Monday Recap (now with more urine!)

Just about 2 more weeks left before I return to work and I have to admit that after Monday, right around 8:30 in the morning, I was positively longing for it. Mostly because there were people there that I could effectively communicate with. Most of the time, that is. And even if I did have to deal with cranky patients all day, surely that would be better than what I had just gone through.

I’m sure you are curious. Let me just say it involves urine. And a lot of it. If you aren’t that interested in reading about pee then I suggest you stop now. Because pretty much that’s what this whole post is about…

My son is a bit of a handful, to say the least. And upon reflection, that really might be all boys/girls/children right on the cusp of 4. I am pretty sure I’ve talked about this before, sorry if it’s boring. But I know you parents out there with children around this age are sympathizing. And drinking.

Vince has A LOT of energy. And A LOT of drama. And a NEW BABY SISTER. And a MUMMY WHO NEEDS MORE SLEEP. And I do my very best to keep him entertained and engaged as the days pass. We do some crafts, some scissor skills things, practice tracing letters and numbers. We do regular outings to the library and used book stores. We do all sorts of stuff.

So I figured Monday was going to be something busy. You know, because I plan Monday on Monday morning. Except I woke up exhausted and could barely get out of bed. What was that all about? I have no idea. Somehow I managed to bribe Vince to snuggling in my bed and watching Phineas and Ferb while Mummy slept. And then, once I was done that, take a shower. And it while I was taking that illicit shower that it began.

Revenge pee

Things to Google:

Revenge Pee

And, of course, it is my son that leads me to Google things like this. The majority of knowledge I have gained from my son in the last 3 years is urine and feces related. Google is my best friend. It has helped me learn  lots of things, most of which are regarding how to remove odors and stains from various fabric-type materials.

For the last 3 weeks or so, a particular pattern has been developing. One which has, honestly, been rather hard to figure out. Periodically V will just pee. A sort of no-warning situation. Often times it’s as a result of a stressful situation, or a situation he just doesn’t approve of. Or, mostly, something he disapproves of.

Or we’d fight, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Through his shorts. Or, I’d say no, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Sometimes he’d just run off to a corner of the livingroom, pretend to play with his toys and then announce “Mummy. I peed. Right der.”

*sigh*

But finally I made the connection. Revenge pee. Dude.

Telling one of my friends about my theory, she thought “Did you see if there is anything online? Probably there is a Mum that has dealt with it already…”

Well, I did learn a whole bunch of interesting stuff about people who take revenge on other people by peeing on their stuff. Animals too. Not peeing on animals, I mean. Just animals that revenge pee. That’s what you get when you Google ‘revenge pee’.

When, however, you Google ‘Children pee’ you get all sorts of shizzle. Info that, frankly, I have no interest in really reading as I am living the dream and am pretty sure that all Mum’s are doing the same things that I am. There honestly is not that many actual options.

Comfort (if it was indeed an accident) or reassure.

Obviously clean up is a MAJOR part of the operation.

As of yet, there is no punishment. It is so a total ‘f-you Mummy, let me have my own way!!’ that I pretty much cannot have any real reaction. Maybe an eyebrow raise. Oh, and a Mummy-face. One that I am still perfecting as it has a 50-50 response rate.

Today was a good day though. No revenge peeing. Plus V actively asking to use the potty. AND he pooped. TWICE. ON the potty.

Despite my total exhaustion and low levels of everything (Family health issues that I will not be discussing, except to say that there are some. They make me sad. And I am trying very hard to be adult about them), V filled that potty the m-f-ing up.

Which, I admit, in hind-sight type-wise sounds a little gross, but for real. We were super high-fiving each other and I did not have to clean up any poo from any non-toilet surface today.

Now I have totally lost my train of thought. Pretty sure it’s about pee. Probably poo too. It is my life, after all.

Anyways, any tips on surviving revenge peeing?

xoxo a.m.

Clan of the Cave Bears (and Urine)

Today was, well, full of urine. A lot more than I thought it was going to be.

There is a large amount of potty training going on over here, but it is A) Not easy, B) those things they say to throw in the potty for aiming purposes are USELESS and C) possibly easier with girls.

Not that I will admit it. Since I don’t have one. But. There are all those other factors of ‘aiming’, ‘standing’ and then an added genetic factor of ‘stubborn’.

Is it? Easier, I mean? I have heard too many conflicting stories about this type of garbage.

Today had a lot of incidences. Well, really it was this whole weekend. Vince was, apparently, feeling very non-cooperative.

Yesterday he told me while I was watering the plants:

“Mummy! I peepee’d!!!”

“Oh? Great.” (GREAT. That was a sarcastic ‘great’ by the way)

We were outside, on the front porch. Vince looked rather nonchalant. There was a slightly yellow puddle underneath him on our white-painted front porch, one that was encroaching on the shoes he’d dropped and heading slowly for the next step.

And honestly? All I could think of was “Well, that’s typical”.

Upstairs we went to clean up, he didn’t even care. And it was rather slapshot for the rest of the day.

And today was the same. Pee in your car, Mummy? Sure!! Why not!! Make you thank all that is Holy that you had enough Clan of the Cave Bear foresight to bring a spare set of pants?

Genius!!

Ayla-style, that is!

Oh Urine. I will not let you be my master. I will dominate you. Not in a gross kind of way, you sickos. SICKOS!

Just, you know, hoping for less pee in my life…

Potty-ness

As life centers around the bowl these days, it’s only fair to share with everyone. I am sure Vince will appreciate it when he is older. Or when he can read.

This week has been a week of underwear. As in, Vince is going to and from school in underwear! Wow! Huzzah! Someone can pee in the potty all by themselYes!

Not that this means there are no accidents. As there seem to be many and they are all gross and are all situated around me, post-work and usually when Edward is otherwise occupied. With his ipad. Bastard.

Last week, when we were doing a ‘dry-run’, success was in the works until we hit what I would call a road block, but perhaps other people would call ‘a shower of poo’.

As in, he told me he had to poo. He poo’d. We could ONLY go upstairs to sort out this mess, and with every step he took, there was a shower ‘nuggets. and this was something I didn’t notice right away.

Vince pointed it out for me. “Mummy. Ders poo. Right der.”

“There is?!?!”

“Yes. Der is.” “Where?” “Mummy!!!! Poo right der!” (The floors are dark wood)

“Where honey?” “MUMMY! Right der!!!!!”

And lo and behold, there was. All over my livingroom floor. On the landing. And up the stairs.

“EDWARD!!!!!!! I need you to clean up poo!!!!”

“OK!!!!!!!”

Ok, so anyways, that was awful. And then it didn’t happen again until Tuesday.

“Mummy! I poo!”

Oh god. And he did. In his underwear. And then was so frantic to have his pants changed of it, that the poo splatted on the floor of the bathroom and down his leg. Wonderful.

“Hun!! Is there a problem?”, Eddie shouted from the living room.

And then, I literally super ray-gun laser-visioned through the wall and burned his face off.

And then it happened again. But this time, since I had seen a pattern, I thought I had an answer. Get someone on the potty asap. Because apparently, they do not poop at school, they save it for home and then *attack* poop the house.

So I went in attack mode. I tried to be preventative. Instead, I just caused an international incident.

*A soft whisper from E later: “I think you might have been a bit over-reactive”*

*Whisper back:”Like a nuclear reactor”*

And now I feel awful, hoping that I did not scar him for life. I think we are having poop issues. Boo!

xoxo

a.m. (please pray for me)

Stand-up

So over the course of the last few weeks, whilst I have otherwise been occupied by visitors, potty training has advanced rapidly. Most interesting.

Most interesting indeed. We have developed a bit of a routine which seems to be working well. Currently, V has 4 books to read on the potty. Usually each potty event is a lengthy one, requiring anywhere between 2 to 4 books. Sometimes with repeat reads on a particular favorite.

You also have to be completely naked. Well, not ‘you’, more like ‘him’. I remain fully clothed. So does Edward. There is a potty chart on the wall, smiley stickers on the counter and a little container of m&m’s. It’s a 3 pronged approach. I WILL get pee in the potty, even if it kills me.

Which it hasn’t! Hurray!!

We are currently averaging at least one pee on the potty per day. Miracle. He’s even poo’d on the potty too. Double miracle. Which is like a double rainbow…. a rare and awesome event.

Anyways, about a week and a half a new development arose. My Mum picked him up one day last month and come home with the news that Vince had done a ‘standup peepee’. Well, we were all in shock at hearing this news. I mean, A) where did he learn this and B) who taught him and C) where did he learn this?!

Honestly? Where did it come from! I’ve been doing 99% of the potty training. Ok, I’ve been doing %100 of the training. Edward was been ‘back-up’ and ‘support staff’ and sometimes ‘human resources’.

I’ve been teaching him to sit. But he has seen Daddy peepee a few times. And one of his potty books does have a picture of a baseball player doing a ‘standup peepee’.

So he’s self taught. Clearly a genius.

So when this miraculous event transpires at home, he usually has to be completely naked. He takes his little step stool over to the potty and puts it in front. Up he steps and then proceeds to balance himself by leaning forward with his hands on either the top of the toilet or holding on to the raised lid.

And then he simply leans forward.

Urine practically leaps out of his bladder and into the potty. Miracle!

Way more peeing going on then when he sits. WAY. It’s like a proper adult pee.

Hurray!! Huzzah!

“Mummy!! I need a paper towel!” (toilet paper), he shouted proudly at me, even though I was about 8 inches away from him.

I promptly tore off a piece of toilet paper and solemnly handed it to him. What he did next was not what I was expecting. He proceeded to lean down and wipe off the porcelain of the potty stating “Dis is icky. I clean it”.

Once clean, he proceeded to do what I had showed him to do with the toilet paper. Wipe.

Wipe! WIPE! Ack! As that little wad of tissue neared his ‘bits’ and I realized his intentions, I totally did a slow-mo leap towards his crotch (even though I was a foot away) and shouted “Nooooooooo…..!!!!!” in slow-mo as well.

I was too late. That paper dabbed at the bits and then was properly discarded in the potty. A sweet-faced smile proudly turned to me “Mummy! I did it!!!”

Ok, you sure did baby. You sure did.

I shudder thinking about the paper part, but thrill at the thought of him peeing on the potty. Who would have thought I would love urine so much?! Who would have thought toilets and I would be intimately involved?

Oh potty training, how I both love and loath you.

xoxo a.m.

 

Potty training? This site seems to have some tips and tricks for Mummies…

 

Bum-bum

Conversations with Vincent’s teachers:

And then a little back story so it all makes sense.

So this month started off a hard potty push. Did you know it was February? Well, it is and the potty storm starts now.

Yesterday I was instructed to bring more long pants, underwear and another pack of pull-ups. And to prepare myself for the fact that he will be in underwear only for half the day, to see how he does and to help make him aware of how it actually feels.

I haven’t had time to do that thing that Mummies with freetime do in magazines when they let their kids run naked and just pee freely so they can ‘feel’ it. Damn you Mums with free time!

So we are letting him start with a half day in underwear and then hopefully things will just go from there.

Which is where they were today. He was in diapers this morning and briefs this afternoon. Those briefs got soaked about 30 minutes before I picked him up and he wanted nothing to do with them. Or cleaning up.

“Ms Bellysol, my bum-bum get a wet. You change it? My bum-bum?” he told them.

“Your bum-bum?! Who told you it was your bum-bum?, said Ms Belloysol.

“My  Mummy told a me dis my bumbum,” he said solemnly.

And then his teachers apparently laughed at me. They had never heard that expression before. It made me feel very Canadian. Not that that is what we all go around saying but… well, isn’t it that what you call it when you are 2? In Canada?

Am I Robin Sparkling myself?

Anyways, V’s ‘bumbum’ got ‘a wet’, he got changed and then that was the end of day one of serious, hardcore, totally bad-ass potty training…

xoxo a.m.

Hurray for urine

Let me just say that my day was a huge poop. A giant turd. This does not, in any way, mean it was enjoyable or felt relieving.

Ugh. It was an awful day.

But then I picked up V. And man was he happy to see me.

“Dis MY Mummy,” he announced to his teachers that I see every day. I said ‘hi’, we chatted.

What followed with them was a huge conversation regarding potty-training and how it’s going to be super enforced as of February. Which is tomorrow, in case you were wondering. I packed a special pack of Thomas the Tank Engine underwear this evening and am thinking this might be the magic key.

In case you wanted to know more about my life, I will be doing a lot of laundry these next few months and will become immune to the smell of urine.

So buoyed by that chat with the teachers, we headed upstairs for a bath and some potty time. And we were on the potty for quite a while. We read two books about going potty. V told me repeatedly “Mummy!! I did it!!!” He did nothing. Nothing went in there, despite him telling me repeatedly that he ‘did it’. Whatever it was. Neither of those things were in there.

Imagine. V, naked, sitting on the potty. The tub full of bubbles next to us, just waiting.

Little legs kicking back and forth, he pointed to that part that I am expecting some pee action from and states rather solemnly “Mummy, dis my bum-bum”.

I burst out laughing. “No honey, that’s not your bum-bum. That’s your pee-pee. Hmm, no that’s your PENIS”.

“No Mummy, dats not my weenus, that’s my deek”.

And then? I did a huge double-take. Did he just say ‘dick’ like a two year old does? Is that what I heard? That’s honestly what I thought I heard.

He looked like he said something a bit naughty too. He giggled when saying it, and shot me a sly look. A sly look from V is like normal around here, but since it came with a potentially bad word… double suspicious.

I corrected him and told him it was his penis again. Which felt like just the weirdest word ever to say to a 2 1/2 year old. Any of those words are just weird. All of them are. I don’t ever want to have to say any of them to my child ever. Ack!!

Maybe I’ll tough up as I get older? Please say I will. PLEASE. Please…

xoxo a.m.

Well, this is embarressing…

We all know you would rather read about the vomit, poop and general embarrassment then, say, me. I like to sneak in a ‘high-five Jaime’ post every once in a while, and it always makes me laugh because no-one reads it. But write about poop or vomit?? Hits a-million. Ha!! I know, I know… just put up with me. Sometimes I need a little self-indulgence…

Anyways, switching to bodily fluids and such…

V has developed several new skillz (with a ‘z’ ’cause they’re totally mad skillz). One of which I have only heard about but have not yet witnessed. And it scares me a little.

Sometime during the middle of last week, I came home, went upstairs and discovered that V’s bedroom door had a child-proof knob-thingy on the inside of his room. I asked M about this new addition and he turned to me with a total dead-pan face and said:

“Yes. He opened his door. It is all over. FOR EVER.”

I had thought it was over when he climbed out of his crib. And previously when he started walking. And then just before that when he started crawling. You see where I am going with this? This is the latest incarnation of “It’s over FOR EVER.”

So there’s that. And then there’s there this other thing that surprised me yesterday while V was cruising in his diaper around the living room.

I went upstairs for a minute and when I returned, V’s diaper was just hanging off of him. It usually sags in the butt a little anyways, but this time it was proper hanging off. As in one side of it had been undone. And his hand was making a move down the front of his diaper.

“Don’t touch!!” I shouted. And he listened. This is the only good thing that he’s learned from day-care. Not to touch ‘things’ and ‘bits’ or the ‘area’ while you are getting your diaper changed. And this has evolved into a whole ‘don’t touch’ approach for anything in the zone.

That hand shot out of that saggy diaper so damn fast.

“Mummy help”, he said. And so off we went upstairs to sort out this out.

And then it happened again later. And my imagination went crazy. Things rubbed on walls. Things like urine-soaked diapers and poo.. Stuff jammed in toilets. And things unexpectedly where it they shouldn’t be (ie: diaper on my pillow etc). I should accentuate that none of these things have happened. YET.

Ok, so he can (apparently) open doors and remove his own diaper.

And then this morning? Oh just you wait for this one…

This morning, on Father’s day of all days, he came over to me as I was standing in front of the dishwasher cutting up papaya and PUSHED me and shouted “Move!!!!”.

What? Since when do you push your mother that gave (painful) birth to you and cleans up your poop every day and tell her to move.

Well, I guess since you hit the two-year old mark.

I wish you could have seen my face. And heard me say “EXCUSE ME?!”

And then heard V say “Peeeeeeez.” Oh, well saying please right after a big ol’ push makes everything all better.

Didn’t you know that?

Well, now you do…  xoxo a.m.

Regret-ish

You know how sometimes you immediately regret what you just did?

Like perhaps  talking about ‘male parts’ in a hardware store. Or letting your very small dog sleep with you in bed. Now that’s the only place he will sleep at night. Or letting said small dog bully you and your husband into not hugging or kissing in sight of that dog. He barks until we stop.

M has nicknamed him the ‘cockblocker’.

I am sure you have you list of regrets. I know there are more on my list, those were just a few to tease you with.

My recent regrets:

Regret #1

V’s introduction to the ability to make the toilet make items go ‘bye-bye’. What was I thinking!

Actually, what I was thinking was that I would try and get him more interested in the potty. I sit him on it naked after the bath (for 2 seconds and whisk him off before he gets squirmy). So I thought I would combine that with taking a little piece of toilet paper, crumpling it up  and flushing it ‘bye-bye!’. I might be the stupidest person in the world.

I might as well have taught him how to start the car.

Regret #2

We had a can of whipping cream in the fridge from Thanksgiving. Now I am a sucker for things like that. I have been known to stand in the open door of the fridge and fill my open mouth with it. Yum.

So, the other day while V was sitting in the fridge (just ignore that part of the sentence), I grabbed the can and squirted some in my mouth. He looked up at me with a curious expression.

Without even thinking, I bent down with the can. He immediately opened his mouth (just like a baby bird) and I squirted some whipping cream right in there.

The look of surprise was just priceless. Followed by a look of delight. Followed by a small moment of panic when I thought I heard M coming down the stairs. How can I explain V sitting in the fridge with a mouth full of whipped cream and me red-handed with the can?

I would never hear the end of it, just like I never hear the end of the time he caught me in my underwear, standing in front of the open freezer with a container of Cool-Whip and a spoon at about 6:30 in the morning in his parent’s apartment. That was 6 YEARS AGO! For the love of god!

Anyways, happily he did not appear.

V and I hung out in the fridge for a little while longer. A few more little squirts of whipped cream, several delighted and messy grins from my Little Man.

And now an unending fascination with the whipping cream can, its bright red lid and the bottom shelf in the fridge where the can lives.

Maybe I should move it? Nah… then he wouldn’t sit in the fridge anymore…

xoxo a.m.

Normal life

A wee excerpt from my normal life…

Taking the elevator from the top floor in Ikea, down to the bottom with my cousin. Oh, how do we love Ikea. So many things to think and plan about, meatballs to eat, lighting fixtures to drool over. It is a beautiful place for the female members of my family.

Let’s backtrack a little…. rewind back to the food court on the top floor, about 10 minutes earlier… focus in on our lovely Ikea meal we were having. Well, that C and I were having, as V was clearly not interested in having any part of it. This was  illustrated by the carrots and cheese that he spat out. Spat out with force, I might add. He got some serious distance. Where did this random ‘skill’ come from? No idea…(signs are pointing towards his father though…)

So, as we fought with the meal tray, dropped carrots all over the place, spat out some meatball, smeared things all over our very small 18 month-sized shirt….all of this heavy action was followed by a stealth-poop.

And by stealth-poop, I mean that there were none of the usual warning signs. No grunting, no red face, no nuttin’……

Just an unfortunate smell…. one that crept up on me. It took C a while to notice… and that is because she does not have a poop-machine at home and so doesn’t recognize the early aromas-slash-signs….

But when it hit her…. oh man. It really hit her.

By then we were already on our way to the ‘family’ change-room.

But. It was locked. Damn it!! My son’s poop-bottom is more important than yours!

So I headed into the main washroom which thankfully had a changing-station.

Oh, that poor ladies-room. It was quickly defiled the instant that my son’s pants came off. That movement was punctuated by C’s exclamation of  ‘Motherf’er! Jame. That. Is. Awful.”

It might have been, but honestly, my nostrils are immune to stank like that. And my eyeballs don’t even notice anymore.

The other ladies that exited stalls and washed their hands smiled at my commentary regarding Little Man’s stinky pants. His very stinky pants. And how nice that the changing table was situated so that his dirty little bottom faced the mirrors and was reflected down the washroom.

As I wiped, cleaned, wiped and wiped some more, ladies filed in and out. There were giggles. Some of them might have come from my cousin.

As I reached into my diaper bag and pulled out a stank-diaper bag (you know, one of those ‘green’ bags that you stuff your stink into when you are out in public so the trash doesn’t stink awfully?) and got ready to deposit the ‘deposit’ into it, my cousin exclaimed at its cleverness. Really, it is very clever.

Such a nice way to tidy up after a stinky bum.

The lady washing her hands at the sink chimed in “I use plastic bags to clean up my cat’s litter box. They are so handy.”

C: “But I bet yours aren’t Arm and Hammer”.

Bathroom Lady: “No. You are right. I just use regular plastic bags”. *laugh*

Jaime: “My bags come with a handy container to hook on your hand-bag”.

C: “Quite handy when you are at Ikea”

BL: “I don’t bring my cats with me to Ikea”.

*Silence*

And then we left the bathroom and headed down to the ground floor…

Just another normal day….