High Five! But only after you wash your hands first.

With every blood test and every ultrasound and every home pregnancy test, I couldn’t wait to get back to my computer to write about it. It literally was the first thing I would do when I’d walk through the door (or washed my hands depending on the moment. You’re welcome.). I haven’t had that sense of urgency in ages.

As you may already know, I have a girl who is going to be four in July. Last July Aitch pooped in the potty and then that was it. It was a traumatic experience and she refused to do it again. It took ages just to get her to actually GO again, much less go in the toilet. We’ve had to make quick escapes from errands or family outings because she had to go, but would only go in a diaper or pull-up, and I’m sorry, but I refused to carry one with me in the hopes her desperation would take over the sheer stubbornness. It never worked. The girl can hold it for as long as it takes and I just can’t go through that whole enema thing. Talk about traumatic.

The ultimate bribe we’ve held over her was a Barbie that is part of a set that came with a horse. She earned one of the items when she finally stopped “holding it” and at the time, she chose the horse. Aitch would often ask to   just LOOK at the Barbie even though it was still in the package. She would hold it on her lap and look longingly through the plastic window at the pink encrusted Barbie. I thought it was ugly. To her, it was the most bee-YOO-ti-ful thing in the world. But not beautiful enough to sit on the damn potty and crap already.

Not even ignoring her had worked. She figured out how to put on her own diaper. If your kid is old enough to put on their own diaper, use it, take it off and roll it up, then Woman, I would say to myself, you’ve got a serious problem. I refused to stress (too much) about it. I never had to worry that she’d have an accident when out or that a road trip would mean stopping at every nasty gas station for a bathroom break.

Tonight I was in the bathroom, coincidentally, when I heard yelling coming from the other room and it was coming from Doodicus.I presumed the kids were getting into each other’s faces. Again. After lingering longer than necessary (Sometimes the only solitude I get is on the commode thanks to a child-proof doorknob.), I came out and asked what was the commotion. Doodicus looked up from his Nintendo and said Aitch pooped in the potty. I was dubious.

I looked over at the kids’ bathroom to see Aitch returning the receptacle to the training potty. I asked her what had happened. “I pooped in the potty,” she replied, matter-of-factly. Sure, kid, whatever. The toilet was running because it had just been flushed. I made a closer-than-I-would-have-liked inspection, and sure enough, out of the clear blue, she HAD pooped. In the potty.

I have no idea what switch was flipped. She told me how she had tried to get a pull-up on but couldn’t. She did have the pull-up on but she must have been in such a hurry she had forgotten to take off the underwear and realized the fact too late. So instead of pooping in her underwear (with the pull-up overtop), she had dropped trou…and then something else.

You wouldn’t believe the celebration we all did! High fives, kisses, hugs, congratulations. You name it, we did it. By the time I had finished washing up her hands, SP had the long-awaited Barbie free from the box and handed it over to Aitch who jumped up and down and exclaimed her undying love for the doll (which is now sitting haphazardly in the Fisher Price school bus, all but forgotten less than an hour later).

I know. Who cares, right? So my almost four year old FINALLY pooped in the potty. Big deal. Tomorrow she may decide “meh” and be back to square one. She could regress and start wetting her pants! But right now? The first thing I thought of after the high of event wore off was to announce it here. I am so fucking excited about this that I couldn’t wait to tell you. Just be happy I didn’t post a picture on FB and then end up on STFU, Parents. Let us hope for all of our sakes this is the last post I will ever have to write about toilet training.

 

My Angel Does Not Poop Fluffy, White Clouds

We meet again with Dr. Rita this Friday. I like your ideas of the reward system, but I’ll admit to being an asshole of a mom and stating it’s just easier on many days to wish I could thump Doodicus for being a real butt. However, since this is about HIM and not about ME, I’ll get some more ideas from the doc on how to implement a system that doesn’t backfire by bringing more attention to Dood at school. Seven- and eight-year-olds don’t notice that a classmate is walking around with a keychain of privilege cards or that the teacher is keeping a sticker chart. Ten- and eleven-year-olds will, and being the blood-thirsty heartless, little vultures that they are, they’ll go straight for his soft underbelly.

Let’s talk about Aitch for a bit now, shall we? She’s got me wound so tight around her little finger, my head is up my ass…twice. "Mommy, will you lay down with me? Just for a little bit?" she wheedles sweetly. And I perch myself carefully on a sliver of the bed she gives up for me. "You’re the best mommy," she sighs. "I love you," at which time she strokes my face with her still babyishly soft hand and tucks her feet between my knees to warm them. I’ve been lulled by her angelic nature.

She wrote her name on a piece of paper the other day, without any assistance. Sure, the "E" was backwards and the "L" was upside down, but it was her first autograph. She drew a picture of a person that same week. Again, without any insistence from us, and then came running up to me with a coloring of a very large-headed, stick-figure with three legs, tree branches for arms (per Aitch), and purple hair. She said it was me.

She’s as subtle as a hammer. Days spent at daycare means her "indoor" voice would rival a howler monkey. And she isn’t just loud, it’s constant. She’s either carrying on a self-monologue, singing or humming. My favorite is her trying to sing the Lion King’s opening credit’s song. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear she was speaking in tongues.

What I’m really enjoying is her personal level of responsibility. When we ask her to get dressed for the day, she’ll happily skip to her room and come out just a few minutes later ready to go. Sure, she’s most likely wearing a yellow-striped tank-top under the purple polka-dot, long-sleeved t-shirt, zebra-striped leggings and a green tu-tu, but hallelujah! She. Is. Dressed. Most of the time, she’ll even remember to put the empty hangers in the hamper and shut off the lights to both her room and closet.

Doesn’t she sound positively PERFECT??

Yeah, well, before you hate me any further, I’m going to tell you Aitch’s dirty, little secret. She won’t poop in the potty. Oh, sure, she’s been potty-trained for nearly a year. She’s only had a couple of daytime accidents. But that ONE time she actually gave us a No. 2 in the potty was so traumatic, she utterly and adamantly has refused since then. Want to see a normally agreeable child figuratively lose their shit when they literally need to do so? If you don’t act quick enough for her liking, she’ll go put on her own diaper. Not a pull-up, mind you, but a diaper. She diapers herself.

After the first few months of her being potty-trained, we tried so hard to get her to try pooping (again) in the potty, but we only succeeded in causing such major constipation that we had to provide enemas and mira-lax. I have had a child before who refused to be potty-trained on both levels so I knew it just wasn’t worth the fight. It makes everyone unhappy and even unhealthy. In fact, knowing that it took us over eight years to finally feel confident that Dood wasn’t going to come home from school with "damp" underwear, I have given myself permission to wait out Aitch’s rebellion for at least another two years before I get my own panties in a twist. She’s never had an accident. She always waits until we’re home before the urge hits her. On our trip to Disney World? She regularly came to me in the morning to announce her intention, did her deed, and away we went to the parks and never had to give it a second thought.

I guess if there’s a potty-training issue to be had, she’s got the "easiest" kind. She asks for the diaper. She stays in her room (as required) until she’ done. She then gives us a shout. We get cleaned up and away we all go. There’s no impossible to reach awkward-tushy-spot on the toilet. There’s no embarrassing public call-out in the Target bathroom, "Mommy! Wipe my butt!" Of course, I would like to not have to buy diapers and would love to finally move the diaper pail into a recycle heap, because as wonderful and as sweet and as loving as she is, her shit STILL does stink.

In this case, I’m not calling out for help. It’s more of a hey, we may LOOK like we pretty much have it going on in the Big Kid department, but in reality we are letting a nearly four-year-old continue to dictate parts of our lives I would much rather have back for myself. Especially Sparring Partner who has brought her to the edge of Meltdown City before remembering there are much bigger battles to be waged and won coming our way, including prom-season. I don’t care if it is another 13 years away. She just better watch her step because if she even tries on a dress with cleavage cut to the naval, I will not be afraid to remind her how it wasn’t that long ago she was crapping in her pants.

 

That’s What SHE Said

We leave for Disney on Saturday and I am trying to be really zen about it, but seriously, I’m not very good at zen.

Aitch has been calling me “mama” lately. It is not being said in the soft, southern-draw-way one might imagine when a child says “mama”, but more in the possessed-by-a-mass-murderer-doll-under-the-bed kind of way: “ma – ma, ma – ma, ma-ma”.

Speaking of weird shit kids say, tonight after her bath, Aitch was sitting on a stool we keep in the bathroom so she can reach the sink. I was combing out her wet hair, when I heard, “It looks like a penis.”

“What??” I asked, surprised, and stopped to find her doing a very thorough examination of her girly parts.

“It looks like a peanut.”

Um, OK.

But then she amended her observation:

“It looks like a dinosaur!”

 

Out of the Mouth of No Longer Babes

Children say the darnedest things, don’t they?

Who doesn’t have a story about a toddler saying something completely mind-boggling in its logic; humiliating in its over-sharing; or just plain funny?

The other day I picked up the kids from daycare and I made the normal chit-chat (Did you have a good day? Did you do any projects? How much homework do you have?) when out of the proverbial blue and its unlikely lighting, he struck:

It would have been fun having those four other brothers or sisters, wouldn’t it, mom?

Of course I shrugged it off with nothing more than a “I suppose so” in response. I try not to think about it, you know.

I said *try*.

 

Poop & Love

Sometime in July of this year, which was around the time my daughter turned three years old, she pooped in the potty for the first time.

Alas. It was the last time as well.

Nope, still not going anywhere but in her diaper. We’ve even tried sitting her on the potty while wearing the diaper. Methinks she was a bit traumatized. What say you?

(WTF: “Alas”? “Methinks”? “What say you?”?)

Not even bringing out the princess Barbie still in its box and setting it on the bathroom counter in all its pink, glittering glory, could persuade her to just try already. In all likelihood, we will have to tote around diapers on our trip to WDW and that seriously bums me out.

Don’t worry about making any suggestions. They’ve been debunked. If you think we haven’t tried, go ahead and make your Pooper Fixer in the comments and I’ll let you know how that went.

Aitch’s new big girl bed is rather comfy, speaking for experience. I’ve been sleeping on it instead of the sofa sleeper when Sparring Partner starts to snore, which most assuredly he does right around 11:15 p.m. (and if by the grace of ambien I sleep through THAT, it starts again around 5:00 a.m.). It was about that time this morning that she woke me up with some whimpering. I looked over to see her sitting up in her crib.

“Are you cold?” I whispered. “Yes.” “Come over here and lie down with Mommy so you can warm up.” “I can’t get out of bed,” she responded almost desperately. “It’s OK this time. Just come over here.”

I flipped back the my blankets while she crawled out of her crib making sure to grab her Flower (a flower-patterned blanket, Tinker Bell (a blanket with Tinker Bell) and both Unicorns (natch) (I told you we took the side rail off the crib, right?), and plunked it down on the now cleared area next to me and she curled right up. After making sure to nest her toes in the small of my back, she was out.

When Sparring Partner whispered to me about an hour later that it was time to get up, I crawled over Aitch who barely shifted in her sleep. Just as I shut off the water in the shower, I heard her crying over the monitor. SP went in and soothed her but also encouraged her to get up and get dressed. She is not a good waker-upper. Have I told you that the daycare staff draw straws to determine who gets to wake her from nap time?

Anyway, by the time I had slapped on my make-up and dressed for work, she was out having breakfast with SP and Doodicus. I asked why she was crying earlier. “I was worried about you. I woke up in my bed and you were gone,” and my heart melted into my boots.

Sure, she still craps herself when she’s not being anal retentive, but she loves me like no other.
OH! Right before I published this, I remembered this little "nugget". I came up with the idea to have her sit on the potty while in her diaper pooping after one especially touching moment when after she demanded a diaper so she could indeed poop (and we do NOT withhold that request because that will bring us back to 6 days of NOT pooping), she then asked to sit in my lap. Which she did, and then D I D. She used me as a toilet folks. And if that ain’t love…

 

Transition

We set up my daughter’s new bed in her room, much to her excitement and anticipation. And in typical psycho-toddler fashion, she promptly refused to sleep in it. Everything one should do when introducing a “big girl/boy bed” was attempted, which included letting her pick the sheets and blankets, setting the bed up without the frame (to keep it low) and putting it in the corner so there are at least two sides are roll-out-proof.

But she still crawls into her crib at night. Yes. She crawls in. She won’t crawl out. She’s always been such a weird child… I asked her why she likes her crib and not her bed. Her answer, “The bed doesn’t have a cage around it.”

Alrighty, then.

We finally removed the drop-down gate on her crib as another step in the Transition, but even I fretted about keeping her feeling secure and didn’t want her rolling out of bed. Somewhere in the back of my head, I recalled a simple tip that involved a swim noodle. Surprisingly, I even remembered where we had stuffed them away after this summer was good and over so I took one and cut it to the length of Aitch’s crib.

Once cut, I simple stuffed it under the edge of her fitted crib sheet.

And now as you can see by her wee, ski-feet, both she and her many, many sleeping accoutrements are fairly safe from rolling easily out of her crib. I’ll let you know if this actually works. For sake of a happy ending, let’s assume that it did.

 

Draft: July 2010

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh my! This brings back many happy memories! Last summer the inflatable pool I had bought 3 years prior to that finally made its debut. We had tried to set it up in the back yard but it wasn’t level and the yard was nothing but sand and we just couldn’t keep it clean. Plus Doodicus was not a water lover.

And then we poured a patio and the pool fit perfectly on it. Aitch was a total water baby and her lack of fear made us a bit panicky. Here she is after climbing the ladder and then leaping off into her dad’s arms, whether he was ready or not.

We set the pool up again this past summer but it was fraught with issues insomuch it had several pinhole leaks and a tear, After several patches were set up (and still more were found), we lazily failed to clean it after a week and once the water turned green, the damage was done. We took it down and it ended up in the trash.

Seeing this picture reminds me of how much I missed that summer of 2010.

 

Draft: July 2010

It’s hard to believe that we have been in our home for almost five years. I will never forget how my daughter’s room started off as the “Baby’s Room” when I was pregnant with Vivienne and we were drawing up blueprints back in 2004. And when it became the “Spare Bedroom”, I never allowed myself to imagine that it would be anything but.

When I first found out I was pregnant from our donor cycle and would sleep in that room because Sparring Partner was snoring, I would lay awake with my hands clasped protectively over my abdomen and plea to whatever powers that be to let this one stay. Tears would leak from my eyes when I squeezed them with earnest and they would spill down my face and into my ears.

Over the past two years, I still wipe tears from my cheeks. The Baby’s Room became the Spare Bedroom and then the Baby’s Room again. I’m slowly accepting that it’ll lose it’s hopes and dreams-based title for good all too soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drafted a year and half ago and I honestly can’t recall where I was going with it. I decided to post it as is since it coincides with the fact we literally just set up Aitch’s new bed in her room. The “baby’s room”. 

 

Tinker Bell Buns

I found this really cute idea on Pinterest about turning thin, long hair into a full bun by simply using a sock. I thought it was worth repinning – even though my hair is ubershort – because many of my friends have long hair, but then I realized this would be great for Aitch, my 3 1/2 year old.

Her hair, which is straight and long, is also very thin and fine. Styling is rather limited to a ponytail or just letting it hang down. I thought I’d give this idea a try to see if it was as simple as it looked. Here she is Before:

I went through my lost-mate sock basket and found one that I thought would work both because of its tan color and because of its less bulky size. First I just cut the toe off as the original instructions indicated, but once I rolled it up to see how it would look, it was way too bulky. I then cut off the whole foot leaving the leg portion. My hand is there for size comparison.

I rolled up the sock, which was now a much better size, and threaded Aitch’s ponytail up through the center, folded a little over and then rolled the sock down her head while wrapping the hair around it. This was the first time result:

I think this is a very cute alternative to the ponies (as we refer to them), especially if going to church or out with the grandparents (who give us the stink eye whenever she shows up with her hair down in her face). I also think this would be adorable on a flower girl who has hair that just won’t stay curled. Imagine pinning a tiny spray of flowers at the base of the bun. Cute, right?!

The idea works. The only downside is that Aitch didn’t like it and tried to pull it out herself nearly causing a incurable tangle of hair. I’ll give it a try when she isn’t so cranky-ass tired. Also, if you have a Pinterest account, we should totally follow each other!

 

Ambivalence is My Middle Name

It’s funny how I don’t feel like updating here anymore. Every day several times a day I think, “Hey! That would make for a great blog post!” and then? Seriously. I haven’t written a great blog post since never. Speaking of which, I started blogging August 2005.

I have no idea why I brought that up since it’s October somethingorother. Which also reminds me, I won’t be participating in NaBloMo or whatever it’s called.

Did I just hear a collective sigh of relief?

My daughter still hasn’t pooped in the potty but she’s not holding it for five days at a stretch, either. She keeps telling me “next time”. In an uncharactheristic move, she also pissed her pants while sitting on my glider-rocker. As I was stripping her down for a quick belly-button-on-down bath, I asked why she did it.

“It was an accident, Mommy! I’m sorry.” …. dramatic pause … I love you.”

I bought a couple tuttu skirts from Target thinking they’d be a novelty. However, Aitch has become so enamoured with them, I went and bought a couple more. She has worn one at least every day now. When it’s cooler, she’ll succumb to the addition of leggings, but it’s like trying to wrestle a cat into a pillowcase.

I went back for a three-month follow-up appointment with my PA. I need a refill of the paxil and ambien. The thing is is that I didn’t really want a refill of the ambien because I was anticipating my evenings just so I could TAKE the ambien. He said as long as I’m able to get up in the morning and feel rested that I’m taking it as I should. And then we talked more about my depression. Actually he asked why I thought I was depressed. I told him I wasn’t really sure, but that maybe it was the miscarriages and infertility or the pregnancy with Aitch that I was sure was going to end with a dead baby and then the loss of my job after ten years and then the cancer. Oh, and let’s not forget my son’s ADHD which makes him do things that make me so angry at everyone and everything that I’m sure my fury will result in one of those rare cases of spontaneous combustion and the only thing that will be left will be a pair of hopefully fabulous shoes and a singe mark on the ceiling.

I’m sorry. What was the question again?

He suggested, as many of you did, I seek counseling. I told him I would think about it, because you see I am still in denial. Enough so I didn’t pick up my refill of paxil and ambien. At least not yet.

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Stool Pigeon

I wish I had something other than poop to report, but(t) I don’t. Actually I could talk about how 4th grade is going for Doodicus (not the best), or my mother’s health (not the best), or even my sex life (not the best), but(t) I might as well follow this whole Stooling issue behind us.

Behind us.

I crack me up!

Crack!!

Yeah, I guess not pooping is called Stooling. I had no idea, but it has a nice ring to it. That was on the instruction sheet I was given by the pediatrician Friday morning. I had made the appointment since Aitch hadn’t gone since Sunday, the night she was given an enema. I felt foolish sitting there telling him that my daughter wouldn’t poop but he explained that it was better to not wait. As I was starting to realize, and he confirmed, the longer she goes withOUT going, the longer she will continue to hold it in. He told me that after so much time, her bowels could expand so much that it could take years for them to return to normal size and function. During the exam, he said he could feel a banana-sized lump in her.

I’ve always hated bananas.

The short of it is that we are to give her an enema two or three nights in a row to make sure she is completely cleared out.

In the meantime, we are also to give her 1 1/4 ounces of mineral oil two times a day. According to my calculations that’s basically ten teaspoons a day. Yummmm-yum! Do you know what mineral oil mixes well with? Absolutely nothing. So far I’ve added it to milk, apple and cranberry juice, and chili. Looks just as appetizing in something warm as something cold. Any suggestions will be welcome.

The mineral oil is to keep anything from “sticking” and of course to soften things up. We are to use this system so that she can get use to the fact that it’s not going to hurt to poop. That’s where we think this all stemmed from: She had pooped in the potty at the very beginning of toilet training, but it was a rather large, painful stool. Aitch never used the potty again for anything but peeing since.

I’m looking forward to writing a post that doesn’t include poop, pee, potty. I can only guess you are, too.

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Give me a P! Now give me a PooP, dammit!

When Aitch turned three, I celebrated her turning into a “big girl” by taking her shopping for “big girl” underwear. She hadn’t been showing any interest in potty training at home or daycare, but I saw my other friends on facebook celebrating the last diaper in the house and I decided I didn’t want to be the mom with an eight year old just starting potty training. It was on this birthday outing that she picked out a package of Disney’s princesses, Sesame Street (boy’s) and Thomas (boy’s). She was so excited that I was sure the next day she’d wear the new underwear to daycare. The next morning she declared she was wearing diapers because she didn’t want to get her new panties wet. We couldn’t even convince her to wear the pink, princess pull-ups. The girl was mega-frustating.

I think it was that very weekend that she finally put on underwear. How did I get her to do it? She wanted to watch Princess and the Frog and she happen to have a pair with Princess Tiana on them so the deal was she could only watch the movie if she wore the underwear.

And just like that, she was in panties.

Except it was QUITE that easy. The following week we went to Colorado so I worried she would regress from all her time in pull-ups or diapers, which long drives seemed to necessitate. I was pretty darn happy that she actually did so well, even keeping her diaper dry on drive home, which took the whole day.

She still wears diapers at night and has only had one totally dry night since she started wearing underwear exclusively during the day, so we’re still waiting for that switch to fully engage. For that I’m truly in no hurry because that’ll mean middle of the night wakings and moving her from a crib to a bed and ohmygodmybabyisnolongerababy!

This is where the story of potty training hits the crapper. While the girl is day-potty trained, we are ONLY talking potty. Aitch went from being a very routine pooper (right after lunch and before her nap) to a once every two-, three-, and even a four-day pooper. When she first started holding it in, I would put her in a diaper because she said, “my poop scares me!”. I didn’t want to make her feel pressured or punished for not using the potty. I dealt with Doodicus’s potty training problems until he was nearly seven. Giving Aitch a few months into her third year to figure out the whole pooping business seemed fair enough.

Unfortunately, as time goes by, she’s becoming more and more anal retentive. As the days pass and the urge gets stronger she becomes more and more fearful and more and more hysterical. Hysterical, you ask? She will scream and cry, writhe in pain on the floor, and hold her hand over her bottom for sometimes 30 minutes at a stretch or at least until that urge passes. The first time this happened I was nearly in a fit myself watching her in so much pain and with nothing I could do except hold her (if she’d let me) or wipe her snot and tears from her face, sweaty and heated.

We now give her pedia-lax tablets twice daily. A liquid laxative goes into her apple juice. Fruits and vegetables are handed out generously and yet…? The girl must have a bionic sphincter is all I can say. We even took her to the urgent care a couple weeks ago because she was in acute pain and it was time to get the party started. Conveniently, she pooped right before the doctor came into the exam room. He only charged $120 to our insurance for his service which was to confirm that we were doing everything we should. Thanks, doc! *two thumbs up and a wink*

As I write this, Aitch is asleep in her crib. It’s Saturday evening and her last BM was Wednesday evening. Two boxes of baby enema solution are now housed in the medicine cabinets. We have read The Story of the Little Mole Who Went in Search of Whodunnit a thousand times just to impress upon her that everyone and everything poops. We go around our home making excited announcements of our own successful poops hoping SHE will want to poop, to! We are ridiculously and obsessively thrilled about POOP here!

Other than encouraging her both mentally and physically to “just poop already!”, there’s nothing else we are really doing. Sparring Partner keeps wanting to punish her for NOT pooping, which makes totally no sense at all. I remind him of how well he did with potty training Doodicus (big fucking FAIL there) so the only thing he needs to do is clean it up without complaint or drama when she’s done.

Now if you have any suggestions aside from shoving something up her backside, I am ALL ears because that’s literally the last thing I want to do. Tomorrow will be Poop-Day, whether it’s on her own or with “help”. It would seem karma felt her easy potty training deserved to be countered with a possible impaction, right? Doodicus and Aitch have always been opposite children, and this part is no exception. Doodicus was a Happy Pooper! You want me to poop? OK!! Yeah!! Now come wipe me!! But the kid couldn’t hold his water for love, money or Hot Wheels.

There’s no magic bullet for potty training. Well, except the ones that come in suppository form. Aitch was two when she started showing some comprehension, but I wasn’t going to hurry it. I think potty training is much harder when one of the parents is impatient so it’s important both discuss how they’ll address accidents and successes. Bribes are completely acceptable, IMHO, but they aren’t a guarantee for success. We rewarded Doodicus with a new Hot Wheels car EVERY time he peed in the potty. After about 200 Hot Wheels, we realized it only worked half the time so we discontinued that system. The idea of stickers was boring to him, but for Aitch? The girl was cuckoo for stickers, and she remembered to ask for one and put it on the board each time.

So let’s hear it from you. What’s worked? What hasn’t? How long did it take? And why oh why are we always in a hurry to get our kids out of diapers?!

 

Stopped Up

Remember how I said that potty training has been going relatively well except the BMs? Of course you remember. You hang on my every word, right?

Well, Aitch just spent the past two hours cuddled next to me with either tears in her eyes or squeezed out to trail down her cheeks crying in pain. Sunday afternoon was her last BM when normally she has one every day like clockwork. Sparring Partner left just a few minutes ago to take her to an urgent care.

Keep her in your thoughts.

Poor lil’ pooper. Or UN-pooper, as the case may be.

Update: I just told my son it was time to go to bed:

“Wha…?! Aitch gets to stay up!”

“Next time, you can go to the doctor and get something shoved up your backside to help you poop and THEN you can stay up late, OK?”

 

Profound:

1 a. having intellectual depth and insight; b. difficult to fathom or understand

Let’s just get this out of the way right now: I am not referring to this post. Instead it was several events today that I consider profound in their individual ways.

First off, my boss gave me the task to do some research on an issue of compliance. He told me yesterday that whatever my final determination would be just that, final. The office would have to respect my decision and my “word would be law.” He was actually saying, “I’m avoiding conflict.” I slept on the issue and this morning I requested input from the corporate level via an email.

I’m not very good with emails. I tend to be brusque. Even – what was the word one of my blogging friends described me as? Oh, yes: CAUSTIC in my correspondences. I don’t bullshit. This morning I typed out my email knowing that I had to be succinct but detailed enough for him to understand the concern without a lot of back and forth. I started to include more details of the issue including names of employees and I realized the email would be recognized as getting personal, so I eliminated much of it. Coco Chanel supposedly said that before you leave the house, look in the mirror and remove one accessory. I applied that concept to my email. Before I hit Send, I removed one (or two) sentences.

A couple of hours later I had my response. Happily the one I was hoping for. I wasn’t expecting for the email to be copied to the office, but it had been and I was figuratively wiping my brow in relief that I had remained professional and unbiased in my original email so the office wouldn’t say I was deliberately swaying the response my way. It was a profound moment.

Unfortunately, all was undone later when I heard that a staff member had been talking smack behind my back. The details are boring, but I did confront the coworker and we had words. Lots of words. Looking back on it the exchange on both our parts was sophomoric. We eventually came to blows an agreement and since we both are straight-shooting personalities, we’ll go directly to each other in the future. And in a strange turn, we realized not only are we both strong-willed but our family-building paths were tragically familiar. She went through four years of infertility treatments, two twin pregnancies (losing both sets as well as a tube when one of the twins was a hidden tubal), a term pregnancy (healthy baby girl who is studying to be a doctor), cancer, and a hysterectomy.

Yes, that all came out in a single conversation. It was, say it with me, PROFOUND.

And finally on a much lighter note that involves the adventures of potty training, Aitch announced as we turned down our lane that she had gone potty in the carseat. *groan!* When we got home, she had a couple more accidents including a piddle on the living room carpet, which I have emblazoned into my memory for total recall when I start thinking how great it’d be to have a PUPPY! (nevernevernevernevernever….) She had been doing so well these past couple weeks except for the whole BM thing. She’d request a diaper for that, which I didn’t have a problem with. I’d rather that than her get constipated.

After supper, and the two prior accidents, she announced she has to go potty and ran to the bathroom. Sparring Partner was on duty, but within moments I heard, “Uh, mommy? Mommy?!” In his way, SP was beckoning me to join him in the bathroom (now there’s a sentence I thought I’d never have to write). I found Aitch sitting on the potty with tears in her eyes. “I’m scared of the poop! I don’t want to poop in a diaper! I’m scared! Noooo!!” and big, fat tears plopped off her red cheeks and onto her lap.

I rubbed her back and stroked her arms letting her know it was OK, and she eventually stood up and turned to look at what was her first BM at home. Gross, I know, but we made a big deal of her accomplishment and she quickly calmed down. She expelled a big breath and said, “I feel better now!”

I am so proud of her. She was proud of herself. Oddly enough, her fear/excitement and our need to assure her of her bodily functions were...profound.

 

The 2011 Family Vacation

A drive with two younger children will make you appreciate the smaller things in life. Like handheld gaming devices, smart phones, and DVD players with wireless headphones. I’ll admit that this past weekend’s trip to Denver and back is making me seriously rethink our Disney World trip in February. Sparring Partner and I have been to Colorado a handful of times and we find it both inspiring and rejuvenating. The scenery is never boring, even in the very eastern part of Colorado where the only thing to break up the horizon might be a small oil rig or a farm of wind generators. We thought that Doodicus might enjoy the adventure. We imagined him awestruck by seeing the mountains for the first time. We did not foresee what seemed to be his endless whining and complaining, including the statement, “This is lame!” Ah, the age of 9… We pressed on making the most of the trip. Our hotel in downtown Denver was perfect in both accommodations and view.

We were a five minute walk from the 16th Street Mall where the four of us enjoyed a handsome cab ride at dusk.

Sparring Partner and Doodicus attended what was our son’s first professional baseball game at Coors Stadium. While they were at the park, I met up with an amazing blogger from the area, Lori Lavender Luz. Many topics were brought up while none were finished thanks to one pee break, one poop break (false alarm) and a teary breakdown after taking a thunk to the forehead. I’m referring to Aitch on all three interruptions, by the way. I was further honored when she said that after mentioning to Melissa Ford she was meeting with me that Mel told her to tell me “Hi!” I forgot (or maybe that was the first potty break request) to return the greeting, so “Hellooo!!” to Mel if she’s still reading.

During our trip if we weren’t driving or eating, we were checking out the pool of whatever hotel we were staying in. The pools (I accidentally typed “poos”, which is ironic) were sub par at best. One had the free-weight equipment right next to the pool, including the exercise balls, which was made into an improved beach ball by a group of drunk youth. Another pool was totally grody to the point you couldn’t see the bottom and the chlorine levels were so high, we choked on the fumes. And for some reason, I can’t remember the third…whatever. It sucked, too.

One of the best parts of the trip was Garden of the Gods. It was the only site the kids asked to see again, so we actually went back the next day when everyone was wearing shoes instead of flip-flops and I wasn’t wearing white pants.

On our last full day, we took the cog wheel railway up Pike’s Peak. When I researched ticket prices, I thought they were a tad high, but after all was said and done, they were worth the $40 per adult (children’s are lower). I was surprised when Aitch fell asleep literally in my arms on the way up. The gentle swaying of the train, the ceaseless noise and the fresh air did her in.

(Still 2,000 more feet to go until we reached the top)

The day couldn’t have been better for a trip up the mountain. It was above 80 when we left the station and 50 at the peak (windchill around 40-something), but clear and relatively calm. The next morning as we were leaving Colorado Springs, you couldn’t even see the mountain range.

Doodicus enjoyed a couple donuts at the top and some photo opportunities with his dad as I was inside the gift shop (tourist trap) trying to make Aitch happy after she woke up cold and in unfamiliar surroundings. She was easily appeased with a stuffed fox that she dressed up in her bracelets all the way back down the mountain, which is when she also discovered a hole in one of its seams (cheap touristy crap!).

Aitch did really well on the entire vacation, only asking to go home the day before we actually did. At the last hotel we stayed at, I slept with her. I was already awake when the next morning I got to watch her come out of her slumber. She opened her eyes, saw me and smiled. Then she reached out her little arms and pulled me in for a kiss. Seriously, that girl heals me in so many ways. Potty training started almost suddenly the weekend before and even though we traveled long distances with her in a diaper, she wore underwear most of the time (with the exception of bedtime) without incident.

Doodicus liked the rock scrambling and the arcade at the travel center in Grand Island. What can I say? He’s nine-teen going on four. I was thankful for the meds which kept me from clubbing him with a rock when he made the “this is lame” statement.

We found most everyone to be friendly and warm, and not just staff. Something those here in Nebraska who spew the most about “Midwestern Values” should take note of. It’s beautiful out there. I strongly recommend you make a trip to the Colorado Springs area.