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.

Please save us from poo…

Yup, that's pretty much how I felt about it too...

So yesterday morning started off on a good note. It was the last day of Spring Break for Edward and we had a family day planned. Vince was not going to daycare and we were all going to try and sleep just a little later than we normally do, you know, for fun.

Edward and I woke up to Eleanor’s noisy morning cries and I busied myself with feeding her. Edward interjected just before I got started with “Did you want me to feed her and you handle Vince? Or what’s the easiest for you?’ (Bless him, he’s trying to help). I shook my head no and indicated that I would prefer him to handle Vince. Total non-verbal communication-style. Yup, that’s how good our marriage is. I grunt and he translates that to complete sentences and vice versa…

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.

Sunday, I think it’ll be bloody

As I am sure that all you Mums have had these days, I’ll expect numerous comments commiserating with me. Ok? Great. Glad we are all on the same page.

Sometimes Saturdays… ack. I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. You know how it goes. It starts out great. Angelic even.

Angelic child wakes up, angelic child annouces “Mummy! I no pee in my beeeeedddd!”

Clearly this is a blessed day.

And so we proceed to HomeDepot. Did you know that they do free kid workshops once a month? So does Lowes. Little cute building projects, very fun. And so we decided to go for the first time this morning.

Vince hated it. He hated stepping into the cordoned off area they had set up. He hated the apron they gave out. He refused to wear it. He cried. He screamed. I built the project and fought other kids for the use of the hammer. Edward and I traded places for a while. He had less luck than I did at getting one of the other children to share a hammer with him.

Vince ‘built’ a valet charger. It was terribly complicated. I’d rather build a planter, to be honest.

A bunch of our friends showed up. Vince could have cared less. Even though he knows their children and has played with them before. He just made sullen faces at them. Daddy somehow got him to use a hammer (once he pried it out of the 8 year old next to him).

We dropped Daddy off at home and V and I went and got some caffeine for me at the donut shop.

And then, after that, off we went to Saratoga Springs Resort to watch Edward’s cousin from NYC perform in a choral competition. Lovely singing, V was terribly well behaved. Edward and V whispered during all of the singing, in terribly overly whispery voices. Luckily they were far, far, far away from me.

And then? We went out for lunch and both of them were far, far, far too close to me.

And all patience had left my body at this point. So there was none. Just to clear that up.

I actually do not want to discuss how many times we went to the potty. Or how Edward panic-ordered food for me. Or how everyone gave Vince coins and as a result he ate nothing, just played with them. And then did nothing except repeatedly drop them all on the floor.

I ordered a drink.

And then, Edward had to go to work.

And literally, at that point, I think most people go insane.

I’ll just gloss over the next few hours of total hell and complete lack of patience. I mean, I am pretty sure you know the basics.

Vince is now sleeping. And I literally had to go and do some deep-breathing exercises. And some of those chicken-neck stretching pilates things that I learned at ‘Relax at Work’ seminar at Florida Hospital I attended. Came in very handy.

It seems that at least one of the two days of a weekend have to be like this, with which ever is the other one being pretty much the same. Fooled you, huh? But lets be honest with each other.

Tomorrow is going to suck too. And then Monday and work will start…. suddenly life will get better…

Just a realistic view point. Tomorrow I have too many things to fit in.

Buy paint, paint stuff, buy rocks, finish backyard, feed child, finish laundry, clean floors, buy groceries, make sure dog doesn’t pee in house like Friday morning’s urine explosion, feed child more, go to inlaws, swim with 3 year old, make dinner, put to bed. Well, that’s as far as I’ve got.

I’m sure more things will come up. I’m not expecting much from Sunday. A giant diamond necklace or a back-rub without the ‘backrub’ nuances would be nice. I will be getting neither.

xoxo a.m.

 

 

 

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.

Dirty pants

Girls? Lets clean these up all sparkling!!

My Mum has always been rather good about surprising me with knowledge, insight and random hands-on examples just when I didn’t think I needed it. One of the things that I love about her.

One that really sticks in my mind is the day after Vincent was born. There I was, extremely sore (don’t worry, I won’t get into any detail about that. You, for sure, don’t want to hear it and I don’t want to relive it) and just kind of… for lack of a better word…stumped.

The first time was about poop. Vincent was hanging out in my little private room, Mum was there and I think the last time I had changed a diaper might have been when my sister was little. And that’s a BIG ‘might’. I just honestly don’t remember.

And there he was, with a dirty bum and me kind of going “Um. So I guess I just… umm…take this off?” I had no idea what I was doing. AND it was meconium, which is the poop equivalent of tar. I dabbed at it gently, not wanting to hurt my 1 day old baby.

Mum practically pushed me out of the way and efficiently and properly cleaned that little bum until it looked like a freshly mopped floor. It sparkled.

Thanks Mummy.

So this past visit, while lovely, has a little star-mark next to Mum’s latest nugget of wisdom. Which just happens to be about poop too. Surprise!

V came home from school with a teeny bag containing on pair of dirty underwear. While practically potty-trained, he does tend to hold ‘it’ until he gets home. And surprises us with the gift of poo a short while after we get home.

Tonight, I even thought I would derail the poo-pants by giving him a stat-bath and then leaving him naked for the rest of the evening. And as a result? There was not only no poo, but he peed on the potty all night long and resisted all attempts to sit on it. Or discuss poo. Or poo.

*gah!*

Pretty much I am resigned to an awful awakening tomorrow.

Back to my Mum… She taught me this nice little trick.

Have pants with poop on them? No worries!! Just wash them out IN THE TOILET.

At first, I was just like ‘Huh. Right. I’ll just try that when you are not around.’

And then on of the days she was here, there was an incident and she just (pardon me Mummy and my language) balls-out swept those dirty pants out of my hands and proceeded to scrub them out in the potty. WITH HER BARE HANDS.

I watched on in awe…

What else could you really watch with??

And then I got a mini-lecture about how to clean dirty pants in the potty, how this is the best way, how it was done in the 70’s with cloth diapers and how it was a great way to deal with poop-underwear.

So, this past weekend, I thought I would deal with the problem as my mother did (does) etc. And so, Sunday, that is how Edward caught me. Sitting on a wee stool (ha!), in front of a potty, scrubbing 2 sets of pants (or underwear, whatever you want to call them) in the toilet bowl.

I think he was coming up to ask me a question. Upon seeing the ‘situation’, he back right out, picked up Vince and took him straight to the tent… The tent being located in one of our upstairs bedrooms, filled with V’s toys courtesy of V’s Grampa.

Meanwhile, I gagged away, as I scrubbed out the poop out of those little pants. Man, was I ever trying. I WILL not throw these pants out. I WILL keep them!! I WILL scrub them until you can see no streak marks!

And then 2 days later, my resolve failed me after a particularly messy, wet and just plain ol’ gross ‘deposit’.

I threw away 2 pairs of underwear because I could not deal with the ‘package’. I am a wimp. Just in the last 3 days. I lasted that long. But honestly, it was a wee bit of a fail. Vince announced the arrival and, once I pulled down his pants to deal with it, well, I just couldn’t.

No amount of swishing them around in the potty would be happening. None would be happening, actually. I looked at them, removed them and put them in the Diaper Genie. Kind of hoping, actually, that the throwing out of his most favorite underwears would be some sort of violation and he would suddenly feel compelled to go to the potty from now on…

And when that didn’t happen the second time, I felt a bit cheated. And sort of like I had had a fecal-chastisement. A kind of “Oh you thought so, did you? Well, think again!”

Lord is potty-training ever frustrating. Especially with all of these little curves that get tossed at you. It’s always one thing or another, both literally and figuratively speaking.

Please, lets all pray that its nearing it’s end… You know, ‘end’… Ha!!

xoxo a.m

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)

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.

Big Shark

Update update!

Possible breakthrough!

Ok, the smallest possible breakthrough.

And I am attributing it all to Daycare and it’s wee potties. V’s classroom has it’s own bathroom. One for boys and girls, both with miniature potties. Cutest thing you have ever seen.

That, combined with his teachers gentle encouragement, produced this:

“Big shark poo-poo”.

Edward and I made WTF faces at each other.

Let me backtrack a little and tell you where we were eating. Carriera‘s in Lake Nona.

Their dining room has a HUGE shark on the wall, one we always have to sit under when eat there. Which is often as the food there is just amazing. AMAZING.

Well, this evening, as we were sitting under that shark, V made his announcement.

He made it several times actual. Addressed to both of us. Separately.

“Daddy, big shark poo-poos”, he said solemnly.

“Mummy? Shark! Big poo-poos!”

We took this moment and ran with it.

“Vince”, Daddy asked him “Does the shark go poo-poo on the potty?”

Vince looked at us disbelievingly “Noo..potty?”

“Vince? The big shark goes poo-poo on the potty. Just like Vincent!” said Mummy, nodding seriously while rearranging those crazy curls of his.

Edward caught my eye during this whole exchange and we both did some telepathy.

Neither of us could believe we were talking about sharks poo-pooing on the potty. I couldn’t believe V was talking about sharks pooing at all. What were we even talking about? This whole conversation is/was so ridiculous.

But at least we were talking about poo?

And so this is why I was excited.

Yay poo!!

xoxo a.m.