PractiGal

What's next? No Santa??

Three-year-olds are really fun. When they're not mid-tantrum, that is. With boundless energy and imagination, they really are entertaining.

A few weeks ago we were having a blast with the "Got your nose" game. You know the one... you pretend to grab the little one's nose off his face, holding "it" between your clenched fingers. After a few rounds, our little guy pried Dad's hand open.

"Hey!" he announced, "That's not my nose! That's your finger!"

There go the years of fun we had planned with that one...

Then tonight, during our 843rd viewing of the Disney movie Cars, there was another lightbulb moment:

"Hey, wait a minute! Cars don't talk!"

Something tells me the Easter Bunny and friends aren't long for our house.

Nothing like a deadline

Preschool begins in September. That means I have approximately 2 months to get my son potty-trained. Am I panicking? Well, yeah, you could say that...

It's on my mind every day, but somehow the days go by, as I am working a lot and life is hectic -- you know how it goes...  And every couple of weeks I cringe as I toss another case of diapers into my shopping cart. 

We are nowhere near "potty-trained."  My little boy likes to talk about the potty. Sometimes he tells us that he has to go, and what that means is that he's actually going at that moment. Yes, he is ready.

I have this book, Potty Train Your Child in Just One Day, and I'm on my second reading of it. The author outlines a plan for a 1-day full-out potty party. The idea is that on the morning of party day, you and your child teach a doll to use the potty, and in the afternoon, the focus turns to your child. It's the old "learn by teaching" technique. That, and building muscle memory -- you fill your child with lots of liquids, so they need to go. A lot. Around all of this, the author suggests a themed party. I've chosen a theme (camping) and have plenty of ideas for decorating the living room like a camp site. My boy will be totally into that as he's always talking about going camping.

My problem? I'm having trouble with the actual execution of the plan. I think it's analysis paralysis.  What if it doesn't work? What do we do when we go on vacation? What if I mess up and set him back somehow? Then I'll have only days left til preschool, and I'll be screwed.

Maybe subconsciously there's a part of me that doesn't really want to let go of the "baby" that my little boy is, with diapers. But the fact is, he's 3; he's been 3 since March. He's not a baby anymore. I need to let this happen. I need to encourage it.

I have the peeing boy doll. I have prizes. I have poster board for progress charts (for my son and the doll). We have 2 potty chairs and a seat adapter. I even have an ice cream cake waiting in the freezer, for the big celebration. So what's my problem?

Yesterday I e-mailed the author, begging for a pep talk.  Can you say "Wha ta dor kiam?"  I'm sure she had a good laugh! Coincidentally, later the same day, my neighbor (who proudly announced - the day before her son's 3rd birthday- that he was potty-trained) asked me "Are you doing any potty training? Doesn't he have to be potty-trained for preschool?"

Of course he does! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! The pressure!!!

Today, I'm asking you for a pep talk. 

Please! Pep talk me!

Darwin in action

Here's a tip for you thieves in search of a get-away vehicle: 

Stay away from Hummer Limos.

Besides the fact that they're, um, unbelievably conspicuous... they may not handle as nimbly as you'd like while fleeing the scene of the crime.

Take it from this guy, who (surprise, surprise) is described as having a "lengthy criminal record."

PDA

Five years ago today, we said I do...

Neither of us knew what life would bring.  Of course it's brought us joys and struggles...

I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have found you,  my Pickle Man. I can't imagine navigating this journey with anyone other than you...

I love you, Hubby. Happy anniversary!

xoxoxo,
Marie

Did they know then, what we know now?

I grew up on Wonder bread and Velveeta. Fritos and Tastykakes. Kool-Aid and McDonald's french fries.

And as far as I know, I'm in good health. I don't have any diseases that I know of, and I have all my teeth (so far).

So why do I keep my son away from the stuff I grew up on?

I wonder what were dentists and pediatricians telling parents back in the 60s and 70s?

Hey, that's a beautiful Kool-Aid smile you've got there!

Have you been eating your processed cheese food?

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I took my son to the dentist for the first time last week. At his three-year checkup, the pediatrician recommended that we start going for regular checkups.   Our ped referred us to a local pediatric dentist -- I didn't know there was such a thing!  Were there pediatric dentists in the '70s?

We get there, and I'm in awe. Just like at the pediatrician's office, there are toys and a fish tank in the waiting room. And video games! I don't remember ever having a fun time at the dentist's office! When did this start? 

The incredibly patient hygienist comes out to greet us, wearing a fun smock. The place is clearly set up for kids. It's one big room with partitions -- you can see other kids sitting on their chairs. The hygienist lets my son choose a toothbrush  to take home, and then she leads us to our spot. She carefully explains to my son that she's going to write a story (in other words, fill out the form) about him. She shows him that part of the story will be about his teeth. There's a diagram of the mouth on the form, and my son takes a look. She explains that she'll count his teeth and brush them.  I'm thinking that it will be a complete miracle if my son allows her to touch his mouth, much less probe around and brush. My little boy clings to me at the pediatrician's, even when there are no shots, so I wasn't confident that this would go well. 

Miraculously, my son laid across my lap while I sat knee to knee with the hygienist. He rested his head on her lap and actually allowed the exam to take place. The counting. The probing. The scraping and polishing. Amazing! The dentist comes over and is as gentle as gentle can be. She talks to my son about Thomas the Tank Engine. He plays with their Thomas toys on the floor. And she talks to me about juice. She explains that kids my son's age should have no more than 4 ounces of juice per day, and 8 ounces of milk. Beyond that? Water.

"But oh!," I explain, "I water the juice heavily. He drinks colored water."  But that way he's getting sugar with each drink, she says.  She emphasizes the importance of limiting the sugar-intake by switching to water.

So we're working on that. I have special straw cups for water only now... and every day we discuss what the dentist said.  " Mommy, I want big piles of grape juice!"  I'm becoming a broken record with "Remember what Dr. Kelley said about juice?"

Oy.

I remember drinking a lot a lot a LOT of Kool-Aid as a kid. And it wasn't diluted. No wonder I'm addicted to sugar!

My son loooooooves hot dogs too.  He'd eat them (and macaroni and cheese) for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could.  So we've stocked up on "natural" hot dogs. No nitrites or nitrates. Today I cleared the freezer in the health food section of its entire stock of turkey dogs. I wonder if there even was such a thing in the 1970s? I'm pretty sure I grew up on Oscar Meyer.

I wonder what they'll be saying in thirty years about the things we eat and drink today?

What if she hadn't gotten away?

They say if you want to know what's going on in the neighborhood, you should ask the kids. I know it's true in my neighborhood.

Today, the kids in my neighborhood, and the adults too, know what went on this morning. A grown man tried to pull a high school girl into his pickup truck while she waited for the bus at the end of the street. We learned about it when the police went door to door, asking if anyone saw anything. We did see her walking toward the end of the street and said hi, like always. Everyone knows everyone here. We did not see the struggle at the end of the street a few minutes later though. And we didn't see her running away from the man who tried to get her into his truck.

Of course we're shaken up. You think you're safe, but the fact is we're all vulnerable.

I have plenty of questions, but no answers.

Why didn't she scream? There'd have been a swarm of adults on the scene in seconds. The same adults who gathered outside while the police went door to door afterwards.

Does she know who's home during the day? Kids know these things. She must know.

Why was she dressed the way she was? She was dressed the same as she is every day, and I always wonder why she's dressed as she is -- in tight little clothes that appear too small for her. And no, I'm not saying she was asking for it.  But why tempt the sickos any more than necessary? Why don't her parents intervene when it comes to what she wears?

Was the guy out looking for someone to abduct? Or did he just see her and spontaneously decide to go for it?

Has he done this before?

I hope they catch the bastard. And then bring him down the street so we can all stone him.

We'll be hugging our kids a little tighter in my neighborhood tonight.

I should not be laughing at this...

...  so I thought I'd share. That way, you can feel guilty for laughing at this too!

Study: Alzheimer�s Patients Say They Do Not Have Alzheimer�s

They'll get ya -- coming and going

Dear Sucker,

We know you went to a Day Out With Thomas.  And you bought stuff at the Thomas store. As did your mother-in-law.  Between the two of you, you spent at least an arm and a leg.

Well, guess what? You have a child who loves Thomas, and we have your e-mail address. Now we will pester you for life.

So tell me... What kind of mother lets her child go to the beach without Thomas swimming trunks? And a coordinating beach towel? And sunglasses? And don't forget the sandals and lunch box...

And sure, you have t-shirts with Thomas on them. But what about the other engines? Everyone knows that a real Thomas fan must also pay tribute to Percy and James by wearing them across his chest, too. And don't forget Henry, Gordon, Diesel 10, and the others. They all deserve a place in your child's wardrobe.

So, because you came and spent a small fortune for your Day Out, we're sure you'll want to hand over the plastic one more time. Because Thomas Fever? It won't last forever. We have to get you now, while you & your child are still prime for the pumping. And while you have your credit card in-hand.

Just think about it. What precious child doesn't need a gold Thomas and a silver Percy.

Why deprive your child of these basic necessities?

See you later, Sucker.

Cha-ching!
-- The Thomas gang

OK. So that's not verbatim what the e-mail said....

And on a more serious Thomas note -- a bunch of wooden Thomas trains and accessories (manufactured since 2005) have been recalled, due to lead paint.  (Thanks for sharing the news, VW!) We have a bunch of items on the recall list and will be exchanging them.

Now, see? If we'd sprung for the gold and silver trains this wouldn't be an issue!

Want whipped cream with that?

We've entered the phase of parenting where you look at each other and wonder if your child will ever stop talking. I don't know what this phase is called, and chances are it's not just a phase. And of course I hope he continues talking to us.  But that's beside the point...

The fact is that 3-year-olds say some pretty darn funny things. For example, I used to enjoy driving with my sunroof and windows open, singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs. Now?

"No wind!"  He wants all windows and the sunroof closed.

"Stop the car!" When we drive by something he wants to see.

"Stop singing!"  My old habit is now reserved for the rare solo ride.

"No music!"  HUH?  You've got to be kidding me. I always listen to music when I drive. I draw the line!

Then there are his conversation starters.... "You know Herbie?"

My son currently has a complete and total obsession with Herbie the Love Bug. So all things VW-Bug-related are discussed all day, every day. We have numerous VW Bug toy cars. We've watched all the movies, and he knows key scenes in each flick. In the original movie, there's a scene where the bad guy puts Irish coffee in Herbie's engine, to prevent him from winning a race.  So when Herbie starts feeling the effects of the mischief, he spews whipped cream on the racetrack. This is hilarious to a 3-year-old. For the rest of the movie, he looks forward to an encore of that scene.

"Where's the butt creme?"

Butt creme? Oh, you mean whipped cream? (yes, we call diaper creme "butt creme" at our house)

I really thought he had the whipped cream thing down. Til we went for ice cream the other day.

We'd been out in our canoe for a ride on a beautiful afternoon. (No I didn't steer...)  Afterward, we stopped for ice cream, since that's what you do on a perfect afternoon.

We walked up to the counter, where our son proudly and loudly announced what he wanted:

"I want chocolate with sprinkles and butt creme!"

Get Sanity

Preemptive aspirin -- check!
Empty bladder -- check!
Notepad & many pens -- check!
Complete quiet -- check!
Internet access up and running -- check!
Multi-language to English dictionary -- check!
Fully charged land line -- check!
Various cell phones -- check!

No, this is not the checklist I use before performing brain surgery. Though it may as well be. Calling my pre-paid cellular provider usually ends up taking years off my life (well, ok, several minutes at least).

I've used this provider for years. I have my phone mainly for emergencies, and typically use it to call home and say "I'm at Wegmans for milk -- what else do we need?" I'm not a big cell phone user, so the minutes I buy each year last me more than a year. It doesn't cost an arm and a leg, so it works out well for me.

Anyway. It's time to replenish my airtime, so I order an airtime card that's good for a year, along with a new phone. My phone is a couple of years old, so it's kind of heavy compared to what's available now. Plus, I decide I'd like the convenience of a camera phone, so that I always have a camera on me. You know, for when I need to take a picture of that gallon of milk I'm going to buy. Whatever. I just decided it would be a good feature to have.

So I have the old phone, whose airtime expires this weekend. I have the new phone, and a new airtime card. I need to transfer the remaining airtime to the new phone, and activate the new phone. Oh, and I need to transfer my phone number to the new phone. No big deal, right? This is what we do in the year 2007.

Just a clickeroo here and there, and I'll be all set, right?

Wrong.

I submit an e-mail question to the company, as I don't see my scenario covered in the FAQs on their web site. I enter the various codes from my phone. My cell phone #, my home phone #, all my personal information, including the locations of all birthmarks of everyone in my extended family. I hold my breath and submit the form.

Error. Cannot process request.

Huh? Maybe it's my browser. Maybe the web page doesn't like Firefox.

So, take 2: Internet Explorer. Resubmit all information. Again. Same error message. You've got to be freaking kidding me.  You mean I have to actually pick up the blasted phone and CALL them?

Oh no. I've been there before. This isn't going to be pretty.

I call. I follow the menu of options. I finally get to an option that sounds like it might be a fit for my scenario. I get the old recording...

We're sorry, we are currently experiencing high call volumes. Please visit our web site or try your call again later.

Click!

Click?? CLICK?? You freaking hang up on me? No "your wait time will be 25 minutes; please hold the line?"  NOTHING? Just "try calling later?" You've got to be freaking kidding me.

So I do call again later. Twenty seconds later. I try a different menu option, attempting to reach a human being, figuring I'd eventually outsmart the system. Same message. Seems all damn roads lead to CLICK!

Then I remember something I read over here at Against the Tide the other day. A reader comment mentioned a web site called GetHuman. I check it out. The company I'm trying to call is on the list!

I call the number listed. And I witness the parting of the Red Sea.

My call is answered immediately. The person who answers my call does not pass me on to anyone. She helps me with my request. All of it. Right then. Yes, our connection is a little weak (maybe because she's in Guatemala) and I have the phone pressed so tightly against my ear that I'm certain it will be attached to my head forever once the call is complete. But I don't care.

She answers. She gives me 25 10-digit codes to plug into my phones to transfer air time and my phone number. She is patient. She is HUMAN.

And I am RELIEVED!