And a statue will be erected in your honor....

I was thinking this weekend about a conversation I had with my mother in law when The Boy was just born.  I was recounting a story that involved Juanito helping with some aspect and she made a comment about how his father never helped with any of that.  “That” being taking care of his children.  I wanted to say well that should have been your first indicator that he was not a spectacular father but I held my tongue.  I do that every now and then, but rarely.  Sadly I was told this by many women in my family.  I have never really been sure what to make of it. Was I supposed to feel bad for them and how bad they had it with their lame husbands?  Was I supposed to feel thankful for having a husband who gave a shit about being a father?  Was I less of a mother because I’m not doing it all on my own? 

So this conversation and the questions it brings always bubble to the surface when I feel conflict with Juanito.  It’s a struggle to balance the house and careers and children and pets and car maintenance and home maintenance and laundry and cleaning and social lives and personal time oh and sleep.  I know that just like there are times that I feel like I carry more weight than Juanito there are times that he feels that too.  But I found myself having this internal dialogue while I was unloading and reloading the dishwasher for the third time in a weekend (a weekend that we ate out more often than ate in it mind you) and I thought, am I just supposed to accept this role and be thankful that he will change poopy Pull-ups (or worse poopy underwear)?  Am I asking too much that he do both?  And this is no reflection on Juanito and his side of load. (So don’t read into this Juanito.)  I’m asking more for all the working moms.  Is it too much of us to ask that the workload of maintaining house, home and family be evenly split?  Are we spoiled when our husbands share the workload?  Am I less of a mother and wife because he does? 

Then seriously this is the thought that comes into my head.  What about gay and lesbian couples?  They must have to struggle with sharing workload but do they grapple with the traditional roles?  How can I assume that mowing the yard is “his thing” when lesbian couples I know fight over who has to do yard work.  And then what about those couples that have children?  Do they have to talk it out and say “this is what I want to do and you can do this?”  Do they reexamine their plan to make sure everything is covered before implementing?  Because we do. 

When we started this relationship so long ago I know that everything was split.  Rent, closet space, cleaning, everything.  I know that if it hadn’t been this way I would have bailed on the relationship a long time ago.  We both went into it with this even-stevens mentality.  So why should I be grateful for a husband who would get up in the middle of the night with a newborn because my MIL didn’t have that?  I shouldn’t feel guilty that I can chat with friends or family while Juanito corrals The Boy.  And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve a parade for washing poopy underwear. 

Sometimes this adult thing sucks and the figuring it out part is exhausting. 

**Side note:  not sure how I’ve made the gay and lesbian population my litmus test for all things, but I find myself doing more and more these days.

Finding our way and our faith

Schmacey's daughter will receive her First Holy Communion this Sunday.  Being that I'm not Catholic nor have I been confirmed, the whole experience is lost on me.  Instead I'm hung up on if the word "first" should be capitalized.  Schmacey has asked that those around her daughter write letters to her about this accomplishment.  I asked for help on the letter.  I love the idea of her parents reading the letters to her before her confirmation and I totally want to write a letter.  I asked for help and Schmacey said that it didn't matter if I was Methodist or Catholic but just to write a letter. 

The problem is I don't understand it all.

It takes the Internet....

I'm looking for some advice from the other parents out there.  Here's the issue....

Lessons

Three years ago today my life changed forever with the Birth of The Boy.

Its A Monday Miracle

This morning when I finally decided to get out of bed I was pretty sure that things where gonna be hell.  I didn't want to start the day, how was I going to gently persuade The Boy to do it?

But you know what?  It happened.  After almost ten minutes of telling him it was time to get up he finally made his eyes open and agreed to come down stairs to watch cartoons.  He is not a morning person, much like his mom, so to make the transition easier we grease the morning wheels with cartoons.  Once he was officially up, he got dressed and we even did his hair.  The rest of the morning went just like clock work.  When I told him to get his shoes he did right away and even put them on the right feet.  He waited for me and then asked for his coat, which was needed since its was in the 60s (!) this morning.  When I told him to get in the car he paused and I hesitated waiting for the meltdown to begin but he merely asked for a kiss first.  Ahhh, my baby!  My heart!

It was all, dare I say, easy breezy? 

When we rolled up on daycare he claimed it as his which made me excited.  The anxiety of a meltdown happening at any moment left me on edge the entire morning and when an obstacle was met without tears and yelling my excitement mounted.  By the time he walked into his classroom and decline a hug (which is completely normal) I was a tremor of excitement.  When I told him goodbye and he waved and said "Bye Mom"  I'm pretty sure I floated out to the car on a cloud of maternal love and pride. 

It was a fucking Monday Miracle!

Treacherous Social Waters of Two Year Olds and Daycare

The Boy started at a new daycare today. Between concerns about the quality of the daycare diminishing as he has aged; ultimately knowing we needed something near his future school; and the commute that was slowly killing me one traffic jam at a time we decided to change. We have been in an in-home setting since he was 6 months old and have built this little community of kids and parents that were wonderful. It was hard to make the decision but we knew for longevity it was necessary.

So the new place is a big facility servicing children from 2 weeks (!) to 12 years and is run by a little old grandma who has a bit of a mustache. I’m sure this isn’t painting a very nice description but its accurate. She is very warm and every room she goes into the kids run to her for hugs. Normally, in an in-home setting the idea of the grandmotherly figure doesn’t appeal to me because I want structure and education and learning. In a big facility where it’s geared more like school I love the grandmotherly figure who is still warm, loving and nurturing for these babies. My baby!

So I dropped him off this morning, including his naptime sheet, naptime blanket, diapers, wipes, change of clothes and his happy little butt. We set up my finger print to be able to drop off and pick up and we went into the room. He immediately started playing with the toys and the other kids gravitated to us. He seemed fine and didn’t need me so I hugged and kissed him good bye and stood out in the hall way watching him. He looked a little lost, a little pensive and a little unsure, but not scared or frightened or ready to cry. I was though. I was a mess. I watched my baby. My baby. My well-adjusted little boy navigating the treacherous social waters of daycare and two year olds. (A bit dramatic I admit, but kids are ruthless)

I wished he would cry when I left just so I could soothe him and let him know he would be ok. That we would both be ok. But instead I forced myself to walk away and get in my car and call Juanito. Crying.

I will worry all day long. Did he ever cry? Has he made a friend or two? Is he adapting well to the new rules and new surroundings. Is nap time the same and will he be able to sleep? Will he like it enough to want to return tomorrow? This growing up shit is hard on everyone, but it seems hardest on me!

Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle

Can you believe that I made this?

This is The Boy eating a chili covered mango candy.  Its a pretty common candy in Mexico and easily found here in The Valley. We were recently at a 1st birthday party with a pinata filled with such candies.  All the adults there were quite concerned that if he ate the candy he would....I don't know what they thought would happen.  I was afraid that he would yell "Yuck" like he does when he sees me without underwear.  Have I not shared this story?  Maybe later.  Anyways, I didn't want to offend the hosts which my vocal, opinionated two year old.  But he grabbed the sucker and scampered up the slide and stealthily ripped the wrapper off and shoved it in his pie hole.  There was a collective gasp as his audience awaited his response.  I asked him if it was good.  He said "mmm-mmm, yum!"  And the crowd went wild! 

When he was little and new and squishy, I thought I could not love him any more that day than ten years from now.  When he was starting to toddle around and giggle and laugh, I thought, I guess I can love him more.  Two years later I can't imagine how much bigger my love for him will get.  As he develops and grows and becomes a little person my heart grows right along with him.  I'm pretty sure the teen years squash all that back to a normal size heart so that parents live longer. 
But for now let say this kid...this one...

Well, lets just say he's got swagger and style and he's got moves you haven't seen before.  (Note that these sun glasses he picked out.  At Cabella's.  Because where else do you purchase your LMFAO-esque clothes from but amidst camouflage and turkey calls?  I love him, even though he calls me Daddy.

Its Not a Sprint, Its a Marathon

This Sunday we woke up with our regular routine of Disney channel and French toast. I thought, hey, why not start potty training today? So by the seat of our pants we tried it. I know that naturally you want to know some quick assessment of how the potty training turned out. I would love to say that after a day of potty training we’ve ditched the diapers but that would be a lie. A bold-faced lie. Honestly, I have no idea how to determine if this went well or not. We started with introducing the Cushie Tushie he got for his birthday as well as the potty books (mind you others might be pissed to get such practical gifts for their birthday but that’s how I was raised). We had him sit on his potty and talked about going potty and peeing and pooping. Then we set a timer, or actually figured out how the timer worked and then set it, and let him run around in just his pajamas, sans diaper. He held on to his junk for a brief time because fabric on your junk has gotta feel beyond odd after wearing a diaper for your entire life. After fifteen minutes we sat on the potty again. Nothing. Figured out how the time worked a little faster this time and set it again. We kept with this all day. He ended up going potty while playing in his toys and all I can say is I’m glad we have tile. He went through four pairs of pants before we gave up on free-ballin’ and decided to bust out the pull-ups. After lunch he went down for a nap in a diaper. When he woke up we changed his diaper and went right back to the 15 minute intervals with the pull-ups.

At one point, while I watched my husband try and coax our son to pee, I had a thought and shared it with the love of my life. I have been sexually active for about 14 years. I have never paid this much attention to a penis as I have this day. Watching it peak it’s one eye out over the rim of the Cushie Tushie, I willed it to pee. I must apologize to Juanito for not eyeballing his junk with such fierceness and hope in my heart.


I began to worry that we had created all this attention to the potty that he might get some level of anxiety about it and ultimately would stop pooping. This kid is pretty regular, at least twice a day and worst case scenario once a day. So when it was 4 pm and no poop, well I was concerned that I had ruined him forever. I started thinking about Freud’s theories about the oral and anal stage and how he does suck his thumb (my son not Freud but I bet he did too) have we jacked something up by forcing the potty training too soon? Too late? Too forceful? Is he gonna cut the heads off of bunnies when he is 14 because Mom and Dad made him sit on the potty against his will and talk about bulldozers and dump trucks in hope of pooping and/or peeing in the potty?? And if the mental frenzy wasn’t enough, every time I mention potty to him, I had to pee. We didn’t need to download the Potty Dance video from Pull-Ups cuz I was doing my own little version for him.

While working in the backyard, I hear my husband ask our son, “Do you need to go poop?” and then a rush of activity into the house heading straight to the bathroom. I didn’t want to over react and run after them because I was still struggling with my Freudian issues, so I hung back. But then my husband calls from the bathroom, “Uh, can we get some wipes in here?” I asked if he pooped and his answer of “kinda” made sense when I walked in to find my son on the potty, my husband holding him there and little plops of poop that have fallen out of his bum and pull-up onto the floor in front of the toilet. It was also smeared down my son’s leg. I want to take a moment here and let you all know that our dogs are doggie door trained and I haven’t had to deal with poop in the house and on the floor in a long time. So my initial reaction was delayed because honestly I didn’t know what to do, other than laugh. Juanito told me to grab toilet paper which snapped me back to what I was supposed to do. And I would again be lying if the warmth and weight of the bundle didn’t make me gag but I did get the poop in the potty and wiped our son down.

That was the closest to success we had on our maiden voyage of potty training. I read many articles last night about what to do. Apparently all of the advice….potty every 15 minutes, no diaper, no pull-up, the books, watch mom and dad, the cheerios in the toilet, the step stool, the pull pants up and down, well…these are things to work towards and not to be accomplished all in one Sunday. I took him to day care in a diaper because I’m not sure what the morning after is supposed to be like. But she will work with him too and I’ll keep reading. Everyone eventually learns to go in the potty so I guess I should find comfort in that right?

And while I’m not gonna say that he didn’t put his head in the toilet and sing a little song at the top of his lungs, I will say that he has no fear of the potty and has learned a lot.


1. He knows what the timer is for, well, kinda.

2. How to pull his pants up and down

3. Flushing the toilet while sitting on the potty is fun

4. Once you flush the magic is gone.

5. Toilet paper is to wipe your tush. We’ll work on not putting it in the trash once we poop in the potty.
 If I were to give advice to anyone starting this journey….it’s a journey, not to be accomplished in one day. Those people who say that their kids were potty trained in one weekend are lying bitches.

This too shall pass

Since my son was born my mother-in-law has peppered her motherly advice with “This is just a phase and will pass soon.” Sometimes I bristle to this because I want to snap back and say “I know but I’m in the thick of things and I wanna pull my hair out. Or drop-kick someone, everyone.” Other times, it is the quiet and thankfully calming reminder that just like he grew past the stage of wobbling when he stood that made my heart and breath wedge together somewhere near my larynx, he will grow past the stage of biting for the joy of sinking his teeth into stuff when frustration. Lately, her mantra makes me a little misty-eyed with the reminder that my baby is growing and becoming an independent little man.