DCMM: 4 Is Not Better

I was blessed with a really easy baby.  I call it my payment for a particularly difficult pregnancy, but Michael was a very laid back baby.  Except for nursing difficulties, we were very lucky.  He slept through the night at 5 months.  He rarely fussed.  He never wanted a pacifier.  He weaned himself off the bottle at a year.  He just never wanted it again.  If he was hungry he ate.  If he wanted changing he cried and then stopped when he got a clean diaper.  Otherwise, he was quite content in a swing or a bouncy seat and was never a "hold me, hold me, hold me" baby.  I was one of those moms who always had time to shower and go to the gym and go to Starbucks.  Oh, don't worry this is not going to be one of those my life is so wonderful blog entries because then Michael turned two. 

He may have been an easy baby, but he has been an insanely difficult toddler.  I think more difficult than the average toddler, but I may have a slanted view on this issue.  Part of that is because he is incredibly verbal and the son of a lawyer.  He believes everything is negotiable.  Bedtime, bath time, dessert, more tv, all negotiable.  No does not mean no, it means, "but Mommy," "how about," "I have an idea," or my favorite, "let's talk about this."

Everyone told me, the twos are hard.  The threes are hard.  Just wait until he turns four.  Four is better.  Michael has been four for two weeks.  Everyone lied.

The way people were talking, I expected the Heavens to part and the sun to shine and the birds to start chirping and my preschool monster to turn into the most obedient child on earth.  I expected all sentences to being with please and the answer to every question to be yes ma'am. 

Wait a minute.  Maybe four is better and my expectations were just way off base.

Don't get me wrong, I love my son.  I adore my son.  But everything is a battle.  I have to ask him to put his coat on twenty times in the morning before we get out the door.  I know four year olds can dress themselves and should dress themselves but mine can and won't.  The stubborness is killing me.  (He gets that all from his father.  I'm not stubborn at all.)

I know the stages of development.  I know he is just trying to assert his independence and it is natural and good and blah, blah, blah.  But does it have to be natural and good and oh so aggravating at the same time?  Because he is also bright and inquisitive and funny.  But sometimes I get so caught up in the battle of wills I forget that.

So please, tell me five is better.  Let me at least hang on to that hope for the next year.

Shoe Friday #32, Cleaning Edition

Daisy sent me these pictures.  She washes her kids shoes every year before school starts.

 

I am in some serious need of shoes.  I have one more entry and then I will start posting pictures of my own shoes again.  Or Shoe Friday will go bye bye.  So send me some shoes!

Photoessay by Michael

We recently found Michael's digital camera, a gift from his grandparents last year that somehow got lost among his gazillions of toys.  He has decided to take this thing where ever he goes.  I am at a loss of blogging topics unless it is related to selling the house (4 showings, in 48 hours!) and if you follow me on twitter you are sick of that.

So, I present you, photos, by Michael.

 

These Are Words I Didn't Expect To Speak After I Got Married

I'm on the market.

Or my house is.

I have my Realtor insisted upon seasonal flag.

And matching welcome mat.

Ironically, not bought from the same store.

All of our work is done.  We did everything the Realtor told us to.  It is now out of our hands.  I am not in control and I hate that.

Please, please, just sell.

Jodi vs. the Jeweler Ends With Me Chasing The Fed Ex Guy

So, the ring? 

You know you have missed updates about the ring.  Oh right, you haven't, because you have read all of my up to the minute updates on twitter.

Good news, I have the ring back and it is fixed.  Bad news, we put it through our insurance after many an argument with the jeweler.  Funny, could only happen to me news, I had to run down a Fed Ex truck to get it.

I had to be home all day Friday waiting for a window company whose time frame for getting here was, get this, 8-6.  Helpful right?  The jeweler was overnighting me the completed ring to arrive Friday morning.  I told window company I would not be home from 8:30-9 because I had to take Michael to school.  And I knew, I just knew, that was when Fed Ex would arrive. 

Jeweler sent it so it needed a signature because obviously, who leaves an expensive piece of jewlery at a front door.  So, I left a very nice note explaining to Mr. Fed Ex guy that I would be home at 9:15, could he please wait or come back after that or call me on my cell phone.  And on Thursday I tweeted that I knew, just knew, that it would show up when I was taking Michael to school.

At 9:05 the phone rang:

"Ms. Jodifur?"

"Yes?"

"This is Fed Ex.  I got your note, I'm at your house now.  I can't wait for you, I have other packages."

"I'll be there in 5:00 minutes."

"I can't wait for you."  (This was not said nicely, mind you.)

"Ok, where are you going next?"

He told me he was going to the neighborhood one over from mine.  "Can I meet you?"

"Meet me?"

"Meet you?  At your next stop?"

"Fine," and he gives me the address.

"I'll be there in 5 minutes."

I get there, and get this.  He is not there.  So I call his cell phone, he is somewhere else.  He will be at this address in "4 minutes."  So it's perfectly acceptable for me to wait for him but not for him to wait for me.  Asshole.  What was he doing in those 4 minutes from my house to this house when he soooo could not wait for me?  And I just knew that was when the window company was going to show up because if I didn't have bad luck I would have no luck at all.

So 4 minutes later he shows up and practically throws the box at me.  I thank him for allowing me to meet him and he grunts.  Grunts?  What are we, cave men?

But, I have my ring.  And guess what?  It's scratched.  The ring part, not the diamonds, is scratched.  I emailed the jeweler, and his response, it's lint.

I hate that man.

Pottytraining: And What A Year It Has Been

I have been potty training for a year.  A year.  One can say I'm a little bit bitter.  But when I saw that Parent Bloggers Network and The Potty Project were having a blog blast I knew I had to participate.  But what could I say?

I'm re-posting two of my favorite posts on the subject, both were previously posted on DC Metro Moms.  (I'm over there today talking about moving.  We meet with the Realtor to list the house today.  I'm totally not going to vomit.)   

Potty Wars, originally posted June 22, 2008

 I've just spent 4 days, hunkered down in my house, waging a war.  A war that I had to win.  A war of epic proportions.

A war against diapers.

Yes, I've just spent the last 4 days potty training.  Actually, I've spent the last couple of weeks potty training, but the last 4 days have been potty training boot camp.  Not leaving the house, naked child, go to the potty every 20 minutes, potty training boot camp.

I have found potty training to be the hardest thing I have done in my little over 3 years as a parent.  At first, I didn't really care about it.  I was in the "he'll do it when he is ready camp.  And he is clearly not ready yet."  My pediatrician told me you need three things, verbal skills, sensation, and desire.  Michael clearly had the verbal skills, we didn't know if he had the sensation, but he definitely did not have the desire.

And then it became clear that if I waited for him to want to do it, he was never going to do it.  Because he simply didn't care.  It was not an issue that was important to him.  Not like Steve finding the last clue on Blue Clues, or how much milk he had to drink before he could have some juice.  But more and more, he wanted to be a big boy.  And the more I told him he wasn't a big boy until he wore underwear, the madder at me he got.  And I knew I had my strategy.  Big boy=underwear, baby=diapers.

So we went to he store and bought underwear, and a week later he started wearing them around the house.  And then to daycare.  And then 4 days of intensive nothing but going to the potty boot camp.  And some of the worst temper tantrums I have ever seen.

I wish I could say it was easy.  I tried a lot of different methods.  The timer, being naked, m & m bribes.  But really, it just took time and patience.  And being patient is not something I'm good at.

And I think we may be there.  I think we may have cleared my biggest parenting hurdle to date.  But I'm sure the next one is right around the corner.

After 9 Months, All It Took Was Mickey, originally posted February 10, 2009

Potty training my son has been really, really hard.  We have been at it for 9 months.  Yes, you read that right, 9 months.  And some weeks are good, no accidents.  And some weeks are not so good, lots of accidents.  And the accidents are all the same, poop.  Because he is holding it and can't hold it any longer.

I would give my son a pull up to poop in, if he would just ask for one.  But he won't.  Because it is not that he doesn't want to poop in the potty, it is that he doesn't want to poop, at all.  We tried everything.  Begging, pleading, bribery, miralax, enemas.

And then we started to have a very serious problem.  We leave for the vacation of a lifetime this week.  Disney World and the Disney Cruise.  And in order to go into the Kids Club on the Disney Cruise you have to be potty trained.  And I want a vacation too.

And then I remembered what the pediatrician told me.  The most stubborn kids are also very, very smart.  And I told her I didn't need a noble prize winning physicist, I needed the kid to poop.  But I decided to play to Michael's strengths.  I sat him down, and calmly showed him pictures of Disney World, the cruise, Mickey Mouse, and T-Rexs.  "Michael do want to meet Mickey and the big Dinosaur?" 

"YES!"

"Then you have to poop in the potty.  Because only kids who poop in the potty meet Mickey and eat in the dinosaur restaurant.  Everyone in the family, your cousin, your grandparents, and your aunt and uncle will meet Mickey and eat at the dinosaur restaurant but Mommy and Daddy and Michael will have to stay home.

And he considered what I was saying, asked to see some more pictures of the cruise ship and Disney World and a millions shots of the dinosaur restaurant and I found video on youtube because dinosaurs OH MY and walked over to the bathroom and pooped in the potty. 

"Now can I see Mickey?" 

"Michael, you have 8 sleeps."

"No, Mommy, 8 poops."

And if I knew all it took was a a ridiculously expensive vacation, I would have signed us up eons ago.  I'm just praying this holds long after we get back.

I'm wondering what one gets for your year anniversary of potty training?  I'm thinking lots of wine.

 I've just spent 4 days, hunkered down in my house, waging a war.  A war that I had to win.  A war of epic proportions.

A war against diapers.

Yes, I've just spent the last 4 days potty training.  Actually, I've spent the last couple of weeks potty training, but the last 4 days have been potty training boot camp.  Not leaving the house, naked child, go to the potty every 20 minutes, potty training boot camp.

I have found potty training to be the hardest thing I have done in my little over 3 years as a parent.  At first, I didn't really care about it.  I was in the "he'll do it when he is ready camp.  And he is clearly not ready yet."  My pediatrician told me you need three things, verbal skills, sensation, and desire.  Michael clearly had the verbal skills, we didn't know if he had the sensation, but he definitely did not have the desire.

Potty training my son has been really, really hard.  We have been at it for 9 months.  Yes, you read that right, 9 months.  And some weeks are good, no accidents.  And some weeks are not so good, lots of accidents.  And the accidents are all the same, poop.  Because he is holding it and can't hold it any longer.

I would give my son a pull up to poop in, if he would just ask for one.  But he won't.  Because it is not that he doesn't want to poop in the potty, it is that he doesn't want to poop, at all.  We tried everything.  Begging, pleading, bribery, miralax, enemas.

And then we started to have a very serious problem.  We leave for the vacation of a lifetime this week.  Disney World and the Disney Cruise.  And in order to go into the Kids Club on the Disney Cruise you have to be potty trained.  And I want a vacation too.

Shoe Friday #31

Ms. Latina's shoes.

Too Busy Decluttering To Blog

Please excuse the lack of posting because this is what I have been doing.

And it leaves no time for anything else.

But this guy, this guy is crucial.  And way confused.

(These pictures are posted with my new wireless camera which was a birthday present from my in laws and I love.  And which probably means more stupid photo posts like this one.)

Start praying, T minus 6 days and counting to list!

Michael Needs Valium

I took Michael to a new dentist yesterday.  There was nothing wrong with his old dentist, it was just a little bit of a trek and I got lost every time I went there.  And this dentist had his preschool come in for a field trip and I am nothing if not a slave to marketing.

His teeth look great, no cavities, except that his is grinding his teeth at night so much she thought he had chipped one of his teeth.  He actually has ground one of his teeth in half.  The dentist thinks he is stressed.

"Stressed!," was my response,  "he is four years old.  His preschool heart wants for nothing." 

"Any changes in the family?  Divorce, death?"

"No, nothing.  He had an accident at preschool that left him pretty stressed for a week or so but he seems to be over it."

"This is long term damage.  You are talking 6 months to a year."

"What can we do?"

"Hope it clears up before his permanent teeth come in at 6.  If he is still doing it we are looking at night guards.  But we need to get to the root of the issue."

Root of the issue? Are you kidding me?  Is he worried about paying the mortgage?  What the hell does this kid have to be worried about except giving me more things to worry about? 

I guess I'll be signing him up for therapy at the ripe old age of four.

Amtrak, You Have Made It On To The List Of Things I Hate

I spent a perfectly lovely weekend in NYC with my mom and sister.  Theater, shopping, and cupcakes.  Magnolia cupcakes to be exact.  Those, are a damn good cupcake.  And I am a cupcake connoisseur. 

My sister would like me to interject a few things.  I told her to get her own blog.  She would like to know why people stop, just stop dead in the middle of the streets of NYC.  And what is up with all the people who come late into the theater, therefore disrupting your enjoyment of the show.  And the loud talking.  She wants me to write a whole stupid people blog.  But that is not this blog, this blog is about the stupid people of AMTRAK.

When the time came to go home I was ready.  I missed my boys.  I was tired from all the walking.  I had a crap load to do because the house goes on the market a week from tomorrow.  (Hold me.)  I needed to blog.  I needed to shower.  I wanted to go the gym today.  None of that happened because a 3 hour train ride became 6 and instead of getting home at 7 I got home at 11.  Yep, you read that right.  It was like flying with me.  Except no one lost my luggage and Amtrak actually apologized for the delay instead of laughing and saying fuck you like the airlines.

Someone apparently jumped in front of a New Jersey PATH train.  Which I totally do not blame AMTRAK for.  What I do blame AMTRAK for is every 5 minutes of the hour we are stopped announcing to us that they have no news and then we start moving very, very slowly and that never come back on and tell us what the hell is going on.

And then, and then, there was the piece d'resistance.  We get to Wilmington, and we think we may have a glimmer of hope of getting home before midnight and the conductor, who every time he got on the loud speaker made me want to start singing I've been working on the railroad, announces that every one needs to get off this train and get on another train, which is empty.  Something about crew shift and our crew had been working too long and some such nonsense.  Which makes no sense.  Why would they move 200 people as opposed to moving the 10 person crew?

So we grab all our luggage.  And people start pushing and shoving and you would think we were getting off a sinking ship except people on the Titanic were nicer.  And then, and then, they announced we should get back on the ORIGINAL TRAIN. 

And that is when my sister looked at me and said, "you had bad travel karma."  Which I warned Amy when we decided to fly together to BlogHer.  With a baby.  (Sorry Ezra.  And Amy.  I bet we get there 12 hours late with no luggage.)

The one adorable thing was the strangers behind us who started talking.  A man and a woman in their twenties.  Who are totally going to start dating after this fiasco and get married and have babies.  And their wedding announcement is going to thank AMTRAK.  At least that is what I told myself as I made up a story for them in my head to keep me amused.  I wanted to take a picture of them with my iphone camera for their engament party slide show.  Too much?  Yeah, I thought so so I didn't mention it.

I hate to fly and now trains aren't exactly my friend.  I'm not exactly sure I'm a bus person.  What does this leave me with. Walking?  Driving?  Boat?  Carrier pigeon?

AMTRAK.  YOU ARE ON NOTICE.

I blame the jeweler.  For no other reason than I can.  And because on Thursday we had another screaming argument about my ring in which he hung up on me, so it might as well be his fault.