a beautiful mess

all aboard the potty train

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Before I had children, I always marveled at the older two and three year olds who were still styling diapers. With a disapproving look, my smug self would wonder why their parents did not potty train their kid. They were OBVIOUSLY old enough. If I could go back in time, I would smack myself.

Here we are two weeks from my child’s third birthday… And, I’m still wiping his rear and changing out diapers. Welcome to reality. It’s not that I haven’t tried. We’ve tried a whole realm of possibilities – bribery with candy, toys, stickers; positive reinforcement; peer pressure; big boy undies. But, he’s uninterested, and up until this point, his “perseverance” has beat out mine.

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Last year, about this time, I had big plans. As soon as he turns two, we are going to get this kid toilet trained… along with ditching the paci and evicting him from the crib in preparation for little brother coming in January. Ha. I’d like to blame that “optimism” on pregnancy hormones, but, really, I just get delusional about these things.

Now, to be fair, we did accomplish two of the three things before baby brother arrived. But, that left us nowhere on potty training. Several friends ushered warnings of regression after the baby, so with an ounce of convincing, the excuses began for putting off potty training.

As A’s preschool came to a close in May, it finally hit that my kid is not potty trained. And, he will be THREE in a few months. I became the mother that I judged and suddenly was filled with self doubt and embarrassment. Sure, life gets in the way, but how does everyone else do it?

I recruited my mother for moral support, and we issued Phase 1 of Potty Training. A was already accustomed to the plastic kiddie potties, as I had purchased one almost a year ago when I was feeling so ambitious. And, he had used the potty on a rare occasion. With those past successes, I was feeling pretty good about how it would all play out. And, we had even picked out these:

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We were good to go. Ha. There was a lot of crying and frustration and moping… and, A, was even worse. By the end of the day, my mom and I both threw up the white flag and clothed him back in a diaper. Peace was restored. We’ll try again in a few weeks, I thought.

A few weeks came and went, and I was met with an equally awful disaster. That’s it, my kid is gong to college in diapers.

I haven’t tried again since the middle of summer and since then have made excuses using our travel plans. Which leaves us here: two weeks from turning three, starting preschool and a strong attachment to wetting himself. All aboard the Potty Train. There will be no turning back this time.

just give me a box of crayons

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It’s 10 p.m. on the eve of A’s first day back to preschool. And, I stare blankly at an equally blank piece of black construction paper. No inspiration. No motivation. This will be his placemat at school for the entire year.

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Now, normally, when given such a task, I would have written his name neatly in the corner, or, perhaps, even used stickers for his name, and then let him color to his heart’s content. I love my son’s artwork even if it’s just a bunch of scribbles to the rest of the world. But, that wouldn’t work this time. Because they gave him a BLACK piece of paper, which means crayons are out and markers are worthless. That’s about the extent of my “craft” closet.

This is really one of those moments where a degree in Pinterest would come in handy. Or, a Pinterest fairy godmother would work, too. But, no, here I am with nothing, counting down the hours until I have to come up with something.

As the paper continues to taunt me, my thoughts wander to what the other moms are doing for their child’s placemat, and then to A’s new school year. And, I begin tallying all the holidays and parties this year that will undoubtedly become Pinterest-inspired extravaganzas. And, thus, instead of making a miracle appear on this piece of paper, I felt compelled to write a letter to my children instead:

Dear Children,

It’s best that you know and accept this now at an early age. I love you. I love you more than you will ever know and always will, but, please know that you should never equate my love with my skills as a crafter. Because I am a Pinterest failure.

It’s okay, and I can openly admit that. I would love to be crafty and fill your lives with designer birthday parties or intricate snowman inspired breakfasts or amazing marble race tracks.

But, really, it’s probably not going to happen. Most trials have ended catastrophically. Forget the dinosaur shaped sandwiches accompanied with fruit shaped palm trees. I’ll try to remember to cut off the crust. And, those adorable homemade Valentine’s… I hear Target has an excellent selection that even include temporary tattoos. If we ever own an Elf on the Shelf, that’s where he will stay… on the shelf. And, I still believe intricate homemade baked good can’t touch the ease and deliciousness of the Pillsbury ready bake cookies.

So, while Mommy may pin hundreds of pins that are just “Adorable!” and “Brilliant!” and would make every other mom in your class swoon, let’s not get our hopes up, kiddos. Because most things that should come out looking like a masterpiece end up straight to the trash.

The best advice I have to offer is to become best friends with the kids whose moms excel at Pinterest. And, maybe that mom can hook you up with treats for the bake sale when she sees you stroll in with a bag of Oreos.

With love,

Mom

i need you. you need me.

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After marriage, when just us two turns to baby makes three… and then four, it doesn’t take long before an unforeseen transformation occurs. And, you probably don’t even notice at first.

An art is lost. The art of communication and appreciation. The simple gesture of holding hands, sharing a moment or a meaningful kiss become buried under everything else, much like that rogue sock at the bottom of the laundry basket that never quite makes it to the washing machine. Everybody acknowledges that being a parent is tough. But, being a parent AND spouse is really hard.

My husband and I had our first full night completely to ourselves last night since E was born. The kiddos were shipped to the grandparents’ house for the night, and we finally had a chance to have a night on the town and then SLEEP. (And, I’m not talking about the kind full of restless babies or toddler’s feet in your face that us mothers have affectionately labeled sleep. I’m talking beautiful, glorious sleep. But, that’s beside the point.) It was an odd realization last night to drive about with two empty car seats in the back. There was stillness. A silence. Nobody to focus on but each other. How quickly that is taken for granted before children.

As we drove, my husband did something he hasn’t done in ages. We turned on “our” music, and, then, he gently reached his hand into mine, smiled at me as we made connection, and continued to drive. With our two hands joined, we sat together, enjoying one another, sharing a conversation and soaking in this rare occasion. And, I’m reminded that we need this. It’s okay to leave the children with a babysitter sometimes… especially more than once a month 😉 We are not just parents. We are husband and wife, and that should not be stuffed beneath the bed alongside those pesky mismatched socks. After all, we did love each other first, and we want to continue loving one another to end.

he’s going to lose them anyway

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Today was the day I had been dreading since my child’s first tooth popped in. A day that maybe should have happened a year and a half ago when I began receiving pamphlet after pamphlet about the importance of good oral hygiene and scheduling the appropriate dentist appointment. No, thank you, I thought. We still have time. Who takes their one year old to the dentist anyway?

I finally bit the bullet a few weeks ago to schedule A’s first dentist appointment because I rationalized stretching it past three years old was maybe a touch too far. I didn’t want those adorable little teeth to fall out for the wrong reasons 🙂

So, the day came. I knew there would be drama. A is sometimes a bit “emotional” (aka a drama queen king) in new situations, especially ones that involve bright lights, lousy tasting toothpaste and sticking foreign instruments in your mouth. Oh, yeah. I was thinking I might rather have a root canal than go through with this one.

The car ride was filled with mixtures of doubt, excitement and loads of questions from A. I knew it was going well when he repeatedly informed me that we were NOT going to the dentist. Bad news, buddy. Now, as soon as we arrived, a miracle occurred… or, my child should be tested for major mood swings… He was thrilled to go inside. He played with the toys, listened to directions, and X-rays? Sure, let’s do those, too. He was a rock star and made it through without a single tear. Amazing… and completely unexpected. So, why do I already feel a knot in my stomach about his appointment in six months??

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Oh, and we may or may not have celebrated no cavities (and no meltdowns) with an ice cream sundae… Oops…

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eat sand

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Everybody knows when you go to the beach, you have to do family pictures. No ifs, ands or buts about it. It is a must. With E sitting unassisted, I was ecstatic to try some brother pics. Occasionally, I get overly ambitious about pics… and cue picture:

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Approximately two seconds from this point is when E eats sand for the first time. Not because he lost his balance and toppled haphazardly over or because he put a handful in his mouth himself. Oh, no. Because his loving older brother gave him a nice shove to ensure little brother went face first into the sand. In case, you were wondering, A was letting us know he was over picture time. Ouch. Brotherly love at its best. Now, having said that, A really is an awesome older brother 90% of the time 😉

Now, E is tough. By the time, we were able to grab him, the poor boy’s face was covered with a thin layer of sand. We comforted him and quickly wiped his eyes, mouth and the rest of his face. E let out a few cries, but that was it. I think the shock of being shoved was far more upsetting than the sand in his mouth. Go figure. A minute afterward, and he was smiling like he was having the best time ever. I don’t know about you, but I would have been bawling had I just had my face smashed in the sand. Impressive, my son, impressive.

sandy toes and salty hair

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The beach is my comfort. It is my second home. The breeze soothes. The constant slush of the waves offers peace. And, the pure grandiose of the ocean is God’s gift. It’s amazing the power of all these things still outshine the tears, whining and exhaustion that always weasel their way into vacations. Sleepless nights and epic meltdowns all seem manageable at the beach.

And, even better, my two little boys share my love. As I watched A dance around the waves, kicking and squealing with glee, my heart was happy. A wave that caught him off balance sent him into a fit of giggles. His excitement was pure and intense.

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It wasn’t always that way. A’s first trips to the beach were filled with uncertainty about those crashing waves and distasteful sand. I’m not going to lie. I was fearful he would decide he hated the beach. What a nightmare.

This was E’s first trip to the beach, and he is truly his Mommy’s boy. From first step onto the beach, this child was all smiles. He was entranced by the sand and studied the waves. And, he planted his pudgy little feet firmly into the muddy sand with no hesitation. This is a beach boy by birth.

“say cheese!”

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It’s just not vacation until you get to this point…

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So, what spurred on the waterworks? I asked him to please smile for the camera. Totally a legit reason to start sobbing uncontrollably.

I’m not normally one who dresses her boys in coordinating or matching outfit, but we were on vacation, and I thought why not? They will be adorable in their matching red plaid shorts… that you can’t even see in the picture. Lesson learned. Adhere to previous motto of both boys having any clothes on is deemed a success. Makes for much happier pictures.