A little less wine, and a little more water...

Tonight I went out to the movies with my mom.  We saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2.  It was pretty funny.  And really sad that the first movie came out 17 years ago. Cause now I feel old.  But the movie is not the point of this blog entry here tonight.  The point is that on my way home from dropping off my babysitter, an advertisement came on the local radio station. Now, I'm paraphrasing a tiny bit, but it went something like this...

 

"Hey moms.  There's nothing better than getting together with other moms for an evening to relax.  To remember that before dance recitals and hockey recitals, you were more than just a mom.  But there's also nothing worse than waking up the next morning with a headache while your three-year old bangs on pots and pans.  So how about next time, you drink a little less wine, and a little more water.  No judgment.  Just some friendly advice from Magic 94.9."

 

I'm sorry... what?!?  At first, I thought it was going to be a funny advertisement from a water company, like Dasani.  But, nope.  Just some friendly "non-judgmental" advice from our local radio station about how much wine I should be drinking - or not drinking, as the case may be.  Now, I don't get out much -  mostly because I'm usually 2 bottles to the wind and respect the "don't drink and drive laws" - so maybe there's a male equivalent out there in radio land somewhere.  You know, "Hey guys, I know living with an alcoholic wife is hard.  And raising kids is not the joy ride you thought it would be.  But how about instead of adding to that keg around your middle, you hit the gym.  Little less keg, little more six-pack.  No judgement.  Just some friendly advice from Magic 94.9." I dunno, maybe it's there and I just haven't heard it.

 

Now, maybe I'm only offended with this ad because I was out in public, and haven't had time to down my usual nightly bottle of vino.  But you know what I think.  I think that, maybe, the wife of someone who works in advertisement at Magic 94.9 had a little too much to drink over the weekend, and daddy had to get up with the kids.  But, I'll tell you what Magic... how much we mothers have to drink is none of your damn business.  I've got three great reasons to drink:  Gracie, Ella, and Jax.  And here's a list of 25 more:

 

1.  Because I'm a god-damned adult.

2.  Because today, my almost two-year old peed on my leg.

3.  Because today, my almost four-year old picked her nose, and rubbed it on my couch.  Twice.

4.  Because my husband sleeps with ear plugs in.

5.  Because my dog barks every time the wind blows, and today was fucking windy.

6.  Because today was laundry day, and I had 5 loads of laundry to do.

7.  Because after I finished washing and drying 5 loads of laundry, my son shit his pants.

8.  Because I made breakfast, lunch, and supper for three kids, and that shit is hard.

9.  Because I'm watching my weight, and can't eat any fucking fried pepperoni.

10.  Because I love pinterest, and I'm making a wine cork wreath, mother fucker.

11.  Because my cat hurled up a hairball at 5:30 this morning and guess who has to clean it up?!

12.  Because "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mom. Mom."

13.  Because "Sammy, what do I feed them for lunch?" "Sammy, where are the shoes?" "Sammy, can they go outside?" Sammy, where is my black t-shirt." "Sammy, do we have any more milk?"

14.  Because I have a five-year old who thinks she knows everything.

15.  Because "MOMMY! Gracie's being mean to me!!!!!!"

16.  Because my kids don't want to wear coats, even though it was fucking snowing outside tonight.

17.  Because it's the end of April, and it was fucking snowing!!

18.  Because today I swept up three thousand Cheerios from under my kitchen table, even though I just vacuumed yesterday.

19.  Because today I tried to kiss my two-year old and he pushed me away and said, "Eww, mommy.  No."

20.  Because today was a must-shower day.  And I didn't shower.

21.  Because while playing with a watering can, my oldest child watered my boobies and said, "Here mommy, maybe this will help them grow."

22.  Because I pee a little when I sneeze.

23.  Because I'm over thirty, and a little bitter about that now.

24.  Because I pushed three beings out of my vagina.

25.  Because I fucking want to!!

Bonus Reason** Because this stupid tablet keeps auto-correcting fucking to ducking.

 

And I'm sure every single other mother out there can add to this list.  I don't drink wine to remember the times before I was a mother... I drink wine because I'm a mother.  And quite fucking proudly, too, thank you very much.  Mothering is hard as hell, and if I want to drink wine I will, gosh-darn it!  I'll also drink Keiths, Sangria, mouthwash, and windshield-wash fluid if I want.  Because your "non-judgemental, friendly advice" is judgemental as hell.  And ignorant.  And dumb.  How the hell am I supposed to parent efficiently without a little grape juice as a reward for a hard day's work? Huh?? Drink a little less wine, and a little more water.... pfshhhh... I've been drinking water all night. And look how well that turned out for you tonight, Magic.  There's not a mother out there who would hear your friendly advice and think, "You know what.  I should drink more water.  Thanks, Magic!"  But I bet there are plenty willing to join me in donating our empty wine bottles so you can put your advice in them and shove it up your ass.

 

So, hey Magic.  There's nothing better than playing music for the audience, and broadcasting great jokes for everyone in radio land to hear.  It's even nice to remember the days when you didn't play the same song 10 times in one day.  But there's nothing worse than hearing judgemental advice from a radio station about the amount of alcohol a mother should be drinking.  So how about next time, you play a little more music, and a little less bullshit.  No judgment.  Just some friendly advice, from a wine-drinking mother you pissed off on a Tuesday night.

How about a little less water, and a little more wine?!

 

For my friend, the preggopotamus...

One of my best friends is pregnant, which is fantastic news for me!  I mean, I'm sure it's great news for her too, except for the fact that the little parasite growing inside of her is making her barf all over the place... but for me, it's truly awesome.  Because as any other mother will tell you, no matter how many times you say "I'm done," there is always a little nagging voice in your head that says, "Oh, come on!  Just one more!!" And you don't really listen to it, except that you walk past a cute little baby in the grocery store, and your heart goes "screeeeeee!" and you want one.  Now I don't have to have one.  Because I can steal my friend's baby, love the crap out of it, and hand it back.  I cannot, however, steal the baby of the lady in the grocery store.  People frown on baby kidnapping.

 

So anyway, this friend of mine is all knocked up, and miserable because of the barfing, but terribly excited about her future, and the other day as we were discussing the barfing, she said "Ugh, this baby better be worth it!" Heh. Heh. Heh.  Yeah, babies are totally worth it.  Except when they aren't.  Which is lots of the time... except they make up for and are totally worth it again.  Except when they aren't, and when they don't.  Which they do.  Not.  Sometimes.  Confusing??  Yeah, welcome to the most fucked-up relationship you will ever, ever, ever be in.  Parenting!  But totally worth it.  Mostly.

 

I'm a mother of three kids, which basically makes me an expert... according to the mommy blogs, anyway.  So here's my sage advice, my heart-felt wisdom, and my unique experiences... I'm basically the baby whisperer, so take everything I say as gospel.  Except, don't, because every baby is different, every situation is unique, and once you think you have anything figured out, you'll realize that precious gift you're currently carrying in your belly is just screwing with you for fun, and that you actually know exactly nothing.  So yeah... here we go.

 

When your baby is born, you will feel the most amazing bond of motherhood and will love that child more than anything in this entire world, making the last 10 months (9 months is a freaking lie!!) totally worth it. 

 

Okay, so you'll totally love the kid.  But you may, or may not, feel that instant bond.  Lots of mothers talk about how they cried and could hardly contain the instant love they felt.  A friend told me it was like her whole soul changed and immediately revolved around the baby.  Pretty amazing, right?   When I finally pushed Gracie out and the nurse handed her to me, my first thoughts were pretty amazing too... "Cool.  She's here.  Right on!" I mean, obviously I loved her... but there were no tears, no instant soul-changing revelation.  Really, I just wanted some freaking supper!  And that's okay.  Despite what people tell you, it's okay not to break into tears and pledge your last dying breath for your baby.  If shit came down to it, trust me, you'd give your last breath.  But you may not feel that right in that moment.  Gracie and I had to get to know each other... she was my first child.  And to be honest, I didn't know what the crap to do with her.  Within days, when the shock of pushing a human out of my gitch had worn off, and we had had some time to stare into each others' eye, I totally would have jumped in front of a bus for her.  But don't beat yourself up if you don't feel that the instant your baby is born.  Not everyone does.  But trust me, it'll come.

 

Breast is best.  Period.

 

Your ta-tas hold a magical power.  Breast milk.  It's like liquid gold.  It's a life-changing elixir with benefits rivalling the Fountain of Youth.   It's totally natural, and nothing is better for your baby.  Unless, of course, like me, your baby rips a nipple off while performing this "totally natural" function, you develop a thrush infection that lasts 4 months (hello, searing, burning pain in my nipples), are diagnosed with Reynauds specifically affecting your nipples (look that up, it's awesome), develop a uterine infection and are hospitalized, develop supply issues, or a million other things that may affect successfully breastfeeding.  If you attempt to breastfeed, and succeed... you are amazing!  If you attempt to breastfeed, and do not succeed... you are still amazing!  If you decide from the very beginning not to try breastfeeding, and bottle feed your little person... still amazing!!  But let me tell you the part that isn't talked about very often... it's the second option here... attempting and failing.  If you want to breastfeed, and run into issues, you will feel like a failure.  You will cry tears you didn't know you had, over things you didn't know bothered you.  For example, I once said to Danny, through tears "But if I don't keep breastfeeding, how do I know my baby won't die of SIDS." That's right, breastfeeding can help lower the risk of SIDS, which of course, to an extremely hormonal woman means you are choosing death for your baby if you do not breastfeed.  How I fed my babies was probably the thing I cried over more than anything else.  It was torture for me to feed them via boobies, and it was torture for me to stop feeding them via boobies.  I pumped almost exclusively for Gracie for 4 months (the thrush infection made it damn near impossible to actually put her to boob), and wrote a 2500 word email to my lactation consultant while bawling my eyes out the day I realized I had to start supplementing with formula.  I felt like a failure.  An absolute failure.  Six days later, I realized how much easier it was to make a damn bottle out of formula, without having to attach myself to a milker, and stopped feeling bad.  Felt the same guilt with babies 2 and 3, but for fewer and fewer days.  How you feed your baby will cause all sorts of anxiety.  But guess what, Gracie is hella smart, and that kid ate formula.  So there.  Feed your kid.  However you do it, they will be okay!! Also, as a warning... the "bonding" you feel while breastfeeding... again, it's different for everyone.  Personally, I felt a lot closer to my baby while looking her in the eye and snuggling her next to my cheek with a bottle in her mouth.  The blood running out of the side of her mouth while breastfeeding made it a little creepy.  Kidding.  But seriously, I was much more relaxed with a bottle, and found it much easier to position them where I could creepily sniff the crap out of their heads while they ate.

 

Your relationship with your Husband will change.

 

This crap is true.  For some people, they will begin to hate and resent their husbands, solely for the fact that the husband didn't have to push a 9-pound baby out of their penis.  For me, I felt a deep, deep, desperate need to keep Danny close to me.  I suddenly felt the need to know exactly how much he loved me, and made him tell me over and over again that he would never leave me.  Hormones.  They're even worse after baby's born!!!  The day Danny had to go back to work, you would have sworn I was being left to care for 10 babies at the same time.  I had no idea how I would manage it, I begged him not to go, and he texted all day to make sure we were alright.  I was alright, by the way.  But who in the hell decided to leave me with an infant only 5 days old... I had no idea what to do with it!  That's what I thought anyway, and you will too.  But, trust me, you'll figure it out.  As for your husband, talk to him, tell him how you're feeling.  And teach him right now to say these words, "It's okay.  You're doing great.  Of course I love you. What do you want me to make for dinner?"

 

The Internet is Ripe with Friendly Advice.

 

Like this blog, here.  Totally friendly, unjudging advice.  Read only this blog and nothing else.  Because every other mommy advice group out there is dangerous.  If you have questions at 3 in the morning about what you're doing right or wrong... save them for morning and phone a real friend.  Do not...  I repeat...  Do. Not. Go. On. A. Mommy. Facebook. Page.  Those crazy ladies be judging everything!  From breastfeeding (see above, food is best - any food), to car seats (oh, sweet Jesus, the car seats!), to winter coats, to co-sleeping, to CIO (crying it out - which is evil - and totally worked for me!), to cloth diapers.  Everyone has an opinion.  The problem is that everyone also has a problem with everyone else's opinions.  That shit gets nasty in those groups.  Stay away.  Stay far away.  If you really need help at 2 a.m., call your mom, or text me.  Only enter those mommy groups after you have 3 kids and you've learned not to give a crap what other people say about your parenting skills (hey, mine are still alive, right?!?).

 

Don't forget the diaper bag.

 

I only say this, because you will forget the diaper bag.  Not on the days that you don't need the diaper bag, of course.  On the days where you have a successful, uneventful trip to the grocery store, you will have your diaper bag, full of useful things like wipes and a change of clothes.  However, on the day your kid decides to crap up it's own neck, into it's hairline, and through the only diaper and set of clothes you have - that'll be the day your forget the diaper bag.  You'll laugh about it later... after you've washed your kid in a sink at Superstore or on the side of the road with watered-down Lysol wipes (that was me - don't judge) and have carried them home completely naked because you decided it was better to toss the whole outfit into the trash than even attempt to clean that shit. Your husband will, of course, say "Where's the diaper bag?" And you'll say, "I told you to grab it!" and he'll say, "No, I said I didn't have it and told you to grab it." And you'll both hold the baby up by it's pinky fingers and try to remove clothes that are covered in yellow, runny, poo, and after you finally get the baby cleaned up, your husband will say "Eww, what's that on your elbow, and you'll realize it's poop and you just used the last piece of paper towel in the public restroom.  So... don't forget the diaper bag! (But tell me the story about when you do, after it becomes funny!)

 

People post the best part of their lives on Facebook

 

Not the worst parts.  Not the crappy parts.  The best parts.  If you look on Facebook, you'll see baby smiles and giggles.  Clean kitchens, and homemade dinners.  You'll see little Billy's perfect little art project, and hear about little Maggie's ability to walk and write the alphabet at 6 months of age.  You'll read about how this mama thinks that motherhood is the most amazing, life-changing experience, and how unicorns visit every night to help put her little angel to bed.  Don't let these people fool you.  Parenting is amazing!  But only like 40% of the time.  Most of the time it is hard, exhausting, dangerous, sad, and totally fucked up.  But the times that it is amazing, it is sooooo amazing.  The little terrors that we raise are such amazing little people that bring such joy to our lives.  They can make you smile without even thinking.  They are incredible.  Absolutely.  Just don't be fooled into thinking it's Facebook-awesome, like all the time.  Remember the people like me, who share the crappier parts of parenthood that other people are afraid to talk about it.  I share, because I know I cannot be the only parent whose 2-year old could use the word "fuck" fluently in a sentence.  Because I cannot be the only one, who, at the end of some days, wants to drown parenthood away with a a glass of wine.  Because my kids cannot be the only ones with attitudes bigger than my own, who challenge every fibre of patience, but who still say the most adorable and hilarious things. 

 

I will forever share the crappy parts of parenting... because parents, new and experienced, like to know they're not alone when their kids are acting like shitheads.  Because parenting is exhausting and challenging just as often as it is rewarding.  And because it seems, these days, that everyone is so quick to judge every decision, big and small, and make us feel like failures as parents.  The way I see it, if you love your kids, and do your best to raise respectful little people, then you're doing alright.  And hopefully now, my friend, when things get tough in those first few weeks and months after the little puker-maker is born, you have a little something to read and laugh at, and say "Damn... she was right." Cause I usually am, you know!! :)

Prego with baby #3 - the One Who Made Me an Expert...

 

Old Love...

Do you know what today is?  Today is the 11th-year anniversary of the first time Danny and I went on a date.  This is also the first time in 11 years that Danny hasn't mentioned today to me.  April 6.  Our first date.  More than a decade ago.  Three kids, two houses, and my whole twenties ago.  Yikes.

 

I met Danny when I was 19, and he was 21.  He was with me when I moved to Moncton, and when I moved back a year later.  We spent our twenties buying two different houses, getting married, going on our honeymoon, having three kids, and dealing with career changes and life's hardships.  We were wild and crazy and in love.  And although the crazy is still there sometimes (hello, three kids!!), I think we've lost some of the wild.  But after 11 years of being together, a little less wild is good sometimes.  I call it "old love."

Back when I was 19, we had "new love." You know... the "no, you hang up first!" smoochy, kissy, gross sort of love.  New love was awesome.  Danny and I would email back and forth every day.  Even though we saw each other every single day.  He'd leave me love notes on the counter, written on a receipt, or a paper towel, or whatever he could find.  I'd come home for my supper break at the drug store, and he'd have a pasta dinner waiting for me.  We'd talk about going to the movies, or out for dinner, and we would decide - together - where to go.  He would tell me about his job, and the work he did on planes, and I actually wanted to know, to be involved in that aspect of his life.  We would go to bed every night at the same time, and fall asleep cuddled together.  Ahhh, new love.

Crap's not like that anymore.  Instead of emails, he gets texts that say "Jax pooped.  On the potty, and not on the floor.  Rock on!"  There are no love notes on the counter, but some days he makes our bed before he leaves the house, so hells yeah for that!!  He rarely cooks me dinner anymore (cause really, who wants to cook for 7 people??), but he slaps my butt or pinches my ass every time he walks by me in the kitchen, and sometimes he even honks what's left of my pathetic excuse for boobs... so I'm pretty sure that means he still thinks I'm sexy as hell.  We don't decide together anymore where to eat or what to see.  We spent a good portion of our late-20s fighting about it (I don't care, you pick!), and we've just come to the arrangement that if Danny really gave a shit, he'd let me know.  Otherwise, my choice!  I still care about his work, which is now school, but he knows that I know even less about computer programming and sciences than I did about Auroras.  So he talks, and I try my best to comprehend, but we both know I'm not fooling anyone.  And as for bedtime, three kids has killed that for us.  I'm exhausted by 7:05, about five minutes after the kids are down for the night.  I try my best to make it to 10:00, but honestly I'm in bed most nights by 9.  Some nights he comes with me, watches a show while I fall asleep, and then returns to the living room to finish Walking Dead, or whatever other gory crap he watches after I'm out cold.  I like having him with me while I fall asleep, but I can't tell you how many times I've woken up from the brink of sleep choking on one of his farts.  So perhaps the living room is the best place for him after all.

Do I miss the "new love" of 11 years ago?  Sure, sometimes!  But there's something awesome about being at a point in my life when my husband comes home from the grocery store with a new package of tea he saw me eyeballing. Or knowing that when he says, "Sammy, are your hormones acting up again?" that he mostly means "Are you okay, do you need a hug?" It's great knowing that when he says "Do we have plans on Thursday night?" he really means "One of the guys just texted, can I go out for wings?" because even though I told him years ago he doesn't need my permission to ever go out, he still respects me and our life enough to check in every single time.  He still holds my hand in public.  He still kisses me goodbye every time he leaves the house.  He still texts me "I'm here. xox." when he reaches Acadia every day, because he knows I worry about his drive on the highway.   He knows all of my faults, and I know all of his.  He knows what drives me absolutely crazy, and he knows that at least once a day I'll drive him completely insane.  He still brings home flowers when he knows I've had a bad day, and pepperoni and chicken wings when it's been an especially rough week.  He delivers me snacks and water bottles and vitamins in bed when I text him at 9:05 p.m. because I don't want to get back out from under the covers - even though it means stopping whatever he's doing to do something for me.  He still offers to clean the barf when one of the kids is sick, because he knows how much I hate it.  And he does it all with love.  Every single time!

New love is pretty awesome.  But this old love crap... well it's pretty spectacular in lots of different ways.  And now that we're both officially old too (hello, thirties!), I can only see our old love getting even older!

 

More than just a mom...

Five years ago I became a mom, and since then mom has pretty much been my identity.  This became even more true after I stopped working, and became a full-time mom.  Before then, I was a mom, sure, but when people asked me what I did, "mom" was never my first answer.  Now, everything I do revolves around my kids.  When I sleep, when I eat, where I go, what we do. 

 

Motherhood can be a lonely experience.  Especially for stay-at-home moms, whose sole interaction are usually little people who think they rule the world (newsflash - they actually do!).  I've lost many friends since becoming a mother. Some, were true and real friends, who drifted apart, and whom I miss dearly.  Some were friends I met and clung to because they were also mothers.  These friendships were exhausting... trying so hard to be friends because you think you have this amazing thing in common, and realizing that you were spending more time pretending to be someone you're not, a mother that you're not, because you're hoping to be accepted into the motherhood clique.  Really, and truly, not worth it.  I don't know if you've heard, but the mommy wars are a real thing, and certain moms have a way of making a mother feel like a special kind of worthless.  I've spent a lot of the last five years feeling worthless to anybody outside of my immediate family.  I've cried a lot of tears, wondering and pretending that I didn't care why I wasn't invited to the mom-event of the month.  Why the only girls nights out I attended were the ones I arranged.  Why invitations to other people were always answered with "Yes, for sure, I'll call you!" and then not hearing another word until the next awkward time I ran into that person in public. So much energy.  So much heart and soul.  Such a waste of my precious time.  And all because these seemed like the cool moms, the good moms, the moms I needed to be like.  It was so important for me to feel like I fit in with these mothers, because they seemed to have it all together.

 

I can count on one hand the number of real friends I have, and I've learned how important those people really are to me.  They are the ones that I can call after months of not speaking to and feel like we just spoke minutes ago.  They are the ones who send cards and call on my kids' birthdays, not because they were invited to a party, but because they truly love my kids.  They are the ones I can sit with for hours and talk, and never once feel like I'm being judged or like I need to prove my worth.  They are the ones who know, and who helped me remember, that I am more than just a mom.

 

Nowadays, I mostly answer to "Mom," "Mommy," "Gracie's Mom," "Ella's Mommy," and "Jax's Mother." But before I was mom, I was Danny's wife, a Paralegal, an avid reader, a photographer, an aspiring cook, an adventure-seeker, a Valley girl, and so much more.  All of those other parts of me may have dimmed a bit since becoming a mother, but I am slowly remembering that those parts are also so important.  It's easy to get lost in motherhood, to forget the person you were before.  It's true that motherhood changes you, and in so many good ways!  But in order to be truly happy, you have to remember to be more than just a mom.  Whether it's reading, or cooking, or knitting, or writing, or laying on the grass and watching the stars.  It's important to stay connected to the person that made you who you are today, that helped you become the mother you are, because that "old" person is so important, even still!

 

And when you and your kids are looking through old pictures (like me and mine were today), it'll be fun to remember who you are, and who you used to be... or as Gracie said to me when she saw my grad photo - "Wow, mom.  Before you were a mommy, you had really pretty hair!" 

Here, a walk down memory lane to before I was just a mom...

 

Honeymoon Cruise - 2010 - our last hurrah before becoming parents





Wedding Day - 2009

Halloween - 2008

Bringing home our first baby - 2007

Christmas in Lab City - 2006

 

Lilacs are my favourite flower - summer 2006

 

Grad Photo - 2003
When my hair was "pretty"

 

 

The Underwear Initiation

It's potty-training time in the Ford household.  This is not the first time potty-training has taken place here.  But it will certainly be the last... unless, of course, my parents are still living here 20 years from now, cause I'll be damned if I'm changing diapers that big!!

 

We've had amazing success with potty training in the past.  Both girls were potty-trained by 20 months, and by age 2 were sleeping through the night without diapers.  Neither of them get up through the night to pee, and we've had minimal bed-wetting or public accidents (once each at Roos, oye! And less than a handful of nightime accidents for Ella when we first moved in here).  I've had friends ask me how I do it.  It's really quite simple: You know all that advice you hear, about how your kids will let you know when they're ready, and how you shouldn't push them, and how they'll start to show signs when they're ready?  Yeah, I ignore all of that.  Here's my criteria: 1) Are you old enough to say "poop" and "pee"?   2) Can you run, run, run?  Perfect.  Potty training time.

 

With the girls, we started by "poop" training them.  A few months before we were ready to actually potty train, we would get them to poop on the toilet.  By the time we were ready to fully train them, they were already well used to the toilet and would tell us when they needed to poop.  I also don't use actual pottys. I have a potty seat that goes on the toilet... but I didn't want to have to go from cleaning a dirty diaper to cleaning a potty full of shit.  I'm a very firm believer that, if you let them, kids will surprise you with what they can do, so going on the big-people toilet was the only choice they ever got.

 

With the girls, catching them pooping was super easy, since they both grunted like cavemen when they were "going."  Also, there were only two of them.  Jax is a silent pooper, and the only way we know he went is by the fact that he can clear a room with the smell just seconds after going.  Plus, with two other kids in the house, who's really watching him anyway??  So I skipped that step with him!

 

In order to prepare for potty training, I give myself 7 days without any plans.  No need to leave the house during the awake hours.  March Break was perfect for me because I am other-peoples-kids-less.  I'm really hoping it doesn't take the actual 7 days, but it's there in case he turns out to be as stubborn with this as he is with everything else!  Gracie took 2 days, Ella took 5.

 

I stock up on underwear which, by the way, has been the most expensive part of having kids I think.  4 pairs of underwear for $10.00!! How ridiculous!  I need like 20 pairs, since kids are smelly little muggles and I rarely do laundry.  That's $50 in underwear. Crazy.  I also stock up on paper towel and spray Lysol.  Cause guess what I do the first day of potty training?  Let him pee all over the freaking house!!

 

Okay, not actually all over the house... he's been restricted to the upstairs, where there is no carpet.  But basically, the first couple of days are spent following him around, asking if he needs to pee, and letting him realize what peeing actually is.  The first time he peed in his underwear, he just stared at it like "what the hell just happened?!?" I said, "Oh no!  You peed, let's run, run, run to the potty!" I put him on the toilet, cleaned him up, asked if he needed to pee, said "Good try!" and got him a new pair of underwear.  By the end of the day, whenever he peed his pants he said "Mommy! Pee!!"  Day 1 - Success!  Yes, we went through 11 pairs of underwear, and I spent most of the day cleaning pee off the floor.  But he now knew what pee was and when he was actually peeing.

 

Day 2 is awfully similar to Day 1 with one major difference.  He only peed through 2 pairs of underwear.  He had a few wet spots, where he would start to pee, realize what he was doing and then stop and yell "Mommy! Pee!" and we would run, run, run to the bathroom.  I would put him on the toilet and sometimes he would pee, sometimes he wouldn't.  This is what I find is the longest and hardest part of potty training.  Within one day, he already knows how to stop himself from peeing.  What he hasn't learned yet, is to start again.  He can't "pee on demand," say, before leaving the house or going to bed.  He is not potty trained until I can be sure he pees out all the pee before he goes down for a nap, or goes to the mall.  Jax, as I mentioned before, is stubborn.  The most stubborn of the Ford kids, actually.  And I'm not sure that potty training him will be a success.  I'm not sure that he'll "get it" when it comes to going pee when I need him to.  He's done great so far, and I have high hopes that he'll get the "go pee" request when I place him on the potty.  He's already learned to run to the bathroom when he needs to go, so I have hope.  But he does not like to be told what to do.  "No" is his favourite word.  Plus, the first two were so easy, I'm due for a challenge!

 

Day #3 is coming up, and I don't know what it'll bring!  I know he's super impressed with his new underwear ("Mommy!  Unnies!"), and will probably be very sad when I make him start wearing pants again at the end of the week.  I know that venturing out in public for the first time sans-diapers will be terrifying and I'll be watching every little quiver and movement he makes.  I also know that staying dry through the night is notoriously more challenging for boys, so I haven't given up my diaper fund just yet.  But I do know that this is one stage I won't be sad to see behind me.  Or behind him.  Bye, bye baby diaper bums!! :)
 

 

 

PS - Day #3 Update: After refusing to pee after waking up with an almost-dry diaper this morning, Jax and I hung out in the bathroom this morning.  When he started to pee on the floor, I threw him on the potty and told him to watch (yes, his penis).  He saw a few dribbles, immediately stopped peeing, petted his penis and yelled "PEE!" I said, "That's right, do it again!" And he started peeing again, saw it, and got excited and stopped.  "Do it again!  Get it all out!" And then he did.  And then we had no accidents the rest of the day, and he peed "on demand" when I needed him to.  Crazy.  I will not, of course, count myself lucky just yet, but he only wet the one pair of underwear this morning, pooped on the potty, woke up dry from his nap, and had a huge pee before bed.  Seriously, letting my kids pee all over my floor for a couple of days has been my greatest parenting choice.  Because so far, it has proven to me that once they are aware of pee, and peeing, they become masters of pee!  Go, Jax!!!  :)

I used to be a writer...

Back in the day, I used to be a writer.  You know, before there were three Ford babies in my life.  Before we moved out of our tiny little home into this big beautiful home.  Before Grampy and Nanny Fillmore moved in.  Before I stopped sleeping through the night.  Before I started smelling other people's bums to check for poo.  Before I started showering with the curtain open so little people could stare and point and ask questions about my boobs. Before I caught another person's barf in my own hands while singing a lullaby. Before I shopped mostly for "red" milk instead of beer. Before wine became a 7:00 necessity.  Before sleeping in meant being woken up at 7:15.  Before Cheerios became an accessory to the kitchen floor, the living room couch, and my purse.  Before I wiped boogers from a child's nose with my bare hands and wiped it on my own pants. Basically, before I became a mom.

 

Before all of that, I used to be writer.  Not a great writer.  Not even a decent writer.  But I used to write.  I used to write here, on this blog.  I used to make people laugh.  I used to write poetry.  I used to write love letters.  I used to write long, eloquent emails to long-lost and dear friends.

 

Now, I don't write.  Not nearly as much as I should.  Not nearly as often I would like.  And not anywhere close to the quality of words that I know I should be able to string together.  These days, I think about writing, and then life gets in the way.  These days, I think how I could spin a Gracie-story into a humerous blog entry, and think "Fuck it, I'll Facebook that shit." My writing, which used to be my escape, and something that kept my brain and soul happy, has been reduced to 6-line "She said/I said" anecdotes on social media.

 

Before, I would craft Christmas cards and write meaningful messages to our family and friends.  Now, I buy Christmas cards, write something beautiful like "Wishing you joyfulness and joy this joyous time of the season of joy" and forget to put them in the mail.

 

Before, I would craft emails to friends pages long.  I would tell stories about the silly clients at work, the adventures I'd had over the weekend, and the great things going on in my life.  Now, I send a text that says "Lady - I know I suck.  It's been forever.  What's up?!?"

 

Before, I would text Danny during the day, saying "Hi lover face, I've been thinking about you.  Can't wait to see you tonight!  I've been looking forward to dinner and a movie all week.  Love you, oh so much! xox". Now, I send texts of desperation: "Need tea." or "OMG - the girls won't stop whining!  Make. It. Stop."

 

Yes, I used to be a writer.  Before life happened.  Now, I have three crazy, amazing, and exhausting kids.  I have Gracie - the kid who can ask a million questions, and desperately wants all the answers.  I have Ella - the kid who I'm pretty sure is made up of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, as well as a sprinkle of sugar and spice.  And I have Jax - the most amazing little boy with the biggest attitude of all the Ford children.  I have a full-time job called motherhood, and a husband who is now a university student.  I also have these adorable other children that I borrow during the day to keep my kids (and me) entertained.  I have a 5-bedroom house that needs to be cleaned, and organized, and lived in.  I have a neurotic puppy dog who sucks the soul out of us with her craziness, but who still needs to be loved, and walked, and belly-rubbed.  I have all of this craziness in my world that prevents me from being able to form coherent thoughts, let alone write words in a sentence that make sense.

 

But I wouldn't change it.  I love my crazy, hectic, exhausting little life.  I adore my kids, even though they cause me to cry, whine, and yell at them.  I love the fact that my husband is in university, even though computer-talk is (unbelievably) more boring and confusing than plane-talk.  I love being a stay-at-home mom, even though I miss real adult conversation and believe this is the ultimate reason my brain has stopped working as a writer's brain should.  And even though it's been a rough couple of years for my writing brain, I feel like I'm coming out the other side of it.  Life has been crazy, and hectic, and absolutely exhausting.  But lately, I've been wanting to pick up a pen - okay, a keyboard - again and write.  Instead of thinking, "screw it" when something pops into my brain that I want to write about, I've been thinking, "maybe you should!"

 

I even started reading a book this week.  It has been over 2 years since I've read a book.  Okay, maybe that part's not true.  After all, I've read to you.  And you, and you, and you there too.  I've read a book the whole way through.  The books I've read all kind of rhyme.  And don't take up too much time.  Yes, I guess it is fair to say, I've read a book almost every day!  Dr. Seuss, and Karen Katz, they both know where kid books are at.  But seriously, I picked up a real book - one written for adults - this week and have actually started reading it.  Got through the first 6 chapters and everything.  So if I can start to read, and have my brain absorb the words, maybe - just maybe - I can start to put those words back out there in the form of writing.

 

I've spent the last year since we've moved in slowly, oh so slowly, unpacking, decluttering, and organizing our lives.  I feel like I'm at a point, finally, where I don't feel consumed by clutter and stuff.  And having less clutter and stuff in my home, has ultimately lead to me feeling like there is less clutter and stuff in my brain.  When I think of writing now, whole sentences begin to form in my head.  Not just one or two words, scattered amongst worries of where the kids need to be and when, and panic about whether or not I'm screwing up their lives, but actual real sentences.  Whole thoughts and ideas I want to get out.  And that is very exciting for me to feel again.

 

It's going to take a while, I think, before I'm comfortable with writing again.  Before writing becomes a priority for me once more.  But I'm excited to be on this journey again.  I used to love to write.  And though it's been on the back burner - behind sleep, and kids, and family, and life - I really hope I can become a writer again.  I have lots to say, and some pretty incredible kids who keep me up to my elbows in stories to share.  I'm going to try to start to write again... so please, bear with me while I find my word groove once again!

All the things she knows...

Gracie is almost five years old.  That in itself is a scary fact!  But the things my little girl knows already is even scarier.  Here's a complete list of all the things Gracie has learned by the precious age of 4 and three-quarters:

1.  How to spell her name.  G-R-A-C-I-E.  It's scrawled all over our driveway in pink chalk.  As well as J-A-X, E-L-L-A, M-O-M-M-Y, D-A-D-D-Y, and just today she learned L-E-S-L-I-E, H-E-L-E-N, C-H-A-R-L-I-E, and E-L-V-I-S.  In case you aren't familiar with the Ford-family dynamics, that would be Nanny and Grampy and our dog and cat.  She also knows how to spell dog, but she doesn't think she'll use that word because the dog has a real name.  This learning-to-spell thing has been torturous for me, since she likes to write letters. "Mommy, how do you spell 'dear.'  How do you spell 'Aunt.' How do you spell 'Jesse.' How do you spell...

2.  Her phone number.  Yesterday, she said to her father, "Daddy, our phone number is 765-6525." And he said, "Very good, Gracie!"  I said, "What the hell?  How do you know our phone number?"  Because, (1) who ever uses our house phone?  I mean, come on, we have modes of communication now that aren't attached to the wall, and (2) I've never told her our phone number before.  And she said, "Last week when we were at the library checking out our books, Miss Judy asked you for our phone number, and you told her."  So, apparently my kid is one of those special creatures that remembers everything she's every heard.  Now taking donations for her future therapy sessions!

3.  How to count to 100.  This one is fun.  Especially when she wants to show you how she can.  And then wants to show her dad right afterwards.  And then her nanny.  And then Ella, Charlie, and Elvis.

4.  What is a good idea.  She shares this knowledge with me every day, mostly during periods of time outs.  It goes something like this,

Me: "Gracie, you cannot take the toys from Ella without asking.  Go sit in time out please." 

Her:  "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Gracie, after supper you have to have a shower and then get ready for bed."

Her: "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Gracie, it's time to clean up.  You pick up the books please."

Her: "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Let's go to Walmart and do some shopping."

Her: "That is a GREAT idea."

For the record, not-good ideas are usually followed by arm crossing and lip pouting.  Great ideas are usually followed by hugs and kisses.  Unfortunately, I'm not as smart as Gracie and my ideas are, apparently, usually less than stellar.

5.  Style.  My kid is the queen of dressing herself.  Sometimes, she looks adorable.  The cutest little sweaters matched perfectly with jeans or leggings.  And then, other times, she looks like this:

That would be hot-pink leggings underneath blue shorts, with a yellow-striped top underneath a white blouse.  Lets not forget the blue Elsa socks.  And the hair, which she did herself.  She said this is how doctors dress, and she wants to be a doctor when she grows up.  I'm not stifling that ambition, so she can dress with all the style she wants, baby!

6.  How to communicate with the other-world.  A few years ago, Gracie told me about an older lady that comes to her room at night to talk with her and keep her company.  Creeped me the f' out.  These days, I don't hear as much about "Ruth" but I do see her stop often, put her hands together, and pray.  I run a Sunday School program, and go to church every Sunday... but prayer has never been my strong point.  I'm more of a "pray when I need something right now" kind of person.  I never really got the hang of it, and when I actually attempt a little quiet prayerful contemplation, I usually wind up thinking about the laundry that still needs to be done, the annoying screaming coming from one of the three monsters in my house, or a million other things that distract a mother.  I usually wind it up with "Anyway, I'm sure you know what I was going to say. So... yeah.  The end. Amen."  So the fact that Gracie can just fold her hands and throw a prayer up anywhere and about everything... that's some spiritual knowledge right there!

7.  How to tell time.  This one has been coming for a while.  She first learned to tell me the time that was on the microwave, even though those numbers meant nothing to her.  Then, she started asking what time we did certain things and staring at the microwave clock at different times during the day.  Then she memorized our "schedule" and started making me stick to it.  The fact that she also knows days of the weeks, just makes her more of a pain in the ass.  "Mom, I have gymnastics in 3 days, which is Saturday, and we have to be ready and out the door by 8:30, and it lasts for one hour, and when we get home, it's 10:30, which is snack time."  And then she repeats that every day until gymnastics arrive, and then starts over on Sunday.  She also does this with Ella's dance class, when Grampy comes home to visit, bedtime, snack time, lunch time, supper time, and any other time food might be involved.  I also can no longer lie about certain things. Like bedtime.  On "those" days, I used to gleefully announce at 6:30, "it's bedtime!!"  Now, Gracie will check the clock and say, "Bedtime's not till 7!"  Damn it.

8.  Everything else in the whole entire world.  That's right, I have a special 4-year old, who knows everything!  Just ask her...