Sunday, October 19, 2008

The Potty Train

So I realized the other day that Maxwell takes things quite literally as most 2 year old's do. I told him that he cannot go to pre-school ever if he is not potty trained. My son looks at me with such excitement and exclaims, "I get to go to school if I ride the Potty Train! I want to ride the Potty Train. Where is it?" Once I picked myself up off of the floor where I had fallen in the throws of laughter, I tried to explain to him that there is no Potty Train but he was having none of it. When I told my husband about the incident, a light bulb when off in his brain. He told Max that when he uses the potty and not diapers anymore he can go on the Potty Train with Daddy. His excitement was encouraging. We will see what happens.Post Options

Adventures in Potty Training

My youngest son Maxwell is in the midst of potty training. And let me tell you, it is not a fun place to be right now. More so for mommy than for Max. This kid has a stubborn streak that runs deeper than the Grand Canyon and as long as the Great Wall of China. I say "Yes" and he says "No!" I so "No" and he says "Yes!" I say "Up" and he says "Down!" I can go on and on but I'm sure that by now you got the point.

My frustration has been mounting over his unwillingness to use the potty rather than his pants. Some people say to me that he will let me know when he is ready and not to push him or it will take longer. Well I say that when your son comes up to you carrying a new, fresh diaper and says "I need to be changed. I pee pee." Well, then he is damn well ready to start using the toilet I say.

Now, I'm not known for my patience. In fact I usually only have a small surplus of such and I have reached my limit. So, when my son informed me that he was going to wear diapers forever I nearly lost it. Images of me as a gray haired old lady changing her 30year old son's adult sized pampers sent me to the bathroom to weep.

Well, once I regained my composure, I decided he was going to wear his big boy underwear today. Let me just say that having a toddler wearing underwear for the first time is kind of like trying to potty train a puppy. (Which, for the record, I tried a while back and failed miserably at.) I feel the need to follow him around the house trying to prevent any sort of accident. I think Max is beginning to understand how I feel when he is my constant shadow. When he goes to play cars, mommy is there. When he runs to play on the keyboard, mommy is not far behind. When squats in the corner to do his business, mommy is there to scoop him up and whisk him away to the potty. You can imagine how old this gets. I eventually stop shadowing him and just obsessively ask him if he needs to go potty. The answer? Always "No!" I mean, he told me no as he stood in front of me actively peeing through his undies, down his leg and onto the wood floor! Even then he insisted he was not wet. (I can only surmise that he gets this from Kevin's side of the family, as my side is not stubborn in the least.) Then Max inform me that he did make a puddle on the floor earlier. He takes me over by his toy box and book shelf and points at the floor. I look and see nothing wet. I don't feel anything wet either. But the unmistakable smell of pee is definately there. Upon closer inspection I see that he has either used a book to try to clean up his mess, or just squated over the book and did his business. Trying to get a straight answer from his is harder than convincing a rebublican that McCain in no way measures of to Obama. Anyhow, there was no saving the book. At least it was one of his and not the library's. Imagine explaining that one to them.

So, Max is on his second pair of underwear and doing okay for the most part. At least I think he is. I haven't been upstairs in the last ten minutes. I sit here imagining piles of poo and puddles of pee riddling the living room floor. (Which isn't too far from the truth. The pile of poo on the floor is a whole other story.) As much as I am dreading it, I must go investigate the silence up above....

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

My Trouble with Tribble

Last week we got a guinea pig. She looks more like a ball of hair that purrs and squeaks, hence her name, Tribble. What I didn't know when bringing her home, was that she was not alone. She had, unbeknown to me, brought hundreds of microscopic friends along. Lice. The Guinea Pig Louse to be exact. Thank God these lice are species specific and will not infect humans or other animals. Although this should be comforting, it still gives me the heebie-jeebies. Well, I took her into the vet to have these unwanted guests evicted from my little friend only to find out that it may take 6 weeks and two more vet visits during this time to rid her of all parasites. She has to have a series of Ivermectin injections to get rid of the damn little buggers! All of this for the bargain price of about $100.00 give or take. Our free guinea pig suddenly has become quite expensive.

Who I Am

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Scatterbrain painting fanatic with a temper.