Tuesday, March 9, 2010

I Heart Potty Training

The Potty Chart (prior to the stickers being added).
A special thanks to my mom and dad for paying for that art degree!

I don’t know if we’re doing this right. I can’t guarantee that someday he won’t be sitting in his therapists chair saying, “and then they made me this weird yellow chart coaxing me to sit on the potty, pressuring me to use it, guilting me with stickers to wash my hands – I just felt that I NEEDED to get that next sticker...I HAD to have the sticker.”

What I do know is … Carter used the potty. Did he understand what he was doing, who knows. Who remembers the show Herman’s Head from the early '90s? If you don’t remember it – it was all about these people that lived in some poor man’s head (not as strange as Being John Malkovich…but along those lines…but more of a comedy). And they would all discuss things and it would effect his decisions, blah blah blah. And I guess it was like hearing him think. Well, I would love to hear Carter think. I would love to know how he processes the things we throw at him. Does he understand the potty? Is he excited about it? Does he think he’s going to get sucked down into some pit of sewage? Does the “potty book” we read to him 500 times a day help? Who knows.

AND not only did he use the potty…he has used it for three days straight now. THREE DAYS PEOPLE. Not for every single bodily function (that’s a lot of information…sorry Carter). But he sits on it before his bath, and uses it like a pro. And each day, mommy dances around in the bathroom and jumps up and down (sorry unborn baby girl), claps, yells, dances, you name it.

I’m talkin’ Rhodes scholar here people. Successfully being potty trained at 19 months…watch out world…my kid learns fast! This week, potty…next week…whole world domination (should I add that to his chart…if so, what type of sticker would one use to praise that).

Playdates: They're not just for kids anymore

Chad had to go on a work trip this past weekend to New Orleans … so Carter and I had some playdates (to make sure Carter got to play a lot and mommy got to have conversations with people that said more than 3 words).

We met and hung out with his buddy Bradley – you can see how they pick up on each other’s isms with the ‘cheers’ here.

We went to a local fish fry with grandma G.

And Chris came over on Saturday to hang out. He rough-housed with Carter so mommy could sit and relax some, he helped put Carter down for his nap. And then hung out with this mommy for some much-needed adult conversation (read: gossiping about trash reality tv…which we watched on the couch while stuffing our faces with subs and girl scout cookies).

Moral of the blog post: Playdates = sanity.

Paying the sitter with eye shadow...

One of the strangest parts of being pregnant is the pregnancy induced dreams. You really have some crazy crazy dreams when pregos. I could write a whole blog on my weird dreams while pregnant…but they’re not all interesting (haa…not that my blog is always interesting).

These two dreams in particular are from this week – and seemed extra strange to me.

1.) The Eye Shadow Dream:
In this dream, everything seemed quite normal to start. Chad and I were going to run out to look for baby cribs and had hired a babysitter to come hang with Carter. Well, apparently Chad was going to take care of paying the sitter when we got home – and I ran to the bathroom (see, the dream seems very real).

When I came back from the bathroom, I asked Chad how much he paid her and he responded, “two compacts.” This seemed odd. I said, “Two compact whats?” And he looked annoyed…like I should have understood what he was saying. Well…the conversation seemed to end there…until the next morning when I was getting ready and couldn’t find my eye shadow. So I started searching through drawers to find it. Then, Chad walked into the bathroom and said, “I told you – I paid the babysitter with compacts…it was your eye shadow compacts.”

I guess he gave her my good eye shadow (my Bobby Brown and Chanel (see Hali…are you proud of me?)). I was furious. “Do you know how much money you just gave her? Not to mention…now I’ll be ugly!”

His only response, “I never liked those colors anyways.”

So this could mean one of three things (well, it could mean a lot…but in my head…it’s one of these things)

1.) Chad thinks I’m ugly (pregnant chrissy = insecure chrissy)
2.) Chad hates my eye shadow (pregnant chrissy = insecure chrissy)
3.) I’m obsessed with eye shadow. It’s the one makeup ritual I don’t want to skip.


2.) The Plymouth Rock Dream:
In this dream – we had left Carter with a babysitter too (you can see…I don’t get out very often … because in my head … all hell breaks loose when I leave Carter with a sitter). And in this dream too, we were out looking for a crib (must be my brain is fixated).

Well, we got a call from the sitter saying that she couldn’t find Carter. Naturally, we rushed home. As we drove up to our house – we saw cop cars everywhere (and our noisy neighbors standing around speculating … yet not looking too surprised).

Turns out – Carter had packed up his bag and left a note saying that he didn’t feel loved since we were having a new baby … so he ran away from home. Doesn’t take a dream dictionary to see why I had this dream … but it’s still disturbing.

So we all started our search for my one and a half year old that packed his own bag and wrote us a note (yet doesn’t talk yet). Finally, a few hours later he was found at Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts (he moves fast).

And the strangest part was, there were other babies with him – who were also angry about getting siblings. So I guess Plymouth Rock is where you go when you’re angry about getting a sibling.

Luckily, Trad and Michael live in Boston now and drove out there in a flash and picked him up ... and had a long talk about running away from home and how a sibling doesn’t equal less love.

Thanks guys!

Mommy loves you Carter...don't run away from home

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Shopping with a toddler

For those of you that are not from/in Northeast Ohio, we have this grocery store called Giant Eagle (insert: “-vs-small eagle?” joke here). It’s your standard run of the mill grocery store…except that (at a lot of locations) it offers a childcare room. Now, I have never tried the childcare room. I always sort of thought, “geez…it’s a 30 minute shopping trip, if Carter can’t handle that…what type of mom am I?”

I’ll tell you what type of mom I am. I’m the mom that wants to personally apologize to everyone at Giant Eagle (and potentially buy them all a beer) after Carter’s Giant Eagle performance from this morning. That’s the kinda mom I am. The “sorry I can’t control my kid…can I buy you a beer for your troubles” mom. I'm the mom that plans to check out the childcare room next time I go to the store.

Todays shopping trip went down like this:

- We went to Carter’s baby gym and played for over an hour (I thought this would wear him down some).
- We head to the grocery store.
- Carter didn’t want to sit in the shopping cart…so he threw his body all over to avoid being put into the cart’s seat. And then he went limp on me … so that I couldn’t hold him over the seat anymore.
- We fought about whether or not he was going to sit in the front of the cart for about 5 minutes. I gave up and carried him into the store and then started the fight again (the glares from other shoppers started at this point).
- I gave up (again) and just put him in the back of the shopping cart.
- The automated announcements about not placing your child in the basket-part of the shopping cart started to play over the intercom (do they always play that much…maybe this was the first time I noticed).
- More glares from other shoppers.
- Carter threw anything I put into the cart out…so I started to pile everything into the bottom and seat of the cart.
- Carter took off his jacket and shirt (while I was picking out meat).
- I see another mommy and child from Carter’s baby gym class. Her child is nicely sitting in his seat (which is covered by a sterile-looking cart cover). The mom is placing organic/healthy food into her cart.
- My child is shirtless in the wrong part of the cart yelling things and throwing cans.
- The other mom says to me, “I bribe him to be good with pretzels” as if to point out that my child was a rule-less beast…and as if I had never thought of bribery. I reply, “I threaten to sell him on ebay if he’s not good” obviously kidding. She looks worried and wanders off.
- Carter starts yelling, “Go Dog Go…” as we walked through aisles
- An older woman comes up to me and quietly says, “don’t worry honey – we have all been there.” And I want to hug her and ask her to please watch my child while I hit my head against a wall for a bit…instead I smile and thank her …as Carter throws a can of beans onto the floor.
- Finally ... done ... now time to check out.
- The bagger asks if I can “please put my child into the seat” so that he can bag my groceries and I want to respond, “oh sure…it’s that easy.”
- I try to put Carter into the cart’s seat.
- He takes his pants off and stomps on the seat with his pants around his ankles.
- He’s finally in the seat (sideways…but whatever).
- He takes his shirt back off….his pants are still around his ankles.
- He stands back up…with his pants down…shirt off…and hits me in the head and yells, “bad dog” (which actually sounded more like BAAA DOGG).

And that was our trip. Now...he's napping - and I am about to watch my dvr-ed episode of nanny 911 to try to determine if I have enabled my child to be crazy...or if he's just wild sometimes. I apreciate that she calls wild children "free spirited" rather than the obvious "demon spawns..."


This past weekend we were lucky enough to make it up to see my family in Michigan. My grandma’s 100th birthday was last month and we had to miss the big party. So we went up this weekend and party partied with my parents, grandma and my aunt and uncle.

Carter of course was in true entertainer form. Saying ‘Hi’ to everyone at the dinner table – to the point that we realized we were his human orchestra and he was orchestrating our replies like we were his minions.

And great grandma was in true form - insisting that Carter have ice cream after dinner (if grand parents get to spoil grandkids ... great grandparents REALLY get to spoil them).

Carter getting cookie #500 from his great grandma

Carter - just after cookie #400 - from grandpa

Mommy - inspecting the messy little man's face after dinner

AND – because we told the family that we’re having a little girl, my mom (the world’s biggest pack rat) whipped out all of my old dresses (which were pristinely pressed, laid in tissue and stored), teddy bears, creepy dolls (I hate dolls and clowns ... HATE THEM), tea sets (that have been passed down through the family … and are actual hand-painted china (where could that go wrong?)), and of course – my little girl (read: princess) furniture (which we hauled back to Ohio in a U-haul trailer).

Carter and elmo ... chillin' on the car ride back to Ohio

We really had a nice time seeing everyone. And we promise to get up to Michigan more often (and for a longer stay next time).