The children are, overall, becoming more pleasant and fun as they get older. But when they have a bad day, they really go for gold. I am now writing a cookbook called 45 Creative Ways to Eat Your Young.
As always, it's not any one terrible thing. Today is not a tsunami. It's more like a light hail storm after you've left your brand new car in the driveway. This morning I got up 25 minutes early because I'm tired of rushed, stressful mornings and starting my day with a solid hour of anger. It really fuels my workouts, but I don't enjoy sending my preschooler off after a morning like that.
Everything went beautifully, and I was patting myself on the back for being such an awesome mom (do you see the foreshadowing?). Then in the last ten minutes before we had to leave, the poor dears became so exhausted from all that diligence that their motor skills failed. Shoes and coats took twenty minutes.
Really, child? You can eat two eggs in less than five minutes, but you cannot place your arms into a coat without flopping on the living room floor and moaning about it first?
I've been sick since forever (yay inversion, we'll talk about that later), and today was my first day back at the gym in a week. I went to yesterday, but really I was just taking advantage of the free childcare to take a shower and then sit by the pool with my book. Today I ran a few miles very slowly, and the endorphins really improved my mood. I had a nice time after at TJMaxx with Slimy the Younger while we waited for Whiny the Elder to get done with preschool. The key component in this pleasantness was that my children were not together.
Then it was grocery shopping, and it was like the clock had gone back two and a half years. Whining. *Asking for things. Fussing when told "no." **Refusing to act politely when people said "hi." It was all quiet rebellions. No one screamed or ran naked through the oranges. But it was immensely frustrating. Like pulling a Chevy through a pool of jello.
*This is not allowed. They get treats sometimes after the grocery store, but if they ask for things, it's a guarantee they won't.
**They don't have to give hugs and kisses, but jeez, kid, smile or wave even if you're feeling too shy to talk.
They are asleep now. There have been more shenanigans today (tattling and fighting, mostly), but those were the highlights. I have no idea what got into them because they're normally really pleasant when we're out shopping these days (I feel that this makes up for the year and a half where we couldn't leave the house with Grace unless we wanted her to scream at anyone who made eye contact). It's like the one thing I can count on behavior-wise.
HAHAHAH.
So. This inversion. In almost every other respect, Salt Lake is one of the greatest places on Earth, and I would be happy if I lived here until I died.
The air during the winter can get really bad. You don't think of Salt Lake as being a center of pollution, and it's not so bad during the warmer months. But in the winter, if a warm front comes in over the mountains, it will sit on the cold air in the valley and trap all those particles in. It's the most wonderful time of the year.
We had a really bad one a couple of weeks ago. It was the longest, grossest one we've had since we moved here. We live really close to the mountains, but I couldn't see them for a week. I could taste the air when I went outside. Almost all of my illnesses are air quality related, so I got something funky this time around and have been completely useless for the last week. It was kind of nice to lie in bed all afternoon Monday and most of Tuesday.
Despite its start, today is still a good day. I am finally caught up on housework (I even did extra), and tonight I have a ladies' dinner to go to at a friend's house. I keep forgetting about it and then remembering and getting happy over the surprise over and over again. There are benefits to having the kind of brain that I have.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Monday, December 31, 2012
We spent Christmas at my sister's. Last Christmas there was terrible. It was worth it to be with my sister and her family, but I had strep, everyone else got a stomach bug (possibly from us), and there is nothing good about six kids and four adults under one roof. Unless you have a huge roof.
This year we stayed at a friend's house (they were on vacation out East, and they also left us tons of homemade spanakopita, and you all know the way to my heart is through my stomach), none of us were sick, and our kids suddenly, magically, are okay with traveling.
Let me tell you something. I love my kids. They bring such heart-rending joy to my life that sometimes I want to cry just looking at their sweet, pudgy faces.
However, when I'm in the grind of day-to-day life, I usually find myself thinking of how much easier life was before they came along. No bedtimes, no naptimes, no squeamishness over "weird" foods. Just me and Jeremy. And Jeremy a grown man, so I didn't have to buckle him into a car seat or find a babysitter every time I need to buy a gallon of milk.
If I did, that would be super weird.
I have been chafing under this yoke since Grace was born more than four years ago. Yes, I know that children are the natural order of things; I know that God gave me these children; I know that they are good for me, for us; I know that they are a blessing. I feel it, even. When they are in bed after a full day, I look back and remember the bright, sweet moments with aching fondness. I sometimes want to wake them up just to cuddle their tiny soft bodies to my own.
But in the middle of a meal, or a long car ride, or a conversation with my husband, I am selfish and angry. All I wish for is peace. Peace and quiet. Rest. A good book or a long bath or a frivolous TV show.
So I was half-dreading this trip. Our kids have always been terrible travelers, from the first trip out to Denver when Grace screamed 15 hours out, 7 nights there, and 15 hours back. The last trip was better, but I had strep, and, like I said, 10 people under one not-humongous roof.
This one was so remarkably different that I was half-convinced something terrible would happen, like we would have to make a payment for how great it was.
My sister and I went for a couple of runs. I love family and Christmas and all that, but this was one of the highlights of the trip for me. I don't know if it was the running or my sister, or both, but it was nice. Keep in mind, I still hated running just a few months ago.
My little nieces and nephews are a lot older already than the last time I saw them. I feel a little (a LOT) awkward around children, especially once they get past my own kids' ages, the ages that I'm familiar with. But they are each great kids in their own way.
The oldest is old enough to be interesting on his own terms, not just as a cute kid. He loves origami and reading and asking annoying questions. He tells jokes, and some of them are hilarious. Jeremy really took to him; I think their brains operate in the same way. The next one is such a boy, all superheroes and dirt and destruction. The older girl is such a girl, all glitter and princesses and cuddles. She and Grace either loved or hated each other at all times. And the baby. Everything she does is adorable. I can't even describe it, she just kills me.
I don't have cousins. I didn't really miss it growing up, but I really hope my kids grow up loving their own. I even enjoy their fighting in a small way because it means they are comfortable enough with their cousins that they can fight. It makes me miss my other siblings and their kids all the more, but I am glad I live so close to my sister.
Grace and Emmy were pleasant all the drive out there. They were mostly pleasant while we were there (as pleasant as two tiny, neurotic sinners can be). And they were pleasant most of the way back.
This is thanks in no small part to the wonderful people who lent us their house, but still, it's amazing what a year will do to improve a couple of small children.
This is so cheesy, but every time we're all together, it's like a new part of my heart opens up that I didn't even know I had before.
This year we stayed at a friend's house (they were on vacation out East, and they also left us tons of homemade spanakopita, and you all know the way to my heart is through my stomach), none of us were sick, and our kids suddenly, magically, are okay with traveling.
Let me tell you something. I love my kids. They bring such heart-rending joy to my life that sometimes I want to cry just looking at their sweet, pudgy faces.
However, when I'm in the grind of day-to-day life, I usually find myself thinking of how much easier life was before they came along. No bedtimes, no naptimes, no squeamishness over "weird" foods. Just me and Jeremy. And Jeremy a grown man, so I didn't have to buckle him into a car seat or find a babysitter every time I need to buy a gallon of milk.
If I did, that would be super weird.
I have been chafing under this yoke since Grace was born more than four years ago. Yes, I know that children are the natural order of things; I know that God gave me these children; I know that they are good for me, for us; I know that they are a blessing. I feel it, even. When they are in bed after a full day, I look back and remember the bright, sweet moments with aching fondness. I sometimes want to wake them up just to cuddle their tiny soft bodies to my own.
But in the middle of a meal, or a long car ride, or a conversation with my husband, I am selfish and angry. All I wish for is peace. Peace and quiet. Rest. A good book or a long bath or a frivolous TV show.
So I was half-dreading this trip. Our kids have always been terrible travelers, from the first trip out to Denver when Grace screamed 15 hours out, 7 nights there, and 15 hours back. The last trip was better, but I had strep, and, like I said, 10 people under one not-humongous roof.
This one was so remarkably different that I was half-convinced something terrible would happen, like we would have to make a payment for how great it was.
My sister and I went for a couple of runs. I love family and Christmas and all that, but this was one of the highlights of the trip for me. I don't know if it was the running or my sister, or both, but it was nice. Keep in mind, I still hated running just a few months ago.
My little nieces and nephews are a lot older already than the last time I saw them. I feel a little (a LOT) awkward around children, especially once they get past my own kids' ages, the ages that I'm familiar with. But they are each great kids in their own way.
The oldest is old enough to be interesting on his own terms, not just as a cute kid. He loves origami and reading and asking annoying questions. He tells jokes, and some of them are hilarious. Jeremy really took to him; I think their brains operate in the same way. The next one is such a boy, all superheroes and dirt and destruction. The older girl is such a girl, all glitter and princesses and cuddles. She and Grace either loved or hated each other at all times. And the baby. Everything she does is adorable. I can't even describe it, she just kills me.
I don't have cousins. I didn't really miss it growing up, but I really hope my kids grow up loving their own. I even enjoy their fighting in a small way because it means they are comfortable enough with their cousins that they can fight. It makes me miss my other siblings and their kids all the more, but I am glad I live so close to my sister.
Grace and Emmy were pleasant all the drive out there. They were mostly pleasant while we were there (as pleasant as two tiny, neurotic sinners can be). And they were pleasant most of the way back.
This is thanks in no small part to the wonderful people who lent us their house, but still, it's amazing what a year will do to improve a couple of small children.
This is so cheesy, but every time we're all together, it's like a new part of my heart opens up that I didn't even know I had before.
Monday, December 3, 2012
I also enjoy baking now. Kind of.
I have no idea what is wrong with me. Between bouts of violent coughing spasms the other week, I declared to Jeremy that I thought another baby would be nice. This idea just... took hold in my brain right then, and a reasonable explanation is not forthcoming.
Both kids are 100% potty trained (even for nighttimes!). They can feed themselves. Kind of. They can even open the refrigerator and retrieve snacks and put things away for me. Why would I want to go back to changing diapers and staying up all night and cutting up food into microscopic pieces? I DON'T KNOW.
The only thing I can think of is that all that coughing gave me brain damage.
I took a few weeks off from running and swimming while I was sick. Weights and low-intensity biking were okay for much of it, but there's nothing less fun than choking up what sounds like a hairball in the middle of a shared pool. Croaking out, "I'm not contagious!!!" does not seem to comfort the people around you.
So now I'm back, and oh, I lost so much ground. I was down to a ten-minute mile (for 3 miles) right before I got sick. That's still really slow, but hey! it wasn't completely embarrassing anymore. Also, shin splints. They are back with a vengeance. I guess I can never take a break from running again without working my way through them every single time. I can't tell you how frustrating this is.
Swimming is good, though. I can't say I always enjoy swimming laps. It's not a sport that really invokes the word "fun." You can't look at scenery or watch movies or listen to music or talk with friends while you do it. You stare at the bottom of the pool until your goggles fog up, and then you stare at fog, and then you take your goggles off and have raccoon eyes for the rest of the day. Sometimes it kind of looks like Jeremy hits me.
But. It feels really good to be good at something. If I shared the pool with real swimmers, I'd get a discouraging ego-check, but I don't think Utah has real swimmers. Or if they do, they don't go to the Gold's Gym in West Jordan. Probably because it's only three lanes, and it's the last part of the facility that ever gets any attention.
Every single time I go swimming, I have to ask them to straighten the lane markers. Once, the guy said to me, "You can't swim in a straight line?" Really. He said that to me. He was joking, but I could tell he was actually kind of not joking.
A couple of weeks ago, I kind of lost it. I was trying to share a lane with another lady, except the lane line was so loose that we kept swimming into each other. So I got out of the pool and went up to the front desk in my swimsuit and swim cap. You people have never seen me in a swim cap, but it's not nice. It's just about as unattractive as I get. That includes childbirth.
So I went up to the front desk, which is right in front of the weights area, which is full of people who look a lot better in a swimsuit than I do, and I asked the guy if someone could come fix it. He said, "Well, the maintenance guy isn't in right now, but he can fix it when he gets back."
"When will that be?"
"Uuuh... an hour?"
"It's really easy to do. I can do it myself. Just give me the tool for it."
"His office is locked, and there's no way for me to get in there."
(At this point, my brain exploded because I can't believe there is only one person in this building who has access to the maintenance tools. It's a 24-hour facility. The guy must be exhausted. No wonder he's so terrible at keeping up the pool.)
"I know this is not your fault, but this happens every single time I swim here. It takes five seconds to straighten them. He can do it a couple of times a day when he walks through the pool area, which I see him do ALL THE TIME. I know the water aerobics ladies ruin them, and I'm really sorry about that, but it's impossible to share a lane with someone when the lane markers are everywhere, and it makes me completely crazy, and I don't understand why it is so hard to do this one tiny little thing as regular maintenance."
This doesn't sound all that terrible, but imagine the combination of swim cap, increasing volume, and crazy eyes.
He backed away a bit, then said, "Oh! There he is! I guess he's back!" and scurried off to get the maintenance guy who had magically appeared at just that moment.
The lane lines stayed nice for a couple of weeks after that, but now they're back to their drunk old selves. I've been working on my butterfly extra hard; I'm hoping that doing enough of it will prevent people from wanting to share a lane with me.
Both kids are 100% potty trained (even for nighttimes!). They can feed themselves. Kind of. They can even open the refrigerator and retrieve snacks and put things away for me. Why would I want to go back to changing diapers and staying up all night and cutting up food into microscopic pieces? I DON'T KNOW.
The only thing I can think of is that all that coughing gave me brain damage.
I took a few weeks off from running and swimming while I was sick. Weights and low-intensity biking were okay for much of it, but there's nothing less fun than choking up what sounds like a hairball in the middle of a shared pool. Croaking out, "I'm not contagious!!!" does not seem to comfort the people around you.
So now I'm back, and oh, I lost so much ground. I was down to a ten-minute mile (for 3 miles) right before I got sick. That's still really slow, but hey! it wasn't completely embarrassing anymore. Also, shin splints. They are back with a vengeance. I guess I can never take a break from running again without working my way through them every single time. I can't tell you how frustrating this is.
Swimming is good, though. I can't say I always enjoy swimming laps. It's not a sport that really invokes the word "fun." You can't look at scenery or watch movies or listen to music or talk with friends while you do it. You stare at the bottom of the pool until your goggles fog up, and then you stare at fog, and then you take your goggles off and have raccoon eyes for the rest of the day. Sometimes it kind of looks like Jeremy hits me.
But. It feels really good to be good at something. If I shared the pool with real swimmers, I'd get a discouraging ego-check, but I don't think Utah has real swimmers. Or if they do, they don't go to the Gold's Gym in West Jordan. Probably because it's only three lanes, and it's the last part of the facility that ever gets any attention.
Every single time I go swimming, I have to ask them to straighten the lane markers. Once, the guy said to me, "You can't swim in a straight line?" Really. He said that to me. He was joking, but I could tell he was actually kind of not joking.
A couple of weeks ago, I kind of lost it. I was trying to share a lane with another lady, except the lane line was so loose that we kept swimming into each other. So I got out of the pool and went up to the front desk in my swimsuit and swim cap. You people have never seen me in a swim cap, but it's not nice. It's just about as unattractive as I get. That includes childbirth.
So I went up to the front desk, which is right in front of the weights area, which is full of people who look a lot better in a swimsuit than I do, and I asked the guy if someone could come fix it. He said, "Well, the maintenance guy isn't in right now, but he can fix it when he gets back."
"When will that be?"
"Uuuh... an hour?"
"It's really easy to do. I can do it myself. Just give me the tool for it."
"His office is locked, and there's no way for me to get in there."
(At this point, my brain exploded because I can't believe there is only one person in this building who has access to the maintenance tools. It's a 24-hour facility. The guy must be exhausted. No wonder he's so terrible at keeping up the pool.)
"I know this is not your fault, but this happens every single time I swim here. It takes five seconds to straighten them. He can do it a couple of times a day when he walks through the pool area, which I see him do ALL THE TIME. I know the water aerobics ladies ruin them, and I'm really sorry about that, but it's impossible to share a lane with someone when the lane markers are everywhere, and it makes me completely crazy, and I don't understand why it is so hard to do this one tiny little thing as regular maintenance."
This doesn't sound all that terrible, but imagine the combination of swim cap, increasing volume, and crazy eyes.
He backed away a bit, then said, "Oh! There he is! I guess he's back!" and scurried off to get the maintenance guy who had magically appeared at just that moment.
The lane lines stayed nice for a couple of weeks after that, but now they're back to their drunk old selves. I've been working on my butterfly extra hard; I'm hoping that doing enough of it will prevent people from wanting to share a lane with me.
Monday, November 26, 2012
95% Healthy
Sorry, it was hydrocodone in my cough syrup. Whatever. It was an opioid. It was magic. It gave me a weird rash.
Isn't that just awesome? Cough relentlessly for a week, nearly bruise a rib, wake up one morning feeling ready to be human, and oh, your face looks like the opener of a movie involving the CDC.
Okay, so it wasn't that bad, but I do look like I went back in time about fifteen years.
Christmas tree is up. It's the saddest Christmas tree in the land, but it's still Christmas! We discovered yesterday that putting 300 lights on a tiny tree makes it look less sad. Mostly because your corneas are seared, and you can longer see.
We put it up last night after the girls went to bed. When Grace got up this morning, she was so transfixed that she lay down on the floor in front of it and went back to sleep. I don't know how. It's like the surface of the sun.
Speaking of which, certain smallish ones have arisen from their naps. One is pressing her gigantic head into my collarbone and calling it "cuddling." It's dreadfully uncomfortable. I should go.
Isn't that just awesome? Cough relentlessly for a week, nearly bruise a rib, wake up one morning feeling ready to be human, and oh, your face looks like the opener of a movie involving the CDC.
Okay, so it wasn't that bad, but I do look like I went back in time about fifteen years.
Christmas tree is up. It's the saddest Christmas tree in the land, but it's still Christmas! We discovered yesterday that putting 300 lights on a tiny tree makes it look less sad. Mostly because your corneas are seared, and you can longer see.
We put it up last night after the girls went to bed. When Grace got up this morning, she was so transfixed that she lay down on the floor in front of it and went back to sleep. I don't know how. It's like the surface of the sun.
Speaking of which, certain smallish ones have arisen from their naps. One is pressing her gigantic head into my collarbone and calling it "cuddling." It's dreadfully uncomfortable. I should go.
Monday, November 12, 2012
I'm writing this because otherwise you'll all get messages about how wonderful you and your pretty hair are
Very suddenly this turned into worst cough I've ever had in my life. Last night was horrible, and I'm amazed Jeremy didn't murder my coughing self in our bed.
Minutes after I wrote that last entry, my kids turned into magical fairies of care and concern. It was uncanny, almost creepy, even.
Grace brings me stuff constantly. She drapes blankets and sweaters on me (her sweaters; they're comically tiny lying there across my shoulders to keep me warm), brings me Kleenexes (I woke up this morning to Grace bouncing across the bed and laying a folded-up Kleenex next to my head), and periodically wanders over and pats me, cooing, "I hope you feel better soon. Can I bring you anything?" Emmy hasn't been quite so... caretake-y, but she's certainly been on her best behavior. I love how these evil little buggers can surprise me with such sweetness, just when I need it most.
Jeremy has done all the work around here for the last few days, despite being sick himself (we all got this stupid cold, but I got the most special version). He called into work this morning, took Grace preschool, and schlepped me and Emmy to Instacare, then all the way back in the other direction to the pharmacy and home again.
The rest has been a phenomenal Vicodin cough syrupy haze of weird, fantastical dreams and meditation on how much I love everyone. It's pretty amazing, and totally worth the horrible cough. I tell you what, 666 Park Avenue is a pretty trippy show when you're high.
Minutes after I wrote that last entry, my kids turned into magical fairies of care and concern. It was uncanny, almost creepy, even.
Grace brings me stuff constantly. She drapes blankets and sweaters on me (her sweaters; they're comically tiny lying there across my shoulders to keep me warm), brings me Kleenexes (I woke up this morning to Grace bouncing across the bed and laying a folded-up Kleenex next to my head), and periodically wanders over and pats me, cooing, "I hope you feel better soon. Can I bring you anything?" Emmy hasn't been quite so... caretake-y, but she's certainly been on her best behavior. I love how these evil little buggers can surprise me with such sweetness, just when I need it most.
Jeremy has done all the work around here for the last few days, despite being sick himself (we all got this stupid cold, but I got the most special version). He called into work this morning, took Grace preschool, and schlepped me and Emmy to Instacare, then all the way back in the other direction to the pharmacy and home again.
The rest has been a phenomenal Vicodin cough syrupy haze of weird, fantastical dreams and meditation on how much I love everyone. It's pretty amazing, and totally worth the horrible cough. I tell you what, 666 Park Avenue is a pretty trippy show when you're high.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
I have The Wonderful Wizard of Ha's memorized
Before I had kids, I thought it was totally stupid how people whined about being sick with kids. Being sick is awesome! You sit around watching shows all day, no guilt! The kids will watch their own shows or play all day! Just like when I was a kid! It'll be great!
Except that my memories of illness only went back to age six or so. Children under age five have no mercy or empathy. They can't get their own food. They need their butts wiped. They start shrieking if you duct tape them to the wall for too long. It's really miserable.
One of us brought something horrible home from somewhere. Probably Grace, from that germ-ridden spawning pool known as preschool. It's like the worst cold ever, with steroids. Not to be dramatic or anything, but I'm pretty sure I'm dying.
The one good thing lately is that I don't have to change any diapers anymore, which is practically the best thing that has happened to us since Emmy was born. Yes, about five seconds after I published my last entry, our little tyrant decided to shape up. Of course. No more diaper changes, no more washing diapers, no more folding diapers, no more stinky Diaper Genie. It's less work and more money AT THE SAME TIME.
I would still rather eat a scorpion than potty train another child, though. Seriously. If there is ever a next time, I will pay a thousand dollars to not have to potty train again.
Except that my memories of illness only went back to age six or so. Children under age five have no mercy or empathy. They can't get their own food. They need their butts wiped. They start shrieking if you duct tape them to the wall for too long. It's really miserable.
One of us brought something horrible home from somewhere. Probably Grace, from that germ-ridden spawning pool known as preschool. It's like the worst cold ever, with steroids. Not to be dramatic or anything, but I'm pretty sure I'm dying.
The one good thing lately is that I don't have to change any diapers anymore, which is practically the best thing that has happened to us since Emmy was born. Yes, about five seconds after I published my last entry, our little tyrant decided to shape up. Of course. No more diaper changes, no more washing diapers, no more folding diapers, no more stinky Diaper Genie. It's less work and more money AT THE SAME TIME.
I would still rather eat a scorpion than potty train another child, though. Seriously. If there is ever a next time, I will pay a thousand dollars to not have to potty train again.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Children are disgusting
Don't say I didn't warn you. If you don't like child-related TMI, stop here or hold the complaints. Actually, it's not that TMI. There are no gory details or graphic descriptions of bodily functions. But this may simply not interest you. However, if you are planning to have children EVER, or if you are still in the sweet early days, I urge you to listen to me now.
We, I mean, I am potty training 2.0 (nothing against Jeremy; he works all day, so it's not like he can magically be here to help me while still earning us a living).
2.0, I have decided, is evil. She started off the first day like a rockstar. If a rockstar can be defined by one's ability to eliminate in an appropriate receptacle. Which it can't. But shut up.
Then she woke up from her nap with a whole new agenda, and only this afternoon did she start reforming. And I'm pretty sure it's only because I upped the reward from one raisin to three Skittles.
Potty training is about as close to hell as comfortable suburban living can get. It's not the messes. Those are gross, certainly, but if you've been a parent long enough, it's not like you're not used to such things. No, it's the frustration.
See, children are basically evil, and they will use any foothold you give them to climb up over your dead body and jump up and down in jubilation on your corpse. I know I'm not supposed to say that, but I'm saying it anyway because it's true. You can deny this fact and deepen this frustration, or you can accept it and learn to love your kids anyway with slightly less frustration (and perhaps a small sense of admiration at their devious methods; seriously, it's kind of awesome when your kid starts to play jokes on you intentionally). Your choice. But don't judge me on mine.
Anyway. 2.0. She started out amazingly well. So much better than The Child did. So, SO much better. And then she woke up from her nap on Thursday determined to make me completely crazy. She got me so excited over the prospect of no more diapers and no more expense and no more lugging her gigantic body of obviously Germanic origin up onto a changing table. And then she yanked it all away in one afternoon. I spent all of Friday sitting on the living room floor halfheartedly directing her to the potty every ten minutes, wishing for this all to be over, for some miracle to happen in her kumquat-sized brain, or for lightning to strike and kill me.
(It didn't happen)
Then today I went out with the older one, the (now-favored) one while Jeremy took over for the morning, and life started to seem worth living again. The older one had interesting conversation. Hilarious quips and perceptive insights and adorable smiles, and I was starting to think about selling 2.0 to buy the original a bicycle or a hundred Barbies. But then we got home, and 2.0 woke up from her nap and resumed her rockstar performance, and I'm not completely dreading the next day anymore.
But friends, let me tell you something. Anyone who has ever told you, "When they're ready, they will just be so easy to train," either had one of those rare children who you probably have to make a deal with the Devil to get, or they spent so much time drinking around that time in their life that they've forgotten the mind-numbing frustration and stifled anger of those days. Because even if your child is ready for this, no, RARING TO GO, it will drive you to drink. Or close to it. If there is a next time, we will be hiring someone to do this job for us, even if I have to sell a liver.
We, I mean, I am potty training 2.0 (nothing against Jeremy; he works all day, so it's not like he can magically be here to help me while still earning us a living).
2.0, I have decided, is evil. She started off the first day like a rockstar. If a rockstar can be defined by one's ability to eliminate in an appropriate receptacle. Which it can't. But shut up.
Then she woke up from her nap with a whole new agenda, and only this afternoon did she start reforming. And I'm pretty sure it's only because I upped the reward from one raisin to three Skittles.
Potty training is about as close to hell as comfortable suburban living can get. It's not the messes. Those are gross, certainly, but if you've been a parent long enough, it's not like you're not used to such things. No, it's the frustration.
See, children are basically evil, and they will use any foothold you give them to climb up over your dead body and jump up and down in jubilation on your corpse. I know I'm not supposed to say that, but I'm saying it anyway because it's true. You can deny this fact and deepen this frustration, or you can accept it and learn to love your kids anyway with slightly less frustration (and perhaps a small sense of admiration at their devious methods; seriously, it's kind of awesome when your kid starts to play jokes on you intentionally). Your choice. But don't judge me on mine.
Anyway. 2.0. She started out amazingly well. So much better than The Child did. So, SO much better. And then she woke up from her nap on Thursday determined to make me completely crazy. She got me so excited over the prospect of no more diapers and no more expense and no more lugging her gigantic body of obviously Germanic origin up onto a changing table. And then she yanked it all away in one afternoon. I spent all of Friday sitting on the living room floor halfheartedly directing her to the potty every ten minutes, wishing for this all to be over, for some miracle to happen in her kumquat-sized brain, or for lightning to strike and kill me.
(It didn't happen)
Then today I went out with the older one, the (now-favored) one while Jeremy took over for the morning, and life started to seem worth living again. The older one had interesting conversation. Hilarious quips and perceptive insights and adorable smiles, and I was starting to think about selling 2.0 to buy the original a bicycle or a hundred Barbies. But then we got home, and 2.0 woke up from her nap and resumed her rockstar performance, and I'm not completely dreading the next day anymore.
But friends, let me tell you something. Anyone who has ever told you, "When they're ready, they will just be so easy to train," either had one of those rare children who you probably have to make a deal with the Devil to get, or they spent so much time drinking around that time in their life that they've forgotten the mind-numbing frustration and stifled anger of those days. Because even if your child is ready for this, no, RARING TO GO, it will drive you to drink. Or close to it. If there is a next time, we will be hiring someone to do this job for us, even if I have to sell a liver.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)