Poo-Poo Genius

S, in one of his many active moments.

Though I simultaneously grit my teeth and dry heave at saying this, potty training does have its upsides. (Have fun with that one, you Punsters. You know who you are.) Such as:

S and I had a little bathroom potty time last week after he failed to do the dirty where we'd really like him to. He's been in training pants and rubber pants consistently for the last few weeks, basically after Papa and I both realized 1) he was consistently dry for parts of days anyway, basically when we remembered to take him to the bathroom, and 2) we were tired of buying changing buying and changing diapers for a practically potty-trained toddler. Anyway, since we've done this before, we're not so hard-core about it (i.e. "If he's potty-trained, it means he'll tell us when he has to go and never, ever, ever have another accident. EVER!" This is like saying about a beginning reader: "If he's reading, then he'll read independently and never, ever, ever need any other help with letters or words. EVER!" But I digress.). So S does his dirty and we have little conversations, which turn out to be classic little moments. Like:

Me: So who's the boss in our family?

S: I'm the boss... (trailing off, then looking me in the eye) Mommy boss.

Me, pleasantly surprised: You're right! And who's the main boss in our family?

S: Boss, boss, boss... (thinking hard) Boston town.

Me, not getting it: Right, Boston town. But who's the main boss, S?

S: BOSS-ton town.

Me, finally getting it: BOSS-ton town. Boston town! (quickly thinking of all the metaphorical applications I've missed over never hearing this linguistic connection, then returning to the toddler) Like in the song--"Trot, trot, to Boston town, to get a stick of candy"!

S, grinning: Yeah.

And the really amazing and kind of scary thing about this? S has been making these kind of observations a lot lately. Like two weeks ago, when we went for an interview for an observational study he's a part of (I signed up for it for the free diapers--we got C's size this time--and the Target gift cards we get in "thanks" for showing off our brilliant kid. Plus, I get to spend time with S alone, which rarely happens at length). There, he did a few incredible things in front of Luke and Libby, like:

• Telling me "Mommy, I get down. Right NOW! Please." when he got bored with a video. Libby told me, "I've seen kids his age pitch fits, but I've never heard them ask to get down, let alone use manners."
• Upon pretending with a bear and a plate, cup, and spoon, and asked what he would do if the bear was thirsty, picking up the cup with a big smile and saying, "Give him some COFFEE!"
• Listening to directions very closely, like when he was already swinging his arm to knock down a stack of blocks he'd built and Luke said, "No." He immediately dropped his arm. No, he doesn't usually do that at home.
• Putting together a three-piece rattle together with no verbal directions an hour after he'd watched Luke do the same thing. And he did it three times with different pieces than Luke had used.
• When asked to identify pictures, saying, "Cookie" for a picture of a cookie, "Bear" for a bear, and "Cow" for a horse. Okay, he needs some work. 
• When asked which child in the picture had the most, pointing to a boy and saying, "He's got a lot of M & M's." (The stacks in front of the pictured kids were little, round, colored balls. Kind of like...)

I honestly was so moved--and, frankly, overwhelmed--by what S did and said at the interview, I had tears in my eyes. There's nothing quite so humbling as realizing there's no possible way your self-perceived brilliance could have turned out like this in your kid. Truly, only God can create minds like this.

Of course, that also means He creates... well, potty-training doesn't last forever. And I guess I'll take with it what comes.

After all, S will only be two at the end of April.

"Take my picture, too, Mommy." And here's my thumb. 

Paper Chaos

My life in pulp.

I have a big box on the buffet of announcements and pictures and thank you notes that lie awaiting. I have blog posts stacked in cyberspace, twiddling their proverbial thumbs for pictures; short bloggy thoughts patiently queuing in my head; a big one stewing and bubbling on the back brain-stem burners. But all that must wait in the chaos that is Regular Budgeting, Catch-Up Budgeting, and--cringe--Tax Time Prep. Behind my laptop are currently six piles of varied and assorted bills, receipts, and catch-all, and that doesn't count the bin to my right on the floor with two binders full of Necessary Financial Stuff. I'm always so glad when all this is done, that is completed. It's important. It's vital to our family's survival. But paper chaos is poopy.

P Be Sick. P's Got Some Major Pooty.

So in lieu of a Weekend Rewind--and the weekend was great, especially the warm air, the baseball game on the radio, the grill going, and the general uplift that all things spring can bestow--I thought I'd add to our posts under "pooty." Mostly because 1) that's what's on my mind, and 2) because "pooty" is a funny word. And after what we've been through today, we need all the laughter we can get.

First off, P is okay. No emergency trips to the ER or anything. He's been his typically sunny self, aside from looking peaked and, well, christening the little chair with material that resembles that found in a toxic waste dump. I've been spared the uncomfortable nausea that came and went in my first trimesters with the boys--until today. But the cause was not the in utero child; it was the likely-Rotovirus-infected toddler. Eeewy. Gooey. Lest you freak out by reading the way-WAY-more-than-enough-detailed Wikipedia description, just keep this in mind: P does not attend daycare. He's never chugged Pedialyte like it's apple juice (unlike many other young children we know--thank goodness!). He didn't eat much today, but he did drink vast quantities of water, apple juice, Sprite, and generic Pedialyte, so the odds of him getting dehydrated are minimal. This is getting too serious, so I'll move on.

Picture: P in the bathtub as I clean the sink/toilets/floor again. He looks up, says to me: "I farted." I say (and pray), "You didn't poopy in the tub, did you?" He looks. He LOOKS. "No." He goes back to playing.

Picture: P standing in the hall, making noises out of his nether regions that sound like cattle lowing and stampeding at the same time (wait: does this sound like a typical Elsea love-fest with toilet detail? C-R-A-P. I was hoping I missed that gene). His comment, said with a toothy grin: "I tooted."

Picture: P grimacing as he ingests some medicine in the PM to, erm, stop 'em up. (Side story: lovely Papa visited all three pharmacies in town to find said over-the-counter med by direction on P's doctor, and all three were sold out. Hmm. Guess this is going around. So he drove to Sioux Falls to get it, after already driving 150 miles this morning on a church errand.) He says, "Daddy's a rock star." Then he says, seconds after licking the spoon, "I feel all better!"

So as you can hear, we're weathering the pooty storm all right. Just pray that A) the disinfectant freakin' WORKS so none of the rest of us get this! 2) Papa and I can give thanks in all circumstances, like: at least P is potty-trained so we're avoiding mucho clean-up duty; it's spring and there's sunshine aplenty; we have a commercial-grade washer and dryer... and D) we can all learn to take pooty messes with grace and even, yes, a little humor.

Extra Credit Questions: Did Jesus have BMs? And if He did, did He ever joke about them?

The Little Throne

Not that I think everyone really WANTS to read about bathroom trips, bowel movements, and other bodily functions best left in the can where they belong, but we are very excited to announce that P has sprinkled into his little throne three times in the last two days. It's been hilarious--he laughs the entire time, so what can we do but laugh?--and exciting. A long, long time ago I thought by some great miracle P could be potty-trained by the time S arrives. I know that won't happen, but it sure is exciting that he's catching on to big boy habits before the new pooker starts adding his own excrement to the Olson collection. Now, seriously -- aren't you glad you read this?