Headed Home...

We're on the way home from a week at the beach. We are in Beaver UT for the night, and then tomorrow we'll do the home stretch into the 'Yenne. Beaver has nothing on Oceanside. Even though the beach was really rocky all week, and I bit it on the ocean floor while boogie boarding, and our feet were endlessly sandy despite continually sweeping the floor in our "number one home" (His Highness's term). Our hotel room here in Beaver is bigger than the teeny cottage we lived in for the week, but it doesn't matter: Oceanside is still better.

I have not done a whole lot of studying on the theology of the afterlife, but I'm pretty sure that I will live on the beach in heaven. My "mansion" will be a sandy little cottage, perhaps a little bigger than the one we were in this week (which was awesomely awesome in its tiny efficiency), but not by much. I'm almost certain that Jesus himself is the kind of guy where you can't quite tell if he's homeless or a beach bum--the scruffy, long-haired, windblown, sun-drenched guy sitting on a city bench, wearing a pullover windbreaker and drinking an energy drink as I jog by at 7:30 in the morning. Except he won't even need a board to surf. And he will teach me how to catch waves like no other.

I hope to post more on my musings from this week. But for now, it's to bed because we are up early to hit the road...

Real-Life Toys...

I could get rid of all the toys. People would think I was hopelessly depriving my children of life's most basic joys. My own mom would tell me what a mean mommy I am, and would probably send boxes of toys to try to cheer up the boys, since their mom had obviously gone off the deep end.

The thing is, except for a couple of favorites, I don't know that His Highness and the Littler One would even notice the missing toys. They'd be all, "Hey Mommy, where'd the trains go?" and I'd be like, "Ummm, they're being repaired, here's a bucket!" and they'd grab the bucket and start putting things in it, and His Highness would probably ask for some string to tie to the handle, and then I'd find them digging through the kitchen drawers, stealing my stuff and inventing strange new functions for the rolling pin, and having a glorious time all around.

Then later they'd go, "Mom, where are the blocks?" and I'd say "They're taking a nap; here's a paper towel roll and an empty water bottle!" and they'd occupy themselves for an hour. But not before going back into the kitchen and swiping more stuff out of the drawers.

We could get them an awesomely awesome play kitchen, complete with food, utensils, and even friggin' appliances, and they wouldn't like it as well as going through the drawers in the real kitchen, playing with whatever random stuff they find. The Littler One is a big fan of the red plastic chip & dip tray. He hits it with stuff, uses it to hit other stuff, and holds it up to his face to see the world with a red tint. His Highness's current favorite is the rolling pin. You can find a lot of variations on hitting with a rolling pin.

Before you panic and start imploring me to keep the toys for the sake of the children, fear not. We won't be getting rid of the toys anytime soon.

The Cat Daddy and I need something to play with, after all...

The Better Over the Good...

I should be out jogging, but instead I'm sitting on the 'puter while the Littler One naps and His Highness ostensibly watches Sprout (but really he is looking around and plotting ways to destroy coffee table drawers and such). I took some time to catch up with a few of my regular bloggy-peeps. I miss reading blogs.

This summer, in addition to my regular nannying gig (ie rearing my kiddos) and managing my moms' group (more or less), I am work-working 10 hrs per week from home. I've probably said it before, but it is surprisingly difficult to get this time in during the week. Which is a bummer...I really enjoy my engineering work, and I wonder if being home with the kids makes me appreciate it more just because it's something different and apart from all the diapers and potty-training and sandwich making.

Usually I try to work during the time formerly known as "nap time," but is now "quiet time" because His Highness is napping less & less. In theory it is still nap time for the Littler One, but as he is a wild card, sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't.

I heard someone talk once about giving up the good in favor of the better. I think you can take it to the extreme and guilt people by beating them over the head for having hobbies & liking to do stuff that isn't necessarily "useful." On the other hand, I think there's something to it. With my working gig this summer I was talking to myself ('cuz I do that a lot) and saying "Man, Skerrib, how are you going to fit it all in," to which I replied, "I think I'm just going to have to pick & choose, and let some things slip for the time being." I was pretty sure this included bloggy-blogging, because of the simple fact that it's time on the computer that I need to be using for drilling pretend holes in pretend hunks of material, and also because I am particularly slow when it comes to writing. And I need to sleep sometimes.

But then I was like, "NO! I like it, I don't want to give it up." So my compromise as been the quick, off the cuff, stream of consciousness sort of posts I've been doing lately. And very little time for keeping up with others' blogs. It's a bummer but, at least for now, it's a good thing that I've had to set aside in favor of other stuff.

I'm not leaving or anything, BTW. Just thinking out loud. Or something.

**Random subject change**

Why, oh WHY does His Highness seem to deliberately want to wake up his brother? I know why. He wants attention. He wants me to get off the computer and play with him. Ah, well. It's time I close this and go play with my kid for a while before lunch. And maybe a jog...

Housebroken...

His Highness may hate me when he's older and finds the most embarrassing moments of his childhood posted for all the innernets to see, but some things just can't be kept quiet.

So we've been potty-training. It's a long and arduous story, with much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth on the part of everyone involved. We're nearly there, though. In fact, His Highness has a pretty much perfect record when allowed to do two things: cavort about naked as a jaybird (or at least bottomless) and do his business in the backyard. So I guess you could say he's housebroken., much like a beloved pet. Which, come to think of it, he kind of resembles sometimes, so there you have it.

The backyard thing is mildly controversial in our house. The Cat Daddy doesn't like it because he doesn't want His Highness think that it's a normal and socially acceptable way of doing things. I think it's fine as a stepping stone on the potty-training journey, and I know for a fact that it's better than his pooping in his unders or on the floor indoors.

A week or so ago, however, he crossed a line. First, he ran out the front door without permission. This is a big no-no, and it's something we've been working on, but as with so many things in life it's a process. I heard the screen door shut and went over to the door to storm outside angrily and give him a severe lecture while pulling him back inside, but as I put my hand up to open the door I saw that he had The Stance. The peeing one, that is. I need to clarify, as well, that he wasn't merely standing "in the front yard." He was in the front corner of the front yard, about as close to the sidewalk as one can get, so that anyone walking by would have to dodge his derriere.

It gets better. Across the street from our house are several back yards. So we look out the window to fences every morning. Awesome for privacy, especially when one's son is nekkid from the belly down, peeing in one's front yard. Not so awesome when, for the first time in two friggin' years, and at the precise moment one's son is peeing on the front lawn, the neighbors across the street open their back gates to let guests out of a child's birthday party.

It was at this moment I decided that I should probably go outside and at least provide a presence. I bought myself a little time by asking "What on earth are you doing??", but I was under no illusion or expectation of accomplishing anything of substance with that line of questioning. Not that I expected to accomplish anything more by going outside, but I figured it would prevent a well-meaning parent from walking him back up to the house, only to find me standing there watching. It would just be tough to explain, that's all. "I guess he misunderstood what I meant by 'Yes, you can pee in the yard,'" and so on.

But it gets better.

As I exited the house I thought, "Well, looks like he's done. I'd better get him inside and have another talk about wearing underwear and stuff when out in public." And then I saw him take 2 steps forward, squat down, and put his head down so as to look behind him. Can you guess what that meant??

Yes. The Pooping Stance. In the front yard. Down by the driveway. In plain sight. While the children were coming out of the gate across the street.

Mercifully, in no time at all he was standing again, saying, "Mom, I pooped! Mom, come look at my poop!!"

So I did. Then I ushered him inside for the wiping of the bottom, and grabbed some wipes and stuff so I could go back out to collect the poop for flushing. I figured as much as the Cat Daddy dislikes encountering dog poop when he's mowing the lawn, human poop might just send him over the edge. Or maybe that's just me; I dunno. Either way, the poop got flushed.

Then we finished off with a bit of a talk on the finer points of front yard vs. back yard, and clothing oneself when one is in mixed company (intermingled with praise for having pooped not-in-the-house, and all that).

And of course, not going out the front door without permission...