Laughter

Call me Mother of the Year.

Somewhere, Papa is laughing his head off. Peanut has copied his mother.

Papa tells a story of my childhood that has long been backed up by Nana. It seems that when Evil Twin and I were toddlers, we were busy running amok and causing mischief outside. Hard to believe. Anyway. Papa sent us back into the house and told us that punishment would be discussed when he came in. Imagine his shock when, five minutes later, his children came outside to finish their mischief. Evil Twin had the brilliant idea to ask Nana if we could go outside. Nana, being unaware of potential punishment, agreed. Thus longer time-outs. Thus me no longer listening to Evil Twin, who still claims this was a good idea.

With some slight changes, history repeated itself tonight. Peanut has a bag of counting bears because Grammy has a wicked sense of humor. Right before bedtime, Peanut yanks the bag out from his toy box and requests a game. I know how this works: bears get dumped, and bedtime gets put off while Peanut slo-o-o-owly puts them back in the bag. Request denied.

Peanut being Peanut didn't stop there. With my refusal still lingering in the air, he went racing down the hallway to where Boomer was washing dishes and unaware of my conversation. Thus the smile on my face (for two seconds) and relief when Boomer said no as well. He's played this game, too.

I guess Peanut really did get more than my eyes and hands. He got Evil Twin's conniving spirit. Now I'm in trouble.

Call me Mother of the Year.

School Days

Call me Mother of the Year.

Now that potty training is well in hand, Peanut and I have a new obsession: school. Apparently, my constant discussion has paid off, because all the Wonder Toddler wants is to attack the preschool the way he is currently attacking his trains.

In an effort (futile) to appease Peanut, I told him about Vacation Bible School. Like many churches, ours is at night and there is a special program for preschoolers. Since Grammy is in charge of the preschool class, I thought it would be a good idea to let Peanut get accustomed to the routine preschool will undoubtedly be. Good intentions, but the results are mixed.

Knowing that Grammy raised Boomer, I hold the thought that Peanut wouldn't get away with much in her classroom. This proved to be correct because I can think of at least two occasions where Peanut was vociferously removed from class.

Author's Note: Yes, parents were present at all times.

The mischief wasn't helped in the least by the facts that Peanut's cousin and favorite church cohorts were in his class. Ten preschoolers, their parents, and Grammy. That woman deserves medals. Or alcohol. Maybe both. Peanut held that he should run amok with said cohorts, and Grammy and I spent much time and effort debunking this myth. One night, after multiple warnings, I removed him in favor of bedtime. Another night, I was told it was time to leave. Readers may think this is harsh. It really isn't.

However, VBS has given me a hint as to what preschool may look like. Good thing his teacher has my number; by the end of the year, I'll wager it'll be on speed-dial.

Call me Mother of the Year.

The Sighting of the End

Call me Mother of the Year.

After a very loud weekend involving tears, tantrums, and Peanut's Shriek of Death (Patent Pending), we finally have a toddler willing and able to use the potty reliably. And there was much rejoicing.

Peanut has finally figured out that Mommy and Daddy will win this one, and is completely focused on the idea of school. I'm exploiting this for my own means, and using Vacation Bible School as a current form of bribery. As Grammy is going to be Peanut's teacher, I figure it's okay.

Now that we have the peeing under control (reasonably), we must tackle the second part: pooping. This promises to be as challenging as the first, but now that I have some success, I'm hoping that I'm wrong and this will go smoothly. The laughter you hear is Peanut's.

However, that is a battle for another day. Right now, I'm reveling in my son's success, and laughing at myself. Wonder Toddler showed all the signs of being ready to sit on the potty this morning, and I totally blew them off. Joke's on me, because I got to clean up the mess. Oops.

Call me Mother of the Year.