Memoirs Of J

Little J has been very amusing lately.  She’s talking non-stop, which in itself isn’t a great characteristic considering we are a family of quiet introverts.  Nonetheless, she’s a fun kid and the dialogue can be quiet entertaining.

For example, we regularly visit the park near our house to take walks in the woods.  They have a pretty nice trail system, well maintained and not a lot of people use it so it’s a peaceful little spot to take a break.  J likes to try to find animals and play with sticks and leaves and so forth.  She always likes to pick up sticks to drag along and use to whack at weeds.  On a recent stroll, she grabbed a stick and ran ahead.

“Mommy!  Look at my big dick!” she exclaimed.

“Whoa, what?!”  I choked.

“MY.  BIG.  DICK,” she calmly explained, staring at me with frustration and disdain.

Oh, oh…she’s just saying stick.  Stick is what she means, I realized.

“Oh, ok – you found a big stick.  That’s awesome!”

“YES!’ she confirmed, clearly annoyed at my lack of understanding.

Oy vey…

Then tonight after her bath, we were playing pirate.  Pirate is just where we talk like pirates, meaning we say a lot of “arrr’s” and “ayyye’s.”  She usually takes it to the point of making up ridiculous scenarios, usually involving getting stuck in mud and needing to be saved.  Tonight though, we ended up talking about the pirate climbing up a tree to get the parrot back.

“Arrrggh!  Where’s my parrot!?” she cried.

“Ayye he’s up in the tree!  Go get him!” I ordered.

“NO!  There’s a pirate up there!  Oh, he came in my hand!” she cried, holding her hand out to me, wanting  me to look in her palm.

I choke and start laughing.  She obviously doesn’t have any idea why I’m laughing.  She was  just trying to say the pirate came down out of the tree and she caught him.  I, being a hugely inappropriate person, had to take it ‘that way,’ thereby ruining our improv session.  I had to end it and tell her it was time to pick a book for her bedtime story.

Sometimes you just want to get trashed.  You don’t always need a specific reason.  It may be as simple as you haven’t been trashed in months and want to give your mind a little break from thinking.  Unfortunately, I do have a desire to get shit-faced and unfortunately I do have a reason other than ‘it would just be fun.’  Even more unfortunate, I cannot partake right now.

I wish people didn’t bother me so much just by… well just by their presence and their voicing of ignorant and passive-aggressive comments in my general vicinity.  I mean I can handle it if intoxicated;  then I just don’t care.   Even a slight buzz would take the edge off and keep my mind resting calmly in a happy, non-asshole adulterated place.

I’m not the type to confront the ignorance and asshole-edness (it’s my blog- I’ll make up words if I feel like it) head on, so I bring this on myself by not calling them out directly as comments are made.  Instead I seethe and steep in disdain until the next time I am exposed to the same people who naturally pile on more fodder without even realizing it, then I find my resentment at a boiling point.  What to do…what to do…

I’m sitting here watching Coming to America in hopes that it will help me relax.  There’s nothing better than hearing Eddie Murphy’s “Zamundan” accent while gawking at his acid-washed-too-tight-in-the-crotch jeans.  True to the spirit of the late 80’s, no doubt.

I’ve been feeling all frazzled and exhausted the last several days.  Why?   Well, potty training this kid is no picnic.  Last week I decided to throw all caution to the wind and allow her to wear her big girl undies freely around the house.  No diapers, no pull-ups.  Just a thin sheath of princess-printed cotton to protect my floors and furniture from her urine and feces.

I have to say, I’ve been pleasantly surprised for the most part.  She’s been pretty good about letting me know she’s got to pee and has mostly been able to stay dry, save a handful of accidents.  The problem is pooping.  She is totally averse to pooping in a toilet.  She’ll tell me she’s got to go, sit on the toilet for, oh, 20 minutes farting before she decides she doesn’t actually need to go.  I, being sick of sitting on the ledge of the bathtub watching (and smelling) her fart for 20 minutes, allow her to put her pants back on and leave the restroom.

Well what do you know – within several minutes her bowels liberate into her big-girl undies.  I mean every single time without fail.  She poops in her pants.  And it is god-awful to have to grasp a turd out of someone’s butt and keep a grip on it (through underwear of course) while trying to maneuver the panties off without spilling or dripping any contents.  It sucks enough with a diaper but actual underwear are way worse to deal with for #2’s.

The worst part is she knows that she is supposed to do it in the toilet and will tell you that it belongs in the toilet.  But when the time to poo comes, she runs off to dump a load in her pants before meekly asking me to wipe her butt.

Bribery isn’t working (cookies, stickers, etc).  Threats aren’t working (you’ll have to wear a diaper again!).  Praise isn’t working (what a big girl!).  I am only hoping that she’ll soon decide it doesn’t feel good to keep turds in her panties but who knows when that will be.  At this point she doesn’t really seem to mind as much as you’d expect.