Losing Bedtime Battles

It’s hard for me to go to bed tonight. Both boys are sleeping soundly in their beds. It’s not very often that I find myself awake with both kids asleep. They usually put up their fists and assume their best defensive postures before heading to bed. Atrain’s battle tactics take the form of frequent bathroom expeditions now-a-days. Jdog fights tooth (well, gum) and nail to stay in my arms at bedtime. He is four months old now, so we’re supposed to start “sleep training.” We’re trying, but I’m not a very good teacher. I know, I know Dr. Weissbluth…self-soothing is a very important skill for my baby to learn. I know that healthy sleep habits=happy, smart babies. I just have a hard time leaving him crying alone in his crib. He’ll only be this little for so long. The nights he wants me to snuggle him to sleep are numbered. So maybe my kids will end up being unhappy and dumb, but at least they will know they are loved.

Because I spend many of my nights soothing Jdog to sleep, his bedtime often becomes my bedtime. When this happens it’s hard to ignore the part of me that feels a little cheated out of a few productive, quiet night hours. Then I remind myself that my days as the most important woman in their lives are numbered. So, when I see that my boy’s bedtime battle strategies are starting to overwhelm my defenses…it’s ok to accept defeat, climb into bed, and cuddle. This phase of soothing little ones to sleep (then sneaking out of bed at midnight to find a quiet spot for my mind to mellow) are marked. And I don’t want to miss any of it.

Sweet little Jdog

I’m thinking of using the last few posts to springboard my new novel, “The Chronicles of Potty Training.” I’ve become so comfortable using potty terms and telling potty stories that The Puddle has lost propriety. Not that I’ve ever really been a “proper Polly” anyway. My mom always cringes when I consider changing Jdog’s diapers in semi-public places. She probably wouldn’t think twice about it if someone else’s daughter decided to change her baby on her lap in a restaurant. I think it’s just that she can’t believe she raised such a redneck. I love reminding her.

Anyhow, enough dirty talk. I need something sweeter to salivate over…something sweet and squishy and smiley. Something like Jdog. Aint never been a sweeter babe. Lately he’s learned to crank his neck around and turn his body to the side, just to look at me. I look down at his little blanket to see his big blue eyes and plump cheeks checking me out and I can’t help but snuggle right up next to him on the floor and watch him shove a hand full of my hair right into his mouth.

Jdog is a sweet, and somewhat serious baby. He smiles a lot, but you have to work hard for his giggles. Yesterday Atrain began playing “extreme peek-a-boo” with him. This game involved the traditional cover-your-eyes approach, but whenever Atrain uncovered them he screamed, laughed and danced the “peek-a-boo” part. I thought Jdog would cry, but no—he’s so sweet he just laughed at Atrain’s crazy game…just like he puts up with (and even is starting to look like he enjoys) the constant head-butting, smothering and silly singing/screaming. He is quite a patient baby.

For example: yesterday my sweet neighbor invited us and a few other families over for lunch. We arrived and Atrain said, “Wow—it smells good in here.” And he was right. She had prepared a five course gourmet lunch. It was amazing. She even made individual pizzas for each of the kiddos. Too bad picky little Atrain wasn’t impressed. All he wanted to do was ask the other kids to play “monster under the table” and race his cars down her hallway. I was so conflicted, trying to allow my taste buds to savor each succulent bite, coo at my sweet baby J, and wrestle my three year old into submission all at the same time. My stress reached a pinnacle when Atrain and the other kids somehow tipped over my neighbor’s full length mirror. It came crashing down right on Atrain’s head. We were so lucky that no one was hurt. I sat Atrain on the couch and sternly told him not to move a muscle while I cleaned up the mess, to which he responded, “You’re breath sort of stinks.” My first thought was, “I didn’t know you know the word ‘breath.” Then I didn’t know whether to laugh or get embarrassed or strangle him, or squeeze him and tell him how glad I was that the broken mirror didn’t ruin his sense of smell. So I just told him again to stay put.

Here is where the sweet Jdog comes in. Amidst all of the chaos he just sat there and smiled and let the other ladies admire him. Once the daggers of broken mirror were sent to the dumpster and the area was vacuumed, my neighbor brought out the cup cakes and Atrain retreated from “monster mode,” batted his big blue eyes and dished out angelic pleas for the delectable dessert. He does know how to be sweet too.

But today I am especially thankful for my sweet baby J, who puts up with a lot of tough love from big brother, a lot of mindless moments from mother and enjoys every instance he gets to snuggle with father. He sure is good at snuggling.

Port-a-Potty

Today the husband and I found ourselves in a rather precarious situation. We have a wonderful maintenance crew who respond promptly to our requests to kill our unwelcome insect visitors. (Yes, I’ll have the blood of thousands of ants on my hands in the next life. Too bad they infest the same floor my kids roll around on.) When we returned from the grocery store we found that they sprayed while we were away—which means that we needed to stay away for at least a few hours while the fumes diffused.

The husband suggested that we head over to the med school and watch a movie on the projectors while we wait. I married a genius. So, we pulled my trusty double bob out of the bike room and quickly loaded it with all of the essentials: left over quesadillas, fruit roll ups, water bottles, “A Toy Story” DVD, and—oh yes—the port-a-potty. Atrain isn’t quite comfortable with public restrooms yet, and I knew the kid would need to go while we were away. The solution was to wrap the plastic potty in a blanket and tuck it under the stroller’s canopy. It fit perfectly. No one would ever know we were transporting a bathroom for our three year old.

Our plan worked perfectly. The movie was a huge hit with Atrain. Jdog slept like a little angel in his half of the stroller. I snuck in a little computer time. The husband studied away. And, when Atrain needed to go, I pulled out the potty to let him do his business—all while our ant enemies were being exterminated.

But, then it was time to go. “What should we do with it?” I asked the husband, eyeing the little potty. “Dump it,” he said as he fastened both hands onto the double stroller and chuckled. Clearly the dumping would be my job. Good thing it was just #1. I wrapped it in the blanket, listening to its contents sloshing around. After slowly cracking open the door I felt like tip toeing down the hallway to the restroom. If only invisibility were an option. Then I wouldn’t have to run into anyone we knew who might ask to see our “new little one” wrapped in the blanket in my arms.

I made it safely to the women’s restroom only to see that it was closed for cleaning. Yes—now I had a great excuse to pass the potty off to the husband. We made a swift exchange, and he made it successfully in and out of the men’s room in under 30 seconds without making human contact. Then we stowed it safely away in the blanket, under Bob’s deep canopy. We were nearly home free.

It was a windy afternoon. The walk home would be less than five minutes, but I held Atrain tightly in my arms the whole way so my skinny little man wouldn’t blow away. Jdog and the potty were safely bundled deep in the stroller. Half-way home we spotted a couple of the husband’s classmates. “Crap, hope they don’t spot the pot,’ I thought. We made small talk for a moment, then one of them said, “I didn’t know you guys have three kids.” Busted. “No, we just have two…that’s just…my lap top,” I lied, hoping she wouldn’t see my computer case sitting on top of the stroller. “Oh,” she replied, “they sure are cute kids,” she said. “Thanks.” If she only knew.

Too much to write

There are too many things I could write about today:

1. My dream about Jimmer Fredette; or about how I am jealous of him—not his skills, just the husband’s attention to him. One word: bromance.
2. Waking up to watch Atrain wobble off balance down the hallway, wondering if he would soon start puking, praying that he wouldn’t, and loathing myself for not doing more research about vertigo and LVA last week.
3. Maybe I’ll write about how we showed up an hour late at the in-laws for dinner to see a perfectly set table with a NCAA themed dinner (complete with orange jell-o basketballs and basketball shaped meatloaf), and about how I didn’t even remember that I forgot the green beans until we got home tonight.
4. I could write about being the potty hover mother at church and at the grandparents’ homes, or how Allerina literally scared the Pee out of Atrain when they were playing “monster in the closet;” and how he decided to get in the tub, fully cochleared and clothed at Grandpatty’s home while I was trying to help with the dishes; and about how I broke down into tears in front of the in laws thereafter.
5. I could write pages about my dad’s bbq steak. He really needs to teach me how to make meat taste like chocolate. That is, after we own a grill. That is, after we live somewhere that can accommodate a grill. MMmmmm.
6. I probably won’t write about my family fears and complaints that had me sobbing to my sister, Bambie. I hate it when I feel selfish.
7. I could revisit my regrets that resurfaced as I saw the pictures of P-diddy and Famous’ recent beach-side excursions; I had a six month window of exploration in Hawaii with the husband and I blew it with 21 credit hours and a part time job. Oh well. I loved my undergrad degree.
8. Perhaps I’ll write about the ride home that went from 60 to 120 minutes of the husband fishing for my true feelings in an ocean of frustration. Thank heavens the I-15 corridor was closed and the husband is always open to long drives and discussions. He is much more patient with me than with treacherous traffic. What a good man.

Or maybe I’ll just go to bed.

Cuts and Butts

I’m sitting in the parking lot of “Cookie Cutters” waiting for Atrain to wake up so that we can snag a walk in appointment. I tried to cut his hair this week. I’m usually pretty good at it, but I don’t know what happened this time. I was wrestling Atrain with the scissors when the husband looked up from his computer and said “MJ!” with a guffaw, “It looks like a girl’s cut—like the duck butt cut.” I was angry. Considering the difficulty of the task, I thought I was doing a pretty good job. “What? You try it!” I barked back at him. Then I stood back. He was right. It was an extremely short version of an A-line. Even though I do prefer an A-line on Atrain over the bowl cut the husband loves, I’m going to need a little help correcting this one.

I also need a little help recovering from one of Atrain’s sweet observations. This week has been the week of the potty, so we have all become accustomed to toilet “tell and show.” Every time we need to go, we tell everyone, then show each other the results. It’s supposed to help boost confidence in the trainee. But today it burst the confidence of the trainer. Before we left for Cookie Cutters I was trying to get Atrain to go one last time. So, I announced that I needed to go, and that we should race to see who got to the potty first. Atrain won, and he did his business beautifully. I followed suit and when I was finished Atrain looked up at me and said, “You have a bouncy bum!” with a silly grin.

Hum. At first I gave myself the benefit of the doubt, thinking that maybe he didn’t mean what he had just said. After all, I was feeling pretty good about myself after covering quite a few miles on my morning run. “What did you say?” I asked. “You’re bum—it’s bouncy!” He said laughing as he slapped me on the rear, admiring its jolly jiggle. “You’re right, Atrain, I have a silly bouncy bum!” I said, giggling at the situation. Oh well. I needed a little more motivation to work of the extra few pregnancy pounds still bouncing around. Glad my kids keep me in check.

The Road to Success

I never thought this day would come, but I think it’s actually here. Atrain is doing his business in the potty. His shop was set up for so long in his pants that I began to wonder if I should invest in kindergartener-sized pull ups. But no—his nasty address has changed once and for all. Even though he left a few yucky messes along the way, (and I’m sure there will be a few more to come) cleaning up accidents beats consuming dirty diapers, hands down.

I am so proud of my little man. Every time he has a successful potty venture I squeal with delight. I’ve even been known to do a few high kicks and “bring-it” bathroom dances. Then I see his “really, mom?” expression and I quickly suppress my excitement. But inside I’m doing the Haka.

Two days ago I picked him up from preschool and I asked him if his pull-ups were still clean and dry. “Yes,” he replied, and then went on, “when I feel it, I say, ‘momma, I need to go potty.” I had listened to myself repeat this phrase many times, but for some reason when he said it, something clicked. No more pull-ups. No more, “Mom, I’m poopy—change me!” No more negotiating, begging and pleading with my three year old to take up toilet ventures. I was time to get dirty.

When we got home I changed his pull ups and announced that we were all out of replacements. Good thing I hid them, because he went looking. “What about in the bag?” he asked. “Nope—we’re all out. “What’s up there?” He asked, pointing to the top of his closet where I hid the stash. Darn, he caught me. “Those are Jdog’s diapers,” I lied. “I guess you have to wear underwear and put your poopy in the potty.” And that was that.

He didn’t like the idea of messing his underwear and he didn’t want to sit on the big potty, but after a momentary struggle we made a bargain: he could watch a few shows on TV if he did it while sitting on his little potty. So, there we sat—me on the recliner with Jdog eating and sleeping in my arms, Atrain on the little potty, ready to poop and pee in the living room. And what followed was magic.

After two PBS kids episodes he had peed, and I could tell by the look on his face that he was growing evermore uncomfortable keeping the rest of the nastiness inside. So I paused the TV to give him a little motivation. He whined, right on cue. I responded, “If you poop in your potty you can watch more.” Then I left him alone for a moment so that he could decide (he’s always appreciated his privacy while pooping). In under a minute he yelled excitedly, “I did it!!!” I walked back into the room, and sure as the stench burning a hole in the little plastic potty, he had done it.

I was so happy. I didn’t even mind dumping the contents and bleaching everything it touched. The little king had gone to the bathroom. He called for his toys, he called for his treats and he called for his PBS episodes, three. It was nice to discover that he cared about all of the incentive schemes, after all. We are on the road to success.

A Pee Poem

Puddles of Pee

Puddles of Pee

It’s fun to be three

And make puddles of Pee

Oodles of Stress

Oodels of Stress

Cleaning such a sick mess

Equals oodles of stress

Oh how I’ll be,

Oh how I’ll be

such a happy mommy

Without Puddles of Pee.