Peeing on the hottie.

In case you thought it eerily silent on the subject of potty training, yes it was intentional. For me it was a case of this is too good to be true and it won't last why jinx it. But I think we're far enough along to declare it. So here goes...

Captain Kid is officially daytime potty trained.

There, it's out. Now any future failures will come back to haunt me and I will declare that I jinxed it, but the time has come to rejoice (instead of my usual swearing and bitching). Though I wish I could take credit for this one, this was entirely the Captain's Everest. Much to our shock, some earlier anal retentive behaviors came out in our favor. He figured out that, no, he doesn't enjoy being dirty and yes, there is a quick and easy solution. Every day it goes a little bit further, with the Captain relieving himself in strange and exotic places. Where last week he would only perform in the comfort of his own home, this week he has transported his skills to friends' houses and school. And then tonight his potty experience took him to Lebanon as he gave up Number 1 sidesaddle in the bathroom of the exotic Lebanese Taverna. Fancy stuff.

The Captain loves going to the bathroom, so much so that instead of peeing on the potty he now declares that he's "peeing on the hottie." A bit crude for sure, but who am I to undercut his enthusiasm?

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.

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.

Poops and pail and puppy dog tails.

That's what little Captain's are made of. I don't even know where to start about my shitty afternoon and all the shit that ensued, but I guess I'd best start with the backpack.

Every day when the Captain arrives home from school, I am tasked with the daunting job of emptying the backpack. It's with great trepidation that I pull the baggie from his bad for fear of the contents inside. Will it just be a wet T? Or will it, like today, be 2 pair of totally pooped up underpants?

Now, to me it's a game of what's grosser than gross. You remember the old game. What's gross? A pooped up diaper. What's grosser than gross? Pooped up, hardened, cold underpants. I hate it and I hate cleaning it out. It usually amounts to a stifled gag reflex and a lot of breath holding. Which is how the events of this afternoon transpired.

So while I'm cleaning out the shitty pants, Captain kid decides it's Naked Time. I see the pants and diaper come off and the diaper gets balled on to the floor. But now he's running around the house and his tushy is covered by his t-shirt, so there's really not much I can see. All I know is that my hands are deep in shit and I can't very well chase him in current state. So I finish cleaning out the underpants and grab some bleach and a sponge to disinfect the sink. If anyone out there has a better method I'd appreciate the feedback.

Anyway, seeing as how I'm holding my breath, it somehow escapes my attention that within the balled up diaper is a balled up turd. And even if I had been breathing in the air from the cruded up underpants, naturally shit is a natural mask for the odor of...shit.

So now I finally spot aforementioned turd in the diaper and it dawns on me that he's been running around nude for the last 5 minutes. I don't even know where to start. First stop, swab down the toddler, which he's none too pleased about. Then I run off to assess the damage. But where to start? Thank goodness for Dog, because like pigs sniffing out truffles, she's on the case. I follow her nose and (hopefully) clean up all the skid marks around the living room. But...

Now it dawns on me that I've forgotten about the toddler. So I return to the bathroom and he's picked up the bleached up sponge and is swabbing out the garbage pail (oh thank you Montessori). I clean him up, put away all the cleaning products, and turn around to rinse off the sink. Still with me?

While I'm rinsing the sink it gets quiet. Too quiet. And now I look and he's standing out on the patio holding...a can of cement glue and a power drill. Deviant Dad gets a serious Memo award on that one, I manage to shove the toddler in his crib for some much needed R&R (you know, for me), and now I sit here blogging away and dreaming of being in a nice cozy office next week, away from shit and poop and smart ass toddlers that make me look so goddamn mediocre.

And now...the entertainment portion of our blog. Thank you for reading...

Pottygate update.

I know I don't normally post so quickly. Hell, usually I like to wait a good 2 weeks to get my readers fully alienated from my life, but we had a breakthrough. After lunch, the Captain stripped down once more and headed for the potty. This time he asked for Cheerios, which made me think, wow, he wants a snack. This must mean he's committed. The Kid hops on the toilet and I run off to get Cheerios. When I return, believe it or not, he's sitting on the toilet and yes he's doing it. Pee's flying everywhere and even a drop or two got in the bowl.

All hail mighty Dog, though. Just like the good doormat she is, she walks over to the toilet and laps up the urine. Good dog. Woof.

Naked ambition.

Sigh...


Alright, I am very excited and pleased to report that Captain Kid asked me to take off his clothes and diaper, ran into the bathroom, and for the very first time (for me) decided to sit on the toilet. We had a wonderful half hour in the bathroom. He hopped on, he hopped off. He flushed the toilet. He flushed it again. And again. He put paper in the toilet until I put the paper away. We talked. We laughed. It was better than Cats, better than Les Miz.


But when the Captain goes for something, it doesn't just stop there. And so began the hour-and-a-half of nakedness and a few frightening moments of tushy to rug contact. It seems that he's tried the naturist thing and decided he's "into it." Every time I tried to get him dressed again he peeled off all his clothes and diaper. Which is all well and good when he's sitting on the potty, but a little frightening when he's running about, blowing in the breeze. And since he's figured out how to get naked...let's face it, I've lost.


Does it make me a terrible parent that I'm not eager to get piss and shit on my furniture? We do have mostly hardwood floors, but with all the grooves and crevasses I'm not certain how a cleanup operation would go. It sucks bad enough when Dog pukes. I do understand why people wait so long to potty train, because dealing with the prospect of piss and shit all over the place is none-to-appetizing. But we are already down the dark path and of course his school is to thank for the progress.


The question is, how do I keep him on the potty in his al natural state? Is there some incentive or coercion that I'm missing out there? Hmmm...

Crappy Doo.

There was something utterly delicious about the vision of the Captain sitting inside his potty, flipped upside down, with a dirty diaper strapped to his body and a clean diaper wrapped around his waist. Yes, it's potty training time. Let the non-stop festival of shitorama begin. In fact, let me just get my moment of infantile behavior come out all at once:

Poop

Shit

Merde

Poopy roopy roo!

Alright, I'm back. It's me, the 32 year old woman attempting to get a professional job at a law firm who thinks of nothing but doodie. And if I had a functioning camera I would document these precious moments. Sadly I don't, so I'm left with this feeble attempt:

Now you might think we've engaged in this activity a bit early, but it's coming around the bend. School starts this month. And with that, the pressure begins. One year to get him sorted. And I must give him kudos for the strides he's made in a short time. Today he pooped and actually ran to get his potty. Hence, sitting inside of the upside down potty with a fresh diaper wrapped around his waist. But we do seem to be getting into a bit of confusion, I'll admit:

1. The other day I caught him scooting around on it like a riding toy;

2. He has been known to toss the whole thing at Dog;

3. Turns out the potty?...awesome for carrying small blocks and toys; and

4. He can dance quite a jig standing on top of that sucker.

All of which made me think...maybe the standard inside the box potty is just too boring for our Captain. I couldn't help but wonder and, naturally, I had to do some googling. For sure, it went from the very fancy to the completely practical. I suppose you just need some imagination.

I see grownup people.

It seems to me that Captain Kid has a sixth sense whenever we, his parents, become complacent or let our guard down. Which is why the snowball (or poopball, if you will) of yesterday's disasters seemed that much more sinister, somehow.

First, to set the stage:

• The Dad "conveniently" had to be out of town for a "business meeting" - oddly, somehow this meeting inovolved sailing. Weird.
• The Captain had a case of the runs on Saturday, so we went through two changing pads, had none left, and had a load of laundry on deck. We left the changing pad naked. And just to review, we live in Spain, land of the washer and dryer, hold the dryer.
• We had also changed the sheets on Saturday and Dad decided to pack up all the rest of the bedding. So we had two sets of sheets, one dirty and one on his bed.

Okay, the scene is set. So it must be time for the Captain to show me just how stupid and mediocre I am. Mediocre Mama is blogging away during the Captain's nap and suddenly hears crying. I take a few minutes to follow up and when I get there the Captain is covered head to toe in poop. I move him to naked changing table and this stuff has been stuck on him a good long while because it will not come off, except when it sticks in the grooves of the naked changing pad. I remove my good white shorts and jump in with both hands. It's bad. His legs, his back, his hands, around his mouth (which brings up other horrifying images). I ultimately dunk him in the tub and he's going mental (can't say as I blame him).

So now, in addition to packing, thanks to the Captain's 6th sense and my general overzealousness in packing up his room, I can add to my list of chores for the day cleaning the bedding, his clothing, my clothing, scrubbing down the changing pad and crib, cleaning out the funkified diaper pail, washing out the poop laden tub, all with the Dad at his "business meeting" and me with a cracked toenail.

Maybe the Captain is just smarter than I am. Or maybe it just highlights that for all the control I try to exercise the truth is I have no control. Even if I weren't such a Mediocre Mama, you can think life through on a worst case scenario basis, pack everything under the sun on a road trip, you can be prepared for anything, but shit happens - again and again.

So, I leave you with this - mostly because I can't think of a good way to end this entry, but partially because I'm just cute like that. Just a few song lyrics from one of my favorites by Tom Lehrer -

Be prepared! That's the Boy Scout's marching song,

Be prepared! As through life you march along.

Be prepared to hold your liquor pretty well,

Don't write naughty words on walls if you can't spell.

Be prepared! To hide that pack of cigarettes,

Don't make book if you cannot cover bets.

Keep those reefers hidden where you're sure

That they will not be found

And be careful not to smoke them

When the scoutmaster's around

For he only will insist that it be shared.

Be prepared!

Be prepared! That's the Boy Scouts' solemn creed,

Be prepared! And be clean in word and deed.

Don't solicit for your sister, that's not nice,

Unless you get a good percentage of her price.

Be prepared! And be careful not to do

Your good deeds when there's no one watching you.

If you're looking for adventure of a new and different kind,

And you come across a Girl Scout who is similarly inclined,

Don't be nervous, don't be flustered, don't be scared.

Be prepared!

Crash test dummy.

I don't get what the big deal is about being diapered. I mean, he knows he's uncomfortable, he asks to be changed. So why is it that the Captain can struggle so hard that he and the changing pad nearly went careening off the table today?

From the tender age of about, oh, 3 weeks, we've been forced to use the safety straps on the changing pad. As evidenced by other tales of his restlessness, clearly this kid doesn't like to sit still for much of anything. So I'm not quite sure how this happened but it somehow involved pushing his foot off the wall whilst I held his other foot for changing him and thank goodness I was holding it because the next second he's just dangling there by his foot. It begs the question...is it illegal to duct tape a toddler to a changing table? It made me ponder the possibilities...

It also presents another issue. Should I lug his changing pad with me around Spain and France over the next month? Diapering him freestyle is nearly impossible and requires the power of 2. We are driving, so it's not out of the question. But it is bulky and a pain in the arse to pack. Our latest travel plans have changed and now we're flying back from Seville to Valencia (saving us about 8 hours of driving - yipee), but I don't know that I have room in the luggage and I really hate to pitch it on the way home because it cost us $40. Not to mention there does come a time where you have to say enough is enough on crap you lug with you. Right now our packing list for the Captain looks like this:

• 1 pack n play



• 1 bath seat (because it's like giving a bath to a cat otherwise)



• clothes



• regular diapers and wipes



• swim gear (including swim diapers, floaties and additional floatation devices)



• beach accouterments (pale, shovel and whatnot)



• books



• toys (soft ones that he can't make too much trouble with, so therefore they are plusher and bigger than regular toys)



• baby pillow



• baby blankets



• stroller



• folding highchair (because restaurants don't have their own)



• harness backpack (why do we even bother?)



• car seat

All this is fine and good for driving, but I feel like we're pushing that 20 kilo limit for air travel hard and fast. If I were back in the states I probably wouldn't be pushing it with everything I'm bringing, but I (a) don't want to pay to use a travel crib at 10 euros a night in some places and (b) don't want to rely that their equipment is in good condition, what with our experiences on various sleeping deathtraps throughout Italy. See my Top Ten list for a brief refresher.

Yes, I realize this all seems rather "alpha mom" of me, but my hands are tied. This is why I had a fabulous idea months ago about a baby supply rental place that will never come to fruition because I'm too much of a slacker to get off my ass and start a company. Maybe the more practical idea would be to bring all the baby stuff and ship the baby.

Payback's a Beach.

After spending a lovely, if chilly, afternoon at the beach, I must say that it's one of those activities that seems more fun with a child. This time I mean it, no dripping sarcasm here. I had forgotten how much fun it is to pick up shells, dig in the dirt and run away from waves at the shoreline.

Last summer was the first time we'd brought the Captain to the beach. Though timid at first, by the end he had a very confident stride...

But as new parents, sometimes you let their fun outweigh what is best for them. Which brings me to a very important topic and warning to all you parents out there. Sand and poop do NOT mix well together. We found this out the hard way. It seemed innocent enough, letting him eat sand, but it's one of those little known consequences. Turns out that sand has to go somewhere. Imagine, if you will, that instead of using baby wipes you switch to sandpaper for a week. Our poor baby cried himself silly every time we had to clean him and let's just say it was a learning experience for us all. So please, if you do follow those parenting guidebooks, please jot somewhere in the margins a little note...eating sand=bad.

Another pooptacular day.

Though I'm sure you won't believe me, I really was going to post about something else for a change. Really, I've had a draft regarding playgroups and play dates in the works for about 3 days now. But sometimes you gotta strike while the iron is hot, or in this case, the poop.

There's really no way to sugar coat this one, so I'm just going to come out with it. 2 words, baby...bathtub poop. It was a first. Truly, poor baby obviously wasn't feeling well. Truly, Mediocre Mama isn't feeling so great after cleaning it up, either.

I have decided to spare you the awful details and attempting to leave much up to your overactive imaginations. Trust me, not only do I not want to write about this one, I am considering partial brain lobotomy to get rid of the memory myself.

But I do pose but one question. How do you soak bath toys for disinfecting? If you say put them in a basin with water and ammonia or bleach, you'd be wrong. You see, that's what I thought, too. But think about it...these toys are inherently designed to float. So even if you do soak them, really you're only cleaning half of them. And try though I might to turn the rubber duckie upside down, that cricker just kept popping up for air.

Note to self, invest in rubber gloves. Alright, going to contemplate throwing up now.

Poops, I did it again.

I do realize that my loyal readers (all 5 of you) are going to think that I'm obsessed with poop and shit, but it's been an over the top week of poop. And sometimes, when you just think you've gotten a handle on this parenting thing, it all goes to shit.

On Tuesday night, during a rather unremarkable dinner out in the Old Town with Dad and the SIL, the Captain started getting agitated and began tossing his dinner roll and throwing cutlery. He suddenly tipped to his side and went all red in the face. Although we knew the Eagle had landed, we let him sit for a few more minutes as he happily picked up his bread and began snacking away. As a sidebar, I find nothing grosser than pooping and eating; but I digress. We finally took the Captain out of his booster seat and his pants were fairly soaked through. Dad and I cowered on the floor of the bathroom and alternatively dealt with his hand/shoe dipping into the mess. Course, we felt like bone heads because we haven't carried spare clothes in months. The Captain had to suffer the indignity of a trip home in a diaper, sneakers and a jacket. Pretty much a scandal in the town where babies wear linen suits to play in the park.

...but that wasn't the best part.

Yesterday, I put the Captain down for a nap in his diaper and a t-shirt. As I was writing yesterday's entry, I didn't respond straight out when he started yelping for me to come. Finally I go and he's standing in the crib, no diaper and a little puddle next to his leg. I pulled all his bears and blankets out of the crib before anything gets peed on again and suddenly notice a 3 inch turd sitting on the mattress. The little man actually managed to drop the bomb within the 20 seconds it took me to clear away his sleep accouterments. So I pick him up and note it's all over his legs too. Long story short, I clean him up, clean the bedding, no harm, no foul.

But there's an epilogue. Oh, it wasn't over for your friendly narrator. Not by a long shot.

An hour or so later I decide to take the Captain to the Corte Ingles, a fairly upscale Harrod's-type department store in Spain. I was dressed nice, but not flash, and I was most intrigued by the number of people checking me out. Frankly, I find it odd when anyone checks me out with a child in tow, but Spanish men really don't care so I just figure it's not unusual. I spent about an hour roaming before I picked up an outfit to try on. And suddenly, I spied myself in a mirror.

Now, have I mentioned my enormous breasts? They are quite large. So large that they could, say, shield my view of anything in my waist area. And so, while you would think that I would have noticed the large shit stain smeared across my shirt, it seemed to have narrowly escaped my view. Sadly for me, most of the shopping clientele at Valencia's Corte Ingles do not have large knockers blocking their view.

So the lesson Mom's and Dad's? Parenting should never be so time consuming that you can't do a last minute check before walking out the door. Words to live by.