Pooped Out

From last night, because I forgot to click Publish . . . .

Todd, the kids, and I went to visit friends in Lake Lure, NC this weekend. We had a great time, although kids change everything about vacation. I was up by 8 am every day we were there, even today when I woke up with a hangover. Kids do not slow down for hangovers.

We hit the road about 10:30 am and when we walked in the door, i am surprised that Todd and I didn't burst into tears at the sight. It seems that someone showed our house over the weekend, but forgot to leave the door open to the room containing the cats' litter box.

In the immortal words of Adam, the cousin of Poo, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

There were piles of poop in the kitchen. There were wet spots of urine on the two rugs in the downstairs rooms, in the dog's crate, and in our bedroom. There were also some unidentified spots on the quilt in our bedroom.

After taking it all in, I was standing at the bottom of the stairs, trying to figure out where to begin, and Rollie sat down on the bottom step and said, "Dammit." At least he is using his new vocabulary in the correct context.

He then proceeded to pull the towel rack out of the wall in the bathroom.

Awesome. Totally awesome.

Pics from our trips and attention to blogging will be along one of these days. My summer is jam-packed with excitement like this.

Poop Jokes are Funny

They really are.

Yesterday afternoon, I was changing Tiller. When one of the kids has a really large poopy diaper, I exclaim "Poop-O-Rama!" Everyone gets excited. Tiller was excited about her Poop-O-Rama, and as she is starting to mimic everything we say, she let out a gleeful, "Poop-O-Mama!!!"

Today, I had Rollie try to go on the potty. I try to remind him hourly and after eating or drinking. Today has been a banner day - so far, no poop in the diaper. Only on the potty. To my joy, Rollie said, "I have to go poop." I told him to go, go, go. He rushed to the bathroom, took off his pants and diaper, sat up on the toilet, and closed the bathroom door. He sat for a second, and I was on the couch waiting to hear something from him, when he opened up the door and darted out towards his toy box.

Me: "Did you poop?"

Rollie: "No, I just need to get a magazine."

Such a little man.

You Are a Joke

Rollie's latest thing, other than learning the word "Dammit" from his Grandma, is to say to people, "You are a joke." The first time he said this to me, I even kind of had my feelings hurt. He just hadn't said that many mean things before. I got over that, though, and explained to him that it wasn't nice to say that to people, and that it would hurt feelings, etc. He looked at me blankly, laughed, and said, "Mama, you are a joke."

I am so good at this job.

It seems that he picked this little gem up from (where else?) t.v. He loves the movie Cars, and in fact, it was the first movie Todd ever took him to see in the theater. (He made it about 20 minutes.) We have it on DVD. It is a pretty benign movie, rated G, but the cars race and bump into each other and say things like "You are a joke." There is a laughably "mean" car, too.

It is scary how easy it is to imprint things upon the blanket of freshly fallen snow that is the mind of the three-year-old. They are without a single imperfection, and then language begins to assail them from every side, and suddenly, they are saying, "mama, You are a joke," or "We're home, dammit!"

This is a very heavy job, raising a kid. For a perfectionist, or even a failed perfectionist, it is really difficult to know that there are no A +s in parenting. Parenting involves watching the slow erosion of a perfect being into an imperfect person, and simply trying to prevent them from sliding below average into sociopath. There is no other way. It is terrifying and beautiful, and the weightiest responsibility I have ever felt.

There are small victories, though. Like getting to wipe your son's ass after he poops in the potty. Because at least he pooped in the potty, instead of in the diaper, or in his Batman undies, or crouched under the kitchen table hiding from you.

Why Cats are Superior

They know when to cut their losses. When things are going kinda crappy with the offspring, they just go ahead and eat the little fuckers.

My day started with hunger, because I am dieting, and then I am not allowed to eat anything until the lady gets here to take my blood and urine for the life insurance policy we are taking out on me in case (duh) I die, which of course doesn't give one a whole lot of incentive to fast, because what the hell are you going to get out of it, anyway. Todd is a sweetheart and got up with the kids so that I could sleep as long as possible and not have to sit around hungry. I got up at 9 a.m. (the high point of the day). I started my period.

I proceeded to drink black coffee until the nurse arrived at 10. The kids cried and whined and bugged the crap out of the nurse while she asked me about every runny nose I have ever had, and the name, number, and address of the doctor for which I saw each runny nose. She then tried to take blood from one arm, then the other, then my hand. It was awesome. I peed in a cup and there was blood in it and i had to explain to her that I was on the rag. Lovely. Did I mention she brought her own scale? It said I was 9 pounds heavier than my scale says I am. Fucking great.
Todd called to say that he wouldn't be home for lunch. By the time the nurse left it was noon. I put lunch on for the kids. I ate my crap diet lunch. I tried to watch Antiques Roadshow while the kids ran around pushing their cars and shopping cart and couldn't hear a thing. I shut off the t.v. and finished eating while staring out the window at a squirrel. I did the breakfast and lunch dishes, and put on dinner. I changed two poopy diapers.

Went upstairs, read to the kids, and then put them down for their naps. This consists of putting down Matilda, and then tucking Rollie in, shutting the gate, blowing kisses, asking him to please, please, please not wake Tiller because Mama will be mad, and please stay in bed, and don't make any noise, and maybe when we get up we will watch Curious George and eat snacks, Yes, raisins, and please? And then i hope for the best.

I laid down for an hour, and I could tell Rollie wasn't asleep, because he was talking the whole time, but it never occurred to me that he was up there taking off his diaper, putting the poop into the back of the remote control truck, and then taking little pieces and running them over with the treads of his monster truck and smushing them into the carpet, and running the truck roughshod over the books he had pulled off his shelves, which were now empty.

When I finally went up to check on him, he was standing naked at the gate, smiling at me. He went over and picked up two little pieces of poop, one in each hand, and held them out to me, palm up, as if in offering. When I opened the gate, he cheerfully walked around the corner and turned his palms over above the toilet, neatly depositing them into the bowl, then turning to me in expectation of approval.

I think he may be slightly retarded.

After that, I gave him a bath, put Batman underwear on him, and with the exception of the times when we are out, at school, napping, or sleeping, he will Goddamn be wearing them, until he is potty trained. So help me God, amen.