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    We’re calling it “The New-Fangled Potty Training Method”

    February 9, 2007

    Yesterday we were sitting in Barnes and Noble drinking our Starbucks when The Boy decided that he was going to revisit his aversion to coffee.  Or would that be attempt to overcome his aversion to coffee?  College freshman buy into the mantra that beer is an acquired taste and The Boy will lick the top of a beer bottle until all hints of hops are a faint memory.  What’s a little coffee?  He refuses to be thwarted.  I handed him my cup.

    E:  EWWWW.
    K:  Give it back.

    His father wandered back from a trip to the lav.  It was only then that The Boy realized where his father had gone.

    E:  Daddy, Eat-ney pee too.

    His father looked at me expectantly.  I looked at him like he has 24 heads on his shoulders.  If I even mention the bathroom to my son, he throws himself on the ground violently and wails.  If his father makes a suggestion, it is as if Dora the Explorer herself has come out of the t.v. and made the suggestion.  Why would you NOT take a child to the bathroom if he asked? 

    K:  How did it go?
    D:  It was a little complicated, but it was fine.

    People, those words are what we in the business like to call “red flags.”  The words, when uttered, seem out of place.  What’s “complicated” about pulling the kid’s pants down, taking off his diaper and plopping his ass down on the American Standard? 

    Did I heed these red flags?  Did I even acknowledge these red flags?  Oh, no.  I had a caramel macchiato in my hand and I had just had 3 minutes to myself.  I thought, “complicated?  Whatever.”

    Until hours later when the following occurred as I was making a cheesecake.  I heard The Boy follow his father into the lav down the hall.

    E:  Pee too, Daddy.
    D:  OK, Ethan.

    And I looked.  I still don’t know why I looked, but I did.

    There was my husband holding his son in a fireman’s carry across his chest with pants pulled down and my husband attempting to aim his pee into the bowl.

    K:  WHAT IN GOD’S NAME are you doing?
    D:  He wanted to pee like Dad?
    K:  All over the floor, all over the toilet bowl and occasionally in the toilet?
    D:  Bitch.
    K:  Oh, prove me wrong.  Prove me wrong, I say. 
    D:  It’s difficult to help him pee without his getting it on his clothes.

    I have never once had this problem with my son.

    K:  So you decided to turn him upside and let his pee just fall into the bowl.
    D:  It worked.
    K:  Oh, he’s gonna be potty trained in no time.  Good job, Dad.

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    Solution-oriented? They would like to think so

    This morning The Boy climbed up into our bed complaining of cold feet.  Maybe it was because the thermostat was set on 50.  Maybe it was because with two comforters, a blanket AND a flannel sheet, he still can’t figure out out to, and this is going to sound so off the hook, pull the covers up.

    Or maybe it was because his warm footie PJ’s were missing the footies.

    E:  Mommy, cold, cold.
    K:  Ethan, where are the feet in your footie pajamas?
    E:  No feet, Mommy.

    His father was remarkably silent.  I grabbed The Boy’s feet and held them up to his father’s face. 

    K:  These pajamas had feet in them when I washed them yesterday.
    D:  Huh.
    K:  Is there something you want to tell me?
    D:  No.
    K:  Are you sure?
    D:  He was hot.
    K:  He was hot?  So you got a pair of scissors and cut the feet out of his pajamas?
    D:  He wasn’t hot anymore. 
    K:  At the moment.  And he certainly isn’t hot now. 
    D:  And they were too small for him anyway.
    K:  Good thinking.  It’s not like we would ever have ANOTHER boy that could wear those pajamas. 

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    3 of the 7 people surveyed at iVillage said that cocktails on playdates are OK

    February 4, 2007

    As we watched the video, I hit pause when Meredith referred to the iVillage survey.  I’ll admit it.  My husband has ruined me.  Never marry a statistician. 

    57% of people surveyed at iVillage said that cocktails at playdates were unacceptable.  No indication of number of people surveyed, no indication of margin of error. 

    K:  Is it just me or does that sound like a bullshit survey?
    D:  What’s iVillage?
    K:  Isn’t THAT the question of the day?

    On a lighter note, my pregnant belly is frightening the locals. 

    I am not joking.

    People have physical reactions when they catch a glimpse of my belly.  A woman walking past me at the mall today actually gasped when she looked at me.  As if I was freakishly disfigured. 

    K:  I’m serious.  Do I really look that bad?
    D:  You look like you could possibly give birth right here, right now.
    K:  I don’t feel that bad.
    D:  Oh, but you should see yourself.
    K:  I’m not waddling.
    D:  Yeah…it doesn’t matter. 
    K:  Is this because I look like I can’t even get out of my OWN way, let alone anyone else’s way?
    D:  Putting it lightly.

    I’m sorry, people.  My purpose is not to frighten.  But could you just cut a girl some slack?  I mean, can’t you just avert your eyes?  Cause if I have to just sit around this house with one kid on the outside bugging me and one kid on the inside bugging me for the next two weeks, I may just have to kill myself.

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    Luckily we aren’t paying by the pound for the melons

    January 24, 2007

    Last night I trudged up the stairs because there was a commotion regarding my failure to wash the Thomas the Train pajamas from Nana.  I guess you could call it a commotion about the locomotion.  Ta, da, DUM.  (I’ll be here all week, folks).

    As I hit the top of the stairs, I could hear my son still in the shower singing “happy birthday to you” in Toddler-eze.  My husband walked around the corner in his underwear.  I gave his waist the hairy eyeball.

    D:  What are you looking at?
    K:  You.  Gaining your weight back.
    D:  Am not.
    K:  Hold on, I’ll get the scale out.

    K:   AHHHH HAAA!!! you gained 4 pounds. 
    D:  Actually I think it is more like 3.
    K:  Whatever.
    D:  Where do you think YOU are going?  Get on that scale, Cheesecake Girl.

    D:  What are you doing?
    K:  I’m taking all my clothes off.  You are wearing your underwear so I’m going to wear mine.
    D:  No offense but I think your underwear are A LOT lighter than mine.
    K:  WHATEVER.  

    I got on the scale and screamed because I had only gained 2 pounds in the last 2 weeks.  And I ate a whole cheesecake.  “It’s your birthday…it’s your birthday…who’s your daddy?  Who’s your daddy?”

    D:  Well…..
    K:  I rock.
    D:  (leaning over my shoulder as we stood staring down at the scale–me with my ass pushed to the side so I could actually read the scale) Let me help you with that.
    K:  Huh?

    With that he grabbed both of sad, weary yet ample breasts and lifted them up.  We both leaned over to look at the scale and realized that suddenly I was 10 pounds lighter. 

    D:  Holy SHIT!  I’ve got 10 pounds of pure lovin’ in these hands.

    And all this time I was thinking it was my socks that were making me too heavy…

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    Signs that the primary bedtime caregiver may have fallen asleep before his charge

    January 23, 2007

    1.  You walk into the kitchen to find your son standing on the counter drinking honey and yelling “HOT TEA, HOT TEA” repeatedly.  Solution:  You wipe the honey off his face, forehead and ear (?) and send him back up the stairs to bed.
    2.  You walk around the corner and find your son eating a granny smith apple that came from….anyone???  anyone???  Uh, I don’t KNOW.  Solution:  You let him finish the apple and then you send him BACK upstairs.
    3.  You walk back into the kitchen because you think you hear something going through the trash can and you find your son on the counter AGAIN and this time he has a handful of granola bars in his hand.  Solution:  You open the granola bar, hand it to him and send him BACK upstairs.
    4.  You hear a loud crash of glass upstairs.  You run upstairs, throw on the bedroom light and find a screaming Ethan jumping up and down on a groggy Dad in Ethan’s bed.  On the floor is the shattered remains of the glass lamp (who buys a glass lamp from IKEA for a toddler’s room-even if it is really cute and really cheap?).  Dad sits up and says, “wha’ ‘appened?”  Solution:  You clean up the glass, turn out the light and shut the door behind you.  

    At least you didn’t have to put him to bed.

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    How to get a response out of me

    January 20, 2007

    E:  Morning, Daddy.
    D:  Good morning, Ethan.  Would you like to climb up in bed with Mom and Dad?
    E:  ‘Os.  Morning, Daddy.
    D:  Good morning, Ethan.
    E:  Daddy, Mommy hot (poking my non-responsive body)?
    D:  I think Mommy is hot but probably not in the way you are referring.
    E:  Mommy hot.  Mommy (poking my non-moving, possom-playing back).  Mommy, over.  Over, Mommy.
    D:  Buddy, I think Mommy only does that if you have a treat to offer her.

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