I'm Doing It...I'm Doing It...Day 2 of Potty Training

Rewards in life come in all different forms; your first job, your first raise, first promotion, the honeymoon after your wedding, your body after a successful diet, and watching your child start using the potty.

I did this. I'm doing this. Though the morning started off rocky, I wasn't sure I wanted to do it again, afraid of having to bad days in a row, and I procrastinated another hour by creating a potty chart that needed to be hung before I could get started, I ended up pulling it together and having, what I would call, a successful day 2 on the potty.

I set my timer for every 20 minutes, trekked them back to the potty (remember I'm training my son and the 3 year old I do daycare for) and set another timer for 5 minutes, the length of which they had to sit and try.

All in all, I put on my best face, screamed like a lunatic when they went, danced my way to the potty every time, and best of all, I didn't have to fake any of it. Once I saw that what I was doing was working the energy became contagious and I became the kids and my own cheerleader. Yes they were going to the potty, but I was teaching them. I was teaching them. Seems like such a small thing to get excited about, or to say what I'm about to say, but this has honestly been one of the most rewarding things in my life. Trumping my article assignments, career as a writer, being a mother, etc., teaching my son to go on the potty has almost become a liberating experience that has me wanted to jump from the rafters and call my mom.

'Mom, can you believe I did this?' I want to say. "I taught my son how to use the potty." In my mind she'll be so proud.

"Good for you," she'll say when I call her tomorrow morning. "It's not easy honey, but you're doing it."

And she's right. I am doing it. And, frankly, I'm damn good at it. At least I was today.

I Don't Want To Potty Train....I Don't Want To Potty Train

"This is it. This is the last pack of diapers."

At least that's what I told myself when I made a quick trip to Waldbaum's last week for an extra box of diapers.

"Nugget eats fruit faster than it can grow on trees, Meatball's formula hasn't been on sale since before he was born, and I can't seem to get my grocery bill under $250.00"

So if X equals Y and Y says Nugget loves to sit on the potty and could probably be potty trained if I took the time, than Z means....it's time to potty train.

"Monday," I told myself. "I'll conquer Nugget and the little boy I watch together. It will be a Valentine's present for my little boys mom and me."

So there it was, laid out all nice and neat, and then yesterday, Monday, came. I was toast. I may have written two articles on potty training for magazines, but actually DOING the job was a lot different than writing about it. And when I say different I mean....motivating.

The first morning pee in the potty was a success. An M&M was given as a reward. I talked about putting up a chart in the bathroom, stickers, treats, and all the fun things that would motivate them, but slowly, as I struggled with a crying baby on my hip and two boys who would rather run around and bounce off each other than sit down for two minutes, I realized it wasn't the boys who required so much motivation or enthusiasm, it was me. Without my energy, to which I had none since I the day before was the Superbowl and we hosted a Polar Bear/Superbowl party that began at 9 am and ended at 11:30, potty training wasn't going to be much of a success. It wasn't the boys who needed a cheerleader, it was me.

Before lunch I had three successful potties, five attempts and two accidents. By the time they went down for their nap I was spent.

"Alright boys, after your snack We're going to sit on the potty again," I said after their nap.

But that plan was disrupted by an unexpected play date visitor for the kids, and for mommy of course, to which I spent inhaling coffee and complaining about how tired I was from potty training.

Maybe today I'll have more luck. Maybe I should start by making them a chart. Or is this just another excuse to delay my potty training process?

The Superbowl with Julie & Julia

Some of you might enjoy the Superbowl. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the company, food, commercials, and maybe I do get into the game a little bit, but this year was different. This year no wives were invited. No wives other than me, that is.

As a Long Beach tradition started several years ago, hundreds, and what has now become over eight thousand (we even made the Guinness Book of World Records last year), people tromp down to the ocean, strip down to their bathing suits, and run straight into the ocean. The purpose of the Long Beach Polar Bears is to raise money for the Make A Wish foundation, through sign ups and t-shirt/sweatshirt sales, yet more people show up not knowing what the plunge actually means and do it for guts, glamour and glory. And for all, I'm there, standing in the sand, my two children on each hip, cheering them on, wearing gloves, a hat, a scarf and my boots. I might be nuts enough to push a triple stroller to the library and back, but I have enough mental stability to know how bad that cold air will whip against my body the second I emerge out of the ocean..no thank you. But congratulations to those who did.

Regardless of my opinions of jumping in the ocean, I still love the scene and look forward to walking down with the chanting crowd and watching everyone else take the plunge. And being a Long Beach resident means one thing, we're the host of the Polar Bear/Superbowl party. Though this year there were no women. I was 'cool' enough to be allowed to stay, aka I cooked, cleaned and carried towels down to the beach for everyone. So by 7 o'clock, when the kids were finally tucked in bed, I grabbed my keys and coat and ran out the front door, thrilled that my girl party was there to save me from this house of men, who were now outside grilling in the freezing cold.

Feeling privileged as I drove down west and stopped traffic as my friend pulled her car up for that special spot she saved me, the guy behind us swore and sped his tires as he spent another hour or so still searching the area for his spot, I walked into girl wonder. Girl wonder is something that I like to refer to when a girl has a pretty house, no children's toys or crushed raisins embedded in the carpet, no one screaming and the ultimate freedom to decorate or dress like you would if someone was going to climb all over and destroy it.

Choosing a cozy chair and a fuzzy blanket, I curled up with a glass of milk and two homemade Tate's cookies, thanks to my ever loving Girl Wonder, and watched Julie & Julia, a movie that's been on my list since everyone and their mother told me I HAD to see it (aka if a movie has to do with writing or a struggling writer I'm associated in their mind and I HAVE to see it).

Long story short, I liked it. I thought the premise was cute. I loved Meryl Strep as Julia Child. And most important, Girl Wonder and I loved Julia Child's attitude.

"I should start being like Julia," Girl Wonder said through her cocooned blanket wrap.

It was funny. I was thinking the exact same thing. To be that care free, loving, and unaware or uncaring of what people think....how great that must be!

As for Julie, I liked her story. I can say I did relate to one point, I've never finished anything I've started either. And that got me thinking. If writing during the kids nap time never happens because I'm so tired, get engrossed in adult tv, and end up answering everyones phone calls (they know it's the only time they can get me without three screaming children in the back) and writing when the kids go to bed doesn't happen because I'm so tired, I get engrossed in adult tv and my reading, and my husband wants to talk to me without three screaming children in the background, maybe I need to find something else..like writing at 6:30.

Sounds crazy, but if you really want something, and you know you can do it, why not make accommodations and do it? Right?

A is for Acts Of Worship

Continuing on into the A movies of my New Years Resolution, though the first 3 have thus far been a disappointment, I rented Acts of Worship. The subtitle of the movie read, "You never know what someones been through." Sounds interesting, and I do believe everyone has a story to tell, so maybe this one will be good, I thought as the librarian searched her cabinets for the DVD.
The case classified it as a winner of the Santa Barbara film festival. "..a mercilessly gritty portrait...scenes that are so real they hurt," read Stephen Holden, The New York Times.
Every once in a while you stumble upon something that is great, and opens your eyes to a new world. For me that moment was when I walked into Barnes and Noble one cold NYC evening in 1998 and bumped into The Alchemist. It was a book I never forgot. To this day it sits on my shelf, and is the top book I recommend when someone peers upon my bookshelf and asks me what I recommend.
Sadly, Acts of Worship is not one of those. It will never sit on my shelf or be a point of reference when someone talks to me about addiction.
But, Acts of Worship did teach me one thing, I like things to get to the point. I like a little bit of mystery, but only enough to draw me in. Once I'm drawn in I want the meat, with the juice on top of it. And I think most people do to. So, note to self, when writing my next great thing-keep it short, brief and get to the meat. Who cares about the details between, they can be your pepper at the end.

Give it Up

He bought a motorcycle....
She's learning Spanish....
The gig is up....
Give it up already.

More Than A Valentine's Day Calendar

Today Kelly gave Manny a Valentine's Day present...a calendar. But it wasn't just any calendar it was a 'tool' calendar.
If Manny was smart, which he clearly isn't, he might see the hidden meaning behind this calendar. First, it's a Valentine's Day gift..does she have to spell it out. Second, the gift is a 'tool' calendar, as in 'you're a tool for not asking me out yet.'
Do you think production will ever let Kelly and Manny reveal their behind-the-scenes romance? Or will Kelly have to go on annoyed and making underlining cracks, such as, "Oh the Hamline's are having a baby, good for them." If Manny can't sense the tension behind these words then a tool calendar is obviously what he deserves. I just hope the reality show displaying the on again/off again bedroom romps comes out soon. Now that Jersey Shore is over I'm once again, out of a good show.

Last Night In The Tub

"Face, Hands and Feet. All clean," I say, hanging the washcloth over the tray we once used, pre-children, to hold our soap.
"NO! My balls mommy."
"What," I say, my face frowning.
"Wash balls."
"Oh," I say, confused. "Okay."
I hand Nugget over the washcloth, his hand has been outstretched waiting patiently.
"My balls mommy, my balls."
Who taught him balls? My husband? Would he tell him he had balls?
"My balls, mommy!"
"Go ahead honey," I say, sitting on the side if the tub with Meatball wrapped in his towel, watching in horror as my son is about to 'wash his balls.'
"Mommy! My balls!"
"Go ahead honey, wash your balls."
Then I see it. The balls that he brought into the tub, that I placed in the sink so that Meatball wouldn't get plummeted while bathing.
"Oh," I smile. "You want to wash your balls."
"Yeah," he exclaims, bouncing in excitement as I ironically hand him his two balls.