The Sweetest Bear in the World

Bubba's stage debut was so adorable! Madhubby and I have watched the video at least six times since Friday. I would love to share it here but I respect the privacy of the other parents and their children. But Bubba did great and he used his deep, booming Papa Bear voice just like we rehearsed!

Fairy Tales

My preschooler is in his first school play tomorrow. For the past week, I have asked him about his lines, what they are and whether he knows them. Whenever I ask him about his lines, he leans in close to me and whispers in my ear, "It's a secret." But see, when he said "secret," he really meant "The script came home two weeks ago and you stuck it into my cubby without another thought. I don't know my lines because you haven't told them to me yet. You are failing at this mothering thing."

The play is tomorrow. I rehearsed his lines with him today at lunch. Fortunately, the play is a common fairy tale and I can tell his teachers have been working with him on his lines. He recited all four of them like a champ. He's all set. We will go over them some more this evening just to make sure he has them committed to memory then I can relax and look forward to the overload of cuteness on tap for tomorrow. 

Seperate and Unequal

It's small, Swiss made, and red; It is a must-have for the mobile preschool set.



But the injection of a Sigg water bottle into Bubba's benign collection of blue tinted Nalgene bottles was first met with trepidation, then all out resistance.

"I don't like it!"

"I want my other water bottle."

"I don't want it! Take it away."

I reminded Bubba how he had pined for this very water bottle.

"No, I never said I wanted it. I don't want it! I don't like it!"

And so the little red water bottle full of chocolate milk sits in the fridge waiting for the day when my petulant almost-four-year-old preschooler decides, "Hey, I really do like this bottle and now that I've decided I like it, it must ALWAYS be full of chocolate milk forever and ever amen, or I will immediately HATE it and go straight back to blue Nalgenes."

Totally Weird Tuber

Bubba: "Mommy, look at what I made!" *shows me a Mr. Potato Head with Picasso leanings*

Me: "That potato has an arm sticking out of his head."

Bubba: "Yeah, he's a weirdo."

Daddy, Smiter of Preschooler Ailments, Center of Universe

We've reached a peculiar milestone with Bubba, one that entails endless requests for "something to drink," mixed in with a healthy nighttime dose of "my stomach hurts," "I can't sleep," and, most telling of all, "I want Daddy."

We have officially entered the Daddy phase wherein anything that must be done for Bubba can only be done best by his father. When Bubba invariably awakens in the middle of the night because he has wet the bed, it's Daddy he wants to change his sheets and clothes. It's Daddy he requests on a nightly basis to comfort him, to read him a story, or to just be near him.

And I'm not the least bit jealous because when the nighttime calling begins, I settle into bed with a good book or I take an extra long hot shower. In other words, I take a little break from parenting and I let Daddy sort out all problems and fix whatever it is that ails Bubba. It's good for them both because Bubba knows he can count on his dad for support and kindness; moms aren't the only ones who can kiss away the boogie man.

Some nights, Madhubby is not gentle or responsive or patient because he's tired, but I encourage him to be kind and to think long-term about the emotional development of our son. Most times that works but I understand how overwhelming it can be to sate the needs of a three year old boy. I spend long days trying to do just that but his needs are never quelled for long.

But on the nights when it does all come together and Madhubby isn't cranky or ill-tempered, he takes over and gives both Bubba and myself some much needed peace of mind.

Absolutely the Last Word on Potty Training, For Now

It's a wretched business that I am OBVIOUSLY ill-equipped to handle this go round. Never mind that I potty-trained both girls in less than a week (Lizzie was one day, hand to god). I am out of my league and, despite my prior successes, unqualified to train the willful, spirited, thirty-six inches-and-some-change Bubba.

I always knew Bubba was scheming in his head, but we have now reached the point where he openly mocks me. Yesterday, I told him he would lose trains if he wet his pants, so he peed on the floor instead. Hey, at least the kid is a fast learner.

Little (Wet) Britches

If I could only pick one thing about parenthood that is really, really hard, potty training would top the list every single time. Teaching a small human who has little concept of bodily functions to (a) listen to his body; and (b) pee or poo into a toilet instead of into a diaper, ON A CONSISTENT BASIS, is a nightmare. Especially when that small human talks back and has an attitude the size of Alaska.

In our house, the road to complete potty-training is littered with distractions like Lincoln Logs, Legos, and yes, Thomas the Tank Engine DVDs. In a perfect world, Bubba would immediately sense his need to go potty, stop whatever play he is engaged in, and trot dutifully to the toilet. But, no, that doesn't happen. Instead, he plays a new game I have dubbed Pushing the Pottying.

It usually unfolds like this: Bubba will start to do something that grabs hold of his undivided attention, his body will send him a little signal, play continues uninterrupted because that is way more important than pausing to potty. Eventually, he'll will start squirming and pressing his legs together and holding his penis as though he can hold back the pee, which inevitable leads to wet pants and a sisterly cry from the playroom Bubba peed his pants! Great.

If you think changing a baby is tough, try changing a toddler who is dead-set on convincing you that he most certainly DID NOT just pee his pants. First, he cries and/or screams (loudly), then he avoids you by running away from you (fun!), then he just flat-out lies (not as cute as you would think). What pee stain? Oh, THAT. I have no idea how that happened.

We've tried everything. We took away his favorite underpants (Thomas doesn't like to be peed on), we limited his time in the playroom, we took him to the bathroom every hour (that actually worked) but, dammit, more often than not we still end up with wet britches. However, he is still waking up totally dry from nap. Go figure.

My Little Swimmer

Chicken, Airplane, Soldier, Hope

I've spent a fair share of my adult life in school gyms, auditoriums, and classrooms. I've been to school plays, orchestra performances, soccer games, tennis matches, and hydrogen car races. I am at the point where I can skip some performances without much guilt or apology and I no longer take pictures or record school performances. There is only so much footage I can bear of my offspring before it all just kind of runs together.

But today is a day I would have liked to preserve in pictures. Bubba had his first swim lesson and he looked so sweet sitting on the edge of the pool, idly splashing water while waiting his turn with the instructor. He was an eager learner once he was in the pool. He blew bubbles on cue, he perfectly executed chicken/airplane/soldier, and he was calm. For a moment, I forgot how much I disliked swim lessons.

Today, I was just so relieved that Bubba did well because swim lessons with Olie at this age had been a disaster for her and for us. She was rough and full of energy whereas Bubba is relaxed. Olie could not wait her turn, but instead forged ahead into the pool on her own. I finally completely withdrew her from lessons out of concern for her safety.

But Bubba is amazingly calm in the water (not so much on land) and it gives me hope that maybe he is not as hyperactive as his sister, that a child of mine can behave properly in lessons, and that this time will be different. Bubba is not Olie. Bubba will not disrupt lessons and demand turn after turn on the duck-shaped body board. This time I won't be that parent with the naughty toddler who doesn't share the water toys. This time it will be better.

Dry Sheets

It is almost too good to be true, and to write it here may render it a complete fiction by this afternoon, but I'm going to type it anyway: Bubba is completely toilet trained.  He has been completely dry the past three mornings and two nap times!  I am still not quite ready to put him in underwear at bedtime (he wears skivvies for naps), but we are nearly there after only 38 months of life and one year of relaxed toilet learning.  

Honestly, I was getting very frustrated with him, and the whole toilet learning/potty training process, because this fall, when Bubba is at a real preschool and not at the crappy, generic franchise place down the street where staffing changes on a daily basis, he has to be "toilet independent." Basically, no pull-ups or diapers allowed. 

Nap time was our last big hurdle to independence and we've nearly got it whipped. I think when we run out of overnight underwear this time around, we'll just play it by ear, and hope for dry sheets.  

Appetite for Destruction

Mommy, I wish the bridge would FALL down on the train!

The car should CRASH into the garage!

What would happen if the car crashed into another car? Would we break?

Yes, baby, we would. Seriously, is it all boys or just MY boy who is hardwired for destruction? Even his trains cannot peacefully coexist without the bridge falling down or a forklift running over them; there is a serious toy train accident every day. And, sometimes, the trains, buses, cars and forklifts mysteriously fall over the side of the train table all by themselves.

Chicken Soup Only Works If You Eat It

Kids are amazingly resilient. Bubba is nearly back to his old self after spending yesterday curled into the fetal position beneath his favorite blanket. I am relieved. I can handle vocal, cantankerous sick children, but it's when they're quiet that I begin to worry because when my children are quiet, it usually means they're doing or eating something that will necessitate a trip to the emergency room or, at the very least, make me completely lose my shit.

And Bubba was quiet the whole day. He wouldn't eat the chicken soup I made. He wouldn't drink his cranberry juice "with ice, mama." And the house just felt different without all that toddler energy. But, his silence wasn't scary. He wasn't shoving Legos up his nose or eating glue. He was sleeping and healing. Gathering his strength.

Today, he's "not sick anymore" or so he said when I refused to share my cereal with him. Like I'm falling for that trick even if he is cuddly and adorable. It's just a clever ruse. The next thing you know, the back of my throat will start to itch, my ears will close up and I'll be one sick Lawschoolmom - that's not a chance I'm willing to take with finals looming around the corner.

Comes Around

I should have known something was wrong last night when Bubba asked to go to bed an hour before his regular bedtime. At 6:30pm, he quietly gave hugs and shuffled off to his room. In the morning, he's usually one of the first kiddos up and rarin' to go. This morning, he slept in and shooed me away when I tried to rouse him. I returned with thermometer in hand. One-oh-three. Here we go, again.

The Pee Monster

A few months ago, when Bubba was first potty-trained, I rejoiced. Our days of diapers and wipes were over; we embraced toilet paper and big kid underwear. I put him to bed in training pants optimistic that he would weather the night dry and comfortable. The next morning: wet underwear, wet sheets, wet blankets. We went back to diapers for a bit, but I felt that was a losing battle. We were moving in the wrong direction. So, we went back to training pants for overnight. And we've been rewarded with wet bedding every single morning.

I can't take it anymore. I'm doing Bubba's laundry every day just so he has clean sheets and clean underwear and - honestly - I'm tired of buying Pull-Ups or worrying that we're out of Pull-Ups or panicking and praying that Bubba doesn't pee the bed because we forgot to send a Pull-Up with him to Grandma's house. I need help! I really don't remember having this issue with my girls, so I don't know how to achieve successful nighttime potty training. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

Car Games

"Helicopter, helicopter over my head, I see a color and the color is red. Bubba, do you see something red?"

"Mommy, we're not playing that game. I'm looking for a school bus."

Oh-kay. I guess I know who the game leader is in this family.

Three

On this day three years ago, I was laying in a hospital bed begging my OB to admit me for induction one day earlier than she had planned. It was so unfair, I whined. Other moms didn't have to walk around for nearly a week 4cm dilated feeling like their babies were one good stumble from popping out. I didn't want to make the long drive home only to return in the morning. Finally my OB admitted me, but only after much cajoling and some well-deserved teasing about how whiny I was and had been the entire pregnancy; she wanted that baby out too if only to shut me up.


Some Pitocin, one good push and Bubba cleanly and quietly entered this world in time for his parents to watch Boston's David Ortiz hit a walk-off home run in the bottom of the 12th to best the Yanks 6-4. It has been one topsy-turvy adventure from there. Sure, I've mastered the penis tuck but I can't seem to aim the darn thing. I'm so sorry if any of you have used a restroom after us; I mop off the seat but the floor is another matter.

That little kid who was so quiet for his birth is quite the loquacious little person who amazes me everyday. Every sentence starts with Hey Mommy and ends with something as random as that's a people bridge, not a car bridge or how old are you. In time, I will teach him that one of those questions is never to be asked of a woman. He plays with Legos, loves Thomas (and James and Edwards and Percy), and has an infectious laugh. He conjures imaginary barracudas and other marine life. And he is sensitive. His feelings are easily bruised but just as easily soothed. He's my boy. And, he's three years old today.

About a Boy

Bubba turns three tomorrow. I cannot believe it has already been three years! Time has really flown. I won't wax poetic in this post - check in tomorrow - but I will say that I'm excited. Toddler birthdays are fun because the kids are so young. They don't care if their party is at Pump It Up or if it's Hawaiian themed or if there is a petting zoo. Toddlers are focused on the food.

Lemme tell ya, I've been to enough kid parties to know the age old recipe for success: cake and ice cream. The more the merrier. At one birthday party we attended, there were two cakes. And beer. I've heard beer can help but, personally, I don't think it belongs at a kid's party. Is it really that difficult to spend an hour with fifteen three-and-four year olds without taking a drink? Hmm...never mind. It doesn't matter, though, because we are nixing the party plan and going somewhere kid-friendly and warm.

This morning, I will take some time and order Bubba's cake; thank goodness all the local markets stock a train template. Then, I will spend a little time at the local toy shop picking out a few items. That last bit will be really difficult because the boy has a gazillion cars and trains and those are just his toys. He's also got two other roomfuls of treasure and two sisters to help him navigate it. But, if you have any recommendations for three-year old toys, I'd love to hear them. It's 6am. The toy store opens at 10am. Go!

Pee Minus 21

Bubba starts preschool in twenty-one days. His toilet learning has gotten a lot better - he only occasionally pees on Thomas (the Tank Engine underwear) - and, when we're lucky, he does his other business in the toilet, too. Nevertheless, I'm worried that he's not quite there. I think he may have too many daily accidents for the preschool staff to handle. Then again, they are kind and loving Montesorri folk, so my worries are most likely all for naught.

Not for the Faint of Heart

Potty training is serious business and it has been an onslaught of urine and feces from the very beginning. There are the puddles on the hardwood and the tell-tale, bow-legged poop walk. There is the penis tugging and leg crossing and running to the bathroom. Sometimes he makes it and sometimes I end up with pee down the front of my shirt.

The little red potty that I love so much has been forsaken; Bubba prefers the "big potty" and sits on it lazily, with only the slightest trepidation, legs akimbo. He's mastered the penis tuck and jiggle but his favorite part is flushing; he'll even steal your flush. But, I don't mind. Fun in the bathroom equates to heightened potty awareness. And, I know with every penis tug, pee puddle, and stolen flush, we creep that much closer to perfect pottying.

Just Like Home Except Without the Raw Sewage

With only an hour to spare, I sped over to the montessori school and deposited a large chunk of money with them. The director met me at the door, hugged me, and inquired after Lizzie whom she has not seen in seven years. It was then that I knew we had made the right choice to enroll Bubba. My worries about his incomplete toilet training were also allayed by a simple: no problem, we'll continue his toilet learning here. Just make sure he's on the right path.

Then I went home. To basement drains overflowing with toilet paper and other stuff disgusting enough to afflict even the iron stomach of Madhubby. Some days, like when sewage backs up into your finished basement, home ownership really sucks. Yesterday had me seriously thinking about selling this house instead of leasing it, but Madhubby thinks once the sewer line is snaked, it will be all good again. I hope so because, honestly, I don't know how many more big checks I can write without completely losing my sh*t.

Update: the plumber is here now and there is no way in hell I am going anywhere near his work site. As the mom of three children, I've already seen enough poo to last me a lifetime.