Metal Meredith

Phil emailed me this morning to ask me a question about paychecks. I, in turn, asked if the check would be deposited today. He came back with something about getting a ride with a co-worker to the bank.

This followed:

“I picked up a nail somewhere, so the Alero is at one of those shops down on the corner of Broad.”

When I first read it, it made perfect sense. I closed the email and moved on. Then, when I gave myself a chance to think about it, there were all sorts of unanswered questions and underlying text.

For instance, “I picked up a nail somewhere” surely means that he was at the site where he is building my dream home. for my birthday, right? Or perhaps that is where he is dumping the millions he has stashed away. Or the body...dun dun DUN!!!!

My second curious note is that he thought he would specify what kind of car he drives, “the Alero”. Oh, so you forgot your BMW today, Phil? Is the Mini Cooper in the shop?

Why my husband feels the need to talk in acquaintance speak when he emails me is beyond my comprehension. My theory is that he gets in to “Manager Mode” and forgets who is he talking to. We all know that in reality, I am the boss.

Man, this kid is a total charmer. I can’t walk through a grocery store, mall or playground without being stopped. No, they don’t want to talk to me. In fact, sometimes they never even look up like the stroller must be propelled solely on his charm. Forget trying to quickly run into my Grandparents’ Assisted Living facility. The walkers and wheelchairs come buzzing up at what could only be referred to as “old people break-neck speed.”

I won’t lie and tell you that I am shocked. He is just one cute boy. He is also, one big, lazy boy. He has mastered sitting still, lying and even sort of rolling over. It is more of a fat induced roll, though. He turns to the side and can’t avoid the momentum it kicks up. He is rolling none the less.

Vivienne at 8 months:

Henry at 8 months:

He is doing all those things that we find amazingly funny and most people (most childless people) do the shoulder shrug of “I just don’t get it”. He claps, does giant bellly laughs, meows at the cats, copies all kinds of noises and sounds, and waves when you wave to him. Most of all, he is doing this goofy head tilt grin thing that is best viewed in the video below:

(Warning, video gets really boring after the first two minutes.)

It is a 5 pound of cheese. Do you really think you have to sell me on the health benefits?

I never thought it would happen. I remember reading about a friend, her day of hell potty training her 4 year old and hoped and hoped we would never have to do that.

For those of you not close enough to us, Vivienne STILL will not poop in the toilet. Each time, she asks for a pull up or goes and gets one herself. When she is done, she comes and tell us, gets wipes and a plastic bag and brings them to us to clean her up. We have tried every single thing you can think of to get her to change. Bribery, arguing, begging and even guilt and praise doesn’t work. 

Last week, Phil asked me what else we can do to get her to go because he was fed up with it (mind you, he changes only 2 of her poop diapers a week, if that). I talked to her on Friday about what we could do to make her more comfortable. She was rational and asked to try to go on the toilet. She sat there for 20 minutes, whining and complaining but being too stubborn to, well, shit or get off the pot. Finally I had to force her to go get a diaper instead of sitting there trying her best not to poop while attempting to convince me she was trying.

I did one more sweep of the internet search engines and came up with nothing new. As a last resort, I popped onto the Babycenter Toilet Training board and read a thread of other people having this same problem. After reading those, I decided that it wasn’t Vivienne’s problem, it was mine. The worst being the stigma of having a 4 yr old not able to be potty trained, the embarrassment of telling grandparents and in laws that they have to change her diaper if she spends more than one night with them. But again, my problem, not hers.

So I let it go. I told Phil to let it go. I took a deep breath and walked away. She will do it when she is ready. She knows we are ready.

She has not asked to try on the toilet again. She tells me about a far away time and place called “when I poop on the potty” where there are unicorns and rainbows, everyone eats at Chuck E Cheese all the time and gets all the toys they ask for. Where she is a princess and when she sits on the toilet, angels sing and bluebirds bring her glitter filled pieces of toilet paper. It sounds so nice, even I want to go there.

I am waving the white flag...or maybe a pole with a diaper on it.