Anyone For Pie?

*I just found this in a file marked "blog", probably about a year old. Amazing how things change. Or don't.*

Roanen has been getting into EVERYTHING - climbing on the island, pulling stuff out of the cupboards, screaming ear-splittingly when something doesn't go his way or right into Tristan's face when he gets mad at him, drawing in pen on the wood kitchen table, cutting pages out of my books, throwing anything he can get his hands on at the baby, taking stuff out of the freezer, eating sand (not dirt, because that would be gross you know), throwing handfuls of ashes out of the burning bin and wiping his ashy hands all over himself, lying on top of Tristan, pulling Josey's ears, attempting to call China and/or 9-1-1, pulling all the wipes out of the wipe holder and scattering them around the house, standing up to pee in the tub just seconds after he gets off the potty insisting "It's not working!", stopping the washer mid-cycle without my knowledge (because although the controls lock, evidently "stop" isn't considered a control), standing on the top of the chest freezer, hammering dents into the wood coffee table, kicking the cat, helping himself to overflowing glasses of water in the bathroom, poking the snake with a toilet paper roll, unpotting house plants, taking all the cushions of the couch and pulling stuffing out of them, climbing up on the island and swinging the pots and pans so they clank around, and refusing, REFUSING, to have anything to do with the potty, underwear, or being without a diaper, tossing my engagement ring down the cold air return. Fortunately he makes up for it by doing things like announcing "That where Nonno lives" when we drive by any cemetery, asking "Why you mad at me?" very earnestly when he gets yelled at, gently grabbing our ears for a second as a part of his bedtime routine, open mouth kissing, giving Tristan toys to play with, eating all but the tiniest shred of core when he eats apples and pears, asking for "chicken on a bone" and eating until the drumstick is completely clean, letting Josey lead him around by the hand on "adventures" through the yard, running downstairs in the morning yelling "Mommeeeee! I had a GOOD SLEEP!" whether he was up 5 times or not at all, needing to be kissed in whatever exact spot he hurts ("No, ON my tongue!"), playing well on his own for long stretches of time, making me laugh every single time I walk into a room and hear "No, I'M in here!" because he wants to be alone while pooping.

In new news, Roanen has puked twice today. After the second time he (against my wishes) shovelled in toast and eggs, then asked for pie. When I refused to give it to him on the basis that he would probably just throw it up, he insisted that he needed it so that his throw up could be a new colour this time.

Let's Try This Word Out...

Roanen was helping me bring a pile of laundry downstairs to wash so I told him he was a very helpful boy.
"I s... su...suhtainly am"

3 Months...

...pregnant.

Not.

It's been 3 months since I've blogged - and not because I haven't had anything to blog, but because I still feel like I can't rationalize blogging instead of studying. Or cooking/cleaning. Or bombarding my junior kindergartener with reading drills so he enters SK with a second grade reading level and a nervous tic. And just in case I wasn't busy enough already, Russ got laid off and decided to go back to school in the fall so I had to go get me a job and be his sugar momma.

I've missed many an opportunity to record cute kid stories that I have now forgotten and/or will surely forget soon, and I'm not looking forward to the inevitable task of summarizing the past quarter-year in a completely bulleted post. I'm trying to convince myself that this blog doesn't always have to be funny, that it's really just here for the purpose of remembering the boys in something other than a blur. I shouldn't care whether someone important happens to come across it and dismiss it as just another boring mom blog, right? So I'm going to try to start up again, for me.

So I'm Not Nursing Anymore...

Roanen: "Uh oh."

Me: "Uh oh what, Roan?"

Roanen: "Your boobs are all gone!"

His Secret

Josey got off the school bus yesterday and moped his way into the house. He complained that he didn't feel well, but couldn't specify what felt bad other than a vague wave at his head. He said he hadn't hit his head or gotten hurt in any way, so I wondered if someone had been mean to him and he was reluctant to tell me. After much probing, he insisted that nothing had happened and that everyone at school was nice to him. Later on he had a bit of a fever and complained of a bad headache ("like there's a bowling ball smashing around in my head!" - how descriptive) and dizziness so I gave him some tylenol and he was fine for the rest of the night.

I stayed up late studying, and when I finally went to bed I lay awake wondering if something really had happened. What if an older kid had hurt - or worse, MOLESTED - him and told him that something bad would happen if he told anyone. I fought the urge to go in and wake him up and finally fell asleep, vowing to have a talk with him in the morning.

When he woke up I was already downstairs with Tristan sleeping on me (a new game - wake up at 5:30 and insist on going downstairs, then pass out on Mommy while she sits uncomfortably on the couch watching infomercials). I heard him thump out of bed, go into our room, then begin to cry when he couldn't find me. Assuming this new behaviour was because of the imagined horrible incident yesterday I quietly called out to him so he knew where I was. He was happy to find me and snuggled up close to us.

I took a deep breath and wondered how to go about introducing the subject without scaring the bejeezus out of him and decided to go the "secret" route. There are some good secrets, I explained, like knowing what Roanen's Christmas present is and not telling him, or planning a surprise party for Daddy's birthday. Then there are bad secrets - secrets that don't make you feel nice and excited inside. If someone tells you that something is a secret and it doesn't make you feel good, then it's important to tell someone you trust, like Mommy or Daddy or Grammie or Grampa, or even your teacher, so that the bad feelings can come out instead of staying inside and making you feel yucky. You won't get in trouble, and we'll be very happy to know, even if it's about something bad. He listened without commenting or asking any questions so I let it go for the time being.

All was fine this morning. He played as usual, but became quiet and thoughtful at lunch. All of a sudden he looked at me and said "Mommy, you know how we were talking about good secrets and bad secrets this morning?" My breath caught in my throat and my heart started beating faster. How was I going to deal with what he was about to tell me? This was huge. "Yes Buddy, what about it?"

He paused for a second, then leaned across the table and looked at me with big, serious eyes. Then he whispered:

"Can we please have a surprise birthday party for Daddy?"

Baby Steps

After a couple of unsuccessful starts in the last 6 months, I decided to buckle down and potty train Roanen over a 5 day period when Russ was home 4 of those days. Past attempts lasted less than 3 hours, in which a most resistant Roanen screamed whenever he was in sight of the potty and constantly peed on the floor, the furniture, and people.

We warned him days in advance that the new year meant no more diapers. These excited reminders alternately produced bored stares or proclamations of "Yes I AM wearing diapers", and bringing the potty out of the bathroom closet caused it to be immediately kicked back in.

The original plan was the "Potty Train Your Child in a Day" method, in which the child is given mass quantities of chips or other salty snacks for staying dry, and gallons of sugary pop to quench his thirst. I'm assuming this is to make the kid want to drink, but I forgot that Roanen, while definitely a chip lover, doesn't really like sugary stuff, particularly fizzy sugary stuff. He stayed dry the first morning, sitting on the potty for half a second before getting off announcing that it wasn't working, but shovelled in the chips like there was no tomorrow. Once he actually HAD to pee though, he would very cleverly inform us that he was dry and would like a chip, then would walk into the other room with it and pee his pants. If he was forced to sit on the potty he would scream like we were killing him, and only once did he actually pee, but it was uncontrolled and in the middle of a screaming fit so it was hard to muster up great enthusiasm at it.

The plan for day 2 was a little different. We weren't going to reward him for simply staying dry. We weren't going to make a big deal about it. However, we were going to have Josey pee on the potty and get marshmallows every time he peed. While this elicited a "No, I'M going to pee on the potty all day and get marshmallows!" out of Roanen, when we actually put the plan into effect he couldn't have cared less about what Josey was doing and wanted to sit on the potty even less. He had one more forced, screaming pee before I nearly had a nervous breakdown and stopped. I was really at my wit's end, but was afraid of going back to diapers after all the fuss. I resigned myself to pee puddles for the next 6 years or so and lamented the fact that there are no potty training experts to hire. I would have gladly paid someone else to do this for me.

Then, a breakthrough.

On the second night, just after tossing him in the shower for the 16th time to wash pee off his legs, Roanen asked to watch the Cars movie. (sidenote - this child is obsessed with the Cars movie and we watch it at least once every day. Thankfully I don't get sick of it either.) Russ told him that if he peed on the potty he could watch it. And. He. Did. Just sat down and peed a little. I left his pants off at this point, put on the movie, and told him that if he peed on the floor the movie went off. Amazingly enough, after a few minutes he said he had to pee again, sat down, and peed. Um, seriously? This happened once more I think, then he went to bed. The next morning I kept his pants off again and he asked to pee on the potty about every 3 minutes. Shockingly enough he stayed dry all day, except for one accident just after Russ came home. A weight was lifted, but unfortunately there was still one problem. Despite the fact that it was obvious that he occasionally would REALLY have to poo, he kept those little butt cheeks firmly clenched and hadn't pooped in 3 days. Absolute refusal. We pumped him full of prunes and mineral oil and were rewarded with an 11 PM wakeup call to change a fist-sized rock o' poo in the pullup. Sunday was another poop-less day, albeit with one frantic poopy dance in the evening that he probably wouldn't have given in to even if we kept a continuous loop of Cars movie on a mini-TV strapped to his body. Pee-free, though, which was like a dream come true.

On Monday it finally sort of happened. I say sort of, because it involved him telling me that he was pooping in his pants, and I whipped them off so the tiny turd that had escaped Colon-catraz could drop into the potty while he screamed and tried to get up. Again, hard to be enthusiastic, but we faked it bigtime and rewarded him with prunes, fruit gummies, a lunch at the Dixie Lee, a huge car transporter, and a chocolate "severed finger" I found in the freezer that was leftover from Halloween. We had promised way more, but he didn't seem to remember or care about the other things... Anyway, he also had one pee accident that day, but other than that he's been super good for telling me when he has to go, and holding it long enough that I can get him on the potty. Each day there has been a little bit more progress, to the point that yesterday he sat on the potty twice and let the poop that had already mostly come out drop into it, and just about an hour ago he actually dropped a chunk into his pants, but then pushed a huge poop into the potty, complete with his usual "Get out of here!" while he was going. Oh, and he even stayed dry all night, something that Josey has yet to accomplish.

I'm absolutely amazed with how it all happened, and while the first two days were hell, overall it went waaaay more smoothly than I expected, and it was much easier than training Josey.

Two down, one to go.

*******

I know I haven't been blogging lately. It's not that I don't have anything to report; on the contrary, I have many stories about sleeping, teething, school, and evil 4 year olds throwing pretzels at the doctor's head, then destroying the doctor's office while trying to steal suckers. Another time. I feel guilty enough taking time away from cleaning or studying to write this.

One Ticket For Hell, Please

Last night was Josey's school Christmas concert and while it had a couple of cute moments, it was mostly excruciating. However, it really brought out the Catholic in me, with religious thoughts crossing my mind ever so often like "Dear God, please let the murdering of this song be over", "Jesus Christ this is taking forever", and "Holy crap, there are some ugly people in this town who should probably not have procreated". Looking forward to next year.

Glitter. Almost As Bad As The Mariah Carey Movie.

When we were in Ottawa last week Josey brought along his life savings (a whole $6.11) to go on a shopping spree in the nearby mall. I steered him clear of the huge bin of Hershey's kisses at Bulk Barn, informed him that a Goldendoodle puppy cost slightly more than 6 bucks, and gently nudged him in the direction of the craft section of Scholar's Choice. He was overjoyed at the prospect of POM POMS! PAINT! GOOGLY EYES! I was so overjoyed at the prospect of him being occupied for more than 7.3 seconds that I didn't even consider the consequences of one of his purchases - glitter. At the time I thought it was a pretty benign choice and imagined homemade Christmas cards all a-shimmer in red and green.

Reality: wielding a glue stick and said glitter he created a masterpiece of swirling sparkles all over a huge piece of bristol board, then proceeded to turn it over and do the same on the other side. Every time he lifted it up to examine/admire/display/move/"fix" it, showers of red poured off and caught drafts, landing on every surface and spreading through the entire house.

Remember the Love Shack? "Glitter on the front porch / Glitter on the highway". That's us, except it's more like "Glitter in the hallway / Glitter in the grilled cheese sandwich". Bad, BAD decision.

Stylisto

This morning I'm going to be volunteering at Josey's school. So far he has critically looked me over, announcing that I look "nice", but could he please see what I look like without my glasses on? The contacts went in, but then he asked if I could put some makeup on because my face was red. I'm just waiting for him to sniff me and tell me to put on some deodorant.

Dear Ferber

You suck. However, today, on the fourth day of using your techniques for naptime, Tristan stopped crying and fell asleep approximately 4 seconds after I left his bedroom. Keep in mind that neither Josey nor Roanen could fall asleep without someone touching them until well after their second birthdays. I'm liking you right now, but you still suck.

The Sleep

Yes, the sleep is still an issue. One that is slowly getting better, but still an issue. The last I blogged about it, the PLAN was going to be put into effect. The PLAN involved a dream feed to ensure non-hungriness through the night, and the "put-down" technique from the Baby Whisperer ("Yeah, well your momma is so fat..." Oh wait, not that kind of put-down.) It starting working within a few nights. He was definitely sleeping much longer stretches and didn't require much effort to get back to sleep, then he got a stomach bug and started waking up thanks to explosive poos and angry-red sore bum. This went on for TWO FREAKING WEEKS and I ended up nursing him whenever he got up because I was worried about dehydration, not to mention the fact that it's pretty impossible to settle a cranky baby with a burning ring of fire any other way. To top it off, Roanen had diarrhea for a week during this time and required nightly diaper changes, and Josey also got it, but his involved him coming into our room complaining about a stomach ache, then a frantic dash to the toilet where he screamed bloody murder because of the stomach cramps. And repeat. And repeat. Oh, and did I mention that I had it too? Fun!

Anyway, after that nightmare I'm fairly certain I started the training again, but can't seem to remember much about it. It might have been working to a point. It might have involved hours on end of him screaming. I do remember a couple of rough mornings where I finally dragged him downstairs at 6 AM after he screamed his fool head off from 4 AM on. There was also a period where he would fool around at naptime so I would leave the room and he actually settled himself and went to sleep. Then it stopped, but I don't know why. Frankly, the last several years of sleep training/deprivation/hell have all blurred into each other and I can't recall details. I THINK it was sometime around the "settling himself" phase that he started sleeping longer stretches at night. The problem was that the longer stretch usually ended somewhere between 3:30 and 5:00 and he was all AWAKEGETMEOUTOFHERE*SCREAM**SCREAM*ALLDONESLEEPINGNOWNOWNOW*SCREAM* and while I can deal with the waking at night to a point, the early rising just isn't my bag, baby. At some point he would consistently sleep until 5 AM and that was it. He won that round, and I actually dragged myself downstairs with him and discovered that if I nursed him he would play quietly for a bit while I watched reruns of House on Showcase. Those were loooooong mornings, made extra fun by the fact that while he wouldn't go back to bed at 5, he was still exhausted and wanted to pass out by 7:30 so he could have a nice half hour nap. Not even enough time for me to snooze at the same time, even if I wasn't rushing around trying to get Josey ready for the bus.
Fortunately the wake-up call got a little later, and while he still only sleeps right through about a third of the time, he's generally ok to settle down in the night and sleep until a tolerable 6 AM or later. He even slept until 7:40 one morning which pissed me off to no end since I had to get up with the other boys. Naturally during this time Roanen has decided to get up between 1 and 4 times a night so it's not like we're getting any sleep. Heavens, no!

Once nighttime got a little better, bedtime and naptime deteriorated to the point that it was taking me at least 30 minutes to get him to sleep, three times each day. He would lie down and start to go to sleep while I rubbed his back. Then he would suddenly sit up, or start talking to the flowers on the wall, or just generally fool around and I would get pissed off and leave. Then he'd cry. Then I'd listen to the crying. Then I'd go back in and he'd lie down as if he was so very sorry he'd fooled around and he'll go to sleep if I'll just stay with him, then it would start all over again. Meanwhile, Russ could put him in the crib, sit on the couch, and he would be asleep in minutes. Likewise in the middle of the night if he got up - after much crying and flinging himself around the crib, I'd get sick of it and make Russ go in to him. I'd hear the crying, then a loud "SHHH!", then silence, and Russ would be back in bed in 2 minutes. Not. Fair.

On Sunday I decided enough was enough and started Ferberizing him (yes, I said Ferberizing) for naps. Two days later and it's taken him less than 10 minutes to get to sleep on his own for naps. No, I don't wish I'd done it earlier, but *knock on wood* it seems to be working so far. Hopefully it will eliminate night wakings too, but I'm not holding my breath. I am not even that close to being lucky.

As for the boobage, I dropped the daytime feeds about a week ago and he hasn't had a dream feed for 3 nights, so I think the milk bar is closed. Feels weird, but I don't miss it. He does, however, and every once in a while he gets that look in his eyes and starts pawing at my shirt. All the more reason to stop.

So that's about it. Long story..um..long.

You're Welcome?

This morning in a burst of good-motherness I made crepes for breakfast. Since I had a leftover can of Thanksgiving whipped cream in the fridge I made two eyes and a smile on each of the boys' crepes and presented them with a flourish. Josey's response: "Awww thanks for putting a puking frog on my crepe Mommy!"

Lazy, But Competitive

Every night after bath Josey and Roanen are supposed to clean up the zillions of books that they have spread around their room before coming downstairs for a snack. A few nights ago I walked into their room during this time to check on their progress since it was suspiciously quiet. I found Josey sitting on the floor reading with Roanen holding on to his earlobe and peeking at the book over his shoulder. I asked whether they were planning on finishing the job and Josey got up to grab more books to put away. Roanen jumped to his feet, looked at me with a pained expression, and said, very dramatically, "It's too hard! This book is just too heavy!" He picked up a book and, bending over like it weighed 40 pounds, held it by the fingertips. "See? It's just too too heavy for me!" The book dropped out of his fingertips. "Oh! I just can't hold it because it's TOO TOO HEAVY!" Josey raised his eyebrows, bent over, picked up the book and put it on the bookshelf and Roanen immediately screamed "NO, I WANTED TO PUT THAT BOOK AWAY!", grabbed it off the shelf, then gently put it right back on the bookshelf.

6 Random Things - No Rules Version

I was tagged for a meme by my brother, only because he only has a couple of blogging friends and I was filler. I'm insulted. Just for that I'll do the meme, but I'm not going to follow the rules, just to show him. Or maybe I won't follow the rules because I actually don't know anyone who blogs so I can't tag them. Whatever. Here are my 6 random things:

1) When I was a senior in high school my best friend and I decided that instead of having our own lockers we would both just use hers because it was in closer proximity to the lockers of cute boys. Somehow we managed to fit in all our textbooks and binders, a flute, a clarinet (oh I was cool), random grooming items, plus we tossed in a toaster, kettle, tea bags, hot chocolate, a couple of mugs, some bowls, and a big box of Life cereal. It was totally pimped out in a wannabe-housewife teenaged girl kind of way. Sadly enough, a few days after we were spotted making use of our small appliances there was an announcement on the PA system that students weren't allowed to use them. Our school sucked.

2) The liquor store gives me panic attacks. I could spend hours in there looking at all the stuff, but I have to psych myself up every time I go in because I think the people that work there are looking at me and thinking I'm under 19. Last week when I had to get some wine for cooking I was looking through my purse for my ID and Russ burst my bubble by disdainfully saying "They're not going to ask you - you're, like, 30!" The age thing aside, I figure the employees also look down on me because they somehow know that I know nothing about wine or liquor and that makes me classless. Or something.

3) Sometimes I don't sort my colours and whites when laundering. Martha would definitely not approve, but I don't think Martha has ever had to IMMEDIATELY wash white, pee-soaked sheets when there is nothing else dirty but a couple of beige towels, 3 pastel washcloths and some navy blue baby clothes.

4) A spelling bee in grade 9 affected the entire course of my life. In that spelling bee I won an introductory lesson in karate, where I then met a boyfriend whose sister suggested I apply for a job at the salon she worked at, where I became friends with one of the hairstylists who brought me to a bar in the sticks where Russ was the head doorman. And the rest is history. Also, I will never misspell the word "charlatan" again.

5) When I was around 9 or 10, my brother and I would play a game at the cottage in which we'd go into my bedroom and one of us would put a sleeping bag over our entire body and try to catch the other one. Kind of like Marco Polo, without the Marcos and Polos. I always really liked the dream-like feeling I got from being the one in the sleeping bag, which I now know was most likely lack of oxygen. I often wonder how many brain cells we lost doing that. I could have gone to Yale...

6) I have a problem with the way toilets are designed these days. On the outside under the tank the ceramic (is it ceramic? I don't know.) is molded around the pipes and the look of it repulses me. They might as well have a sign back there on all toilets that says "Look here! This is the exact path your POOP takes!" Frankly, I don't care to think about poop once it's flushed, ok? When we renovated the bathroom in our old house I specifically bought the one toilet with flat sides. We then promptly sold the house and moved into one with decorative poop pipe toilets.

The End. I choose to tag NO ONE.

Mmmmm Tofurkey

After several unsuccessful attempts at veggie dogs the boys unknowingly scarfed down veggie turkey amidst exclamations of "Wow! This turkey tastes just like pepperettes!". Other than the horrible breath it gives them, my only problem is that I'm afraid that the teacher thinks I'm sending really low quality lunch meat sandwiches to school with Josey. I mean, the stuff is gray and smells like someone really tried hard to cover up the smell of chicken lips and arseholes with excessive spices. Last night I told Josey the truth, hoping his big mouth will share it with the class and no one will think I'm feeding my kids nitrate-filled crap. Because I'm sure the teacher who brings Yogos, chocolate cookies and white bread sandwiches to school will be relieved to know.

Things I Learned Yesterday About Chicken Killin'

1) Guys who kill chickens for a living reeeeeally like having to walk up a steep hill to the coop, then stumble down it carrying six flailing chickens at a time.
2) When flailing chickens are caught and carried around by the leg they squawk "OWWWWWWWWWWW!" Yes, exactly like that.
3) Chicken killers smirk when you make comments about the chickens and their "feelings". Then they zap them to death while they're hanging upside down and slit their throats right in front of you. Totally harsh.
4) Chicken killin' has a smell. Kind of a wet cooked feather/entrail/blood, blood and MORE blood smell. A smell that gets stuck in your nose, especially if you've just had to peel bloody water-soaked clothes off of little boys who danced with glee in puddles and revelled in the fun that is zapped, headless, drippy chickens and OH MY GOD GET THE SMELL AWAY.
5) SO not a good idea to come into the house after experiencing chicken killin' to a slow cooker full of chicken stew. Roanen flat out refused to eat it, and I can't really blame him.

On the schedule for today: reaching into freezing cold barrels of chickeny water for chickens that need to be weighed and bagged. In 10 degree weather. Fun!

Ummmmm, OK...

Last week we were having dinner and Josey looked up and said "What's that bell?" to which I responded "What bell?". "That one!" he insisted, and immediately our old time-out timer loudly went off in the other room. Freaky.

He's My Third...

...and that's why I post first birthday pictures two weeks later.

And So It Begins...

Josey is officially a kindergartener. A lunchbag-toting, backpack-wearing, schoolbus-travelling, Catholic school-going kindergartener. He loves it. And I'm OK.

Evidently I Don't Speak 4 Year Old

From the bathroom: "Mommy, I'm hungry!"
Me: "Jose, did I not just give you an apple?"
"No! I mean, where's the toilet paper!"