Potty Camp III

So we have settled in to this routine where BB does really well with pee pee in the potty, but he asks for a diaper to poop.  We are okay with this because it's better than not pooping at all.  But my dad and stepmom come today bearing small gifts--poop prizes--wrapped in wrapping paper.  Well, that was it.  He found out he couldn't have a prize without pooping in the potty, and he was like, "I want to poop in the potty.  In the living room."  And he proceeded to "poop" in the potty like 8 times and get all the prizes.  I say poop with quotes because each time he pooped a tiny amount, and would get up and start singing, "I pooped in the potty!  Now I get a prize!"  What could we say?  He had pooped in the potty.  The amount of which may be negligable, but he had pooped.  No one dared tell him he couldn't have a prize.  But now we are out of them, and there is a tropical storm that will prevent me from going to the dollar store in the morning to replenish the stash.  But that might not be a bad thing.  It might keep him from pooping in his potty chair, in the living room, every fifteen minutes.

Potty Camp II

So we had real potty camp last weekend. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, except for the pooping. Or rather, lack thereof. I thought we were going to have a serious issue, but we seem to be getting somewhat of a balance. He's pooped in the potty 3 times, pooped in a diaper a couple of times, and pooped in his pants once. So long as he's pooping, I don't really care. Says the lady who wasn't home to have to clean up the poop in the underpants.
I do have to admit, 3 hours into the first day, I said to Andy, "I don't think he's responding real well. Maybe he isn't ready." To which Andy replied, "We've only been doing this for THREE HOURS. This isn't going to be easy." So we didn't quit, and Andy was right. Andy, incidentally, is the only one who has gotten BB to poop in the potty.
He is doing really well with the pee pee. He makes it to the potty most of the time, and his accidents usually happen at home while he is playing. So now here is my new issue with potty training.
You can't plan enough time to get somewhere because you have no idea how many times you will have to stop along the way to use the potty. Today we used the potty at home AND at Food Lion, at the restaurant, at the doctor (3 times), at home again AND at Dunkin Donuts, at the museum a few times, and finally we were home for good. While I know we will save good money on diapers, I think of all the extra time that we will need in exchange.

Throw Up Camp

This weekend, my husband and I had discussed "potty boot camp" for BB. The plan was to put him in underpants and spend a lot of time playing outside. I was a little concerned for his shoes--he only has a couple of pair, and I was afraid they would be all covered in pee. But, he has to learn how to use the potty sooner or later. I mean, he does use it. But at the same time every day. He always wants to use it when he gets out of his bath so he can have his "potty prize" of 3 m & ms before he goes to bed. I don't think that is true potty training as it is conditioning for a nightly treat.

Anyways, his shoes have lived to see another weekend, as potty boot camp did not occur. Instead, we had Throw Up Camp. He puked mac and cheese all Saturday evening. It was pretty pitiful. 2 year olds do not know to tell you that they need to puke. Instead, they whine. It's about enough warning to get over to them and try to catch the puke in your bare hands. One time, he tried to hold it in, which wasn't very effective. That one was bananas and toast, all over him, me, and the couch. Lovely. The most pitiful part was, every time I would ask him if he was going to throw up, he would look terrified and say "Noooooo!" I think he thought I was telling him to throw up.

Another time, I think he thought he was going to puke, and he started whining. I grabbed a towel I had gotten out for this explicit purpose and ran over to him. He said, "No Mom, cover my mouth!" I just don't think he gets it. I just kept telling him, "when it comes out, Sweetie, you can't stop it. You just have to lean over and let it come out."

Yep. Nothing like little kid throw up.

One more thing about potty training--I know that eventually we will have to conquer this. But I am totally not looking forward to the ongoing process that is potty training. The accidents, the set backs, the laundry....I am actually dreading it. It reminds me of a time when a friend of mine in high school was talking about potty training. Neither one of US had any kids, and what did we know? But she said something like, when I have a kid, I'm not going to bother potty training. Eventually, they'll figure it out. Like in first grade, when they see all their friends going or something. And I was like, I'll bet you'll change your mind when you have kids. After all, what do you know? And now, I'm like, maybe she knew a lot more than me! Potty training seems so daunting, like a giant toilet looming over me, drooling and laughing, and saying things like, "Poopy underpants!! Pee on the floor!! PEE PEE SHOES!!! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

So potty boot camp was a bust. I'm not totally upset by this. Although, I must say that cleaning barf off the carpet was not really my idea of a picnic either.

When can I go to work?

Resurrection

This morning, when I was getting ready for work, it had appeared that the microwave had passed away during the night. It was plugged in, but completely unresponsive. I was grieving, and preparing to grieve for the 60 or 70 bucks that I was going to have to part with to replace it. I wrote a haiku to help deal with the loss:

Haiku for the Microwave
Oh woe and alas
Grieve for the dead microwave
How will we cook now?

A little while later, I received a joyous phone call from my husband. It seems that the ciruit breaker had just tripped--the microwave was alive and well!

Haiku For the Resurrected Microwave
All hail the husband
who thought to check the circuit.
The microwave lives!

Hello Again

Will I start blogging here again? Hard to say. I intend to, but you know what the road to hell is paved with. But here is a scary picture to get us started again. Behold Skeedaddle the clown, and who I can only assume is her husband and daughter. Either that or they are her Baptist minister and a puppet. Whoever said clowns aren't scary is just plain wrong.

Where, oh where has my little dog gone?

I think my dog is gone.

Now I know what you are thinking-- Emily, you don't have a dog. Well, yes I do. Sort of. There was this dog that lives with a Mexican family at this house that I have passed almost every day on my way to and from work since I moved to Raleigh. And he looks like the picture, except his fur is more blonde than red. He lived on the porch on a chain, but he had a doghouse that he slept in when it was cold or rainy, and sometimes slept on top of when it was nice out. And he was fed and watered regularly, and the people who lived there petted him and seemed to take pretty good care of him, and sometimes he would be off the chain-- probably inside. And I would drive by and see him and tell him hello, and he made me smile. But I think he is gone. We don't drive by his house every day, but we go out of our way a couple of days a week to check on him, and the last few times we have driven by, there have been a lot more Mexican people on the porch than normal, and no Dog. And no chain. The dog house is still there, but there is no Dog. I never really paid much attention to the people who lived at the house, although there was one man that must have recognized me, because he waved at me a few times, so I don't know if they are new, and maybe the family with the dog moved, or what. But that is what I am choosing to believe. Andy thought I should go ask the people where the dog went, but I am afraid-- first that they will not speak much English, and although I can muster "Donde esta el perro" in my limited Spanish, I am afraid that I will not be able to keep up with their answer. And then, there is the more frightening aspect, that their answer will include the word "muerte." So, as I deluded myself that Dog somehow, someway belonged to me, I will continue to delude myself that Dog has moved with his familia to a new house and is happy and his tail is wagging. But I miss him.

Anxiously awaiting....

Is anyone else eagerly awaiting the Phil Spector murder trial?  I think this one will be much better than Michael Jackson.......