Bedtime

  A few weeks ago, while I was in Washington for a wedding, Chris decided to rearrange our house so that the kids were sharing a room. Ari had been begging for months, wanting to sleep in Jace's room on the spare bed almost every night, so it was time to make the switch.
  Ever since rearranging, the spare room has just been a staging room full of mattresses, but tonight we finally got it set up for Nana and PopPop's visit. Ari was so thrilled to see it clean, with the bed made, that she fell right back into her old habits and was begging to sleep in there again. I always thought that Jace was the perk, but I guess she just likes the change in scenery! We told her that if she stays in her bed until Jace is asleep tonight that she can switch over. We did the normal bedtime routine: diapers, brushed teeth, two stories, and then their songs. Jace was in a silly mood,  toddler singing just slightly louder than me through the songs. Chris and I couldn't stop giggling about his interpretation of "You Are My Sunshine". I'd much rather him be singing that than "Love Me Like You Do", which he actually knows the words to. (I promise to sensor my music!)
  Now I can hear Aria over the monitor, patiently singing loops of the bedtime songs to Jace, trying to coax him to sleep. She may be manipulating him to get what she wants, but I'm going to pretend it's sweet. My Mommy heart is happy and overflowing with love. These are the moments...

Silly shorts

One of my favorite toddler things is their misprononciations and interpretations. Here are a few recent Aria-isms.


Aria-"Prince, where is your princess?"
Chris-"She's sleeping."
Aria-"Oh, she is a Sleeping Booty!"
*maniacal laghter*


After a tantrum:
"Mommy, can I have an issue?"
"You already have plenty of issues, but yes, I can get you a Kleenex."


While listening to Taylor Swift:
"The bad guys will be good for a weekend?!? Well...that will be SO nice!"


Cinnamon toast crunch is "cinnamon toast crust"


Cookie Crisp is "Cookie Chris"


Helicopters are "Octacopters"


Mabo Tofu is "Mama tofu"


Aria Evonne is "Aria Kylonne" (she mixes her middle name with Jason's)


Granola Bars are "Gra-banana Bars"


Movie Theater is "Movie Elevator"

Knots

  Today Aria was playing with the diaper basket I have in the living room, which has a bow tied on the front. She untied it and then asked if I could teach her to tie a knot. I gave her verbal instructions to see how she would do with that, and she did great, tying knot after knot down the basket until almost all the string was gone. I was so impressed that I asked her if she wanted to learn how to tie her shoes.
  So I remember that there is some cute little jingle with the instructions to tie shoes.....but I couldn't remember the words. We struggled through the "one bunny ear" method, and even though she was being so patient, it was just too much technique for her. I decided to try the "two bunny ear" technique. (Do these methods actually have names??) She mastered it quicker than quick, so like any modern parent I busted out the camera. Twelve takes later I had a video of a success! The brilliance, the wonder!!!
  Then I started thinking....when I was a kid, one of my favorite daily hobbies was to tie my Dad's military boots into as many knots as possible. A habit that he really did not appreciate. I tied everything, craft ribbon, my hair, shoe laces, and electrical cords. I realized....Oh Em Geee, I just taught my kids to do that. I just taught my child to sabotage everything in the house that resembles a string.
  One giant step for my three year old, and three steps back for this Mommy. Oh knots!

War Paint

  I keep a baby monitor in the kid's room, because I'm a paranoid parent. We bought the fancy one, that can have multiple cameras, can work as a walkie talkie, play lullabies, tells us the temperature, all that jazz. This morning over our overpriced baby monitor I hear Ari screaming that Jace took off his diaper. If you read my last entry, you know that it is potty training madness over here, so that news sent me sprinting. In that two second span Aria announced the unfortunate news that Jace had also pooped. I could smell the horror before I saw it.
  In the middle of their floor was a diaper, luckily sitting inside up, a good six feet from Jason's crib. He was standing in all his poop-war-paint glory looking very, very smug. "I want potty, Mom!" he said as I stood in shock, picking my plan of attack. Under the armpit grab, dodging nasty hands and running for the tub. Jace loves water, but he is not a huge bath fan. One drop of water on his face and he's completely over it. I can spray him in the face with a spray bottle, dunk him in the ocean, and stick him straight under the shower, but no baths. I spent the entire time trying to convince Aria that she didn't want to take a bath with her brother, and trying to convince Jace that he does want to take a bath at all.
  I think I'm going to be one of those Moms who has to Duct tape diapers onto their children at night. I don't really want to gag my way through decontaminating an entire crib on a regular basis. How many people do that and just don't admit it to their friends?


  I'm convinced that every blog post I write is going to have to do with the bathroom at this point.

A New Pair of Yodas

  So, my darling son decided that at the ripe age of 18 months he was ready to begin potty training. We were coming in from playing outside when he frantically grabbed his crotch and croaked out "POTTY!" in the voice of urgency that only toddlers can make. Chris and I looked at each other for confirmation that we'd heard correctly, because we'd never put Jace on the potty and certainly hadn't tried to teach him that word. We ran him in and sat him down and to our surprise, he actually went. There's never been a bigger celebration over five drops of pee in the history of ever. Dancing, singing, stickers, mini parades, hand washing, all of the typical crazy parent-ness.
  Jace is like most kids, and wants to repeat anything he receives praise for as many times as possible, so all of this excitement backfired into many, many unfruitful trips to the bathroom. It has also become a new outlet for battles of will. Because, of course you have to hold your toothbrush while peeing, and of course you have to wipe for five minutes with exactly three squares of paper, and of course you can only pee in the farthest bathroom upstairs even though you're already downstairs. Potty training is parent slave labor. I answer to every beck and call of that child's bladder, whether fantastical or not. And there are definitely times I rationalize stalling thinking that he "just went", quickly followed by a spray bottle of cleaning solution and the walk of shame to the puddle.
   Call me crazy, but I never realized that men consider their "boy parts" to be a separate entity from this age. The first time I gave Jace a star sticker for going pee while he was naked he immediately stuck it to his boy bits...because "We're a team, yo". After a few goes with boy-bits stickering, I'm now a pro and wait until he's fully dressed to present his stickers. Now they go on my face more often than him, which does sort of make it feel like I'm an equally valuable team player in all of this training....well, equal to his boy bits at least.
  I'm proud of Jace for deciding to do something so grown up this early, and I must say that cleaning the up the contents of an 18 month old's bladder is much more manageable then cleaning up after a almost three year old's. But I'm still a little shocked every time that he is successfully out of a diaper for any length of time. The first time I put him in underwear he was mortified that I'd put two pairs of shorts on him at the same time, so Aria and I both had to show him that we were wearing underwear as well to calm him down. This led to some embarassing encounters where he'd try to pull my pants down around company to show them that underwear is normal and that he isn't some sort of oddball for wearing it. Luckily I have some very accepting friends, and am always wearing panties.
  Our current parent dilemma is what to call our son's new underwear. Chris feels that calling them underwear is too straightforward and grown up. "Big boy panties" doesn't quite do it, and the slang "undies" makes me cringe every time so we are at a standstill.  Oh, the silly debates you will have as parents. We bought him a set of Starwars young man pantaloons, so Chris threw around the idea of calling them "Yoda's". Please someone, recommend something fast!