Posts Tagged ‘The Hub’

“Mind Over Matter” Doesn’t Apply to Poop

Monday, March 1st, 2010

Okay, so remember all that talk about OH POTTY TRAINING’S NOT THAT BAD!

Well, I take it back, people. I TAKE IT BACK.  I am not built for this, I’m afraid.  In fact, I just looked it up on WebMD, and I’m pretty sure it’s fatal.

If you don’t believe my hyperbolic proclamations, then 1. you’ve been here before, haven’t you?! and 2. let me offer some proof.

First, a run-down of the supplies that this household has acquired in an attempt to get one stubborn three-year old out of diapers:

1. One immediately-rejected, music-playing training potty.

2. One somewhat-tolerable kid-sized potty seat.

3. Another more decorative,and apparently less-tolerable kid-sized potty seat. (Should’ve stuck with #1…it’s not like you can return them.

4. A Travel potty, for the day we felt brave enough to venture further than 10 feet from our home bathroom.

5. Travel potty covers. (I’m not even sure how to use them.)

6. Pull-ups. I caved.

7. Several packages of big boy “underdies,” which are just as much fun to poop in as diapers!

8. Sticker chart, complete with the COOLEST stickers EVER.

9. One basket full of potty-time-only books.

10.And, a piddle-pad, for the car seat. Because sometimes, your kids are kind of like un-housebroken puppies.

But, unfortunately, this spectacular collection has not cracked him in the slightest, I’m afraid.  So we’ve resorted to mind-bending.  Oh, that’s right. I’m not above mild psychological experimentation.  AAAAND, SCENE!

*****

Me: [*knock, knock*] ARE YOU IN THE BATHROOM, DADDY?!

The Hub: [Muffled voice bellowing from behind closed door.] YES, I AM! I’M IN THE BATHROOM, MOMMY!

Me: OH, BOY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?!

The Hub: I’M GOING PEE PEE ON THE POTTY!

Me: WOW! YOU SURE ARE LUCKY!

The Hub: THAT’S RIGHT! GOING PEE PEE ON THE POTTY SURE IS FUN!

[Dear God. Look at what has become of us.]

[Shaking my pride to the floor, I peer stealthily around the corner to see if my toddler has been swayed by the commotion.  He glances at me, and for a moment, I am hopeful...The Hub emerges, drying his hands on a small towel.]

The Hub: Hey, bud!

Plus One: Daddy? Why are you shouting at Momma?

Me: Oh, nono…Daddy wasn’t shouting…he was just, eh, excited about going potty, and…uhm…

The Hub: You need to go potty, buddy? Don’t you want some Spider Man stickers?

Plus One: [Nervous.] Umm, no thank you. [Scurries away.]

I’m pretty sure we’re doing this wrong. Next step? Pull up the carpeting and let him run around like a nudist. (Then call on grandma to watch him while I check myself into a, ah, “spa treatment facility.”)

straight jacket

“Don’t stare at the potty-training mother, kids. It’s RUDE.”

Oh, The Things Kids Parents Say!

Wednesday, February 17th, 2010

When I was still pregnant with my first child, I remember chatting with my friend, Lisa, about her 7 year-old daughter.  They’d gone out for some school clothes shopping in the midst of the back-to-school rush. She got quiet suddenly and smirked as she told me about an embarrassing moment during their outing:

Lisa: So, we were standing on line waiting to check out and I CALLED HER BY HER BABY NICKNAME IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.

Me: Umm? That’s embarrassing? Wimp.

Lisa: Oh, COME ON!  The nicknames you come up with for your kids are beyond logic or self-control; they’re ridiculous and not to be shared with the public.

Me: Riight.

*****

[Fast forward about 6 months.]

[Setting: My newborn son's room. I am just finishing nursing him, which means I've been in there for at least an hour. Dude liked to EAT.]

The Hub: [Walks past the doorway, stops, and then grabs the door frame to pull himself back to my line of view.]  Wait, what was that? What’d you just say?

Me: [Snapping my bra back into place and shifting the Boppy.] Nothing. I was just mumbling to the baby.

The Hub: Right…that’s what I mean. What did you call him?

Me: [Suddenly, blushblushblush.] Uhhh…I think I said, um…

The Hub: Lady, did you call him BOOBER?!

Me: Uhmm, yep! [Nervous laughter.] I do believe I called him BOOBER.

[What?! He was ALWAYS on the boob! It just came out!]

boober

Touché, Lisa. Touché.

The Name Game

Friday, October 30th, 2009

When I first found out I was pregnant, one of the more exciting things was realizing I was finally going to put to use all those names I’d been collecting over the years.

Me at age 17: Oh, Jeremy…I like that one…Jacob, too!  Adeline is pretty for a girl, right?

Oh shut it.  Like you DIDN’T do that in between all those games of MASH.  Besides, it was less “I-want-to-have-a-kid” and more “naming-things-is-fun.”

Heh.

Anyway, when it was actually go-time, I started to feel the pressure.  My husband didn’t like some of them, and the rest no longer seemed PERFECT.  [Read: DON'T NAME BABY AFTER EX-BOYFRIENDS]  So I searched online. I bought books.  I made lists.  And, people, the names I was coming up with…?

I had somehow gotten it into my head that my son/daughter’s name would have to be UNIQUE and ORIGINAL and if I heard any prospective name in casual conversation, it’d be dramatically struken of my list:

Friend: Yeah, so then Sam–my brother–told me about this girl he met at the ba–…

Me: HOLD THE PHONE, sister.  Your slutty brother is named Samuel?!  GODDAMMIT.

(I’m not really such a great friend, it turns out.)

This?  This ridiculous behavior?  That’s why we end up with children named:

Shithead (Prononuced Sha-teed)

Orangejello (Pronounced Ohrannj-alloh)

and, of course, Apple.

Really.*

babynames

But I still couldn’t quite shake the PRESSURE of name-finding.  And it only seemed to increase toward the end of my pregnancy. My husband and I still hadn’t decided on a name, but the rest of the world was apparently tired of waiting.  WHO KNEW.  At work, I was getting inquiries constantly.  One conversation is a story I still tell today:

Her: SOOOOO?! What are you going to NAME him?!

Me: Oh…yeah.  [Smiling awkwardly.] Well, actually we’re not sure yet! I think we’re going to wait to meet him and then decide between a few.

Her: Oh.  Well I guess you can do that.

She guesses?

Her: Well, what are the options?

Me: [Dodging.]  Uhmm, to be honest, they kind of change every day.

Her: [Annoyed.] Well, let me tell you.  My niece just named her son Tyler.  And I really like that name SO much.  You can use that one.  Make sure you add it to your list.

I CAN USE IT?!

People, it was all I could do to lob my puffy, pregnant hand across her pompous, chubby cheek.

In the end, we selected a name after I gave birth.  And it all seemed perfect.  I almost didn’t even mind that my husband had more or less decided on this name months prior.

Almost.

__________

*Consult Malcom Gladwell for more on peculiar baby names. He’s got some interesting stuff to say on the matter.

Relearning Normalcy*

Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

I just recently completed my graduate courses at a local state college.  And while it was kind of difficult to juggle all that with two very young children, I liked that it got me out of the house, thinking of things other than poop and sleep schedules.  It also helped me in an area I wasn’t aware was lacking: my social graces.

You see, being home with children apparently allowed me to fall so utterly into MOMMY mode that I forgot how to, well, ACT…you know, around other people.  Here’s a memorable example of my trial-by-fire re-initiation back to the world of grown-ups.  Warning: it’s not pretty.

*****

One night, I had to stay late after class to talk with my professor about my paper.  A few minutes into our meeting, I get a call from my husband, who is home with the kids. In the background I can hear Plus One making a happy commotion. But for some reason, this clash of home-life and academia have made me slightly nervous.  Already, my awkwardness is infecting my speech. I am evidently uncomfortable mixing my scholastic and personal life. There is absolutely NO REASON for this other than my inability to be NORMAL in everyday situations.  Here’s an excerpt of the conversation:

The Hub: You on your way?

Me: [Suddenly, irrationally convinced my husband thinks I'm having an affair with my Professor.] Yeah, uh…sorry, I’m just uh…I’ll be a bit longer…I wanted to meet with my professor…we’re uh, you know, i have to write that paper…I just…I, uh…HEY! Is that Plus One in the background?

The Hub: Yeah, he’s telling me the water’s too hot for his bath. Alright, see you when you get home.

Me: [Overzealously] I LOVE YOU!

Him: Love you, too.

*click*

Me: [To my professor] Ah, that was just my husband! He’s giving my son a bath, and he’s so funny…T9, I mean Plus One! Oye, I’m always confusing their names…so sleep deprived, but you know, not so much that I can’t function, I mean, I do watch the kids all day, and they’re fine and everything…but anyway my son is always saying that the water is too hot, and I think he’s probably just saying that to because I normally give him the baths, but since I’m not home, my husband’s doing it…and this one time, we tried to show him how the shower works…

Professor: [Concerned]…is the water too hot?

Me: [A bit too eagerly]Oh, no! [nervous laughter] It’s just he has this thing with the word and sometimes with his food, and even when it’s like, I mean, I always cool his food for him, like practically serve it cold…but not really COLD-cold because I mean, I do cook it…unless it’s like a sandwich or something…

Professor: …so, where were we?

This might be a good time to note that I was sweating profusely by now and had regressed to the whole stick-your-lower-lip-out-and-blow-upward-toward-the-nose in an effort to cool off. I also mentioned the heat several times and talked about how I wished I had a hair tie while lifting my hair up off my neck and then promptly letting it fall again. Unfortunately, none of these strategies have a very significant effect on the current temperature.

A few minutes later…

Professor: So, this part…you mention this author, but I’m not sure I understand this quote. What was this article about?

Me: [stare]

Professor: [stare]

Me: Ohuh…right, gosh, I can’t remember the name of it…oh, that’s right, it was a book! Yeah, it was a book.

Professor: Okay, but what was it about?

Me: Oh man, what WAS that title? Implications…social theory…oh boy. I’m drawing a blank here [blowing with my lower lip] Boy! It’s hot! Ha! Gosh, it was like 42 degrees like a week ago, remember?

Professor: We can just go back to that later. In this section here, you can get rid of that APA bullshit, I think.

Me: [Not even listening. Now trying to blow toward the corner of my mouth to see if that changes anything] Okay, sure.

Professor: Sorry, is it ok that I just cursed?

Me: What? Did you? I wasn’t even paying attention…well, I mean, I was paying attention, of course, because I’m listening to you. But, you know, I didn’t even notice. Gosh, I mean, I curse all the time. My husband’s always yelling at me for it. Well, I mean, I don’t curse…like, not in front of the kids or anything. I’M A PERFECT PARENT! [Nervous laughter.]

Professor: [stare]

It’s amazing I go out at all, really.

__________

*BONUS!

Just in case this post was too long, I wanted to at least divert your attention to this fun announcment.  I’m going to be making an appearance on the Man Time Show tomorrow, Thursday the 22nd, at 1pm EST.  The topic is parenting, so things should be interesting, considering all the ridiculousness I seem to bring to the table.  You can even join in on the conversation via Twitter (use #mantime in your tweet!).

And if you don’t have the chance to tune-in live, be sure to check the link later in the day for the uploaded podcast!

I Don’t Think We’ve Been Introduced

Monday, October 12th, 2009

I feel like I haven’t fully introduced you to me, I mean, my boys.  This, however, will probably give you more insight than you’d ever wanted.

*****

I’m nothing if not completely aware of the dangers of stereotypes and the duty we have as AMERICANS to end their dirty cycles of ignorance. However, in some situations…in MY situation–the situation of mothering BOYS–sometimes such stereotypes are self-serving, somewhat accurate, and therefore totally worth perpetuating. In other words, my two boys are crazy, hardcore, badass little em-effers.

But I’m still not completely sure if THEY will be the death of ME or if I/THEM.


Because, people, I am That Neurotic Mother. I know. But before you get all SIGH and ::rolls eyes::, I’ll let you know that I am in therapy. I am also quite familiar with the red wine section of my local liquor store. This helps. (The wine.)

But REALLY. I’ll offer an example from just the other morning. My youngest, T9, is almost 11 months old. He was pulling himself up to stand at our living room coffee table when I saw his hand slip and his face land on the bottom shelf. I CRINGED, grunted, and hoped at least one tooth remained intact. Like, dude head-butted the table with his mouth! When I opened my eyes, I heard a little whimper, so I scurried over to pick him up BEFORE I called 911. But by the time I had lifted him to see the blood trickle from his lips, the boy was SMILING. My infant son had karate chopped a piece of furniture with his face and thought the blood stained wood was amusing. I spent the next hour trying to ascertain the size of the puncture wound his tooth had made in his lip, and whether it needed stitches. He laid there, fighting for freedom by attempting to bite my fingers off.

I will not survive this, people.

Then there’s my eldest, Plus One, who’s nearly three. Luckily, he’s a actually a bit milder than his young protege. However, the FATES are INTERVENING, and so he still manages to invite trouble. Perhaps you would like an example? The three of us were in Target the other day, doing a great job of not being THAT family as we strolled through the aisles (I only busted out the hand sanitizer ONCE! CLAP FOR MOMMY!).

Plus One was in the cart area, eating a muffin while I made bank in the safety and disinfection sections. Suddenly, I saw his muffin lunge up from the cart and onto the floor. Before I could scold, I heard him shriek and simultaneously try to climb over his brother and into my arms. By the time I got around to pull him out, I saw THE BEE. People, we were 20 minutes into our shopping trip, INSIDE the store in effing OCTOBER. Have I SINNED? WHAT ARE THE ODDS OF THIS CRAP?!

(Related: As I was nursing Plus One’s throbbing hand, T9 attempted to hurl himself out of the shopping cart. He was very nearly successful. A rubber-necker came to the rescue. T9 thanked him with a head-butt.)

Come ON!

So there. Those are my boys. And they are badass, with all their bloody grins and ballooning limbs. But while I’d like to blame my neurosis on all this, this nonstop CATASTROPHE, the truth of the matter is that I’m pretty sure I’m just, well, crazy? This isn’t the correct term, I’m sure, but it’s similar to what resonates from my husband’s “Oh, Wife” after I tell him these THINGS.

Later that night, after I’d put the kids to bed, checked T9’s pulse, and re-sealed Plus One’s plastic bubble, I headed back to my bedroom where I found my husband. He appeared to be, well, nursing his tenders, if I might borrow a line from Kung-Fu Panda.

Me: YOU TOO?! What’s wrong? Did the kid jump on you again?

Him: Nah, I just did too much walking downtown this afternoon. It was hot. You know…sweaty?

Me: Ah. Hang on a sec…[I quickly skipped down the hall and emerged again with a small tube.] Try this.

Him: Desitin?!

Me: What? It’s the unscented kind! And while I’m sure the kids won’t notice if you borrow some, I must draw the line at application.

Him: Oh, Wife.

Perhaps my husband won’t survive this either.