Sick, again

Bronchitis. Yep, I've got it. Don't only kids get bronchitis? It seems I don't hear much about adults with the grody lung infection, but now I've got it and it sucks. I've not been to work in a week. I feel like death. I sound like death. But now I have a prescirption for antibiotics and everything should improve shortly.

Bronchitis. Stupid bronchitis.

Calling it

I'm calling it, here and now, that Evelyn is potty trained. In the past two weeks we have had only one accident (save for an incident or two when visiting the grandparents, but I'm chalking that up to "unusual circumstances"). Evelyn is a champion toilet user. Three cheers for Evelyn!

The Tuesday list

10 Things I am Good At:

1. Giving hugs to toddlers in need (and sometimes baby fox kisses)
2. Writing
3. Understanding complicated regulations
4. Jazz hands
5. Remembering things people say
6. Working quickly
7. Baking
8. Finding logical missteps in commercials
9. Celebrating special occasions
10. Making my husband laugh

10 Things I am Not Good At:

1. Finishing crafty projects
2. Eating just one cookie
3. Staying up late or waking up early
4. Waiting
5. Gardening
6. Cleaning
7. Buying good gifts
8. Falling asleep quickly
9. Remembering names
10. Sitting up straight

Now you know.

Flying solo

Evelyn and I are flying to California this week, but Jon is staying home. It will be a three-generations-of-women Mother's Day celebration! But I am worried about flying alone. I worry a little that chasing a very active two-year-old through the airport will cause headaches. I worry a little that getting her to settle down once we are on the plane will be difficult. I worry a little that my need to take drammamine to avoid motion sickness will leave me unable to make good decisions or even stay awake. But my biggest fear, and I think it is an irrational one, is that when I get to security they won't let me take Evelyn through because I am traveling without her father and they think I am trying to kidnap my own kid in some sort of ugly divorce custody dispute.

So is this totally irrational, or am I justifiably worried? Should I bring Evelyn's birth certificate? Should I bring a certified letter from Jon? Should I do both just to alleviate my worry? I've got a call in to my sister-in-law, who has traveled domestically and abroad with her two kids and without a spouse, to get some info.

But aside from that, I'm very excited. I'm getting snacks and treats and coloring books and new iPad apps ready for the flight. I need to remember to pack headphones. Evelyn is excited to see Grandma Mary and Grandpa Craig, and Tootsie, who she says is like a "big, black Sophie."

Love that kid.

Holy frijoles

I just got a call from our daycare provider because Evelyn wanted to share some exciting news.

She peed! In the potty! At daycare! Two times!

Considering the amount of tears that have been shed over the concept of using the potty at daycare (just at the mere suggestion--we aren't pushing the issue too hard), it is miraculous. Evelyn is in undies at home, even using the potty at a restaurant last night, and now we may be getting close to full potty training at daycare. Hallelujah. Now we just have to tackle the task of getting her to tell us when she needs to go when we are in the car, and grandma Lew's house. But I am happy to say things are progressing nicely.

(Knock on wood. No, seriously. Knock on some wood right now.)

It's gone

Last night, after Evelyn had been quiet in bed for about 10 minutes, she started making some weird noises from her bedroom, like bad dream scared shreiky noises. I went to her and we had the following conversation:

Evelyn, laying on her back with her pajama shirt pulled up to her chest

Me: Evelyn, are you OK, sweetie?
Ev: It's gone, Mommy. It's gone!
Me: What is?
Ev: Where did it go?

At this point I realize she is poking her belly button.

Me: Your belly button? It didn't go anywhere. It is right here.

Cue raspberry.

Ev (with relief in her voice): Oh good, it came back.
Me: Yes, your belly button came back. Now close your eyes. It's time for sleep.

The end.

It may be a cliche, but kids truly do say the darndest things.

This post is about poop

I gave you fair warning. So if you don't like to read about poop, especially other people's poop, and especially other people's children's poop, just stop now.

Now that the queasy have left the room, is there anything greater than wiping the poop off your child's bottom when that poop is now securely residing in the toilet and NOT in a diaper/her entier backside/a chair/etc? No, I think not. I think wiping the bottom of a child who has pooped in the toilet is one of the little things that only a parent can appreciate. But it isn't a little thing at all. It is a huge thing. Something so monumental it is rewarded with chocolate chips for everyone!

As you can likely infer, we are well on our way down the potty training path and things are going fairly well. Now everyone, together, KNOCK ON WOOD. Rub a rabbit's food or turn around three times and spit. Whatever it is you do to keep the bad voodoo off my proclamations of potty training success, do it now. We are only a few days in to the solid potty training situation. So far, in underwear, we have had no accidents. (Again, do that voodoo hiako now.) Getting into underwear is a different story, as Evelyn still prefers a diaper, but her protests are less pronounced now and the whole situation is getting easier. Diapers for bedtime and pull-ups at nap time, but otherwise, we are going for a full underwear-when-home revolution. It is liberating.

Oh sure, we have to remind her to be sure to tell us when she needs to use the potty, and sometimes she just sits on the potty to get that coveted chocolate chip (seriously, I don't know anyone who loves chocolate as much as my child), but we are getting there.

I love it. Hooray. Hooray times a thousand!