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That’s Not Peanut Butter

Yesterday Sophie and I were having a great afternoon, which involved me breaking my high score at Wii bowling (208 baby!!) and her sitting at the dining room table watching me bowl while eating a nutritious lunch of grapes and chicken nuggets. What could be better?

I was getting my bowling groove on when all of a sudden Sophie began to fuss. “Need help! Need HELP!” she cried frantically. I turned to look at her and she had her hand extended toward me, covered in peanut butter. Neither of my kids like it when their hands get messy while they’re eating so I am used to having to wipe her hands before she can finish her meal. But as I walked toward her to grab a napkin, I realized: She’s not eating peanut butter. That can’t be peanut butter.

I took hold of her wrist and got a whiff and panicked. THAT’S NOT PEANUT BUTTER!

It was poop.

She had a chicken nugget in one hand, and a bunch of poop in the other.

I immediately did what I could with a napkin, then began jumping around screaming “NO touch! No touch!” while frantically trying to locate the wipes and wrestle the Wii controller that was strapped to me off of my arm. (I am very good in a panic situation. {Sarcasm sign!})

I found the wipes, got her hand cleaned up, washed it in soap and scalding water (just kidding, it was just really warm), managed not to VOMIT, and then went about changing her diaper. I quickly discovered that she’d had a bit of a blowout, and feeling poop on her lower back, had reached back to find out what the heck was going on back there. And found out. Eeeeeww.

I made it almost six years as a mother without having a kid stick his or her hand in their own poo, I guess that is pretty good. But YUCK. It was disgusting.

And it is time for Camp Potty to begin TODAY!

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The Final Round

Tonight was the first night of my very last class. I’m working on a MA in instructional design and technology, and this is my final semester. (There’s also that minor detail called a thesis, but I’m sure they’ll be plenty of neurotic posts on that subject at a later date.) I’m in a class about human development that I think is going to be rather interesting. The professor has a “traditional” style, I’m told, and from what I can tell that consists of her lecturing and us taking notes. And blue book tests. Oh, how I love the blue book tests. That was the standard teaching style back in the olden days when I was in college, and it is a welcomed relief from the “Go outside and observe a tree for eight minutes” nonsense that I dealt with last semester. So anyway, I think it’s going to be a pretty good class.

However, it was when I got home that I remembered just how much fun “class night” is – I guess I blocked it out during the break. It’s after 7:30 by the time I get home from class, which means it’s almost immediately bedtime. I pretty much walk through the door on those nights and put Sam to bed – I hardly get to see him at all. After he’s down, it’s time to start the process with Kate, and most of the time, like tonight, that’s not easy. Because I just got home, she doesn’t want me to leave her room after stories and prayers the way I typically would, which leads to lots of tears and phrases like “Mommy I just miss you” and “Mommy I just want you,” which of course makes me feel quite guilty. Tonight I was extremely exhausted and just wanted to go to bed myself, and I didn’t have a lot of patience, which of course made the guilt even worse.

Jenny often reminds me that she was in kindergarten, like Kate, when her mom earned a master’s degree, and that she was not psychologically damaged and in fact hardly remembers it. I know this will be the case with Kate as well, and though it’s hard to have that perspective when she’s crying because she hasn’t seen me all day, I am trying to keep that in mind. And, it will be over soon, right?

One week down, 15 weeks to go.

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The Potty Stall

(Pun pathetically intended.)

Unlike Emily’s motivated and much younger son, my dearest little Sophie is still really not interested in going to the potty. She’ll sit on the big potty with her potty seat, and she accidentally went poop on the potty on Christmas Eve (is there REALLY a Santa Claus!? It about made me believe.), but she has not. once. in. three. months. gone. PEE. Not once! Because she doesn’t WANT to! And this is something I can’t MAKE her do. Ugh.

And she won’t sit on her “little” potty at all. Only the big toilet with her Elmo seat.

So I think the time has come for me to put her in training pants and just let her start wetting herself. *Sigh*. So much maintenance, so much laziness to combat. It’s time for ME to put my big girl panties on and try to get Sophie excited about wearing hers.

I was hoping, since Joshua was difficult to train, that I’d have it easier with this one.

But over the last couple of months, those hopes have seriously gone down the crapper. Unfortunately none of Sophie’s pee went with them.

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PS my first post is up at the Ohio Moms Blog today! Go read it! Thanks. 🙂

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