Urinating as retribution... more potty fun!

As anyone who has been in the position (parent, relative, caregiver, etc) to train a small person in the ways and joys of the toilet can tell you, it ain't over til.... well... I can't exactly tell you. See, with potty training there is no end date, no gold star that suddenly appears on your chest or your child's bum or anything spiffy like that. Sometimes, you think the potty lady sang her last hooray song and then... you're in Target and it's a five alarm pooping! Regardless of whether you just put your child on the potty... and she is waiting with a small smile of oddly enough, triumph on her face. Ah yes, the days of "I'm in control now so let's see how fun I can make this" have arrived!

I had hoped with daughter number two, my previous experience, my education background and motherly tendencies it might go a wee (haha) bit smoother this time. After all, daughter number one (oh, I just got that- haha) practically trained herself, I mistakenly recalled in nostalgic moments to myself... MISTAKENLY. Ah, how this jaunt down the yellow brick road, as it were, has reminded me of the heartbreaks I once did experience and now relive with renewed vigor as I race with poo filled underwear to the demands of "Don't throw away Ariel undies, Mommy!" As well as cajoling, encouraging, bribing and slightly bullying this lovely creature to get her bum on requested pink urine/feces receptical "for the love of all that is holy!" I am also supposed to reward her? For pooping?  It is enough to drive me back to my prayers. Hallelujah there is pee IN the potty! Amen, Sweet Jesus the poo was made not in the underwear (or on the floor). Thank the lord we have such crappy looking carpets anyway. Forgive the pun, of course, God.

So, what prompted this Mad Mother (as in Mad Hatter, although my darling husband can attest to the alternative demonstration of the word by yours truly) to foray into tapping keys and sharing my toilet paper roll of funny? I had the fortune of observing my darling Two year old get into a battle Royale with my darling, usually calm and delightfully democratic Husband. He was mind-boggled when she in fact used her pee as revenge.

As usual, we are in disarray as the new school year approaches and all projects have been left to last minute. Dinner being a bit haphazard always means a struggle with our tiny fury. And so it was no surprise that as a power struggle over the last few bites ensued, a parental gauntlet was inadvertently thrown. To our girl's horror and dismay, chocolate rewards were threatened. Tears. Screaming. Hair was tossed. Chocolate was sadly dispatched to the waste basket. And then... she reminded us that she was in control. My husband found her standing in a wet spot, seemingly victorious. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!??!

Ah yes, We have reached my favorite phase of potty training. Accidents as parental punishment. She baldly admitted to me this was no accident. Okay.

This is a woman the world needs to watch out for- she will face down the loss of chocolate and then sneakily pee on her own rug in her favorite skirt to let you know- you cannot take it away from her! She will take it away herself! I can't decide whether I should silently applaud or buy some type of insurance... Does Geico sell Parental Insurance?

Please let daughter number three be easier!!! :D

Stay brave and thanks for reading.Boon Potty Bench Training Toilet (Google Affiliate Ad)

"There is no Mommy here"

Today, I have realized that I am EPICALLY FAILING as a Mother. No, really.

5:42am- awake to pee. Check on husband- occupied with Twitter- back away silently. Check on adorable infant... OH GOD!!! The tiny Bear is stirring- ABORT ABORT!!! Back away silently and hope like hell she has not sniffed out my mammaries. Fall asleep to my inner guilty refrain... Bad mommy bad mommy bad mom....zzzzz......

6:12am- forgot to pack husband's lunch! SHIT!!!! Realize this as he gently kisses me goodbye. Half ass slapping of leftovers together and several kids' snacks. He thanks me adoringly... resume inner guilty refrain/mantra... Bad Wifey Bad Wifey... Oh! Coffee!

6:13am- just going to check facebook and email a second....

7:33am- Whuh- oops. Forgot to drink coffee or eat breakfast... Toddler is up. Oh boy.

7:34am- Baby awakes, cooing ever so gently. I go to her room feeling happy- She and I make eye contact and she starts wailing loudly in manner of- MILK MILK MILK- but really she cries and says Boob. She is not even 8 months. Begins crying and squirming in earnest when I attempt to clean her rear of vegetable smelling defecant. After wiping her dry, she pauses and smiles up at me as if to say, "Thanks." Resume loving her and feeling guilty for angry thoughts two seconds ago regarding the option of a third. Bad mommy bad mommy bad mommy...

7:39am- Find Toddler eating my breakfast. What's next? Is my coffee level lower? Please tell me she didn't... Her breath is just muffin so I breathe a sigh of relief. I remind her to please use the potty...

SCREAMING ENSUES- It is an unusual mix of high pitched, loud wailing and whining that makes me wish for a nearby brick wall to abuse my head against....

8:18am- success on potty! Cheering for feces! My life is so strange. Rewards requested. DENIED. Wailing for that many minutes, resorting to screams on both sides (Mommy is ashamed) has now resulted in trip to nearby Mall denied. This behavior cannot be rewarded plus I do not think popping a potty in your stroller is acceptable at a chi-chi mall.

8:25am- NEW PLAN! We have made amends and Mommy is calm. Maybe a park?... Feeding the beasts

8:27am- breakfast finished and children are whining and demanding things. Feeding baby between filling requests and sipping coffee. Have forgotten to eat breakfast. Appetite gone after several meltdowns. Ugh.

9:19am resolved to good day. Had a lovely talk with girls. They are getting ready to leave the house. Yay! Mommy needs toast- Children ungratefully distract Mommy from breakfast...

9:20am- Mommy angrily vacuums after putting children outside to play in backyard. Baby in exersaucer begins to wail when vacuum turns on. This is new but at least I am getting the carpet cleaned.

9:21am- the neighbor girls call. I mutter indelicate thoughts and continue to vacuum though I have been spotted- creepy kid- through our front window. Answer and she is requesting to borrow cooler. Mutter crankily about this being US and coolers being widely available. Hand over cooler with smile.

9:56am- finally leave for park.

9:58am- arrive, wishing we could have walked but needed potty in car for Toddler. Girls playing well. Even make a friend. Going well! Nice Mom begins conversation.

10:13am Ah. Language barrier. Why didn't I learn Portuguese? Damn. Adult conversation ends.

10:32am- large group of children from the nearby Rec Center INVADE playground en masse, followed by very young looking minders. Not really minding children and mistakes my Toddler for a child in her charge. Gets my child seated and ready to paint until snot nosed child next to her points out she is not part of their group. My child gets bumped from painting and we are back to tantrums...

10:45am- everybody finally in the car and Mommy can't go home yet. I JUST CAN'T! Proceed to craft store to get paint to make it all better.

12:00pm- Everyone is glad we have finished in craft store. Managed not to break anything but accidentally bump into four year old and beg her to make it to car before total breakdown.

12:03pm- Two year old announces she wants a new Mommy....

And here is the real EPIC failure. I offer to call her New Mommy and my dramatic four year old is traumatized. My day isn't even half done and already I am DONE.

You politicians and misogynists who claim Stay-at-home-moms don't work have NO CLUE!!!! Is there a high yield Save for Therapy plan at my bank? I am sure my children will need it more than college.

Do the thing that scares you....

Ok dear reader,
   You few who enjoy this post, this one is for YOU.

A friend of mine describes me as a tough lady. Little does she know, I am afraid to hang my feet over the edge of the bed at night. I am afraid of looking behind the shower curtain sometimes. I am afraid of having no friends (facebook numbers seem unreal, don't they?). I am afraid to put my face under water (it just seems unnatural!). I am afraid of unseen bugs (I like to see my enemy coming. And I never want to accidentally eat them or let them make a nest in my ear, thank you Wrath of Khan!). I am afraid of being a bad mother (let those sweeties memories be short!). I am afraid of making a fool out of myself (because I do it daily). I am afraid of catching a ball (experience is the teacher here and I have a bump on the shnoz as reminder). I am afraid of cockroaches (EW!!! It wasn't my trip to Puerto Rico, but NYC that made this one happen). I am afraid of ghosts- even little girl ones. Sorry, but very true. This list could go on if I listed the things I am afraid of on behalf of my girls. AHHHHH!!!!

There are so many things every day that I might not do because of fear. It terrifies me a little to teach. To be a mother. To be a wife. Mainly I am just afraid of failing the people who I love. I am even afraid to write these words because in a way this is my public diary- to a limited audience but still. Yikes!

My redundant point is this- I am apparently perceived as tough (at least by a few), and my perception of myself is much less optimistic. (That's another fear- being too negative) Still, these fears DO NOT stop me from doing things every day. I also try very hard not to let them be my motivator. Fear is an ugly motivation- its effects? War, Poverty, Racism, Homophobia and Celebrity Breakdowns. Seriously. Did you see Katie Holmes lose tons of weight? Pure terror, I swear.

SO this fall, as I begin teaching, commit to running (just typing it made my chest constrict a little) and blogging more often (with a wittier banter, I promise), I commit to you few who read, who laugh with (or even laugh at, hey at least you are reading) and who may feel like me.

Courage is not the absence of fear, merely the choice to overcome it. I am choosing courage. Here we go!


What scares you? Share if you dare!

Keep your head up

Dear you,
Today wasn't your favorite day.
You fell down and no one made a big deal.
You felt sad and lonely and had no one to talk to about those feelings.
You were angry and frustrated by the life that has unfolded for you.
You feel betrayed everyday by the person you chose to share that life with and sometimes it make you lay awake and retrace your steps. Shoulda...coulda...woulda...
You took on so much and now you want a break from it for just a little while but you know if you take that break you might not go back.
These are problems we can all identify with and you may wonder how I have the nerve to expose you this way, writing about you in so honest a tone.
Your secret is safe. But please please know that you are not alone. You do have friends. It does in fact get better and from experience it seems it is just after you think it cannot get better. Despair and rage and cry if it will help. But do not ever give up. You will outlast what hurt remains and feel ok, if not soon then just after that.
Do not ever give up on yourself. You are worth the fight.
Keep your head up.

In my darker hour

When I was a little girl, all I wanted, all I yearned for was a home filled with family. I idolized this idea, filled it with every happy little thought my real life did not have and inhabited that imagined space like it could be real with the right set of circumstances- ie., the right man would somehow make all that wasn't right in me a whole, magically. Poof. Brady Bunch optional.
And ever since the day I began building that dream, reality has been trying to give me less and less subtle clues attempting to abuse me of my foolishness.
But no one could tell me. And now here I am, three kids, a house we can't really afford (a whole cliche) and a life that doesn't wrap up neatly. And I am asking myself why, why, why this doesn't feel good all the time?
Is this just me? Am I alone on a Friday, drinking cheap white wine with a straw watching Eat Pray Love. Meanwhile my adorable husband is bathing our three girls and their conversation filters in between the witty dialogue.
Liz Gilbert got to check out but I am her friend at the gate saying "I wish I could go". Is it our generation that cannot be happy with what we have? Cannot just say "thank you or what I have"?
I am grateful. My oldest two are naked Greco Roman wrestling and giggling up a storm. My husband is holding our baby chasing them around and I am blogging and wishing for travel. I am unfair and mean. I need to get off my ass and jump into the screaming, crying fray out there. And bake cupcakes, and love what I have. Actively. And maybe have some real food. Damn this movie! :)
Anyway my point, my goddamn a-ha moment is that the wish is not 2D, it is beyond that, maybe even 4D. It is multilayered. It has hidden dirt and tears and anger and joy and sadness and dissolution and everything I cannot imagine. It ain't a harlequin novel, that's for sure. It is reality. Wake up!

Motherhood- Welcome to the Jungle (Gym)

Perhaps this next mamma-logue belongs in two separate rants, however I feel this is related.
  When I became a mother, I unwittingly became part of something much MUCH bigger than I. I became part of the all-encompassing "Motherhood". Whether you carry your child in your belly or your heart, being someone's mother automatically guarantees you entrance into all kinds of fun. Your Mamma-kind can be your best or worst friend.
  Case in point, you have an entrepreneurial idea. Your fellow Mammas will support and promote you. You have a need, often they will find a way to fill it- clothes, food, shelter or sympathy. It has been a surprising side-benefit of motherhood. But tread lightly sisters, and do not take your fellow females for granted. Because that hand that extends help can just as quickly give you an unprecedented smack-DOWN.
  I have seen and experienced and given first hand (ha ha) the smack-down. I never seek out the drama mammas, but if you provoke me, I have little patience for you. We, as women, might not be in some type of declared war but make no mistake. Friends can become ene-mammas pretty quickly.
  Don't misunderstand me. I am not decrying the sisterhood of which I am so fond and for which I am grateful. No no. I am merely saying, many if not all of us know how we want to be treated- how we deserve to be treated- and we have no problem demanding that from each other. For example, never over-invite yourself to another mother's home. Especially when said playdate involves your sweet little monsters causing any level of havoc. We all know how much fun it is to clean up after our own, let alone someone else's br... children. And if said ... children happen to so much as lay a hand on our own spaw... sweetlings well then... be warned. Tread very lightly upon the hospitality of the Mamma Bear you just poked. Now, let me be clear. Arguments happen between these adorable little characters as they play. But heaven forbid it become a pattern with any regularity. Your best bet? Do not transfer blame, do not make excuses, do not pretend you didn't see. Woman up. Apologize. And make a hasty retreat. If you value your friendship at all, you will do what is right by your fellow Mamma and her little bear cub. It isn't easy being in the Sisterhood of the Big Girl Pants but it is worth it.
  Here are some easy rules. New Mammas, Commit these to memory:

1. Always treat your fellow Mother how you wish to be treated.

2. Don't forget Rule #1 or heaven have mercy on your soul and that of your progeny.

That is all,
Sister Amanda
May the force be with you

Public boob, private boob

What is it with our society and breasts? Now I am only talking about the United States because that is what I know. That said, what is our obsession? We Bind them, flash them, truss them, lie about their size, fake their shape, hide them, hate them, love em, and ignore them.
There is so much about them as objects, characters, power, etc. it seems the craziest thing. I mean, what are they? Two bags of flesh with a sippy end. What's so great about that? They are objects of importance for nourishment and care. They are designed for babies. They have been made into sex objects and we have taken back that power to manipulate others (I said it!).
All I want to know is- why do we allow them the power? Why can't we remove our Puritan or prurient attachments and allow whomever to nurse or display their body as they wish. Is it possible or not to go back, to deobjectify our breasts?
Discuss while I finish nursing...

Babes in dance class

Nothing is more adorable than your little one dancing. And nothing is less adorable than the Moms in the wings. Anxious, stressed, impersonating Alice Cooper's makeup as we tear up at every moment and clapping for every turn and step- regardless of timing or mistake. We will cut line to see their photographs and pay any price to preserve the moment in time when they actually smiled. And hopefully looked like we did their hair or wash them sometimes.
Why do we make ourselves into such a wreck for our beautiful children?

Mommy Bragging

Lol, for my one reader yes, I am back. I, mother of 3 an unemployed teacher am back at blogging!
This week, let's discuss... Mommy bragging. Do you or don't you?
As a rule, I don't. Here's why- a funny story is one thing but going on for longer than a minute about your precious little one is making whomever you are talking to gag. It just is. Here's why- inevitably, you are bragging to another mom (Grandma's/Nonni's/ etc are the exception of course) and that mom is being made aware of her child's faults through your monologue. No one is so confident in her parenting that she is immune to second-guessing her children. We all want the best for our child and want them to be their best selves. Thank you, Oprah.
  Here's a thought, what if they were just their average selves? Would that be so bad? What if you heard parents chatting about how proud they were that their child brought home B's and made the cheerleading squad but was the base of the pyramid? Let's face it, they can't all be at the top. So why are we so focused on our children being the best and brightest? If they are all so great doesn't that make them average anyway? Aren't we unfairly setting our future adults up for that moment on American Idol Season 30 when they are inevitably told they are NOT in fact, a rockstar? Why aren't we more interested in letting them play and just be? Not everybody needs nor deserves a trophy. What is there to reach for? Sure, disappointment never felt good as a kid but disappointment is REALITY- not Housewives of CrazyTown reality, REAL reality. You know? Like when you turn off the TV/Computer/Smartphone? Remember that?
  I am by no means saying you shouldn't praise your children or be ashamed of your praise. Go ahead but please, be realistic. Your child is NOT a baby Einstein, or a baby Picasso- unless of course he or she is in which case... yay. Good for you. Now stop bragging and have a normal conversation, please!

Hey, it's how many of us feel but are just afraid or too nice to say it. Just putting it out there. Discuss amongst yourselves...