The following conversation took place this morning as my husband I watched a pair of finches building a nest in our Boston fern on the deck.
"Typical male", I said as the female was doing all the nest building and the male sat below pigging out in the feeder.
"He was probably kicked out for not doing it right", said Hubby. " 'No! That's not where that leaf goes. It goes over here."
"Well, that sounds about right. He probably wasn't listening the first five times she told him where and how to do it."
"What was that?"
"Never mind, I'll just do it myself."
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Some Days Are Better Than Others
Some days are better than others. We all know this. But when stuck in the middle of one of those days it's difficult to see past the poop on your carpet, or whatever else may have come your way. So I suppose there was no great reason for me to be surprised when the words "GO GET IN YOUR CRATE" were issued from my lips last week. The surprise came as I realized I was yelling them at my son, and not our dog.
Firstborn turns two next month and we've been working on potty training the past two weeks. We've actually been "potty teaching" for some months, but it's been in the past two weeks that the proverbial light bulb went off deep within him. And with the weather warming up it's made potty training much easier. He's been going bare bottomed, and loving it too, I might add. His floor potty is placed in the living room atop several old towels as well as in front. I'm absolutely amazed by the boy's arc and aim. I can see now that I will be fighting a constant battle with keeping a clean bathroom in the future.
The first few days I baby gated him into the living room so as to contain any accidents. Each time he pee-pees in the potty he gets a jelly bean. After a few days the gate came down. I'm proud to say we've only had four, maybe five "uh ohs". The third "uh oh" I'm sure was done on purpose just to see if he could vacuum it up with his play Dirt Devil. It seems he may have inherited my love of vacuuming.
He's doing quite well with the pee-pee portion of potty time. It's the poopy that gives him fits. Like most boys he would rather poop in his diaper. The problem is that he doesn't like to wear diapers anymore. So when he needs to "see a man about a horse" he does this crazy, tribal dance. He'll run to the potty and sit. He'll hop up grabbing his hiney. Then he'll run in circles while whining, "hurts, Mama, hiney hurts". Then he'll sit again, only to repeat the whole dance. I ask him if he would like to put a diaper on and he'll utter a very pained, "yeah". Sometimes he avoids the whole tribal dance and just brings me a diaper. No sooner will I have him strapped in and he's finishing up business.
One day last week we were having an especially whiny morning. I don't know who started it, but when either Firstborn or myself wake in a whiny mood it tends to be contagious. I was sitting on the couch when Firstborn began his poopy dance. I was determined that this time the kid was going to poop on the potty, so I didn't offer him a diaper. He danced around the living room half a dozen times and then sat on his potty.
"Alright," I thought to myself. "That's more like it." He sat and sat. He sat some more. It had been over twenty minutes since the beginning of the "poo poo limbo" and I needed to go potty as well. I'm pregnant, it had been twenty minutes, you know the equation: pregnant + the recommended 60 oz of water/daily = peeing every 15-20 minutes.
I could hear Firstborn as I was making my way back to the living room. "Poo Poo! Poo Poo!" I hurried. I certainly didn't want him trying to empty the potty by himself. I guess there was no need to hurry after all. I entered the room as my son had a handful of poop and was about to place it into the potty. Oh, and there was more on the carpet. *Sighs* Some days are better than others.
The rest of the day followed much in the same fashion. I had a lengthy to do list, but was making no headway with it. Every time I turned around I was either cleaning up a new mess or disciplining. The straw that broke the camel's back came at the end of the day. I was trying to make supper and fold laundry while Firstborn was playing in his room. As I emerged from the laundry closet I looked across the room to see that he was washing my sliding glass door with his baby's blanket. I knew in an instant there was only one place he could have gotten the water to wet that blanket as thoroughly as he did, the potty.
I took the blanket away and swatted his bottom all in one motion. With my right arm I pointed down the hallway. And as if I was having some out of body experience I heard myself yell, "GO GET IN YOUR CRATE."
The dog, who had been sleeping soundly, jerked her head up. Her look said it all, "What did I do?" Firstborn cocked his head to one side and began to giggle hysterically. And with that so did I, because after all, aren't some days better than others?
Firstborn turns two next month and we've been working on potty training the past two weeks. We've actually been "potty teaching" for some months, but it's been in the past two weeks that the proverbial light bulb went off deep within him. And with the weather warming up it's made potty training much easier. He's been going bare bottomed, and loving it too, I might add. His floor potty is placed in the living room atop several old towels as well as in front. I'm absolutely amazed by the boy's arc and aim. I can see now that I will be fighting a constant battle with keeping a clean bathroom in the future.
The first few days I baby gated him into the living room so as to contain any accidents. Each time he pee-pees in the potty he gets a jelly bean. After a few days the gate came down. I'm proud to say we've only had four, maybe five "uh ohs". The third "uh oh" I'm sure was done on purpose just to see if he could vacuum it up with his play Dirt Devil. It seems he may have inherited my love of vacuuming.
He's doing quite well with the pee-pee portion of potty time. It's the poopy that gives him fits. Like most boys he would rather poop in his diaper. The problem is that he doesn't like to wear diapers anymore. So when he needs to "see a man about a horse" he does this crazy, tribal dance. He'll run to the potty and sit. He'll hop up grabbing his hiney. Then he'll run in circles while whining, "hurts, Mama, hiney hurts". Then he'll sit again, only to repeat the whole dance. I ask him if he would like to put a diaper on and he'll utter a very pained, "yeah". Sometimes he avoids the whole tribal dance and just brings me a diaper. No sooner will I have him strapped in and he's finishing up business.
One day last week we were having an especially whiny morning. I don't know who started it, but when either Firstborn or myself wake in a whiny mood it tends to be contagious. I was sitting on the couch when Firstborn began his poopy dance. I was determined that this time the kid was going to poop on the potty, so I didn't offer him a diaper. He danced around the living room half a dozen times and then sat on his potty.
"Alright," I thought to myself. "That's more like it." He sat and sat. He sat some more. It had been over twenty minutes since the beginning of the "poo poo limbo" and I needed to go potty as well. I'm pregnant, it had been twenty minutes, you know the equation: pregnant + the recommended 60 oz of water/daily = peeing every 15-20 minutes.
I could hear Firstborn as I was making my way back to the living room. "Poo Poo! Poo Poo!" I hurried. I certainly didn't want him trying to empty the potty by himself. I guess there was no need to hurry after all. I entered the room as my son had a handful of poop and was about to place it into the potty. Oh, and there was more on the carpet. *Sighs* Some days are better than others.
The rest of the day followed much in the same fashion. I had a lengthy to do list, but was making no headway with it. Every time I turned around I was either cleaning up a new mess or disciplining. The straw that broke the camel's back came at the end of the day. I was trying to make supper and fold laundry while Firstborn was playing in his room. As I emerged from the laundry closet I looked across the room to see that he was washing my sliding glass door with his baby's blanket. I knew in an instant there was only one place he could have gotten the water to wet that blanket as thoroughly as he did, the potty.
I took the blanket away and swatted his bottom all in one motion. With my right arm I pointed down the hallway. And as if I was having some out of body experience I heard myself yell, "GO GET IN YOUR CRATE."
The dog, who had been sleeping soundly, jerked her head up. Her look said it all, "What did I do?" Firstborn cocked his head to one side and began to giggle hysterically. And with that so did I, because after all, aren't some days better than others?
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