Clearly, if you've been reading long, you know I am not the mom to go to for potty training advice. We, in this house, are potty training failures. However, can I tell you about our favorite potty book in this house?
First, I'll share, I am not a fan of potty books. I do not look down on anyone using them, it's just that most are too descriptive for my taste - even if they are informative and helpful (again, my child isn't potty trained - maybe a more descriptive book would have been useful). But on a lark, I purchased one last holiday season when buying discounted books on-line. And Micaiah fell in love - and I'll have to admit, I think it's fun, too.
Now, when she's on the potty, she loves for me to read her the book of Potty Animals, all learning their potty manners. I love that it covers so many good tips for little kids who are potty training - the concept of going before you sleep, washing your hands, flushing, and not waiting too long (for boys it even covers lifting the seat and perfecting your aim). It's truly adorable. She loves when I read it and then let her repeat the commands to the animals, so she can tell them the right way to behave in the potty.
Adorable, really. Now, if she would take the words to heart, we'd be on a roll!
17 August 2011
16 August 2011
Of Emulation
Emmett's absolute favorite person, though the one who also tends to best at making him cry, is his sister. While she, at times, gets bossy and demanding if he chooses not to follow her around, she needn't fuss too much as follow-the-sister is generally his past-time of choice.
Lately we've been dealing with much fussing over the iPad - if Micaiah is playing Angry Birds, Emmett wants to play, too. And, of course, his little one-year-old hands don't quite have the finesse and crying typically ensues. Either way, I'm convinced he would not be nearly as interested if it weren't her favorite activity.
Likewise, this evening, as she stood next to the toy box with her "big box" of crayons and a clean sheet of paper, Emmett pulled himself to his feet and bopped at the container of colored wax as well. Thus, we encouraged her to find a canvas for her brother. And so the two stood, side by side, with two white papers in front of them and a set of crayons between them. One of the most adorable sights of my day.
Lately we've been dealing with much fussing over the iPad - if Micaiah is playing Angry Birds, Emmett wants to play, too. And, of course, his little one-year-old hands don't quite have the finesse and crying typically ensues. Either way, I'm convinced he would not be nearly as interested if it weren't her favorite activity.
Likewise, this evening, as she stood next to the toy box with her "big box" of crayons and a clean sheet of paper, Emmett pulled himself to his feet and bopped at the container of colored wax as well. Thus, we encouraged her to find a canvas for her brother. And so the two stood, side by side, with two white papers in front of them and a set of crayons between them. One of the most adorable sights of my day.
15 August 2011
Of Experimental Parenting
As with most first children, parenting Micaiah tends to be an experiment.
I have felt sorry for Philip in the past because, as we would make a discipline decision together one day, the next day, feeling it just wasn't working, I would change tactics and have to remember to tell him when he got home. Most likely, I would forget, he would try to reinforce a rule that was now antiquated and I would find myself saying, once again, "Oh, we're not doing that anymore - I think this will work better." Poor guy. It's not his fault his wife apparently stinks at consistency.
But, in reality, parenting, I feel, is a constantly shifting wave, a continual re-evaluating of what's working and what's just not.
Thus, considering the three lessons we've learned regarding Micaiah and her potty training, something very obvious stuck out to me. When we are home, I ask our little girl quite frequently, in the hopes of warding off future messes, if she has to go. Every time, with increasing frustration, she insists she does not. If I urge her to try anyway, I am often met with hostility, which is a bad sign for me because I want to keep this a positive experience (as in, we want her to actually like the potty so she'll actually use it - that's kind of key). So, today, I made (yet another) new decision: we would simply stop asking. If it's her stubborn streak keeping her from training, we need to give her the opportunity to actually tell us if she needs to visit the toilet - which is what happens when we're out of the house. See? It seems so obvious, doesn't it.
Of course, this only occurred to me halfway through the day, after her first couple of accidents on the floor (thank goodness for laminate flooring - she's currently not allowed to play in the carpeted rooms of our home), so we haven't seen a drastic change yet, but she did notify her daddy of an evening mishap right away, rather than waiting until he discovered it (as she'd been doing in the past). Maybe she really does like this new sense of responsibility.
Fingers crossed, anyway.
I have felt sorry for Philip in the past because, as we would make a discipline decision together one day, the next day, feeling it just wasn't working, I would change tactics and have to remember to tell him when he got home. Most likely, I would forget, he would try to reinforce a rule that was now antiquated and I would find myself saying, once again, "Oh, we're not doing that anymore - I think this will work better." Poor guy. It's not his fault his wife apparently stinks at consistency.
But, in reality, parenting, I feel, is a constantly shifting wave, a continual re-evaluating of what's working and what's just not.
Thus, considering the three lessons we've learned regarding Micaiah and her potty training, something very obvious stuck out to me. When we are home, I ask our little girl quite frequently, in the hopes of warding off future messes, if she has to go. Every time, with increasing frustration, she insists she does not. If I urge her to try anyway, I am often met with hostility, which is a bad sign for me because I want to keep this a positive experience (as in, we want her to actually like the potty so she'll actually use it - that's kind of key). So, today, I made (yet another) new decision: we would simply stop asking. If it's her stubborn streak keeping her from training, we need to give her the opportunity to actually tell us if she needs to visit the toilet - which is what happens when we're out of the house. See? It seems so obvious, doesn't it.
Of course, this only occurred to me halfway through the day, after her first couple of accidents on the floor (thank goodness for laminate flooring - she's currently not allowed to play in the carpeted rooms of our home), so we haven't seen a drastic change yet, but she did notify her daddy of an evening mishap right away, rather than waiting until he discovered it (as she'd been doing in the past). Maybe she really does like this new sense of responsibility.
Fingers crossed, anyway.
14 August 2011
Of Potty Training (Take 3)
Here we are on Day 2 of our third (fourth?) attempt at potty training our little girl.
I had a moment yesterday when I suddenly remembered our previous seven-month-long endeavor and the fact that she actually would go out without accidents and be able to let us know when she needed to make a visit to the potty while we were at, say, Wal-Mart. Home, however, was another story - she didn't seem to mind creating a mess in her own house. This was what finally caused me to throw in the towel - seven months of a toddler on the brink of embracing the concept without ever making the plunge.
I decided then and there, in my car yesterday afternoon, this is it. We're done playing games. We're not turning back; we're jumping in with both feet. We'll do it positively, encouragingly, and with much applause and smiles, of course, but we'll make it clear - this is it.
Upon awaking from her nap, I declared there would be no more FuzziBunz [cloth diapers] for her. Confused, she ran to her closet, pointed to the brimming diaper basket and reminded me, "Yes, more FuzziBunz!"
"Nope," I told her, "We're giving those to Emmett. You'll have to learn to use underwear."
But for now, we're not using anything at home. We've tried it before and, yes, it was messy, but I know our mess-hating daughter will hate the idea of piddling on the floor at this point in her life. So, today, while she didn't exactly tell us she had to go, and wasn't very enthusiastic about trying, she certainly held it for a long time.
And, eventually, she gave in and headed to the potty, when I knew she probably couldn't hold it much longer.
So, here's what we've learned: she can resist the urge to go, she can tell us beforehand if she wants to, but she hates, under all circumstances, being told what to do.
We'll see how this goes.
I had a moment yesterday when I suddenly remembered our previous seven-month-long endeavor and the fact that she actually would go out without accidents and be able to let us know when she needed to make a visit to the potty while we were at, say, Wal-Mart. Home, however, was another story - she didn't seem to mind creating a mess in her own house. This was what finally caused me to throw in the towel - seven months of a toddler on the brink of embracing the concept without ever making the plunge.
I decided then and there, in my car yesterday afternoon, this is it. We're done playing games. We're not turning back; we're jumping in with both feet. We'll do it positively, encouragingly, and with much applause and smiles, of course, but we'll make it clear - this is it.
Upon awaking from her nap, I declared there would be no more FuzziBunz [cloth diapers] for her. Confused, she ran to her closet, pointed to the brimming diaper basket and reminded me, "Yes, more FuzziBunz!"
"Nope," I told her, "We're giving those to Emmett. You'll have to learn to use underwear."
But for now, we're not using anything at home. We've tried it before and, yes, it was messy, but I know our mess-hating daughter will hate the idea of piddling on the floor at this point in her life. So, today, while she didn't exactly tell us she had to go, and wasn't very enthusiastic about trying, she certainly held it for a long time.
And, eventually, she gave in and headed to the potty, when I knew she probably couldn't hold it much longer.
So, here's what we've learned: she can resist the urge to go, she can tell us beforehand if she wants to, but she hates, under all circumstances, being told what to do.
We'll see how this goes.
12 August 2011
Of Cherishing
After napping a solid three hours, until 5:15, it was not entirely surprising, though he wiped seemingly-weary eyes at story-time, that Emmett was not quite ready to commit to going back to sleep by bed-time at 7:30. And after a steady half-hour or more of fussing, Mommy finally gave in.
It's not as though we do it often, relent to the whines of a little one who isn't wanting to go to bed, that is, but sometimes, very rarely, it just feels more important to have a few more waking moments with these small ones who will not be this small forever.
Thus, he was happily plucked from his crib and released to play for just a little longer on the living room floor. And he could not have been more joyful. Giggling, he showed off his handsome dimples, as he indulged in toys typically selfishly hoarded by his sister. He toyed with the purple pull-and-go VW Bug, learning how to ratchet the wheels and let it drive on its own. He listened to the barking whines of the dogs outside and mimicked them. He climbed, for the first time, onto the hearth (and was given a firm reprimand), something his sister never even tried. Yet another reminder that this boy is growing right before our eyes.
And, as I watched him snuggle and tickle with his Daddy, I thought, sadly, of just how soon he will be grown and out of our house and we will find ourselves much older and only remembering bittersweetly these days and the stolen moments when a certain little boy was out past his bed-time. I certainly do cherish these.
It's not as though we do it often, relent to the whines of a little one who isn't wanting to go to bed, that is, but sometimes, very rarely, it just feels more important to have a few more waking moments with these small ones who will not be this small forever.
Thus, he was happily plucked from his crib and released to play for just a little longer on the living room floor. And he could not have been more joyful. Giggling, he showed off his handsome dimples, as he indulged in toys typically selfishly hoarded by his sister. He toyed with the purple pull-and-go VW Bug, learning how to ratchet the wheels and let it drive on its own. He listened to the barking whines of the dogs outside and mimicked them. He climbed, for the first time, onto the hearth (and was given a firm reprimand), something his sister never even tried. Yet another reminder that this boy is growing right before our eyes.
And, as I watched him snuggle and tickle with his Daddy, I thought, sadly, of just how soon he will be grown and out of our house and we will find ourselves much older and only remembering bittersweetly these days and the stolen moments when a certain little boy was out past his bed-time. I certainly do cherish these.
11 August 2011
Of Exciting News
I was initially going to share about Emmett's second haircut, which happened this morning. He was not a big fan of sitting still in a new environment while someone came at his head with sharp objects, but he had some great distractors and survived fairly unscathed.
This was Emmett's Joe-Jonas-pre-haircut look:
Oh this boy is going to be trouble!
This was Emmett's Joe-Jonas-pre-haircut look:
Cute, but shaggy.
Here's the exciting part, this is post-haircut, but more importantly, notice what he's doing in the picture. All by himself!
This was how I found him after re-filling his water cup in the kitchen! He got up all by himself! FINALLY!
And as further proof that he is no longer safe outside of Mommy's constant watchful eye, as I was typing this exciting post, Micaiah ran to me from the kitchen in a panic: "Emmett is stuck! You have to help him!" Wondering how he could possibly be stuck in the kitchen, with no objects to get wedged behind, I considered maybe he had stood again, against a cabinet perhaps, and was afraid to sit. But no. A standing boy is not what I found. This is what I discovered when I entered the kitchen:
Oh this boy is going to be trouble!
09 August 2011
Of Addictions
I'll just say it: My name is Angela and I am addicted to honey. Now, please don't misunderstand, it's not just any honey that will give me my fix. As a matter of fact, until about two or three months ago, I would have told you I didn't even care much for the dripping amber-colored substance (unless, of course, it was adorning the wonders of blini, the Russian crepe, but that's another story). But one fateful day changed me forever.
On that beautiful spring Saturday, I was running around town on Mommy errands (the kind that get me out of the house all by myself) when I spotted a red truck on the side of one of the main thorough-ways of our thriving metropolis. The truck bore a simple yellow sign proclaiming its wares: "Honey." Now, only a few weeks before, I had silently vowed to myself to take advantage of road-side stands this season. In years past, I had seen farmers selling corn, melons and other wonderful produce from their own vehicles parked on the shoulder of any given street. Always tempted, I had never stopped. This year, I had decided would be different.
And what kind of change could I hope to effect if I reneged on my personal vows now? Besides, though I didn't care much for honey, I thought my husband might enjoy it. And, so, I turned my little car around (the one I drive when I'm on my Mommy errands - without carseats!) and headed back to the large three-quarters-aged man (what do you call them when they're beyond "middle-aged" but not quite octogenerian? When you have an answer, you let me know) and his red truck. Pulling in, I decided I would simply ask the price of his product.
I chided myself - who was I kidding? As if it's not awkward enough to be the only consumer at the vendor's vehicular stand, to get out of my car, ask a simple price and then get in and drive off would just feel ludicrous. I was going to be buying honey, like it or not.
Still, looking for an opener, I questioned the going rate. As he told me his not-unreasonable asking price, he inquired as to whether or not I'd like a sample. Not wanting to be rude, I acquiesced. And thus was the moment. The moment this honey took over my life. Okay, maybe I'm being melodramatic, but that home-grown honey, produced by bees cared for by this very man before me, was the most amazing tasting-honey I could have ever imagined. I quickly purchased a bottle - still not knowing for what we would use it, but proud of my "support local growers" purchase and my great-tasting sticky goo.
I should mention, that for argument's sake, I re-tested my former bear-shaped bottle of store-bought honey almost the moment I returned home and knew I was not wrong. I would never be able to have any other than 100% pure raw honey again.
And so it sat in our cupboard for weeks. We pulled it out once or twice, but it rarely saw action. Until I started eating better. Recognizing honey's status as lower on the glycemic index than actual sugar, and not being able to tolerate plain oatmeal, I decided to give this new-found friend a shot - and I fell in love all over again. Now, my bowl of oatmeal with milk and honey (along with a couple boiled eggs) is the meal I most look forward to every day. I've also begun experimenting by adding it to bread or pancakes in place of plain white sugar.
And now we're running out!
I made a special trip this last weekend, to his trusty spot and found my honey-provider in order to re-stock and invested in a bottle twice the size as the previous, but I find I am still concerned as to whether or not this bottle will last through the winter. And what if he's not there next summer? How will I get my fix? I am now nearly dependent and I'm almost going through shakes thinking about not being able to find what I need when I next run out.
I need help. There, I've done the first step myself.
On that beautiful spring Saturday, I was running around town on Mommy errands (the kind that get me out of the house all by myself) when I spotted a red truck on the side of one of the main thorough-ways of our thriving metropolis. The truck bore a simple yellow sign proclaiming its wares: "Honey." Now, only a few weeks before, I had silently vowed to myself to take advantage of road-side stands this season. In years past, I had seen farmers selling corn, melons and other wonderful produce from their own vehicles parked on the shoulder of any given street. Always tempted, I had never stopped. This year, I had decided would be different.
And what kind of change could I hope to effect if I reneged on my personal vows now? Besides, though I didn't care much for honey, I thought my husband might enjoy it. And, so, I turned my little car around (the one I drive when I'm on my Mommy errands - without carseats!) and headed back to the large three-quarters-aged man (what do you call them when they're beyond "middle-aged" but not quite octogenerian? When you have an answer, you let me know) and his red truck. Pulling in, I decided I would simply ask the price of his product.
I chided myself - who was I kidding? As if it's not awkward enough to be the only consumer at the vendor's vehicular stand, to get out of my car, ask a simple price and then get in and drive off would just feel ludicrous. I was going to be buying honey, like it or not.
Still, looking for an opener, I questioned the going rate. As he told me his not-unreasonable asking price, he inquired as to whether or not I'd like a sample. Not wanting to be rude, I acquiesced. And thus was the moment. The moment this honey took over my life. Okay, maybe I'm being melodramatic, but that home-grown honey, produced by bees cared for by this very man before me, was the most amazing tasting-honey I could have ever imagined. I quickly purchased a bottle - still not knowing for what we would use it, but proud of my "support local growers" purchase and my great-tasting sticky goo.
I should mention, that for argument's sake, I re-tested my former bear-shaped bottle of store-bought honey almost the moment I returned home and knew I was not wrong. I would never be able to have any other than 100% pure raw honey again.
And so it sat in our cupboard for weeks. We pulled it out once or twice, but it rarely saw action. Until I started eating better. Recognizing honey's status as lower on the glycemic index than actual sugar, and not being able to tolerate plain oatmeal, I decided to give this new-found friend a shot - and I fell in love all over again. Now, my bowl of oatmeal with milk and honey (along with a couple boiled eggs) is the meal I most look forward to every day. I've also begun experimenting by adding it to bread or pancakes in place of plain white sugar.
And now we're running out!
I made a special trip this last weekend, to his trusty spot and found my honey-provider in order to re-stock and invested in a bottle twice the size as the previous, but I find I am still concerned as to whether or not this bottle will last through the winter. And what if he's not there next summer? How will I get my fix? I am now nearly dependent and I'm almost going through shakes thinking about not being able to find what I need when I next run out.
I need help. There, I've done the first step myself.
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