Me Too!

Yesterday both boys were fresh out of the bath and still just wearing diaper and underwear. Peter had successfully used the bathroom and walked into his room carrying his bounty: a large marshmallow. Cooper saw it and started pointing and signing please rather insistently. I asked Cooper if he wanted the marshmallow. His reply: "Yeah." I told him that it was Peter's reward for using the bathroom and that Cooper would need to use the bathroom in order to get one. He immediately reached down and tried to undo his diaper.

I think I know what bribe to employ when it's time to potty-train Cooper...

Child of the 80's

This has been in my head for the last day and a half, and I don't mind one little bit. I found it here.



Happy Friday.

Losing My Mind One Diaper at a Time

I was thinking today about the good old days. I fondly remember how Peter wanted to potty-train last year, how he hated wearing diapers, how excited he was whenever he successfully used the bathroom.

I've been pondering on that time because he's not doing any of those things now. No, that's not true. He's mostly excited when he uses the toilet, but that's only after an extreme tantrum and wrestling match have taken place to sit him upon the porcelain throne. You see, I've decided that I'm ready. I'm ready to have Peter out of diapers. And I think he is too. I think he's physically ready. He sometimes wakes-up in the morning with a dry diaper. I think he's developmentally ready. He understands the process and knows how to make everything work.

The problem is that he doesn't want to. I'm not sure if it's that he doesn't want to be interrupted with whatever he's doing or if he just doesn't care. On Thursday of last week I dutifully put Pull-Ups on him and set the timer, telling him that when the microwave beeped then it would be time to use the bathroom. He was game for most of the day. Toward afternoon it took a little more prodding to get him to go, but he was still trying. Then at about 5 o'clock he announced that he was done, he wouldn't be using the bathroom again until Monday. I told him I didn't think he could hold it that long. He looked at me confidently and said, "Oh, I can."

I know I should have tried again the next day, but because Friday is our shopping day, I didn't insist that he go as regularly. On Saturday, Sunday, and Monday we would prompt Peter regularly to go use the bathroom, but each reminder was rebuffed. On Monday night while I was getting him ready for bed I told him that when he woke the next day he would wear underwear. He told me he would not.

On Tuesday I dutifully got the thick underwear out of the top drawer and let Peter pick which color he would wear. He chose red and blue stripes. Then, after having him use the bathroom, I set the timer. He was willing the first two times, but after that he flat out refused. But I had put real underwear on him, not a Pull-Up, I was committed. And darn it, he and I are both much too stubborn for our own good, so whenever the timer beeped I cheerfully told him that it was time to use the bathroom. He would defiantly tell me no and then, when I persisted, he would flail and scream and hit and kick and do other unwelcome things to express his displeasure over the situation.

He told me on Tuesday that he would NEVER potty-train.

I can't figure out why though. Why is he so against this? I know that you're supposed to follow the lead of the child, but I'm afraid that he'll never lead.

Any advice? Thoughts? Has anyone potty-trained a remarkably headstrong and independent child? Or known anyone that has? Or maintained their sanity in the process?

Like Father, Like Son, Part 2

Bryan's dad, Bryan's brother Spencer, and Bryan.

Peter asked me yesterday what little boys are made of. He was asking about the nursery rhyme. All I could come with was snails and puppy dog tails. I told him I was missing something and asked him to help me remember what it was.

Me: Peter, what are little boys made of?

Peter: Computers.

I think he may be right.

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem

"You know, I have to be almost naked to eat spaghetti."
-Peter, dressed in his Pull-Up and eating spaghetti

Peter, you're not the only one.

Expelled

Have you seen Expelled? It's Ben Stein's documentary about the exclusion of Intelligent Design from current scientific theory. Bryan and I watched it a few months ago and watched it again last night with Bryan's dad and brother. I realize that all documentaries are trying to make a specific point, they're propaganda. This is no exception. But I think his particular slant is fascinating.

He asks the basic question: What is so wrong with Intelligent Design? He gets answers like "it's stupid," "it's insane," and "it's utterly boring." All of these answers are provided by scientists, academics. Then Stein takes it a step further by asking what Intelligent Design actually is. The two opposing camps have radically different definitions.

And then he talks about Nazi Germany. That's the terrifying part of the documentary.

Go watch it, then come back and tell me what you thought.

Now That I Can Dance

I'm not endorsing the product, I just love when large groups of people simultaneously dance in unison.

The Elusive Zzzzs

Cooper woke up before four o'clock this morning. Oh how I envy parents that can simply put their children in their beds and have them sleep soundly through the night.

Last night was rough at our house. Really rough. Part of the roughness stems from Peter still being a nap-needing-child but at the same time not being able to take naps. We discovered a few months ago that if Peter took a nap during the day then he wouldn't go to sleep at night. Yesterday he needed a nap. He was grumpy, kept throwing tantrums, and had great big dark circles under his eyes. So, we had him take a nap. He woke up a much happier little boy.

Fast forward to bedtime. He wasn't as cranky as usual, but I could tell from his exponentially growing level of zaniness that he was tired. The more tired Peter is, the greater the likelihood of him running endless circles around his room. I kept reminding myself that he had had a nap and probably wouldn't go to sleep as easily as I would like. He didn't. I won't go into all the details, but I will say that towards the end of our much-derailed bedtime routine I pushed Cooper's bed into my room and told Peter to go to sleep on his own. This was for everyone's sanity.

I held Cooper in my room and listened to Peter's hysteria escalate. Once Cooper had dozed off I went into Peter and comforted him. He calmed down, but still wouldn't sleep. Bryan got home from work and took over Peter-duty while I went into the now awake Cooper. Both boys were finally asleep by ten at night, three hours past their normal bedtime.

When Peter goes to sleep late he will often wake up late. Not so with Cooper. That boy's internal clock is tightly wound and rarely lets him sleep past seven in the morning. Except lately he's been waking in the middle of the night. He screams and cries until one of us rescues him from his crib-confinement and then holds him while he actively sleeps in our bed for the rest of the night, resulting in a refreshed Cooper and two dead-on-our-feet parents. This morning he wouldn't go back to sleep.

Let us do a little math, shall we? He usually goes to sleep at seven at night and awakens at seven in the morning. That's twelve hours of much needed rejuvenating slumber for our small man. Last night he was asleep by ten (well, I think Cooper zonked out by nine-thirty, but we'll say ten for math purposes) and woke up at four. That's six hours of sleep, okay for an adult, but six hours short for a growing seventeen-month-old.

And that brings me to now. Here I sit at 6:42 in the morning, listening to Cooper cry because I've put him back in his own bed and very sweetly told him to go to sleep.

It's going to be a long day.

Big Red Cape

Bryan and I were reupholstering a chair last night and decided to watch something that didn't require a great deal of concentration. After looking through the choices we had on hand Bryan decided on something. About a minute into the movie I realized I had never seen it before, which was kind of surprising to me. I know I've seen at least one of the sequels and a recent "reboot", but not the original. No, I'm not talking about Star Trek. (I've seen all of those... and own many of them.) Nope this is a different franchise.

I had never seen Superman.

Wow. My first thought while watching it was, "Movies have really come a long way." I asked Bryan all kinds of questions during our viewing about pesky things like gaping plot holes and hokey special effects. My suspension of disbelief is pretty willing, but this was difficult to watch with a straight face.

I love a good Superhero movie. X-Men and X2: fabulous. Spider-Man: great. Spider-Man 2: even better. (Yes, I did leave X-Men: The Last Stand and Spider-Man 3 out of that list on purpose. They hurt my soul.) Ironman: Can't wait for the sequel! Heck, I even liked both The Hulk and The Incredible Hulk. Superman The Movie: Seriously?

One good thing about it, other than the casting of an actress with a fabulous name, was the wide-eyed innocence of Clark Kent. That was kind of fun.

You know, it was just fine as long as I reminded myself that it was a comedy.

It is a comedy, right?

Crazy Eight

According to About.com, Bryan should be giving me one of the following today:

• Something Bronze

• An Appliance

• A Casino Visit

I do love appliances, but seeing as I haven't gotten anything for him I don't think it would be fair. I think a nice "Happy Anniversary, thanks for saying yes" would be swell.

Happy Eighth Anniversary Bryan!