I meant to post yesterday, but I was woozy from the cold medicine and, since it was Ash Wednesday, the fasting.
Yeah, I fast on Ash Wednesday. I’m Catholic; it’s Lent. Get over it.
Anyway, I was reading around yesterday, and I have stumbled onto several posts that could have been written by me. Which makes me glad to all be in the same basket as you:
First, over at the weirdgirl, she makes a potty training break-through (well, her son does)… shhh, don’t jinx it. And she wonders who out here yells. (Psst, I do. Sometimes I just blow my top.)
Monkey, too, has turned the corner on the potty training. As a matter of fact, I think I can safely say that she is no longer in training. She is a Big Girl who goes poop and pee on the potty. (Having said that, I am sure we will regress when mommy goes back to work in 10 days.) The problem now? When we are at home, she doesn’t actually tell me when she is going to the bathroom. The problems with that? Well, there is the too-much-toilet-paper-in-the-toilet problem, which is closely related to the what-do-you-actually-do-with-all-that-toilet-paper problem?
I have explained to her that she needs to tell me when she is going to the bathroom so I can help her wipe up and put her pants back on. The last conversation went like this:
Me: You are only 3. You can’t go to bathroom by yourself.
Monkey: No, you can’t go to bathroom by yourself.
Me: I am 37. I do go to bathroom by myself.
Monkey: I am 37, and I go to the bathroom by myself.
Me (silently wondering when Monkey because a parrot, and kind of a sarcastic one at that): No, you are only 3. And if you keep going to bathroom by yourself, you won’t get any more m&m’s.
Okay she may have gotten the message. Although now I wonder when I stop giving her m&m’s for pooping and peeing in the potty. When she turns 4?
On the potty training note, I want to thank MaryP for the advice she has graciously given. I love this story and her attitude about it. That’s what I wanted my attitude to be. I’m not sure how successful I was, but, ultimately: Monkey is a Big Girl now.
On another note, Chag writes about a tragic haircut. As I was recently reassured by my stylist (who makes house calls, God bless him) all kids cut their own hair at some point.
I am cool with that. What I lose my s&*t over a little bit is Monkey cutting Bun’s hair.
It happened when Monkey was busily doing arts & crafts on her own at the kitchen table, i.e. cutting up a lot of paper and gluing it together. Bun and I were going back and forth between the family room to play and the kitchen to check on Monkey. At one point, I was still in the family room and Bun was checking on Monkey.
Monkey came running into the family room brandishing her safety scissors and a lock of fine hair. Bun followed looking faintly puzzled, one hand to her head.
Me: Is that your hair? (silently, That better be your hair.)
Monkey (proudly): NO!
Me (voice breaking): Did you cut Bun’s hair?
Monkey: Are you crying?
Monkey got a five-minute time out, and lost her scissors priviledge for a week.
Bun will get an envelope with her lock of hair. On the outside of the envelope it says, “Bun’s first haircut, courtesy of Monkey” with the date.
I can tell where the hair is cut. You have to look for it if you’re not me.
And then, there is someone NOT feeling my pain. While I am quite jealous of all the healthiness, I still heart her because she gave me one of these:
So I forgive her.