the whole of the moon

of things I'd really like:

• the rocking chair that's currently at our Costco
• room for the rocking chair that's currently at our Costco
  
• $ to buy the rocking chair that's currently at our Costco
• flawless skin
• the ability to ignore people who piss me off
• to be photogenic
• carte blanche to shop for a (mostly) new wardrobe
• a real vacation
• time to play the piano
• a manicure & pedicure

When The Bug's teacher told me that he'd added piss to his repertoire of words she doesn't like, I acted like I had no idea where he learned it. I suppose I could blame it on the Sweeney Todd soundtrack - you know, that song where Sweeney says "smells like piss... this is piss... piss with ink." The Bug has certainly heard it enough.

But the truth is, I'm sure he got that word from me.

Many moons ago, there was a very unfortunate potty incident. The Bug clearly had to urinate, but he did not want to go to the bathroom. So I put him in front of the toilet and took his pants down... And that child turned away from the toilet and looked me in the face as he proceeded to pee all. over. the entire. bathroom.

It had been a... challenging morning... and I was pretty much at the end of my rope. I tried to physically turn him around and get him to go in the toilet, but he wouldn't budge. So, like many mothers before me, I completely lost it. I totally yelled at the kid.

"What is WRONG with you? STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!"

He kept peeing on the floor, started to cry, and said "Mommy, I don't like when you yell at me."

To which I replied "Well I don't like it when you piss all over the floor!"

Three years ago tonight, I was in Brooklyn trying to sleep. I thought I had a terrible back ache, and was convinced that The Bug was going to be late - his due date, if I recall correctly, was March 14th. By one o'clock in the morning, I was at the hospital asking for an epidural, and somewhere around ten hours later, there was a large slit in my abdomen and we had a real, live kid.

And now, here we are.

From a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, where The Bug slept in bed with us, to a house in Chicagoland where he sleeps in his very own room, in his very own double bed.

From reflux and projectile vomiting to ohmygod how do we get him to stop saying fuck in preschool?

From a fully portable little bean that I wore around NYC in slings and wraps, who slept anywhere and could be quieted with a cuddle or some mama's milk to a hilarious, creative, strong-willed little man who will not go to sleep anywhere even in his own bed until he's damn good and ready.

What am I going to do with this kid? He's barely three, and he likes Spiderman and Sweeney Todd (just the soundtrack, don't get up in arms...). Every night at bedtime, he chooses a Winnie the Pooh book. Just a couple days ago, when I asked him to please not bang the back door open so hard, he replied I fucked it like a monster. He is giving his teacher apoplexy, with the swearing and whatnot. Yes, my kid is the potty mouth trucker of his preschool.

I can not believe that he is already three. And I can not believe that he is only three.
What I can believe is that I will probably be this tired for the next fifteen years, at least...
But I guess it's worth it.

Happy birthday, Bug.

that Friday's little extravaganza of stupidity was a prelude to The Bug being sick. Yet another ear infection, this time with bonus pink eye.

What was a bit of a runny nose on Friday turned into a constantly runny/stuffy nose by Saturday. On Sunday, he took a three hour nap, which is really out of character for Mr. I-won't-take-a-nap-and-you-can't-make-me-I'll-sit-up-my-room-talking-and-singing-and-screeching-but-I'll-be-damned-if-I'll-take-a-nap...

By bedtime Sunday, he added a cough to the mix. He had a rough night, and then threw about fifty-four fits in the first hour he was awake on Monday morning. A quick check of the calendar showed us that he was right on schedule for another ear infection, since he was just looked at and declared infection free less than two weeks ago. So, I took him to walk in hours at the ped's office first thing.

I wasn't surprised when the diagnosis was otitis media. I was surprised, however, when the nurse practitioner asked me how long The Bug's right eye had been gunky. We thought the red-rimmed eyes were due to the excessive amount of crying he'd done, but by the time he was looked by the NP, it was clearly pink eye. Ew.

The good news is that the antibiotic he's on for the ear infection will take care of the pink eye, too, so we don't need to mess with drops. I'd rather wrestle a rabid alligator than try to get eye drops into this kid...

The bad news is, he's still stupid. Last night, he woke up and proceeded to throw the granddaddy of all fits. Nothing would calm him down, everything just pissed him off more. So we said fuck it, stay in your room by yourself if you're going to be an asshole. (Okay, we didn't literally say that to him, but that was the general gist.)

Yeah. Bad idea. He screamed and screamed until he puked.

Changing puked-upon bedding at 1:30am is not my idea of fun. Also? Self-induced puking doesn't make me feel particularly sympathetic towards the boy. I'm just that kind of mom.

Anyway. He probably could have gone to school today, since he's being medicated and his eyes were basically gunk-free, but I was able to get a co-worker to cover me at the store, so me 'n The Bug are spending another glorious day at home. Did I mention that this is Daddy-man's late night at the office? He won't be home until well after The Bug's bedtime.

How do I cope, you ask? Like this:
Breakfast = an entire pot of coffee and an english muffin with butter and peach preserves
Lunch = waiting until after The Bug is in bed for nap time and actually enjoying my California roll
I will not count the actual number of servings of diet Pepsi I've consumed. It may well be obscene.
I'm saving the gigantic mocha frappuccino that's in the fridge for after The Bug gets up from his nap. I know I'll need it.
I'm letting him watch far too much television, and when he is not insisting that I play with him, I am knitting. "You work on your project, sweetie, and I'll work on mine."

But tomorrow? I'm going to work, come hell or high water. The ridiculous bullshit that our adult customers bring through the door will be a welcome change.

When I picked The Bug up from school on Friday afternoon, the report was not good. Yes, he had taken a nap, but that was about the only positive thing that could be said. Where to begin? In no particular order, here are some highlights:

The assistant director had to speak to The Bug about appropriate behaviour at lunch. As in, it is not appropriate to sit on the table with ones knees on either side of ones plate.

He got up from his nap, and his teacher noticed that he had gum in his mouth. The Bug reported that he got the gum from underneath his cot. Ew. When instructed to put the gum in the garbage, The Bug swallowed it instead.

There was a small poop accident, so he came home with soiled underpants (in a plastic bag, inside his backpack).

The Bug and two of his friends were overheard having an animated conversation which apparently consisted mostly of the word "fuck."

He demonstrated that his listening skills are truly horrible by once again ignoring me outright when it was time to leave school. He did finally acknowledge that I was speaking to him, though. He told me "No, I'm not going."

When we left school, he ran down the sidewalk and expressed his affection for my car by giving it a full-on mouth-and-face-smashed-up-against-the-wintry-salty-muck-just-below-the-gas-tank-kiss. Again, I say ew.

Either right before, or right after, the kissing of the car, in the two seconds it took me to put his backpack on the seat, The Bug tried to run out into middle of the parking lot by himself.

He is what the experts call a spirited child.
No wonder I'm tired.

Here's the agenda for my "day off:"

• vacuum (pretty much the whole house needs it, but we'll see what gets done)
• wash The Bug's comforter & curtains
• change sheets
• clean up that mess I keep accumulating on the kitchen counter
• book party room at Kohl Children's Museum for The Bug's birthday party (because Pump It Up is booked solid for MARCH already, ferchristsakescanyoubelieve it?)*
• hand wash The Bug's hand knit stocking cap (he says it itches, and I realized I haven't washed it at all, so maybe if I do he'll actually wear it)
• clean up and organize that mess in the guest room
• put together a box of clothes to donate
• e-mail photos of The Bug playing the piano to the fabulous guy who GAVE us the piano
• schedule some work stuff
  

*I know, I know, I swore I wouldn't be one of those people who does the stupid huge parties for little kids. It's not my dime and having it out of the house makes it so much easier. So sue me.

And today The Bug said:
I'm your fireman. You can help me turn my hose on.

hockey stick?

Yes, at our house, that's the way The Bug sings it.  He's also developed a fondness for Queen's "Bicycle," and most of the Sweeney Todd soundtrack, which I've been listening to in the car. The usual cry from the back seat is "Mommy, turn it louder," and unless we're already at ear shattering volume, I usually comply, because, well, a lot of what we listen to nowadays is either loud or louder. But Sweeney gives me a chance to explain that not all music is supposed to be loud, and that what starts out quiet could turn loud later. Yup, we're learning about dynamics. He's getting it, too.

Well. Except the part about how it translates to an appropriate volume for speaking indoors. I'm afraid that's going to be a long, hard lesson.

We just spent some time with my brother and his family. That means my brother, his wife, and their four children. The girls are 10, 8 and 1, and my nephew, J, is 6. The first night we were there, the Bug slept in j's room. Here's what I heard on the monitor first thing in the morning:

Bug: How do you tell it's a T. Rex?
J: A T. Rex has pointy teeth.
Bug: What does T. Rex eat?
J: A T. Rex would eat you.
Bug: Nooo, they eat meat.
J: But you are meat!
Bug: But he won't eat my penis. That's where I go pee-pee.