Potty Training Update

I'm really not sure what has come over me with this second child. With the first one, he was falling asleep on his own by the time he was three months old, in recovery from pacifier addiction by the time he was one, and potty-trained within two or three weeks of turning three.

This second child, though, he's . . . different. He is just now falling asleep on his own, is not yet in recovery from pacifier addiction, and thinks that underwear is just another convenient place to go tee-tee.

Potty-training is the most pressing issue right now -- I need to get him potty-trained because, well, it's embarrassing me that he's still in diapers. I've tried all the tested methods and he's not interested in them. I have threatened to make him clean up his poopy mess by himself. Nothing works. So to make myself feel like we're making progress when clearly we are not, I have taken to just putting underwear on him. In theory, I understand that this isn't really a bad plan so long as you take the child to the toilet every half hour and make him go . . . it's the Puppy Housebreaking Technique, which is a pretty effective way to go about potty training. In theory.

In reality, you are able to stay focused on the task for about an hour and a half, taking the child off to the toilet to tinkle every half hour and then dinnertime rolls around and you sit with the child while he meanders around his plate, slowly eating every last bite ("Are you done? Can I take this?" -- "NO! MINE!" -- "Fine. Eat all your lettuce. Whatever!"). Just as you are poised for the last bite to be carefully placed in his mouth so that you can whisk him off to the potty, the phone rings and your client needs to discuss why his bank account is frozen, so you walk out onto the porch and ten minutes later, here comes the boy with wet pants -- not to show you his wet pants and get changed, because he could care less that his pants are soaked in tee-tee; he wants you to play in the sandbox with him. So as you are still on the phone, you gesture furiously, pointing to the pants and mouth: "WHY DIDN'T YOU GO IN THE POTTY??" And he just pulls on your hand to drag you to the sandbox. So after you get off the phone, you take off his pants altogether and say, "Fine. Don't wear anything at all."

So he doesn't:

And five minutes later, he gets your attention to show you what a big boy he is cause he didn't go tee-tee in the potty:

He went in the sandbox.

Thank You God for Gravity

Easter Post

Look at these adorable children in their Easter shirts:

They were only adorable part of the time on Easter, really.

Not so adorable there in the kitchen.

But pretty adorable here in the yard.

And Casey was definitely adorable here at church:

Bamboo Shopping

Last Saturday, the day before Easter, we didn't have Coffeehouse, so Flamingo Joe decided we should go shop for bamboo. He found the farthest bamboo grower he could find and we drove out to the guy's place in Brooksville to do some serious perusing of the bamboo. Flamingo Joe has a thing for bamboo. I'm not sure why. I like it fine, but it's really just sticks growing out of the ground straight up into the sky. Unless you have a panda around to eat it, I'm not sure what the point is, but it's not something I feel so strongly about that I would forego an hour's drive in the car with my husband's undivided attention. I believe car trips are the key to a strong and healthy marriage because your husband can't walk out of the room while you're talking to him about deep and meaningful topics.

Once we got there and saw all the bamboo, the whole family got into the bamboo-buying spirit (if there is such a thing).

The boys decided they wanted to buy the toilet with the ducks in it.

"Ma, ma, ma, buy 'dat to'let. Buy ducks!" Instead, we bought this pot of bamboo:

(If you're having trouble seeing the single stick of bamboo we bought for $50, start at the bottom of the photo in the pot and work your way up).

Flamingo Joe (and Mace) followed the bamboo guy's precise instructions for preparing the earth for the bamboo stick and dug this hole, into which they will put kitty litter, cow manure, and lots of organic material and dirt:

What's funny about that hole is that it is much deeper and wider than the hole where we planted our last bamboo stick, which is growing like gangbusters out by the boat. But there's a dead dog buried underneath that one -- so I guess if you provide that much organic material it can make up for a shallow hole. Seems like there might be a sermon in that somewhere. Maybe Flamingo Joe and I can discuss that on our next car trip.

Pre-Easter Post

I have a series of blog posts to cover the last week or so . . . but I've been busy (and a bit depressed, but don't worry about it, I'll be fine; and this is not that kind of blog anyway so I won't bore you with the details . . . but . . . do you ever feel like God has led you out on a limb in every single area of your life and you are just dangling there waiting to see whether the limb is going to break and send you crashing to the ground or turn into a luxury treehouse complete with jacuzzi?) so I'm only just now posting them. I thought I'd write them all up tonight (since the sun has peeked through the Black Curtain ever so briefly [did anyone catch that Gail Godwin reference?] [does anyone else know who Gail Godwin is?]) and schedule them to post over the next few days.

Let's start with Apollo Ohno, who gave a presentation in Casey's first grade class last week:


Casey's assignment was to read a biography and then dress like a character from the book and tell about that person's life. He wanted to do a presentation on Apollo Ohno, but there were no biographies on Apollo Ohno in his school library (and I'm banned from the public library until I pay my $55 in overdue fines), so after he started his presentation by telling his audience about how many medals Apollo Ohno had and how many Olympics he'd been in, he said, "You may think this presentation is going to be about Apollo Ohno, but it's not, it's about Bonnie Blair." At least, that's what he said when he practiced. And then he launched into Bonnie Blair's life and achievements.

YaYa and PopPop came to town Thursday for the Easter weekend, so we invited them to come with us to the Skateworld. YaYa not only accepted with enthusiasm ("Ooooh! Yes!!"), she actually skated.


On Friday, Casey didn't have school so I promised Casey and Mace I would take them to the beach. And for once, I actually followed through on a hasty beach trip promise:

I'm not sure you can tell, but that sand sculpture there is a train -- I was very proud of it for two minutes before Mace smashed it. Casey deserted us as soon as we got there to play with a boy he'd never met (I have no idea whose child Casey is because neither of his parents would have done that as children). PopPop went with us -- and it was a good thing, because I can't carry all that beach crap by myself. It's a shame that 50 spf sunscreen didn't work any better, though. He's going to have a really weird sock tan once the burn fades.