Note to self...

Memo - the next time I'm tempted to let the Deviant Dad cut the Captain's hair, please reference previous posts on how bad the Dad is at giving haircuts. Should previous posts be unavailable, look outside at the freshly cut, uneven lawn with long sprouts sticking out here and there and none of the edging work done.

--Mediocre Mama

Mediocre Drama

I am starting to believe that the only thing more mediocre than my mothering skills are the mothering skills of the people I hire to watch the Captain. I have been at the end of my rope with the babysitter for some time and am counting the days til late-August when I can finally say hasta la vista (insert "Baby" if you must for emphasis).

Clearly, the real problem is that I've only been picking the Captain up from her place on Fridays, which leaves me wide open for attack. As I've mentioned before, she has a Neanderthal view of parenting and seems to save up her pent up bullshit for days when I'm on pickup duty. If it's a Friday, all the better; she gives me a tongue lashing for everything that happened all week. So, here, for your mild amusement, are my last two Fridays in a two Act mini-Opera. PS - I envision the whole thing sung in Spanish...

La niñera es un cunt

Act I - The Potty

Now, just a little setting of the stage, the Captain has had absolutely no potty problems for months. Not only will he go in strange settings, he's mastering standing up when a proper step stool is present and even made an entire road trip to New York without any accidents. And it, therefore, perplexed us, that the only place he seems to be having "issues" is at the babysitter's house.

Me - How is he doing on the potty?

Babysitter - He doesn't want to go.

Me - Well, does he ask to go?

Babysitter - No. Never.

Me - That's so strange, because he always asks, not just us and his teachers but friends too.

Babysitter - (in a snarky tone) You know, I'm not one to tell someone how to raise their children (the audience laughs) but I know this woman who used to force her child to go on the potty and the child turned out strange.

Me - (aghast) Well, how can I be forcing him if he's asking to go?

Babysitter - (in disbelief) Oh, I wasn't saying YOU were forcing him.

Me - Well, it seems to me that if he's going at home, at school, and everywhere else, that it's simply a game he's started with YOU.

Babysitter - Oh.

Me - I'll show you how good he is. Captain (to the Captain)? Do you want to go to the potty.

CK - OK

Enter potty stage right

Me - Okay, Captain, where's the potty seat.

Babysitter - Oh, I don't have one.

The curtain falls.

Editors analysis - now, could it be that back in February when we started potty training and we took the time to go out and buy her a potty seat and dropped him off at her house with it, only to have her hand it right back to us with her exclaiming, "Oh, I don't need one I already have one," that she may have been...lying? And what's more, WHY?????? Is she so hung up on her old Italian ways of doing it her way that she can't for one second contemplate that an early potty trainer (under 2-1/2) might be a bit intimidated by the big bowl and if it doesn't mean any extra cleanup or drama that it couldn't hurt just to put him on the mother fucking seat?

Act II - Your child hits.

Our background for this blog entry is that every time the Babysitter wants to make me feel like a shitty parent she tells me that the Captain sometimes goes over and hits other kids and that she's never seen a child behave like that. He really should be put in a petri dish and studied.

Babysitter - The Captain sometimes goes over and hits other kids and I've never seen a child behave like that.

Me - Well, you've mentioned this before. Did you punish him?

Babysitter - Oh no. I won't do that. I'm just telling you so that you can take care of it at home.

Me - (defensively) Well, Babysitter, I'm not really sure what to tell you. You've mentioned this before and since I don't have other children around the house it's difficult to correct behavior that I'm not seeing. They correct him at school when it happens...

Babysitter - Well, obviously they're not doing a good job if he's still doing it (yes, apparently she believes it is their job to fix and not hers)!

Me - ...and he's no longer hitting at school because of it. And if I'm ever around it I correct it, but if you aren't going to punish him when it happens here I don't see what else you want me to do.

Babysitter - Well, I never would have told you I knew you were going to get upset.

Me - (raising my voice) You told me and I'm telling you what you should do. If he lashes out at another child he has to sit out and not play because playing is a privilege.

Babysitter - Well, I tried punishing him a couple of times in the beginning (Editors note - ummm...the beginning was 7 months ago) and it didn't work so I don't punish him.

(changing the topic)

So, Mediocre Mama, have you lost some weight?

Curtain Closes. The end.

This woman is killing me every time I see her. I feel like I'm running from the living dead when I see her (Editor's Note - Zombie movies rock, fyi), like if I let her speak one word to me she's going to suck my brain out.

3-1/2 more months. Holy crap I might not make it.

Blogophobic.

I seem to have developed a bizarre and inexplicable fear of my blog. I have some theories going as to why this is the case, mostly I'm thinking it's similar to someone who avoids going to their shrink for fear of opening a can of worms.

We've been pretty lucky with the Captain over the last month. The potty training sorted (though still problems with the crazy nanny on this front, blog for another date), he's been invited to participate in the next level at school, despite earlier fears, and his speech is coming along smashingly (earlier today he asked if I could do him a favor and when I asked what favor he would like he responded, "Um, purple."). So all that being said, why fear the blog?

I think I'm on such overload between physical therapy and work and healing (or lack thereof) that I just don't know where to start when I get here. It's hard to detail all your mediocrity when your day is oozing over with it. Perhaps if you take time to address it you have to do something to fix it. Hmm. It hasn't stopped me before.

Maybe it's that I was a shut in for so long that I don't want to bog myself down with emoting my every hilarious move of my life. Although that hasn't stopped me from spending way too much time on facebook so I dispose of this theory as well.

I don't know why I stare blankly at it. Maybe it's that fucking muse who checked out on me again. But all things considered, I'd ask you to hang in there with me. I sort of feel like I'm getting going on a diet (which is why I'm blogging this bullshit right now). Sometimes you just need to start doing it, whether it's good or not, until it becomes routine again. So forgive this boring entry. I'm working on it.

Mediocre Mediator

You know that something has gone wonky when you are blissfully enjoying a shower and hear the Dad yell upstairs, "The Captain's tricycle is going to good will!" Ah shit. Nothing can destroy a perfectly good Saturday quite like a proclamation that involves good will, sales to gypsies, something about underprivileged kids in Africa, or anything involving eBay. All made the worse by the fact that you have that terrible reminder that your Dad's words are falling out of your mouth. Intersperse with that the sound of wailing and screaming and the visual effect of your kid lying on the porch with his head in dirty crushed leaves and a somewhat ailing Mediocre Mama trying to hold everyone together in the background. Boom, now that's a weekend.

I tried to intervene and had him and the Dad calm for a good 10 minutes, only to have it explode in my face when the Kid threw a plate of slice up grilled cheese sandwich so that it landed butter side down on the table. Fortunately we put him down for a nap, a parent's ctrl-alt-delete button for kids, and upon waking up he was a new kid and has been all weekend.

I never understood why parents went all crazy when their kids had off from school. But holy underwear, with the Captain hold up at the babysitter's place all week and some less than forthcoming information about how he did from the sitter, I think I'm coming to appreciate the dilemma. He gets so messed up when school is off on holiday and the Dread Pirate Captain Kid seems to come out in full force. So much so that I'm pretty ready to sign on board with all these school advocates who want year-round schooling, having absolutely nothing to do with the quality of the Captain's education. In my book, "no child left behind" means putting safeguards in place (like a regular school day environment year-round) so that I'm not tempted to leave my child behind somewhere when he's being awful. Is it just me?

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?

Dog day afternoon.

Sometime in the last few months, Captain Kid declared a new enemy threatened his domain. Whether real or imaginary, our boy is out for vengeance and every day it gets darker and more sinister. Unfortunately, there isn't much we can do to shield him from this contentious relationship. It's none other than Dog.

Whether it's an age thing or a jealousy thing dictating these new circumstances, I am not certain of the genesis. Until a couple of months ago, the Captain was up to his usual tricks, walking over her like road kill and finding her to be a handy place to store his toys.

But something must have happened between then and now. Because for reasons only known to him, Captain Kid has declared war on the Dog. In many ways, the dramas he creates in his head are hilarious. Some of his more popular admonishments include:

Go Away, Doggy.

It's MY train table doggy.

It's MY dinner.

It's MY Mommy/Daddy.

It's MY floor.

In other words, it's a seamless rambling of paranoia that comes out of his mouth every time she walks by, sniffs for food or simply sniffs her butt. What makes it even more irritating is that as he stands there shrieking his head off every time she approaches, she gets worried that something is wrong and goes to check on him. It's a vicious cycle.

I'm not certain how we got ourselves into this predicament, especially after such a love affair in the beginning, but it's created an excessive amount of stress and has brought all of the Captain's worst attributes to the center stage. And this poor animal, who would sooner be trampled on than hurt him, has seemingly been labeled the annoying sister by the Kid and the Dad and I are banging our heads against the wall with all the high pitched screaming and hitting.

I don't know what the solution is because we're a family and he'd better get used to it. But in the meantime this neurotic behavior when he's with her is just too much. Perhaps she's just too big a dog for a toddler to be around. Maybe she's just a bit too eager for his style. But If I had to guess, I think this was the start to all the problems...

And I thought I had problems...

Oh, the joys of triplets...