Come sit and have a cuppa joe with me! If we were chatting over coffee (or tea...or Diet Coke...whatever your poison is), I would tell you:
Remember my carrots? They're long gone now, but I actually was able to harvest a couple! I had been steadily keeping an eye on them, hoping we might actually be able to eat one. I knew I didn't have enough to prepare for a meal or anything, but I thought Sam and I could at least snack on one. But I had no idea how to know when they were actually ready to be picked. Nothing I read had any good recommendations. One night, the suspense was killing me, so I finally caved.
Shawn refused to eat it because it looked weird. I think he was afraid it had some kind of genetic mutation that would implant in our DNA and cause us to sprout a third arm or something. There were two more in my garden. I left them a bit longer so they could get really big. One was kinda normal looking, but the other one was hollow and had a spider living in it. Carrot fail. Shawn suggested that we NOT grow carrots next year. I think we should grow MORE so we can practice.
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Colored bubbles---that's one of those things that sound like a really cool idea...until your own kid has them.
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Potty training: I hesitate to comment on it for fear that the mommy gods will strike me down, but I think we're kinda there. Sam did great with #1 right out of the gate. But he has refused to poop in the potty. We begged. We pled. We bargained. We threatened. Shawn told him as soon as he could use the potty all the time, we'd go see the fishies again. So every morning when we would put his underwear on, Sam would remind me that he wanted to go see the fishies again. And I would remind him of his deal with Daddy. Then I would ask him if he was ready to put poop in the potty. He would think about it and say, "Well...not yet." And I would go beat my head against the wall.
Fast forward a few weeks. Since discovering Scooby Doo while we were on vacation, Sam is a man obsessed. A couple of weeks ago, Shawn and I told him that we would let him watch one Scooby Doo on the days that he put poop in the potty. But on the bad days---NO SCOOBY DOO. I think it only took one day before he got the message. Since then, I'm proud to say we've been accident free.
Scooby Doo....who knew?!
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Along those same lines, a few days ago, I was standing outside talking to a neighbor. Sam was playing in the yard, and I was keeping an eye on him but not watching like a hawk. A minute later, I turned around to see Sam standing at the edge of our property talking to our other neighbor. They seemed to be having a nice conversation---her with her little shovel and my son without his pants.
Wait...WHAT?!
I went over to investigate, and sure enough, my son had not a stitch of clothing on his body from the waist down.
"Ummm...Sam? Why aren't you wearing any pants, bud?"
"Well, Mom...I just had to go pee pee, and I didn't want to get it on my pants."
Duh.
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Enjoy the potty training mishaps? How about another one: A few weeks ago, I was getting ready to put Sam to bed. I told him to go use the bathroom one last time, but he stayed gone for a suspiciously long time. When he finally came back into the kitchen where I was, he was holding his underwear....and they were dripping. He proceeded to squeeze them out---all. over. my. kitchen. floor.
"Sam, why are your underwear so wet? Did you have an accident?"
"Well, Mom...I just put them in the potty!"
I'm really not sure why he put his underwear in the potty, but upon examination of my bathroom, it appeared that he had swung them around over his head like a wet, germ-flinging lasso afterwards. My bathroom was soaked. Lovely. I will soon be composing a letter of thanks to the makers of Lysol wipes.
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Listen to this song. I had some music playing while I was cleaning a couple of weeks ago, and this came on. I literally froze and just listened to it. It's simply beautiful. If you need a pick-me-up, this will most certainly provide it.
