|Ten years old, y'all. Where does time go?|
I had all week long to prepare for Eve's 10th birthday party (which involved hosting a gaggle of little girls on a Saturday afternoon). The plan was to shop after my workouts throughout the week so I could spend Friday evening prepping games, wrapping prizes, and assembling goody bags. This was to take place after I had leisurely done the grocery shopping, purchasing our weekly food and all the goods to make the requested homemade mac-n-cheese and the super fun Sundae-Bar-in-lieu-of-cake. It was a fantastic plan that I looked forward to implementing. Then our garage door was all, "Haha. Wouldn't this just be the perfect time for me to require $211 worth of attention?" And I was all, "WHY THE HECK DID I EVER WANT TO BE A GROWNUP?!?!" and had to scratch all those plans and wait to shop until pay day, which was, of course, the day before the party.
Thankfully I had four helpers with strong opinions on sprinkles to help me shop for ice cream toppings. It really made the job fly by.
|Brian playing Hangman with the girlies during lunch.|
Not the best pic, but I didn't want anyone's kid's
face on the internets without permission. Also,
Hosanna decorated all by herself.
On Saturday night Brian ended up doing our weekly grocery shopping while I
Monday was destined to be a train wreck of party let down and residual weekend sugar rush. I decided I'd better start to potty train Ezra.
(If you've read this blog long enough you know that I am nailing this parenting thing.)
(Since I'm fully ten years on the job, I think I've achieved Expert Level Parent at this point. I mean, I've only kicked one hole in the wall, which we can all agree is a pretty good average. One hole in ten years? Mother of the DECADE, that's what that is.)
So with all that experience under my belt, and impeccable timing, Monday was the day to teach the boy to pee in the potty. (Also on Monday? Aunt Flo arrived, sore throat flared, and official Day One of triathlon training.)
I'd already shame-bought Lightning McQueen underpants at Target because Ezra's speech therapist pulled me aside
|"But Mo-om, they look so much better|
over my diapers." Also? He totally got
dressed all by himself, which explains
why is shirt is on upside down. Take
that, Fine Motor Apraxia.
He ran straight from the half bathroom where we were hanging out to another bathroom across the house, slammed the door, and locked it. This is his favorite bathroom because it's where the toothpaste lives. In Ezra's world, toothpaste is a variety of things. It is hair gel. It is finger paint. It is toilet seat cleanser. It is a food group. It is a weapon. I stood outside the door trying to not sound mad so I could coerce him into unlocking the door. Thankfully Mama sounded sweet and fun to be around so he unlocked the door. Well, mostly he unlocked the door because he just wanted privacy to do his business and he was done now thankyouverymuch. I sighed and headed to the living room to change him from his urine soaked socks, pants, and underpants.
This is when I realized that all those years I spent thinking I was useless in baseball because I was scared of the ball was just wasted time, because when his underpants were stripped quickly from his body and his unexpected turd went flying, I didn't hesitate to dive for it and caught it in my hand. To save the carpet. Because that would've been really gross. You know, grosser than holding it myself.
So, I think it's safe to say that potty training day one was a success.
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