Oh, the joys of triplets...
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Potty-911
I just pose one simple question in tonight's post. And I know that I'm spending a whole lot of time on this subject but, yes, you can expect more.
Why has no one invented a 24-hour hotline for parents on the edge of insanity in the never ending battle of the bowl? I mean, they've got every manner of support line, yet for something like this that can drive you to drink, wouldn't it be prudent and in the best interest of...society? I'm just thinking of the children. Just saying.
Why has no one invented a 24-hour hotline for parents on the edge of insanity in the never ending battle of the bowl? I mean, they've got every manner of support line, yet for something like this that can drive you to drink, wouldn't it be prudent and in the best interest of...society? I'm just thinking of the children. Just saying.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Potty training, it's total bullshit.
When does this fucking training end? It's getting to a level of panic. He wants to go in the potty, but he doesn't want to go in the potty, but he wants a diaper on, but he doesn't want to go in the diaper. Hours will pass with no activity and then a sudden utterance of "Oh, no" and a frenzied run to the bathroom only to just stop short of doing anything there. Tonight he stood in the bathroom hysterical crying, desperate to pee, screaming "diaper diaper" and with every little desperate jag a drop of pee hit the floor.
I can report to date he's successfully done everything on the potty. And I can also report that he's developing the bladder of a full grown man because he's exercising that muscle a whole lot. Not to mention the fact that he's constipating the hell out of himself.
Holy hell, when does the drama end? If he were wetting or messing and didn't care it would be annoying but at least I wouldn't have to deal with his obvious neurosis. He's paranoid beyond reason and after a long day it only gets worse. As it stands, he's potty training his way to OCD.
I can report to date he's successfully done everything on the potty. And I can also report that he's developing the bladder of a full grown man because he's exercising that muscle a whole lot. Not to mention the fact that he's constipating the hell out of himself.
Holy hell, when does the drama end? If he were wetting or messing and didn't care it would be annoying but at least I wouldn't have to deal with his obvious neurosis. He's paranoid beyond reason and after a long day it only gets worse. As it stands, he's potty training his way to OCD.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Shake n' Bake.
A friend sent me this link a few months ago and I never got around to posting it. This lady makes homemade bento lunchboxes every day, which makes me feel decidedly half-assed when I toss the mac-n-cheese in the microwave or slap together some PB&J. To be sure, if it takes me more than 5 minutes to pull together a lunch for the Captain then I feel I have wasted my time on what could otherwise been valuable websurfing or blogging. I hate that this crazy bitch is giving people the impression that one should be slaving over a hot stove every day so that their loved ones can eat well. The only thing more annoying than her is all the people who comment on her blog and follow her mantra. I wonder what her momtourage looks like...Yes, I mock because I'm inferior.
And let me just say as a sidebar, feel free to shoot me if I ever start cutting the Captain's sandwiches in dinosaur shapes. To me it's wrong on two levels: (1) it seriously fails on the Too Cutsey scale; and (2) it's decidedly a waste of food. Knowing me those extra bits of unusued sandwich would end up in just one place, my ass.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The boy who pooped.
Remember when the Captain took off his diaper and ran around the house creating skid marks wherever he went?
Or how about the time he pooped in the tub?
And then my personal favorite, the time he pooped in his crib and I did a bad cleanup job and walked around an expensive department store with it smeared all over my shirt? I heart my life.
Well today, despite the odds (he's had a case of the runs since Wednesday) Captain the Kid dropped it like it's hot and actually pooped in the right place, the potty, three times already today.
It all went down as such because we put him in underpants today with no diaper parachute. Shockingly he took to it like a pig in shit. How long can we keep this up? Dunno. And with the babysitter threatening to diaper him despite our wishes I'm not confident that this is the end of this subject.
But I guess I'll worry about all that later. For today it's stickers and cookies, celebrations in the street, and kisses a plenty for Captain Kid, the boy who pooped.
Or how about the time he pooped in the tub?
And then my personal favorite, the time he pooped in his crib and I did a bad cleanup job and walked around an expensive department store with it smeared all over my shirt? I heart my life.
Well today, despite the odds (he's had a case of the runs since Wednesday) Captain the Kid dropped it like it's hot and actually pooped in the right place, the potty, three times already today.
It all went down as such because we put him in underpants today with no diaper parachute. Shockingly he took to it like a pig in shit. How long can we keep this up? Dunno. And with the babysitter threatening to diaper him despite our wishes I'm not confident that this is the end of this subject.
But I guess I'll worry about all that later. For today it's stickers and cookies, celebrations in the street, and kisses a plenty for Captain Kid, the boy who pooped.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
You English are SO superior, aren't you?
It's all so clear now. The Captain would be way cuter if when he misbehaved he did it with a sweet little British accent.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
The Babysitter's Club
I somehow feel as though I've been knocked over the head with a club, dragged around by my hair, and thrown into a cave to watch the children while Fred Flintstone goes out to do the hunting. No, not by the Deviant Dad, but by the woman who watches the Captain in the afternoon, who clearly comes from the school of the man is responsible for earning the money, the mother is responsible for taking all blame related to the rearing of the child.
Truth be told, she comes from a different era, a very traditional Italian background and, well, a different political persuasion from myself. One day she complained to me that her aunt has a couple of "Spanish girls" caring for her and they don't speak any English and don't know CPR. When I suggested that her aunt pay to send the girls for a CPR course she exclaimed, "How can they learn CPR? They don't speak English!"
Anyway.
Perhaps it's this discord that creates friction. But you would think that I would be immune from friction or confrontation, given that I haven't been to her house since my back went out nearly 2 months ago. Yet, somehow she manages it.
Yesterday, after our flogging in the principal's office, the Deviant Dad dropped the Captain off for his afternoon care and made an inquiry to get an overview of his behavior at her house, a synopsis of how he spends his afternoons with her, and just a general yet more specific sense of how his day at her home looks. The point being, if we are to change his "behavior issues" we need to have everyone on board. She politely answered his questions and then proceeded to call me on my cell phone five minutes after he left. What I listened to was a 10 minute rant of defensiveness and indignation, not to mention a lecture on the nature of children and how they all hit and throw things from time to time. I politely tried to get off the phone twice as I was driving on the Beltway and finally told her that the Dad would call her back. He did and she gave him two minutes of lovely and all was well.
From where I'm sitting, my guess is that she has a crush on my husband and just won't confront him. That or it's that Neanderthal perspective on the mother-father/woman-man dynamic and who should be held accountable for transgressions and malfeasance. Boys will be boys. Oh, men. ;-)
I was fuming. And not just because I was once again getting the back of her hand while the Dad got the batting eyelashes.
And once I got beyond the anger, the bigger questions started popping up. What if she doesn't want to work with us on this? What are we going to do about the fact that she refuses to help with potty training? Actually, when we brought up potty training she exclaimed that it could be done in a day and suggested we go to Dr.Phil.com. (Anyway.) And then the even harder question...do I need to, once again, torture myself into finding him a new nanny? As I'm sure you remember from the Nannycide episode, going through a transition to another daycare situation is less than desirable. But if it's a matter of helping to curtail his behavior and working with his teachers, who I know have his best interest at heart, well...how can I not make a change?
One of the most difficult decisions parents have to make is who will care for their child. When you find someone you trust, someone you know who isn't a deviant or molester and who has a generally good nature, it becomes too easy to stay with what is comfortable.
Moreover, the Captain loves her. So in that sense, contemplating firing her feels a bit like if Florence Henderson thought about firing Alice. Only an overbearing bigoted Alice who can't imagine that CPR classes are also administered in Spanish.
Truth be told, she comes from a different era, a very traditional Italian background and, well, a different political persuasion from myself. One day she complained to me that her aunt has a couple of "Spanish girls" caring for her and they don't speak any English and don't know CPR. When I suggested that her aunt pay to send the girls for a CPR course she exclaimed, "How can they learn CPR? They don't speak English!"
Anyway.
Perhaps it's this discord that creates friction. But you would think that I would be immune from friction or confrontation, given that I haven't been to her house since my back went out nearly 2 months ago. Yet, somehow she manages it.
Yesterday, after our flogging in the principal's office, the Deviant Dad dropped the Captain off for his afternoon care and made an inquiry to get an overview of his behavior at her house, a synopsis of how he spends his afternoons with her, and just a general yet more specific sense of how his day at her home looks. The point being, if we are to change his "behavior issues" we need to have everyone on board. She politely answered his questions and then proceeded to call me on my cell phone five minutes after he left. What I listened to was a 10 minute rant of defensiveness and indignation, not to mention a lecture on the nature of children and how they all hit and throw things from time to time. I politely tried to get off the phone twice as I was driving on the Beltway and finally told her that the Dad would call her back. He did and she gave him two minutes of lovely and all was well.
From where I'm sitting, my guess is that she has a crush on my husband and just won't confront him. That or it's that Neanderthal perspective on the mother-father/woman-man dynamic and who should be held accountable for transgressions and malfeasance. Boys will be boys. Oh, men. ;-)
I was fuming. And not just because I was once again getting the back of her hand while the Dad got the batting eyelashes.
And once I got beyond the anger, the bigger questions started popping up. What if she doesn't want to work with us on this? What are we going to do about the fact that she refuses to help with potty training? Actually, when we brought up potty training she exclaimed that it could be done in a day and suggested we go to Dr.Phil.com. (Anyway.) And then the even harder question...do I need to, once again, torture myself into finding him a new nanny? As I'm sure you remember from the Nannycide episode, going through a transition to another daycare situation is less than desirable. But if it's a matter of helping to curtail his behavior and working with his teachers, who I know have his best interest at heart, well...how can I not make a change?
One of the most difficult decisions parents have to make is who will care for their child. When you find someone you trust, someone you know who isn't a deviant or molester and who has a generally good nature, it becomes too easy to stay with what is comfortable.
Moreover, the Captain loves her. So in that sense, contemplating firing her feels a bit like if Florence Henderson thought about firing Alice. Only an overbearing bigoted Alice who can't imagine that CPR classes are also administered in Spanish.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Mediocre Blogger
Yep, busted. By all accounts I should have been blogging every day of my 6 week recovery. But really, there are so many blogs out there detailing the minutia of "Project Runway," I figured my readers didn't need another.
I also didn't think my bout with stomach flu was worth rehashing. Nor was my sinus infection and irritating cough. In short, my 6th week of recovery was as much about getting worse as it was about recovering. By the time I returned to work last week I was worse than I'd been the week before. Fortunately this week is better than last week, physical therapy is starting next week, and my most recent discovery, I once again have sensation in my toes. That's about the best that can be said for the highlights of these past 8 weeks.
The Deviant Dad and I were marveling tonight that there's very little that we aren't mediocre at right now. Here are a few highlights of our recent mediocrity:
I also didn't think my bout with stomach flu was worth rehashing. Nor was my sinus infection and irritating cough. In short, my 6th week of recovery was as much about getting worse as it was about recovering. By the time I returned to work last week I was worse than I'd been the week before. Fortunately this week is better than last week, physical therapy is starting next week, and my most recent discovery, I once again have sensation in my toes. That's about the best that can be said for the highlights of these past 8 weeks.
The Deviant Dad and I were marveling tonight that there's very little that we aren't mediocre at right now. Here are a few highlights of our recent mediocrity:
- Last weekend, the Deviant Dad hit another car while backing out of the driveway...my car;
- Between doctor's runs for me, taking care of Captain Kid's school and daycare drop offs, 2 stomach flu's and a double ear infection, neither of us feels we're doing a particularly good job at our careers;
- The house is a mess;
- The dog is ignored;
- We've still only managed to rake up about half the autumn leaves;
- We are stuck on renovation projects all over the house because I can't be responsible for watching the Captain whilst the Dad tears apart the house; and, the really big kicker...
- Today we were called in to the principal's office to discuss the Captain Kid's "behavior issues."
About the most that can be said for our lives right now is that we're keeping our heads above water. And of course being called in to the principal's office was just a lowlight in a distinct period of lowlights. It turns out that being called to the principal's office is as demoralizing when you're 32 as when you were a kid. Then again, I was NEVER sent to the principal's office as a kid. That's the Captain's OTHER genetic legacy.
I just feel like I want to commit myself to doing something really really well but I don't know where to begin. It's obviously not parenting. It's not my dieting. It's not my health or my job. And it for sure as shit isn't this blog. I'm searching for my Muse. If you've seen that crazy bitch, please tell her where I live.
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