The Monkey Barrel

Archive for July, 2008

We had the great good fortune to join the Milligan’s care group back about 2 years ago now. The moment we stepped into their home we felt we belonged. But, nearly immediately my family life fell apart, and so they were initiated instantly into all my baggage. Never once did they shy away from the tears that spilled every week as we relayed the nuances of our situation that had occurred and that were up coming. They prayed with us and cried with us and kept in touch with phone and e-mail during the week to see how things were going. Everyone folded us into their family as though we’d always been there. And likewise we laughed and cried with them in their own triumphs and struggles. Our group has really been through the ringer together.
Everyone’s summer schedules have been packed and crowded and we were meeting less and less and missing each other more and more. So we started batting around ideas to keep us together and committed to meeting and frankly just to have fun. One of the ideas was to have the guys go out for a day and then the next week for the girls to go out. Whichever party was left at home, took care of all the kids. Those two ideas have produced two of the most enjoyable and memorable care group sessions. Not only for those going out without the kids, but even staying home with the kids proved to be busy but awesome. The guys went out for a round of golf, dinner, and pool. The girls went out for brunch, pedicures, and a movie. Sometime this month we’re all gonna get sitters and the grown-ups will all go out for a meal. I think the time we spend together, sharing our lives, and praying for each other and just enjoying each other’s company has made more of an impact than our study times have. Although having said that, Pete’s sessions last summer were phenomenal and I’d do that again in a heartbeat. Anyway, this is what defines the care in our care group and why we don’t call it Bible study.

I know I know, you know. We all know. But I’m still posting on about it. What in the world will entice a very stubborn 3 year old boy to poop on the potty and not in the pants?? Here’s methods we’ve tried so far. If you poop on the potty you can have any piece of candy you want in this jar. He doesn’t like the candy in the jar so we go to Target and he picks out stuff he does like. Still no good. If you poop in the potty you can wear these big boy Thomas the train underpants. Nuh uh. If you go poop in the potty you can play in the big kid section at the Y and go to preschool in the fall like all the big boys. Nope. John poops in the potty, so does daddy, Uncle Matt, Owen, Henry, Spongebob, Thomas the Train, Gramma, Pappa, the bus driver, the garbage man, the mail truck lady, everybody poops in the potty. EVERYONE BUT YOU!!! Nadda! If you poop in the potty daddy will take you and John for ice cream. If you don’t daddy will still take John but not you. Tonight we’re enacting that one. I think I’m crying more over his dissapointment than he is. (yes, I’m seriously crying. I have this thing about seeing my kids left out even if they’ve been warned and given thousands of chances) We’ve tried punishments like cleaning out his own underwear, no t.v. all day, and not being able to leave his room but for meals all day. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. What usually happens is we send him in to go and whatever we’ve enticed him with, within minutes he’s sobbing he doesn’t want. All so he doesn’t have to poop on the danged potty. That’s not even mentioning all the times he pees his pants too. He is perfectly happy to dwell in his filthy bottoms. Doesn’t bother him one iota that he’s got sodden drawers or is carrying around a wedge in his cheeks. But soak that boy in a pool or at the beach and if he feels the need to pee he is shrieking to be taken to the potty. What is with that?? It could be a mile to the potty, but danged if he don’t hold it all the way there so it doesn’t get his wet drawers wetter or dirtier. And he’ll hold the poop in all day rather than poop at the pool or beach which makes for a pretty day the following. He is a conundrum. I suppose eventually it will happen. It probably won’t happen afore preschool this year so he may have to wait another year. That would be a shame as smart as he stinkin is. Spells his own and John’s names, has an extraordinary vocabulary for 3, knows at least 10 letters of the alphabet, counts to 20 and recognizes all the numbers from 1-9. Shapes and colors are old hat. That was so 18 months ago. I’m running out of ideas as fast as he can trash ‘em. What to do, what to do.

I am seriously at my witts end with this stuff. I want to send him to potty training boot camp where someone else has to do it. He absolutely refuses to learn. Refuses. I have 5 weeks until preschool and they won’t let him in unless he’s freaking POTTY TRAINED! I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I don’t know what on earth to do to get through to him the necessity of not peeing and pooping in his underwear anymore. ARGGGG When will it end?

I’m noticing I start a LOT of my posts with So,… I need to expand my vocabulary.

So, apparently, I don’t look pregnant. Much. My poor neighbor that we haven’t seen for a while was out the other day and we were chatting and updating each other on neighborhood gossip and our kids and such and I told her we were expecting another boy. A strange look of relief crossed her face and she said, “I am so glad you said something because, well, honey, you don’t look pregnant and I was worried something happened.” sigh…. I’m not sure whether to be happy or sad about that here in my 23rd week. I mean, I know when I sit down my belly disappears and I look like the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters, but when I’m standing up all I can see is my bump. So apparently I just look overly fat. Perhaps people who don’t know me think I have a small tumor or a serious accumulation of doughnuts. And what do you do about that? Besides loudly conversating with my children about their impending brotherhood, or barking loudly to cashiers things that have to do with being pregnant so as to assure them the mounting groceries on the counter will in fact go into my children’s mouths and not to aid my growth, what else is there? Can’t someone make t-shirts, pins, license plates, or even bumper stickers so we save ourselves the embarrassment of having to perpetually proclaim our pregnancy to people who don’t know? I never had this problem with the other boys. With John I looked like I had swallowed Krispy Kreme whole by the 5th month and with Luke, by the second month my uterus announced, “Hey, we’ve been here before. What’s the use in hiding?” and then it exploded out of my zipper. Part of the joy of pregnancy when you’re fat is having an legitimate excuse for your ponderous butt, but my excuse, of course, is in hiding. I am sort of proud of the fact that the only extra weight I seem to be carrying is about 5 lbs. of water which seems to be collecting solely around my calves and shins. I know it’s gonna be a good day when I can actually see my shin bone. My doc doesn’t think I have swelling because I don’t have cankles. I reassured her that indeed I was swollen and proceeded to shove my thumb pad into my shin to show her how deep it could go. She gasped, put her hand to her mouth, and got all puffy in the cheeks. I thought she was gonna puke. And then I thought, gees lady, don’t you see women, well, you know, birth people every day?? I’m trying to come up with new ways to freak her out. I welcome suggestions. So if you’re here, and you didn’t know, and thought maybe, I wonder if she could be, but were afraid to ask, YES, I’m pregnant. With boy number three, in fact. His name is Noah William.

So with all the copious amounts of “chair rest” the doc has me on, I decided I needed to be more productive than turning my swollen mass, into mashed couch potato. Last Christmas I received a new set of crochet hooks and a few books to learn new patterns. When I first looked at the books, I closed them nearly immediately. First of all, the cover looks like something from the 70′s and I ain’t no granny square girl. Then I thought, good grief, I’ll never be able to figure out all those initials just to get started learning the pattern. What are they, the CIA, FBI, A&N?? I can’t remember my bank pin number or passwords to the many sites I subscribe to. And let’s face it, my pregnancy brain with a third child is putting brain cells into a pod to be birthed out with the new baby. I’ll be lucky to bring him home and not be back sitting on the couch babbling nonsense and wearing a bib, drooling like an idiot. But with all this time on my hands I cracked it open again and started studying the initials and practicing each stitch just to begin the more complicated stuff. Good Heavens. This poor, tattered ball of orange yarn has been stitched into at least 20 different patterns and pulled out again. Just try making a square a square and not a trapezoid. I finally got the double chaining right and yesterday taught myself (oh yes, I can be taught) how to do this cute little puff ball stitch. Luke examines my work and says, “You make nice balls mommy. ” But, finally, I’m about a foot and a half into a scarf and it’s all straight and orderly as it should be. Amazing. Now, I have a yarn obsession again. I’ve been scouring good deals on my favorite kinds to work with. I dream of baskets and shelves lined with beautiful colors and weights. Maybe she who dies with the most fabric doesn’t win after all and hey, it keeps me from lurking in Walmart buying things that have shiny red and yellow stickers that say the magical words “clearance” on them. Is it me or or is there a time warp in Wal Mart? Like going into the wardrobe and finding Narnia and spending years, but coming out and it was only a few hours. I digress. The other bonus, I’m so occupied trying to figure the dang thing out that I actually forget to eat. Who knew the new diet wave would be crocheting. So, I foretell many afghans and scarves this Christmas.

There was an old lady, who lived in her chair….who couldn’t get off of her derrier……she’s crocheting there…

John has decided that the one chore he has, he is way over. He takes Lucy out 3 times a day to go potty and if she goes she gets to run around the house and if not she goes back in the crate. He comes back most exasperated when she is on a poop strike. He began grumbling a few days ago that he didn’t want to take her out anymore. So today, he takes her out in the afternoon and she doesn’t go and he comes in and puts her back in the crate. Then he comes to me very solemnly and says, “Mom, I have the best, I mean a really good reason why you should not ever want me to take Lucy out anymore to the outside.”. I say, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”. “Because mom, there are leaches out there.” Stifling a giggle I ask him to describe to me what it is he saw. “A big, slimy, crawly, green thing.” Turning my head so he doesn’t see me snicker, I reply, “John dear, leeches live in ugly, nasty swamps and only in water. Rest assured you will not get your blood sucked out by a land leech in the side yard.” I cannot imagine what it was he saw out there but I gotta give him props for creativity. I was never half that good.

So I go to my favorite Walmart today. The day when they usually have everything restocked from Sunday’s madness. The day when I can count on finding everything on my list and no freaked out church goers who are red around the eyes from their 5:30 a.m. choir practice and trying to make the dash for food for the afternoon potluck. Ever seen ‘em? Frazzled hair, wild eyed, jockeying for position, hiding behind the clothing rounders to dash out for nearest shortest line. I’ve lost many a chunk o’ skin on the backs of my ankles from that restless crowd so unless I’m in desperation, I avoid the grocery stores altogether on Sundays. Which is why Monday is my favorite. Those crazy stockers must be up to the wee hours of the morning getting ready for the smart Monday crowd. But today, sadly, I found a flaw in their Monday perfection. Coasting up the aisles with two boys all smiles as the anticipate their favorite section, we cruise up to the cereal. I purposely enter the opposite end to save the best box for last, when I know that cheers will resound and I will be heralded the best mom in the world. Only, I get to the end, the paradise end, and the one magical item that will seal my joy, The Peanut Butter Captain Crunch area, is ENTIRELY OUT!!! We’re talking a section folks that must be 4 feet wide and at least 3 deep, completely devoid of the delicious, goodness that we enjoy only on summer vacations or holidays when the sugar rush can be contained within the confines of home and no teacher is subjected to the torture. GONE! ALL GONE! Those beautiful smiles, turned upside down immediately and their disapointment was palpable. Across the aisle we found small appeasement in the Reese’s Puffs. But the Reese’s were better than no peanut buttery breakfast goodness and I suppose in the end, the doctor’s scale next Monday will thank me. Small consolation tho. Until we rounded the corner to the baking aisle and they found fruity, colored, marshmallows in a bag and suddenly their spirits were lifted and all thoughts of the captain missing from our baskets were gone. Their eyeybrows raised and their little eyes begged the question their sheepishly smiling lips were to afraid to ask. It was like a spotlight shown down on their faces and their folded hands tucked up under their chins in an Oliver Twist sort of way and I almost hear, “please sir, can I have some more???” Fickle boys they.

Take one down pass it around 98 oz.s of….. Ahh but seriously. This 24 hr. urine test is a drag. I’ve managed to pee enough to keep Bear Grylls (http://www.beargrylls.com/) alive for at least a week, and I’m sure by the end of the night he could survive for a month. The kids are curious about the cool tang colored “collection” container and the fancy new seat for the toilet. O the things you have to ‘splain to your offspring. Tomorrow I take my gallon in for testing to see how much protein is lurking in there. I have an unnatural amount of swelling in my legs that while not giving me cankles, have provided me with some really lovely craters. When I called the doc about the canyon in my shins she had me come right over and nonplussed threw around words like hypertension and pre-eclampsia. Words you hear when you’re pregnant but never give much thought to. Until you go home and google it or find it on the wiki and holygeeslouise later you’re hiding under a blanket and cursing at the monitor like a cat who just got sprayed with water and making the sign of the cross. Seriously, who is the idiot that thought mass public access to medical information at the touch of a button was a good idea? That guy should get one of those crazed diseases that his search engines drum up. But he should have to look it up first and then agonize for hours and days upon end until it gets the better of him. Criminy, I had to peel myself off the ceiling when I read about it and the only “cure” for it after having to dig around just to find out what eclampsia is. I don’t advise searching it. Seriously, don’t do it. I’m not kidding. Gah, see, I told you NOT to go searching for it, but you just wouldn’t listen would you?? Now who’s gonna come peel you off the ceiling, hmmm? Well don’t look at me, it’s been five minutes and I gotta go pee in a bottle again. Toodles