Adventures in Potty Training: Episode 1

I believe I have blogged before (but am too lazy tonight to go re-read all of my musings) that we are trying to potty train Jack.  We have had limited success.  "Limited" means that he will "consider" using the potty, but never actually execute when on it.  He sits on it, but does not release anything.  He has, I'm told, stood up in the bath and peed in the bath.  He found that quite amusing, actually.  But since the bath is not, technically the potty (although some opinions might differ, particularly those who find it acceptable to pee in the pool) it cannot be considered a successful attempt.  

In the process, however, Jack has learned how to remove his pants and diaper.  He does this repeatedly, but not frequently.  I guess you'd call it "irregularly" so we don't consider it a huge issue.  He has an exhibitionist streak in him, so we tolerate it.  It's good for some well-placed laughs, especially when you insert Mormon missionaries into the mix, but that's never happened so it's just a funny daydream I've had, at best.  

On October 27th, the cleaning people had come and blown a fuse in our kitchen, rendering our fridge inoperable.  Ashley was frantically trying to find a fuse (we have a 1952 fuse box, not yet upgraded to the new, "switch" type fuses that they installed later in the century, so to reset the fuse, we have to replace it), when Jack approached her and said, "Mommy, there's poop on the carpet."  

This was no cause for alarm.  Routinely, our furry wastes-of-space (some would call them "cats") will upchuck on the carpet, usually as a result of, and in combination with, a hairball.  Jack thinks it's poop and calls it as much, even though we tell him it's cat vomit.  Regardless, Ashley grabbed her tools for cat vomit extraction and went off to the living room to begin the clean up operation.  Sam, distraught over something unknown, continued to cry loudly and incessantly, raising Ashley's stress level even more.  

What she found, however, was quite different than cat vomit:

Jack had removed his diaper and dropped a deuce on the carpet.  

I am SO GLAD I have a day job.

Sam Gets His

I was rereading my posts and realize that Jack (and his antics) receives a majority of the attention here.  So, in fairness to our second born:

Today, Sam stared at a light... for a really long time.  Then he fell asleep.  I bet he dreamt about the light and the glorious wonderment it brings. 

Today, Sam cried because he doesn't like riding in his car seat.  Then he cried some more.  And more.  And more.  Sam, we get it, you don't like your car seat.  But Arizona's traffic laws don't leave us much choice.  So, with all due respect, can it.  If forced to do so, I'll install a light for you to stare at while we drive.  

Today, Sam sucked on his pacifier and slept while Daddy schlepped him around Scottsdale Fashion Square in the Baby Bjorn.  [Take a moment and picture that: Regular Joe TJ, clad in tee shirt, cargo shorts and $3.50 Old Navy flip flops, with a 7 lb baby strapped to his chest.  Then picture me surrounded by 15 to 25 year-olds who consider Cosmo an "intellectually stimulating" publication, don jean shorts and 4" high heels to go shopping, and can't tell you what the words "federal budget deficit" mean.  You bet I blend right in, like a goiter on a prom queen.]

Today, Sam had a bottle for dinner.  During a burping break, Jack was showing Sam his new shoes (navy blue Crocs) and Sam promptly vomited on Jack and his new shoes.  Take that, big brother.  Jack was not pleased, pleading with Daddy to "clean up my new shoes, please, now, please! Sam pooked on me!"  I'm certain you find the glorious irony in that event, as I did.