(1) When people ask me “How are you doing?” they are not hoping to hear potty training updates.
(2) I’ve become obsessive-compulsive about making sure the sippy cup lid matches the sippy cup.
(3) Cleaning toilets doesn’t bother me much anymore, but I still don’t like scrubbing the shower.
(4) Relief Society, while it is not my beloved primary, isn’t all that bad. In fact, I think I like being there each Sunday!
It’s hard to start something up again after such a long break. I have nine months of family pictures that need to be stored in this online journal. They are just sitting there on my hard drive, waiting to be put in chronological order. Plus, things have been happening! My baby is almost two and a half. He’s talking in complete sentences, most of the time. He says the most adorable things. He looks adorable, and he’s in this perfect in-between stage that makes staying home with him a delight.
True, Paul is a joy. The majority of the time, he is pleasant and laughing. Sometimes, he screams and throws a tantrum (especially on the increasingly frequent no nap days). It doesn’t bother me now, at this stage. I can understand what he says, and I know what he wants: I just can’t always give him what he wants. This is so much better than the 18-month-old stage, when he screamed and I had no idea why.
So, why am I visiting this neglected blog once again tonight? Well, Ryan is stuck in Manhattan for the second unplanned night, thanks to NYC’s huge snow storm (20.9 inches in Central Park in the last two days). Yesterday, his afternoon flight was canceled. He changed his flight to this afternoon. This morning, that was canceled. He changed his flight to tomorrow morning. Do you see a pattern here?
(To keep things in perspective, this is only the second time in his nine and a half years of 85% traveling that he has been literally unable to get a flight home from where he is. The other time was 9/11. He was in the air and the plane was landed in Ohio. He rented a car and drove back to Chicago.)
But this weekend’s snowstorm is only the icing on the “we’re sick of this” cake. Ryan had told his boss earlier in the week that he is actively looking for a job. No, he didn’t quit, but he was explaining that there was a reason he did not want to stay in NYC on Friday, as they wanted him to. At any rate, the fact that he’s stuck there, and has to return again on Monday, really and truly sucks. Sorry for the strong language. It does.
We’ve been pondering and searching for another job since we returned to the USA in August 2008. Ryan had some promising interviews that fall, but nothing panned out. (Maybe you recall, but that was the fall that the economy suddenly tanked.) In 2009, Ryan kept looking. Then, this month and last, he’s been working on it in all his free time. It definitely time. For example, Saturday, he was up before dawn, searching and applying for jobs until after 8 p.m. I only wish there was something I could do to help. There have been some leads, so we’re hopeful something will pan out soon. But we’d appreciate any extra prayers that you can send our way.
I have cleaned the bathrooms. I’ve vacuumed and swept the floors. Maybe getting the house ready will speed my husband home!
I called this post “silence” because that is how I feel about my daily life sometimes, and that is why this blog has been silent for so many months. Most days, I go see my friends or they come here for play dates. And this morning my friend was kind enough to step up as a last minute babysitter so I could still go spend my two hours volunteering at the library. How I love that time of talking to adults! Every morning and every evening, I also talk to Ryan. I do get much-needed socialization in person. In fact, it’s just the right amount of out of the house time: I’m naturally an introvert so it becomes exhausting to me. I think two book clubs and a few plays dates a week is enough for me.
But I also spend some time most days responding and discussing books with other readers online via my book blog. That life is a complete non-baby life, and it really helps save my sanity: I know I can finish the day with some thought that doesn’t revolve around best potty training methods. (I guess that’s why I haven’t been blogging on this site: blogging four or five times a week at my books site is time-consuming enough, and this site would only be about more potty training pleas for help).
But the bottom line is, at the end of the day, our home is silent. The floorboards creak, the furnace turns on, my son mumbles in his sleep. But the main sound is silence.
This is why I’m praying that my husband can come home, and stay home. I long for his snores once the silence of night sets in. The silence is getting a bit loud.
(1)
The other day, as I drove to deliver cookies to my friend for her birthday, I saw my reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Oh,” I said aloud. “I forgot to put on makeup this morning.”
Paul’s response: “Uh oh, Mommy! Go home and get makeup! Uh oh!”
(2)
As I lead Paul upstairs for bed, Paul likes to bid farewell to everything he says.
Paul: “Bye bye cars! Bye bye books! Bye bye fridge! Bye bye flowers! Bye bye stairs! Bye bye Jesus [in a picture]! “
(3)
If my prayer gets too long, Paul helps me out.
Paul: “In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen. AMEN! AMEN!”
(4)
Paul has a new favorite word. From the sample conversations below, see me if you can figure out what it is.
Mommy: “Do you want to sit on the toilet?”
Paul: “Icky toilet!”
Later: “Let’s change your diaper!”
Paul: “Icky poop!”
Later: “Daddy might come home tomorrow!”
Paul: “Icky Daddy!”
Later: “Do you want some goldfish for your snack?”
Paul: “Icky Goldfish!”
(5)
Paul is a very compassionate two-year-old. If I bump my arm against something (for example) and exclaim “ouch,” he runs to me and kisses it better. When he sees the picture in his book of Cookie Monster crying (because the onions made his eyes water), he gives him a hug and a kiss. Paul has compassion on everyone and everything. When his cars crash against each other, he kisses them better.
Given Paul’s interest in Baby Doll’s toilet training, I’m considering beginning his own toilet training come the first of February. But I’d love to know your ideas for helping it go well. No promises I’ll try your method, but please share away!
Of course, that would assume there are people still reading my bog after months of silence. If not, I understand. My life is only so interesting, as this post demonstrates.
My son has a doll. You met him in December in an adorable picture last month. I think it’s about time I share his story.
Baby Doll joined our family back in May. I attended a local garage sale with Paul in tow, and when Paul saw the doll on the edge of a display blanket, he immediately was taken in: “Baby! Baby!” One dollar later, and Baby Doll had joined our family. We took him home, changed his clothes (because the pink was a bit too girly for Baby Doll’s preferences), and Paul promptly forgot about him.
Throughout the summer, Baby Doll occasionally appeared. “Baby!” Paul would say, rocking the doll for a few minutes before dropping him on the floor.
In early November, something changed. Paul started walking around with Baby Doll. We had not at that point given the doll a name (after all, Paul mostly ignored it) but Paul had no problems calling it Baby Doll or Doll. “Doll” does rhyme with “Paul” so it probably seemed natural for Paul to have a little friend with a name almost like his own.
Around Thanksgiving, Paul made a new discovery: if he pulled off the clothes, Baby Doll did not have a diaper on! Oh no! He was very upset, and we had to add a diaper so he wouldn’t be so upset. I think Paul had entered a new stage of his own awareness at that point, so it seemed appropriate.
But a few weeks after that, Baby Doll entered yet another stage of life: toilet training. Paul occassionally sits on the toilet. Sometimes he’s excited to do so. Sometimes he is successful. Sometimes immediately after wetting his diaper he runs up to me saying “Toilet! Toilet!” But he has not been interested in being “toilet trained.”
Baby Doll, however, has been toilet training since December. Some days Doll forgets completely and stays in the toy chest. Other days, Baby Doll must sit on the toilet every five minutes all day long. Paul is the spearhead of this endeavor. Baby Doll is always successful, even sitting on every toilet in the house every five minutes for four hours at a time.
It’s a very rewarding thing to help Baby Doll. Paul loves to cheer “yeay!” when Baby Doll let the pee into the toilet. I always ask “do you want to sit on the toilet too, Paul?” The answer is normally “No.” But I’m feeling hopeful.
Paul likes to change Baby Doll’s clothes. This began when Baby Doll’s other clothes fell in the toilet and I had to go find the box of baby clothes to change him (because, of course, Paul was upset that baby doll had no clothes on). Paul gets upset when his little 3-year-old nursery friend comes to visit and takes off all of Baby Doll’s clothes (and diaper!!). He cries and wants Baby Doll back. Then, of course, he forgets about Baby Doll for days.
Paul realized a few weeks ago that Baby Doll has marker on his head. He doesn’t understand why we can’t wash it off, since all of our markers are washable.
Baby Doll doesn’t have a different name. As I said, “Doll” rhymes with “Paul.” Any name at this point would be bit affected, I think.
So, how do I take Baby Doll’s toilet training and make it Paul’s toilet training? I’m calling for success stories at my website. I’d love to hear your ideas!
Day one in the snow: 30 degrees, 1/4 inch. Running, playing, delighted. Inside after 30 minutes (and kicking and screaming) for a cup of cocoa. Out again in the afternoon for more.
Day two in the snow: Awoke saying “Play! Snow!” 10 degrees, 4 inches. Overwhelmed, cold, wet, unsure what to do, even on the top of his play area. Asked to go inside with a whine.
Whew. I was afraid we’d be outside twice a day. Mommy was cold on day one!
![100_4231-1[1]](http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7008/6577077263_2182a7fb1f.jpg)
photo taken December 9, 2009
(P.S. fun snow day = sinus headache, cough, and cold this week. Poor boy!)
![CRW_8833-1[1]](http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7152/6577077295_d456c187be.jpg)
photo taken December 8, 2009
“I want toast for breakfast,” says Mommy.
“By the way, there’s no more peanut butter,” says Daddy.
“There is peanut butter in food storage in the basement,” says Mommy.
“Well, I didn’t want to go down there,” says Daddy.
I am wearing my FIRE CHIEF hat. I can save the day!
I go to the basement. Mommy turns on the light for me. She thinks I’m going to go play! She does not know I will save the day.
I walk downstairs like a real fire chief. I am getting really good. Mommy says she can’t watch me because she thinks I’ll fall. I haven’t fallen down the stairs for a few days now!
I open the door to the Dark part of the basement. I see the peanut butter on the second shelf, and I have to reach for it. Then I crawl back upstairs with it. It is hard. The peanut butter jar is big and awkward!
Mommy sees me and is very surprised. She didn’t know I could save the day!
Daddy says, “Thank you, Paul! Good job!”
“Oh dear,” says Mommy. “We need a child safety lock on that door!”
“Yes,” says Daddy.
A friend in my ward had her baby last week, so I offered to take them dinner last night. She lives on the other side of the ward, so she’s 15-20 minutes away, but I figured I’d get there before 5 and be home long before 5:30 so we could eat our own dinner.
Paul is a great sport in the car — he loves looking for buses and trucks and cars in general. But I hadn’t remembered that we’d be driving through down town Algonquin at rush hour. We ended up not leaving until about 4:40, and so by the time we were driving through down town again, dinner delivered, it was long after 5:30. I was tired of sitting in traffic, and I was starting to get hungry. I kept thinking of the two-year-old still strapped in the back seat. (He often says, “Stuck! Stuck!” as we drive and he tries to squirm, so I know he doesn’t like the car seat part of driving.)
I clutched the wheel tighter and stared at tail lights. I’m sure my frustration was in my voice.
“A few more minutes, Paul! Everyone’s going home right now, so there are lots of cars. We’ll be home soon.”
As I simmered in frustration, staring at tail lights in yet another backed-up stop light, I heard a little sing-song voice from the back seat. I turned to see Paul looking out the window, rocking his head back and forth. He was singing with unintelligible words, but the up and down sounds were familiar and his hands were signing “waiting.” Paul was singing the waiting song!
When his food isn’t ready and he’s hungry, when Mommy’s trying to get the laundry moved before we go to the store and he’s impatient to go now, and any other time that I need him to wait, I sing the waiting song in a little sing-song voice:
“Waiting! Waiting! Little Paul is waiting! Waiting! Waiting! Paul knows how to wait! Paul knows how to wait!”
Now, here he was, sitting in (what I’m sure is a very uncomfortable) car seat for an hour, waiting for his dinner, and he initiated the Waiting Song.
Sure enough, he has the words. He has a song. Little Paul can wait!
Can Mommy?
I really consider this blog and Paul’s blog very low priority. They are our scrapbooks, and you know how scrapbooks get pushed down to last place.
Paul hasn’t been napping as regularly lately, and when I put him in bed at night, I seriously don’t feel like sorting through two months of old pictures, trying to find something that I can reformat for the web. I find my daily life rather boring, so I’d rather not write up how boring it is for the web.
Once night is here, I’d rather read a book or blog about the books I’ve read.
The more I think about how many pictures I “need” to post on here, the less likely I’m going to do it. So I’m just stepping back, and when I feel like it, I’ll get to it. I do want the pictures up here for future reference!
Today I was standing in line at the supermarket when a magazine cover caught me eye. The main headline said
Underneath that was a picture of a large cake covered with M&Ms with the sub-headline that said
Now, I’ve never been on a diet and I’m also not much of a fan of candy anyway so maybe it’s just easy for me to say, but seriously: you have to agree there is something wrong with our priorities, when those are the two headlines on a woman’s family magazine. I suspect not eating an M&M pumpkin cake is probably the best thing you can do for your health this month, no matter how much you go walking!
Just a thought.