Kiwi

Several years ago, when Jenna was still an only child, I remember standing at the stove making breakfast when my precocious little lady ran in and announced,"Daddy has a kiwi!" I stood there in a state of confusion. I am the one who does the grocery shopping and I knew for a fact that there were currently no kiwi in the house. Several moments later, John walked in and clarified the situation for me. Apparently, Jenna walked in on him using the bathroom and promptly named his boy parts kiwi. From that day on we jokingly continued to call boy parts kiwi and have carried on the "kiwi" tradition with Carter. (FYI-Jenna is aware that there is other terms for said body parts but refuses to use those terms.)

Fast forward to this morning. Jenna and Carter were sitting at the table eating their cereal when Mary Ava woke up. I changed her diaper, wiped the snot off her face, kissed her cheek and put her in her high chair.

As I walked to the refrigerator and opened the fruit drawer, I asked Jenna if she wanted a kiwi. To which she replied, "I don't like kiwi."

Then I wondered aloud, "Will Mary Ava eat kiwi?"

At this point, my little man looked at me confused. He stood up on the chair, covered his crotch with his hands and said, "No Mommy. Mimi no eat me kiwi."

Jenna and I looked at each other and started cracking up. I was flabbergasted. As you know, Carter doesn't talk much. I think these seven words may be the most he has ever put together at one time. And to top things off, he thought Mommy was going to feed his baby sister HIS "kiwi." Even after showing Carter the green fruit I just cut, I still don't think he was convinced.

Needless to say, Carter wouldn't even think about tasting the kiwi fruit this morning. Turns out Mary Ava doesn't like it either. I guess I am the only one in the house who likes kiwi.

Carter marks his territory

Warning...This is a very candid account of the day in the life a potty training mommy. If you don't like to hear about bodily fluids please stop reading now.



I am done, giving up, conceding.

I am so over this potty training business. This is the third week of underwear only for Carter and I must admit I have become very trained at getting him to the bathroom. Most days we make it through the day with only one, maybe two accidents. But today, for some reason beyond my understanding, we have had more accidents than I can remember. There are currently four pair of peed on underwear in the sink and I know I already put some in the wash.

Speaking of wash--the laundry! I cannot begin to tell you how many extra loads of laundry I have been doing a day to clean up the numerous pair of urine soaked underwear and towels used to clean up said accidents. I know I have added at least one if not two extra loads a day to my already mountainous pile of laundry. Most times, Carter's underwear don't even make back into his drawer. They go straight from the laundry basket, to Carter's precious bottom, right back into the laundry pile.

The final straw was this afternoon when Carter had three accidents in less than two hours. And I'm not talking a little tinkle. I'm talking full fledged, let's pee a gallon on the floor accidents. He's like a wild animal. I don't think there is a room in the house where he hasn't marked his territory. Up until this point, I would like to think that I have remained calm. That I have used positive reinforcement, blew accidents off like it was no big deal, told him "you'll get the potty next time." But today, that all changed.

While throwing a fit because Aunt Tara left, Carter chose the steps as his next location to mark his territory. I promptly carried him to the bathroom, wiped him down, put new undies right back on, cleaned up the stairs, and went about my business making dinner. No more than 20 minutes later Jenna, who was ever to happy to report any news that may get her brother in trouble, broke the news that Carter just peed.

I left my dinner preparations and walked into my room. My room, the one that was perfectly clean not more than 30 minutes earlier. The one where the bed was actually made. And I will admit this is not a regular occurrence. All of my freshly laundered, 400-thread count sateen sheets, covers, and pillows had been pulled off the bed, spread across the bedroom floor and were spilling onto the bathroom floor. This is where Carter decided to leave his next puddle.

This is when it happened. This is when I became psycho mom. (You can ask my sister, I was on the phone with her. She was probably scared for her life, thinking that at any minute I might reach through the phone and get her too.) I was screaming, slamming doors, throwing peed soaked sheets down the steps. All while Jenna and Carter looked at me like I was the crazy one. Yet again, I cleaned Carter up and sent him downstairs, started more laundry, and finished dinner. Not more than fifteen minutes later, Carter was screaming "Mama pee" up the steps. By now you know the routine. Only this time a threw a bath in for good measure and then I conceded.

After his bath, I put a pull-up back on him. Not only because I couldn't handle cleaning up yet another puddle, but for no other reason than all of his underwear are currently in the washer, dryer or in the laundry pile. So for tonight, we are done.

Maybe tomorrow we'll try again. No child has ever gone to kindergarten in diapers have they? I still have a good three years before that will happen. If we don't make that goal maybe I'll shoot for middle school.

4 week countdown

In exactly four weeks, I will be the mother of a kindergartner. Jenna is excited, but I have mixed emotions. I know she will be fine. She is a very smart, caring little lady. But it is me I am worried about. As much as she drives me crazy, as much as I long for some time away, (even if only for a 20 minute jog) I will miss her terribly.

For five years I have been Mommy, the one and only. The one to pick her up and wipe her tears when she falls, the one to help with art projects, the one who knew the answers to everything--at least she believed the answers I gave her. In four short weeks, that will change. In four short weeks, school will start. And in four short weeks, Jenna will begin to spread her wings. She will be taught to pick herself up and brush herself off when she falls, start over when a mistake is made, and ask questions until she is sure she knows the right answer.

Of course, I know she will still need Mommy--my love, guidance, and support. Of course, I know she will always be my little girl. But for some reason I help but feel like this is the beginning to the end. She starts kindergarten this year and before I know it she will be talking about boys and driver's licenses (and that's as far as I'll go for right now because I can't even begin to think about what comes after that.)

Don't get me wrong--I am super excited for Jenna. I am excited for her to make new friends, watch her learn all there is to learn and see my sweet baby grown into a wonderful person. But I am sad for me. I am sad to lose the sweet innocent little lady I have had for the past 5 years. So for the next four weeks I am going to hold on tight. I am going to hold on to every last minute I have with my sweet girl before school starts; because in four weeks I probably won't be able to see through the tears to watch her get on the bus.