An Open Letter To My Son

Today was a great day. Nothing happened. I was off and spent the day with The Boy. We went to story time, we went to the craft store. He took a nap and I did some work. It was incredibly mundane. And beautiful. I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I get to do nothing with this kid some days. These nothing days are the days I'm watching him grow up before my very eyes. These nothing days are filled with laughter and tears, and I hope behind the laughter and tears is a little learning every day. Sometimes even for him. This is my letter to my boy on these nothing days. 

Son,
Now you are a toddler and you climb, unprovoked, into my lap to read a story and give spontaneous kisses, and I melt as I feel love in a way I've never understood before. I am happy and I know that if nothing else good ever happens in my life I'll be okay because I have known this love.

There are so many things I want for you. Right now you are so little you don't even know your future looms before you, full of hope and promise and possibility. You can do anything! I want what parents have wanted for thousands of years before me: for you to grow up happy and healthy and strong.

I want you to grow up with values that include being respectful to others and being responsible for your actions. I want you to be tolerant and patient and kind. I want you to find what's important to you and fight for it. I hope you get involved with something bigger than yourself.

I don't care how you vote or how you look or who you love. I don't care if you are a doctor, lawyer, or dentist, unless that is what you want. I hope you will study hard enough to get by and play even harder.  I hope you will find a career that you love, and do it passionately. I hope you will be kind to people who can't do anything to get you ahead. I hope you will write a thank you note to those who can and do. I hope you won't be an entitled punk. I hope you will appreciate the things that you have, and understand the plight of those who have not been blessed the same life as you. I hope you see without shaming, people who are not as lucky to have been born in your country, your demographic, your skin, your life.

I hope you have big adventures in the back yard and in the big world. I hope you are spontaneous and fun, with enough caution mixed in to keep you safe. I hope you ask questions. Ask questions when you don't understand or when you don't agree with something. Ask questions about everything in the world around you, and then question the answers you get. I hope you learn to think for yourself, and I hope you have grand ideas. When you find something you're really interested in I hope you'll immerse yourself in it.

I hope you do something stupid that doesn't hurt anyone. I hope you get in trouble and learn from your mistakes. I hope you will be angry with me for rules that you won't yet understand. I'm pretty sure I'll be angry with you for breaking them. I hope you can apologize when you were wrong, and sometimes even when you weren't. I hope you will pick up your dad's ability to let go of things that aren't important and you cherish those that are.

I hope you kiss someone at the beach. I hope you appreciate your love interests for more than their looks, and let them know it. I hope you open doors for your date out of courtesy and kindness, and never out of authority or presumption. I hope you get your heart broken so you know the value of a healthy relationship. I hope you treat your partner with respect, even when you're angry. I hope you demand the same.

I hope you spend time with your grandparents, even when it won't be cool. I hope you get in a fight with your cousin or your friend and you make up and laugh about it later. I hope you stick up for people who can't stick up for themselves, and learn the joy of helping others. I hope you learn to communicate your feelings using words that are meaningful. I hope you'll know that I'll be here for you every single moment of every one of these hopes.

Most of all, son, I hope years from now you have a child that will climb, unprovoked, into your lap to read a story and give spontaneous kisses, and I hope you melt as you feel love in a way you've never understood before. And I hope you are happy and you know that if nothing else good ever happens in your life you'll be okay because you have known that love. Then you will understand my love for you. XOXO

Mom

Oh, Crap!

It's all Sears' fault. They sent me an email for a free portrait session and free prints. I can't turn down free, so I said yes. I scheduled The Boy an appointment for 18 month pictures yesterday. If you schedule an appointment for pictures, you'll want the kid to be clean. And you'll want to trim up his hair just a bit in the back so he doesn't look so much like Doc from Back to the Future (for more on The Boy's hair, see this post). Best foot forward, right? But it can sort of turn into an If You Give A Mouse A Cookie kind of day. 

We were on a tight schedule for pictures, nap time, and me getting to work, so I put him in the bath. He was playing with his duckie and his other bath toys when he started to grunt and strain. "STOP!" I shouted at him, inappropriately. "Don't you dare poop in the tub!" He looked at me like I hurt his feelings. I scooped him up, but what to do with a naked, slippery, wet toddler that may or may not have to poop? I could put a diaper back on him and let him run around the house to wait it out but there was no time. I picked him up and put him on the toilet. He has no concept of toileting but it couldn't hurt. So I hung his bum over the seat and before I knew it he pooped in the toilet. Woo hoo! 

What a milestone, even if it was accidental! Hooray! I cheered for him and he scrambled down to get back in the tub. Done. I even took a picture of his tiny poop in the toilet to send to The Husband at work (yes, I recognize what's become of my life). What a great day it was going to be. I spent a brief second on the phone texting with The Husband, and when I turned my attention back to The Boy there was poop in the tub. Like all in the tub. Like a lot. My stomach churned. I screeched. How did that happen so quickly? Disgusting. So there The Boy stood in a tub with poop. I started jerking him out and letting the water drain. 

Just then my phone rang. The Husband wanted to know about pooping in the potty. 

Me: I can't talk right now he just pooped all in the tub!

Hus: I thought he pooped in the toilet?

Me: He did, but then he pooped even more in the tub. 

Hus: Gross. 

Me: Yeah. It's disgusting. 

Hus: How did that even happen? 

Me: I SAID I can't talk right now. I have to clean up this poop tub and clean him up and get him ready for his pictures and I have to find and catch him. 

Hus: Catch him? Where is he? 

Me: Bye. 

The Boy was running naked through the house, squealing. I called him to come back, which he ignored. The water finished draining and I grabbed some TP to use to pick up the poop. And then I started wretching. Whoever said it's different when it's your own child lied. The Boy thought it was hilarious and he starting squealing wretching noises "yetch, yetch, rheuch!" He got in the linen closet and pulled out two bars of soap like they were long lost pirate treasure. Note, he is still naked. 

He ran through the hall with his soap treasure yelling "ohrment!" (ornament), retching, and throwing the soap while I continued cleaning the tub. Then it happened. I threw up. I couldn't help it, out it came. Right into the tub. Yes, I threw up in the tub with the poop. I almost hung my head and cried. "Ohrment!" I heard, followed by the sound of soap flying through the air and landing on the floor. "Ohrment! Rheuch!" He laughed. This was not funny. 

I got all the poop out of the tub and then doused the entire thing in lighter fluid bathroom disinfectant. I took the spray lid off and just dumped the entire contents all over the tub. I rinsed it out and did the process all over again. I ran water for another bath, because the kid had not even been bathed yet. And it was picture day, after all. And I still needed to trim his mullet.

Thankfully bath "number two" was uneventful and we made it to his pictures, which he did great for.

He cleans up nicely, huh? 

By the looks of it you'd never know what a crappy morning we had. Thanks a lot, Sears.

Going Postal

We're kind of trying to rent our house. You see, there's this old farm house that we're crushing on, and we can't be interested in it until we break up with rent our house. So, with no real plan or safety net, we listed our house for rent in the paper and on Craigslist just to see what would happen. A few people have shown some interest and have emailed The Husband.

Saturday, in the car
Husband: Here, call Ochita and see when she wants to come look at the house.
Me: I don't know Ochita.
Husband: Ochita emailed me and wants to come see it. Here's her number.
(I took his phone and called, on speakerphone).

O: Hello?
Me: Ochita?
O: No, this Oshana.
Me: Oh. Hi. Is Ochita there? I'm calling about a house on Craigslist that she emailed about renting.
O: No, she's not here. Who is this?
Me: Leigh Ellen. I'm calling about a house on Craigslist that she emailed about renting.
O: Oh! That was me. I used my mama's email address on accident.
Me: Okay. When do you want to come see it? Could you come Monday?
O: No, I work on Monday. I work for the post office, and I don't get off until 5:30. So I can't come on Monday unless it's after 5:30.
Me: Okay, we can do after 5:30.
O: Okay. No, I have to go pick up my kids. It'll have to be another day.
Me: Okay. How about Tuesday?
O: Okay, okay. Tuesday works. 5:00?
Me: That's fine with me. 5:00.
O: Yeah. No, I have to go pick up my kids.
Me: Okay, when works for you?
O: Tuesday, 5:30?
Me: Okay, 5:30 works for me.
O: Which house is this?

After some confusion and back and forth concerning first and last month's rent, I gave Oshana our address, which she assured me she knew because she works for the post office and delivers mail. "I know right where that is!"

Fast forward to Tuesday. We cleaned the house from top to bottom and had it ready for Ochita Oshana to come. I'm talking candles lit, curtains opened, orphaned socks put away, and closets presentable. The Husband mopped. I cleaned up every plastic banana, train wheel, and letter magnet on the floor and put them away. Multiple times. I didn't cook dinner so as to keep the kitchen tidy (twist my arm). Five thirty came and went. Five forty. Five fifty. 

Me: At what point do we assume she's not coming? 

Husband: Give her until 6:00 in case she was confused on the time. 

Me: Call her. 

The Husband calls and leaves a voicemail (Oshana's second favorite kind of mail). 

At 6:30 his phone rang. 

Husband: Hello? 

Oshana: Hello? 

Husband: Hey, we were just wondering where you were. 

Oshana: I left already. 

Husband: Left where? 

Oshana: Your house. 

Husband: Our house? 

Oshana: Yeah, Nobody was there so I left. 

Husband: You couldn't have left our house. My wife's been here. 

Oshana: I came there earlier. 

Husband: My wife's been here. We had an appointment at 5:30, I came home early from work. 

Oshana: Yeah, I called and cancelled that. 

Husband: Called who? 

Oshana: Your wife. 

Husband: You don't have my wife's number. 

Oshana: I called the number on the sign. 

Husband: What sign? 

Oshana: The sign in your yard. 

Husbad: We don't have a sign in our yard. 

Oshana: Musta been somewhere else, then. 

Husband: Okay, ma'am, that's fine. Thank you. Goodbye. 

12 Days of Christmas

On Christmas Eve we were going to a family thing, but The Husband wanted to go visit with his grandmother in assisted living on the way. She'd been sick, and The Boy had been really sick, so we decided it would be best if he didn't go. We decided The Boy and I would go to the Chick-fil-A near the assisted living and play on the playground to give The Husband a little time with Nanny and keep us from driving two cars. Solid plan, right? Right.

Turns out the playground for that particular Chick-fil-A is not a toddler playground. The Boy enjoyed running in the 5x5 germ infested solitary confinement play yard but he wasn't tall enough to climb up into the playground alone. So, obviously, that meant I had to climb in the playground to help him. Mostly I just helped him hoist himself up between the little levels and I hung out in a tunnel midway in between, chin folded to chest like a flamingo waiting to help. We played and laughed and he ran and peeked out at me, rinse and repeat.

Luckily we had the whole playground to ourselves, what with it being Christmas Eve. I looked out into the Chick-fil-A and there were several families eating dinner, dressed in their Christmas best. I began to reflect on the irony of them in velour dresses with fur trim and me in jeans folded in a tube, but I was interrupted when I started to choke on the smell of a dirty diaper. In a plastic tube with me. And the source of that smell smiled and tackled me as I gagged. It was like a gas chamber in there. We had to get out!!


I began enticing The Boy out, but it's hard to carry a child through a tube you're too big for. We eventually emerged, just as some of the Christmas-clothed-kids were coming in to play. It was a good time for us to make our exit anyway. As we approached the bathroom I was reminded of the large drink I'd had earlier that was also needing to make an exit. I had to pee, and bad. I must've compressed my bladder when I was folded in that tube. Kid. Purse. Diaper bag. Two of those I could hang on the stall door, one I could not. What to do with The Boy? We busted into the bathroom and the situation became urgent. Suddenly I was doing the pee pee dance with a boy with poo poo pants. Yep, this is my life.

The diaper changing station was outside the stall, which would mean I'd have to either pee with the door open or leave him unsupervised (Hello, Amber alert?). Neither of those were viable options, plus, there was no time for that. Listen to me when I tell you there was no alternative. I slung the bags on the back of the door, hiked The Boy higher up on my hip, yanked my pants down, and balanced him on my knees while I hovered over the pot (women don't like for any skin to touch a public pot). This was a full-on aerobic exercise, but it what else was I to do? So, I peed, got my pants back up, gathered our bags, and emerged from the stall victorious. I strapped him in the baby changer and changed him. I also changed his jeans since he spilled milk all over himself. Then the bathroom filled with the sound of "Who that is? That's just my baby daddy," The Husband's ringtone. I answered the phone and he said he was on his way. Good timing.

The Boy and I headed outside. A few minutes later The Husband pulled up and I loaded him in the car seat. Me: How was Nanny?
Husband: Fine. Did y'all have fun? (I closed the back door and walked up to the front).
Me: Yes, but I'm going to get in backwards. Will you tell me if you can see a wet spot on my pants?
Husband: What? Where? Why are your pants wet?
Me: On my butt. Just look when I get in backward casually.
Husband: You peed your pants?
Me: Not really, it was just a tiny drop. Look. Can you see it?
Husband: A little.
Me (buckling up) : Ughh!
Husband: Umm, how is it that you peed yourself?
Me: I didn't really pee myself! He pooped in the playground and it was so stinky and other kids were coming in so I had to take him to the bathroom to change him and then I had to pee really bad because you know I drank that Sprite but I didn't have anything to do with him because if I put him down he would crawl on the floor or eat toilet paper and the diaper changer was far away and I was afraid someone might take him, so I had to hold him while I peed but you know how I don't like to touch the toilet so when I was squatting I guess I sort of peed myself just a little. Merry Christmas!
Husband (raises eyebrows) Merry Christmas.

So, now you know that I peed myself just a little. As for the rest of our Christmas, it was a jam-packed, wonderful, chaotic, whirlwind of family visits, opening presents, and wrestling with cousins.  It was the best week of The Boy's life. It was like our own personal 12 days of Christmas. Sing it with me now!

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me......

12 Drummers Drumming

11 Pipers Piping

10 Lords a Leaping

9 Ladies Dancing

8 Maids a Milking

7 Swans a Swimming

6 Geese a Laying

Hey, quit laying in my boat! 

5 Bells that Ring!

4 Calling Birds

3 French Hens

2 Turtle Doves

And a place on my pants where I peed!