Potty Humor

Last night we had a brand new parenting experience.  One would think that five years and two children in, we might have exhausted the opportunity for poop-based new experiences, but I assure you; No.

The family went for a chiropractic visit that was scheduled for the children's bedtime.  Not ideal, but necessary.  We arrived to a packed waiting room and many families there for family visits so the kid's area was filled with smalls.  And soon, filled with smells.  One of whom came to find us loudly announcing "Imaydapoop!"  Mr. and I looked at each other doing a non-verbal rock-paper-scissors, which he generously let me win.  At the same moment we realized the diaper bag was still on the counter at home.  (Insert fecal expletive.)

The Mr. went off with the odoriferous child to try to salvage the diaper currently in-use.  A LONG time passes and he arrives looking quite red in the face and barely holding back laughter  and/or tears.  I start to ask and he says "Not now.", still barely containing himself.    Little One loudly announces to the entire toy room "Imaydapoop and Daddy fush it day-own."  I sneak a look at my fuschia-faced husband.  He is shaking with silent laughter.  "He 'tuffed toyet paper in ma diaper."

So the back story goes something like this.  Mr., at 6'6", took the Little One to the closet size bathroom and opened the diaper to discover there was no redemption.    In the small space he managed to clean the child, but was left with a toddler who is not "housebroken" and one used diaper.  Using his best MacGyver skills he washed the (disposable) diaper.  It immediately became the size of  Macy's parade balloon.  Upon wringing it out, (many, many times), he reupholstered it with toilet paper and paper towels, strapped it back on and tried to reenter the waiting area with some discretion.  Not so for the toddler with a parade float on her rump.  Everyone heard about it.

You know that laughter you tried to contain in high school when you had in inside joke with a friend?  Throughout the visit I couldn't make eye contact with the Mr. without one of us bursting into red-faced hysteria.  I'm sure the staff thought we were self-medicating, but honestly, it was the best night of the week.  So for those of you who have said at the end of a long, stressful week, "I don't need anymore of this  (fecal expletive)!", you might be wrong.  Maybe it is exactly what you need.  An hour of giggling later, we all felt better. 

Well, except the swampy-pantsed Little One.  But she has a good story for her therapist someday.   Throw some change in the therapy jar!

Free Therapy

Thank you for being my free therapy today. 

Admission:  I am at that stage of parenting where there are more challenges than not and more questions than answers.  In my house, we are on both ends of the toddler/preschool span; one turning two in a month and one almost five.  It all feels so terribly big and important; each decision is fraught with uncertainty.  I am stuck in a cycle of not being able to see the forest for the trees.

Parenting is not for the faint of heart.   I am humbled daily.  

I am lucky enough to be surrounded by a cadre of strong parents who are at every different stage of parenting.  I cannot recommend highly enough having a cocktail of parenting ingredients that looks something like the following:

·         A sprinkle of new parents to remind you why you got into this game in the first place and to give you a laugh over where you yourself have been.

·         A dash of parents in the same stage of parenting.  Misery loves company.  They are in the same foxhole and sometimes give you the one piece of advice you haven't yet tried.   And at the very least you can take turns driving each other home from asylum.

·         A handful of parents who are ahead of you.  These are your light at the end of the tunnel friends.  They can give you tried and true advice, tell you which parenting books to abandon and which are worth your precious little reading time, and remind you that it is a phase*.  They are also the friends who will bring their children over to play and entertain your children.  These friends are priceless.  Cultivate this friendship and tend it well.  (Something I am not always as diligent at as I need to be.)  Also, this is where the best  hand-me-downs come from.  The best stroller and the coolest winter jacket came from friends who have a child a year older than our oldest.  Her best party dress came from another friend blessed with two daughters.  Our oldest daughter looks on these bags of treasure as a year-long Christmas event.

·         At least one "airy-fairy" friend who can tell you that the child's behavior is caused by gravitational pull, tides, phase of the moon, barometric pressure, astrological sign, etc.  I'm not saying these things aren't all possible, rather that sometimes you desperately need to feel that the craziness stems from something that well and truly is out of your control.

·         A good dose of parents who have grown children to remind you that this is fleeting.    As aggravating and crazy-making as this stage may be, you will one day look back with nostalgia.  You will actually miss this day that can't end soon enough.  These parents also remind you that even children who resist toilet-training, turn up their nose at dinner, have tantrums and tease their siblings grow up to be productive members of society.   This friend helps to balance you out in moments of sheer desperation that it will ever turn out okay.

*Please note, nobody really knows what a phase is.  It sounds good and it is reassuring, but there is no time frame attached.  Nonetheless, the one thing about phases is that they do eventually end.  This part is true.  I swear.

Thank you to my friends who have been at my back with words of encouragement, liberal doses of humor and patience, and glasses of wine when they are needed. 

This wasn't in the handbook.

Miss 4 frequently asks me questions I can't answer.  My favorite was about two years ago when she fired off the following in rapid order, leaving me no time to answer; "Where do we go when we die?  Who is God?  Can I have chicken nuggets?"  I'll admit it, I let her have the nuggets.  But deep down, beyond that place that questioned the nutritional integrity of processed, compressed, chicken product, was this tiny flicker of fear that has been fanned into a roaring blaze over the last two years.  And it sounds something like the drums in a survivor tribal council ceremony, over which is the panicky thought of "Holy Crap.  They didn't teach me anything about this in school/at the hospital/ in that parenting book!" 

We have entered a phase of sassiness I am completely unprepared for.  In fact, it seems that Miss 4 asks me questions, for the sole purpose of being able to shake her head with pity and say with a slight amount of juvenile sarcasm, "nuh-uh!"  She will argue with me over anything.  And honestly, everything is negotiable in her mind.  Shoes?  Negotiable.  Dinner?  Negotiable.  Underwear?  Negotiable.  And she has a quick reason for why she wants or NEEDS to go around the imposed restriction etc.  Always.  I mean instantly at the ready.  At the drop of a hat.  She doesn't appear to think about it.  It's just there.  So, either she is already smarter than me, or she lies awake at night scripting these scenarios so that she'll be ready.

She has figured out how to outwit her little sister.  It pains me to watch her take her sister's trust and use it to her advantage.  I know that kids do it, and I know that olders trick the youngers.  I get it.  I'm an oldest and I'm sure I was equally evil and conniving.  But, the other day I watched Miss 4 eat the middle of an Oreo, stick the cookie sides together and sweetly offer to trade with her sister, who had barely made a dent in her cookie.  Trading is what we use to get a beloved toy back, or out of harm's way; a distraction that we taught Miss 4 for good, not evil.  I happened to be there that time, and intervened and expressed my displeasure, but I'm not sure my message was received the way I intended it. 

And this is the thing that will keep me awake.  Am I doing a good enough job with the moral education of my kids?  I can forgive the occasional nutritional slip-ups, the chipped fingernail polish I've been meaning to help her take off and haven't gotten to, the occasional snarly, uncombed hair.  How do I know that I'm raising them with heart and soul, goodness and intention?  Where is the rule-book on that little matter?  I don't have the answer...

Did you miss me?

About six weeks ago I had reconstructive surgery on my foot.  This meant a minimum of six weeks of being off my foot and at the mercy of those willing to care for a less-than-patient patient. 

It was both a blessing and a curse to be forced to step back and let someone else do those things that I firmly believed could only be done correctly by me.  (My husband will be the first to say we do it VERY differently, so this statement will not surprise him in any way.)

I learned:

• First and foremost, I don't like imposed growth opportunities.  I am not patient with slowing down and letting go.  In fact, some would say, I can't.
• My daughter who cannot hear me ask her to pick up her laundry and put it in the hamper, can hear me mutter under my breath and will repeat any criticism to the party in question.  Oops!  Another learning opportunity for me.
• "Making breakfast" is a very different thing to a Dad than to a Mom.  But, yes, in fact one can survive on toast and banana for six weeks.
• If my husband had to pack a suitcase for me without my assistance, he really has no idea what I wear on a daily basis.  This led to a few memorable fashion ensembles being presented to me without the slightest indication that they were jokes.
• My daughter will auto-correct daddy's fashion faux pas approximately 85% percent of the time.  This is not a bad percentage give her age.  However, we did learn the phrase "fashion refugee" during the time frame of Mama's recuperation.  (Refer to entry #2).

Perhaps one of the kindest and most humble moments in the six weeks came when my family got together to celebrate my mother's birthday.  I overheard my husband tell my father "I don't know how she gets it all done.  I didn't realize how much she does in a day." 

Our household is not completely traditional in its role assignment, but 90% of the time, if the lawn is mowed or the garbage taken out, it is done by the Mr., and 90% of the laundry, food prep, daily cleaning is done by Mama.  I'm sure there are millions of small details that go unnoticed by me in the chores Mr. takes on, and perhaps someday I will have the chance to be humbled by taking on his role as well.  Still, it was a silver lining in this LONG  recovery to know that he is far less likely to ask "What did you do all day?" when he comes home and finds the house in shambles and the kids dirty and clamoring for a sandwich and Mama having a bottle glass of wine and trying not to cry as dinner is still, STILL, not done!

Things my husband has learned:

• Kids will not tell you they are hungry until it is too late to feed them peacefully.  They are around the bend by the time they tell you they are hungry.
• Laundry piles up faster than you think it will.  Stay ahead of it.  You can't always wait until there is a full washer load of one color.  Sometimes a small/partial load, while not eco-friendly, will guarantee that the beloved blanket is dry by bedtime. 
• In relation to the above, if you are line-drying the blanket, HIDE IT BETWEEN OTHER CLOTHING, or buy earplugs and sedatives.  Give yourself time to guarantee that the little bugger is dry before naptime.  Trust me on this one.
• Do not start a non-negotiable request with "Do you want to...?"  You're sunk, pal.  Anything you say afterward is just more quicksand.
• We will be protecting Mama's foot like it is the Hope freakin' diamond.  There is no way any of us will survive another six-week stretch.

I do..

"Mama?  Do you remember when you married Dad?"
"Yes."
"How do you remember?"
"I just do.  It was a big day.  A big deal."
"Do you think Dad remembers?"
(insert adult punch-line here)  "I'm sure he does."
"What was I doing that day?"
"You weren't there.  You weren't born yet?"
(indignantly)  "Why didn't I get to go?"  (stomps off)

"I made this for you."

"It's you and Dad marrying."  (Clearly, Mom has been up all night based on her deep-sunken, completely dilated eyes.  Please note that Dad has also been in a recent fight as he is sporting a bloody nose.  I further offer that Mom is wearing a barely there slip-dress.  How chic!  Clearly no skirt was required that day.  Finally, shoe size has not been exaggerated for artistic effect on either party.  Sadly,....)

"That's beautiful Miss 4!  Look how happy we are!"

She scampers off and quietly works for another few minutes returning with the following:

"This is a better wedding.  See Little One and Miss 4 are there!" (I am clearly so overjoyed there is a balletic leap into my husband's mid-section,...or I am auditioning for the Matrix.  One of my children has succumbed to exhaustion, but happily, while the other stands by on one very, very long foot, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  Clearly this is a happy day.  Veil, askew I gaze vapidly into the future, while my husband stares vacantly into space.  Actually, maybe this is a picture of parents with young children.   Dazed and glazed parents...child underfoot...sibling grinning mysteriously...Hmmmm.)

And before I can respond, she runs away and returns with the final episode of the trilogy:

"This is when we were jellyfish."   Gone is my jaunty leap, my fluttering veil and lithe figure.  Now I am a many-appendaged child-minder.  However, note that I am still happy.  I gaze lovingly at my tiny jellies.  I may be pulled in many directions, propelled by the ebb and flow of life around me, but it is okay.

"Do you like being my Jellyfish Mama?"

I do.  Unequivocally, I do.

La-La-La...I still hear you!

When I was a child, my sister and I could not chew gum or eat potato chips in the car because the sound would drive one of my parents right out of their tree.  It was one of the childhood moments that both mystified me and later became part of my list of things I would NEVER say as a parent.  How can anyone care THAT MUCH about a small noise I wondered?

Today I am humbled by the restraint it must have taken for said parent not to open the car door and leave us perched on the guardrails for the next available circus recruiter. 

For today, my oldest has followed me from room to room clicking her tongue, hissing, and singing in the vibrato soprano known especially to four year old girls for no fewer than two hours.  When this concert ended, the ghostly wailings and moanings began.  At the end of this round, we were presented with an operatic rendition of "I'm starving and I need a peanut butter sandwich".  (It closed to mixed reviews.)

It is taking everything I have not to scream and pull hair, (mine or anyone else's).   This is the kind of moment when I think I might be slightly too crazy to be a parent.    When I finally broke and snapped between clenched teeth, "Please go and sing somewhere else.  Away from me.  Away!"  She left the room singing in vibrato "Somewhere else, somewhere else, somewhere else."    I counted 32 repetitions before she moved on to random beatbox noises.

Are you freakin' kidding me?!?  I may not survive this.

Now that I have used my self-imposed time-out to fly the parenting distress flag, I need to go and be a Mama again. 

One with earplugs.

Just one more thing...

Tonight I spent the dinner hour with my parents, sister and her family, and my grandfather. 

It was humbling. 

Quite often I forget what it is all about.   Quite often I get lost in the "don't haves" and "can't do its" of my current moment in time.  So let me frame my evening for you with the following facts.

First, both children had napped, and were clean and smiling.  Second, my grandfather and I see each other every few weeks, but up until last year lived on the same plot of land, separated by a driveway.  Third, my grandfather has dementia and it is following the usual course.

 My youngest came out of the car seat and wrapped her arms around my father in a hug that lasted minutes.  My grandfather was happy to see all of us and seemed especially happy to get cuddles from his great grandchildren.  My oldest child was thrilled to be going to play with her "big cousin" and let out a shriek of joy when she saw him. The kids played nicely together, with the big taking care of the small, etc.

During dinner, my children ran, tipped things over, spilled, and did nearly everything but eat.  Just as my patience was about to wear thin to the point of snapping.  My grandfather looked at me and said "You've been blessed.  You have two beautiful and happy girls."   And you know what?  He's right. 

I am blessed to have them in my life.  I am blessed to have time with them that allows us to get under each other's skin.  I am blessed to have messes to clean up and teeth to brush and laundry to wash.  All of it means we are family.  We are living.  We are living together as a family.  It isn't always pretty, but it is a blessing.

And just one more thing, as we prepared to leave, my youngest climbed into her great grandpa's lap and leaned into his chest and began singing.  For a moment, I was able to see my grandfather as he was when I was a child; A mountain of a man who felt like the safest place for a child to rest.  Someone who would guard and guide me, protect and prepare me, and ultimately continue to teach me so much about life in very few words.  

I have been blessed.