Potty training. The joys.
Perhaps we are a bit ahead of the curve here, seeing as the sprout is only 18 months old. But with the whole EC thing, it just seemed like he should be potty trained. And I hate (repeat HATE) changing diapers.
About a month ago we did something I swore I would never do. We bought a child's toilet seat for our toilet. We have a potty and it's a no go. The sprout's feet touch the floor and up he gets and starts running around the bathroom. And he's getting too heavy to hold over the toilet. So I went out and bought an infant potty seat.
First of all, if you want a potty that isn't covered in some disney character smiling back at your child's ass with the words, "Way to go!!" printed on it you are shit out of luck. Well, almost. But you really have to look for the plain boring ones that scream, "I'm a cheap bastard and it's obviously going to take me 18 times as long to potty train my child because he isn't trying to pee on Dora."
But I did find one. Tucked away behind the bright pink barbies and toronto maple leaf blue thomases. It was only a little dusty, blue with a white seat. A white squishy, cushy seat. The dude calls it the posh toilet. The sprout now pats his toilet and says, "posh" while he has a wee.
In an attempt to use positive reinforcement we clap and cheer when the sprout does his business. Sometimes we give high fives. Sometimes we jump up and down and do little twirls... errr... okay I only did that once. And then I fell in the bathtub. We stick with clapping now.
Only the sprout has decided that he's going to call the shots while he's on his thrown.
me: little sprout do you need to go pee pee?
sprout: taps diaper dry!
me: okay, let's go to the bathroom!
sprout: taps diaper dry! dry!
me: taking off diaper You are dry! Let's go go go! run into bathroom and deposit sprout on posh toilet
sprout: bum! (means sit on your bum on the edge of the cold metal bathtub, mummy)
sprout: pats toilet seat posh!
me: do you need to go pee pee?
sprout: stares off into space
sprout: psssssssssssssssssssssssssss
me: Yeah!!!!!! initiates clapping
(much clapping and cheering ensues)
sprout: Hug!
me: ummm... sure... kneels down and gives the sprout a hug
sprout: bum! (go freeze your buns some more on the cold metal bathtub)
sprout: daddy! bum! points next to me on the bathtub
me: daddy travaille (my pathetic attempt at teaching him french)
me: fini? all done? signs "all done"
sprout: signs "all done"
sprout: wipe! points behind him to the pile of cloth wipes on the back of the toilet
me: are you sure you're all done?
sprout: WIPE! (damn it woman, listen when I tell you what to do)
me: okay okay
Next thing I know the sprout is going to be expecting all his stuffed animals to have a little parade every time he squeezes out a dribble.
Sunday 2 January 2011
Monday 29 November 2010
etsy envy
The sprout's new bedroom was inspired by rocket ships and robots. So right now I am envying all things space...
And cute little boy clothes! There is such little choice :)
Rocket long sleeve tee from JackandChloe
Rocket fabric by Keri Beyer from luckykaerufabric
Knee patch wool pants from FuriousKingston
Robot tee from CantaloupeCorner
Lunar landing pod art print from johnwgolden
Rocket ship flashy pants from BayBeeGee
And cute little boy clothes! There is such little choice :)
Rocket long sleeve tee from JackandChloe
Rocket fabric by Keri Beyer from luckykaerufabric 
Knee patch wool pants from FuriousKingston
Robot tee from CantaloupeCorner
Lunar landing pod art print from johnwgolden
Rocket ship flashy pants from BayBeeGee
Thursday 25 November 2010
Monday 30 August 2010
remember to lock your doors
The doorbell wakes you up. It's 1am. And you know, you sense that something is wrong.
It's just kids, you try to convince yourself. They are running around ringing doorbells trying to give everyone a good scare. At 1am...
And then you hear someone try the door. Your heart starts to race. You think, I locked it, didn't I? You turn to the dude who is already climbing out of bed. "What's going on?" You ask. Like he knows. Like it's not pitch dark in your house. Like he can see who's outside from the bedroom.
"I don't know," he says.
Your heart is racing. Someone is trying to get into your house. You hear the sound of someone trying to turn the lock. You feel trapped. Scared. Frozen. It's making sense, what is happening, yet it makes no sense at all.
A burglar who rings the bell?
The baby starts to stir. Will a crying baby scare him off? You realize that you can't move. Your whole body is frozen. Listening. Waiting. He's still trying to open the door. And then nothing.
The dude is back. "Get him." He says about the baby. "Get him and call 911. Somebody is trying to get in." He's holding a knife.
His words unfreeze you. They give you a purpose. You get the baby. You get the phone. You force yourself to be calm. You quiet the baby. You call.
And you hear him trying the other door. He's still trying to get the lock to turn.
It's like you see yourself, you hear yourself, saying words you hoped you'd never say. "Someone is trying to break into my house." You marvel at how even your voice is. You fight to stay calm. It's like it's happening to you but at the same time it's so bizarre that it isn't. This has to be someone else. This isn't happening to my family.
She asks questions. "I don't know," you say. "I'm with my baby."
The dude comes and takes the phone. He gives a description. Height. Hair. Backpack. Barefoot. He tells her what direction he's headed in. He asks for a cop to come by. He hasn't put the knife down.
It's quiet again. No one is outside. The dude is waiting at the door. He still hasn't dropped the knife.
Ten minutes go by.
The cop arrives.
"We've apprehended him." He says.
"He's being very cooperative." He says.
"Never been in trouble with the law before." He says
"He's really drunk. Probably just thought this was his house. We're going to take him home."
On the stoop are his shoes and socks.
"Didn't want to track mud into the house," the cop jokes.
Only, I don't feel like joking. I feel relief that it's so trivial. But I feel sick. This is my house. This is my family. I don't fall asleep again until the sun is starting to come up.
And in the light of day, I can see the humour in it. I can see the guy telling the story about the night he got so drunk he tried to get into someone else's house because he thought it was his. I can see him laughing about it over a few beers with his friends.
But now it's dark again. And I'm afraid to go to bed.
Does he understand the fear he's left us with?
It's just kids, you try to convince yourself. They are running around ringing doorbells trying to give everyone a good scare. At 1am...
And then you hear someone try the door. Your heart starts to race. You think, I locked it, didn't I? You turn to the dude who is already climbing out of bed. "What's going on?" You ask. Like he knows. Like it's not pitch dark in your house. Like he can see who's outside from the bedroom.
"I don't know," he says.
Your heart is racing. Someone is trying to get into your house. You hear the sound of someone trying to turn the lock. You feel trapped. Scared. Frozen. It's making sense, what is happening, yet it makes no sense at all.
A burglar who rings the bell?
The baby starts to stir. Will a crying baby scare him off? You realize that you can't move. Your whole body is frozen. Listening. Waiting. He's still trying to open the door. And then nothing.
The dude is back. "Get him." He says about the baby. "Get him and call 911. Somebody is trying to get in." He's holding a knife.
His words unfreeze you. They give you a purpose. You get the baby. You get the phone. You force yourself to be calm. You quiet the baby. You call.
And you hear him trying the other door. He's still trying to get the lock to turn.
It's like you see yourself, you hear yourself, saying words you hoped you'd never say. "Someone is trying to break into my house." You marvel at how even your voice is. You fight to stay calm. It's like it's happening to you but at the same time it's so bizarre that it isn't. This has to be someone else. This isn't happening to my family.
She asks questions. "I don't know," you say. "I'm with my baby."
The dude comes and takes the phone. He gives a description. Height. Hair. Backpack. Barefoot. He tells her what direction he's headed in. He asks for a cop to come by. He hasn't put the knife down.
It's quiet again. No one is outside. The dude is waiting at the door. He still hasn't dropped the knife.
Ten minutes go by.
The cop arrives.
"We've apprehended him." He says.
"He's being very cooperative." He says.
"Never been in trouble with the law before." He says
"He's really drunk. Probably just thought this was his house. We're going to take him home."
On the stoop are his shoes and socks.
"Didn't want to track mud into the house," the cop jokes.
Only, I don't feel like joking. I feel relief that it's so trivial. But I feel sick. This is my house. This is my family. I don't fall asleep again until the sun is starting to come up.
And in the light of day, I can see the humour in it. I can see the guy telling the story about the night he got so drunk he tried to get into someone else's house because he thought it was his. I can see him laughing about it over a few beers with his friends.
But now it's dark again. And I'm afraid to go to bed.
Does he understand the fear he's left us with?
Thursday 15 July 2010
we bought a house!
It is a 1960's bungalow. It still has the original kitchen with original stove, recirculating hood fan and single sink. The basement is original too. Wood paneling, orange carpet, orange bar. Oh ya, baby, there's a bar!
And it's perfect :)
Well, okay, maybe not "perfect". But I get to redecorate, which I am loving!
Since it's a mid-century home we are thinking about going (wait for it...) mid-century modern.
Aren't we original?
The best part? I get to do another nursery! And since we now know that the sprout is a boy it won't be yellow and green. I'm thinking robot, rocket ship...
Feel free to suggest your favorite mid-century modern design websites. I need ideas!
And it's perfect :)
Well, okay, maybe not "perfect". But I get to redecorate, which I am loving!
Since it's a mid-century home we are thinking about going (wait for it...) mid-century modern.
Aren't we original?
The best part? I get to do another nursery! And since we now know that the sprout is a boy it won't be yellow and green. I'm thinking robot, rocket ship...
Feel free to suggest your favorite mid-century modern design websites. I need ideas!
Saturday 3 July 2010
sometimes life just takes over...
Or it doesn't, actually.
Sometimes life ends.
This happened to be the case of one great grandmother recently. A lady who truly understood what it meant to live through hard times. A lady who was a survivor. A lady who fought so hard for all the things she loved.
She lost this last battle to cancer. And the sprout will never know his great grandma. Sure, he's met her and spent time with her. But being only one, he will not carry these memories with him.
Instead he will hear of how she survived the war in France.
He will learn that she once hemmed pants for Picasso, who offered to pay her in art. But she was so poor that she asked for money instead.
He will hear about how she came to Canada to have a better life for daughters, only to be swindled, left penniless and alone, with her daughters back home.
He will find out that grandpa lent her the money to bring them together. The same man who sat in the front row at her funeral and could not stand because he was crying so much.
He will learn that she had trouble pronouncing names and it took her years to say daddy's name, called mummy "brawny-winny" for the longest time and never quite got your name.
She was a woman who continued to love after life took away so much, and everything indicated that she should be defeated.
But she never was.
We will miss you, grandma.
Sometimes life ends.
This happened to be the case of one great grandmother recently. A lady who truly understood what it meant to live through hard times. A lady who was a survivor. A lady who fought so hard for all the things she loved.
She lost this last battle to cancer. And the sprout will never know his great grandma. Sure, he's met her and spent time with her. But being only one, he will not carry these memories with him.
Instead he will hear of how she survived the war in France.
He will learn that she once hemmed pants for Picasso, who offered to pay her in art. But she was so poor that she asked for money instead.
He will hear about how she came to Canada to have a better life for daughters, only to be swindled, left penniless and alone, with her daughters back home.
He will find out that grandpa lent her the money to bring them together. The same man who sat in the front row at her funeral and could not stand because he was crying so much.
He will learn that she had trouble pronouncing names and it took her years to say daddy's name, called mummy "brawny-winny" for the longest time and never quite got your name.
She was a woman who continued to love after life took away so much, and everything indicated that she should be defeated.
But she never was.
We will miss you, grandma.
Thursday 17 June 2010
A party would have been too obvious
We decided we weren't going to throw a 1st birthday party for the sprout. I didn't feel like inviting a bunch of people over so the sprout could take a nap.
And I eat far too much cake anyways. I don't need another occasion to have more cake.
Besides, I have a hard enough time keeping my house clean. Now that we are selling I haven't gotten any better. Ugh.
So, what do you think a science major and a math major do with their first born for his first birthday?
Well, first we took a trip on a steam engine.
But the sprout decided we were going too slow, so he drove instead.
Then, he flew us up to the moon in a rocket ship.
On the way back to earth we stopped off at the space station to operate the Canadarm.
To end the day we traveled really fast down some optic wires, just like data traveling from one point to another.
And after all that, the sprout passed out.
Yes, he actually sleeps like that quite regularly. It helps amplifies the farting which is especially nice when he has his ass right next to your head.
You too can have an awesome, out-of-this-world birthday experience! Just go here!
And I eat far too much cake anyways. I don't need another occasion to have more cake.
Besides, I have a hard enough time keeping my house clean. Now that we are selling I haven't gotten any better. Ugh.
So, what do you think a science major and a math major do with their first born for his first birthday?
Well, first we took a trip on a steam engine.
But the sprout decided we were going too slow, so he drove instead.
Then, he flew us up to the moon in a rocket ship.
On the way back to earth we stopped off at the space station to operate the Canadarm.
To end the day we traveled really fast down some optic wires, just like data traveling from one point to another.
And after all that, the sprout passed out.
Yes, he actually sleeps like that quite regularly. It helps amplifies the farting which is especially nice when he has his ass right next to your head.
You too can have an awesome, out-of-this-world birthday experience! Just go here!
Wednesday 16 June 2010
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