 

I will be very drunk, just so you know.  In might be my secret plan to be too drunk to be allowed on the plane.  Don't tell anyone.  (I wont really do that, though it has crossed my mind.)

I looked into an online fear of flying course.  I stopped looking when I happened across the price, which is damn near close to being as much as my mortgage.  Damnable. 

New plan: wear earplugs, put on one of those eye-masks made for sleeping, be severely intoxicated and pay someone to soothingly pat me on the head.  I'm not sure why that last part, but I figure it will make sense when the time comes.

I will pretend to be elsewhere!

When I arrive in Reno, I will sob loudly, kiss the ground, and vomit profusely.  I'm lazy though, so I wont get around to any of this until the next day. 

Help.

I see nothing wrong with eating gravy for every meal

Top five reasons why I am undateable:

1.  I am a non-discriminate hater of cats.  I hate all cats...your cats.  Kittens, even.  If you own one, I might feel inclined to kick it when you aren't looking, or stick tape to the bottom of it's grotesque paws.

2. I do not cuddle.  In fact, I have all the snugglability of a cold, wet sock.  I treat hugs like the human straightjackets that they are, and burst out of them TOWARDS FREEDOM AND PERSONAL SPACE.  If I have to elbow you furiously in the ribs, so help me, I will.

3.  Every once in a great while, I eat soup in the shower.  (All the time)

4. I'm married.  You can't date me anyway.

5. I hate the number five.

*Edit: I wouldn't actually do either of those things to a cat.  At worst, I would perhaps taunt it with a smelt.

I found a spot of time to read today, in between being HORRIBLY SICK and holding a baby.  When I took Landon to preschool this morning, I looked like a frazzled, pasty old bear.  I could hardly force myself out of bed, into a somewhat suitable outfit, and out  into the real world.  I'm not sure if any of the teachers were especially sure about who I was, as I was lacking usual makeup and sociability.  I don't remember what I said to anybody, but I do recall many "what in the hell is she talking about" facial expressions being shot in my direction.  I came home, fed Nora, took some cold pills, snuggled up with a book and fell asleep after only five pages.  I shall never get to the end of any book!  Not even the middle!  I WILL NEVER GET PAST THE PROLOGUE!  Damn it all.

Once home, Landon requested that we play Guess Who.  He said, "I don't need to guess actually, because I know all the things."

All the things, indeed. 

Nora is crawling/sweeping the floor with her tummy, and I'm upset about the amount of things I have to put away now.  Did I want to find a permanent residence for my immense collection of shoes, gathering by the door?  No, no I did not.  We have no storage, and but one closet.

I make poor choices

Today has been relatively unpleasant.  As I sat in my chair, glaring at the wall and brooding, Landon ran inside the house and said to me, "Mom!  I turned on the hose so I could water your flowers, and now I can't turn it off..!"

Being very sick, I am wearing a relatively ridiculous outfit comprised of Kevin's sweatpants, an old fleece pullover, and some fuzzy socks.  I ran outside, clomping around in Kevin's shoes, frantically maneuvering my way through giant puddles and spiderwebs in order to reach the hose.

In other news, I thoroughly HATE September, as it is spider month.  Spiders everywhere!  They gallop freely through the house, having shuffled in through the drains, under doorways, through open windows.. 
The presumptuous way they make webs in corners of rooms, without having received an invitation to do so, drives me batty.  It is rude.  They are creepy.  September is also "begin-denying-that-it-is-no-longer-summer" month.  You can find me, bikini-clad, freezing cold at the beach with an alcoholic beverage while it's pouring down rain, shouting, "Everything is fine!!  F&%$ Autumn!"

Actually, this is me:

Yesterday, I made an INSANE amount of fall themed baby food for Nora.  (Why did I have to specify that it was for Nora?  What other baby do I own?)
My favorite; roasted apple and steamed sweet potato with essence of chamomile.  You're welcome, Nora.  It tastes sublime. Also, it will put you to sleep!  See what I did there?  I'm actually very selfish and just want you to take long naps.




Also, I want all of you to make blogs of your own so I can leave lengthy comments of questionable content.  Get on it.  This is your assignment. 

This Saturday: Dancing!  I can't dance at all.  In fact, I am an embarrassment to humans everywhere.  People shun me, immediately after seeing how clumsy and oafish I am.  The worst part?  I don't care.  So sorry.  So many apologies will be issued on Sunday morning. 

INSERT WITTY TITLE HERE

Goals for the day:
1. Exercise right to wear OUTRAGEOUSLY unfashionable pants.  Check.
2. Make blog post, despite having absolutely nothing to write about. Nearly check.

Ultimate goals:
1. Write and publish a book full of horribly inappropriate short stories.  Vehemently deny books existence.
2. Stop talking about self.

Enough about me.  Landon threw a cup in the shower this morning (while I was in it), and said, "Mom, are you ready for your makeup-over?"
Let it be known that I am never ready for a makeup-anything, when it involves a three year old child of any gender. It was with the most vigourous fury that he applied eyeliner to my nose, and then declared, "Now I have to rub it in!"
My nose is red and black.  Help.

Nora continues to be indifferent towards anything, unless it involves ice cream.

Also: I am deeply annoyed by persons (who shall remain nameless) who continue to whine and complain about circumstances that they themselves have created.  Allow me to be quite serious here, for a brief moment.   I have VERY limited sympathy (in fact, none!) for anybody who puts themselves in horrid situations, then plays the victim and blames anyone and everyone around them.  It is annoying.  Yes, you were dealt some crap cards, but that was some 15 years ago or what-have-you.  It is time to pick up the pieces (or leave them where they are...hey, cleaning is for ninnies) and get over it.

Everyone deals with things differently, but you sir/ma'am, you are simply wallowing.  I do not like wallowers.  I do not like them in the rain, I do not like them on a train.  I do not like them here or there, I do not like them anywhere!  *Eats a bite of green ham*  Boxes, mice, however the rest of it goes..

Terrible, terrible.

Check in later, while I describe in disturbingly graphic detail the lengths I go to scrub the mold off of my bathroom ceiling. 

EDIT: I was in the shower, not in the cup. 

 

I need to dip into my title creativity...tomorrow

I hate fall.  I hate winter.

It is a season of wet socks.  A season of mold, mildew, stuffy noses and rust.

Around this time, I develop an overwhelming urge to put on my grumpy bear face, pack my bags, and disappear into a cave for hibernation, until spring has sprung.

Generally, I distract myself from seasonal depression hatred with school.  I will confess to you that my involvement in school has less to do with a desire to succeed, and more to do with distracting myself from the elements.  On a side note, I hate pumpkin pie.

This year, no school for me.  You see, I have this baby...and I don't sleep much these days.  Homework would be difficult.  I have given a few wayward thoughts to taking some sort of fitness class, we'll see if that pans out or not.  (Aqua aerobics, anyone?)

I will try to make this blog my distraction, this time around.  You see, I used to be an avid blogger of a very creepy nature, but now I can't seem to find the motivation needed to do it.  Sure, going through old notebooks and posting terribly odd short stories is fun and all, but I solemnly promise to make an effort to make actual posts. 

Now my daughter is screaming her head off.  That's my cue! 

Nostalgia! I write creepy stories.

I've become really, really horrible at this blogging thing.  In an old blog, I used to make, on occasion, 2-3 posts a day.  What happened?  Erhm..kids.  Right.

I was digging around through old boxes of stuff (or rather, boxes of old stuff.  The boxes themselves aren't too horribly ancient) and ran across four notebooks full of short stories.  Oh my.  Here's one from age 19:

He presented an engagement ring and exclaimed, "Think fast!"
In my bewilderment, I said yes.  Now I am unhappily married to a large vat of beans.
The wedding was an unpleasant affair that took place over a three day period of time.  None of my family made an appearance, though an undeniably attractive group of lentils showed up in time for cake.
The honeymoon was awful.  I vomited on at least five separate occasions. 
Sometime thereafter, I was arrested in Chicago for loitering at an elementary school, in the presence of an unhappy sunbear. 
When released, I went home to discover that my husband had shacked up with the local baker!  I was floored!  I made a quick visit to Los Angeles where I met with a well known divorce attorney .  The attorney and I were engaged by sunset, and we took turns shampooing each others hair.
Now I'm back in jail.  I'm not entirely sure why. 

The End, I suppose.

As for real life (because none of that actually happened), Landon has begun preschool and I feel an overwhelming urge to stay with him in his classroom all day.  I guess I can't do that?

Nora is learning to crawl, sort of.  She sees something in front of her, and attempts to get at it with a look of determination in her eyes - but crawls backwards instead.  It is with the saddest, most confused little infant face that she looks up at you, trying to figure out what to do next.

Tomorrow: I'm hoping for sunshine because Landon is desperately wanting to go adventuring!

I may as well share the URL for this.  No use writing things that only I'm going to read.  Right?  Write?  I'm tired.