Author Archives: Callie
Potty Training Adventures- Act 1
I would characterize myself as a bit of a “psycho” about respecting and understanding the appropriate developmental stages that Noah is stumbling through as I don’t want to be the person that screws him up by forcing him into something that he’s not quite ready for. As a result, we have waited on him to tell us when he is ready to start potty training. Well, apparently, he made that very clear at preschool because, a week ago, his teachers told us, “He’s ready. Bring lots of extra clothes and put that boy in underwear.”
Well, we were excited. We spent that weekend picking out big boy underwear, practiced asking to go to the potty, talked about what it feels like to be a big boy. You name it. We were ready.
Adventure #1
We have a little children’s potty that looks like a frog. We set it up in the bathroom and made sure it was where Noah wanted it. Saturday morning, first thing when I got him up out of bed, he tells me, “Mommy, I need to pee.” I pick him up, I rush him downstairs, he stands in front of the potty, and his pee shoots completely past the potty, over the frog, and lands about 4 feet beyond where it is supposed to land. It shocked me to the point that I squealed a bit, which caused him to turn and look at me, causing the pee to cover the walls and floor of the bathroom. I then had to get past the fact that my bathroom is covered in pee (and it was that first-thing-in-the-morning really pungent smelling pee too) and celebrate and high-five and make a huge deal about how proud I am of him. And, don’t get me wrong, I am unbelievably proud of his amazingly quick processing of the idea of potty training. And I know he is so proud of himself too. I just don’t quite understand how a 3 foot tall human being can pee 4 feet past the potty.
Adventure #2
He had done so well throughout the week and his teachers were so proud of him. Every day they sent home notes about how great he had done. We had 2 days where he only had 1 accident and 1 day where he actually came home in the same outfit that I sent him to school in. Amazing! Well, by Friday, laundry hadn’t gotten done and he hadn’t been wearing his extra clothes all that much anyways, so I only sent 3 extra pairs of shorts and 3 extra pairs of underwear to school. (Previously, I had been sending 5 shirts, 5 shorts, 5 underwear, and 3 pairs of socks.)
I am on my way home from work on Friday and Matt texts me, “You won’t believe what your son is wearing.” Well, I know it is going to either be really bad or really funny. I pull up to the house and go to open the door from the garage into our laundry room, and the door won’t budge. I hear Noah scream on the other side. He has pinned himself up against the door, screaming in a tantrum because Daddy wants him to change his clothes. During the day, he had had several accidents and had gone through all of his extra clothes. His last accident involved pooping some on the playground and pooping a little bit more on himself while his teacher tried to rush him inside to the potty. Since he had gone through all of his clothes, they had to rummage through their stash of extra clothing. He was wearing bright pink and white checked shorts, size 5T. They were huge and baggy and he loved them! He finally let us change him out of them at bath time.
Adventure #3
Noah has always liked to take his sweet time when it came to pooping (as many men do). He requires that everyone else leave the room to give him some privacy. He doesn’t want anyone to watch him and he likes to stop gradually throughout the process to play with some toys or watch TV. Well, this has made the pooping-portion of the potty training rather difficult. He absolutely refuses to sit on the potty to poop. He makes us take his big boy underwear off, put his diaper on, leave him alone to poop, and then put his underwear back on after he’s done.
His teachers suggested to us that we either force him on to the potty or buy cheap underwear and throw them away (but be sure to point out that he is making us throw his bog boy underwear in the trash). Well, he screams bloody-murder if you try to put him on the potty and I don’t like the idea of shaming him when we throw away his underwear so I am a bit stuck. I have resigned myself to just deal with it until he has mastered the peeing portion.
However, this weekend, we went with some friends to a spring football game. Before the game, we all met at an outside cookout that had very sub-par bathrooms. Well, of course, Noah announces that he has to poop. So, I leave the cookout and walk to the Caribou Coffee next door. I had to get the key to use the bathroom. I try to get Noah to sit on the potty but, of course, he screams. I don’t want to get arrested for child abuse so I put a diaper on him. He makes me leave the bathroom. I stand outside the bathroom door (checking on him about every 3 minutes), a line of college girls is forming outside the door as I apologize profusely. These 19 year old girls don’t understand and don’t give a crap about my 2 year old’s pooping issues.
Finally, he handles his business. Matt and I later discussed how many more fun things he and I are going to miss out on because we are hanging out in the bathroom while Noah is pooping.
Adventure #4
Well, by yesterday (10 days in to potty training), we could finally tell that Noah was doing really well and he was starting to figure out how to manipulate mommy and daddy throughout this potty training process. He had been doing so well and we weren’t constantly asking him if he needed to pee. Well, the minute we let our guard down, he comes in to the kitchen while I’m cooking supper, with a huge smile on his face and says, “Mommy, I peed in my shoes!”
At some point in the evening, he had taken his socks off and put his shoes back on without socks. When he peed in his pants, the pee ran down his legs and filled his sneakers up with pee. Now, if you have read my posts in the past, you know that Noah is very picky about shoes and, therefore, only has one pair of sneakers that he will wear. That pair of sneakers was currently swimming in pee.
I immediately try to figure out what the heck I am supposed to do with these shoes that will get them clean and ready for school the next day. As cleaning is not an innate thing for me, I do the only thing I know how to do, I scrub them in the sink with Dawn dish soap (it cleans everything, right?) and throw them in the dryer. This morning, the shoes are clean, the shoes are dry, and the shoes don’t smell anymore. Problem solved, right? Noah puts the shoes on and immediately starts complaining, “These shoes are too tight!!”
The damn shoes shrunk!! He went to school in crocs today and I will figure it out later.
Travel away from the boy
It’s kind of amazing how much I have missed while I have been traveling over the past week. Before this work trip/vacation, I had only been away from Noah for a weekend, at most. He was a little over a year old at the time, he had just stopped breastfeeding about a month prior, and I was a complete wreck. I cried the entire way out of town, called to check on him constantly, and couldn’t get home fast enough (only to realize that he hadn’t even really noticed that I was gone). Side note- Matt also decided to drop a 50 pound weight on his foot at the gym that weekend and ended up having to have his toenail removed. When I wasn’t calling to check on Noah, Matt was sending me disgusting pictures of his gnarled up toe and arguing with me that he didn’t need to go to the doctor. Seriously! (Additional side note- when I got back and forced him to go the doctor, he got a lecture about waiting too long to see the doctor. I then said a very quick and arrogant “I told you so.”)
This trip, however, not only have I been gone over a week (8 days), but I am in a very different time zone (6 hour difference!!). It has been unbelievably difficult to call at a time that is feasible for Noah’s schedule. When I wake up in the morning, he is at preschool. When I get a break during the day around lunchtime, he is in the bathtub and way too preoccupied with his tub toys to even notice that mommy is on the phone. And when I am done for the day and ready to call home and chat with Matt and the baby, both of the men in my life are fast asleep on east coast time.
I have been able to sneak in a few “Hi Mommy!! I played in the sandbox today!” and “Guess what?! I pooped in the potty!” moments during the week but, for the most part, it has just been Matt telling me about good and bad moments. I realized how much I take the little things for granted. I miss hearing his sweet voice first thing in the morning. He always wakes up and announces whatever he has been thinking about all night. I miss hearing him breathe over the baby monitor- that stuffy-nosed snort that is full of innocence and peaceful dreams. I miss his ridiculously funny comments about random experiences that his little mind just doesn’t understand yet. And, most of all, I miss the constant enthusiasm about dinosaurs and sharks and playing outside and diving head first into life.
On top of all of that, I feel really guilty about the amazing time I have been having. I mean- I’m in Hawaii for goodness sake! It is so incredible here. The experience has been completely surreal. I keep reminding myself about how lucky I am to be here. I have taken over 1000 pictures and I have tried to squeeze in as many adventures as possible. And I so wish Matt was there to experience it with me. He and I have such wonderful vacations together. I did so many things that I know he would just absolutely love. (And, it doesn’t help that I keep texting him pictures of all of the delicious food I have been eating. When I sent him a picture of my oh-so-amazing breakfast one morning, this is the text I got back: 
The guilt comes in when I think about how freeing and wonderful it is to be having all of these adventures without worrying about parenting or putting sunscreen on a little person or scheduling everything around Noah’s naptime. (The guilt does go away pretty quickly when I think about the fact that it was 31 degrees and snowing when I left North Carolina. It was 78 degrees and perfect when we landed in Honolulu. Did I mention that Hawaii is amazing?)
And then I find myself staring at the little children playing on the beach. I watch their little faces light up with excitement as they watch the huge waves in the ocean, their fat little hands digging in the sand. I am sure the people that I was with were getting pretty tired of me telling Noah stories and quoting his sweet little sayings. Last time we went to the beach, we got a little close to the edge of the water when a big wave came in. He got drenched and it scared me and him both half to death. From then on, when we talk about the beach he always says, “Watch out. That ocean gonna get you!”
I watched the unbelievably brave women walking the beaches and hiking Diamond Head with often more than one child holding their hands. There were so many mothers and fathers wearing their Ergo Baby carriers while shopping, strolling along the beach, or eating out at restaurants. All I could think about was how terrible it would be to travel (on the 12 hour plane ride) with children and babies. I imagined Noah on the horrifically long flight. He would be running up and down the aisles, crawling over chairs, bugging the living daylights out of the passengers around him, and talking way too loud, preventing anyone within ear shot of falling asleep.
And then, I see these other women doing it with such ease. They make it look effortless. And I wonder if they wish they had left the children at home. Do they ever look at the children and the husband and think, “Man. I really wish I was here by myself.”
When I was planning the trip and Matt and I were trying to figure out if he would be able to come out after my conference was over and who would watch the baby and would we want the baby to come. We decided that Matt would stay home with Noah because we didn’t want to be gone for that long, that far away just in case of an emergency. Matt, being the saint that he is, stayed home and played single dad for a week. His parents, thank goodness, were able to come for a good chunk of the week and I think that made it easier on both Noah and Matt. And I was able to have some much needed and much anticipated alone time. I am sure all of you parents know that alone time is very hard to come by when your kids are little. When we are fortunate enough to have some time to ourselves, Matt and I want to spend it together. There is never really an opportunity to just be by ourselves. This was it. It was incredible. It was amazing. It was everything I expected it to be and more. And now, I miss my husband. I miss my baby. And I am ready to hear someone call me “mommy.”
All that is boy
Splatter paint rock star
Lightning McQueen racecar
Tying up a Superman cape
Flying fast to outer space
Blasting off to the moon
Right here in the living room
Digging big holes in the sandbox
Knocking over towers of blocks
Dinosaurs and sharks
Running, jumping through the park
So many bruises, cuts, and scrapes
And lots and lots of Batman Band-Aids
Trucks and trains and tanks and cars
Trapping bugs and slugs in jars
Roaring, snarling, gnashing, growling
Mooing, quacking, laughing, howling
Action figures and remote control trains
Looking for dump trucks and spotting planes
Adventures, journeys, and quests without fear
Unconditional love kicked up to 5th gear
The dirt, the snuggles, the hugs, and the noise
The wonderful privilege of raising a boy
A year of transition…
This week, marks one full year since I began working full time and Noah started going to preschool. It has been a year-long transition that is still a work in progress as neither of us is still fully settled into our new(ish) roles.
There are those days that I can’t get him to school fast enough. These are the mornings that we are awakened at 4:30am to the cries of, “Mommy- I’m all wet!” We regretfully crawl out of bed mumbling to each other about the foolishness of letting him drink 2 full glasses of milk after 7pm the night before. We get him changed and redressed only to find ourselves playing with trains and play-doh for the next 2 hours before the sun comes up. Matt and I play tag-team showers, throw in a bribe or 2 to get him to take his vitamin and put his jacket on. He screams the whole drive about how much he hates school while kicking the back of my seat. When I pull into the parking lot, he can’t get out of the car fast enough, darts into his classroom, and shoves me out the door as if to say, “Okay mommy, I’m done with you.” I take a deep breath and head off to work thinking about how the rest of my day should be rather predictable.
Then there are the days that I wake up earlier than usual just because I want to stare at the monitor and see how peaceful he is when he’s sleeping. He holds his stuffed animals so close and so tight- just like I did as a child. I can hear him breathing- so even, so gently, so innocent. I get up and get ready for another long day at work- all the while knowing that I have a full 8 hours at one job and then 3 hours at another job before I get to squeeze him again. I walk into his room and I am greeted with, “Hi mommy! I dreamed about puppy doggies!” We eat breakfast, get dressed, and sing Old McDonald all the way to school (I let Noah pick the animals on the farm and he always picks either cow or sheep- no exceptions. We just moo and baa a lot!) When I get him in to his classroom, he doesn’t want to let me go. He holds on so tight, just like he does with his stuffed animals. We finally have one last big hug, his teacher peels him out of my arms, and I wave goodbye to the saddest and sweetest face in the world.
Those are the days that make me question my decision to go back to work. I was so amazingly lucky to be able to stay at home with Noah for the first 18 months of his life. Yeah- it was hard. But not near as hard as seeing his little face, streaked with tears, as I leave him behind for an 11 hour work day. But, then again, working 2 jobs is so much easier than reading Where the Wild Things Are 14 times in a row or struggling for 37 minutes to get him to brush his teeth.
When I started looking for a full time job a year ago, I was already working at night. Just like now, I saw clients after 5pm when Matt got home from work. It was tough leaving him behind for 3 or 4 hours when he was so little but it was so amazing to see how excited he got when I came home. But gradually, he and I both began to need more than either of us could give. I yearned for more adult time and Noah needed to be around more kids. He got faster and more talkative and I realized quickly that I wasn’t enough.
After talking to my neighbors who have a son just a little older than Noah, we found an amazing preschool that I felt really comfortable with. I accepted a new job and told them I needed 2 weeks to adjust to this earth-shattering change in my life. I spent 1 full week soaking in all that was Noah. We did everything I could think of- knowing that it would never be the same. The second week, we took him to school. I stayed in his classroom for over an hour, totally unable to leave my baby behind. I watched him play and interact. He laughed and giggled. When I finally left, I was sobbing hysterically and had to sit in my car for another 30 minutes in order to compose myself. I went to the gym where I cried for 3 miles on the treadmill. That afternoon, I couldn’t pick him up fast enough.
Drop off is a lot easier now- most days. And I pick him up at least once a week so I can watch him run, arms pumping and face beaming, towards me. He is so excited to see his mommy walk through the door. That moment makes all of the rough mornings worth it.
Nowadays, it is so popular to discuss which one is easier or harder- being a stay-at-home mom or a working-mom. The truth is- neither is easy. Being a mom has forever been the hardest job imaginable. There will never be a job with more responsibility, more feelings of failure, or more constant anxiety. But there will also never be a job with more rewards, more successes, or more joy. My transition is ongoing. Every day, I question my choice to work as much as I do. But just like Noah and I knew it was time to go back to work, I think we’ll just know if we need to make a change. We’re a pretty good team that way.
Noah’s Shoes
I am running into a huge problem and I can’t quite figure out how to handle it. I keep trying and trying to “handle it” the best way I know how and I am failing miserably. Let me start from the beginning…
I didn’t put shoes on Noah until he was close to walking. And even then, he only wore the soft leather soled shoes so that he could still feel the ground underneath his feet. I always felt like he would be much more sure-footed without shoes.
Once he started walking (and by walking, I mean running at a fast pace because he has never really had a slow speed— only fast), we switched over to sneakers or sturdy sandals (he always liked Keens). He never hesitated to put on whatever shoe I presented to him. He was always excited to have new shoes, and he got them a lot because he outgrew each pair so quickly.
So, about 2 months ago, he was complaining about his shoes not feeling right. It was close to Christmas and I was very low on time and money so we swung into Walmart and I picked out the cheapest and least-ugly pair I could find, hoping that these would last long enough just to get me through the next couple of weeks until I had time and money to take him to get more supportive and more attractive sneakers.
And thus, my problem begins.
The “bought in a hurry” shoes are now falling apart. The fronts of the shoes are torn and about to develop holes right through to his toes (apparently he spends most of his day crawling around dragging his feet). The Velcro no longer sticks and when you put his foot in, the tongue goes all the way down into the shoe and you have to dig it out multiple times a day.
So, the practical and logical solution would be to buy him another pair of shoes. I am certain that he will put a new pair of shoes on just fine, no arguments, no tantrums. In fact, I can probably just throw these shoes away and he won’t even notice.
(In typing this, I feel even more stupid now knowing that these thoughts actually went through my mind. Nothing is ever this easy with a 2 ½ year old. And, I am beginning to think that nothing will ever be that easy again.)
To date, I have purchased (or been given- totally out of pity) 7 pairs of shoes to try on Noah’s chubby foot. None of these shoes have lasted more than 6 seconds. About half of the shoes were thrown back at my face and the other half were kicked off and may or may not have broken items in my home.
So, the deductive thinker that I am, I have tried to break down the situation and figure out what I am doing wrong.
- He has a fat foot. His size-8 feet are as wide as they are tall. I somehow managed to marry into a family that has the most horrible feet known to mankind (I love you Matt, but its true). Genetically, he is at a disadvantage. Maybe, new shoes are just too narrow.
- He really likes these particular shoes. Maybe I could just go back to Walmart and buy the same shoes again.
- He is 2 ½ and all 2 ½ year olds just like to piss their parents off and make them feel like failures.
Given the above information, I decided to take Noah out on a shoe-shopping adventure. We talked about it ahead of time. We discussed at length the purpose of the trip, proper behavior in a shoe store, why we need to get new shoes, etc. He honestly made me believe that he was ready and (dare I say) excited about this shoe-shopping adventure.
We go to the shoe store (where I have had success in the past at finding him quality sneakers) and I knew almost immediately that the adventure would be short-lived. He runs to the kids shoes, begins taking the sample sizes off the shelves and throwing them about the store. Once we finally managed to wrangle him into a chair, he refused to try on any shoes. Between his resistance and my inability to find appropriate shoes in his size (I couldn’t find size 8 wide anywhere and the only size 8s I could find had laces. Seriously! Who makes a shoe for a 2 year old with laces?? Get it together New Balance!)
I apologized to the employees and decided to try buying the same pair of shoes at Walmart. I stick him back in the car (after a slight tantrum in the parking lot) and off we go. At least Walmart has a cart he can ride in so that is one potential issue I don’t have to worry about (right?). We go to the shoes, I find the same shoes he is wearing, and in my most excited voice say, “Look Noah!! They are just like the ones you have on!” No sooner than I could finish my sentence, the shoes are flying out into the isle.
My patience is running thin. In a moment I am willing to admit I am not too proud of, I say (while clenching my teeth very tight), “Fine dammit. You pick out a pair.”
Realizing that I may be close to losing my temper and having my own tantrum, I take a deep breath and go with an even more inappropriate technique, bribing.
“Okay Noah. If you pick out a pair of shoes that you like and that you will wear, we can go find a Mickey Mouse toy for you to take home.”
I have never seen a kid pick out a pair of shoes so fast. He let me take off his old ratty shoes and put the new pair on him right in the store. He required that I go ahead and pull the tags off so that he could swing his legs while sitting in the cart. Fine, whatever works. We go to the toy section and (after saying a few short prayers that we would be able to find a Mickey Mouse toy) I discover a small stuffed Mickey in the $5 bin. Yay! Noah is happy. Mommy is happy. Let’s get out of here!
Well, I made 1 crucial error. Because I was afraid that if I took him out of the cart, I would never be able to get him back in, Noah did not have a chance to walk around in his new shoes. When we got back to the house, I took him out of his car seat and set him on the ground to walk inside. You would have thought I set him down in a huge bucket of poo. He started whining and taking high steps to let me know he was not happy.
Needless to say, he is still wearing his old busted up shoes. I did convince him to wear snow boots to play outside in the snow today but they came off instantly when we came back inside. I shoved the boots in his backpack and told his teachers he was not allowed to go outside today without his boots on. They had been wondering about his shoes full of holes that a homeless, barefoot child would probably turn down.
We are going to Stride Rite this weekend. Wish me luck.
Noah- the artist
I have been wanting to post this for over a month now but, since this project was Noah’s Christmas present to his family, I had to be patient so that everyone could be surprised.
When Noah started preschool, my refrigerator doors began to fill up way too quickly with random smudgy art, tattered construction paper covered in cotton balls and glitter, and different colored hand prints smooshed on paper plates. At first, all of this art was so precious and I treasured everything his teachers sent home. That lasted about a month.
After that, I began to dread walking into his classroom and seeing another piece of artwork in his cubby that I had to take home, squeeze onto the fridge, and then feel guilty about throwing away. [Which, by the way, I still can’t bring myself to do. I have several boxes full of random art that I just know will make me a bad mother if I throw it away.]
I had to come up with a way to enjoy his art again. That first month of treasures felt so good. I didn’t want to be bitter about his wonderful creativity anymore. I decided to do something about it.
At Michaels, they sell packs of blank canvases. I bought a pack of 7, a pack of kid-friendly paint brushes that included all different sizes of sponges and bristled brushes, and some Crayola washable paints. We put a sheet down on the carpet, put a towel over his little table, and let him go to town.
At first, he was a little hesitant (he is not a big fan of getting messy) but it only took a few canvases and he was all about the art. He used all of the brushes and sponges and, eventually, got his hands in the paint as well. Right as he would get one canvas to (what I would consider) a nice place, I would swap it out for a new one. He loved it!
Once we had made our way through all of the canvases, I set them aside to let them dry. I later signed his name with the year at the bottom. I wrapped them individually to give as Christmas gifts to the family and everyone seemed so excited to have an original work of art from Noah. He was beaming with pride as his family opened their presents from him.
Now, I also have original artwork from Noah hanging in my office at work. I am not bitter about it and it makes me smile every time I look at it. I might even hire him out to create original pieces for my coworkers… at the right price!
Family Photo Shoot
It occurred to me as I looked through a bunch of Noah’s baby pictures that something was missing (or at least very sparse). And it was something very important if I do say so myself. In looking through all of my pictures (and let me assure you, I take quite a few), I could only find myself in about 10 or 15 pictures. And I think all of those pictures are posted on my photos page of the blog.
Something had to be done. I scheduled a photo shoot for the family over the Thanksgiving holiday when we were in the mountains. I knew, with Noah’s history of being a “runner” (as the photographers have called him numerous times) that an outdoor setting with lots of room to be active and showcase his true personality, we would be sure to get some amazing shots.
And, I look terrible in those posed family shots with people on the floor in front of a fake background. Noah looks great and other people look great. I look like a frozen, puffy idiot.
Well, it started out great. Noah’s regular new situation shyness was short-lived as he could only see the great wide-open space in front of him. He took off running, 90 miles an hour, and smiling the whole way. Thank goodness the photographer was pre-warned about the rambunctiousness of my son as she was ready. Although, she did have to switch her lens in the middle of the shoot because he was running too fast (she referred to it as a “Noah Lens”).
Then, as things were going just way too perfectly, Noah gets all red-faced, looks at me and Matt, and says, “Mommy, I have to poop. Please go.”
Well, Noah, like most men, needs a lot of privacy and time when he does his business. The photographer understood and used the time to get some individual shots of my nephew, Andrew. Noah, wandered around trying to find the best place with the most privacy. Meanwhile, Matt and I spent our time hiding behind bushes, trying to keep an eye on him but not letting him see us. The minute he would catch us looking, he would say, “Please go” and shoo us away, thus making him start the whole process over again.
What really makes me smile is that the photographer took the opportunity to catch some photos while he was “handling business” and they totally make me giggle when I look at them.
Now, I have pictures with me in them. I need to make this happen more often.
The Racecar Cart
I’m not sure when it happened. There once was a time when I could go to the grocery store and get Noah out of his car seat. He would stroll happily through the parking lot, stopping along the way to jump in puddles or run his fingers along the bumpers of other people’s cars. We would walk through the automatic doors, I would place him in a grocery cart, and we would stroll through the store talking about all of the different foods and people.
Then, he discovered the Racecar Cart. That horrible, 19 foot long grocery cart that must weigh 450 pounds and is only designed to be steered in an empty parking lot by giants. I can only assume that one of his little friends at school told him how amazing it is to ride in and gave him pointers about how to make sure that, even though your mother will hate it and will try to convince you that it is not an option, you must ride in the racecar cart.
It started about a month ago. We pull into the grocery store parking lot and, immediately, I hear requests for the racecar cart from the backseat.
Me: “I don’t think they have the racecar cart at this grocery store. That was at the other store.”
[Secretly, I am developing a plan to go in the side door to avoid any possibility of a racecar cart-sighting.]
Noah: “RACECAR CART!!!”
Me: “I think some other little boy got here first and he is using it. We will try and get here earlier next time.”
Noah: “RACECAR CART!!!”
So, naturally, I thought if I just continued with the “the racecar cart is not available” storyline, eventually, the kid would believe me and we could begin grocery shopping. Well, apparently, I enjoy lying to myself and causing a scene.
I got the brilliant idea that, if I get him into a regular cart before I get into the store, he will already be strapped in and unable to make a bee-line for the racecar cart.
[In my mind, it was a great idea. In my mind, my plan would go off without a hitch. Clearly, I was wrong. Next comes the part where I tell you how I let a 2 year old defeat me.]
I lift him up to put him the cart. He immediately goes completely stiff, legs straight, knees locked, fists clenched. I try to bend his little body to force those chubby little legs through the leg holes of the regular cart. He squeals out in pain causing onlookers to start gathering around in judgment of my parenting. I set him down in the parking lot, get down on his level, and very gently and sweetly explain to him that we have to get in the cart so that we can go shopping.
Noah’s response: “RACECAR CART!!!”
Looking back, this is one of those moments where I should have made the calmer and more adult decision. Needless to say, I made the immature, I’m embarrassed, everyone is looking at me kind of decision.
I pick him up again, clearly frustrated, and try to stick him the regular cart one more time. This time he went with the “completely limp, dead weight” method of resistance. Here I am, middle of the parking lot, gawkers staring, trying to maneuver this 32 pound ball of limp baby into a grocery cart. At this point, my purse has fallen off of my arm and the entire contents are rolling under nearby cars, I’m sweating and turning red from the struggle, and I am doing everything in my power not to scream, “GET IN THE DAMN CART!!!”
I give up.
Noah knows he has won.
He saunters in to the grocery store. Walks right up to the racecar cart and, after being strapped in and seeing the shameful look of defeat all over my face, he smiles great big and yells, “YAY!! Racecar Cart!!”
I spend the rest of the shopping trip (and every other shopping trip that he accompanies me on) fighting through the isles, knocking boxes of cereal off of the end-caps, and ramming in to other shoppers.
But sometimes, on that rare occasion, I can convince Matt to come to the store with us. Then he gets to push the cart.
What I am really thankful for this month…
My Facebook news feed is full of a daily dose of all of the amazing heartfelt gifts that my friends are thankful for this November. But, as I think about my life and all of the chaos and craziness, my list looks very different. Here are 10* brutally honest things that I am thankful for this year.
1. I am thankful that my inappropriate and really mean thoughts about some of the people I encounter are not out loud… especially now that Noah has started repeating my comments over and over again.
2. I am thankful that I have a functioning washing machine that has access to all of the water I need to wash load after load of laundry since Noah’s recent “stomach bug” has caused a need to wash multiple loads of laundry throughout the day and night. I mean, seriously. I think we may have been able to empty a very small ocean with the amount of water we have used and I think we are single-handedly keeping Tide Laundry Detergent in business.
3. I am thankful that we have found an amazing daycare for Noah. Yeah, they do things that get on my nerves sometimes but, I trust them to look after my son for 9 hours a day. They have taught him so much that, frankly, I would have lost patience with after about 2 attempts.
4. I am thankful that my amazing husband looked at Noah the other day and said, “Son, you are going to make some woman or some man incredibly frustrated one day.”
5. I am thankful that this same incredible husband doesn’t care that it takes over 2 hours to get my hair cut and straightened on a Saturday because he knows it makes me feel good about myself.
6. I am thankful to whoever invented the Video Monitor. I am still confused at how parenting even existed before we were able to stare for hours on end at the tiny black and white screen when he was an infant, squinting to make sure he is breathing. And now I use the amazing ability to see into his room without waking him to determine if the “Mommy, come get me” is because he just doesn’t want to sleep or because he is covered in poop.
7. I am thankful that Noah loves to take baths. He plays and swims and sings and kicks. He has more toys in the tub than he has in his room. He loves baths with or without bubbles. He drinks the water and thinks it is so cool that the world sounds different when he sticks his ears beneath the surface. He hasn’t fallen in love with having his hair washed yet but we are working on it.
8. I am thankful for Facebook so that I can share pictures and stories about Noah with his grandparents and family that are not so lucky to live nearby. I never thought when I signed up for my Facebook account that I would be that person who posted way too many pictures of my kid but, apparently that’s me now.
9. I am thankful that Noah understands and (most of the time) adheres to my “Play-Doh stays on the placemat” rule. While there are occasional slip-ups and every now and then a Play-Doh football is hurled across the room, Noah understands rules and boundaries. He tests them regularly but usually, with a sound and logical explanation, he agrees.
10. And most of all, as simple and trite as it may sound, I am thankful for Dum Dum Pops. Yes, it sounds silly and yes, it is a terrible parenting strategy. But, the truth is, my kid will do anything for a sucker. I am fully aware that there will be ramifications later but, for now, I am more than happy to bribe and negotiate in order to get him to school with pants on, finish a shopping trip, or get him to take his medicine. If it only costs me a sucker, I’ll take it.
*11. Oh— and I am thankful for family and friends and health and all of that other stuff too.
A letter to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse
Dear Mickey Mouse Clubhouse,
Recently, my son has developed a crack-like addiction to your show. Particularly, one specific episode in which Goofy is left to be Zookeeper for the Day and, after falling asleep, all of the animals escape. Throughout the episode, Goofy and Mickey wander around the Clubhouse world to find 8 cows who have magically found themselves on an island in the middle of a lake, 10 pigs who have somehow ended up riding the Ferris wheel, and 1 baby elephant who they discover is hiding in a tree.
Now, I feel as though I should explain what is wrong with all of these scenarios but, I also feel that the problems with these situations should be rather self-explanatory.
Yes, that elephant is, in fact, in a tree.
Content aside, because of the apparent addictive nature of your television program, my evenings and Saturdays are now filled with the sounds of Mickey Mouse shouting “Meeska Mooska” over and over again, my son yelling “Oh Toodles” at random times throughout the day with expectations that I will bring him something, and having to dance more times than I would like to admit while singing “Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog.”
Now, I like to think that I am an intelligent and thoughtful woman. I am a counselor who has been trained in multiple forms of relaxation, meditation, mindfulness, and anger management. I have done everything I can to teach my son how to use his words and be kind to others. And, nonetheless, every time that theme song starts to play, it takes every muscle in my body to stop me from punching that damn mouse in the face.
I simply ask that, whatever you have done to make my son wake up from his afternoon naps and demand Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, please stop. I cannot handle too much more of the “Meeska Mooska.”
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Brutally Honest Mom
Brutally Honest Mom 
