X-Man burst through the bathroom door, only to find that his sibling was using it. No worries. He stripped off his pants and hopped into the bathtub and relieved himself. I was surprisingly ok with that.

Life’s been a handful recently. The kids’ activities keep us going, going, going. Rain or shine. It’s been pouring rain, but that didn’t put a damper on the kids’ spirits as the tore around the playground during Mac’s football practice. I was trying to keep an eye on Mac, making sure he was listening when I saw a cute naked tushy atop the playground equipment. X-Man had gleefully stripped off his pants and underwear, as they were wet. Wet from the rain, but wet nonetheless. I don’t run. Unless there’s a naked toddler involved. Then I can run very quickly.

X-Man was horrified at the thought of having to put his pants back on, wet and everything. But he complied and listened to the fierce warnings  I issued concerning the dress code on the playground. I was aware that his pants were cut to fit a diaper, and he most certainly was not wearing a diaper. Sure enough, minutes later the lack of a diaper and the wet jeans conspired against X-Man yet again. He was again atop the equipment, in front of the same police officer dad as before, jeans around his ankles. Although this time, he was struggling to keep his underpants up. He figured girded loins were sufficient, pants were not so much.

Of course, he wouldn’t have his pants so wet if he didn’t insist on laying flat on his tummy to blow bubbles in the rain puddles. Again, along with the publically nudity, this was a first time experience for me. 

It the kinda day where there are numerous things that X-Man feels the need to cry about, yet none is worth the effort it takes to conjure real tears.  He wanted to watch My Little Ponies, which after a long day of playing outside, seemed reasonable. The father figure told him to come into the living room where he could stream Netflix. X-Man collapsed on the ground wailing “No Fletflix….Plonies!!!!”  Rough life.

It’s also been the kinda day where I show up for Baby’s doctor appointment twenty minutes early, because I am that together. Only to be told by the very polite receptionist “I think Dr. Raj is at our 87^th Avenue location today.” She could have just as easily said “Dr. Raj is always at our 87^th Avenue location, you know, the one closer to your house, and you really should know that seeing you’ve brought various children to him over the last few months.” I am holding Monday responsible.

Other highlights of the day included trying to explain to X-Man why he should just wear underpants. He certainly prefers going to commando, however he also tries to maintain some sense of decorum. In order to enjoy the best of both worlds, he kept trying to pull down his shirt to cover himself. In order to fully clothe himself, he needed to crouch down and pull his shirt over his bent knees. This then made it very difficult to walk. Frustration abounded. Underwear was not a solution. It is still unclear what the solution is, but it is most definitely not underpants.

It just occurred to me that I signed Baba, Baby and Mac up for a sports camp that starts at 8am tomorrow. I regret this choice immensely.  

We were back at the doctor’s again. X-Man had a great time. As it had been a long time since we had been there, a whole six months, we went through checklists….again. No, X-Man doesn’t have arthritis, no X-Man doesn’t use a walker…..no, no, no. This delighted X-Man greatly, and he clued in pretty quickly that the answer to everything was no and happily bellowed the answers. Which helped convince everyone that checking his hearing might be the right choice.

X-Man was having a meltdown in the bathroom today. I didn’t let him keep my tablet while sitting on the potty. We tried that before and it ended up with my tablet in a pile of rice for a week. Of course, where X-Man is, Cinco is too. And before long both were screaming. X-Man in rage, Cinco in solidarity. As I tucked the tablet away, the shrieking got louder and more passionate and angry. I momentarily panicked as it occurred to me that X-Man might have turned his rage on Cinco. She was getting more shrill while X-Man was bellowing even louder.  Judging myself and my folly by leaving the children unattended, I stumbled upon the source of their rage. They had managed to lock themselves in the bathroom, which was its own source of potential catastrophe, but fortunately did not involve any blood drawing.

Bad mommy me had to laugh the scene in the bathroom. They sounded as if I had canceled Christmas and made them allergic to candy.  They were both pounding on the not latched door, with their heads. Knowing my children as I do, X-Man was leading and Cinco was imitating. As I gently pushed it open, I was greeted by snotty, tear stained faces. Complete over reactions to the situation. They were so hysterical that X-Man had forgotten to climb up on the sink and turn the water on and Cinco had forgotten to empty out the cabinet. Somehow it’s comforting to know that I still have that much influence over their lives. Or that they think so anyway.

The antics are dying down around here. Mostly because X-Man has acquiesced to using the potty and the weather is beautiful, which means everyone is outside as much as possible. It’s almost as if they’re gearing up for the other shoe to drop.

I’m not a strong willed person. I’m my family of origin’s pushover member (much to the delight of a sister a full decade younger than me). So when it comes to battling X-Man, it’s a particularly exhausting experience. He is the father figure’s son through and through.

So I was actually surprised when X-Man decided that he would indeed use the potty on a regular basis. It was certainly a relief. He’s also accepted the wearing of underpants, which is better for the entire planet. Especially since we have large windows in the front of the house, before which X-Man enjoys prancing.

But there are downsides to a potty trained child. Especially if he is feeling particularly confident in his abilities. Recently, X-Man has decided that he doesn’t need to be accompanied to the potty. He’s not very neat but all in all, things are ok if he takes himself potty. It’s the entourage that’s the problem. Namely, Cinco. X-Man and Cinco have become rather inseparable recently. And there is no universe where X-Man and Cinco tag teaming anything is a good thing.

In all reality, I should not have been horrified, at least I should not have been surprised, to find X-Man and Cinco hanging out together in the bathroom. Nor should I have been surprised to find them playing in the potty. I was surprised that it had been so completely used and not flushed, as that tends to be X-Man’s favorite part of the experience.  X-Man was probably angling for a second bath that day. On the positive side, at least this was one time that Cinco decided to not attempt to empty the bathroom drawers into the potty.

Cinco loves the potty and hate the bath. I am perplexed. She doesn’t want to take a bath in the tub. She also considered sponge baths in the sink the closest thing to being flayed alive without CPS being involved. But she loves the potty. I haz the confuzed. She had the outrage. 

"No Mommy! Please! No! I love you....no please don't don't! Wait, wait wait wait! No please! No it hurts! Ouch, ouch! No Mommy please! Ouch! Hurts, hurts! No, no, no, no, no!"

And now X-Man is wearing underpants. He is sitting in my lap, snuffling and wiping away tears. Although I have purchased him Lightening McQueen underpants, Mike Wazowski underpants, Angry Birds underpants. I have searched for different styles of underpants....do you know how hard it is to find toddler boxer/briefs? They don't make boxers for three year olds. At all. I bought him underpants with Minions on them. He was thrilled. He clutched them for two days straight, but they were not to leave his hands.

Not that diapers would make it any better. He reacts just the same, possibly even more hysterically, and will run for the bathroom as if to point out that he is beyond diapers.

No, the only acceptable alternative is to go commando. That's what the boy wants. It's my fault really. I created the monster. Taking a page out of my previous potty training success manual, I let the boy run naked about the house. The result was a fairly well trained boy within 24 hours. After a couple more days, I put underwear on him....with great fanfare. His response was to soil them nearly instantaneously.  I removed them and he ran free, remaining accident free as well. So......I let him.

The father figure objected, I pointed out the success of the sans trouser approach and he conceded. That is, until he observed his spare heir dragging his bare buns across the dining room table. The father figure put his foot down and demanded that we gird his loins. I countered that he was free to gird all the loins he wanted but I would be taking only a supporting role. Shortly thereafter I encountered an X-Man sans briefs running the halls.

As much as I enjoyed not having to clean up after the boy, things came to a critical mass after my son greeted the UPS man with a full display of the family jewels.

So he's been "mando'd up". It's been messy. This isn't a battle of wills I was prepared for. But that's life with X-Man.

I have a bit of a conundrum. Everything has been going very well with the whole potty training of the X-Man. He's accident free and independently uses the potty. I don't have to ask or prompt him, he takes off running yelling "potty!!!" swings open the bathroom door and does his business. Life's good. If I allow X-Man to go commando.

The boy kept his pull-up dry for several hours while we were out and about over the weekend. He will keep his diaper dry when we are running errands. I put a pair of underpants on him, they're wet within four minutes. Maybe they scare him.

And again, child number for present brand new issues that I can't seem to figure out. I'm not a fan of the boy running around a natural during the day, because he doesn't respect the diaper within the walls of our house. Diapering him up won't fix it. I threw in the towel after six pairs of underpants this morning. He ran around in all his glory and was just fine.

I am perplexed.

I have discovered the downside to potty training X-Man. Namely, he is now a two year old who uses the bathroom. As a two year old. So, earlier today, the urge came upon him suddenly and he burst into the bathroom. The bathroom that Mac was using. X-Man attempted to body check Mac out of his way. Fortunately, X-Man announced his approach with a violent swinging open of the door, so Mac, knowing his brother as he does, had managed to brace himself. For which I was particularly grateful.

I had never seen anything like that before and X-Man continued to introduce me to new experiences. Like bursting into the bathroom and trying to pull a sibling off the potty because he wanted to go. Because My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic won't watch itself.

I've potty trained four children now. And I was woefully unprepared for this usurping of the facilities. Although, I've lived with this boy for two and a half years. I really should have expected this.

I have discovered the downside to potty training X-Man. Namely, he is now a two year old who uses the bathroom. As a two year old. So, earlier today, the urge came upon him suddenly and he burst into the bathroom. The bathroom that Mac was using. X-Man attempted to body check Mac out of his way. Fortunately, X-Man announced his approach with a violent swinging open of the door, so Mac, knowing his brother as he does, had managed to brace himself. For which I was particularly grateful.

I had never seen anything like that before and X-Man continued to introduce me to new experiences. Like bursting into the bathroom and trying to pull a sibling off the potty because he wanted to go. Because My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic won't watch itself.

I've potty trained four children now. And I was woefully unprepared for this usurping of the facilities. Although, I've lived with this boy for two and a half years. I really should have expected this.

I have had another break through with X-Man when it comes to the potty. And this time, there has been consistent success. The first step was to have him go diaperless. The second step was to reward him with something he consistently desires. So the diaperless X-Man's been using the potty independently and then yelling to watch his "honies." That's right. I'm potty training my son using "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic." The father figure isn't sure how he feels about this. I am completely sure. X-Man has figured the system out already. He goes enough to make it through a twenty minutes episode and then runs back into the bathroom. But I don't care. He's a fan of candy, but can certainly live without it. He apparently cannot go with his ponies. I don't care if he self identifies as a "brony." Bronies wear underwear.

Driving to swimming lessons today, the older kids were playing a game of "guess what I'm drawing." From the back I heard "Is it a frog?" "Is it a park?" "A soccer ball?' "Dinosaur?" "A monster?" "MOM'S FACE???"

It was a cup of hot chocolate. The art does not run deep in this family.

We spent the weekend searching for and purchasing a car. It was not fun. We didn't get my first choice, which was a pulse quickening red, also known as ticket-bait.We found a very acceptable option complete with a clock that actually displays and sliding doors that open when you push the buttons. We're very fancy now.

It's the theater of the absurd here. I am at my wits' end. X-Man is physically capable of using the potty. He will so, just often enough to drive me batty. But he's more content to just not use it. And now that Cinco is eating solids, I'm done with diapers. So, I tried a different approach.

To the chagrin of the other children, I instituted the "Whoo hoo you used the potty" routine for the whole family. And then I promptly forgot that I did. Until Baba shuffled out and looked slyly at me and said "Well I just used the potty." And so it began. We all cheered wildly, told her she was incredible and gave her m&ms. Well, all of us except Mac and X-Man. Mac took off running to the bathroom himself while X-Man studiously attempted to open the coffee maker. But he was forced to pay attention when we all burst into applause for Mac.

And so, he grudgingly decided to participate. Which made to the whole dog and pony show possibly worth it. Cinco found the whole thing hilarious. And maybe just slightly alarming.

The father figure decided that he would let me sleep in. He had been present during some of Cinco's wilder antics the previous night and had taken pity on me.

As it was Saturday, X-Man and Mac got up at the crack of dawn. It wasn't yet 7am. We were alerted to this fact by X-Man screaming about something. Or nothing. It could go either way. The father figure entered the girls room, where both boys were, engaging in some sort fisticuffs. Because where better to air grievances than your sleeping sisters' room? Certainly not your parents' room. At least if you want to live.

The father figure shooed the boys back in their room and encouraged them to play with all the loot that Santa had brought them. X-Man wasn't sold on the idea and continued his protestations. But the father figure cheerily said "Have fun", shut the door and headed back down stairs. He then sweetly said "I'm shutting the door so you can sleep." And there I was, enjoying the closest thing to peace and quiet that can exist in my life.

And then the phone rang. The father figure, previously in the running for husband of the month, discovered that his price was indeed time and a half and told his employer he'd come in to work. And with that, I was up and at it.

I'm still not clear if the father figure was entirely well intentioned when he shooed X-Man back into his bedroom. Because five minutes later, as I headed up to check on the boy, I could smell his accomplishments in the hallway. And I discovered what possibly could have been the reason for the boy's screaming. X-Man's diaper was around his ankle. And yes, it was most certainly smelly. Did I mention he was wearing footed pajamas?

Yeah. Yay me. It was pretty clear that the diaper had fallen down before the source of the smell entered the equation. And that I was going to have to wrestle a fecal covered toddler into a shower. And decide if the brand new Christmas present jammies were best consigned to a bio hazard bag.

By the time X-Man made it into the shower, the carnage spread over three rooms. Don't ask how. I wasn't certain how severe the damage was, so I unzipped him in the bedroom, shrieked and he took off running. With pjs around his ankles. This of course led to the inevitable butt plant on the new carpet.

And I ended up telling the father figure "Don't try to be helpful again." Which I think just might have been the reaction he was angling for.

I have a very expensive, very heavy, paper weight sitting in my driveway.

The father figure's car isn't working. Again. With the same problem that we spent a absurd amount of money fixing in the summer. I am not happy. I hate his car, for partially rational reasons. It's a Trans Am that his father gave him, I think with visions of them fixing it up. Instead, we have had others fix it. Repeatedly. If a boat is a hole that you pour money into, then this car is a boat with four tires.

To add insult to injury, the car only holds four people. It's an absurd vehicle for a family of seven to have. I have suggested, often, purchasing a new car. We both agree it should be done, sooner rather than later. Where the minds diverge is what to do for the father figure's transportation. I think he should inherit my van. He thinks he should have a sport car. However, in recent weeks, he's also discovered that sitting at home with more children than can fit in your car isn't very awesome. So, who knows what the future holds.

it ain't like this

So I must go pick him up from work. Sometime tonight. Yes, it is late, but he's paid by the hour and Christmas is coming. As is either an ugly car repair bill or a new car. So work away my good man. And I will continue to hold down the fort here. Which involves being the mother who says "No you can't wash your hands." X-Man is obsessed with washing his hands. Mostly he's obsessed with water. So I am holding out hand washing as a reward for using the potty.

It took two hours for this approach to backfire on me. X-Man decided to announced the existence of a dirty diaper by shoving his hands in it, pulling them out and coming to me saying "Mom. Yucky. Wash." He wins. Again. And I am reduced to publicly admitting that I am being out foxed by a two year old.

still farther ahead than we are

I had a lovely time at my future sister in law's bridal shower. But it made me very tired. Mostly because I am old. But also because it is Sunday. And Sunday is a church day, which means Sunday is a wresting X-Man all morning day.

When at church, I prefer to keep X-Man with me, rather than the father figure, partially because X-Man and I must come to some sort of behavior understanding. One that does not involved head butts.

X-Man was relatively well behaved for me today. He prefers to be with me because I give him significantly more leeway than his father does. This is, in part, because my back is out of whack and wrestling a toddler doesn't make it any better. So I often resort to putting X-Man down. Of course that results in me chasing him, typically in heels, (me, not X-Man) and that's not so awesome for the back either. I kept X-Man in the vestibule, until I discovered that not only could he open the doors into the sanctuary himself, but that running was his default option as he hit that carpet. So we headed outside. It was only 40 degrees, no biggie. This time he took off towards the hall, shrieking "newnuts" all the way. I caught him and explained that doughnuts were only for well behaved children. This merited a head butt, that warranted a stern warning. He settled down, more or less after that.

All things considered, it went fairly well for a day that began with weeping from Mac. He was disgruntled with my clothing choice for him. He said that  his sweater made him look fat. And by fat, he meant his sleeves were a bit longer than his arms. Finding sleeves that fit his arms this morning was a bridge too far, as he was wearing a t-shirt that was two sizes too small. Which made the wearing of the fattening sweater all that more important.

But Mac wasn't finished. As we settled in our pew, before X-Man decided he needed to run free, Mac turned to me and said, in his oh so quiet voice, "Well mom, I just peed a little bit in my underwear so I think you should take me to the bathroom." The people behind us didn't even try to suppress their laughter.

Meanwhile the father figure and I are still locked in a dispute. Listening to the radio yesterday he identified a song as a Beatles song. I argued strenuously that it was most definitely not a Beatles song, although I didn't know what it was. I just new it wasn't Lennon/McCartney. Sure enough, the song turned out be "Band on the Run" which I gleefully pointed out to the father figure was most certainly not the Beatles. He maintained that as it did involve McCartney it was the same thing. I adamantly disagreed. He tried to change the subject, which is a sure indicator that he knows I am right, but he won't actually admit it. I still can't stop laughing at the concept that Wings is the same thing as the Beatles.

I have many regrets. One is agreeing to do 30 burpies for 30 days. I've done 20 today and am not really interested in the ten more I am supposed to do today. However, there are a couple of family weddings on the horizon and I would prefer to present of pleasant image of the life awaiting the blushing brides. So toning and poundage loss is required. 

Today's post needs to be short and sweet. I need to clean and paint and do laundry and put kids to bed and and grade papers. And I really do need to blog because that's part of the weight loss contest I committed to. Not that every one has to blog, but this is my "good habit". Because I know ya'll want more and more of my streaming consciousness. 

I jumped the gun on hoping for a breakthrough on the whole potty training front. It seems like this is all I talk about, mostly because it's basically how I spend my day. 

X-Man slept in late today. Which meant I was upstairs cleaning the bathroom when he woke up. It was sweet, I got a big beaming smile, even kisses, and plenty of snuggle time. Of course I had to go ruin it. I know the X-Man, I know how he functions, and I knew he needed to use the bathroom.

So it all unfolded as you might imagine, having read countless accounts of X-Man and the potty. He screamed. I insisted. He tried to hit me. I put his hands in time out. He threw his head back and bellowed. I reminded him of candy. As we waited., I noticed him quieting down. Instead of thrashing, he crumpled, his head in his hands, weeping silently. I noticed as well that his body had failed him. Despite his best efforts, he was peeing in the potty. I began to clap. He cried harder. I reminded him he had candy coming. He wailed. 

I helped him off the potty and watched him toddle to his bedroom. Chin on his chest crying. He climbed up on his bed and laid face down, bare bum up, weeping into his pillow. When I returned with his foiled wrapped chocolate, he was still prostrate with grief. I offered his reward, which broke his focus, but not long. He sat up, took the chocolate, held it in the palm of his hand and began to weep again. As slightly forced sobs shook his shoulders, he took a bite, but then extended his arm to observe his personal 30 pieces of silver. And so the process repeated itself, bite after tiny bite. 

I stayed and observed the entire performance. I still don't quite know the message of this performance art. Was it to show me how cruel the whole process is? So horrific chocolate barely covers the pain? Was he distraught that his bladder did not have the patience he demanded? Is he just Italian? I don't know. But in over a decade of parenting, this was a show I hadn't seen before.  

One day X-Man will be potty trained. I just hope I'm alive to see it. I'll be able to brag to all my friends on bingo at the senior center. Until, I'll continue to live at the mercy of his whims, which seem to be tied to the most inconvenient moments possible. Today I was expect the dude to come and finish the job. He arrived and sat in the driveway, as per usual, finishing his morning cigarette. About that time I heard, "MOOOOOM! X-Man's POOOOOPY!" "Yeah and it stinks too!" Well happy Monday to me. The moment I unleashed X-Man's weapon of mass digestion, the door bell rang. Of course it did. Now, I could have run downstairs to open the door. But I know how that would have ended. Lots and lots of Clorox all over the bedroom. So, I dispatched Mac to tell Baba to please let the drywaller in.


I came downstairs to see Mac at the front window enunciating very loudly "I. DON'T. KNOW. YOU. I. CAN'T. OPEN. THE. DOOR." and Baba calmly unloading the dishwasher. The drywaller guy actually shook Mac's hand, once admittance was granted, and told him "good job." I was still trying to figure out how the whole "go downstairs and tell Baba to let the gentleman I am expecting in" translated to "yell out the window." Oh well.


Painting. It ain't like the movies. It's not fun, you don't look cute in overalls, there's no cute boy to playfully paint the tip of your nose. There are toddlers to help though. All sorts of help. And the father figure was bound and determined not to help. Overtime my gluteus maximus. He could smell the paint a mile away and kept his distance.

Time the nap, it's a tricky game. I knew I needed to go and get paint and supplies for my newly finished walls. However, I knew that I wanted to paint during nap time. I also knew that I wanted to get some work done on school and I wanted to spare myself some hassle. I could leave with breakfast dishes still on the table and the kids would start asking for lunch immediately. Plus, the sheet rock guy was still there. I could leave after he left, but Cinco was sleeping, fitfully, with a stuffy nose, so that sleeping baby was going to lie. I was hoping to time things right, just after lunch, and get back in time for naps. But never underestimate X-Man's ability to sleep wherever. And his determination to continue sleeping into the store. I have lost count of the number of times I've had to transfer his totally limp body into a shopping cart basket and watch him sprawl out and make himself at home.

So this meant no painting during nap time. But it did not mean no painting. I'm dying to finish off the house so I tackled the job. I only had to chase X-Man out a couple of times. He only stuck his hands in the paint once. His siblings sat slack jawed being entertained by minions, so successfully that they didn't notice that the ONE thing they were supposed to do, keep X-Man out of my way was not happening.

All in all, it was one of my more successful painting experiences. Never one to do a thing half way, I tend to paint when nesting. For the record, there is no nesting involved this time around. And I tend to paint during nap time. Back in the peaceful days of Baba and Baby and gestating Mac, I was painting my bedroom a bright cheery yellow. My bedroom was large and it was a multiple day project. The entry way to the master bedroom was next to the girls' bedroom door. Behind which, Baby was allegedly napping.

The phone rang, distracting me and causing me to leave the room. I left mid project, obviously, and was gone less than two minutes. Ya'll know how this is going. Sure enough, I returned to find an entire gallon of yellow paint, suddenly not so cheery, spilled on the beige carpet. And, to add insult to injury, a trail of little yellow footprints led out of my room, into the hall, which too had beige carpet, and into Baby's room. They stopped right at her bed and there was a little bundle under all of the blanket, desperately trying to sleep.  In case you were wondering, her bedroom carpet was beige too. But fortunately she had pulled all the books off her bookshelf, so several of them were covered in yellow as well. But not her carpet.

I was not amused and spent the rest of my afternoon, and extended nap time or sheltering in place as it were, scrubbing yellow paint out of the carpet. I managed to convince the father figure to not pour turpentine all over the carpet and all in all it was a very successful salvage operation. For some reason, I found the little yellow feet not sentimental at all. Unlike the little blue hand print that Baba left on her bedroom door, back when I was nesting with Baby. Probably because it was just one. Or I was still in the phase where everything a child of mine did was super adorable. Yeah, not there anymore.

I got an email from Baba’s soccer coach today, he thanked me for communicating so well with him and complimented me on how well I juggled everything. I don’t really know what he was talking about. Yes Baba showed up on time to all her games and practices….mostly. Some of those 7:15am show times were more like 7:25am show times. And Baba showed up dressed properly. So kudos to me. I won’t mention that she’s the most self-sufficient of my children and that Mac showed up to one of his games wearing two left shoes….different sized shoes. Why shatter the illusion?

It’s been yet another extremely frustrating day. X-Man can control himself when it comes to the potty, he runs around diaper and accident free. Well mostly. He sat on the potty for twenty minutes this morning. I knew he needed to go. I saw him drip and then work hard at control. I gave it all I could, but Cinco started yelling for me and fractions won’t divide themselves so off the the ignored children I went. So off he got. He took off running and before I could get his diaper on him, he peed on my new finished hard wood floor. I think he hates me.

Although this process hasn’t been easy on him. He has been denied all candy and cookies. And he has chosen to deny himself. But it is crushing his soul. I caught him climbing into the oven today. I guess if he can’t wear a diaper, life’s just not worth living or something. He was outraged and horrified that there were severe consequences to his actions. He kept protesting “No phhphh (his sound for hot) MA!” Oh ok then. He also has been denied the pleasure of watering the kitchen floor, since I locked the water dispenser on the fridge. It’s all good though, he’s just taken to turning on the dishwasher. Which would almost be convenient, but he doesn’t use soap and likes to empty out all the dishes he can reach first. And somehow Cinco always manages to discover them before I do. I’m beginning to remember why I homeschooled at the kitchen table and not in a dedicated room.

Gestated Cinco and X-Man have really been ganging up on me this last week. It started at Church on Sunday. Cinco was giving amens most loudly and had to be ushered out. X-Man was desperate to come with me. I let him, knowing that the whole two babies one mom ratio wasn’t in my favor, but I wanted him to feel like an important person, one who didn’t need to fight for mom’s attention. And therefore would use the potty because he didn’t need to use diaper changes as a time for maternal interaction. (The father figure says I overthink things. I say I change too many diapers). X-Man hung out quietly for a while. He sat sweetly and watch a little boy behind him drive toy cars. The boy offered X-Man one, and he played quietly. But soon I needed to return to the father figure, Cinco was getting more agitated and wanted to take a walk. So I told X-Man it was time to go. X-Man knew what that meant. He grabbed the car and headed out the door, which he opened himself, and took off running. I made him give back the car. And so the rage began.

I dragged a bellowing X-Man out to the vestibule. He had gone completely limp. I set Cinco down on the floor to restrain the thrashing toddler. Cinco saw the leaves that had been tracked in on the floor and was thrilled. X-Man was not silent. A gentleman offered to hold Cinco for me. This gentleman was my brother’s future father in law, and someone I’ve known for decades, so I was comfortable letting him hold my little girl. X-Man questioned the wisdom of this decision. Well, questioned is a rather gentle term. He proceeded to filibuster this choice loudly and physically. He lunged towards Cinco bellowing “No my baby, baby, baby.” He clearly forgot about the lost car and was convinced I had just handed off his sister to some person. And most likely he was next. Or something. The father figure showed up, annoyed at the noise that could be heard church wide, I was annoyed that the father figure had taken so long to show up. X-Man began screaming at his father “mama baby baby no!” His father took Cinco and X-Man’s panic subsided.

 

But it returned today. As I picked up my three older children from class, X-Man decided that it was just too much to walk, and that I should carry him, along with Cinco. Unlike Gestated Cinco, X-Man is heavy and completely uninterested in assisting me in holding him up. I was lugging over fifty pounds of child towards the classroom and found a friend of mine. I handed her Cinco. And I headed to the bathroom with X-Man.

Hysteria city. X-Man was throwing himself against the door. I thought this was a freak out based upon the thought that I might make him use the potty again. Because that’s pretty much his reaction. But when I encountered my friend with Gestated Cinco all became clear. X-Man lunged towards his sister, grabbed her arms and pulled her back to me. The boy is strong! He then frowned upon both myself and my friend. You would think if it was this important that I hold his sister, he might want to help out and get down. But no. I was back to holding nearly sixty pounds of offspring.

When the father figure heard he decided to have X-Man teach a workshop to Mac on how to react when he sees his sisters with boys.

The father figure was offering his ideas on how to best celebrate national topless day. Since nothing says "Yay anniversary of women's suffrage! Yay for women being recognized as rational animals" quite like parading around without a shirt on. And the best reason presented to the newsman "If men can, women should be able to." Yay for reasoning abilities of a three year old.

Meanwhile, the father figure had nothing actually helpful to offer. I observed this and he retorted with "I'm just trying to give you blog material. You're welcome." But the thing is, it's only worthwhile blog material when it's reality. Which brings me to today.

No one has tried my patience on the potty training front quite like X-Man. The child has a bladder and bowels of titanium. And a will of steal. However, sitting on a potty is pain, unlike any other experienced by any other.

I'm not sure what the cause of such turmoil is. It's not taking off his pants. He likes that. It's not being diaperless, that's actually his preferred method of existence. It's certainly not sitting, he's very big into sitting. But somehow the combination of sitting on a potty produced hysteria only rivaled by Raiders fans.

I'm starting to think there's some sort of how to manual on how not to ever become potty trained. Like a survival book for toddlers.

First there is the collapse. It's impressive to observe a sitting child collapse in true dramatic flair. A true believer crumples like a rockstar. This is best accomplished if you are limber enough that you can rest you  head on the floor while keeping your buns on the child size potty. Particularly dramatic would be a sigh that accompanies said crumple.

Keeping ones head on the floor for too long becomes uncomfortable and also might cause those persecuting you to forget your misery. So it's good to violently thrash around and kick your feet while staying half prone. This does have the extra risk of kicking yourself in the nose, but if it helps convey the message.

Then there is the side roll. The more of the body that is engaged, the more effective the message. Lean all the way to one side. All the way. Trust yourself. Position yourself strategically because this is most effective if the potty chair tips with you. You will get the quickest response from your supervisor this way. Make sure you occasionally fall off it too, so they can more fully appreciate the danger they have placed you in.

After they have returned you to the seat of danger and horror, hold your head in your hands and gently weep. That should move even the most stone hearted mother. Make sure the splay  your fingers wide enough so that you can check to see the progress your tears are having on the stony cold hearted guardian who has placed you in such misery.You might have to raise your voice beyond gentle weeping if the parent appears too engrossed in their book. If your arms were to slip and you suddenly lurch forward, this would be a good reminder to the oh so blase mother of the real, true danger you are facing.

Another benefit of the sudden lurch, is as you are restored to your original position of torture, you are better able to wrap your arms around your torturer's neck. Lay your head on their should and let them both hear and feel your pain. Make them pry your arms, arms that were only meant to love, from their position of love, to again one of abandonment and torture.

Finally, remember to invoke a higher power in your battle. Thrust your arms heavenward with shouting and wailing. Beseech liberation from your torment. Or if not that, at least that a shower of frogs descend upon all those who would do  such evil to you. Midway through your protestations, throw yourself backwards. This is risky and could indeed bring harm to you. However, it provides with quickest opportunity for escape, as those involved will be more interested in righting the chair of misery first. Something about something spilling. Also, if you are particularly fortunate, a piece or two of the cheaply made device will pop off. Make sure to grab it with you and run. And then throw it when you are apprehended.

As they attempt to return you to the original position, angle yourself for the lid. Grab it firmly with both hands and go ridged. Lock every joint in your body. And let the fun begin.

The boy pooped in the potty. Winning! He then grabbed the poop from the potty to show me. Not winning! We’ll call the whole thing a wash. Quite literally.

The father figure decided to try to repair the washing machine. I believed that the water leaking was most likely from the front door of the washer. See, Mac took a bite out of the gasket a few years back and we have been living on borrowed time.  However, the father figure thought it was the hoses in the back.  So he took the back off the washer, disconnected the hoses and in the process shorted out the motor. He also discovered that it was indeed the front gasket that was leaking. I would have laughed at him and mocked him but I still owe him.

And I have to tell the story, but fate will not let me tonight. Because, apparently no matter how many kisses you blow me on your way to bed, it’s all a ruse.  Gotta go!

Who needs a rubix cube, actually who does need one? Ever?  But should you find yourself hankering for one, simply try to remove the liner of a modern car seat. Same thing, only harder. I would recommend that you not remove the liner ever, but that requires being on the same page with your daughter as to the proper use of a diaper.

I believe that diapers are for holding poo. Cinco does not. Because then the icky poo would touch her delicate hindquarters and that’s just unacceptable. There is no need for poo to reside in any of the crevasses developing on her thighs when there are plenty of crevasses to deposit any bodily fluid—poo, spit up—in her very nice car seat. We have tried to come to an understanding on this issue, and all I understand at the moment is that I will have to get up fifteen minutes earlier tomorrow in order to ensure that her car seat is street legal before we leave for the ridiculous speed camp on the other side of the galaxy.

On the dingo wrestling front, X-Man had to have an x-ray of his adenoids today. The medication he was put on is most definitely not doing its job. Unless its job is to produce enough snot to lubricate an engine, in which case, I’m going to cancel the oil change I have scheduled. The first indication that it was not going as planned was the Niagara flow pouring from his nostrils. The second was that after three days, X-Man sat calmly as I shot ineffective medication up his nose. Clearly, he didn’t feel a thing.

And I have become THAT mother. The mother who prattles on about her children’s bodily fluids. But I have reached the point where I choose my outfits based on how best to accessorize the eventual baby vomit and poo that I will be christened with.

I’m going to call it a night. The father figure sauntered into the bedroom at 3:30am this morning and asked “Hey, you wanna take me to work?” I suppose there was a choice involved; Of course my choice would be to ditch the ridiculous temperamental car of his, that doesn’t even hold a reasonable percentage of our children. But somehow that wasn’t in the cards.

And as this post has been nothing but a litany of first world problems, I should quit while I’m ahead. 

You know it’s a Monday when you realize the highlight of your day is something that would have made you cry when you graduated college or high school or whenever the world was still was still your oyster and you still dreamed of starry eyed abandon. Because in no playbook or commencement address or year book platitudes was it a possibility of your toddler peeing into a plastic bag the bright spot in your day. And yet, there I was. All I wanted was a little bit of pee in a bag and I could call the day good. At some point in time I will ask, where did it go off the rails? But at this point in time, I’m just trying to hold on to the rails.

My first mistake was setting the alarm in the anticipation of an early morning run. Cinco got wind of that and slept as noisily as humanly possible. Punctuated by moments of intense silence which had convinced me that she had died several times. This left me staring at the clock thinking about how my alarm would go off in fifteen minutes. Then I slept through it. Always the way to start the day.

On my Monday list to do was calling the doctor about X-Man. Again. This time concerning his addiction to water and extensive consumption of dihydrogen monoxide. And of course the only solution was for me to bring all five into the doctor’s office, or as the children call it….home.

They attached a little bag to his manhood and said to wait for him to fill it. It shouldn’t have been a problem; I had just finished describing how often he filled a diaper. And considering how much he was drinking, we most likely had a five minute wait. But in the back of my head I was thinking about our various potty training experiences. Basically, X-Man can watch two full movies while sitting on the potty and do exactly jack. He will then walk five steps and pee on the carpet. The boy has a bladder of steal when he feels like it.

He felt like it. I drove all over the county, wandered some stores, went to soccer practice, took the boy to Starbucks. He emptied every sippy cup in the car and downed some old coffee as well. I had

reached the point of willingness to pay the caffeine piper just to get the stupid sample. To no avail.

Every time I took off his diaper to check the little bag stuck to his skin, X-Man would apprise me of the situation “uhuh pee pees.” Say what you want kid, you are clearly ready to potty train.  Gestated happily demonstrated three different times what exactly it was I was looking for. The third time, she did so with such gusto it was clear that she had forgotten that Baby had removed the wipes from the car, because those were clearly the only wipes anywhere to bring to the father figure earlier that day, and then did not put them back. So not only “uhuh pee pees” but also “uhuh wipes” with a whole lot of “yep poop.”

And so that’s how I came to be sitting on the floor of a bathroom in the doctor’s office, running water in the sink, watching the minutes tick away  until closing time for the lab. X-Man, sans pants, was running back and forth, maximizing the reverberation the room allowed. To Mac’s growing consternation, no one was understanding his explanation of things “His body is not broken, he’s walking just fine. The only thing broken about him is his crying and he’s not even crying right now.” Cinco demonstrated her abilities to empty her body orally as well.  Baby just looked irritated and said “Why are we still here?”

To add insult to injury, I’m pretty sure that this is actually all an ear/nose/ throat issue and this whole test will indicate that everything is normal. That is, provided I can actually get a sample, and get that sample back to the lab within an hour. While hauling five kids.

  On a side note, at the park, while waiting for Baba to finish soccer practice, I saw a mother whose gestating cinco came with a matching seis. I think my Monday was probably better than hers.