Potty Training

It might be time to potty train if:

Your child takes a wipe to themeselves in the middle of a diaper change. 

Your son strips down, takes off his diaper, wraps it up and throws it away before getting in the bathtub. 

Your child says yes when asked if they are pooping. 

Your daughter is saying “I stinky mommy! I don’t like poopy mommy!” In the middle of a diaper change. 

Your twins ask to sit on the toilet…but you tell them no. 

As a mother of four kids, one trained and three in diapers…the idea of potty training two children at the same time feels completely overwhelming. My twins will be three in January. They are both basically ready to be potty trained. I am not ready. 

Many people tell me that it is time, and I know this, but I have to be ready just as much as my kids have to be ready. For now, we are waiting for the holidays to pass before stepping foot into the world of panties and mattress covers. I am not looking forward to it all. Sure I am tired of constantly changing diapers, but the thoughts of wiping up pee or dealing with a kid who doesn’t like to poop on the potty…well it keeps me from starting. 

The likelihood of them being 15 and not potty trained is very slim, so in my mind, I have plenty of time. 

Until then, I will eat this tub of raw cookie dough and watch my son’s play on the bathtub. 

Peace Out…oh yeah, go vote!

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The Good Ole Days

My father is a wise man. I enjoy hearing his opinions and taking in whatever wisdom he offers. Do I always agree with him? Of course not, but that doesn’t change the way I think about him. He is a father of four kids and a grandfather to eight going on nine kiddos, five and under. Let’s say the man has had some life experience. 

I, like my father, have four children. The days run me over like a MAC truck ramming over a soda can. Many days it is difficult to see the future due to the giant mountain standing right in front of me. The mountains change daily. Spilled blueberry smoothie all over the carpet, poop under your fingernail (insert gagging), or maybe my child’s attitude is appalling. During one of those moments of pure frustration, my dad leans over and says, “just remember…these are the good ole days.” 

In the moment I want to slap his words away from myself. Heck. To. The. No. Sir. Good ole days. Psh. Finally we are home and all children are in their beds sound asleep. I assess the damage of the day and sit down instead of cleaning. I go through photos on my phone and begin to recall the sweet moments from the days. Simple acts of love from my daughter reaching for my hand and holding it. My son making goofy faces to make me laugh or trying to distract my eyes from the mischief he was causing. My oldest girl telling endless made up knock knock jokes and laughing at her jokes that make no sense. 

My children bring me pure, unadaltered joy. They send rage coursing through my entire body. Their kisses on my cheek are overwhelmingly sweet and sticky with snot all at the same time. Their love for me is forgiving and full of grace. 

Being a parent is the hardest and most gratifying life decision I have ever made. I would not change these moments for anything because it is true…I am living in the good ole days.