You know those home tours and makeover reveals where everything is pretty and nice. Well, this ain't one of them.
I recently posted a kitchen update, mostly because it was clean. But today I am going to give you the "Average Weekday" house tour. Let's start in the kitchen.
I am aware that the American Association of Pediatrics has some rather prudent guidelines about TV, media, and screen time. Apparently, two hours a day is too much. Kids should be playing, reading, engaging with their environment. I'm cool with the first two, but I could do with a lot less engagement with the environment.
My Personal Assistant's behavior yesterday was so horrible that he has lost TV privileges for an indeterminate period of time. Basically, he can't watch tv or have tech time until he stops asking for it-constantly-at a screaming volume-using phraseology he has not been exposed to under this roof. I am so upset. I really do not know how I will cope.
The following is a true story of what happens when we loose TV privileges. It is not for the faint of heart. You have been warned.
Kiddo wants to potty train in theory, but not so much in practice. It has been a struggle. His CSID has not helped. Because I respect my readers (somewhat) I will not elaborate. Let's just go with "It's been a rough year, " and leave it at that. But he's old enough that if I don't do something, he's gonna have issues. So when a member of the CSID support group suggested we needed a potty fairy, I was all over that like white on rice.
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| Playing with butter |
"You LET him do WHAT?"
The thing that people question the most about my parenting is The Mess. It is always about the mess. Not the experience, not the fun, not the learning, the mess. As if one should care about the mess. As if the mess is the most awful thing one could imagine.
If I had a quarter for every incredulous question, raised eyebrow, or disapproving look I would be a rich woman rocking a designer diaper bag.
Back when Hubster and I were dating long distance, a client asked me to show her step son around town. Ok. Fine. He, knowing absolutely nothing about me or my relationship, spent the evening trying to convince me that the love of my life was cheating on me, and promised to show me 'The Ultimate Evening.' So of course I told the bartender to hold the alcohol on any and every drink I ordered, no matter what I said, and to charge him top shelf prices. Then I went home and called my future Hubster and we laughed and laughed. Fast forward twelve years (!?) later and we still laugh about 'The Ultimate Evening.'
As much as I have been looking forward to teasing Daisy, I and been also avoiding this post, because, well, it feels genuinely embarrassing on both a personal and professional level. I hate it when that happens. I had to call poison control this spring when I found my Personal Assistant chewing down on my grape hyacinth because, in his words, "they look like little purple beans!" And according to the Internet, those special purple beans were not so good for eating and possibly dangerous. This was news to me.
I promise this isn't (too) gross. Really.
I like to leave out a bowl of fruit in the dining room for snacks and to have a visual aid for the Personal Assistant when allowing him to select his fruit for breakfast or lunch. He loves it. Unfortunately, he is growing, and can now reach the fruit bowl himself, which really wasn't an issue until I found this:
So far my morning has consisted of getting up with a teething boy at 4:30. Coaxing him to at least lay down in his crib and watch Thomas while I crashed for a few more hours. Getting back up at 7:30 to screaming which lasted until 9:00 when he decided oatmeal would be acceptable (I loaded it up with peanut butter to help dampen the noise). Calling in a Rx refill to the pharmacy, answering work email, monitoring a call from The Personal Assistant to DiDi and Papa while clearing the dishes, then suddenly rushing a pooping boy up the stairs only to have an accident which resulted in a mess that took 1/2 hour and a dreaded bath to clean up.
