Oh happy day!

You know that song that always plays over slow-motion shots of flowers blooming? Yeah, that song is in my head right now. Why? Wilder had a BM in the potty! I was so happy I started crying and had to explain "happy crying" to Wilder.

Seriously, God, just go ahead and suck out the remainder of my soul that pottytraining hasn't sapped

All right, I know. I know. That subject line is a tiny bit over the top. But seriously, is there anything in the world worse than potty-training (I mean, other than genocide and certain Sci-Fi channel movies that a certain significant other of mine watches, and other things along those general lines)?

I had decided that today was the day. I'm tired of pussyfooting around with this business, and so I decided that TODAY WAS THE DAY THAT WILDER WOULD POOP IN THE TOILET. Like it was some kind of decree that I had drawn up in gold-leaf and unrolled next to the toilet paper, a mama-mandated ultimatum that Wilder could not, would not deny.

And, like most things that I've decided I would do or would never do when it came to being a mom, that has gone right down the drain. Pun intended, though I swear I'm not even close to laughing.

Today we have cried on the potty. We've hugged and said supportive words. We played catch with a football (and yes, my FACE caught it more often than not), we pasted temporary tattoos all over our body, we read one VERY enthusiastic and, if I do say so myself, appropriately dramatic version of "Horton Hatches An Egg," and I've spent more than my fair share of time tackling an almost-walking Hunter while Wilder stared emptily into space, no doubt willing his sphincter not to release the precious poo inside of it. Oh, hey, we even played a game of "Poke Your Brother's Penis Because You're Not Sure What the Hell It Is While He Hollers His Head Off To Quit TOUCHINGGGGGGGG His Penis." (The boys didn't need me for this one.)

Sigh ...

I've been on Poop Stalk for hours. That's where I have the distinct pleasure of following Wilder everywhere he goes watching for signs of grunting, face-reddening, stomach-muscle tightening, etc. etc. and I swear if I had $20 for every time I said "Are you pooping?" or "Is it time to poop?" today I would be able to pay off my car note.

I image-googled "ice cream" and pointed out all the delicious frozen combinations that Wilder could have if he just deigned to have ONE flippin' BM in the potty. I printed out a copy of his favorite of the photos and let him carry it around the house as a reminder of the deliciousness that awaited him if only, if only ...

So, sure, you can see where this is going. The boys are FINALLY down for naps and of course nary a bowel movement has occurred here today. Not only that, but I have not showered, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, hardly cleaned (I DID vacuum, because I -- no kidding -- thought the sound of the vacuum might relax Wilder enough to poop), etc. All available minutes have been devoted to this.

It is 83 degrees outside today. The sun is shining. Why, WHY do I plan these things so poorly?

OK, I feel better. And lest anyone think me the Idi Amin of potty-training, I swear we have had our fair share of fun today. For instance, I've taught Wilder how to catch a football (eyes open!) and he will be the next Brett Favre. Of course, he'll be wearing Depends in the locker room, but who cares when you make that kind of money, right?

What a difference six months makes

I'm working on a series of these, because I realized how many similar photos I have of these two. But these particular couple of photos, to me, are very striking when juxtaposed. They grow up SO fast. Sneef. But they're such beautiful boys, aren't they?


Late August 2008


Late February 2009

Exciting Hunter news!!

I was just trying to get Hunter to join Wilder and I in the front room to download some photos. He wasn't, as is his contrary nature, following orders, so I said: "OK then. Bye bye!" thinking he'd follow me if he thought I was leaving him.

He said "Bye!" waved his hand at me and went back to doing whatever he was doing (Searching through some drawers for something to stick in his mouth or light afire, no doubt.)

I started jumping up and down and hollering for Wilder to come see. We tested it out about 63 more times, and it's official: Hunter says "bye bye" and waves!

Yay Hunter!

PS. We just finished a brotherly photo shoot so new photos TK here soon!

Walk in the woods

For quite some time now, Wilder has decreed that he would like to go "for a walk in the woods." It's something that makes Jerry and my hearts sing with joy that our boy should express such a desire. We'd like nothing more than to be somewhere where taking a simple walk in the woods was an everyday occurrence.

Someday ...

In the meantime, there is a little area near our house, an area that I go out of my way to drive by most every time we get in the car, that I've been meaning to take the boys to for some time. It's really only five minutes from our house, and it's a little hard to believe it's in the middle of the city here. When you get down in the trees, it ceases to smell like big-city Dallas. In fact, when we went there today, I made Wilder stop and take a huge breath through his nose. Smell that, kid? That's fresh air.

So yes, today we went. I strapped Hunter into his baby backpack and Wilder used his own two strong boy legs and we went for that walk in the woods. It was pretty awesome. Eventually, the woods open up into a meadow, which open up into a field, which merge into a couple of baseball fields and a playground, which is where we ended up before looping back. I think we're going to have to make this a regular occurrence, if my back can take it.

Wilder and Hunter were both pretty tired by the time we got back. In fact, you can see from the photos below that Hunter was more than tired. He was passed out face first into his pack. A biker rode by us laughing his butt off at our little Hunter.

On a completely separate note, this seems to be Facial Wound and Concussion Week in the Scott household. For Hunter, anyway. He's trying so hard to walk that he's caught himself with various facial parts more than once. Well, that and the near black eye that Wilder gave him with a toy. (No lie, as I typed the last part of that sentence, he faceplanted behind me.)

I need to make dinner. I leave you with photos. xo, k.

Highs and lows

Two random and unrelated happenings from today:

• A little background here for the first. A few weeks ago I visited Washington DC during inauguration week to see our first African-American leader ushered into the presidency. I was an Obama supporter, but I was also just damn proud to see my country finally do that. So anyway, while I was there I picked up Obama T-shirts, hats, etc. including a couple for the kids. I'm not really the type to dress up my kids in politico-wear and drag them off to rallies, parades and such. But I figured they could wear them around the house, keep them as keepsakes, etc. Anyway, in the interest of having a half-aware kid, whenever I wear my T-shirt or Wilder wears his, I ask him who it is, and he responds, "President Obama." I've tried to tell him who this is, what he does, etc. Today, we were driving to a play date, listening to NPR, and there was some stimulus package coverage. All of the sudden, from the back seat, Wilder pipes up: "Hey Mama! They're talking about President Obama!"

I thought it was kind of cool that he was listening to the radio news enough to recognize that. Made me kind of proud.

• On the flip side, Jerry and Wilder and I were eating dinner tonight while the already-fed Hunter wandered around the sunroom. Wilder was being Wilder, which is to say he wasn't listening to a thing I said and generally acting like a barbaric cave boy while we were trying to have a nice meal. Finally, I just dropped my head, shook it and said: "There is not enough booze in the world to raise a 3-year-old boy for more than a year."

Jerry said it was profound and should go on the blog. I dunno about profound. I just know it's damn true. I'm sure the same can be said for 16-year-old girls. At least I won't have to deal with that, eh?

Nite all. xo, k.

The poop chronicles

I haven't mentioned it on here before, but we've started potty training pretty intensively; at least, a lot more intensively than we have in the past, which admittedly wouldn't take much. I'm pretty sure I figured Wilder would eventually wander up to me before the age of 13 and let me know he was ready to use the toilet. I've severely underestimated his stubborn streak in the past, and this was no exception. I'm pretty sure at this point if I don't force the issue, he'd be wearing some bedazzled Depends to his prom.

So we've begun. And let me start by saying this: I don't believe in hell, but if there is one, my version of it would involve an eternity of teaching 3-year-old boys to conduct their business in the commode. I've been able to find a silver lining with most things parenting-related, no matter how unpleasant. For instance, when the children are projectile vomiting, sure ... I smell like death on earth and spend a good portion of my time scrubbing floors that look like Linda Blair stopped by for pea soup. But hey ... look! That boy who never sits still? He's cuddling with me for hours on end.

But potty training? Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

So back to Wilder. He's actually doing pretty well. He's peeing in the pot on a regular basis, doesn't require a lot of props (either physical or of the atta-boy variety, although chocolate rewards help), and you can be assured that if he's acting like a bunch of fire ants are in his pants, he's gotta take a leak.

But poop? Well, he just won't do it. Won't even seem to consider it. I've heard there are a multitude of reasons for this, and that it's completely normal. So trying to get to the bottom of it, I asked him why he didn't want to poop in the potty. I can't remember his exact answer, probably because there was nothing even remotely resembling logic involved. But it basically came down to he just didn't think it's what people did.

So, if your ears burned today, it's probably because I was sitting on the bathroom floor assuring Wilder that everyone we knew, myself included, poops in the potty. Grandpa? Check. Luke? Check. Micah? Check. The list went on and on.

It didn't do any good, but at least it filled some time.

If only we had mountains for neighbors ...

This past weekend, somewhat impulsively, Jerry and I decided to set up the tent in the front yard. Well, it was my suggestion. Jerry did the actual setting up. Anyway, it was still a little cold to throw the boys into it to sleep, but we wanted them to crawl around in it, feel the wonder of it, etc. It was a hit, though when I asked Wilder if he'd like to sleep out there, he looked at me like I'd just suggested he ritualistically set his Buzz Lightyear on fire. We'll have to work on that.

So we set it up Saturday afternoon and left it in the yard overnight. The next morning, I wanted to show Wilder what it would be like to cook breakfast and eat outside, so I broke out the Coleman stove and cooked eggs with blue cheese and garlic and fried some bacon. Jerry brought out the French press and made coffee to put hair on your chest. We sat in the tent's vestibule and ate, while Hunter napped happily in his crib inside the house (he'd had a good romp inside the tent, hugging and soggifying Betty for quite some time).

Wilder seemed to think the idea of eating outside wasn't too big a deal, though he talked about how he loved the eggs over and over. And really, that's what always happens to me when I cook outside; I always think everything tastes so much better. So maybe I've cast the spell after all ...

I imagine as the weather warms, we'll be doing this somewhat regularly. It's not hiking in for three hours and being surrounded by mountains and cold high-altitude lakes, but it's better than nothing, I guess. And it gets the boys primed for the eventual move back to Colorado.

So anyway, here's come pics:

Wilder helps Jer hang Hunter's tree swing.

Pre-nap post

The boys are down and I'm getting ready to take a little nap myself. But I had to put a couple things down before I forgot them.

On the way home from a Valentine's Day party at Wilder's old school (his teacher invited us to join them), we were playing Slug Bug (or Snug Bug as Wilder calls it). Wilder will sometimes point out non-VW cars and say things like Snug Bug Shiny or Snug Bug Stripey. I did the same today, and he hollers at me: "Those are CARS, mama, not Beetles." What are Beetles then, I asked? Without missing a beat, he says: "Beetles are bowls that can GET YOU!!"

Also, I realized today how nice it is to be told by your kids that they like you. I always knew that to be told "I love you" by my kids would make my heart skip a beat. But the simple statement of "I like you, Mama," can sure do wonders for your confidence as a mom, too.

Wilderlingo

Jerry made a nice post about Wilderisms and Hunterisms the other day. You can read it here.

I've got two to add to it:

PYOOP (pee-yoop): It means "puke," as in "Damnit, Hunter just puked again!" But Wilder seems to be confusing puke and poop and just combining them. The way he says it is so forced; it definitely does not roll off the tongue.

And this new one today:

Sun 'jamas: I was just now putting him down for his nap, and he was still in his jammies. I went ahead and changed him into normal clothes so he'd be ready for his playdate when he woke up, and he asked: "Mama, are these my sun 'jamas?" It took me a second to recognize the brilliance in that question, but then it hit me. Night 'jamas for bedtime, sun 'jamas for naptime.

Run Wilder Run

So here's a video clip of Wilder dancing to the soundtrack of "Run Lola Run." For the record, Lola ain't got nothing on my boy. He could have saved her boyfriend in every single vignette.

Hunter + Betty = Love

Photo time

None of my ramblings today. Just a few photos. Here they are:


After yesterday's trip to the zoo with some friends and their little ones, Wilder was chasing me back to the car. I kept dropping the camera and pointing it in his general direction, hoping to get a good shot. This one pretty much sums up the joy he gets from a good game of chase. Look at those eye-teeth ... my boy looks like a vampire!

Hunter and Papa. Hunter's a little obsessed with his tongue these days, and he sticks it out a lot. Probably good for stretching that frenulum.

Can I help it if I brag about how handsome he is? Look at him. This is the look he will no doubt use to slay the ladies circa 2030.

Playing at home early in the first week of having Mama at home full time. We've discovered the front room, with its four floor-to-almost-ceiling windows and a few toys thrown in, is a great place to kill a little time.

Wilder with his new "M" hat, which just showed up at our house one day. If this belong to any of you, let me know. In the meantime, it's become his new favorite hat, and the "M" stands for different things, depending on my mood. But most often it stands for "manic," because, well, refer to No. 2 in previous post.

SAHM Week 1 update

So here are some random thoughts and impressions on my first week of being a SAHM:

1. My back and other assorted body parts are killing me. I have the same kind of body aches you get with the flu, without the other assorted nastiness. I guess hauling 70-plus lbs. of boy + boy + car seat around will do that to you. It's going to take me a couple more weeks, I think, to build up the necessary muscle power to get over it. I guess that's what I get for marring a man who's 6-foot-6.

2. Wilder needs outlets. Good God, this kid has energy. Like, ENERGY. Times 10. Times a trillion. Yoga yesterday was great, but before that we danced like maniacs to the Run Lola Run soundtrack (Hunter too), and afterward we had a bike-riding lesson followed by soccer and wrestling in the front yard, and he was still out of his mind with energy afterward. It would take me probably 12 Red Bulls to work up to half that level. On a side note, Wilder was apparently put in time out during yoga. Just once, and he told me about it -- not the teacher -- so I'm still not sure exactly what he did. But on some level I believe only my son could be put in time-out during exercises that are actually supposed to make him more serene.

3. Hunter is an undescribabely sweet baby. I mean, I knew this, on some level. I certainly knew before this new phase in our lives that he's an easy baby, that's for sure. But between the amount I was working and the amount of attention that Wilder requires (see No. 2), I just didn't really KNOW Hunter as well as I should. Oh man, this child is so full of smiles and kisses and general mellow sweetness. Of course, there is another side, and that side mostly comes out after 5 p.m., when I am trying to cook dinner. That is when he and his brother apparently sneak into another room, smoke crack and then spend the next hour taking turns (or, more often, double-teaming me) with attempts to have my undivided attention, which inadvertently results in one of them pantsing me (I'm going to have to start wearing suspenders or overalls here soon). Anyway, that side of Hunter's personality has earned him the nickname Captain Short-Tempered Long Crack (previously he was just Cpt. Long Crack, so named for the size of his bum, which he has acquired from his mama's side of the family, poor thing).

4. I need more patience. Maybe my fellow SAHM readers can tell me ... is this something that comes with more time at home? I hope so, because I'm finding that I'm engaging in non-effective parenting techniques too frequently. After the 16th time of telling Wilder to stop squishing his brother, or stop trying to shove a plastic bowling pin down his throat, or stop carrying him around the room like that Peanuts character carries her cat, etc etc (you get the idea), I tend to snap a little bit. Don't worry, you don't need to call CPS, but I'm assuming (and hoping that I'm right on this) that patience and more effective parenting techniques will naturally form as I spend more time at home.

5. I am still not, and will likely never be, a joiner. All the parents at yoga yesterday already knew each other. I felt lucky to have Hunter with me, and gladly chased him around and played with him on the floor so I wouldn't have to engage in too much conversation, especially where it involved public vs. private school, developmental milestones, etc. I mean, honestly, I put my kid in yoga so I wouldn't have to be his human bounce house for an hour. I'd rather not discuss whether he can ride a bike without training wheels yet (lord, he can't even ride a bike yet!) or what preschool I'll be putting him in (when I get asked this, I want to cheerily answer: "I dunno ... I'll probably figure it out when he stops shitting his pants." You seriously cannot have a conversation with another parent in Dallas that doesn't at some point discuss what school you'll be putting him in. I mean, he's 3 ... am I really supposed to be plotting his course toward Harvard already?)

OK, so that last one was more of a rant than a thought. Whoops! Got off course there. Anyway, I have lots more thoughts, but I'll save those for another post. Boys up ... time to roll. xo, k.

Note to self: Never, ever let the boys fall asleep in the car again

Oh, Divinity of Naptimes and Afternoon Snoozefests, what is the secret to getting Grumpy McFightsSleep and Willful McInsistsHe'sNotSleepy to catching a little post-noon shut eye?

I let the boys fall asleep on the way home from running errands. They slept for 10 minutes in the car, tops. And now it seems they both think they slept for about two hours. One is currently hollering in his crib, and the other keeps escaping from his room to try to watch TV. I'm one more escape away from telling him I'll throw the TV in the pool if he does it again ...

I need a mantra. Suggestions?

(On the plus side, Wilder starts Yoga For Tots tomorrow. They stretch and roar like lions and stuff like that. We've been practicing our roars. In a few weeks, he starts Sports For Tots. Thank goodness for cheap rec center programs.)

Rattle, rattle ... do I still know how to work this thing?

Well, it's been awhile. Let's see ... do I have an explanation for why I haven't posted here lately? Hmmmm. Oh yes, that's right! Life got so crazy that I ended up quitting my job to become a stay-at-home mom.

Am I kidding? Nope. As most of you already know, this has been my first week at home. I'll get to the details of that a little later. Now, I know I spent about the last three years going on and on about how I wasn't cut out for SAHM-dom, how I wasn't "that mom" (never said with any derision ... it's just that I didn't think I could do it). As it turns out, I had seriously underestimated the two-kid thing. Details aside, it had gotten pretty rotten around our house. None of us were all that thrilled to be around each other, and something had to give. After many months of agonized, tortured "should I ..." conversations in my head, and after Jerry confirmed he was on board with it, I made the plunge.

So anyway, here I am at home. I'm still doing some work for the magazines I've been working for for seven years, and I've promised myself that I will write, because it's what I love to do. I'm going to start just by posting here more often (and I expect to be held accountable ... if you don't see me posting at least a couple times a week, email me here and tell me to get off my ass. I feel kind of rusty, not only with the whole writing thing but with the usual humor that I try to bring to these posts. That in itself was the biggest warning sign that something had to give ... if I can't crack a joke about life, there are big clouds on the horizon. Hell, there's a tsunami on the horizon.

Anyway, I'm only into my fourth day as a full-time mama. Here's my biggest observation so far, and it's kind of one of those "duh" ones, so don't make too much fun of me. While I'm happier and feel more satisfied and content at the end of the day, I'm also exhausted. As in, EXHAUSTED. Because, let's face it, at least at a job, you can pretend to be working even if you're mind is on a beach somewhere. You can sit in your chair and do mindless grunt work. Not so much at home. I knew that would be true, but it's been confirmed ten times over.

It's also kind of hard to figure out what to do each day to keep the kids entertained, challenged and, frankly, tired. Tired kids are good kids (mostly) and so far I'm struggling with that. So if any of you moms and dads out there have suggestions that work for you, I'm all for hearing them. Unfortunately, though I'm trying, I'm not the craftiest of moms or the joiner type. Still, when all else fails, I find clearing a big space in the living room and dancing our butts off works. And I can force my musical tastes on them and hopefully (though I know it's pointless and futile) fend off the Jonas Bros. and Miley's of the future.

"Hey, no no no no no, we do not stick things in people's ears. Or noses. Or mouths."

This is what I just said to Wilder, and these are the kinds of things coming out of my mouth these days.

Really, though, I'm loving it. It's sad to say, but I feel like I'm getting to know my kids better, particularly Hunter, who had the unfortunate luck of being born second. Before, I saw him mostly during his grumpiest part of the day, and on weekends, when we spent a good deal of time together, but when I was also running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get the things I couldn't get done during the week done.

Anyway, the troops are protesting behind me. They don't seem to like it when I type. Here are a few recent photos, because I know this is what you guys really come here for. These are from the boys' last day at daycare.


Miss Maria, who was so upset with me for withdrawing Hunter that she alternately fought back tears, would not look at me or speak to me, or just declared "I love that baby," plays with him. Whenever I would pick the boys up, Maria almost ALWAYS had Hunter in her arms. We were probably lucky she didn't abscond with him on his last day.


Wilder's teacher, Miss Jeri, and I planned a little party for his last day. I brought cupcakes; she brought popsicles. I found it was a great way to end a week. All the kids broke my heart, though, when they kept asking me why I was taking Wilder away.


Wilder surrounded by girls. Gabby, on the left, and blondie Kate were two of his favorites. Very, very sweet girls.


Miss Marguerita and Miss Maria pose for a goodbye photo with Hunter.


Brothers ...