Wet Accidents

We’ve been having a little trouble in the household lately.  By we, I mean, Evan and me.  Evan has been peeing his pants.  And I have been trying not to be so damn frustrated over it.  It’s been months since he’s had an accident, excluding the weekend The Husband was watching him.  Actually I can’t remember the last time he peed his pants.  Before if he had an accident, it was just a little because he couldn’t hold it any more, and I would send him into the bathroom to finish, and he would cry out of embarrassment and frustration.

Last week, he peed in his pants when we were at my parents’ house.  He came up to me nonchalantly and told me.  I removed his pants, scolding him, asking him why he did it, and put him in some spare underwear I carry just in case.  Accidents happen, right?

Then Sunday when we were at my grandma’s house, he peed his pants again.  With the same flippant attitude he told me.  I wanted to wring his neck.  Why, Evan?  Why?  Why didn’t you stop playing to go potty?  I checked the diaper bag to learn I forgot to replace the spare underwear and walked to my parents’ house to get into my car to pull out the spare spare underwear.  Apparently I forgot to replace those.  So he free balled it in some shorts. 

Then Sunday night at my parents’ house, we were playing.  He was behind me as I sat on the couch, trying to reach Sean, so I would sit back, pressing my weight against him, mentioning what a soft but loud pillow grandma had.  Then I heard an “Uh-oh” followed by a warm, wet sensation on my back.  EVAN L-!!!!!  I swear to God I’m going to kill this child.  What were you thinking?  Why didn’t you go to the potty?  Why didn’t you listen to your body tell you went to the potty?  I had no spare underwear, pants, or shorts.  My mom suggested swimmers, but Evan jumped at that idea.  So I slapped on one of Sean’s diapers on him and took him home. 

Yesterday I reminded him to use the bathroom all morning.  I sent him off to school.  I didn’t even think it would be a problem.  He’s never had an accident at school.  He would be too embarrassed.

And I would be wrong as the teacher beckoned me over and discreetly told me about Evan’s accident as she handed me a plastic bag of urine soaked clothes as Evan scurried out from between us with pants obviously too small for him.  Lord, help me.

We had a talk about it.  Again, he pleaded he was too busy playing.  I know this is a common issue for boys, but three accidents in two days? 

I’m making him go every two hours, whether he wants to or not.  Mainly not.  I’m kicking myself for giving away my potty book because I read the whole thing and learned the program, why do I need it?  Famous last words, Fae.  Famous last words.

Could it be the new baby coming?  Possibly, but Evan is fascinated by babies.  He has to talk to them and their parents whenever he sees one.  He’s been carrying a baby doll around pretending to be Daddy.  But he does have his moments when he wants to be a baby, making whiny noises, flopping around when he doesn’t want to do something.  Then I remind him babies take two naps, babies eat baby food, and babies wear diapers.  That cures it.

Could it be The Husband has been gone for over a week and will be gone for at least one more, if not two?  Possibly, but The Husband has been gone for longer period of time without Evan having accidents.

So, yeah.  I have no idea.  Like every other parenting issue.

Mommy Mojo

About two weeks ago, I lost my mommy mojo.  I meant to write about it at the time, but the boys kept doing cute things I had to write about instead.  Besides it was happier.

For three days, I had no patience for the boys’ antics as they tested the weaknesses of the line.  On the last day of no patience, I started screaming.  Ok, not screaming because I didn’t increase the pitch of my voice.  I yelled extremely loud.  Enough to make Evan cry.  Enough that through his tears, he kept saying “Calm down, Mom.  Calm down.”  I just thought I would be calm if you did the goddamn thing I told you to the first time, instead of the twelfth.

After a long talk with the BFF and highly encourage evening off to read (as in “Fae, if you don’t take a break, I swear I’ll drive out there tonight and tie you to a chair”), I was able to gain my patience back.  I missed not laughing at the cute moments that were passing me by because of my I-had-to-go-I-had-to-get-this-done-this-is-a-priority attitude.  I know if I’m calm I can deal with the problems in a better way without escalating them to yelling, “That’s it!  You’re living outside!”

But the boys are still testing the lines.  I find myself ready to lose it at any moment.  Errands are nearly a disaster as they dance around and antagonize each other by touching.  Naptime is a constant fight of telling them to stop giggling, spitting, burping, talking.  Toys must be dumped everywhere and fought over even if there are TWO of the same exact toy.  They’re wrestling, fighting, touching, pushing, hitting, ramping it all up.  Bath time has become a war.  I am sounding like my mother and wondering if it’s time to go find a switch.  Because they’re not even listening to the simplest of requests.

The thing that sucks is I’m so pissed off that I can’t even laugh at it after the matter.  I just take a deep breath and wait for the next onslaught of the raptors.

So until I get my patience/humor back, I’ll leave you with this little quote:

“They show extreme intelligence, even problem solving.  When they look at you, you can see they’re thinking, working things out.  They just keep attacking the lines.  They never attack the same place twice, unless they’re sure they can get through.  They’re testing the lines for weaknesses.  Systematically.  They remember.”

The Pirate Ship

So of course, we had to get Sean his own pirate ship.  Since that was all his little heart desired.  The Husband and I stayed up until midnight putting things together for the surprise.  Yet another Christmas Eve of us bickering our frustration at each other because including directions with the toys is now so not cool.

The next morning, Evan woke first and looked at his toys before coming and getting us.  We smiled as he exclaimed over each toy.  After 45 minutes and no Sean, I went in to check on him.  He was just lying in bed, thinking, contemplating, relaxing.  When he saw me he climbed out of his bed, and I ran into the family room for the perfect spot to catch a picture of the look on Sean’s face when he saw his pirate ship.

Sean came out into the family, taking in the magical scene.  I lifted the camera up, focusing it.  His eyes landed on the pirate ship.  Those dark brown eyes lit up.  A smile burst on his face.  He took a running step forward.  I started to press down on the button.  Then Evan jumped up and bumped his brother out of the way.

Yup, Evan cock-blocked his little brother from Sean’s own toy.  Nice. 

Sean was determined.  They raced to the pirate ship, getting there at the same time.  Sean let out a yell as Evan grabbed the pirates and the ship.

I have spent the last several days trying to make sure everyone is sharing and not hitting, punching, kicking, scratching, biting, pushing, bludgeoning each other over a toy pirate ship.

Christmas is magical.

Fight vs Fighting

Me: Ok.  No more sword fighting!  Put the swords down.

Evan: Mommy, why is it fighting and not fight?

Me: Because you’re doing it right now.  Not something you do.  It’s all about doing it at that moment.

Evan: Hmmm.  Like I’m talking!

Me: Yes.

Ok, what kid pays attention and asks about verb conjugation?

Ho Ho

For some reason unknown to us, Sean has decided to call Santa, Ho Ho.  As in:

It’s Ho Ho!

What’s Ho Ho doing?

Ho Ho is flying!

There’s Ho Ho!

But Evan could do with out.

Evan: I don’t like Santa Claus.

The Husband: Why not?  He’ll bring you presents when you’re a good boy.

Evan: I like the presents.  I just don’t like Santa Claus.

Maybe it has to do with the fact my uncle dressed up as Santa last year for the kids, and it scared Evan senseless.

The Activity Scene

When I was a child, I was fascinated by Nativity Scenes.  It was a natural call because I loved doll houses, miniatures, and the Virgin.  This combined all natural things.  Though my mother’s set was plastic, we were not allowed to touch it.  Until my brother dared, placing The Three Wise Men on the other side of the room because really they weren’t suppose to be there until January 6^th.  This upset me because my brother dared to touch the one thing I wanted to touch but couldn’t break the rules and two The Wise Men didn’t even show up for two more years.  How’s that for accuracy?  Those first years of the new tradition I fought it tooth and nail, moving The Wise Men back to the stable after my brother left the room.  The blood spilt from that religious crusade was ended when my mother declared that she liked my brother’s idea. 

When I set up my own house, my mother bought me a real Nativity set, one with kings and shepherds instead of just the Holy Family.  While I loved the set, I felt I could do better.  I searched high and low for the perfect set, always examining The Virgin for the perfect mother.  I found a really cool stable first.  A year later, I found the perfect set.  Mary looked down with love and joy on her baby.  Joseph looked protective and proud as he looked down at his wife and child.  The detail on all the characters was amazing.  The poor donkey was still loaded with supplies, left alone in the rush to deliver the baby.

This was the first year Evan noticed it.  He learned all about it at school, though he calls it an Activity Scene.  Yeah, I know I feel like a bad Catholic.  So it didn’t surprise me when he asked to see it as I have it up far above their reach.

So I handed him a Wise Man.  Sean asked to see one.  So I handed him a Wise Man.  Then Evan asked to see another figure.  I took the Wise Man out of his hand and gave him another.  Sean asked to see another figure, and I replaced the one he was holding with another figure, explaining what each person was.  We finished the set, except for poor Mary.

In the end, Sean had a Wise Man, and Evan had Joseph.  Evan placed Joseph next to the Wise Man.

Evan: Hi!  I’m Joseph!  Who are you?

Sean: I bad guy. 

Sean clinked the figurines together.

Me: No.  No hitting the people together.

Evan: If you’re a bad guy. . . .

Evan hit Joseph against the Wise Man, sending the container of myrrh a foot away.

Yeah, I should have seen that coming.  I collected the figures and sent the boys away as I glued the myrrh back into the hands of the Wise Man.  So concluded our religious and Christmas discussions.

Of course, Evan is asking where the baby is.

Explaining is the hardest part

Evan: Mommy, I was scared of the pirate museum.

The pirate museum?  The one in Salem?  The one we saw back in July?  The one you loved and haven’t stopped talking about since?

Me: Really?  Why?

Evan: Because the pirate held someone’s head.

D’oh.  I knew that would come up, but I figured it would be more immediate.  The tour guide didn’t warn us until we were there, and the only way out was through the exhibit.  Awesome.

Me: Well, that wasn’t a pirate.  That was a fisherman.  He was holding the pirate’s head.

Evan: Why?

Me: Because the pirate was a bad guy who tried to steal from the fisherman and hurt the crew.  So they fought back.

Evan: The pirates fight.

Me: Yes.  They steal and hurt people.  Most of them do.  The fisherman didn’t want to be hurt.

Evan: So why did they cut off the head.

Me: Because that was a warning for other pirates.

Evan: So the pirate cut off someone’s head.

Me: No.  The fisherman cut off the pirate’s head.

Evan: But why?

Me: (sigh)  (This would be a lot easier if we had a picture.)  The pirate was a bad man, and the fisherman fought back.

Evan: They fight, Mommy.

Did he just correct me?

Me: No, they fought.

Evan: That sounds funny.  They fight.

Me: Well, fight means it’s happening right now.  The pirates fight.  Fought means it happened in the past.  The pirates fought.

Evan: They fight.

Me: If they were fighting right now, yes.  You and Daddy tiger fight.  It means you are doing it right now.  You and Daddy tiger fought this morning.  You did it in the past.

Evan: Oh!  So Daddy and I like to tiger fought.

Me: Um, no.  You know turned tiger fight into a noun.  You made it a thing.  Now it would be tiger fight.  You and Daddy like to tiger fight.

Evan: Mommy?  Do you want to tiger fight?

Yes. 

My head hurts.

Striking Out

Evan has learned a new phrase that he thinks will get him off the hook.

I don’t like you.

He said it to The Husband when I was away for the weekend.  It worried The Husband.  Maybe even hurt his feelings.

Last week, Evan said it to me.  “Mommy, I don’t like you.”  I was punishing him for something. 

Oh, no.  You don’t like me?  Sweetheart, let me tell you something.  That will work a lot better when you’re twelve years older, and you scream it at me with hate, anger, and depression, and then you run into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.  Then I get to yell, “Slam that door one more time and I’m removing it Evan Charles L-“

Instead, I said, “That’s nice.  But I love you.  Get into your room already.”

Then yesterday he tried something different.  I was getting out of the shower.  The Husband was sending Evan to time out for hitting Sean.

“I don’t like baby boys!”

The Husband was stunned.  I rolled my eyes.  Darlin’, he’s just angry, trying to hurt, striking out blindly hoping to make contact.  And it’s our job to not care if he does or does not make contact.  Because it’s only going to get worse.

Yup, this parenting stuff is fun.

But how do they know?

Evan: But I want a baby girl!

Me: Why?

Evan: Because I want to dance with her when she gets older!

Awww!

Me: Well, it’s probably going to be a baby boy.

Evan: How can you tell?

Me: Well, the doctor took a special camera and looked.  She’s pretty sure it’s a boy.

The Husband: Probably?  Pretty sure?

Me: Shut up.  They make mistakes.

Ok, maybe I’m not as resigned to this boy thing as I pretend to be.

But the next person to ask if I’m disappointed, I’ll punch in the face.  Luckily they have only asked my mom, who waves them off with a “Of course not, she’s having a baby.”  But then Christmas is coming with all that family.  This may be an interesting family get-together.

Ready for some fun?

My baby brother is a big guy.  He’s 6 foot 5.  A sturdy 6 foot 5.  He’s a walking giant.  And kids love him, especially my kids. 

Recently my brother taught them everything is more fun with their hands up.  This includes the new nightly ritual when we leave.  The boys are buckled up.  Evan shouts, “Uncle M!  We’re ready for some fun!”  Evan and Sean throw their hands in the air.  My brother grabs a hold of the luggage rack and rocks the hell out of my SUV.

And now Evan insists that we wait for Mommy to be in the car, so that I too can’t enjoy the fun.  I just hope the shocks will last.