Parenting FAIL

This post right here? This is where I admit a serious parenting FAIL. Me? I'm holding the TV hostage...in exchange for successes on the potty. One successful potty trip=One Mickey Mouse Club House show (plus candy, sticker on potty chart, and more).

Why the cruel tactics? The kiddo is 2-and-a-half and the last girl in her Mother's Day Out class in diapers. Next year she'll have to be potty trained to attend preschool as well as her spanish class. Maybe she's not ready, some would argue. What they don't understand is that she TOTALLY GETS IT. I caught her peeing in her diaper the other day and asked if she wanted me to change her. She put out her palm and informed me, "The feeling will go away soon." Yea. That's called an absorbent diaper, which DOES make the wet feeling go away "soon." BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

It's not like we haven't tried previously. A lot. A sticker chart, M&Ms, and a cool ride-on toy were not motivation enough. (I even succumbed to watching an episode of Dr. Phil in which he guaranteed potty training in one weekend. I bought the peeing doll, the party horn blowers, the whole nine yards. Dr. Phil is full of crap, and my hardwood floors were immersed in pee.)

So we're trying again, with varied success over the last three days. And oh, is this child stubborn. And oh, do I really, really, really hate this process. Because denying the girl TV is punishing me as much as it's motivating her.

The Little Things

I've been taking the easy way out when it comes to this blog as of late. I post rarely and only to write a funny quirk about the kiddo, to share a photo or two. I lamely assert that there's nothing going on worth writing about. But the truth is that there's plenty to write about, and for whatever reason, I'm reluctant to put it down. As if by not writing about it, it will somehow go away. Because there's quite a bit of sadness going on. Maybe because I'm the oldest, maybe because I'm accustomed to putting on a brave face, a forced smile, I don't share the sad news. But so it remains. And I'm not doing myself any favors by keeping it bottled up inside, an ache in my belly, a lump in my throat.

Yes, a lot has happened. We were forced to find a home for one of our dogs because after 5 years the two female pugs had evidently had enough and resorted to mauling one another. I patched and bandaged. The vets stitched and medicated. We sought the help of an animal behavioralist. We set up strict routines. But when it came down to it, our original pug had settled into bitchy old ladydom and had had enough with the rescue pug. The rescue pug, an acute fighter, wasn't about to give up her alpha role, however. Thank God Boo never got between the two during a tussle. But I most assuredly did. Still have the scars to prove it, too.

Thankfully, we were blessed with a wonderful retired couple who took in Ginger to keep their elderly, blind male pug company. The two are fast friends, sleeping in the same bed. The situation couldn't have ended more happily. Yet Boo still asks about Ginger, and I am left with the guilt that accompanies crappy pet owners. I did what I never thought I'd ever do: I gave away a family member.

In the same vein, more disappointment reigns in our ongoing failed attempts to give Boo a sibling. We're currently seeing a specialist who has prescribed medication to force my body to regulate itself, which it apparently never did naturally after Boo's birth so many years ago. The treatment is expensive, not covered by insurance, and at the moment leaving me sick. Tomorrow we will revisit this doctor and see what the next plan of action entails. I'm feeling very much at the end of my rope.

BUT there's no time for pouting (this post aside, really). I'm drowning in freelance. While my friends lose their jobs at my respective former employers, I'm awash in work. There are TWO family weddings this upcoming year, God help me. And at the moment, I'm awaiting the arrival of some Chicago friends. So I'm plastering on that smile, pushing aside the disappointments, and making it look like that things here? Well, they're just hunky dory!

Blogiversery

Yesterday marked my fourth blogiversary. But I can't even bring myself to read the old entries just yet. Too cringe-worthy, I think. Still I must admit, I've had more success keeping this blog than any diary I've ever started. So that's something. And I'm sincerely hoping that this coming year--my 31st as of the 3rd of October--will hold more than this past year has. Less spinning of the wheels, more forward movement and accomplishment. Here's to hope!

Whirlwind

Last week we returned from our family vacation to the Smoky Mountains, but before I could post anything about that particular adventure, I flew down to Santa Fe to celebrate my mom's 60th birthday (sans Boo and The Banker). I returned home today to a child with a 100 degree fever, a husband who's D.O.N.E. being Mister Mom, and a staggering load of freelance. But first this:


A trip to the aquarium, which was a BIG hit.


And a trip to a questionable petting zoo.


See just how questionable? Check out this stellar sign. And don't even get me started on the Zonkey.

It was an exhausting trip, though I think Boo had a good time. We stayed in a log cabin, searched unsuccessfully for black bears, hiked to a waterfall, had M&M pancakes, and of course the aforementioned aquarium and petting zoo. But four days was clearly the kiddo's limit, and she was a pill on the return flights. As in running madly about the airport until we forced her into her stroller, where she arched her back and planted her feet on the ground, effectively putting the brakes on. If you saw an exhausted mom putting her kid in "time out" in the middle of the Cincinnati airport last week, it was probably me.

It was with great relief that we returned to our hometown airport. As I was getting the bags, I called my mom to let her know of our safe return. I handed the phone to Boo so she could talk to her grandma as I struggled with a bag, and this is the conversation I overheard:

"BaBa? We've got a problem. I got in a fight with Mom and Dad."

This child never ceases to amaze, frustrate, and amuse me. And if she sounds like this at 2, what in the world will 16 hold?!

The Lecture-Stopper

Becca is whining that her diaper hurts her, so I walk her up the stairs to change her, along the way lecturing.

"You wouldn't hurt if you went potty on the big girl potty. Then you could wear pretty big girl panties just like your friend Holly does."

The lecture continues as I lay her down to change the diaper. She's squirming, playing with her hair, rolling her eyes.

"You know, Big Boy and Big Girl School is only for those who learn to use the potty. This is the last year you can go to school in diapers. After that, they won't let you go unless you use the potty..."

And then Becca cuts me off, saying, "I understand. Just change my diaper."

At that point, I'm slack jawed. I've been summarily dismissed by my 2-year-old, who somehow has channelled the attitude of a 16-year-old. God help me.

The Flower Girl

She seems to be cheering that her "job" had been successfully completed. Let me tell you, I was cheering with her. It was dang stressful trying to ensure that all would go according to plan. You want a 2-year-old to walk down the world's longest aisle in a huge tulle dress with a wreath of flowers pinned tightly to her head, remain quiet through a Catholic wedding mass (never the shortest in the world), and then walk up the aisle once more? While we're at it, let me train my cat to do your taxes...

Still, we succeeded. More or less. And I'm so thankful that's behind us. A big WHEEEEW. Now a few more days until we escape to the mountains with some dear friends. This vacation has been so earned, and so desperately needed, in so many ways. Yippee!!

First Pony Ride

So Mom had to fib and say that Becca was 3 (though she's big for her age, I think), but it was totally worth it. She'd only been begging for this for 4 months: