Tag Archives: sanity

Smack-down

Update: Currently there has been no pee or poo on the potty. And also there is an extreme lack of interest in the potty, ‘big boy pants’ training pants and basically everything to do with potty training.

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, on to more interesting things.

If it isn’t about poo, then you know some other sort of minor disaster is happening over here. It’s all chaos all the time. ALL the time.

We are having a bout of hitting, screaming and ‘MOVE’ happening over here.

First it starts with screaming. The screaming it peppered with whatever the problem is. For example:

“No! No Mickey Mouse! NO!” (2 seconds later, ‘Yay Hot Dog!”)

“No! NO milk! Juice!” (and then 2 seconds later… ‘Milk ok, no juice’~ what the hell?)

“NOOOOO! No Woody shorts! No! No Buzz!!’ (and then, again, 2 seconds later ‘Woody!!! Buzz!! Yay Woody shorts! Yay!’)

Ack. I could go on and on. It’s total bi-partisan over here. Makes my brain hurt.

These extremely frequent outbursts are combined with hitting and biting. WTF.

And our response? Time out.

Yup. Timeout as long as we can make him stay there. Followed by saying “I’m Sorry” and a hug. And then we say “No hitting, no biting” etc, whatever the crimes are…

Mostly though, it’s been those two.

It’s been those ‘two’ repeatedly. Dammit.

He gets mad. And then he bites whatever it is that he is mad at: Suitcase, Dinosaur, spoon, bowl, chair, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, his own foot, the baby gate etc etc. And after he bites it? He hits it.

Mummy, the dog, that jasmine plant out back that threatened his tricycle, the T.V., the door, the baby gate etc.

Time out.

Time the freak out.

Lord have mercy. Will we ever survive these twos?

And as I am now reporting post-Monday? The answer might be no.

I might not survive, but the ‘Mummy-Monster’ certainly will. That’s my alternate persona’s name (and apparently several other Mothers that I know very well’s name too [ps: that grammar is crappy])

She growls out of me from to time. And those times seem to be happening a little more frequently.

Sentences like “MOVE!”, which, in retrospect, isn’t a sentence, but when said with force repeatedly and combined with sharp and violent pushes (violent for a 2 year old) can make one crazy.

And other sentences like: “No! Noooooooo!” combined with violent movements and the breaking of baby gates. Make you wonder what kind of crazy Olympian I gave birth to.

And then other things like: “No!!!!!!” and “Nooooooooo!” and “Mummy, No! Nooooo!” plus smack smack smack…(plus sound effects)

Mummy-Monster is one intolerant beast. Sharp looks, smack-downs and all that shizzle. Mummy-monster is one tough bitch.

Yup. Better look out, What ever tolerance I might have had for you drivers, walkers, cyclists, strollers etc is now at it’s limit.

So ya, suck it.

With love… a.m.

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Talia

Sweet wee Vincent....

This is just a self-indulgent post about Vincent. Mostly.

Post bath, V climbed up on his bed with his ‘Puppy book’ and said “Mama too? Mama too. Mummy too!” How on earth is one supposed to resist that. Really. Must have a total heart of stone.

Since I am a huge sucker, up I climbed and proceeded to marvel at all of those puppies. Puppies are right at the top of the ‘love’ list at the moment.

While he sat on his bed and turned those pages, my fingers toyed with the most adorable baby curls you have ever seen in your life. Slightly damp from the bath curls. Hair sticking up  all over the place. Sweet little tender neck, smelling like Dove bodywash. Fat little tummy peeking out between diaper and slightly too small pajama top.

While he counted those dogs and giggled and squirmed away from my kisses, I stroked those curls and tickled that fat belly.

And then?

I cried.

And why? Well, one of my favorite ladies in the whole world (and a genetic lady at that). Ok, my sweet cousin. Who might as well be my sister, we are that close (that’s what you do in Canada).

Well, that sweet lady is in labour with her first little boy right now. So while I was driving home this evening, talking to her quickly between contractions. And then while I held on when she told me “Here comes a big one” and it went silent for quite a while. And then, while I was holding, I got all teared up.

The first baby is a special thing for every single woman and man. And looking at my little man and thinking of Tal and Sean embarking on this awesome voyage that is parenthood…

Apparently all I can do is stroke some sweet baby curls, wish I was there to offer my arms to lean on and support and cry just a little bit.

It’s just a little bit, Tal, not a lot.

Love you.

xoxo a.m.

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Big Deal

Lord almighty, did life just get more interesting?

And I say this with a question mark because I am not really sure.  And I will explain why. But just a heads up. It does involve poop.

Getting ready for bed last night was a little rushed because Daddy and V went for a long walk (to buy sandwiches) while I went to spin class. I got home just before them and took over the night-time duties.

We are half-assed potty-training right now. He will sit on the potty and get a treat fs he does. So mostly he wants a ‘teet’ and then gets right off the potty.

Last night I decided to make him count on the potty. When we hit 5, he got a treat and when we finished with 10 he got one more treat. The goal here was just to get him to sit a little longer in the hopes that something would happen.

See where this is going?

Magically there was a poop in the toilet.

I literally looked at it and thought “Now where on earth did that come from?!” Clearly it couldn’t have come from the little bum that was perched on top on the potty seat.

Wha?!t It did? I think Vince was confused as well. I had to tell him what was in there. We looked at it. “Vince poopoo in the potty!! Yay!!” said Mummy.

Vince: “Yayyyyyyyy!!” And then he looked confused. “V!! Poopoos in the potty!!!! Yay!! good boy!!! Awesome!!,”, shouted Mummy.

V: “Awesome!! Yayyyyyy!”

We had to call Daddy up, who also had to look in the toilet and then do some really loud clapping and some heavy praising of the event.

Dude. We hyped that poop the m-f up. We clapped. We shouted. We yelled “Yay poopoo!!!” It was an Event.

And so this morning, we tried it again. No dice. I almost expected that.

I went and bought another book about the potty today, complete with a button that you push which ‘flushes’ the toilet. I showed it to him. He said “No book”. I pretended to read it with great excitement. V said “No Mama no book.” Well. Shit.

Wish me luck tomorrow morning. We will be trying this event again… First thing in the morning. Perhaps we will get lucky. Right?

xoxo a.m.

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Fine

As the week progresses, the saga of the Big Boy Bed continues…

And, as always with a 2 year old, it is a learning experience. Not just about them, but about oneself as well.

Tuesday night, after I got home I headed right to spin class. M stayed home with Little Man, made him dinner and did the whole bedtime routine. I got home at 7:22. I remember the exact time because I was shocked that the house was so quiet.

“How did it go?” I asked curiously.

“Piece of cake,” he said.

“Really? No drama?”

“Nope. Not really,” he said abstractedly as he googled or binged or whatever it was he was doing on the laptop.

Huh.

Well. Um. I didn’t really know what to say to that. Maybe he just had a lucky night.

And tonight? Dinner went fine, bath-time went fine, story-time went fine. Everything went fine fine fine fine fine. It was all fine. Really just plain fine. And then we closed the door. M headed downstairs while I hovered nervously outside V’s bedroom door, listening to him cry. I bit my lip repeatedly. I nibbled on my thumbnail.

And while I did this, I listened to the saddest sounds you have ever heard in your whole life. “Mummy! Mummy mummy mummy mummy mummy mummy. MUMMY. Mummy~~~~~~!” I was so sad I started to cry. And then I heard him get off his bed and head for the door and try to open it. That little knob twitched back and forth but he couldn’t quite turn it enough. That was followed by some extremely sad little noises.

I gave in. I opened the door.

“Mummy!”, he cried happily. “Mummy. Yes. Mummy. Yes. Mummy? Yes.” he said as he ran over and sat on his bed. This I took (correctly) to mean that I was supposed to lie down on his bed with him.

I am a sucker. My child is manipulative.

And my son knows this. And after he was settled, I went down and told my husband this. Before I even got halfway through what I was trying to say, he was nodding in agreement. “You are a total sucker,” he agreed. Geee. Thanks Hun!

Mummy is a not as strict as she thought she was. Mummy is, in fact, rather easy to manipulate (kid-wise). Daddy can get V to hold his hand while out for a walk. Mummy?? Less successful.

And tonight? Mummy cooked dinner for V, with V on her hip. If Mummy attempted to put V down, he did a total leg-clench, shrieked “No down. NO DOWN!” at the top of his lungs. If I succeeded in putting him down, he cried, clung to my leg and kept trying to climb up it by using the same technique he employed when escaping from his crib last weekend. And so I cooked dinner with one hand and burned my finger with boiling macaroni water.

High-five Mummy!

It’s kind of embarrassing to realize that your child has, in fact, completely wrapped you around their very small finger. I am, in fact, in full-on worship mode right now. I haven’t quite hit punishment mode, or time-out mode. I find them rather intimidating. I wonder if I am using 2 as an excuse. Is 2 too much for me? Why is M better at handling these things than I am? When did I wimp out and melt all over the place over sloppy kisses? And when did those sloppy kisses turn into some sort of hypnotic control that makes me do his bidding.

Is there too much love? Is that possible? Should I really actually read that book I bought a month ago about punishment for toddlers?

Mummy needs to toughen up. Just a little though. I don’t want to be a total pushover, just an easy cave-in.

xoxo a.m.

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Energy

So today I stayed home.

It’s called exhaustion people!! And holy crap, was I ever worn out. It was just not a good Friday, Saturday or Sunday. And Sunday might have been the worst. And it was just a whole combo of things. Sick V, sick husband and worn-out Mummy dealing with the ‘fall-out’ from both.

Yes, it is another blog about that. You know, my life and my relationship with The Black Lung.

But not totally about that, just mostly about what happened this evening that made M make ‘ick’ faces.

So we made it through a rough night. And it was a total “I need a nap at 10 am kind of day”. But the sleep I got was worth it.

And the day went on, we slept a lot blah blah blah…

Anyways, bathtime!

We did everything early tonight, early bath, dinner and bedtime. So at about 4:45, V and I went upstairs for our bath. He was pretty grimy. As I was running the water and he was running his hands through the water spilling from the faucet, I noticed the dirt-water smears he left on the tub. Must wash child.

So in he went, out came the toys and off we were.

V (while drinking from a container filled with bath water): “Nummy!”

AM: “Is it delicious?”

V (still drinking): “Licious!!”

AM: “Aw!! It’s delicious?!”

V, nodding, “Licious!!!!! LIIIICIOUS!!”

Big new word for him and so cute!! So there he is, in the tub, drinking bath water when my eyes are drawn to the tubwater.

What IS that! Oh lord. Is that what I think it is?? Oh My God. It’s poo.

Little bits of poo floating around in the tub, while V is drinking the water and saying “Nummy!!” and “Licious!!”

‘All done honey! Alllllll done.”, I chimed in a happy voice and I lifted him out of the tub and drained it. And rinsed it. And then re-filled it quickly and plopped him back in for a rinse and then whisked him out again!

I rediapered that butt up and carried him down to M saying “Did you wipe his bum good the last time?” I was assured that his bum was sparkling clean. Ok, good. And then I left a slightly damp and partially naked baby downstairs with Daddy, while I went upstairs to sanitize a tub and a mountain of bath-toys. Some of which WILL be getting thrown out.

Well, life is sure never dull down here. And that bum was clean when I put him in the tub.

And my life is, recently, filled with a lot of poop. Lots and lots of poop. Poop. More poo than I ever thought I would ever deal with. And it doesn’t even faze me now. Thats the funny part. Its all nonchalance over here. Poo all over the place? No probs!! Poo through your clothes and leave a wet mark on my shirt when I pick you up? Whateva!

Poo in the tub and drink the water?! Ok, complete vomit inducement. I am not quite at that level of tough yet..

I was going to put up some links about poo….. but, I don’t want to look at it anymore today. I hope you understand..

xoxo a.m.

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Thursday

Oh how you love a little taste of my life, down here in Florida. I know you think it’s all sunshine, oranges and flamingos. I bet you didn’t know that it is also all pollen all the time. And this year? Worst pollen EVER.

I moved here with little to no allergies that I knew about. And since I have been here (and we are going on 4 years now), this fourth year is a bitch. A total huge bitch.

A pollen covered bitch.

So I have been a sneezing, itchy eyeballs, miserable person for about 2 weeks.

V has been slowly building up to getting sick. It seems to be a regular routine. So his doctor (my doctor~actually, the doctor I work for) checked him out today, put him on some antibiotics and, freakily, ordered an X-ray of his adenoids. Enlarged adenoids can cause bleeding? I didn’t know that…

Anyways, my Mummy-mind has leaped straight from sinus infection to adenoidectomy. I have rather an active imagination. So something fun for me to set up for the Little man in the next few weeks.

And so home I went, picked up antibiotics and, upon my arrival home, was greeted by the Dog, Little Man and the faint ‘hello~~’ coming from the couch.

My husband is sick again.

And the rest of my evening went as follows:

Snot, snot, snot.

Boogers.

I hate dinner.

I only want to eat “Nana toast” (which I, coincidentally, invented last night out of sheer desperation to get V to eat something. He hasn’t been that interested in food since he’s been so congested).

Scrambled eggs thrown all over the floor by V and quickly eaten by my dog.

He then fell, tripped, turned too quickly, arched his back to get away from me and hit his head 4 times. That resulted in 4 different screaming secessions.

M went to bed.

V went to bed.

I poured a glass of wine, sped off to get Thai takeout and sped home to drink the wine.

How I long for a Good Friday and an Easter Monday (which M didn’t believe me exists) of my very own.

Heres to no more bonked heads, another glass of wine and the desperate hope that I don’t get sick over the weekend!!

xoxo a.m.

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Toddle

Did you know that two is a terrible number?

I thought, for about 20 months, that it wasn’t that bad. Actually, I thought that maybe other people were making it out to be worse that I had heard. And then literally 2 days after V hit the 21 month zone, it all went straight down the toilet.

And by toilet, I mean an actual toilet. As in things went in the toilet (wash clothes, hands and almost a face) and then were quickly removed (by Mummy). And then other things entered the toilet. And this second time it was actually something that should be in there.

And it wasn’t poo. Or a duck. OR a turtle.

It was a toilet brush. Who is stupid enough to keep a toilet brush behind the toilet? Clearly me. Did you know that almost two-year-olds like to do things that their Mummies do? Apparently I clean the toilet enough that he knows how to.

I was out of the room for 15 seconds and when I came back? Drenched. Whatever. I was so over it by then. Or at least I thought I was.

And then he climbed into his tub, put the plug in, turned the water on and proceeded to play in his clothes in the water.

It was a deep sigh moment for me.

And then he didn’t want to eat dinner.

And then he didn’t want his nose wiped.

And then he didn’t want to drink his milk bottle.

And then he didn’t want me to carry him.

And then he didn’t want me to not carry him.

And then he hated everything that I was doing and not doing for eternity and beyond.

And then he went to bed. And then I poured myself a big glass of wine. And then I realized that two was closer than I thought. And then I connected the dots.

Oh. Shit.

2 days of this naughtiness was awful. I actually contemplated spanking. For real!! And then I thought I was pretty sure I couldn’t. *Thought* But then he made me use his middle name more times in 2 days then in his whole entire life. And granted, that has been 21 months at this point, but I used it A LOT.

Is this ‘boys’? Is this ‘terrible twos”? Is this Italian plus Irish plus Canadian? (The Canadian part is clearly the non-argumentative part, although Mike might disagree with that… although, since he never reads this, it doesn’t matter!! hahahahaha

Dude. For real. I know there are books and things out there about this, but surely those people who wrote those books never experienced it! Otherwise those books would be totally different.

Anyways, I am exhausted.

xoxo a.m.

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Sharp

It’s Spring. Spring always makes me want to clean, something that I wish would affect my husband as well…

I think it must just be that lovely fresh air. There is just something about it that makes you want to rejuvenate your whole life. Starting with your house.  Mostly your bathroom.

And so that’s where I started yesterday. Well, I initially started in Home Depot, with a gift card, the Little man, a shopping cart, a desire to teach him how to say ‘Awesome!!!” and a complete and total lack of shame.

A baby makes people do your bidding. And climb ladders. And give you stickers.

$200 later, I emerged with several stickers, a can of ‘Blueberry patch’ paint for my bathroom, a new ceiling fan that was tres expensive and new window blinds for my bathroom.

And this is where the story gets good.

It involves me, V, 3 different sized screwdrivers, the top floor of my townhouse and my eagerness to get started on my rejuvenation project.

I was pretty sure that he would entertain himself with his toys while I fussed in the bathroom. And he did for a short period of time. And then got bored and climbed into the bathtub. Happily I was working right above him, I was attempting to removing the old crappy blinds.  This room contained the only crap blind remaining from the previous owners. The only crap blind they didn’t take.

I got stuck on a stripped screw (teehee~), I guess I just physically don’t have the strength to get that mother out of the wall. But I thought I did. And I certainly made quite an effort.

Such an effort, in fact, that my feet got sweaty and slipped on the porcelain tub, which made me hip-check the wall which, in turn, dislodged part of my towel rack…

Those hips of mine are so sharp that they popped a wall fixture right out of its socket.

There is now a hole in my wall.

This was a bit of a shock. I was looking to do some renovating, but not quite as soon as this. I am holding off on any home improvements until my father-in-law sets up camp on my second floor…

Watch out. I’ve got some sharp poppers.

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Naptime for Mummy

Sometimes Mummies need naps.

Now Mummies, I know its hard to remember, especially when you are facing mountains of laundry and sticky surfaces everywhere. Handprints on your TV screen and all around the edges of your coffee table. Milk stains and banana smears on your (stupidly) non-leather furniture. Many many many very small toys scattered everywhere. Dirty toilets. Your husband’s (or domestic partner’s) socks littering the house.

But.

(and this but is very important)

But, you have to, for the love of God, sit down and put those feet up. Or you will literally wear those feet of yours right down to the quick.

Home with V the other day, my parents (who are visiting from Canada) went golfing and V went upstairs for nap-time right after they’d left.

After I put him down, I walked past my bedroom and happened to notice my bed eying me suggestively from the doorway.

“Sleep with me… sleeeeeeeep with me. I want you to,” it seemed to say. I just couldn’t resist those bedroom eyes, stripped down to my underwear, threw my clothes on the floor and crawled in.

20 seconds after snuggling my head into every pillow on the bed, I was out. And I remained out for 2 1/2 hours. Mummy-hood. Tiring.

I was so surprised when I woke up hours later. And damn did I feel good! Thanks, King-sized bed, for that little afternoon delight. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d taken a nap.

It made me think that I really need to make the time for these little things and the laundry can go and ‘eff’ itself. And the fingerprints can as well and M can pick up his own damn socks and clean that f-ing toilet too.

Chatting with my mum in the kitchen later that night, she mentioned something to me.

“Men always seem to think that women can just go go go and never stop. And they never notice when a little assistance would make things so much smoother”. (Or something like that)

And it is true.

So Men, those wives of yours, those mothers of your children, help them find the opportunity to put those feet up. Take a nap. Take a bath. It helps us not only retain our sanity, but also have the energy to do nice things for you in return… Like bj’s… (Ha!! just kidding, no-one who’s married has sex anymore…you know that!). More like back rubs and sweet kisses. I know you want those sweet kisses….

xoxo a.m.

(for some sweet He-Man related artwork, click the above picture)

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Days like these…

5:00 am, alarm goes off.

5:30 the alarm goes off again.

And then, then no alarms. No alarms at all.

Yawning, I rummage under my duvet to where I have stashed my alarm clock so I can ignore it. In the dim light of the bedroom, I half open my right eye and peek at it.

6:29

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

M had to leave for work in 15 minutes and he was currently snoring. My left eye was still closed. V was still sleeping. So was the dog.

M, who was asleep, somehow managed to instantly manifest himself in the shower. Naked. Thank goodness he managed to take his clothes off.

I walked the dog, woke up V and traded places with M. It was a baby hand-off.

I had a 2 second shower. I forgot my breakfast on the kitchen counter. I did, however, manage to get myself dressed, get V dressed and drive my car.

Slightly out of breath, I managed to make it to daycare. We entered the classroom to the slightly apologetic smile of one of V’s teachers.

Unfortunately, she told us, DCF requires that students how have a documented fever not return to school for a 24 hour period. V was sent home yesterday at 4:10 with a fever of 100.8.

She reminded me that this was in the packet of papers that I filled out (I filled them out in September). Apparently I was expected to remember the fine print.

I was not pleased.

So Little Man went to work with Mummy this morning. And I called my Father-in-law, who happily came and picked him up and took him to Ikea for breakfast.

I swear I seethed about this all morning long. And I wonder how I will act around them this morning when I take him back. I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.

Later in the day I did receive an apologetic call from the school’s director, apologizing for the confusion with some blathering about how it was a ‘new policy’ (my ass) and how she was ‘sorry for the confusion’ (which she wasn’t). I knew she was only saying that as I had left the school saying that I ‘understood that there are rules, but I would have appreciated a reminder when I left with him the day before as I could have easily made arrangements’.

Regardless, I know the way it goes. When you work in one field, you automatically assume that everyone who employs your services understands the ins and outs. But the truth is, everyone knows very little.

So expecting me, as a mother of a young child, to automatically know the policies and procedures when a child has a fever is ridiculous. Perhaps if V was 3 or 4. But he isn’t even 2 yet and only  there for 3 months. So pardon me. Pardon freakin’ me for having not memorized all the paperwork that I signed and handed in in September and for, apparently, being a little ‘confused’ (as his young teacher explained to me with a wee frowny face) by everything.

And now, thursday morning, as I watch V eat breakfast and enjoy some morning Sesame Street, I am still thinking about how to handle the situation this morning. Humourously? Sternly? A combo of both?

One thing is for sure, there will be no apologizing on my part for anything. And since I am writing this down, I will be sure to remember to NOT apologize (it’s a bad habit of mine).

Wish me patience and a calm demeanor!

xoxo a.m.

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