| Part-Time Potty-Time Men | | Date Created: Dec 01, 2006, 05:29 PM |
|
I am extremely proud of myself for making it to this point today, this point in the week, this point in my life without killing myself, my children, Will, or even the two houseplants two over-trusting people have put in my care. I'm not even sorry I haven't written in my blog in a while because I've truly been doing all I can to keep things running around here. Last night I did lie down on the sofa for an hour and a half and watch TV before getting back to work and Wednesday I did lie down to read a book for about an hour to the relaxing sounds of first one boy and then another banging on the door, calling "Mama mama mama mama mama mama mama," and hurling books from the bed. The words "Mama," "Momoe," and even "Mom" have been used more this week than all of the time in the house put together. Today I have been reflecting on times such as those when I was little and every once in a while my mother would be a tad exasperated in the mornings in her flannel nightgown and socks. I would be like what's-her-problem when she gave me no sympathy about the fact that I had nothing to wear or I couldn't find the right pair of socks. If my hair wasn't worth 100 percent of her attention I felt just like baby John did when I told him he had to wear his pants and he said, "It's not fair, Momoe!" But now I know how she felt and I am belatedly giving her my sympathy. Nobody knows the troubles of mothers. In the car on the way to the boys' school this morning--late--I imagined if Will stayed at home and I worked and wondered if he would have the same issues and anxieties on his mind. I didn't think so, but I couldn't figure if it was because he has the organizational and efficiency abilities to get it all done without ado, or whether he would require less get done to begin with. And maybe he would be right to cut some of the extraneous responsibilities we mothers heap on ourselves, but if that were the case, how would anyone ever get a birthday cake made, Christmas presents delivered, Christmas trees decorated, music played, prayers said, sympathy cards sent, Christmas cards addressed, hair cut, stale bread fed to the ducks, toys bought for the toy drive, money put in for the teachers' gifts, luminaries ordered for the garden club fundraiser, placemats ironed for Thanksgiving dinner, babysitters scheduled, and children's teeth brushed? None of these tasks is exactly necessary (except the last even though I seem to be the only one in the house who remembers it), yet how much sweeter is life because of these responsibilities we "bring on ourselves"? So maybe it's all my fault, but I've simply had too much to do lately. This morning the cleaning service came that comes every three weeks. Of course that is a huge help. But in order to get them to really clean the toilets and floors without distraction I like to have the house picked up beforehand. Which meant the house had to be clean this morning BEFORE I left with the boys for school. This is hard. Will and I were up late last night putting away the mountains of laundry in our room. This morning I had to take a shower because I hadn't had any time yesterday to take one at all. Will was a huge help with the boys but I was still really stressed out picking things up, getting the boys dressed, and gathering everything I needed for errands. And now that the boys are in the process of potty-training (more on that later) I had to pack their school bag--that I couldn't find--extra carefully. Around the house they are wearing pull-ups but they aren't that absorbent and so they really still need to wear diapers to school, so I packed the regular diapers but in case they freaked out and screamed while they were there getting their diapers changed that they wanted pull-ups I packed pull-ups, too. And since John only likes "Buzz" pull-ups and not Woody ( from Toy Story) or Cars pull-ups I had to make sure to include at least one of those. These are the things only a mother would consider. And just when the time started to get in a real crunch, Will ran downstairs and said he had just remembered a breakfast meeting he was late for right then. I felt terrible because it wasn't my fault he had forgotten but it was definitely my fault he hadn't left for work yet because he'd fixed breakfast and fed the boys while I was taking a shower and picked up the kitchen while I tidied the boys' rooms. He also helped with potty-time. Will rushed out the door and all I could say out the door was that I would take the trash out which I later did on my six trips to the car to try to leave. I felt like I was doing the best I could and still I wasn't gaining any ground and in fact was making Will late and ruining his day after he tried to be sweet and help even more than he usually does. Anyway, my I-hate-myself-spirits lifted when the boys actually helped pick up toys and put them in a basket. Then we were on our last round--toothbrushing--when I heard the sound. I rushed into the living room where James had taken the cushions off the sleeper sofa and dumped the entire basket of thumb-sized animals and cars which fell into every spring, space, and gap in the sleeper contraption. The heartbreak must have shown in my face because James broke out crying. While George helped James pick up all the pieces, I did battle with John trying to get him to put his shoes on. What sprang to mind was a phrase I've apparently been using too much because John's been saying it himself directed at his brothers when they act up. For example in the car he might say when James is fussing, "Don't do this, James!" So as patiently as I could I promised John he could take his shoes and all his clothes off when he got home from school. As I gathered up my keys and told myself don't lock the doors don't lock the doors don't lock the doors because the cleaning service was coming my computer rang out in her cold voice--remind me to change it--"It's nine o'clock." Well, at least I knew I was late and it wouldn't be the usual shock of the clock when I climbed into the Suburban. I don't know how but I finally made it out the door, John still mad at me and James stunned from HIS no-no even though I was the one feeling guilty for scaring him with my horror. We got in the car and I turned the Christmas CD up loud hoping a little Christmas spirit might make its way to my calcifying heart. It started to work when the boys yelled, "The cookies one! The cookies one!" The cookies one is a country song in which George Strait sings about his gal's Christmas cookies he just can't get enough of. Just as it started to warm me up, the song got to a line that goes something like "And when I eat those cookies I just can't stop." And John started laughing and saying, "He can't stop, Momoe! He can't stop eating cookies!" And I was feeling good since when John is happy we can all finally be happy. Why didn't I just content myself with that simple goodness instead of tempting the tempest? I said with too much confidence, "You like to eat cookies, John! When you eat cookies you can't stop?" And the face got red, the legs got kicking from the car seat. "I CAN stop!" And I said, "Okay! You CAN stop! I was just teasing!" "I CAN"T stop." "Oh. Okay. You CAN'T stop?" "I CAN stop!" Mix CAN with CAN'T in any of the previous exchanges and you understand what a mix-up it all was. Finally we made it to school where George reverted to a year ago and I had to walk in with them because he cried and the teachers hugged him and encouraged me to come in the classroom with them instead of just dropping him off and running and so I put on a big fake smile and acted concerned and loving and gave Georgie more hugs until one of the teachers had him distracted and gave me the not-so-subtle arm wave to signal me now to go ahead and get the hell out. And so I did, trailing messages to yet another teacher about why there were both pull-ups and diapers and a Buzz pull-up in case that was screamed for by John and while listening to another teacher telling me how I'd left the school bag the other day but they'd taken it in and then put it back on the hook for me and I was like ok ok ok ok ok goodbye goodbye goodbye and I got back to the car, put my forehead on the steering wheel and decided against crying in relief. I took lots of deep breaths and then took myself downtown to breakfast for one. I had a delightful omelet and some coffee and read a book while the table of five guys next to me talked about women they had "known" in full detail and what is was like when you get sent to Leeds Avenue (where our county jail is) and that making the acquaintance of a female lawyer could come in handy for those cases and apparently in others as well although I had a hard time believing someone competent enough to be a lawyer or even competent enough to recite her ABC's would ever consort with these guys. So no real peace, but at least some insight into what I am working to avoid my sons turning into which did help to focus and resolve to redouble my efforts to make humans out of my three animals. And there was the yummy food. Not to mention the weird satisfaction of going out to eat all alone. Time alone is something I haven't had much of lately, and it's just something I really need and if I don't get it, it sort of gets me because I get so cranky and hard to be around Will suggests something like, "Why don't you go up to our room for a while and I'll look after the boys."
So that was today. Tonight some friends are throwing a holiday party and I truly truly cannot wait because I need some FUN!
Okay, sorry to do this Will: I just got a very nice email from Will offering to bring home some Wendy's for the boys' supper on his way home from work. Followed by an email asking what he should get. UGH! Can't he figure it out? Something. Anything. Mama! Mama! Mama!
So, potty training is the hot thing around here. It's actually going really well. It all started Sunday night when my dad asked me what I really wanted for Christmas and I said for the boys to be potty-trained. And he got up off his recliner, gathered up the boys, and gave them a talk about being big boys and they ignored him. Then he said if they started using the potty he would take them to Target and they could pick out whatever toy they wanted. They were pulling their pants down before they could even get to the potty. So Tuesday we started in earnest. I put them on the potty about once every hour in a half and they get a peanut M&M for trying, two for T-T, and three for a poop. So far just one poop (John did it and afterwards I was trying to get him to connect the feeling of it with the potty so he can anticipate it so I asked him if he could tell if it was coming or if it just happened and he just said, "It was puhfect!"), but lots of T-T! This does not mean that they have stopped T-T-ing when they're not on the potty, but at least when they are on the potty they are doing some, too. I wouldn't say we're close to being ready for big-boy pants, but I am happy with the boys' slow progress. Before my dad's "pep talk" they hardly ever even wanted to get on the potty. Now they are pretty much expecting it. They are the most patient to sit on the potty for long periods right before nap and bedtime. Go figure. And believe me, I am very proud. But it is not easy. And it's really all up to me. I don't expect Will to take a few days off from work just to help dole out the M&M's and change out pull-ups. But it is hard work. I put them on three separate potties all at once, which I know is chaotic. But the alternative of them taking turns would mean I would literally be sitting by the potty all day long! So what happens is I get each one settled on their favorite potty seat in the their favorite bathroom with books. And then I run back and forth like a doctor delivering three babies at once. "Momoe, I need help!" "Momoe, I did it!" "Momoe, there's a little bit!" "Momoe, my shirt's wet!" "Momoe, I dropped my book!" And back and forth I run tending and cheering and watching watching watching until, "Congratulations! You just T-T'd!" All over my bare feet, but close enough. Yesterday George called out he'd T-T'd "a little bit, Momoe." When I got in there his shirt, pants, the toilet seat, and about three square feet of bathroom floor were covered. "That's okay!" I say about a thousand times a day and when I'm not tending the potty princes I'm cleaning up the after-potty remains. Wet clothes, towels, M&M slobber, discarded pull-ups and diapers, and the celebratory drops EVERYWHERE. And then it starts all over again. But I think it's starting to work. We went to lunch at Chick-fil-A today (fast-food Friday!) and the boys were very very good. But after lunch in the play area John started crying and was very upset because he had a stinky diaper in public. I think that's a definite big-boy shift in his thinking. Then when we got home (Chick-fil-A is 30 seconds from the new house--yet another wonderful thing about our new house!), I was changing the diaper and thinking how I couldn't wait to not have to do this anymore and I realized I'd missed a spot with the wipes and I said, "I gotta get every nook and cranny!" And he said, "Nuts and candy! I like nuts and candy!"
In other funny almost-homonyms, James got out of the tub the other morning and said, "I'm cold, Momoe! I'm chilled out!" John was fussing about his pants (imagine) and he said, "I don't like these pants! They don't go! They don't go anywhere!"
Thanksgiving was wonderful. I would love to host it every year! Everyone was so appreciative of us having it here, but I think I got off pretty easy! Since we hosted everyone felt the least they could do was bring all the food. I hardly had to do anything! And since we'd never had it here, there was really no "way we've always done it," so no one had anything to worry about doing anything the right way or the way things "SHOULD" go. So everyone just sat back and had a good time. I really loved it. James--ever the traditionalist even at such a young age--requested pumpkin pie. So we had that among a thousand other yummy things. So many people and things to be thankful for all in one place. I loved it!
So the boys have been quite the handful but fun at times, too. They are very into playing firemen right now and the same sleeper sofa is the fire truck. George's job is spreading the alarm--he runs around the house yelling, "Fi-yuh! Fi-yuh! Fi-yuh!" James likes to alert all of the firemen on the pretend walkie-talkie and John walks around swinging his big plastic fire axe which is as close to a weapon as I've ever let him have, and he uses it as his knight sword, branch cutter, tree chopper, and "Peter Pan Dagger." James has been a very loyal Gator fan and was very excited last weekend when the Gators beat the Florida State "Simonimaniks". And yesterday he asked me to listen to him play his "harmononica."
So all is well here after all. And tonight we get to celebrate celebrating. I cannot wait! Happy weekend. Happy celebrating! I'll write again when I can. It feels good to get it all out, and those of you who are still reading are such good friends to me. Thank you!
|
|
|
