Whipped, Butt, and Cream

Every now and then my inner Domestic Goddess will awake from her Merlinesque slumber and grace us with her presence. This awakening normally coincides with the opening of the area Farmer's Markets. Something about the first squashes, zucchinis and berries of the season are irresistible to her.  Yesterday's selection of strawberries looked especially enticing reminding me of the carton of whipping cream sitting in the fridge; it's expiration date quickly approaching. So last night I cut up the strawberries and tossed in what remained of the blueberries. Sprinkled in a little sugar. Covered and placed in the fridge.

This morning, Little Man didn't get a chance to wake me up. The Goddess was already clamoring for the kitchen and she took a page from Little Man's book. She's up so everyone else is up as well. Less than 20 minutes later the dishes left from the night before were scrubbed and air drying and the cream was being whipped to peaky perfection. I prepared bowls for John and myself. I skipped Little Man. He loves strawberry and blueberry but only in yogurt. I would use our servings to attempt the enticement.

The whipped cream enticed almost immediately as he was digging an unwashed finger into his father's bowl. We moved on to the blueberries but they still require practice enticing impressionable but highly picky preschoolers. The strawberries didn't even bother with their attempt.

So this leads to my darling son making the following request:

"Mommy may I have some butt cream?"

WHAT?

"Butt cream. I want some butt cream."

Whipped cream dear. WHIPPED cream.

Respect

I never realized how difficult it is to teach respect.
Little Man "stole" my slippers tonight and hid them in my bedroom. He told me I couldn't have them back.

Who's older?

"I am"

Nice try. Who's bigger?

"I am"

Nice try. Who's stronger?

"Daddy"

Ok. I'll give you that one but you child are neither old enough, big enough, nor strong enough to say no to your mother.

"NOOO WAAAAY!" he screamed right in my face.

Consistency

Consistency. Consistency is key. Every bit of advice I've asked for since having Little Man has boiled down to one thing - consistency. I'll admit it was getting a little old but you know what? It's true.
We've been having trouble with Little Man listening. Yeah I know - every parent of a child of any age is laughing hysterically at that statement. Go ahead... you can say it... No Yit Really? Yeah, yeah, yeah. I said it. Get over it.

So we've been having an issue and I listened to the Cardinal Rule of Parenting but damn it is hard. Tonight he wouldn't go upstairs at bedtime as instructed so John told him no books at bedtime. We've done this in the past and whoo boy he had a melt down. Since it has been done before, it was done again tonight. There was a temper tantrum and the start of a meltdown but he never went nuclear. We kept to the rest of the bedtime routine and that seemed to solve the problem.

I stayed with Little Man for awhile after he climbed into bed. As I kissed him goodnight and started to head downstairs he asked where his books were. Ugh, here we go. The meltdown is coming.

"Nobody bring books tonight? No one?"

No. No one

"Daddy not bring books tonight?"

No, Daddy didn't bring books tonight. Do you know why?

"Yes. He don't bring books because I don't listen. I crawl around and around on the couch and not listen to daddy".

So if you want books tomorrow night are you going to listen to Daddy?

"Yes. Tomorrow I listen to Daddy and tomorrow I get books".

We still have to see what tomorrow brings but I think I may have witnessed, first hand, the results of Consistency.

Pick Your Battles

We’ve all heard the phrase “Pick you battles”. When used in relation to child-rearing, picking your battles can be very beneficial to your health as laughter is healthy and the unplanned end result of your choice can leave you full of laughter.

Once again Little Man excelled at Procrastination last night with two trips to the potty. After trip #2 he made a valiant stall attempt in the hallway. When Mommy’s will proved too steadfast he made his way back into his room; his room not his bed. Instead of crawling into bed, he curled up behind the glider. Now this is his “hiding spot” during our nightly Where’s My Baby routine. Since we had already done that routine an hour earlier, I was not rehashing it. I also didn’t want to rehash the near meltdown from the hallway a moment earlier so I picked my battle. He was in his room. What’s the big deal if he isn’t in his bed? As he curled up on the floor, I asked if that is where he planned on sleeping. Upon receiving a positive response, I said great! Have a good night. I love you. I will see you in the morning and with that, I walked out.

That was the last we heard from him. No more calls for help on the potty. No more pleas for the dog song (My Favorite Things) or Hush Little Baby. It was silence on the top floor – glorious silence.

Several hours later, as I made my way to bed myself, I checked in on him. Out of habit I went straight for the bed. Finding it empty I remembered he curled up behind the chair. I was slightly taken aback. I had honestly expected him to crawl into bed shortly after we left. He did go to bed after we left – to get his blanket but he did not return to his spot behind the glider. Seeing the empty spot left my quite confused. The only logical place for him to be would be our room but I had gone to our room before going to his. I didn’t remember seeing him. Was he curled under a blanket and I hadn’t noticed? Was he curled up on the floor and I just didn’t see him? Or had he actually gone into Amah’s room (the guest bedroom) and curled up there?

I turned to go look when something caught my eye. I think I pulled a muscle in a lame attempt to keep from laughing out loud. I immediately ran for the camera and managed to snap a few without waking the child. I then went downstairs to John. “You will never guess where your son is sleeping”

I didn't move the hamper for the picture. He moved it himself. Yes. My son curled up to sleep in the closet.

Plan A, Plan B, and a Bandaid

We spend our days witnessing first hand Out of the Mouths of Babes.
This morning we headed out for the airshow. We took back roads so Little Man could see horses. One road in particular is my favorite - hilly and windy. We approached a blind curve and I had to slam on my brakes to avoid slamming into the back of a landscaping truck as the moronic driver thought stopping the truck just beyond line of sight was a brilliant idea. John and I are both left muttering and stuttering. Our combined reactions cause Little Man some trepidation so I am now trying to calm him and explain why mommy and daddy are so upset.

"Mommy! It is MY turn to talk now" he remarks curtly. "That man make me mad. He almost hurt me. He a pain in my butt!"

We proceed to the air show. They are running school buses as shuttles from the parking lot to the airport. Have I ever mentioned that Little Man does not like loud noise? John and I knew this whole adventure could be short lived. We never expected it to crash and burn before it got off the ground. The school buses proved to be too loud. Little Man wouldn't get on. Pointing out the other children who were riding the bus did no good. His terror had control. So we headed back to the car and moved onto Plan B.

The nursery up the road from us was having their Spring Fling. It included a petting zoo and pony rides. Have I mentioned Little Man is terrified of all animals? Great Plan B eh? We figured he could have a hot dog or two and at least look at the animals. The ice cream truck was at the entrance. First thing he wanted was an ice cream. He doesn't eat ice cream. I convinced him he wanted a hot dog. As we head up we pass the petting zoo. I decide to show him the animals.

That little imp went into the enclosure. He walked right up to the goat and petted her. He walked right up to the chicks and the chickens. He petted both. He walked right up to the ducklings. He damn near chased them down. He even sat down and held a bunny. I practically had to drag him out of there so other kids could have a turn.

We moved onto hot dogs and found a seat with a perfect line of site of the ponies. I dare not get my hopes up. Before we could get him to sit down to eat he announced he was riding a pony. I didn't get my hopes up. He ate. He announced he was riding a pony. We got in line. He wanted to ride the big pony. We waited. Our turn arrived. He announced he wanted the small pony. I put him in the saddle. I never expected him to let go of me. I expected terror. I expected panic. I expected a meltdown. I got a nervous look but I didn't get shear panic. I didn't get tears. I didn't get a child begging to back out. He wasn't ecstatic but he completed the ride.

So while we didn't have much luck in the noise realm today we did have some major success in the animal realm. He even survived his first splinter which led to a band aid which led to...

"Mommy you have to carry me. I have band aid. Mommy I can't walk. I have band aid. Mommy I can't get undressed. I have band aid."

The Three Ps - Pee, Poop, and Potty

Slowly slowly slowly we puff up the potty train mountain. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

I hope I can. I hope I can. I hope I can.

I wish he would. I wish he would. I wish he would.

My mantra changes almost as quickly as I change his underwear and pants.

I arrive at daycare last night and he's moved to the 3s. We have the lovely chore of driving to the airport to pick up Amah. I am looking forward to my mother coming into town. I am not looking forward to the myriad of things that can go wrong on a trip to and from Dulles with a potty-training child. I present him with his two choices - he can either go to the potty right before we leave or he can put on a pull up. His choice? The pull up.

WHAAAT? I literally almost fell over. I was not expecting that. Turns out they just went to the potty shortly before I arrived so I decide he is good to go. I have a change of clothes in the car and what's the worse that can happen? I'll have to wash the car seat cover.

Of course we run into horrendous traffic and I must take back roads but we arrive as my mom arrives. We circle twice before she is outside. All is well. And then there is the traffic on the way home. Several times Little Man gets a little too quiet and I fight hard to quell the panic building in the pit of my stomach. We arrive home safely and more importantly - dry.

Zero accidents that evening and much success requesting he use the potty but the biggest surprise presented itself this morning. My precious darling son stayed dry all night. I was in shock. I almost cried. With the progress we've had I did not expect to hit the dry nights for at least 6 months. He's napping now. In a pull up but I am oh so hopeful.


I never posted this one. Screwed the pooch on that one. I laugh reading it now. Oh the naivete! So many months later and you can kiss the dry through the night good-bye (shortly after I initially wrote this). He doesn't where a pull-up at nap time because he doesn't nap any more. We walk downstairs most days with at least 5 pairs of underwear. It is a good day if there are 3 pairs left when we go up at bed time. Daycare has few issues. We are still on high alert at home. Pee isn't as much of an issue any more. He's gotten that part down. Sometimes he gets a little caught up with his playing and forgets but we've been pretty good about making sure he hits the bathroom every couple of hours. No, the whole pooping in the potty is our problem. We've discussed, begged, pleaded, cajoled, bribed... all for naught. He flat out refuses to poop in the potty with us.

John created a new rule tonight. Little Man's disdain for sweets was short-lived. He's discovered a love for Reeses which has morphed into a love of all things chocolate (apparently he is my boy after all). Today John asked if he needed to go potty. Little Man said no and promptly proceeded to poop in his underwear. The rule used to be Little Man could have a Reeses (we have Reeses minis in the candy dish pretty much all the time thanks to my addiction) after lunch and after dinner. After today's episode, John amended the rule. No more Reeses unless he poops in the potty. I don't know how I feel about this rule but I'll admit to being at a loss. Nothing seems to work. This rule was made when I wasn't at home so I will support it and we'll see what happens. I don't always agree with everything John does but damn it, the man has a nasty tendency of proving me wrong. I'm hoping he continues his streak.

The Return, Brain Cells, White Hair and a Suprise

I know. I fell off the face of the earth for a few months there. For the first time ever, words failed me. I started to write countless time and each time my brain froze. Usually writing helps me clear my head and put life in perspective. Apparently I was having a little too much perspective.

John was laid off at the end of January and shortly after that, I was under some pressure to move my family to the middle of nowhere, IL. Thankfully the move didn't come to fruition and the stress level in this house has dropped dramatically. Trying to act as if nothing is wrong in front of a preschooler is a lot harder than I thought. I failed miserably.

There are silver linings to everything right? Yes, even I have my sappy moments and look for silver linings. John being home freed me up at the right time to put in some extra hours at work. He also stepped up when it came to housework. I distinctly remember one weekend shortly after he had been laid off. He went to take Little Man outside to play. I decided to take advantage and do some cleaning.

Clean what? he asked.

The bathrooms?

Did that.

Vacuum?

Did that.

The kitchen?

Did that.

So what the hell am I supposed to do?

Come outside and play with us.

So while my hours at worked increased, my time spent at home was not revolving around cleaning and laundry. It has been nice. Very very nice. Not all roses though. Being out of a job has been tough on John. He doesn't know how not to work and it is driving him crazy. I've joked with him. Called him my Stepford husband. He's quite good at it - the house is clean, the shopping and laundry done. Hell, he'll even have dinner ready when I get home. Now if I could just get him to greet me at the door with a beer.... I'll let you fill in the blanks as to what his response to that was.

John has gained patience in dealing with Little Man. Mine has diminished. We've experienced the Terrible 3s and I've gotten creative in my solutions. Potty training has been a success and yet a complete failure. Little Man is getting smarter. I'm losing brain cells and gaining white hair.

And through it all he's kept us laughing. According to his birth certificate, his middle name is McGaughrin. According to him it is THE Gaughrin.

Then tonight, at bedtime he whispers to me: we got slippers but shhh. It's a surprise.

Anyone want to guess what my Mother's Day present is?