"that was really great that you just told me right after you pooped."
"yah!"
"but you know what would be better?"
"what?"
"if you told me before you pooped—then we could run upstairs and you could poop in the potty."
"no—wile poop in diapy, mama wipe wile's butt."
"well, yeah, that's how we do things now, but soon you're going to stop wearing diapers, and poop in the potty all the time. mama and dada don't wear diapers, right?"
"mama wear diapys!"
"no, mama uses the potty."
"no, mama wear diapys!"
"no, mama....oh. ummmmm......"
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
logic
it's getting a little exhausting.
wile and i have had the following philisophical discussions in the last 72 hours:
1) "no, mama, put shoe on dat foot!"
"honey, i can't. that shoe won't fit on that foot. it has to go on the other foot."
"nooooo! dat shoe on dat foot! dat fooooooot!"
"no babe, that's not how shoes work—see, they're shaped different, and the zippers are on different—"
"aaaaiiiiiiiiiiii! [grabs shoe] no! no!"
time needed to get shoes on to proper feet: 20 minutes.
2) we were out on a walk, hauling a few boxes of stuff to the salvation army in our big red wagon. we get to a corner and wile points west and says "go dat way!". my life flashes in front of my eyes. i take a deep breath.
"no, sweetie, the salvation army is this way [pointing south]."
"nooooooooooo!"
we stood on that corner for 15 minutes debating the merits of going 5 blocks out of our way. and by debating, i mean screaming (well, one of us). and running away. and screaming some more. and finally having to be picked up and carried a half block. after half a block, i decided i couldn't carry him and pull the wagon, so for the rest of the journey i held his hand while he walked and screamed and tried to pry his hand out of mine and people on the street made really helpful comments like "aw, she wants to ride in the wagon! you'll get to ride in the wagon soon, honey!" yes, thank you—give him something else to be upset about. now not only am i questioning his navigational skills, but he's not riding in the f-ing wagon.
all in all though, it could have been worse—at least he walked (protesting all the way, but still). he could have gone limp in the middle of the sidewalk and i would have had to leave him there. (i kid!) when we got to the salvation army the sight of the big trucks unloading furniture made everything alright.
3) every morning we get up and i open the shade in wile's window. every morning. apparently, on monday morning wile had had enough of the shade-opening regime.
"aaaaaiiiiiiiii! no ope shade! no ope shade!"
"wile, it's okay—"
"noooooooo!"
i was too exhausted (having been at the jets game all day and up watching the mets game all night the day before) to do anything but sit back and let him get it all out. stephen tried to mediate and was basically told to stay the hell out of it, this was between him and mama. i managed to get him into our room and away from the sight of the awful, terrible open shade, and he calmed down.
now, this is one i could have negotiated on—if he had taken the volume and the pitch down a bit and asked nicely—if i had gotten more than 4 hours of sleep the night before and less than 3 vodka drinks the day before. but as things stood, i didn't have the strength to make it happen.
4) "mama get that thing for wile"
"that thing right there, 10 inches away from your foot? that thing that's right in front of where you are, sitting on the floor, but pretty far from where i am, standing up on this stool cleaning out your closet?"
"yah. mama get."
"no honey, you can get that yourself."
"no, mama get!"
"just lean forward and get it, wile. it's right there."
"no, mama get! mamaaaa!"
"......."
"nice, please, mama get?"
"that was really nice asking, wile, but i still think you should get it."
"noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause, bloodcurdling shreik, pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get!"
by the last few reps, he was just going through the motions, and eventually he gave up, went and played with something different, and came back later and got the thing really slyly, hoping that i wouldn't see.
5) the time has come, the walrus said, to stop lugging 25 pounds of toddler up and down 2 steep flights of stairs numerous times a day.
wile thinks the walrus should go suck an egg.
we played three or four rounds of "stair standoff" in the last few days. not a fun game, if you were wondering. the first couple times, it went like this: i agreed to carry him down the first set of stairs (to the living room) if he would walk down the second set (to the office). he agreed. we got to the second set and he had absolutely no memory of saying any such crazy thing! so he stood in the middle of the stairs and screamed. i tried to talk to him, but it was so easy to be heard over the screaming. so i walked to the bottom of the stairs and let him scream and hoped that if he started to pitch forward i could catch him before he split his skull open. eventually, he came down.
then we moved on to him refusing to even make the false agreement in the first place. more standing, more screaming, more eventual walking.
but! now? not a peep. walks down the stairs like he's been doing it for years.
score one for the good guys!
not that i'm keeping score.
or think of wile as "the bad guys".
at least not at this moment.
wile and i have had the following philisophical discussions in the last 72 hours:
1) "no, mama, put shoe on dat foot!"
"honey, i can't. that shoe won't fit on that foot. it has to go on the other foot."
"nooooo! dat shoe on dat foot! dat fooooooot!"
"no babe, that's not how shoes work—see, they're shaped different, and the zippers are on different—"
"aaaaiiiiiiiiiiii! [grabs shoe] no! no!"
time needed to get shoes on to proper feet: 20 minutes.
2) we were out on a walk, hauling a few boxes of stuff to the salvation army in our big red wagon. we get to a corner and wile points west and says "go dat way!". my life flashes in front of my eyes. i take a deep breath.
"no, sweetie, the salvation army is this way [pointing south]."
"nooooooooooo!"
we stood on that corner for 15 minutes debating the merits of going 5 blocks out of our way. and by debating, i mean screaming (well, one of us). and running away. and screaming some more. and finally having to be picked up and carried a half block. after half a block, i decided i couldn't carry him and pull the wagon, so for the rest of the journey i held his hand while he walked and screamed and tried to pry his hand out of mine and people on the street made really helpful comments like "aw, she wants to ride in the wagon! you'll get to ride in the wagon soon, honey!" yes, thank you—give him something else to be upset about. now not only am i questioning his navigational skills, but he's not riding in the f-ing wagon.
all in all though, it could have been worse—at least he walked (protesting all the way, but still). he could have gone limp in the middle of the sidewalk and i would have had to leave him there. (i kid!) when we got to the salvation army the sight of the big trucks unloading furniture made everything alright.
3) every morning we get up and i open the shade in wile's window. every morning. apparently, on monday morning wile had had enough of the shade-opening regime.
"aaaaaiiiiiiiii! no ope shade! no ope shade!"
"wile, it's okay—"
"noooooooo!"
i was too exhausted (having been at the jets game all day and up watching the mets game all night the day before) to do anything but sit back and let him get it all out. stephen tried to mediate and was basically told to stay the hell out of it, this was between him and mama. i managed to get him into our room and away from the sight of the awful, terrible open shade, and he calmed down.
now, this is one i could have negotiated on—if he had taken the volume and the pitch down a bit and asked nicely—if i had gotten more than 4 hours of sleep the night before and less than 3 vodka drinks the day before. but as things stood, i didn't have the strength to make it happen.
4) "mama get that thing for wile"
"that thing right there, 10 inches away from your foot? that thing that's right in front of where you are, sitting on the floor, but pretty far from where i am, standing up on this stool cleaning out your closet?"
"yah. mama get."
"no honey, you can get that yourself."
"no, mama get!"
"just lean forward and get it, wile. it's right there."
"no, mama get! mamaaaa!"
"......."
"nice, please, mama get?"
"that was really nice asking, wile, but i still think you should get it."
"noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause, bloodcurdling shreik, pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get! [pause] noooooooo, mama get!"
by the last few reps, he was just going through the motions, and eventually he gave up, went and played with something different, and came back later and got the thing really slyly, hoping that i wouldn't see.
5) the time has come, the walrus said, to stop lugging 25 pounds of toddler up and down 2 steep flights of stairs numerous times a day.
wile thinks the walrus should go suck an egg.
we played three or four rounds of "stair standoff" in the last few days. not a fun game, if you were wondering. the first couple times, it went like this: i agreed to carry him down the first set of stairs (to the living room) if he would walk down the second set (to the office). he agreed. we got to the second set and he had absolutely no memory of saying any such crazy thing! so he stood in the middle of the stairs and screamed. i tried to talk to him, but it was so easy to be heard over the screaming. so i walked to the bottom of the stairs and let him scream and hoped that if he started to pitch forward i could catch him before he split his skull open. eventually, he came down.
then we moved on to him refusing to even make the false agreement in the first place. more standing, more screaming, more eventual walking.
but! now? not a peep. walks down the stairs like he's been doing it for years.
score one for the good guys!
not that i'm keeping score.
or think of wile as "the bad guys".
at least not at this moment.
plea
i need to ask a favor.
remember when this happened?
well, i've gotten over it and found a new love. and i've fallen hard, people.
the critics love it, but the word on the street (or, i should say, on the internet) is that it's not doing so well in the ratings, and though nbc says they're committed to it, it could be on it's way to.......cancellation. nooooooo!
so, all i'm asking is this: check it out. go on. just one episode. you can even watch on line.
the problem seems to be that a lot of potential viewers (possibly like you) are saying "a show about football? not for me, thanks anyway." but this show is about football like moby dick was about a whale. stop laughing. i'm serious. it's about family and fleeting glory and the pressures of a crazy-ass small town and hot teenage boys. i've cried at least once during every episode i've watched so far.
and ladies, if you're not convinced, let me just say this. thank you, and goodnight.
edited to add: see, i'm not alone!
remember when this happened?
well, i've gotten over it and found a new love. and i've fallen hard, people.
the critics love it, but the word on the street (or, i should say, on the internet) is that it's not doing so well in the ratings, and though nbc says they're committed to it, it could be on it's way to.......cancellation. nooooooo!
so, all i'm asking is this: check it out. go on. just one episode. you can even watch on line.
the problem seems to be that a lot of potential viewers (possibly like you) are saying "a show about football? not for me, thanks anyway." but this show is about football like moby dick was about a whale. stop laughing. i'm serious. it's about family and fleeting glory and the pressures of a crazy-ass small town and hot teenage boys. i've cried at least once during every episode i've watched so far.
and ladies, if you're not convinced, let me just say this. thank you, and goodnight.
edited to add: see, i'm not alone!
Sunday, October 15, 2006
avast!
wile wanted to look at pictures of "baby wile", and we found these. and i couldn't resist sharing.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
hissy update!
so i finally gave in to my urges and emailed hissy's new family to see how she's doing.
i got a really nice email back that read, in part:
"Kitty is fine. And guess what - she is a BOY! I had named her Misifu and already had gotten a pet tag and a pink collar before the vet let me know so I just left everything as is and consider him a drag queen."
whoops....
and: hee!
and: i am even more convinced that s/he went to a good home.
i got a really nice email back that read, in part:
"Kitty is fine. And guess what - she is a BOY! I had named her Misifu and already had gotten a pet tag and a pink collar before the vet let me know so I just left everything as is and consider him a drag queen."
whoops....
and: hee!
and: i am even more convinced that s/he went to a good home.
Monday, October 09, 2006
and i don't think a monster truck would help
if you took a poll of all the moms i know, i think the consensus would be that the first 12 months with baby is the hardest. it's all-consuming. you don't sleep. you never ever ever ever have a minute to yourself (okay, you have a couple, but it feels like you don't). you have to take blind stab-in-the-dark guesses as to what the hell you should do to stop the crying, and at least 50% of the time you're wrong. and the main, overriding thing is that it's such a complete departure from your life up to that point. when you call up one of your friends who doesn't have kids and they tell you about the great day they had shopping and going out to dinner, it's all you can do not to hang up on them. right after telling them to kiss your ass.
but where we are now? at 2? hard in a totally different way.
for that first year, for the most part you're dealing with physical needs: poop in the diaper, hunger, gas, too cold, too hot, etc. but now the little muffin has turned into a person. and he doesn't only have needs, he has wants. let me rephrase that: he has WAAAAAANTS.
stephen and i were just having a little discussion about something, and the first thing that popped out of my mouth was "don't argue with me—i spend all day every day arguing."
it's true. i'm less a mom than a hostage negotiator. i listen to demands, i weigh their validity, and i give my answer. sometimes the guns are laid down; sometimes innocent victims (our afternoon, my nerves, his nap) die.
our latest standoff came about an hour ago when i was putting him down for his nap. first he laid down on his bed, on his stomach, and said "mama change diapy upside-down." he wouldn't accept that that was just not phsically possible, and screamed as a i hauled his butt up to the changing table and laid him down on his back. then i took off the diaper. "no mama wipe wile hurt butt! no mama use dat cream! no wile wear black diapy! wile wear yey-yow diapy! no, maaaa-maaaaa!" i put him back down on the bed, and he grabbed his pajamas from where they were hanging on his bed guard. "wile wear truck jamas!" no, we only wear jamas when we sleep at night, you can nap in your clothes. "no, wile wear truck jamas! wile wear! wile wear truck jams!" wile, just lie down, it's time to– "noooooo! wile wear! wile wear truck! wile wear truck jamas!" at which point, as he spiralled off into a parallel universe, a very loud, very tear-filled universe, i had to go out in the hallway for a minute and let him scream. i went back in, picked him up, he calmed down a little, i laid him down, and he went down for his nap.
now, at this point, you may be thinking, as i was, why not just let him wear the gaddamn pajamas? and believe me, i almost did. but if i give in, am i only letting myself in for exponentially more screaming fits? i don't want to live in a world where screaming and crying = getting what you want. i've lived in that world for the past two years, and it's time to start moving on. it's time to free the hostages. but it's going to be a long standoff....
but where we are now? at 2? hard in a totally different way.
for that first year, for the most part you're dealing with physical needs: poop in the diaper, hunger, gas, too cold, too hot, etc. but now the little muffin has turned into a person. and he doesn't only have needs, he has wants. let me rephrase that: he has WAAAAAANTS.
stephen and i were just having a little discussion about something, and the first thing that popped out of my mouth was "don't argue with me—i spend all day every day arguing."
it's true. i'm less a mom than a hostage negotiator. i listen to demands, i weigh their validity, and i give my answer. sometimes the guns are laid down; sometimes innocent victims (our afternoon, my nerves, his nap) die.
our latest standoff came about an hour ago when i was putting him down for his nap. first he laid down on his bed, on his stomach, and said "mama change diapy upside-down." he wouldn't accept that that was just not phsically possible, and screamed as a i hauled his butt up to the changing table and laid him down on his back. then i took off the diaper. "no mama wipe wile hurt butt! no mama use dat cream! no wile wear black diapy! wile wear yey-yow diapy! no, maaaa-maaaaa!" i put him back down on the bed, and he grabbed his pajamas from where they were hanging on his bed guard. "wile wear truck jamas!" no, we only wear jamas when we sleep at night, you can nap in your clothes. "no, wile wear truck jamas! wile wear! wile wear truck jams!" wile, just lie down, it's time to– "noooooo! wile wear! wile wear truck! wile wear truck jamas!" at which point, as he spiralled off into a parallel universe, a very loud, very tear-filled universe, i had to go out in the hallway for a minute and let him scream. i went back in, picked him up, he calmed down a little, i laid him down, and he went down for his nap.
now, at this point, you may be thinking, as i was, why not just let him wear the gaddamn pajamas? and believe me, i almost did. but if i give in, am i only letting myself in for exponentially more screaming fits? i don't want to live in a world where screaming and crying = getting what you want. i've lived in that world for the past two years, and it's time to start moving on. it's time to free the hostages. but it's going to be a long standoff....
Monday, October 02, 2006
hissy has left the building
and i am 75% okay with that.
she left on friday morning, and i'm much better now. i still miss her and worry that her new parents aren't giving her as much love as we were. that they're not letting her sleep on their pillows at night, and that she doesn't curl up into a little ball and start purring when they pick her up like she did with me. that she had imprinted on to me as her new mama and is now feeling abandoned.
but really, we just couldn't keep her. there was too much of this:
and really, i think she went to a good place. the woman who took her said that her last cat had gotten out of their house and gotten lost and though they searched for her for a long time and even scoured the local pet shelters, they never found her. so it's not like she was going to a novice cat owner. and hissy will be growing up with the woman's son, who is 14 months. so that's nice to think about, especially since hissy suffered wile's affection really well:
but, of course, the flip side of that line of thinking is that man, wouldn't it be nice to have a kitten for wile to grow up with instead of these two grumpy old felines who he wouldn't have the strength to hoist of the ground even if they'd let him... alas, that way madness (and sadness) lies.
so farewell, sweet hissy....
she left on friday morning, and i'm much better now. i still miss her and worry that her new parents aren't giving her as much love as we were. that they're not letting her sleep on their pillows at night, and that she doesn't curl up into a little ball and start purring when they pick her up like she did with me. that she had imprinted on to me as her new mama and is now feeling abandoned.
but really, we just couldn't keep her. there was too much of this:
and really, i think she went to a good place. the woman who took her said that her last cat had gotten out of their house and gotten lost and though they searched for her for a long time and even scoured the local pet shelters, they never found her. so it's not like she was going to a novice cat owner. and hissy will be growing up with the woman's son, who is 14 months. so that's nice to think about, especially since hissy suffered wile's affection really well:
but, of course, the flip side of that line of thinking is that man, wouldn't it be nice to have a kitten for wile to grow up with instead of these two grumpy old felines who he wouldn't have the strength to hoist of the ground even if they'd let him... alas, that way madness (and sadness) lies.
so farewell, sweet hissy....
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