for the love of potty training. . .

let me preface this by saying the following was written a few weeks ago in a moment of slight frustration over some potty training issues... and let me clarify that my frustration was not directed toward my son, or my son's potty habits, but the habits of those adults who cannot be bothered with a two year old acting as a two year old.

October 20, 2009

i didn't decide to do it. i kinda figured things would happen as they needed to happen according to the one and only actually in charge of "the doing." cohen. considering i am the parent with cohen for the longest stretch, i figured that i at least deserved a discussion with the other parent. but no.

his father told me he was "sick of changing diapers."

really? because it's one of my favorite things to do. i sit anxiously waiting for cohen to take a big, dirty, smelly dump in his DISPOSABLE diaper. i mean, i have to hold back the tears when i need to throw that DISPOSABLE DIAPER out with the trash and to know that i'll never, ever see it or smell it again makes me so... sad. but oh man, the idea of washing that fabulous mess out of some real cute spiderman under-roos just makes me giggle with excitement. you mean, i don't have to throw that DISGUSTING DISPOSABLE DIAPER MESS away? i can use my hands to scrub what could have been THROWN OUT WITH THE TRASH BECAUSE IT COULD HAVE BEEN DISPOSABLE out of spiderman's teeth? again?! and again?! and again?! ha!! that's freakin' awesome. and totally convenient too. because after all, parenting is totally about what is CONVENIENT for the parent, right? or am i wrong?




to follow up:

cohen has decided that "pee pee in the potty" is just about as "big boy" as all get out, first thing in the morning and before bed. oh, but don't you try to make him sit on that damn potty anytime in between. unless we're at a restaurant and chancellor is with him (oh, anything for chancellor) the other night, we went to eat with nana jolee and papa paul (one of three papa's by the way. lucky lucky boy =)) and he went potty in the "big boy potty" there in that gross public restroom. the grin he carried back to the table afterward didn't quite fit on his face, but chancellor picked up the rest and wore it for him. they were beaming. later, at home cohen wanted to call his daddy and tell him all about it. i texted DB to let him know we'd be calling and to answer and wouldn't you know, he didn't. he instead texted me that he wanted to talk to cohen too but didn't "trust" me. what? your son, the one who inconveniently poops in his diaper did the super convenient thing you're wanting him to do and you can't answer the phone to let him tell you about it because of me and my un-trustworthiness? dear lord. well you know what. . . poop on you mr. DB. poop. on. you.

but whatever, right? my son is cute, and two years old with the attention span of a dead gnat and he forgot who we were calling before DB's voicemail picked up anyway. we shared a super happy and proud moment together. i decided cohen is totally allowed to be the boss of his potty-time progression. at our house anyway. you can lead the "big boy" to the potty, but dammit, you can't force him to shit. he'll let us know what he's ready to do and when he's ready to do it. if it takes us another year, whatever. he calls pumpkins "jack-o-lanterns" and reads me books before bed. he's smart and he's fabulous and he poops in his pull-up.

*can also be found at www.wordtoyourmomblog.com

i'm going through some of cohen's old clothes so i can let a friend borrow them for her son. it's making me sad. i quite love him and i can seem to remember each and every tiny moment of his life so far. they say your heart swells when you have children, obviously, but for me, so has my filing cabinet - o - memory. not for much else, but regarding cohen, for sure. i'm just addicted to him basically. she can have his outfits, but i'm keeping these socks dammit. i can't get enough of these teeny tiny baby feet.




and no one is getting his hats. not ever. how freakin' handsome is this stud?

a masterpiece a day

orbits

ello. . . no. I said "ello."

Dude. So, have you noticed I start most sentences with "So, ..."? Ok, obviously not on this particular blog, but others. Anyway. I'm moving Little Man and Irie Bean over here to the Pookie Place. I think, well, the plan is to dedicate {word} to your mom to other things more about me. Not that my super fabulous off spring aren't a huge part of me, but they deserve their own space, don't ya think? Speaking of, I just decided today to move to the three bedroom unit in my complex. It's on the second floor, which will make me feel mo' betta' about the heightened difficulty level of scaling over my balcony to break in to the house while I'm all alone and vulnerable. (Whatever, I wasn't worried. I'm a freakin' ninja, just so you know, you serial rapist, so don't try anything dammit.) I'm sure we'll decorate that balcony so it's some kick ass tropical getaway and it'll be so fabulous that the kids won't give a hoot about what's beyond the railing and scaling the balcony themselves won't even cross their wee genius minds. Ha. Cohen already has it MacGuyvered out. I tell you what, that kid is awesome. And he doesn't even have a mullet. But if he had a mullet, he'd rock it, and you'd want one too. It's facing the trees (the apartment, not the mullet), and not the concrete car jungle, which makes Chancellor happy. Also, the 2nd of the 3 bedrooms is bigger than the master, so I think I'mma cram the chitlins into that room and we'll make the third bedroom a place to unleash our creativity (all ninja style) all over (yo' ass). Yay for space. Irie, I'm sure, will be in our room for the first few months, so Cohen will still have his place. Since he's my little frog, I think dragonflies will represent Irie well as far as a feminine aspect goes, and it'll all work cohesively. I'm excited.

You are excited for me. I can tell. Oh, and thanks for coming to Pookie Place. Visit often.

a masterpiece a day

the helicopter and airplane garden