Dear Potty Wizards

Dear Authors of Books that Assure You Your Child Can Be Completely Potty Trained in Three Days or Some Even More Ridiculous Time Frame,

You lie.

Listen.  We did the whole deal.  I let AG go cold turkey wearing underwear (which, incidentally, she enjoyed showing off to everyone from our builder, to the painters, to the mailman. Nice. Now we need to find some books on modesty.)  Every time she started to have an accident, I grabbed her and ran screaming down the hall to the potty, ALL WHILE BEING PEED ON.  Repeatedly.

I reminded her every five minutes, "Make sure you tell Mommy if you need to go potty."

And, "Remember to keep your underwear dry."

(I may or may not have reminded John to keep his underwear dry a time or two last week, just out of habit.)

(Ally Grace may or may not have started shooting me exasperated, "I WILL's" while rolling her eyes at me. #teenageyearsshouldbefun)


So, dear potty-training wizards, there is obviously some secret you're not telling me.  Did you promise your child a pony if they stopped peeing in their diaper?

(I mean, no judgement if you did, I personally think a pony would be pretty motivating.  And certainly better than the M&M's that we've been offering.)

Fill me in on your magic.  And side note to the husband, I deserve a medal.  Filled with chocolate, preferably.  Or a spa day.

Sincerely,

The tired mama who feels like she has lived on the bathroom floor for the last week, where she has been reading "Five Little Monkeys" NO LESS THAN 100 times a day, all while trying to convince a certain someone that it's WAY COOLER to poop in the potty than in your pants.  

And no, that certain someone wasn't John.

Make sure you tell mommy if you need to go potty.

Potty Time

First of all, yes.  I'm still here.  It's been a crazy month of traveling, wrapping up the HGTV project, and now our latest adventure:  potty training.

I know I asked for potty tips forever ago, but I tend to employ a little technique called procrastination.  As in, Hmmmm.  Maybe if I wait long enough, AG will just potty train herself!

(Because THAT method has worked for thousands of years.  Or not.)

Anyway, I found my motivation to move forward with the process last week, when I picked her up from preschool.  Here's what went down:

AG's Teacher:  Sherri, as you know Ally Grace is moving up next week to the Trailblazers class!

Me: Oh great! Well I know she'll miss this class and her wonderful teachers!
(Yep. Totally sucking up.  Couldn't help myself.)

AG's Teacher:  In that class, all of the kids are potty trained, so AG will need to be trained by next Tuesday.

Me:  Say what now?

So.  In order to move up, she has to wear underwear.  ALL DAY.  Yikes.  Today, we have literally been inside, near the toilet all day.  I've actually rushed her to the potty while she was literally peeing on. my. arm.

Not my best day, people.

PLEASE tell me this is worth it.  Because right now, I am feeling that I would be totally happy changing her diapers until she's in middle school.

I promise to have a more fun blog up soon, involving something interesting.

Well, let's be honest.  It may not be interesting, but at least it'll be new.  And we'll call that a win.

Hi

Oh, do I have stories for you.  But sadly, no time at the moment to do anything other than pop in and say hi.

So, hi.

But, when I come back, I'll be telling you a few things--

1.  About Easter.  (Oh wait.  I probably need to wait my standard two month lag-time to blog about events in our lives, don't I?)

2.  About our recent trip to Puerto Rico.  Where a man informed me that I have, and I quote, "heavy legs."

Thank you sir, for that lovely self-esteem booster. And allow me to suggest that you take a course in What Not To Say To Women.  Here's a spoiler: It will definitely include the word "heavy."

3.  About how HGTV is still here working on our house.  Which is difficult when you enjoy constantly wearing yoga pants and no makeup. And when they enjoy popping out with cameras.

4.  And finally, about how I had part 2 of my root canal surgery the other day. (Did you know there are multiple steps in a root canal.  Neither did I.)  During the procedure, my anesthesia wore off, and I could FEEL EVERY DARN BIT OF IT.

Do you want to guess what the Dr. said to me?

Calm down, hon.


It hurt so much, I actually kicked the seat.  Mainly because I couldn't reach the doctor.

Happy Thursday!

Naptime and Lions

Yesterday morning, AG woke up with a little fever.  Being the completely rational mama that I am, I promptly hyperventilated, diagnosed her with about six different viruses, all while shoving Advil in her mouth wisely determined that it must be teething.

What are the signs of teething, you ask?  Well, in my (very limited and not at all scientific) experience, they include a low-grade fever, combined with a propensity for the word NO, constant whining, and the desire to sit on the couch and watch Toy Story 3 over and over again.

Clearly, I learned these symptoms when I obtained my medical degree at the University of NO.

Anyway, to help her sleep a little better, I put some fresh sheets on her bed, along with a new pillowcase.

Never too early to start rush, am I right?

I knew the lions on the pillow would either A) make her happy or B) freak her out (as they are clearly so menacing).  With the scary unpredictable moods of toddlerhood, it was a toss-up as to which one it would be.

Let's take a little peek at how nap time went down, shall we?

Me:  AG!  Mommy put a FUN, EXCITING surprise in your crib!  And by the way, how do you feel about the bonds of sisterhood?

AG:  No, No, NO LIONS IN MY CRIB!  I want a white pillow!  WHIIIIIIITTTEEEE PILLLOOOOOWWWW!

Me:  (Thinking fast) Um, okaaaay.  Let me take this out into the hallway and get you a completely different, brand-new pillow!

Being the genius that I am, I decide to take the pillow into the hallway, flip it over onto the white backside, and bring the same pillow back in to her.  Too save time.

Because changing a pillowcase is SO tedious.

I go back into the room, and say:
Me:  Here you go, presh.  A brand-new white pillow for you.  Happy napping!

Being the genius that SHE is, she immediately grabs the pillow and FLIPS IT BACK OVER.  To see the lions.  And then gives me a look that says: Really, mommy?  I mean, REALLY?! Did you honestly expect me to fall for that?

Me:  (While nervously laughing and looking away) What are THOSE doing there?  How did THAT happen? So weird. Sneaky lions.

Or, sneaky mommy.  Ahem.

I told John this story later, and he died laughing.  And then said: "You know this needs to go on the blog, right?"

Right.  Because who wouldn't want to admit to trying to trick her two-year old as a result of being too lazy to change a pillowcase.

I'm all about keeping it real over here.

Spring Break

So, my girl is on a little spring break trip this week.  Yes.  Apparently toddlers get a spring break.  And NO.  It's not so she can go visit Club La Vela or anything like that.

I hope.

John and I have had the unusual experience of being kid-free for the last few days, and we've had a great time. Although it's clear that we've forgotten what it's like to be without her.  Here's a conversation we had the other day:

Me:  Hey babe, let's go on a run together!

John:  Okay, great.

Me:  (while huffing and puffing, and trying to keep the 3 Peeps I ate before leaving the house down.  Peeps.  Always a good idea, am I right?)  Babe!  When I said "run together" I meant at my pace.  NOT your freakish 6 minute mile pace. 

John:  (annoyingly barely out of breath) Sorry!  So what do you want to do tonight?

Me:  Hmmmm.....maybe grab dinner and then watch some tv. (See how exciting we are?)  I wonder what Ally Grace is doing right now?  

John:  I know!  Remember that funny thing she said last week?  

Me:  She's just the best.

John:  Really the best.

Me:  Can we go get her yet? 


(Possibly followed by a small crying fit and some highly dramatic statements about never being away from her again.)


(John really needs to learn how to hold it together.)


Our kid-free time should involve things like movies, dinners out AFTER 6pm, and just generally doing whatever we want, but totally ends up involving conversations about AG and how much we miss her.

(Although I have enjoyed sleeping in til 8:30 every morning (woo! watch out!).  And we did manage to go out for some fun dinners.  WITHOUT a diaper bag and a sippy cup in tow.)

We also saw 21 Jump Street last night.  WHY do movie people take movies that have the potential to be awesomely funny, and then trash them with vulgar gross-ness that ultimately makes me want to throw up in my mouth?

(Not a fun experience when eating Junior Mints. Just sayin.)

On a different note, HGTV came to our house last week for our first day of filming!  I wish someone had reminded me about my tendency to sweat when I get nervous, because that certainly would've affected my shirt choice.  Ahem.

Hi America.  Enjoy my armpit rings, will you?  
You're welcome.

Also, I really think the producers and film crew appreciated my obsession with their "clacker-thingy."

For the record, they don't call it "clicking the clacker-thingy."  Just in case you were wondering.  Although they will, very graciously, allow you to play with it off and on all day.  Clearly not annoying at ALL, I'm sure.

Right.


It was a fun day, followed by a crazy weekend of completely clearing out our basement for the show.  Also known as the Weekend that Sherri Spent Making Her Back Problems Worse.  Alternately titled, Hi Goodwill, Here Are Two Trailer Loads of Fun For You.


At least we know we are loved by our wonderful families, who helped us without complaining, and only required an ample supply of sausage and egg breakfast sandwiches.   Y'all are the best!

I'm thinking that's enough rambling for one day. You're welcome. And Happy Easter everyone!  I'd highly recommend enjoying some Peeps this weekend.

Just not before running.

Teeth and Ally Grace

So, I know I haven't posted recently.  But unfortunately that's what happens when your Internet stops working and you, hypothetically, OF COURSE, decide to just press all the buttons on that router thing-y until you ultimately kill it can get it to start working again.

(Including, just POSSIBLY the button that reverts it back to factory settings, although I'm so not admitting that I did that.)

(Although it is rather telling that John's first question to me was "How many times did you bang on it?")

(In my defense, it works for the printer.)

Anyway, last week was kind of crazy.  I can't remember too much about it, mainly because I was doped up on painkillers, pre-root canals.

Oh, what's that?  Yes.  I did just say root CANALS.  As in, plural.  As in TWO.  At the same time.

Feel free to bless my heart right about now.

When I got to the specialist's office, he began testing to see which tooth was the problem.  And let me just say, when you've been teetering on the edge of wall-punching pain, the last thing you want is to have someone put a q-tip of liquid nitrogen on the teeth that are causing said pain.

And then the last thing you want to HEAR is the dentist telling you, "now, don't get emotional, hon," because you may have started bawling like a 2-year old right there in the dental chair.

Dear Root Canal Doctor,


When you and your liquid nitrogen have just sent someone over the edge of the pain scale, I would seriously re-think telling them to calm down.  And if you call me "hon" one more time, let's just say, I won't be using a wall for any pain-related punching episodes.  


Although I do appreciate the laughing gas, the numbing stuff, and the fact that I'm now out of pain.

Thanks, Hon!


Sincerely,


The patient who just dropped more money on dental work than some people spend on cars, and I hope you enjoy your new vacation home, courtesy of my marshmallow teeth.


A few other things I remember from last week:

1.  While out to dinner with some of our friends, AG looked over to the table next to ours, where there was a guy with a beard.  She proceeded to grab my arm and (loudly) proclaim, "Look mommy, it's Jesus!"

I mean, I'm sure Jesus would love Verde and all, but, um, NO.  Not unless Jesus is a young, blond hippie in cargo shorts.

2.  One day last week, I told Ally Grace, "You look so pretty!"  She replies, "NO, Mommy, I'm not pretty."  I'm all, "well, then what are you?"  And she says, "I'm not pretty, I'm FANCY."

Clearly.

3.  (AND, apparently all my best stories are about Ally Grace and my teeth. It's a glamorous life I lead over here, people.)

We are truly raising a little southern girl, y'all.  I recently asked her what she wanted to eat, and she said "barbecue." Then, every morning, when we turn on her radio/sound machine, she asks for "country music."  And now, check it out:

If you think I didn't immediately order the grown-up version of those boots for myself, you may not have
read this blog before.

4.  Our church had a night of worship, and with MUCH fear and trembling (and many snacks), I agreed to take AG with us, instead of getting a babysitter.  It started at her bedtime, so I was pretty nervous....but she was awesome!  We stayed til the end, and she LOVED the music.

Although she did keep asking us when she could go up on stage and play the "tocar" (guitar), or the drums.

And she may have tried to steal our grape juice and crackers during communion; persistently asking for some of our "snacks."

Still.  One of my very favorite family memories thus far.


How was your week?  Hopefully, it didn't involve dual root canals, dying Internet, or people calling you "hon."

Unless you wanted them to.

Pain

Y'all.

Tooth pain has got to be one of the worst kinds of pain. Including childbirth. And waxing.  Seriously.

It's even worse than the pain I feel when watching some poor girl go on and on about the "connection" she's found on the Bachelor.

(Although that might actually be embarrassment, and not pain.)

(It's still painful to watch though.)

I've spent most of my waking minutes since Saturday night feeling as if I would like to punch through a wall, because my jaw hurts so badly.  Except that A) that would be totally counterproductive, and would likely add to my pain by breaking my hand or something, and B) might actually be just a tad bit of a scary overreaction.

So.  I won't do that.

I will go take my 37th Advil of the day, and try to make it until this afternoon's emergency root canal.

Delightful.

Dear Root Canal Specialist,


Thank you for working me in today.  Truthfully, you're lucky I didn't just show up at your house this morning like a stalker, begging you to put me out of my tooth-related misery.  Since I didn't sleep for more than 30 minutes last night, but DID take a rather large amount of painkillers, I am both groggy AND extremely irritable at the same time.  Lucky you.  Clearly, I will be such a joy to work on today.


I hope you have truckloads of laughing gas available. As well as some Ryan Reynolds.  


Sincerely, 
Your most desperate patient, who will love you forever if you can make this go away.