Potty Training Sucks...

I have been feeling like a competent mom for a while, so I should have known something would come up which would give those feelings a good kick to the curb. Enter potty training. I just feel like I am doing everything wrong with this one. Did I start too early? Too late? Am I being too easy going in my approach or too forceful? Reading for tips on the Internet only results in more questions, confusion and feelings of inadequacy. Thankfully, even in the midst of all this angst, there have been things to laugh about.

I am happy to report that Alice has kept her panties clean more often than not; unfortunately, she is easily distracted. If something fun is happening she ignores her body signals until it is too late. Because of this, whenever she has an accident, she has to help me clean it up. I don't do it as a punishment but as a lesson that the things we do have consequences. As her clean up responsibility, she has to rinse her panties out in the sink and wring them out. Apparently, Alice has really internalized this lesson. Last night as I was cleaning up from dinner Alice walked into the kitchen and took a dishcloth. This is nothing new. She uses them as blankets for her stuffed animals or as towels for when they go to the "beach". A little while later she came into the kitchen with her legs stretched to avoid touching her wet panties and asked me to help her get clean. After finishing that task, I asked Alice to show me where she made pee so I could clean it up. She took me to the spot and there it was- the kitchen towel was drenched from its absorption of her puddle. It is amazing how quickly disappointment can turn to pride.

Uh Oh, I Ran Out of Curry Powder...

I love how Alice is such an adventurous eater. Whereas many of my friends bemoan their children's steady diet of chicken fingers, hot dogs, and buttered noodles, I don't have that issue. Alice eats according to the mantra "the spicier, the better". When we order Chinese, Alice winds up eating more spicy pork than John. She enjoys her fajitas with habereno sauce. She devours her daddy's steak pizzaole. However, if I had to pick her favorite cuisine, I would have to say it is Indian food. This love actually began in utero.


Most people laugh and look at me with expressions of disbelief when I say that, but it is true. Chicken curry was my primary food craving when I was pregnant with Alice. Yes, like most pregnant women, I loved ice cream, but for some inexplicable reason chicken curry was like a drug for me. The sauce and spices caressed my taste buds and created feelings of euphoria within my swollen body. When you feel as big as an overheated, beached whale (the joys of being pregnant in August) any feeling of euphoria is pretty scarce. Needless to say, because everything felt better after a serving of curry, the waiters at our favorite local place became like family and tracked my pregnancy with the same interest as my real family.

Not long after Alice was born, we went back for some curry, and despite being postpartum, it still tasted wonderful. It was after digestion that things got a little weird. When I went to nurse Alice after dinner, she attacked me. I was used to enthusiastic nursing but what ensued was particularly intense. I still don't think that my nipples have forgiven me. I remembered thinking, "Wow...did I not feed her enough today?" I chalked it up to a fluke but when it kept happening whenever I ate Indian food I realized how my pregnancy craving manifested itself.

As Alice aged, her love of Indian food evolved. Not long after the typical foray into solid foods (rice cereal, strained fruits and veggies and the ubiquitous Cheerios), I decided I would never deny Alice a food that she expressed interest in. If I felt it could be easily chewed or gummed, I gave her a sample. This horrified my mother to no end. She was convinced I would give the child a stomach ulcer or something to that effect. My argument that children who live in (fill in the blank) country most likely eat this among their first foods and live to tell the tale did not sit well with her.

Which leads me to one of my favorite Alice memories of her sitting in her booster seat at our Indian place. I remember her looking at our meal from her vantage point and smacking her lips, so I decided to give her a sample. I placed some basmati rice and cut up chicken curry on her tray. Her eyes lit up when she tried it. Whenever her tray became empty, she would make little noises to get my attention. She even added kicking legs to make sure I noticed her empty tray predicament. The wait staff watched in awe as little Alice devoured the rice and little pieces of chicken drenched in curry sauce. When they brought us our check, they presented Alice with a shot glass of mango lassi. They were curious to see what would happen. The consistency was a little thick so I fed it to her with a spoon. Alice took a bite, smiled, and then proceeded to down the whole glass. The waiters gathered around our table, picked her up, and hugged her. Actually, they still hug her every time we go out to dinner there. The only difference now is we order Alice her own plate of food. Someone does not share nicely.

So That's Why He Married Me....

Alice has been a bit befuddled by the emergence of her first freckle. She keeps pointing it out to me. She is convinced it is a "boo boo" and I should kiss it and make it better. I tried explaining to her that she now has a freckle. I even showed her my freckle covered arms to make her feel better. The lesson did not completely sink in. Alice is now convinced she has a "sprinkle". By default I guess that means I am covered in sprinkles. Now I know why my ice cream loving husband married me. Who can resist a woman covered with "sprinkles"?

Not My Own Anymore

About a week ago, I was in the bathroom attending to business when Alice walked in. While I sat there, she began to itemize my body parts: Mommy's hair, Mommy's eyes and so forth. I was impressed with her recognition of all the body parts until she got to my breasts. Those she said were, "Angela's boobies." Come to think of it, she is technically right (at least for now). Note to self: remind Angela that they are loaners.

I Don't Think Miss Manners Would Approve

I have been working with Alice on her manners. I have to admit I am really pleased with her progress (if only we could extend her success to potty training but that is another post/therapy session). She says "thank you" frequently and "I'm sorry" or "Excuse me" in the appropriate contexts. There have been some difficulties with "please" however. I realize that "please" runs counter to the toddler mindset of "Gimme" and "Mine". Still, my parents were sticklers for manners, and the apple does not fall far from the proverbial tree in this respect. Lately I have been gently reminding Alice of the "extra word" she needs when she requests (read: demands)something. She is doing much better but yesterday I had to ruefully laugh at another instance of toddler logic.

I took the girls to see my parents yesterday. I try to go see them once a week. I enjoy their company and the girls love visiting with them. Alice was happily eating her animal crackers snack and had run out of milk. She imperiously demanded, "More milk." I told Alice to remember that extra word she needed to say. She then amended her request to: "More milk, Grandma." Got to love how their minds work.

Words that Bug Me

Sometimes new trends in language just irritate me. I realize I tend to over think the nuances of words and phrases. Old habits die hard and I was a former English teacher. Although I enjoy celebrity gossip as much as the next girl (my favorite guilty pleasure is The Superficial web site), I hate how celebrity press feels the compulsion to create a one word name for famous couples. TomKat, Bradgelina, and so forth. It annoys the heck out of me. Yes, by getting married you do become a united couple and you are tied together, but do we really have to highlight that by creating a name for the couple? Whatever happened to the idea of maintaining a sense of self in marriage? Besides annoying me, the whole joined name sounds like a weird space alien fusion project. It might make a cool movie though. Godzilla Takes On JonKate Plus Their Eight. Perhaps that is why so many celebrities divorce. They want their name back. Then again, maybe my annoyance is really jealousy because I would not have a cool celebrity marriage name. The combination of Maura and John would create something that sounds like "Moron" which is not very flattering now is it?

The latest language irritation is the word "staycation". Why do we need a word for remaining home on a vacation? Is it to make it sound more exotic or something? John and I are staying home when he takes off in August. I am looking forward to it. It means I do not have to pack up every object that we own (and you need them when travelling with small children). I do not have to fight traffic to get to my destination as I am already there. I know where all the good restaurants are for an adult meal and where I can get excellent food in under an hour. This is the same place where hyper toddlers and screaming newborns are welcome. I do not have to stay in a room with my entire family since we have a whole house. I am within driving distance of the beach, amusement parks, theater, museums, gardens, and whatever else takes my fancy. I plan on letting the dust bunnies relax, swimming in the pool, playing with the kids and reconnecting with my hubby. I do not feel deprived that I am not going to do this in some other locale. In fact, I might create some postcards with a picture of my house on front. Flip it over and it will read: We never left. We are having a wonderful time. XOXO Maura

Toddler Logic

While I was still teaching, the school librarian gave me a great piece of advice. She told me to get a journal and use it to record all those silly things that your child(ren) will say as they acquire language. She kept such a journal for her son. In it she would not only write what he said but also provide some context with which to enrich her memory. I guess instead of a journal I am using a blog, but the idea is the same- to write down all the silly memories of motherhood that somehow get lost among all the other moments. Pictures are great, and so is video, but the English teacher that I am favors the written word.

Which brings me to last Saturday. I decided to pick up some bagels for our breakfast. Alice is a big fan of bagels and cream cheese so it is always a winner of a breakfast. When she saw her plain bagel and cream cheese on her plate she shrieked, "Yeah, bagel and butt cheese!" John and I looked at each other with the same question in our eyes, "Butt cheese?" I feverishly started running a list of all the possibilities for this odd phrasing: Something she picked up in school? Is it because we are potty training? Does she just like the word "butt"? Nothing seemed right and then John hit on it- diaper rash ointment. Every night after he gives Alice a bath, she tells her he is going to put on her "butt cream". Both creams are white. In toddler logic, it makes perfect sense. Now I just have to make sure to keep the diaper cream in the kitchen out of her reach or we might have a culinary disaster on our hands.