Potty Talk

Yesterday my 4-year-old daughter, Maura, tried to convince me that potty talk is funny. She spent a good 10 minutes bestowing the many virtues of potty talk - how it sounds funny, how the topic itself is hilarious, etc. Her father would be so proud. After hearing her arguments, Judge mommy ruled that while Maura may find potty talk to be funny, it is an inappropriate topic to discuss in public. Court adjourned.

Fast forward to this morning. What a horrible morning. My son, Gage, was in a foul mood and decided I was a great target for his hostility. He didn't wish to cooperate with me on anything - from finishing his homework, to getting dressed and brushing his teeth. We ultimately had it out to the point that many parents reach. The point when you have an out-of-body experience, look down on the situation and realize that you have officially lost your shit. At that point, I immediately stopped and simply walked away quietly.

So you are probably wondering what this has to do with Potty Talk. Well, as we are driving to school (yes, he missed the bus because of the heated battle) I calmly said to Gage, "Buddy, we need to figure out a better way to handle your homework, and the way we communicate. This just isn't working. What do you think?" He replied, "I agree, Mom. I have an idea on how to make it better." Okay...progress. He went on to describe how we could make things better.

I gingerly continued, "I don't want to yell. I don't want to fight. It makes me feel like poop. It make you feel like poop. Who wants to feel like poop?" As this was a rhetorical question, I certainly did not expect the following. 2-year-old Lyla joyfully exclaims, "I do!!" Well, Gage and I had a good laugh - a much needed comic relief.

Moments pass until I hear Maura say in a knowing voice, "See, Mom? I told you potty talk is funny." Always has to have the last word.

Mornings

When I worked outside of the home, my mornings consisted of 60 minutes of torture to get the kids dressed, fed and out the door followed by my commute to work. While those 60 minutes were sometime hellish, I knew that my time was soon coming so I suffered through with little complaint. I savored my morning commute. It was 30 minutes of me time. Time to reflect, time to recharge, time to jam out, time to enjoy the silence, time to not have to talk or deal with anyone. Now don't get me wrong, I genuinely like people and my children. I think I just would prefer them in smaller doses.

My mornings now consist of the same 60 tortuous minutes filled with different battles. Me battling to wake up as I stay up way too late so I can have some time to look for work, read to keep my mind sharp, watch television shows that aren't cartoons are feature some furry animal. It also includes the battle of waking my son who seems to whine more and more these days. Once he does rise from his slumber, he is grumpy, non cooperative and moves slower than any human being I know. I wonder if he does it intentionally knowing it drives me crazy. I like to move fast. He will drop to the ground in a fit of whiny convulsions if I even mention the words, 'hurry up.'

Now while he is having a devil of a time getting motivated to move faster than a snail in slow motion, the girls are demanding to be fed immediately lest they wither away and die from starvation. After all, it's been 11 hours since they last fed their needy bodies. This is occurring in harmony with the dog who is jumping in circles in the air, crying and running up and down the stairs at mock 10 to get noticed in case I 'forget' to feed her breakfast.

Every step of the way is painful. Each activity - dressing, putting on shoes, brushing teeth - is started with a whimper or whine. It's like finger nails down a chalk board for me. Truly. This morning, Gage was whimpering in the bathroom after I asked him to brush his teeth.

Me: What is wrong, Gage?
Gage: It's just so difficult!
Me (thinking): How can brushing your teeth be difficult?!?!?!
Me (saying): What is so difficult, honey?
Gage: Life.
Me: You have no idea.

And that pretty much sums it up. What an insightful little boy! And to think that whole process was only 30 minutes long! I'll save sharing the next 30 minutes for another time. When I do finally get through that hour of sour, I manage to get the rest of the clan out the door - either to the gym or coffee shop. I pity the fine people at Starbuck's or LA Fitness that see me on occassion after surviving the morning wars. I enter, hair disheveled, crooked smile with god-knows-what kind of outfit on. If they only knew what I endured to get there with no jam session, silence, reflection or recharge. It's a scary sight.

Me and My Shadow

Having a shadow has a whole new meaning for me. Last night I dared to venture outside the home AND be honest about my departure with my children. Two out of three were okay with my temporary absence, however as you may have already guessed, Maura was not at all okay with it. In fact, quite the opposite.

She was sitting eating her dinner with no issue. When I announced that I had to run out for an hour, she evolved into miserable Maura - shrieking, yelling and essentially freaking out. I tried to minimize her tantrum in hopes she would calm down and in hopes my husband didn't go into panic mode because I was leaving. I dashed for the door when I thought I had a few feet of room. She pursued. I shut the garage door. She tried to open it. I held it tight so she couldn't get out. Then, nothing. Whew.

As I walked to my car door, I see Maura climbing into the back seat of my car. How the? What the? The bugger went out the front door and into the garage when I thought she had given up. I should know better!!!

My husband and I then spent the next 10 minutes trying to peel her from the difficult-to-reach third row. She was holding on for dear life. I think the finger dents are still on the cup holders. Once we did get her back into the house, she was inconsolable. I sped out of there faster than any Nascar driver. No chance for another Maura siting. My husband called two times. I finally turned the phone off. I needed a break. I guess he did, too. He sent her upstairs to calm down. So what did she do? I'll give you three guesses. No, she did not fall asleep from exhaustion. No, she did not continue to cry in her room. No, she did not lay in my bed so she could feel close to me. No, not Maura.

She proceeded to find the dullest pair of baby nail scissors (and only pair since I hid the other scissors from her) and proceeded to cut the beautiful braid that lined her angelic face - at an angle, no less. When Jim discovered this, she was so proud of herself. After all, "isn't it beautiful, daddy?"

My shadow is evil. There. I said it.

photo courtesy of www.gr5.org.

Gage-isms

Gage says the funniest things. So I decided to write them down and share them.

1) I am Jewish and Jim is Catholic. We have always explained to our children that they are half of both since that is where they come from. Last week my mother gave Gage a kipah (the beanie that Jews wear on their heads). He loves it and wears it around the house. Last night he said, "Mom and Dad, I can wear the kipah on half of my head since that is the Jewish half."

2) Gage gets very enthusiastic when he plays baseball. He was up to bat and he yelled, "Bring it on!" The pitch ended up hitting him. He shook it off and then yelled even louder, "OK. You're going DOWN!" The pitch hit him again. Hard. He cried and limped off the field. What are the odds? And I couldn't help but laugh.

3) When Gage lost his last tooth, he was distraught because out dog, LuLu, ate the tooth before he could make the exchange with the tooth fairy. But when he woke the next morning to find $2 under his pillow, he said as he shrugged his shoulders, "Well, the tooth fairy must have looked inside my mouth and saw the gap and figured she should leave some money, just in case." His dreams will one day be shattered.

The Allure of Wipes

I have not yet figured out why my girls insist on playing with baby wipes. I mean, don't they know how much they cost? Can't they use a towel, napkin or other object used for wiping? Of course not. That would make my life easier.

I was trying to work in my office which is only five feet from my bedroom door. And by working I mean trying to enjoy stimulating topics on line for me to keep my atrophying mind as sharp as possible. My mind is weakening so that I often forget that when I hear my girls singing a happy tune in harmony or when I simply witness silence, it means that they are creating some kind of destruction.

This day was no different. I was so ecstatic that I was getting 45 minutes of uninterrupted mental stimulation, I mistook their sweet humming for bliss. Actually it was bliss - for them. They had gotten into the box of wipes (with shea butter, no less) and proceeded to help me clean my room. They took to the lamps, the bed, the dresser, the armoire, the mirrors, the TV - you name it, they wiped it. How do I know this? Aside from the film that covered every above-mentioned item, there were about 50 to 60 crumpled up wipes that littered by bedroom floor.

When I walked in on this discovery, my instant reaction was, of course, to yell. As I started to raise my voice, Maura innocently says, "But Mommy, we were just helping."

I stopped yelling and realized once again, I will miss that nomination for the mother of the year award.

Am I Dirty?

The other afternoon, I got a much needed 15 minute reprieve from the kids so that I could take a shower. I even had a chance to shave - a true luxury. I was getting ready for a meeting for a professional women's group that I started. It was our first meeting and I wanted to be there early, be organized, etc.

Now my 4 year-old has been having major separation anxiety. She tells me all of the time that she never wants me to leave her and that I must stay near her at all times. I am not allowed to leave - ever. No pressure, huh? So I have gotten into this terrible habit of lying to her about my plans and leaving when she is not looking. I know, I know...that is the worst thing to do. But at the time it feels sooo liberating. I now know what a jail break feels like.

I digress. So on this particular day I exited the shower to find Maura standing there - arms folded, glaring at me.

I innocently said, "Hi!"

Maura: Where you are going?

Me: Why do you think I am going anywhere?

Maura: Because you got a shower.

Me (thinking): Why do I have to be going somewhere? What are you really saying?????

Me: I am just getting clean and getting dressed.

Maura: OK.

Me (thinking): Crisis averted for now.

But this conversation got me thinking...do my kids think that I only shower when I am going out? And is that reality or opinion? I am sorry to say that after a week of assessment, they are correct. Aside from going to the gym, I only shower when I go out...shameful, but honest.

Then it really hit home that maybe I need a lesson on how to be clean when the following conversation occurred.

Me: Kids! Clean up this darn play room NOW!!!!!

Maura: Why? Because people are coming over?

Me: No...because I want you to clean it up.

Maura: Who's coming over?

Ahhhh!!!! And now you know why I drink. :)