my girl likes to potty all the time

I know. I know. I've been a little absent lately.
No time for writing blog entries.
No time for reading blog entries.
No time for commenting on my friend's blog entries.

No time for anything but chillin' with a precocious 2.5 year old, a sweet-as-pie baby boy, and this:


this:


these:


these:


and cleaning a lot of this:

Between Potty Training and the ill-fated Dave Ramsey Diapers, my couch will never be the same.

Avery's new-found independence has launched an absolute barage of I Can Do It Myself-isms.

Let me help you put on your shirt: I can do it myself
Let me help you wash your hands: I can do it myself
Let's put on your shoes: I can do it myself.
You want some lotion? I can do it myself.


(It puts the lotion on)

Not only can she potty by herself, wash her hands by herself, put on her shoes by herself, and get gobs and gobs of lotion by herself... but she can also get her own dinner. By herself.

Just in case you were wondering, Avery's idea of dinner is a generous portion of marshmallows followed by a side of fresh... marshmallows.

This potty training thing been all- consuming. Tiring. Exhausting. Frustrating. and more frustrating.

The one beautifully satisfying thing about my potty training experience has been the fact that I've used NO treats, sticker charts, bribery, or begging to achieve Avery's non-diaper status.

Before embarking on our potty training adventure, there were a couple of things that I was totally dreading. One was the whole constantly cleaning up excrement thing, and the other was the sticker chart/rewards thing. That's probably why I whined and whined about it for months before actually gettin' down to business.

I gotta tell you, I just don't get it: Treats for pooping? Seriously?

Listen, I'm not judging...If poop-treats are your thing, that's cool. In fact, I have a ton of intelligent, lovely friends who've gone that route and had success with it. It just isn't for me.

Aside from the fact that I think we live in a world that rewards kids for things for every little thing imaginable, I guess my thinking is: how does one determine the stopping point for poop-treat giving... and how do you explain that you won't be giving continuous treats for pooping? Call me crazy, but I have no intention of giving my 14 year-old a treat because she stayed dry all night.

Thankfully, Potty Training may be the only thing in life that actually works better if you procrastinate.
Turns out the longer you wait to potty train your child, the more likely they are to actually be ready to be potty trained.
No bribing necessary. I love it.

As you can tell from this post, the main reason for my bloggy absence is that all I have to write about is poop. NO one wants to read about the daily musings of a potty training mommy. No one is googling "lady who is stuck at home while potty training her kid". And if they are, I don't want to meet them. Ever.

so...
I'll be back when I have something intelligent to say.
Hopefully it won't be too much longer.

daveisms part deux

Me:
Hey, what time do you think Michael's opens?

David:
Um. I've pretty much structured my entire life to avoid knowing the answer to that question. But if I had to guess, I'd say 10.

pretty little thing

I made this letter for my friend, Kris.

I'm going to go ahead and say that I have a little crush on it. The paper was kind of cute on it's own, but it looks so much cuter on the letter. Funny how that happens.

It may be my favorite yet. I think I'm going to have to make one for myself one of these days.

she said...

"When I get bigger I will get a Hannah Tannah (Hannah Montana) car.
And I will have a lootle (little) baby named Bay Pencer (Baby Spencer).
When I get a lootle bigger.
But not yet.
I'm not ready yet.
When I get my car I be so 'cited.
I will love it.
I will drive ever I want to.
I will go to the left and right.
Like Mommy.
I will drive to the park.
And to Target.
And Hobby Lobby.
Yes. Yes. Mommy.
I'm still not ready.
When I get a lootle bigger.
I will be 6.
I will got to Hobby Lobby and I will go to Target."

All of this was said - I'm not kidding you - in like one breath.
It was so darn cute, I had to grab the first available thing I could find to scribble it down right away.

Those are the moments that I want to hold in my heart forever. Oh...

and the winner is...

Well Hellooooo, Bloggy Readers!

Let me just say how fun it was to read your comments. Nothin' like a little bribery to bring out my shy friends. I LOVE it!

As tempting (and slightly surprising) as the many offers to take first born children were, I have to tell you that I am bribe-proof. Unbribeable.
Completely.

In effort to be fair, balanced, and...fair... I devised a very sophisticated system for acertaining the winner of my little contest.

1. Find a toddler.
2. Make her wear a party hat.
3. Get her to pick a name or two out of a popcorn bowl.

Sophisticated.

And the winner of the Sonic Gift Card is...

Sachiko!

And the winner of the Letter is...


Congratulations, Ladies! I'll be contacting you soon!

I wish, wish, wish, I had a million dollars 'cause I'd send every one of you a little present. Thanks for making this whole blogging thing seriously fun.

Blogoversary Giveaway!

It's my Blogoversary and to celebrate, I'm giving away a couple of my favorite things:

1. a $5 gift card from

2. a letter with your initial kinda like this:



To enter the drawing, shoot me a comment and say hello! You don't have to follow my blog, tell me how fabulous I am, be my new BFF, or give me your first born kid. Just say "Hello" so I can meet 'ya.

If you've never commented before, take the time to do it now and you will be entered TWICE for the drawing!

You've got until Saturday to comment. I'll announce the winners then!

Good Luck!

sleep is for sissies.

At this moment both of my kids are asleep in their own beds.

That's big. Real big.

Lately, we've been forced to do the whole "Family Bed" thing, and I've gotta say, it's getting o.l.d.
I'm not a fan.
I'm not a willing participant.
In fact, I would reaaally like my bed back.

I love my kids. I adore my kids. I want to eat their cute little cheekies for breakfast.
But I want to sleep in my bed alone.
With my husband.
And no one else.

We begin each night as a resolute front. David and I are a team. We're in this together. We're the adults. We're the boss (es). We will keep our pint-sized opponents at bay.

We brace ourselves for the weeping and gnashing of teeth that inevitably follows our declaration of "It's time to go to bed", and stand firm despite urgent pleas of "Just one more minute!".

We will NOT back down. Every child will sleep in his/her own bed ALL night.
Or for at least 6 hours.

David takes the girl.
I take the boy.

Divide and conquer. Victory is within view.

Our regimented routine is laid out perfectly. Deviation will most certainly equal defeat.
PJ's?
check.
Cuddles?
check.
Story?
check.
Good night.

On the Eastern Front:
David faces fierce negotiations. Agreement is made. There will be just one more bed time story.

At the West: I battle whining and lost pacis.

At the Eastern Battle Field:
David struggles to stand strong in the face of fierce opposition.

On the Western Front:
The boy's restlessness finally gives way to fatigue.

At the rendezvous point, I realize that David has not returned from his Battle Station/Thingy/Place/whatever you call it.
Despite the danger of re-entering hostile territory, I must leave no man behind.
I'm going in.

Very carefully, I nudge David.
He awakes looking grateful.
Crisis averted.
We quietly retreat to our quarters feeling quite proud of our hard won victory.

But oh how the prideful fall.

Our opponents are formidable.
And sneaky.
Bery, Bery sneaky.
(I think you underestimate the sneakiness).

Hours later, bleary eyed and un-caffeinated, we hear the enemy's battle cry.
Our defenses are weak.
We have no choice but to surrender.

Another battle lost as we sleep with toddler feet in our face and cricks in our necks.
In a FULL sized bed.

No. That's not an exaggeration. Just a slightly altered version of the truth.
The truth is much more frightening.

that's what little brothers are for.

Me:
Why does Charlie have a wipey on his head?
Avery:
I don't know.
----------------------------------------------------

Me:
(laughing) What is going on here?
Avery:
Bay Chahlie is a Bayayina (Baby Charlie is a ballerina)
Me:
Oh...
-----------------------------------------------------

Me:
Um...
Avery:
Bay Chahlie needs a ticket.
Me:
Of course he does.

---------------------------------------------------

Me:
Avery. Charlie can't have your flip flop.
Avery:
Why?
Me:
'Cause it's gross.
Avery:
Why?
Me:
Because it is.
Avery:
Why?
Me:
Because there are germs on the floor and... Never mind.

everything goes better with

Pock Pock.

Pock Pock is a culinary delight commonly known to the... common... as Ketchup. If you are a little bit fancy, you might call it Catsup, but only the truly refined refer to it as Pock Pock.

According to Wikipedia:
Ketchup is often used with french fries, hamburgers, sandwiches, macaroni and cheese, eggs, and grilled or fried meat.

Poor Wikipedia Writers.
Sad, little Simpletons.

As the world's foremost authority on Pock Pock consumption, Avery contends that Pock Pock is far from a mere condiment.
While meant to be used with any and everything, it can also be a main course in itself.

When used to it's full potential, Pock Pock is nothing short of magical.

With just a little of the red stuff, Toddler-Scorned foods metamorphose into acceptable fare.
"Sfelly" foods take on a delightfully pleasing aroma.
"Gwoss" foods become digestible.
Brown, uninteresting foods transform into bright and alluring cuisine.

Absolutely magical.

Exhibit A
Grey meat?
"Gwross!"


Pock Pock drowned meat?
Oh yeah...

Exhibit B
Corn?
"I don't want it!"


Corn a la Pock Pock?
"Yummy to my tummy!"

Exhibit C
Strawberries?
Wait, I thought you liked strawberries...

One good thing + another good thing = 2 good things.
(How did 'ya like that fancy mathi-ness I threw in there?)


I can't be sure, but this video may have been our earliest documentation of Pock Pock love. Look how leeeetle she was. Oh goodness.

God bless America for creating the greatest condiment of all time.
And Great Brittan.
And the Heinz People.

I owe you BIG time.