Once upon a potty

Emerson has decided she's ready to start potty training. Of course everyone else in the world knew she was ready months ago. Perhaps it was the fact that she would regularly go get her own pull-up, take off the dirty one, wet wipe herself, put on a clean pull-up and take the wet one to the trash. Or perhaps it was the fact that about two seconds after she "dirtied" her pull-up she would have a nervous break down if I did not immediately drop everything, run at break neck speed to get her diaper and do a dive roll back to her in order to get her all cleaned up. My family kept telling me that she was ready and I in turn, kept telling her, but true to form, she wanted to do it her way.

So, here we are. Emme has made up her mind that she has to get potty trained so that she can go to school like Carson. She is a great big social butterfly and loves the busy, hub-bub of the school every morning. When we had to leave Carson at school on Monday with all those cupcakes, she begged me to leave her there too. I had to explain to her that you have to poop in the potty before they will let you go to school. Sobbing in her car seat she explained to me that she "od-a-ready diddddd poop in her potty." Which is true, but she only did it once, by accident, about two weeks ago. I re-explained that you have to do it everyday and you have to wear panties before they will let you come in. "I got panties momma, I wear my panties, I pom-ise", she said. I had to break the news that you have to not pee-pee in the panties while you wear them. "Oh", she said and that was that.

So, on went the panties and deep breath, she's doing pretty good. Oh, there's been plenty of accidents and Dobie and I have taken to traveling with an extra set of clothes, but I think we are making progress. I have taken to offering "potty presents" if she goes for long spells without having an accident. And today, I offered up an eye shadow kit if she pooped in the potty. I meant it to be an incentive when she needed to go later. But she wanted it so badly that she kept trying to make herself poop so that she could get the prize. I swear I thought she was going to give herself a hemorrhoid from pushing so hard all day. At one point, she came running to Dobie and I and announced that she had pooped- so hooray, clap, clap, give me the eye shadow. When I asked if I could see it, she said that she had already flushed it. It was a total lie of course, and she stomped off, eye shadow-less. She did eventually produce the world's tiniest poop-ette and received her prize as promised.

As this is my second time around the potty block, I am pretty relaxed about the whole thing. She's not even three yet; she still has plenty of time. If all else fails I have a pretty good Plan B. See, I have this theory that if you go buy the biggest box of pull-ups that you can get your hands on, your child will magically be potty trained in less than 72 hours. It's one of those Murphy's Law things.

And if I must confess my most deepest, darkest secret, then the truth is, I'm not in any hurry for this to all to end. I know that being potty trained heralds the end of babyhood and that all too soon I will miss the familiar swish-swish sound that only a diapered bottom can make. She is the last baby I will ever have and soon she won't be a baby at all. Of course, potty training aside, she is already well on her way to growing up. Whether I like it or not.

Carson K.- Second Grader

And so begins another school year with fresh new hair cuts and squeaky clean shoes. Carson has begun the second grade (oh, where has the time gone) and seems to be enjoying it thus far. He is placed at a table with the class genius (please let her work habits rub off on him) and his best friend, Samuel. Not a bad start I’d say.

I can also happily report that he actually likes school this year. And if I have to pinpoint what changed from all the years past, I believe that the credit should go to Sylvan. I don't know what they did over the summer, but it has made a tremendous difference. He has lost that choppy cadence in his reading which seemed to stunt his ability to comprehend what the heck he was supposed to be reading in the first place. It has really changed everything. Listening to him get through a 12 page reading assignment literally brought tears to my eyes. I knew that we were no longer going to have to fight that demon that had Carson convinced that he was just not smart enough to do the work.

Also making the transition to school a bit easier was the fact that Carson turned 7 on Monday. I brought cupcakes for the class and regaled them with tales of Carson’s crazy antics as a baby. I have told these same stories to the same kids for years now, but I guess some stories never get old. They never get tired of hearing how when he was two, he found the scrap of umbilical cord I had saved in his baby book and immediately popped it in his mouth to eat it. I suppose that umbilical cord humor is just gross enough to hold their interest over time. Another favorite tale that they always beg to hear about is when he went up in the play tubes at McDonald’s completely dressed and came down stark raving naked eating somebody else’s chicken nugget. That is always sure to gets them going. And I can always finish big with the time that we were getting ready to go out and I looked up to see Carson riding the garage door all the way up to the top. He was, and still is actually, such a hoot to be around.

When I asked him if he felt any different now that he was seven, he said, "I think I 've changed alot. I used to like grilled cheese and hate reading and now I love reading and hate grilled cheese." Well, there's that.

Carson's 7th

What started off as a really stressful day turned out beautifully. Friday morning I woke up to dark cloudy skies and a forecast of thunderstorms in the afternoon. I worried all morning that Carson's birthday party was going to be ruined on account of the weather. But, just like that, the skies parted and the sun came out. At 1700 hours (it was an Army party after all) the guests arrived and the party began. The kids swam and played and and enjoyed a great game of "capture the flag" with water balloons. This was definately a highlight for all involved. Here are the boys learning the rules.



After several rounds of this game, we had to get a quick birthday song in before the sun went down. Everyone liked Carson's army cake. It was chocolate with chocolate icing, my favorite. I figured that if I was the one choosing the cake then I got to choose what I liked.


No sooner had the kids eaten their weight in hotdogs and cake, then they were back in the pool for more swimming. As Emme is just one of the boys, she stayed in the pool until it was too dark for me to count heads anymore. I ordered everyone out and they spent the next couple of hours playing in the yard with flashlights. Although I had set up a big tent for the overnight campout, the kids ended up sleeping (and I use this term loosely) in my mom's TV room. I checked in on them a couple of times, broke up a fight or two and evidently kicked my nephew Jake out of the room at some point. I am a little sketchy on the details of why he got the boot as I become somewhat incoherent when I am deprived of sleep. I do remember begging for the boys to go to sleep about 1:30 a.m. and explaining to them that I had actually become dizzy with exhaustion. At some point, they must have given out because the next thing I know it was morning.

And by morning, I mean the crack of dawn morning. Someone should really study the metabolism of little boys because they evidently do not require any discernable amounts of restorative sleep to get going at full blast again. Dobie brought in doughnuts and juice and the boys (and girl cousins) dined outside.



And then it was back in the pool until the parents came in about 11:00 a.m. All in all it was a great party and Carson reached his goal of $100 birthday dollars. I don't exactly know why this was his goal, but he has equated $100 with true kid wealth. I am glad that he had a good birthday and I am super duper glad that it is over.

One is the loneliest number

Hi, my name is Stacy and it’s been 6 days since I’ve last seen my children. They left for San Antonio to visit their grandparents last Friday and I am officially miserable without them. As Dobie was the one to cook up the idea of an extended visit, I naturally blame him. Of course, he is completely bewildered why he is at fault and I believe that I am coming dangerously close to being labeled a nut. If he asks me if I’m about to start my “woman time”, I may go completely bonkers and start throwing stuff.

I find that I am not one of those people who enjoy being by myself. Sure, I like a little “me time”, but seven consecutive days is too much. By day three, I had re-read two Harry Potter books, cleaned my entire house and taken a couple of naps. Wish list complete. I was then faced with four more days of “now what?”

To make matters worse, I spoke to the kids last night and they were both weepy and crying to come home. At some point, Emme got so hysterical that someone just took the phone away and hung up. So for the rest of the night, I was all weepy and depressed. Dobie, of course, has no idea what to do with me. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what to do with me. I seem to be operating in a sort of fog, just wishing time would go by faster.

Luckily, there is an end in sight. Tomorrow, my babies will be home and we will celebrate Carson’s 7th birthday with an “Army campout” in my mom’s backyard. And since I have had nothing but time on my hands to plan this shin-dig, I may have, okay, scratch that, I probably have gone overboard a teensy weensy bit. I have found that excessive amounts of free time combined with the crushing pain of missing your children results in the ever so slight-est over indulgence of one’s impulses. So, Carson will get a party to remember and I will get my sweet angels back again. Everyone’s a winner, I’d say.

Musings

My husband and my sweet babies are in San Antonio and I am left alone with my dog and my thoughts. Here is what I know.

I love Cezar Milan, aka, The Dog Whisperer. I faithfully tune in every week to watch him overhaul another psycho dog and show the dumbo owner how its all their fault their dog is totally screwed up. He just strolls in with his spanish accent and super creased pants and tsk-tsks the dog a couple of times and like 25 minutes later, the unruly beast is doing laps on the treadmill. Amazing.

I am always on the lookout for tips on how to fix my own hound-from-hell, Duncan. Books about Beagles- read em'. Obedience classes- took em'. Progress? Almost none. In fact, I believe he ate one of the books about Beagles and I had to throw it away. He is kill-ing me with the never ending list of valuables he has chewed up. Eyeglasses, gone. Three pairs of Emerson's sandals, shredded. My one good black bra, ribbons. The underside of my bed resembles a large fuzzy nest, filled with disentrailed Webkins, sippy cup lids and all the missing pieces from Emerson's tea sets. I estimate that he is blowing through about $50.00 bucks of my stuff a month and that is a conservative estimate. His only saving grace right now is that he has not chewed one thing of Dobie's. (Which I find ironic considering that Dobie leaves his stuff absolutely everywhere.) I have this idea that if I just watch enough Dog Whisperer episodes, I will magically absorb the necessary knowledge to tsk-tsk my stupid dog in to perfect subservience.

It's kind of the same philosophy that drives me to buy fitness magazines. LOSE 10 POUNDS in 10 DAYS! WALK YOUR WAY TO A SIZE 6! I see the titles and I gravitate towards the promise of a new me. However, what I consistently find is that you must actually do the "secret weight loss plan" if you want to lose the weight. Evidently, you cannot glean any aerobic benefits at all by reading alone. And, surprise, surprise, all of these super secret weight loss plans involve ridiculous amounts of exercise and absolutely no pancakes. Was that really a secret? Did people just find out that eating less and exercising more helps you lose weight? But I digress.........back to Cezar.

What it all comes down to is this, Cezar Milan is a genius and my only hope of rehabilitating my deranged dog is to watch more of his show. They had one good beagle episode, but once again, all the dog's problems were solved by a nice long walk. So the moral of the story is this: no matter what your problems are,whether it be a house devouring dog or a great big bubble butt, all you got to do is go on a really long walk.