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The one where Vince forgets about the potty

Putting potty training on the back burner, Vince turns his energy to something more practical...

Some days I fear I will literally drown in urine and feces. And by some days I mean yesterday.

I haven’t talked about potty training in a while, mostly because things are going like clockwork. (Almost) everything is ending up in the potty where it should and not in anybody’s underwear.

From time to time, we get these minor incidents. Yesterday, we just had a series of major incidents. Just strung together, like pearls. I think if I imagine it to be a beautiful thing, it will be. Or, at least by imagining it as anything other than what it is, it softens the blow of awfulness.

“Mummy, I have to do a poo”, Vince announced rather loudly while I was in the middle of an empty post office, engaged in a transaction involving a parcel. All the staff politely ignored this statement, I paid and we went straight to a nearby gas station to use the potty.

It was here that I discovered the event that needed to take place in the potty had, in fact, already taken place. And so, in what apparently was the most revolting gas station bathroom ever, I cleaned poo out of underwear and slid a new pair on Vince’s little bottom. I don’t even know when I put a spare pair in my handbag, but thank god for them.

This event out of the way, we proceeded on to IKEA. Vince went potty 3 times in a time-span of about 15 minutes. I blame the Gatorade. I admit it is rather frustrating to start shopping 3 times and then have to quickly stop and rush to find a potty. And at IKEA there is one on each floor.And we were near neither. So each time, there was a wee bit of overflow. Nothing major, all part of the territory.

Since we weren’t planning on being there for long, I let it slide. I know, I know. Just don’t even say it. 10 minutes later, we were heading back to our side of town with a short trip to the grocery store planned. And after scoring a sweet parking spot, I swung around to unbuckle V and encountered the wettest wet pants ever. And then I swung back around into the drivers seat and headed home to sort that all out.

“Where do we go poo and pee?”, asked Mummy.

“In the POTTY!!!”, shouted Vince, in a jolly kind of manner.

“Do we go peepee in our underwear?”, asked Mummy.

“NOOOOO!! That’s for babies. I’m a big boy and I go pee and poo in the potty and get a lollipop”, Vince singsonged.

“Um, yes”, said Mummy, mentally planning to get more lollipops.

And so, after all of this peeing and pooing all over Orlando, finally it all came to an end. I feel like we have entered a period of regression this past week. Vince has been unusually whiny, there’s been extra fighting and crying. Tons of really, really fake crying actually. Way more than usual. And now all of this, and yesterday was not the first incidence this week.

It must mean something big is coming, some crazy big development Vince-wise. Perhaps he’s going to start doing fractions? Or suddenly draw perfect circles?

Can’t shake the feeling that I should be scared….

xoxo a.m.

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Pregnant, need more pants

Probably I need these...

When Vince was born, I very carefully packed up my maternity clothes, knowing that we were eventually planning on having another child at some point. Smart, no? And something I am sure every lady planning on having another baby does. Maternity clothes are expensive and since you wear them for such a short point of time, it just is totally logical.

So in-between having Vince and now, we bought a townhouse and moved to the other side of town. My father-in-law built a rather complex series of shelves for our garage and we loaded them up with stuff. Where this stuff came from, I have no idea. 5 years ago when I moved to the States, Edward and I literally had nothing. In a way it’s kind of impressive that 2 people (and one small person) could accumulate so much ‘stuff’.

What I am trying to say is that I currently have one pair of maternity pants that I pretty much am wearing every day. And somewhere in my garage is a huge plastic tub full of maternity cloths. And where is the question. And I am pretty sure the answer is ‘that tub over there in the farthest, trickiest, most difficult area of the garage to get into’. Ya, I am pretty sure that’s where they are.

So since I have one pair of pants, the last 2 weeks I’ve pulled a new trick out of the bag. Dresses.

This trick comes with a partner called ‘pantyhose’ that literally can go ‘f’ itself. No bare legs rule at work made me do it.

It has maybe been 20 years since I’ve worn a pair of full length hose. And I accidentally bought control top. And I fell off the bed while trying to put them on.

Ahem.

Anyways, Vince was rather shocked. “Mummy!! You’re a girl!” It’s not like he hasn’t seen me wear one before. I often wear them on the weekends, it’s a lot more comfortable than pants or capris. You know, since I live in Florida.

Today I did it again. This time Vince didn’t even spare me a glance. Edward told me I looked nice. And everyone at work said “Oh! You have legs!!”

And my panty hose rolled down every five minutes to rest under my belly and I left it there. And then at about 3:30, while on one of my many trips to the bathroom, I ripped them yanking them up. And did it so well that they were completely unwearable and had to be (yay!) removed and thrown out.

Are there maternity pantyhose? I don’t even know. Probably I should though… And where the hell is that box of maternity clothes? I’m going to force Edward to sort that out this weekend. I need more pants. Need pants.

Gah. And now I have no pantyhose, since I ripped my one pair. How I am even a grownup, I am not sure. Shouldn’t I at least have a few pairs on stand-by?Or something else womanly and grownup-like??

Right…. Sure I should. Let me get right on it…

xoxo a.m.

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Keeping secrets (not very well)

Viking bite their own toenails? Surely not!

Did you know that three-year-olds keep secrets?

I did not. They are three, after all. What could possibly be going on in their life that they wouldn’t tell you about? Or that you wouldn’t know? I’m not sure about you, but Vince tells me EVERYTHING, even things I maybe didn’t want to hear…

When he has to pee, how big his poop is, whom he played with both in and outside preschool. Did you know that Vince has inside and outside friends? Or so he told me… “Abby’s my inside friend, but I play with Gabriel outside”. Who the hell is Gabriel is what I want to know?? He’s been a hot topic of conversation for the last week and a half, only as an ‘outside friend’ though.

Anyways, my point is that every second of his life is an open book that he is reading out-loud non-stop.

So how did I miss that he bites his toenails?

His TOENAILS. He bites them. With his teeth.

And the reason I know this is last weekend, Vince came whining out of his room complaining of an owie on his toe. Since he had only been up for a short time, I asked him what happened thinking he had maybe stubbed his toe of something like that.

“I just was biting my toenails and then I got an owie”.

“Oh.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Because, frankly, that was not really the answer I was expecting. And I might have made a shocked face. Ok, I DID make a shocked face. And then a gross kind of face.

“Honey, did you bite your toes?”

“Mummy, I just bite them a little.”

“Don’t bite your toenails, its yucky.”

I don’t even know when this started. I mean, I do cut his nails. Honestly!

I guess he took matters into his own hands. It makes me wonder what other things are going on behind my back. And then it makes me worry just a little at where this could be leading…

What could be next? Nail biting? Late night 2% milk sessions in the kitchen? Unhitching the safety gate at the top of the stairs and sneaking down for some elicit Mickey Mouse marathons? Ack!

And this is just the pre-school bad behavior. Once he hits elementary, I bet he’ll go big time. Collecting bellybutton lint in little jars, hoarding his fingernail clippings, shaving all his body hair and bagging it up… (this is what I equate toenail biting with).

Ugh. Am I blowing this out of proportion? Naw… I can tell you this though, I will be monitoring those nails like they’re a juvenile delinquent posse. For Reals. (And I will also stop saying ‘for reals’ right now. For reals reals.)

xoxo and sweet toenail biting dreams…

a.m.

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Garden date with the Toddler

“I am not steak! You can’t just order me!”, Melanie Griffin shouted at one of the Baldwin brothers.

Yes, it’s Saturday night, Edward is working and I am watching Working Girl on Netflix because I clearly have impeccable taste in movies. I should add that I started watching it last weekend and am finishing it as we speak.

It’s ok, this much awesome is hard for anyone to handle…

So I cut all my hair off, went to V’s soccer game (it was a 50/50 game day for him), took him to the library, bought new plants, rearranged my garden, contemplated baking cookies but elected instead to put Vince to bed early. Much better plan.

Tomorrow I am going to head to Leu Gardens with the Little Man. For you locals, did you know that the Gardens are celebrating it’s 50th birthday and are offering free admission on your birthday for the rest of the year? I kinda wish I had known about this in July. When it was my birthday.

Even if it isn’t your birthday, it’s still only $7 for adults and $2 for children (through to grades 12). Not too shabby and, lets face it, a lovely way to spend time in Orlando… I haven’t been since Edward and I were scouting wedding locations in 2004, post-hurricane. I’m rather excited.

And I’m taking the camera. Good times! Check out the gardens here and as the weather cools down, hit them up! A great place to take the toddler for a chilled out stroll…

 

xoxo a.m.

 

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Nasal sprays and 3 year olds or My morning plans…

I got a little bit of extra Vince time today. Now while the reason wasn’t the best, the time was pretty darn great.

We hit up the allergist today and had a combo routine follow-up along with some skin testing for pollens and molds.  Vince has had chronic sinus issues ever since he was a wee guy. And in those early days, he was allergic to wheat and peanuts too. He is always somewhere in the ‘cycle of sick’. Good times. Lots of tissue.

Well, the skin testing didn’t really reveal anything. And he is WAY too young for intradermals. It seems as though his symptoms wax and wane with the pollen season and so we are throwing in a nasal spray to see how that works.

I am quite curious as to how a three year old and nasal spray are going to work together. Hopefully, the two will skip hand-in-hand merrily down the street instead going totally ‘fight-club’ on each others asses. Or bumbums.

I will find out tomorrow morning when we use it for the first time! Oh how fun!

I’ve got all sorts of fun things in the works for Vince and I in the upcoming weeks. Edward is working too much and we do our best to get out of his hair to give him some space to he can get stuff done.

Upcoming adventures are going to include Leu Gardens and OMA (Orlando Museum of Art). I have my eyes on a few other art museums in the vicinity as well.

For my locals, did you know that OMA has a preschool art program with monthly, interactive, awesome events to sign up for.

It desperately makes me wish I could call out sick so Vince and I could hit it up, but alas… I so very much want to attend next months ‘Fall Colours of Vincent Van Gogh’.

Gah. Jealous.

So if you have Fridays off, or don’t work and want something to do with the wee ones, please go. For my sake.

Check out OMA here. We will be heading there soon, it’s never too early to get your children involved in the Arts…

xoxo a.m.

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Sometimes pregnancy sucks

Feeling like a bit of a slacker in the writing department over here and I am  completely blaming pregnancy on it. Pregnancy is a bitch.

This was an extremely planned baby. I had a time frame that I was looking for, conception-wise, in order to maximize my extremely crappy maternity leave and Edward’s summer vacation. Ideally, baby #2 would not enter daycare until they were 6 months old. Good plan, eh?

I factored in roughly how long it took me to get pregnant with Vince and we proceeded accordingly. Now the funny thing about hoping to be pregnant, is that once you are you start to wonder things  like ‘Wait. What was I thinking again?’ But that could be the hormones talking…

It’s something you want, want, want, want, want. And then suddenly, when you get it, and you start feeling like total toilet bowl… Well, it’s not that you regret it, more like you think ‘Oh good lord, what did I get myself into!’.

This second pregnancy is a total bitch. One that comes to work with a bad attitude and perfume that gives you a headache.

I’ve had a lot of headaches. And a lot of nausea. A LOT. More than I thought possible. I’ve been popping the (pregnancy sanctioned) pain-pills like they are going out of style. Which they better not be, since I’m getting low and need more soon.

Essentially that is what’s been going on down here in Orlando. Me, wallowing in misery, thinking things like “God, it’s probably a girl. And she’s sucking me dry.”

Oh, and Vince has been playing soccer. The last few practices were disastrous and the first game was AWFUL. Somehow though, things came around this past Saturday. He was bribed within an inch of his life by everyone (Mummy, Daddy, Coach) and it seemed to have no effect.

But something awesome happened out on the field. He got it. He just got it. And suddenly he was running. And kicking. And facing the wrong direction and running. But he wasn’t holding on to his coaches hand, or being carried around the field on someone’s hip. Or crying. Or screaming for me. Or climbing trees to get away from the field. Or many other things like that. That were all awful.

He was playing soccer and man was he having fun! And afterwards, during snacktime, he got a little trophy for being ‘The most improved player’. He was so proud. He kept asking me the rest of the day “Mummy, I kicked the ball. Are you so proud of me?”

Not only that, but he actually asked to go and have his hair cut. How ridiculous is that!

So here we are, post-soccer win and 16 1/2 weeks pregnant. Slightly less headachey, feeling a little round. And apparently today, a little less tolerant of bullshit than I thought. But don’t worry! I won’t tell you! My lack of filter is never a good thing, but even worse when I am pregnant, hormonal and annoyed.

I’ll keep you posted… 😉

xoxo a.m.

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Sports and Art, Or how I am not a Soccer Mom

Yesterday heralded two big events in Vince’s young life. His very first soccer game and his very first exposure to ‘The Arts’. And for his pregnant Mummy? Perhaps one of the most exhausting days of my life. Including that time when I gave birth. This trumps that…

Soccer

Let’s start with what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Well, I guess the usual things that parents think when they sign their kids up for this kind of stuff. “Learning organized sports, interaction with other children, teamwork, exercise, etc” with the added bonus that we will meet some more parents in the neighbourhood (E and I are notoriously bad at that.), so total bonus.

The first practice was a wee bit of a disaster, but ended up ok. Second practice was this past Wednesday and was cut short by torrential downpour. Apparently it was more successful than the first one. Vince participated in group exercise and kicked the ball. Hurray! So based on this, I had high (perhaps too high) hopes for Saturday mornings first game.

And let me add it was everyone’s first game, all ten million different teams ranging from 3 to 16 years old. And their parents, chairs, coolers, dogs and siblings. It was like a circus. It was like being inducted into a whole new world. And Vince hated every single thing about it, including his new team shirt that we had to stuff him in while he flailed about and screamed that he wanted to go home. No going home for you, my dear!! We are going to force you to participate even if the coach has to carry you around!! Which she did!! You know, when she wasn’t forcing his leg to kick something with her hands.

At the 40 minute mark, he had kicked the ball twice and *gasp* ran unaided on the field. But stopped when he saw us watching. And then started crying again.

And then, thankfully, it was all over. And we went and got donuts. I am positive it will get better with time. It was overwhelming for me too, so I can just imagine what he thought.

The Arts

Post-donut and a clean change of clothes, Vince and I headed out on our adventure. On my numerous trips through Winter Park, I had noticed a very innocuous sign mentioning ‘museum’, once that was in such an odd place that it was easy to overlook. Especially if you drove past it 2 times a day on a really busy road.

So I checked it out online and  it sounded amazing. 3 acres of gardens full of sculptures, mostly those of the artist himself and some of other artists. On the edge of a lake, surrounded by old gorgeous houses.

OK, I thought, this might be the perfect place to take Vince. I’ve been wanting to start taking him places that were less ‘Disneyfied’ and more full of potential of even greater wonder and discovery. In a less commercial sort of way.

It was beautiful. We did not tour the historic home of the artist because I am not a crazy person. Vince only kind of destroyed one display in the gift shop, but in my defense it was left open and was full of little shiny trinkets.

“He didn’t touch anything, did he??”, asked the very earnest young woman manning the counter.

“No,” I immediately lied, “Just one of the display signs.” She doesn’t need to know that he squeezed that piece of jewelry, probably would give her a heart attack.

And then we hurried out of the gift shop and went into the gardens for a little wander. It was the type of place that had wild, lush gardens that immediately make you think you could do the same to your backyard with minimal effort. But in reality, it would take an army of gardeners. Statuary was perfectly placed amidst the green. The bamboo forest rustled invitingly. The lake gleamed where the garden ran into it. It was heavenly.

Vince tramped around with his stuffed Clifford dog, which added such a delightful element of whimsy to the whole scene that I laughed out-loud repeatedly…

We were only there for about 20 minutes, just about the right length of time for a three-year-old.

As we walked out to the parking lot, Vince announced “Mummy, that was a very nice walk.”

If you are living local and would like a very nice walk with your little ones, check out the Polasek Museum on Aloma (polasek.org). A truely lovely experience…

xoxo night night my lovlies

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Avec holy terror

This past Tuesday morning brought a new skill of Vince’s to light. A previously unknown skill. A skill that was observed by the majority of the mothers and fathers going to and fro from his preschool parking lot.

We pulled in and parked. I swung around and opened his door, unbuckled him and he scrambled for the seat next to him and then crawled up on the trunk cover of my hatchback. And there he stayed, little giggle-snorts occasionally emerging from him. Threats were useless. Bribes were also completely useless.

Finally, I shut the door, left him there and walked over to the garbage can by the front door of the school, hoping perhaps that this would encourage him to MOVE HIS BUTT.

The only reaction I got was from another mom who walked closer to my car for a better look and then remarked “Well, that’s a new one.”

Oh, well I am SO glad that we were able to teach you something… And that was totally sincere. Honestly.

A few minutes later, he apparently got bored and we were able to got to school and I was able to go to work.

He attempted to do it again on Wednesday and Thursday. I managed to intercept and derail all plans for those 2 days.

Saturday he was angelic. All day. A perfect angel. I spoiled him rotten as a result with a popcorn/movie party on Mummy and Daddy’s big bed and we watched Rio. Ok, I lied. There was an incident or two. But compared to the day as a whole, angelic.

Today? I would consider his behavior The Opposite of yesterday. Mainly because he climbed up on the hatchback cover twice. And twice I had to wait him out. Yup, I just sit and ignore him and wait for him to stop. It may take some time, but the second he is down I let him know exactly what his punishment will be… (I took his stuffed Angry Bird away… I’m pretty sure he could have cared less).

The second time he did it (and might I add he learned how to lock his door from the inside too?) we hit the big time. Once I was done waiting him out, that is… Early bedtime was promised most fiercely. And then double promised later when Vince did a runner down the sidewalk and disappeared from view while we were walking the dog. And didn’t come back. Forcing me to run with bags of poo, no bra and barefoot down the sidewalk to frog-march him back to the house.

Vince can now say the following: “I no run away because da car can come and HIT me! And the Man can come and take me away. Right Mummy??”

Yes, that’s right. More or less. Or what ever I can come up with.

Oh well, c’est la vie avec toddler, no??

xoxo a.m.

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How I was not attacked by a zombie (or my trip to the dermatologist part deux)

After an eventful weekend of school supply shopping and lying on the couch, Monday arrived with a bit of a whimper on my part.

I unwisely stayed up to watch True Blood last night and upon hitting the hay, had one of those really awful nights of sleep. The kind where you are, indeed, asleep but at the same time you are awake. It’s that really uneasy sleep where you are right on edge, where you wake up feeling kind of dirty as if you need to immediately take a shower to clean the sleep off of you.

Now whether this was the product of a botched nap earlier in the day, that greasy pizza I had for dinner (why? why!!!) or the impending trip to the dermatologist on Monday afternoon, I will never know.

Regardless, I slept like shit and when I woke up it was Monday.

Ugh.

AND I had to go to the dermatologist. Yuck.

Todays big trip was for stitch removal of the first site and then removal of the second site, which just so happens to be a few inches below my collar bone.

The dermatologist I go to in Orlando is lovely and also runs a spa in conjunction with her dermatology practice. As a result, I was comfortably reclined on a chair, pillow tucked under my head while classical music softly piped in the background.

I was almost relaxed. And then they stuck some needles in me. And then they cut part of me out. Irregardless of the fact that I felt nothing, I sure smelled it. Because the area had to be cauterised post-removal and pre-stitches.

And a flashback ensued….

Tell me, oh children of the seventies, do you remember those Elementary school assemblies where we all sat so politely while we were lectured about not touching live wires? And then to really cement the lesson, an adult would then proceed to electrocute a hot dog? The smell that wafted through the gym when you were 6 is what I smelled like this afternoon…

I almost felt like the live wire act was going to be followed a lecture on not touching unexploded bombs. Remember? The 80’s were some freaky shit.

Anyways, to my great disappointment the bandage I received was not as large as the one from the weeks previous. Unfortunately I am unable to pretend that I was bitten by a shark or attacked by zombies.

How disappointing…

Humor me??

xoxo a.m.

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I can roar like a dragon

I think this is what my face looked like this morning...

Or so I found out this morning on my way to my in-laws house. We headed over there for some swimming and there was a rumor floating around that they would babysit while Edward and I went to the movies.

E headed off first, we followed a few minutes later.

I threw in a cd, some nice chill Sarah Harmer (that’s ‘hippy crap’ to you Fran) and it all went down hill from there.

My son disapproved of my music choice

“I no like this, I want the Danger Danger song. Mummy! I want my song! I no like this, I don’t want to listen to it. I want MY MUSIC! TURN IT OFF MUMMY!” etc etc etc

And this was combined with tears, flailing and the whiniest voice you have ever heard. IN YOUR LIFE. Unless you too have a three-year old, then you know exactly what I am talking about.

I, apparently, I left my patience on the couch. And also, one can only listen to ‘Danger Danger, High Voltage by Electric Six’ so many times before losing your damn mind.

This roar erupted out of me that actually was rather frightening. Vince must have agreed because he paused in mid-whine and burst into actual real tears, as opposed to the fake ones previous. Ugh.  I hate it when things like this happen, but sometimes they just do.

3 seconds later, we both moved on. I calmed down, V stopped crying and we hit the expressway to Sassy and Pop-Pop’s.

Once we arrived, I told V it was time to go to the bathroom.

“No, I just did it already.” Oh really. Reeeaaaallllyyy. And nope, you didn’t. Well, you did, but it was 4 hours ago. You are not a camel. So off we went to the potty amid many protestations of “I did it already” and “I don’t have to”.

I shut the door and locked it. Edwards parents weren’t home yet, but I had to go too and I always lock the door. Mistake number one, clearly.

“You don’t lock da door! YOU DON”T LOCK IT!!”

(I’m sitting on the potty)

“I don’t want to go potty!!!!!!! I don’t have to!!!!

(The door is unlocked. Did I mention I was sitting on the potty?)

“I DON”T WANT TO!!!!”

And then he opened the door. I roared just one word “OUT” and he ran.

Edward, from the other room, “Jame? What on earth is going on in there?”

*sigh* Mummy is losing her damn mind.

And then 3 seconds later, Vince announced “I wanna go potty with Daddy”. And off they went, to the potty on the other side of the house. And they returned successful, V proclaiming “Mummy! I did a super monster pee!”

And then V happily went off with his Grandparents and Edward and I went and saw Captain America.

There is, it seems, an awful lot of arguing going on in our house. Vince disapproves of pretty much everything we do and breaks out his multiple not-so-secret weapons of whining, tears and full on fits. I am clearly learning how to handle this. And it seems that I am mostly handling it badly.

Vince has been three for 6 weeks. Geez-us is this way worse than  2.

I’ll get the hang of it eventually, probably when he turns 4…

xoxo a.m.

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