Not your average suburban mom. I’m more your typical, normal, commonplace, everyday, garden-variety suburban mom. With a thesaurus.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

"" - Kelly

Ten years old, y'all.  Where does time go?
It has been, in the words of Mrs. Nested herself, bananas around here.

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.
The party on Saturday was  I seriously love my little girlie's friends.  Thirteen little girls played together for almost three hours and there was no drama.  At all.  We played two Minute to Win It games, ate gobs of mac-n-cheese, made bracelets (thank you, Pinterest), and ate our ice cream sundaes.  My Sister Wife Rachel stayed for the party and we got to hang out a bit and plan a PIG OUT AT WHOLE FOODS Trip to Whole Foods to Eat Responsibly Take Two*. (*Because remember my Summer Bucket List?  The one where I really wanted to eat at the Whole Foods buffet because the vegetarian lasagna seriously speaks to me? Like, I pass it in the store and it's all, "Duuuuuude ... I'm delicious."  And sometimes it visits me in my head at home and whipsers (don't ask why, but apprently vegetarian lasagna is quiet and gentle) "Kelly, absence does make the heart grow fonder." After I wrote out that Bucket List I ended up going to the WF's by Lauren's house and it totally sucked so I was *forced* to eat a giant peanut butter brownie instead of lasagna.  So Rachel and I are going to visit the WF on my side of town and try again.)(And again, if necessary.)(Perseverance is an admirable quality.)

On Saturday night Brian ended up doing our weekly grocery shopping while I played Sudoku on the iPad tackled household chores that had been neglected due to the party.  Sunday was Brian's birthday.  I celebrated this by waking up at 5:30 and running at the gym.  I came home in time to kiss the Birthday Boy, jump in the shower, and pile in the van for church.  I did make him an awesome dinner that included homemade pita bread and a strawberry jello/cream cheese/pretzel dessert thing he really likes.  So, I didn't totally fail in the Wife Department. (Right, honey?)

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 like a drug dealer and mentioned Ezra was hiding when he needed to poop, which was a sure sign the kid was ready to potty train.  I am of the parenting camp where if *I'm* not ready, neither is my kid.  (I'm sure this parenting philosophy will stand up flawlessly during puberty as well.)  So I bought the underpants and they had been living happily in the dresser drawer with all the pajamas and socks ... until Ezra discovered them and put them on every day over his diaper.  Baby steps, right?

"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.
But on Monday he was going to wear them the right way.  We put on his underpants, ate breakfast, and sat on the potty for twenty minutes and not a darn thing happened.  I read books and sang songs and did squats.  Ezra told me, "All done" about fifty times before I let him off.  (A watched pot never boils, amIright?)

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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  1. OMG, you had me ROLLING. Glad the kiddo and hubs' birthdays went well! Happy birthday to all!

    And while I don't have kids yet, I'm not going to lie, you are in the top tier of my momspirations. So that's a feather in your cap.

    And catching poop only seems gross if you've never housebroken a child or dog. I've done one of those things. I totally get you.

    1. Thanks so much, Katie! That's officially one feather - I'll wear it with pride. I'm also grateful to be surrounded by fellow poop-catchers. We are an elite bunch.

  2. Omg, I was laughing so hard too!! I don't have kids either, but I did just have to pull a 6 foot string out of a dogs butt. (She ate a pillow). So happy that Eve had a fun party!!

    1. Soooo gross! Why is being a caretaker so nasty?!

  3. I wish someone would just follow you around and record everything you say. I really think you're prime for a reality show.

    1. Lol, I'm sure Brian would be *thrilled* to have our life on display. (Although I pretend to be on reality tv all the time because it helps me not lose my shizz with the kiddos ;-) I would totally take the paycheck, however.

  4. you are HIGHLARIOUS! I remember potty training being no bed of roses at all, Limefreckle Jr. was 4!!! But I've never met an adult that isn't, so it will happen at one time!

    You reminded me that when he was young, we had to change every lock in the house interior doors to one with a key, and then I put the keys on a nail high up on the door jam, because he would lock himself into a room every chance he would get! It was glad those days are over...

    1. Sue, I dream all the time about "when these days are over"! I think that parenting toddlers should be an official workout. Like I could log, "took care of a two year old" on My Fitness Pal and it would record how many calories I burned.


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