Week without Mommy? I Got This. (The Hub's Guest Blog)

Last week, I was away on business in Philadelphia. This was the first time I was away from my family for more than a night. A couple of years ago, The Hub was out of town on a work assignment for a month, so I know how challenging it is to suddenly become a temporary "single parent." Before I left, I made sure the house was in order and I laid out the girls' clothes for school for the week... just to make it a little easier in the mornings for him. We talked every night and The Hub would tell me the highlights of each day...all were good and reassuring. I can honestly say, I did not doubt his ability to go it alone for the week... and I was right to be so confident. I came home to find the house still standing, the kids were not sold on the black market, S did her homework, and B left the house with her pants on everyday.

Later, I learned that there were a few moments of complete chaos and rule bending that The Hub left out of our phone conversations... He didn't want me to worry. I asked him to write about his week alone with our kids. Enjoy!!

***

Getting Ready in the Morning

Two bathrooms plus three people, T-minus twenty minutes until the bus arrives. The math did not work that morning.

B: I wanna wear my Tinkerbell nightgown to school.
Me: Sure. Why not?
B: YAY!

B's Daycare Teacher: B's hair is full of static! It's standing straight up!
(I walk over to the sink, wet my hands, and slick back her hair.)
Me: TA-DA!
B's Daycare Teacher: When does your wife come back?

B: Daddy, you need to put a ponytail in my hair.



TA-DA!



 Working from Home

 

(I'm on an important business call with a client.)

Me: Yes. I'll get that proposal to you in 10 minutes.
B: (Walks into the room with pants around her ankles) Daddy!! Can you wipe my butt?!
Me: Make that 20.

S: Daddy! I spilled my drink!
Me: I'm sending out an email right now. Just put a paper towel on it and I'll clean it up in a minute.
(She used my work notes.)

Making Dinner

Me: What do you want me to cook for dinner tonight?
S: Happy China.
B: McDonalds.
Me: Okay.
The Kids: YAY!

Me: I'm ordering pizza tonight.
Kids: YAY! You're the best cook ever!!

The Bedtime Routine

The Kids: Daddy, we need to take baths tonight.

Me: (Give each kid a sniff check.) Nah, you're good.
The Kids: YAY!!

 (30 Minutes past bedtime and the kids are still goofing off in their room.)
Me: You better go to sleep or I'll call your mother and tell her to stay in Philadelphia FOR-EV-ER!

The Kids: Complete silence for the rest of the night.

I got this.

 

I Am Wolverine

B was the first one to get sick.

On Saturday, January 5th, just after her first two days at daycare, B woke up with a low-grade fever. She was laying down on the couch and not being her usual monkey self. The Hub and I decided to cancel our plans to work in the yard and make it a "lounge around the house" day. Suddenly, she started coughing really hard and then vomited all over herself, the couch, and the carpet. Oh hell... Here we go with the daycare germ sharing. For the next few hours, we battled her fever and she slept. By 5 P.M., B was jumping around and energetic as ever. We thought we had dodged a bullet. Little did we know that was just a preview of the horrors yet to come.

It started on Wednesday, the 9th. I was sitting at my desk at work and I felt a tickle in my throat. Then I started coughing. I thought it was from the dry and dusty office air. Thursday, I felt a little more tired than usual. I just couldn't get going. Getting up at 5 A.M. was taking its toll on me, but again, I shrugged my shoulders and had some more coffee. Driving home that afternoon, I got the chills. That evening, I didn't feel like eating dinner and all I wanted to do was go to bed.

Eight days into my new job and I came down with the flu.

Friday morning, I had a pretty high fever and felt awful. B woke up with another fever, too. I emailed my co-workers to tell them that I was staying home that day, wrapped myself up with several blankets, curled up on the couch, and watched cartoons with B. The Hub attended S's awards day ceremony and then worked from home that afternoon. Just like the Saturday before, B felt fine by 5 P.M. I was not so lucky. My fever spiked and I couldn't move. I was coughing and congested. The Hub practically carried me to bed that night and there I stayed for the next 48 hours.

I'm not too clear on the sequence of events during that time. At one point, I woke up convinced some mad scientist filled my bones with Adamantium.

Me: My bones are filled with hot metal.
The Hub: Oh yeah?
Me: I am Wolverine.
The Hub: Do I need to take you to the hospital?

I swear to God, they turned me into Wolverine.
I'll prove it once I figure out how to get my claws to poke through my knuckles... 

Photo credit: http://www.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Movies/05/01/the.scene.wolverine/index.html 

I woke up another time, walked into the hall and yelled, "It's 95 degrees in here! Who's fucking with the thermostat?!" I pushed a bunch of buttons on the thermostat and went back to bed. The Hub walked over to the thermostat after I left. It was 72 degrees and I didn't change a thing.

It had been such a long time since I'd felt that sick. It was the kind of sick when you wish you were a little kid again and your mom could take care of you. My body ached and I cried a few times when it felt that I would never be well again. The Hub would bring little plastic cups of NyQuil and Tylenol. He would fill my water glass and rub my back and legs when I swore someone snuck into the house and laid heavy cement blocks on my body. He corralled the kids to the living room and not once did I hear, "Mommy? I need _______!" He even did housework. I didn't have to worry about anything other than my hot metal bones. I fell in love with him all over again that weekend. 

My fever finally broke Sunday night. I was dripping with sweat and thirsty as hell. I couldn't get enough water. It was the first time that I was able to sit upright since Thursday night. It was also the first time I wanted to eat. I warmed up some chicken and noodle soup, took a few bites, and proceeded to vomit. I could not keep any solid food down. But, my fever was gone and I was grateful that I wasn't hallucinating anymore.

From Monday until Wednesday, I would get up each morning, take a shower and get dressed for work. I never made it out the door. I tried. I really tried. But, I still was unable to keep anything down and I was incredibly weak. S woke up with a fever on Monday, but like her little sister, she was fine a few hours later. I believe one of the hardest parts of parenting is trying to take care of a sick child when you, yourself are sick. I guess The Hub felt left out, because he started to feel sick Tuesday afternoon. He stopped by a Minute Clinic and tested positive with the flu, but the doctor prescribed Tamiflu and he was fine the next day.

I lost 10 lbs over the course of eight days. One would think I would be stoked that I finally lost my baby weight from my pregnancy with B... ahem, three and a half years ago... but I looked sickly and I was weak. My first meal was cucumber slices, soda crackers, and ginger ale. My second meal was three chicken nuggets and edamame. So far, I've put 2 lbs back on and I'm sure by next week, I'll be back to my normal weight. Sigh.

By Thursday morning, I was determined to go to work. I was no longer contagious and I was finally able to keep food down. My co-workers were extremely compassionate and even helped me with the work I missed the four days I was out. I was able to go back to normal life slowly. No one expected me to be at 100%. It was lovely. I was able to catch up on everything and finish out the work week.

I attacked the house with Lysol, bought everyone new tooth brushes, and washed all the bed sheets and pillow cases. I restocked the medicine cabinet with multi-vitamins and I am pushing frequent hand washing like a drill sergeant. I battled the mutant virus and came out alive. I am Wolverine.

Still waiting on those damn metal claws...

Mommy is Going Back to Work

It is day one of 2013. Happy New Year! I've already broken two resolutions. I'm not worried. I have a whole year to get back on track. To be honest, I'm not focused on my laundry list of resolutions. I'm not even focused on my laundry. After three and a half years of being a stay at home mom, I go back to work tomorrow. I feel like a teenager getting ready for a new year of high school. Each year, I'd spend the last day of summer, contemplating my game plan for the new year: Will I be funny? Will I be quiet and devote myself to homework? Will I reach out to make new friends or let others come to me? Each year I'd decide on my persona and by the first hour of class, I'd fall right back into my slightly funny, kind of shy, awkward girl persona who floated between different cliques and did really well in honors Language Arts and failed miserably in Geometry. I was right in the middle. Now that I've lived another lifetime since high school, I've figured out who I am. I'm a slightly funny, kind of shy, awkward girl, with a dash of smartass that comes with age. I'm looking forward to my job which will not involve geometry proofs and hopefully, a lot of words.

I wanted to be like Angela Chase from My So Called Life.
I wasn't good at leaning.

On the eve of the first day of my new job, I've already laid out my first day of work outfit, packed my first day of work lunch, set aside my favorite mug for the first day of work coffee, and cleaned out my car for the first day of work commute. I am so ready for this.

No, I'm not.

Even though I spent the last year looking for outside employment, I've really enjoyed being at home. It's been my job for three and a half years. I started off as a working mom when S was born and I did fairly well with the balancing act, but I've fallen in love with the home mom job. The original plan was for me to stay with B from birth until she started Pre-K in August this year. Once both kids were in school full time, I could go back to work. The Hub and I put ourselves on a ridiculously tight budget and hunkered down. Over the past three and a half years, The Hub changed jobs twice, we had to replace a hot water tank and both toilets, we brought on two pets, and survived numerous other money pit situations. We went without family vacations and fancy electronic equipment. I became a coupon clipper and I've grown quite fond of generic brand coffee. The Hub and I rarely went out. But, after all this time, the struggle and hoping that nothing else would fall apart before my stay at home time was up, I truly enjoyed the experience. I found myself. I discovered some hidden talents. I tell some amazing bedtime stories. I have a flair for organizing. I learned how to cook. I found that I can go for the long haul on half a tank. I started writing again. I started this blog. I learned to be comfortable in my own skin without wearing make-up. I could actually go three days without a shower. I am good at making due with what I have.

Over the last year, we realized that B needed to be around other kids and we were tired of living on the lean. Not to mention, the kids are both going through growth spurts. They're eating us out of house and home and out growing their clothes faster than our budget allows. Besides, I'd really like to take a real vacation and actually make my home look like my "Design Inspiration" board on Pinterest. That all takes money. I am grateful that this new job fell into my lap. I know I'm extremely lucky for this opportunity. But, still... I am nervous about the change. And a little sad.

Since I've played both roles, I feel that I know both sides to the story... the pros and cons, so to speak. Obviously, a big pro is the extra paycheck. Since I'm not in high school anymore, I need a new thing to contemplate the night before the first day. Here is a list of pros and cons of going back to work.


Pros:

• While at work, I will be called by my real name. I am not required to answer to mommy, mom, mama, or ma.
• My co-workers are responsible for their own lunches, tying their own shoes, and putting on their own coats.
• I will not have to wipe another person's butt or nose for eight hours a day, five days a week. 
• No one will bang on the door and cry while I'm in the bathroom.
• I can listen to my music while in the car twice a day.
• No cartoons.
• I can say T.G.I.F. again and mean it.
• I can carry on an adult conversation without having to stop to let the dog out or yell at a kid for writing on the walls.  
• B will be in daycare. (Insert evil laugh here)
• I won't have to share my computer so someone else can play Nick Jr. games.
• I'm not the boss.

Cons:

• No farting, belching, or scratching while at work.
• Yoga pants and pajamas are not appropriate work attire.
• Hiding in the closet to eat a chocolate bar is frowned upon... maybe that should go into the pro column.
• I'll have to put on a bra before 7:00 A.M. and keep it on until after 4 P.M.
• No naps.
• A swish of coffee is no longer an acceptable form of mouthwash.
• No eating the leftovers off of co-workers' plates.
• A scoop of peanut butter on a spoon, a handful of goldfish crackers, and a juice box is not a professional grown up lunch.
• No surfing the web for funny pictures of cats.
• I cannot end an inter-office disagreement with "because I said so, that's why!"
• If a co-worker makes me mad, I cannot send him or her to timeout.
• I won't do the "Yay! The kids go back to school tomorrow!" dance on Sunday nights. It will now be the "Awwww, I have to go back to work tomorrow" sulk.
• I'll have to leave the house on rainy days, extra cold days, and bloated days.
• I'll miss the little buggers.
• I'm not the boss.

It's going to be fine. I'll be fine. Who knows? Maybe I'll really love my new job. I really liked everyone I met while interviewing. I already know I'll be good at my job and I'll be able to do some really fun and interesting things. It's close to home and they let me pick my own hours so I don't have to send S to before/after school daycare. It's okay with my employeer that I'm a mom first. I've found that if a company recognizes that, it's a damn good company and you need to make sure you work hard and keep that job. Even with the cons, this opprotunity is better than I could have ever imagined. It's going to be a good year. I can't wait to tell you all about my first day and all the adventures to come.

(Deep breath.)

Don't Make Me Turn This Car Around!

It's the holiday season and for many of us, it is the time to load up the car and go over the river and through the woods to visit family and friends. Traveling during the holidays is typically not a fun event. Traffic, bad drivers, and poor road conditions due to wintry weather makes even the most holly jolly driver turn into a bird-flipping, bah-humbuggin' Grinch.

Each year, we suffer from either amnesia or a heightened sense of optimism and we forge ahead with our travel plans, even though for many of us, it will not be merry and bright. This is especially true for those of us who travel with kids. If you have never been stuck in a car with kids or have conveniently forgotten how you were as a child, just imagine sitting in a small confined space with monkeys on crack. Even the most well behaved child will act up in the car.

Our daughter, S, suffered from motion sickness when she was younger. Without fail, every time we tried to travel more than a few miles, she would vomit all over herself. It happened so often, we always traveled with an extra change of clothes, old towels, baby wipes, a trash bag, and air freshener. One Christmas Eve, we took a trip to the North Georgia Mountains to visit my parents. We stopped twice to mop up toddler puke, change clothes, and Febreeze the inside of the car. Once we reached my parents' cabin on the top of a mountain, we gave S a bath and washed her clothes. Later that evening, dressed in our Sunday best, we jumped back into the car and headed down the winding and weaving roads to my parent's church for Christmas mass. S couldn't take the switch-backs and tossed her cookies again. This time we did not have a change of clothes. The Hub pulled the present he was going to give to me from the trunk and told me to put on S. It was an alpaca sweater. Our daughter walked into church looking like a little shepherd boy.

A few Christmas Eves later, we added a second little passenger and made our way up the mountain once again. Our other daughter, B, started to scream as soon as we placed her in the car seat. It takes about an hour and a half to drive to my parents' cabin. After an hour and a half of enduring blood-curdling screams and violent retching coming from the backseat of our car, while fighting holiday traffic, The Hub and I walked into my parents' cabin with our teeth clenched and demanded hard liquor. No one was surprised when we said we would not make the trip again until both kids were older.

But, the joy of driving with kids is the gift that keeps on giving throughout the year. Kids are like wild animals. They long to be free to roam in the open fields, not tightly bound in a rear-facing car seat. Kids are naturally wired to move. They have to kick the back of your seat to release their pent-up energy. Kids, especially my kids, are music critics. They are not shy about their distaste for our "old people" music. (Heaven forbid I change the channel during a One Direction song.) Kids have no concept of time and demand ad nauseam to know if we are "almost there yet." Someone always has to pee when there is not a rest stop for miles. Someone always wants the other passenger to stop looking at them. Kids ruin road trips.

And it's not just on long car rides. It takes us exactly 13 seconds to drive from our house to my in-laws' house. It takes 5 minutes to load the kids into the car to make that 13 second drive. Every single time we get to the car, the kids fight about who gets into the car first. When we bring our dog Bailey with us, we have to lift her 65 lbs. butt into the car because she does not like car rides. This cracks my mother-in-law up to no end. It looks like this:

I don't WANT to ride in the car, mama!

We could walk to their house, but where's the adventure in that? Besides, we live on top of a very steep hill. Getting there is easy. Walking back is not.

I know I deserve all this traveling-with-kids drama. My two sisters and I put my parents through vehicular hell. When I was a little girl, my mom was rushing to get us into the car to get somewhere (I can't recall where, but it was important that we made it there on time.) Like always, my two sisters and I battled over who got to ride "shotgun." I wrestled my way into the front seat and my middle sister and I continued to fight. Completely distracted by our chaos, my mom backed out of the garage, failing to realize that the passenger side door was still ajar. She ripped the car door right off the hinges. We did not make it to our destination that day.

Until I had kids of my own, I never understood why my dad strictly enforced the "no talking while he was driving in traffic" or "while the radio is on" rule. Those rules eventually turned into the "no talking in the car ever" rule. I didn't understand why my parents would grumble, "just wait until you have kids" when we finally made it to our destination and all they wanted was hard liquor to calm their frayed nerves.

Well, once again, payback is theirs and rightly so. Every time I yell, "knock it off, you two," or "just get in the damn car, already," or the ever popular (yet never enforced), "don't make me turn this car around," I find comfort knowing that one day my kids will have to drive their kids around. To my dear parents, I am sorry I drove you nuts while you drove me around. I accept my just desserts. To The Hub's parents, I am sorry for all the mischief he caused on your cross country travels... Like the time he shoved that drinking straw up his little brother's nose, causing him to bleed all over the backseat of the car. Rest assured, we're paying for that, as well.

Karma is a car full of cranky kids and no rest stops for miles.

Honestly, has anyone ever turned this car around?
Photo Credit: http://cheezburger.com/3807832064

I wish you all safe and peaceful travels. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Yuck! Don't Touch That! Part II

It's that time of year again! The air is cold. Frost covers the ground. Time to dig out the winter jackets, hats, and mittens from the back of the closet. People huddle close to keep warm while walking in a winter wonderland. That's right, folks! It's cold and flu season! I've shared before that I am not a "sanitizer mom." Rather, I am a hand-washing enthusiast. (Re: Yuck! Don't Touch That!) However, during the winter months, I kick up my hand-washing reminders for the kids. I refill the soap dispensers near every sink with moisture rich soaps to keep our hands from drying out. I'll even break out the Lysol to wipe down door handles and light switches. I read somewhere that the cold does not bring illness. Instead, the cold forces people into close quarters where the warm air is re-circulated and germs have a captive audience.

So far, my family has not suffered from the flu or a bad cold. Knock on wood. Unfortunately, the "ick" is all around us... The Hub's co-workers come to work with the stomach flu, other parents send their boogery kids to school, or we simply stand in the check out line at the grocery store with someone who is dangerously close to coughing up a lung. People don't stop when they are ill anymore. It's not like the good ol' days of The Brady Bunch, when Jan sneezed twice and Carol Brady called the doctor. No, life is too busy for a cold. We push on and infect anyone who gets in our way. 

"Mike, Cindy has the sniffles.
I think it's time to quarantine the children and burn down the house.
It's a cesspool of disease in here."

The Disney channel runs a PSA to remind kids to wash their hands and to avoid touching their eyes, nose, and mouth during cold/flu season. I believe that it is a pretty simple and effective way to avoid the common cold. My kids, however, struggle to grasp the concept. For the last few weeks, my daughter, S, was on a mission to pull a loose baby tooth. It was her 5th one and she wanted to get her dollar from the Tooth Fairy. I would constantly catch her with her fingers in her mouth, wiggling that little tooth. She would get off the school bus, wiggling her tooth. She would walk through the grocery store and help me place items in the cart, wiggling her tooth. She would play outside or with other kids and wiggle her tooth. No matter how many times I told her to stop, question the cleanliness of her fingers, or remind her of the millions of germs dancing on her hands, she wiggled that tooth. I am so glad it finally came out last night. 

My daughter, B, always has something in her mouth. When she was a baby, just learning to crawl, B would roll over on her tummy and pick at the living room carpet, looking for loose carpet fibers. As soon as she found one, she would put it in her mouth. Earlier this year, I spent a whole day in a panic, trying to figure out if she swallowed a penny. She recently gave up her binkie. The Hub and I were tired of searching for misplaced pacifiers and when she lost her last one, we told her she was out of luck. After a week, she stopped asking about it. But, now she likes to chew on pencils and pencil erasers. Hands touch pencils... um, yuck. If I got a nickel for every time I told her to stop putting stuff in her mouth, I could pay someone else to tell her for me.

Lately, we've had the heat on in the house. I've noticed my contacts have been dry and irritating my eyes. I have a pair of eyeglasses. I don't like to wear them. They're wire frames circa 1994. The lenses are too thick for the frames which makes it look like I'm wearing coke bottle glasses. They also don't fit my face correctly. The nose piece highlights the bump on my nose from when I broke it during a softball game over 20 years ago. I don't get dolled up to go to the store, but I refuse to wear my glasses out in public. I should get new glasses. I wish I still had my pink plastic frames from the 80's...  I hear they're back in style.

I had glasses like these, except they were pink.
Back then, I looked like a dork. Now, they would call me a hipster. 

Getting back to the contacts...

While at the grocery store yesterday, my eyes were really itchy and dry. So what do I do? I reached up and rubbed my eyes. I stopped mid-rub. Holy hell, my hands are dirty from touching the shopping cart handle! Visions of Staphylococcus aureus, Haemophilus influenzae, Streptococcus pneumoniae and Pseudomonas aeruginosa danced in my head. I swore I could feel my eye getting pinker by the minute. As soon as I got home, I took out my contacts, flushed my eye with saline solution, and wore my ugly glasses the rest of the night. Right before I went to bed, my eye was sore and kind of goopy. I think I might be okay now, since I woke up without a crusty seal of mucus around my eye and the white of my eye is still... well... white. 

Why am I so worried about pink eye, you ask? I used to work with a real jackass. One day, he overheard an emergency phone conversation I was having with S's daycare teacher. S woke up from her nap and her eye was very pink and I needed to remove her from the daycare immediately. My co-worker said in a very loud voice so the rest of the office could hear, "Pink eye comes from touching your own poop and then rubbing your eyes! Your kid messes with her own poop like a monkey! That's disgusting." See? Told you he was a real jackass. Now, I know that was not the case and my daughter is not a poop-throwing monkey. But, I was mortified that someone would say that (even in jest) about my kid. Now, every time I hear that someone has pink eye, I think of poop-throwing monkeys. Which makes me wonder how many other people think the same thing? 

I call my kids "monkeys" ONLY because they like to climb on things...
  

Moral of the story? Don't be a poop-throwing monkey! Wash your hands and don't touch your eyes, nose, or mouth. I wish you and yours a very happy and healthy winter season! 

Earn Those Poop Stickers, Girl!

Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that B, age 3, is potty trained!

I swear, I only mentioned it once... maybe twice.
Three times, tops.
photo credit - http://some.ly/peOw6S

Yeah, I know. Big deal, Terese. B is your second child. B is a girl. Second born girls are easy to potty train because they just watch their older sisters and copy them. That's what they say, right? Well, that's what they said to me when I expressed how NOT easy it was to potty train my second born daughter. Truth be told, I didn't potty train my first born daughter, S. I was working full time when she was that age and the daycare did all the hard work. They told me they felt S was ready to start potty training. They told me to get her some training pants. They introduced her to the potty. They set her schedule. S would come home and tell me when she needed to use the potty. It took a while for her to graduate from training pants to big girl underpants, especially at night, but eventually, she mastered it. 

So about a year ago, when other mothers were talking about their adventures in potty training their kids at age 2, I decided it was time to give it a go with B. I pulled out S's old training potty. It was a Winnie the Pooh potty. Yes, I giggled at the name, too. I purchased some training pants (Pull Up's.) I set up a chart to track her progress with stickers. Guess what? B wasn't interested. She didn't want to potty train. I remember hearing that you should not get upset if your child does not want to use the potty at first. Leave the little potty chair where she can see it. Eventually, she'll want to use it.

For the next year, the sticker chart stayed bare. The Pooh potty sat in the corner of our hall bathroom, collecting dust. I continued to purchase diapers. I repeated my mantra, It will happen one day. I re-introduced the concept of potty training every month. B rejected it every time. At one point, when I asked her why she didn't want to use the potty, she told me she loved her diapers. At $20 a box, this terrified me. B would get very mad if I brought up the subject. Fearful of screwing up my kid, I didn't nag her about potty training. On the outside, I was easy going about the whole situation. Eh, it'll happen before she leaves for college. If not, she can buy her own diapers then. In my mind, however, I obsessed about it. All I thought about was potty training. I would dream about potty training. I would secretly not like other moms who had potty trained kids B's age or younger. I would search the Internet late at night, looking for advice and training tips. I asked others how they trained their child. I tried every trick in the book. It didn't matter what I did, B did not bend.

The one thing that really drove me crazy was when people would ask about her potty training progress. But, they wouldn't ask me. They would ask her. 

So B, why are you still wearing diapers?

B, why don't you use the potty like your big sister? 

B! You're not potty trained yet?

Why hasn't your MOMMY potty trained you yet?

Here's a public service announcement, folks. Don't do that. It's not a fun party conversation. It puts the mother and the child on the spot. Especially if you don't know the child or the mother. I don't know how many times some stranger would come up to us while at the grocery store to comment on how awesome my daughter is only to poke and prod about her potty training success, or lack there of. Think of it this way: How would you feel if a stranger came up to you and questioned why you haven't lost those 10 lbs you've been trying to lose lately? I hope you would say, "What's it to you, jackass?!" instead of turning red in the face and say what I said when faced with the potty training question, "We're working on it. Thank you. Have a nice day." Damn politeness. Why do I have to be polite when others are so incredibly rude? Perhaps, I am doing them an injustice by not calling them out on their social indiscretions. Perhaps, I'll address that another time.

Two weeks ago, Thursday morning, B woke up and declared that she wanted to "Ride the Potty Train." Okay. Sure, kid. It's not nice to toy with your mother's heart. I played along. She asked me to put the sticker chart back up on the living room wall. She wanted to wear her Minnie Mouse big girl underpants. She stated very clearly that I was not to talk or ask her about "Riding the Potty Train." I was only there to help her on and off the toilet, assist in the messy wiping jobs, and to make sure her underpants were on correctly. B was going to do this all by herself.

B potty trained like it was her job. The first time she peed, she yelled, "I get a pee sticker, Mommy!" The first time she pooped, she yelled, " I get a poop sticker, Mommy!" I cried. I shed big tears of joy. I was so grateful every time she called me to help her get on the toilet that I swear I skipped to the bathroom. B only had three accidents since she boarded the potty train. We added a new sheet of paper to the potty chart because she covered the first page with stickers. Remember when I talked about my 30-somethingth birthday wish? Well, I got my birthday wish this year. B potty trained. Hell yeah, people. Hell yeah.

My favorite piece of art in the house. 

Now here comes the lesson part:

B did not potty train until she was ready to potty train. She didn't follow a schedule. She didn't buy into the bribes or the peer pressure. She woke up one morning and decided she was ready. It had nothing to do with me, the Hub, her big sister, that nosy lady at the grocery store, or our family and friends... it was her. The last two weeks, I have cheered and danced like I won the lottery. I proudly displayed B's poop stickers on the wall in the living room, showing them off as if they were Olympic gold medals. I smiled and sighed in relief when we passed the diaper aisle without grabbing a box. But, I can't take the credit. I still don't know how to potty train a child. I have a sneaking suspicion that a child potty trains themselves when they are physically, mentally, and emotionally ready. And that applies to most things in our lives. You can't lose weight until YOU want to lose it. You can't give up an addiction until YOU want to give it up. You can't write the next great American novel until YOU want to write it. You have to want it, want it in the very worst way, so you can find that drive to actually do the hard work to reach your goal. No matter how much other people want it for you, it is your wanting that gets you to your goal. No matter how minor or major the goal is, you have to work for it and you have to want to work for it. The want is what gets you a page of poop stickers on the living room wall.

What is it that you want?

Mommy? My Tummy Hurts...

There is nothing quite like the sound of your kid throwing up from the backseat of your car. You know the warning signs:  A few moments of pitiful complaints about stomach discomfort followed by complete silence just before the eruption. You never think it's actually going to happen until it actually happens. It always happens when you are driving on a busy road or when you are miles from home. It happened to me yesterday. B and I were on our way to meet my friend, W, and her new baby, Lil Pineapple for lunch. (You first met W here... she still doesn't cook.) Twenty minutes into the forty minute drive, B starts wiggling in her car seat and crying about "the belly hurts." At first, I thought she might be hungry since she was in good spirits all morning. In hindsight, that should have been my first clue that something was wrong. B is not a morning person and she was bouncing off the walls a little earlier than usual. I handed her a chip from her lunch bag. She ate it and said, "Thank you mommy. I feel better.... BLAHHHHHH!" As it turns out, B is a violent barfer like her mother. There is nothing dainty about the way we spew. It also occurred to me that this was the first time B has ever blown chow. Not like baby spit up but real stomach retching up chucking. It was awful. I pulled into the nearest gas station and handed her an old grocery bag and tried to comfort her while holding back sympathy gags. We canceled our lunch date with W.

As gross as that was, B's first ralph was nothing compared to the Great Stomach Virus of 2006. S was just shy of a year old and I was a few months into my new job. I found out that there was a really bad stomach virus making its rounds through the company for a few weeks. I also found out that the kids were dropping like flies at S's daycare. It was a Thursday and I remember making a mental note to buy some vitamins and orange juice on the way home from work, just to be safe. That night, the Hub and I went to bed. At the time, we were living in a ground floor apartment and did not feel safe leaving S in her room clear across the hall, so she slept with us in our bed. Sometime around 1:00 AM, S rolled over on her back and projectile vomited into the air like Old Faithful. What goes up must come down and down it came. All over my face. I had S vomit in my eyes, up my nose, and in my mouth. As I shot out of bed, dazed and confused, the hub woke up. He grabbed S and held her upright, fearful that she would choke while lying on her back. He was yelling, "Get a towel! Quick! Get a towel! She's hurling all over the bed!" I was stumbling toward the bathroom with my eyes closed, gagging and trying to breathe. Once the Hub realized I was having some issues of my own, he started laughing and gagging too. About an hour later, we were all clean and tucked between clean sheets. Just as I started to drift off to sleep, S erupted again, but this time, I rolled out of the way.

Four complete baths, pajama and bed sheet changes later, S and I curled up on the couch in the living room and the Hub slept on beach towels on the bare mattress in our bedroom. S had soiled every piece of linen we owned. I still don't know how something that little could produce so much chum. Then it started coming out the other end. Needless to say, I stayed home from work and did a ton of laundry the next morning. Around 9:00 AM, while bribing S with a new car for her 16th birthday to get her to drink some water, a wave of nausea rushed over me. I was sick. Very sick. The kind of sick that forces even the most able-bodied adult into the fetal position on the bathroom floor. I called the Hub. At the time, he was still a newbie at his firm so he was very wary about leaving early.

Me: Hi honey, I'm very sick. 
The Hub: Okay babe. I'll be home after one o'clock.
Me: I think I need you to leave early today. I'm really not feeling well, the baby won't take a nap, and I could really use your help.
The Hub: It's only four more hours, babe... do you think you'll be okay? I really can't leave right now.
Me: I have "Two Bucket Disease!" 
The Hub: I'm on my way.


That weekend, all three of us became violently ill. It hit the Hub on Sunday. He immediately called his mother (aka Meme or MA!!!) and she rushed over with an arsenal of soda crackers and ginger ale, scolding us for not calling her sooner. She played with S, who was feeling better, so the Hub and I could embrace our stomach virus without guilt.

***

About three hours after B and I returned home yesterday, B was running around like nothing happened. She ate her lunch and kept it down. I'm not sure if it was a little bug or motion sickness that caused her to hork all over the backseat of my car, but whatever it was, it's gone now. I'm truly grateful that it wasn't something serious like The Great Stomach Virus of 2006... which also happened to be my mantra while I hosed off the car seat yesterday.

Parenting is so gross.