Do You Smell That Smell?

Maybe it’s because I deal with the subject nearly every day, but I find it fascinating what others have for costs associated with healthcare, whether they are out of state of out of the country. I’m such a cynic though, that I know "free" healthcare isn’t actually free. We pay a hefty premium to have "free" vaccinations. Some countries pay incredibly high taxes for "free" health related services (see previous post and comments).

In the U.S., our healthcare’s system is amok. Personally, I blame Medicare. Not necessarily the program, but the system which controls it (the government through the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services), because if they determine a doctor’s visit is payable at $ .25 on the dollar, who do you think gets to make up for the other $ .75?? Providers jack up the price to make up for the growing Medicare population; CMS lowers what they pay again; providers raise their prices again. Something has got to give.

** SEGWAY **

This weekend I went clothes shopping with my son. I survived. Amen and The. End (oh, but there’s so much more!). I rewarded him for his patience by taking him to Toys R Us and as I strolled along the aisles, a woman with PERFECT hair (which my husband and I have dubbed Politician Wife Hair or more accurately, Helmet Hair), I felt envy. She didn’t have to wear her matchstick, cropped pants and little kitten heels. She didn’t have to press her immaculate blouse or airbrush on her make-up, but she did and then walked into what is certainly a Hell on Earth by not only looking good, but she smelled nice, too.

She breezed by me as she followed an staff employee, which made her the only adult there not being dragged from aisle to aisle by a cooing, sticky, whiny, commandeering kid, and her expensive perfume wafted past. I couldn’t entirely hate her because it was a nice scent that didn’t make my throat seize up and gag. Unlike my MIL’s Channel No. 5 that she must not be able to even smell because flies drop in her presence. Or maybe she thinks that since she hasn’t bathed in a couple of days, she’d better double-down on its use. Seriously, the woman uses so much, that if she joins us for dinner, I cannot taste my food. I taste No. 5, and for the record, it does not taste good.

Anyway, back to the Politician’s Wife. I took some care with my appearance, but I began to think that maybe the extra step of putting on a dab of perfume was the proverbial cherry. I normally top off with a healthy dollop of whip cream (my ass is thanking me). This morning I applied a light spritz, bearing in mind that my office is small and patients tend to be more sensitive to odors post-procedure, and headed out the door. I now feel conspicuous; like I’m trying too hard. On the other hand, I feel a touch more "worldly", too.

The Cost of Vaccinations. Literally.

Did you know that medical providers are one of the last bastion against transparent pricing? Somewhere along the line, they decided their patients shouldn’t "shop" for care, and I guess there’s a logic to that as the idea of their doctor being the least expensive might read "poor quality and service". Even when we were uninsured, I didn’t make phone calls to different clinics to see who had the least expensive office visits. Our pediatrician was Dr. Kidd before I lost my insurance; it was Dr. Kidd after.

Our insurance through the Evil Hospital did not cover vaccinations. We took Doodicus to the clinic his pediatrican referred us to that was funded by the state. We paid a palsy "copay" ($20 maybe?) and for almost nine years, all shots were administered by them. Our current insurance now covers vaccinations 100% and with that coverage, the clinic prefers we take the kids back to Dr. Kidd, which is totally understandable.

In July, I took Aitch in for her well-baby check which included five vaccinations. I paid the office visit co-pay of $30 and never gave it another thought until I received my Explanation of Benefits from the insurance company. I wish I could play the game, "Guess How Much It Cost?!" through my blog, but obviously I can’t, unless you’re willing to spread this post out for the next couple of weeks and no one has time for that level of shenanigans, right?

Aitch’s exam, five vaccinations, and the administration of the vaccines came to a grand total of $1,000*. The specific breakdown (I’ve included the codes for you medically-inclined) follows:

99392 – $152. This was for Dr. Kidd to tell me that Aitch is perfect.
90461 – $100. This was for the nurse to poke my kid in the thighs with a pointy object and make her cry.
90670 – $205. Prevnar 13 vaccine (pneumococcal)
90716 – $125. Varicella vaccine (chix pox and boosters)
90707 – $78. Measles, mumps and rubella vaccine
90713 – $48. Polio vaccine
90700 – $52. DTaP vaccine (diptheria, tetanus, and pertussis)

Now let’s play a game. What does it cost in your area for vaccinations?

* This is for a provider in a rural-based community in the middle of the Prairies.

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.

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

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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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?!

Hello Spiderman

What a difference having a job makes. A couple of months ago before I finally got a job I was in Hobby Lobby and I discovered a cake mold for a Hello Kitty cake. It was $15. I put it in my cart and walked around the store for some more before realizing that a simple sheet cake in a pan I already own would work just as well thus saving me $15 I could spend on a gift instead. I did one of those things that peeves me and just put the pan on the first shelf I passed while making the decision instead of returning to the cake decorating aisle. I might have been looking at pillows or styrofoam balls, who knows. Last weekend I returned and bought not only the mold but Hello Kitty temp tattoos and some bright pink forks that will probably never again see the light of day. Guilt free.

BTW, before I forget, “expensive” food coloring goes bad after a couple of years. I bought the pricey gel and we discovered the hard way that it gave the colored icing a funky and bitter aftertaste. I’ll stick with the food coloring that probably causes sclerosis of the liver, but at least my frosting won’t taste like ass.

Of course you would think that since Aitch’s birthday theme had been on my mind for months that you wouldn’t have found me an hour before meeting the in-laws for supper where we would present her cake putting the final THREE colors of frosting on her cake. Thank the sweet baby jesus that 90% of that cake was white. However, next year I want to shake it up a bit and make H.K. look NOT like H.K. Like maybe a zombie H.K. or a Spiderman H.K.

Speaking of which, why does it seem like the underwear for little girls are of crappy quality compared to boys’? For Aitch’s birthday, my present to her was to take her shopping for whatever kind of underwear she wanted because of course she will instantly decide that being three is the perfect time to be potty trained.

Do I even need to add the hysterical and/or sarcastic laughter here?

Before we hit the Bullseye store, she said she wanted panties (yes, I’m sorry, but we are calling them “panties” in this house even though the word brings images of pedobear to my head) with Spiderman on them. Now of course I knew we’d never find S.M. on panties, but hey, boys’ briefs should be an easy substitute, right? Well, momma failed to provide her baby girl what she wanted for on her birthday because Spiderman, as illustrated by Marvel comics is too scary to put on little kids’ underwear. However, in her size (2T/3T), I can find Spiderman in this pack of Superhero Squad briefs:

Do you see Spiderman? Yep, he’s right there! Where? Right there, on your underwear!

First of all, these characters look like baby superheros and that’s NOT what she wants, and I’m sorry, even with my job I can’t justify $10 for one pair of underwear with Spiderman taking a back-seat – or shall I say back left ass cheek – to Iron Man and *squinting at the picture* Cyclops.

So anyway, boys’ briefs compared to girls’ panties. Why are briefs made with what feels like thicker and softer fabric than panties? Why do panties have those skin-cutting elastic waist- and leg-bands compared to briefs’ wider stay put banding? And why do briefs have the “flap”? My son is nine and I’m sure he still has no idea what the “flap” is for. And I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I’m going to tell him. The kid barely finishes peeing before he’s pulling his pants back up creating all kinds of embarrassing wet spots. Maybe that’s just MY son??

Looking Good

Aside from whining about not being able to enjoy the summer and sun as much as I use to, I actually am being proactive and getting out with the kids when I can. I happen to have this week off from work which coincided with summer actually making an appearance (heat index today of 105-110 F). That means trips to the local city pool or even hitting the road for an hour’s drive to a water park.

This spring I bought a new swimsuit. I’ve worn it now a couple of times to the pool and to say I feel conspicuous is an understatement. The other day I sat at the edge of the baby pool while Aitch played and another mom sat down not far from me. She had on a cute bikini and I thought how lucky she was to not only have a svelte post-baby body but to let the sun’s rays soak into her skin for that healthy looking tan. Then there I was with my swim skirt, rash guard top and large-brimmed hat. I wondered briefly if I could pull off the celebrity-in-disguise bit, but realized pretty quickly no celebrity would be at the delapidated city pool.

Yesterday I took the kids to the water park. Aitch wanted to wear her “princess” swimsuit, a Target purchase quickly made so she’d have something to wear for swimming lessons at the Y a couple months ago. I hate it because Ariel is emblazoned on the front, but it was cheap, she liked it and it would never see the light of day. I had already ordered a swimsuit to wear outside, which she did at the water park. I told her that I had already packed her swimsuit and we couldn’t wear “Mermaid” anymore (time to hide that sucker!).

I’m glad she’s too little to have noticed all the little girls (and babies!) dressed in tiny little swimsuits. Even bikinis on the infants! Really?? Here she was in a long-sleeved rash guard and the only girl wearing one. My son has a rash guard as well, but it’s not unusual to see boys wearing them. I had one parent ask me where I found the girl’s rashguard as she had a niece who easily burned and I gladly shared that I had ordered it from Land’s End.

When we got home after spending a few hours at the park and took our baths/showers, I was actually happy to see that neither child showed signs of having been in the sun and water for the afternoon. While I do miss getting a tan, even I was just as pale as I was when we left the house…except for one area: my upper chest. My swimsuit covers me to my neck and I had a hat on, but the shallow scoop-neck left uncovered an area that I never thought to add sunscreen to. It’s not burnt, but there’s color. And that color is a reminder that I wasn’t as deligent as I should have been, but now I will know for next time.

I ordered my swim top from Girls4Sport (G4S). While they have swim tops that are traditional in coverage, they also carry short-, three-quarter and long-sleeves. I bought the three-quarter ringer style and am very happy with how it looks and performs. It took an extensive search to find rash guards that weren’t plain looking AND that had a built in shelf bra. How awesome are these UPF50 fabrics?!

(This is the style I got)

 

(This was my 2nd choice)

Here’s how my kids looked at the water park:

As I mentioned, I bought Aitch’s suit from Land’s End. Of course, they are marked way down now, but this is her top in green batik. Her skirt in tide green, while the pattern was not marketed as “coordinating”, I purchased because the colors were similar and I liked more of a quirky look.

The swim trunks on Doodicus were from Target. I think the rash guard was from Old Navy. I got these last year before I understood the importance of the UPF so I have no idea if his shirt is rated. I will be ordering him something I know has proper protection for next year.

Aitch’s Cabinet

I finished it. And I love it.

BEFORE:

*yawn*

AFTER:

I first “cleaned” it using a paint deglosser. I nearly used up one can of spray paint giving it about three even coats of color. I used batting to pad up the panels on the front of the drawers but not the sides. Just when I thought I was done, I added the stenciled pattern at the handles just to break up the teal.

What did my daughter say when I put it back into her room?

“It’s bootiful!”

P.S. I’ve added a new post that includes the details on the completion of the project.

Talking Shit

When Aitch was about 18 months old, I was sure she’d be potty trained by the time she turned two. When she soiled her diaper, she’d run and get a new one and demand to be changed. I thought this would keep her motivated, and we made sure to enthusiastically praise her for taking the initiative. Eventually she stopped getting a diaper. She stopped telling us she had pooped. She downright refused to even sit on the potty chair. Even her unholy love of anything Hello Kitty in the form of stickers could not convince her to just try! I thought I was onto something a couple weeks ago when she had a full-on meltdown while in a department store when I unwittingly parked the stroller next to the little girl’s brief display and right at eye level was a package of Minnie Mouse undies that she begged for while I refused, explaining that she had to use the potty first.

I did eventually get a package, which I washed and placed in her drawer, within easy access and a visible reminder. But she still refuses to use the potty. She has tried a couple times at daycare (they use tootsie rolls as incentives), but she’s even been able to resist candy just to avoid trying. The thing is, she knows EXACTLY what she’s supposed to do.

Just a few days ago I was rocking with her and looking through her word book, a picture book with dozens of photos of daily items, including clothing. On the clothing page, there was a picture of a pair of tiny underwear, which she was able to easily identify but I thought I would take it a bit further.

“Aitch, what do you do with underwear?”

“I get to wear underwear when I sit on the potty. But I don’t use the potty so I can’t wear Mickey Mouse.”

“Do you want to wear Mickey Mouse?”

“No. I don’t want to use the potty.”

Oh, she gets it alright. I just know she does!

Everyone has a goal to potty-train their kids, the sooner the better in most cases. So they think. However, I’ve walked that stinky, dirty road and I like that her bodily functions do not inhibit my errand running. I don’t worry about getting half-way to town, a four mile drive, and hearing, “I have to go potty! Now!” I don’t have to worry about teaching her to “hover” when we stop at a gas station with a unisex toilet. I don’t have to try to wipe her butt with dry, useless toilet paper, or godforbid! Clean up the mess made by her attempting to do it herself! I change her diaper based on my schedule, not hers. I’m selfish. I don’t have to wash my hands AND hers. I don’t have to worry yet about stashing an extra pair of tiny underwear in my purse for the inevitable accident. I don’t have to worry about when there is an accident and she has to go commando because there’s no way in hell I’m going to stuff a shitty pair of underwear in my bag! Not potty training is way more convenient. And more sanitary.

Potty training? I’m content waiting it out. Sure, it’d be cheaper but my sanity and the keeping of it is worth every quarter she poops or pees on.

And then there were two…

One of the presents we received at Aitch’s birth was a plush unicorn. It was cute, I suppose, but I’m not big on stuffed animals. Doodicus pretty much ignored them and never latched onto one for any length of time. Not long before she turned one, Aitch started playing favorite with the unicorn and I panicked. There was just one and I realized that I better get a backup (or two). I went to ebay and found several of them available for sale. I had my pick between new and used and decided to just take the cheapest I could find. In total, I think I spent $20 for two back-ups, including shipping.

The Plan (as I chortled) was to keep one in her crib, one was to be left at daycare, and the third was to be tucked away in case – godforbid – something should happen to either of the other two. For over a year, this plan actually worked well. I would take home the unicorn from daycare on Fridays to give it a good wash. I was careful to make sure the two unicorns were never seen together as I didn’t want Aitch’s head to explode.

Inevitably, two things happened. 1) The unicorns ended up in the washing machine together, which meant in the dryer together, which led to the universe colliding when Aitch decided to rummage through the laundry. She was positively giddy, grasping these two unicorns tightly in her arms and running through the house to share her discovery. With her being older now, we have simply explained that she cannot have two to play with as one is for daycare and the other is to stay home. Most of the time, there’s no drama.

The other thing to have obviously happened: 2) Daycare Unicorn went missing a couple of weeks ago. I’m almost positive it is in the house, but I haven’t located it yet. Backup Unicorn was pulled from the dresser drawer to fulfill his duties as the Daycare Unicorn. (lord, I’m boring myself with this story since I haven’t even really got to the point of the whole post!)

I went back to ebay to see if I could find yet another backup. There were only a handful now up for auction. The other difference was now the least expensive one was $29.00. The highest? $50! And that was actually from Amazon! So I’m freaking out.

If you happen to see one of these at your local flea market for cheap bucks, please, PLEASE, let me know. I will fondle you gently (is there any other way to fondle?) if you do.

Crappy Crafting #3: The Scarf

It’s time for another installment of Crappy Crafting. Another? That implies we’ve done this before, doesn’t it? It does, and I did! So what if there’s only been two in two years. Crappy Crafting is not something one rushes into. Oh, wait. That’s exactly what it’s for: quick and cheap. Just like how I prefer my women.

Here’s how to make a simple no-sew child’s scarf out of fleece fabric.

1) Buy some fleece that matches the jacket. You will need at least 12″, which if you don’t want to look like an idiot, ask for 1/3 yard.

2) Cut the sides down so they look relatively straight. I prefer the final width to be about 7″ for Aitch right now.

3) The final length depends on the age of your child. I just draped it around Aitch’s neck and eyeballed it so that it fell just below her jacket hem (about 4′).

4) Cut a vertical slit about a third of the way down the scarf. Don’t make the slit too long, about 4″.

5) To wear, drape around your child’s neck and run one end through the slit.

You can fancy it up by cutting a fringe on the ends. Another option is to leave it much wider than recommended in step #2 and cut fringe all the way around it. If you’re going to go that route, you won’t be able to trim much off the original 12″ (excuse me! the one-third of a yard) you bought since a good fringe should be about four inches on each side. However, you could always just cut fringe on one side and that would be really cute, too.

Oh, mother. Violet is sooo 2010.

Breakin’ It Down

Abortion – what is currently chaffing my ass right now is the argument by the Republicans and Tea Party who think there should be significantly less government involvement in our personal lives, i.e. Health Care Reform. Ironic considering that they also want to make women criminals for having an abortion. If that’s not getting too involved in my personal business, I don’t know what is.

C-sections – woman’s body and all that aside, what makes me nutty is there are those who – unintentionally, I’m sure – make me feel that I didn’t advocate myself strongly enough to work harder for a VBAC from my physician. My choice was made. It’s a done deal. I hate the phrase, “You should have…” I had no problem with recovery or breastfeeding because my OB was competent and WE made the best decision for me.

Home Births – I shudder at the thought. The cleaning up would be left to relatives and friends?? As if. I can’t imagine my son in 20 years walking his fiance through the house and proudly boasting, “and this is where my mother pushed me through her vagina!” if he’d been a home-birth baby. Plus? I don’t want to be the person who is thinking “You should have…” if there’s life-altering complications.

Breastfeeding – Gross. I don’t want to see your boobs, even if I’ve told you I do. I’m with the party that uses the argument, “pooping is natural too but I don’t want to see that either”. And no, I don’t need reminding that I had some success breastfeeding Aitch. I missed it when it was over, but I am SO grateful I didn’t have to continue it up through the time she was able to use words to ask for the boob.

Pacifiers – are for babies. Get that? B A B I E S. Not toddlers. I recently had a mom rub it in my face that her daughter, six months older than Aitch, was potty trained by Aitch’s age. It took all my willpower not to throw back in her face, “but at least I don’t stuff a ‘pacie’ in her face every time she whimpers because I know how to interact with my pants-shitting child.”

Co-sleeping – again, like home birthing, I think this is to the parent’s benefit and not the child’s. Especially if the parent is always complaining about how little sleep they got. “But at least my sweetie-pie slept like AN ANGEL! and is in a wonderful mood while I’m sucking back my seventh cup of coffee!” Here’s the deal: if ALL of you got quality sleep, you’d ALL be in good moods and therefore a better home environment.

Sleep Training (CIO) – goes with above. “I can’t STAND to hear my baby cry!” That says it all right there. Oh, and the same thing that gets said about pacifiers.

Vaccinations – Go get your kid vaccinated, mmkay? They may feel like shit for a day, but it’s better than them being dead forever.

Oh, and for circumcisions? We did just because it was the thing to do. Not for religious reasons. We did not discuss how he might feel as a boy without one in school around his peers. It’s just the norm. And even with the recent push to NOT circumcise, I still would make the same decision today.