Everybody Poops

I didn't realize that potty training my toddler instantly signed me up to be potty trained BY my daughter. I came to the conclusion fairly quickly that every single tactic, bribe and stall method I used to help my child along in the potty training process would be used every time I needed some private time of my own. I decided to stop telling Emmy where I was disappearing off to, knowing full well she would come find me the very second she realized I was not catering to her every need. I just hope that I can get done before she comes knocking at my door.

I don't think men realize how good they've got it. Sitting quietly with their magazine, book, nintendo ds, or whatever. The girls NEVER go looking for Mike. He could be gone 30 minutes or longer and they don't realize he's gone. I leave the room for 30 seconds and I hear a chorus of "Mommy? Mom? Mama? Where are you?"

Emmy: "Oh Mommy! There you are! You go potty?"
Me: "No honey. Mommy go poopy. Go watch your show."
Emmy: "I'll get a book. You need a book."

You must understand that poor Emmy has almost always had problems with the ol' number 2. Poor girl gets constipated like you wouldn't believe. After being pregnant with Brinley, who decided to lay on my colon instead of my bladder, I feel her pain. Literally. So we engage all means necessary to coax it out of her. I usually end up sitting on one of her mini princess chairs with a pile of books trying to distract her long enough to get the softball sized poop out. (It's quite impressive really. I know my Papa would be proud of it if he were still alive.) The process usually ends with quite a bit of fanfare on our part. Clapping and cheering and so forth. So when I heard, "I'll go get a book" I knew what I was in for.

Emmy: "OK Mommy, which one are we going to read first?"
Me: "Oh honey, I don't need a book, please go watch your show."
Emmy (not listening at all): "Read this one first Mama."

"This is a good one, Mama. You read it to me."

Next thing I know, Brinley has entered the equation. As a 19 month old, she is curious about what goes on with that thing we sit on. She's fascinated with the toilet paper. She keeps pulling it off the roll and trying to wipe me before jamming it between my legs into the bowl. We've gone through almost a quarter of a roll. I'm thinking "Where in the world is Mike!?!" Because I would never attempt to actually have some time to myself in the bathroom without someone to run interference! Oh, there he is, standing in the doorway supervising. PERFECT place to be. I think he enjoys the show. I can see amusement in his face.

"Here's the TP, Mama. What's it for anyway?"

Yes, yes, yes, these moments are to be treasured. Blah Blah Blah. I JUST WANT 5 MINUTES ALONE TO POOP! But, instead, I'm reading Dinosaurumpus to two little girls and very glad I'm not anywhere in public. Picture Emmy and I in a stall at Jose Peppers during the dinner rush. Oh, and keep in mind, Emmy has a set of pipes like her mother and has NO IDEA how to turn the volume down...

Emmy: "You go poopy Mama?"
Me: "No honey, just potty"
Emmy: "Make sure you wipe good Mama"
Me: "Thanks baby"
Emmy: "You're welcome"
Emmy: "All done?"
Me: "Yes dear"
Emmy: "GREAT JOB MAMA! Make sure you flush."

A Trip to the Pool: Part 2: the competition

The girls and I finally arrive at the pool. We walk onto the pool deck and find a place to put down our bag-o-crap. After stripping off our cover-ups, we're left with 30 minutes to actually "swim". We leave the safety of the shade and venture out into the pool. One squeals in delight while running to the baby slide and the other is heading in the opposite direction. I scan the pool for the friends we're meeting.

That's when it begins, the mommy competition. We all do it. Take sideways glances at the other mothers in the pool, judging each other. Who is the hottest mommy? Whose kid is the cutest? Which kid swims the best? Whose kid behaves the best? We gotta be tan, but not too tan. Kids gotta be pale, but not too pale. You want to have cute hair and the right amount of make up on, without looking like you fixed your hair and put make up on. Who puts make up on to go to the pool anyway!?!

Emmy finds her buddy to play with. I'm relieved I have someone over the age of 4 to talk to. Gotta love playdates at the pool! They take turns being brave and jumping off the wall while we gossip. Brin actually manages to climb up and, with help, step back into the pool. She giggles with pride at herself achieving this new trick. Emmy on the other hand decides that since Brin holds hands to jump off the wall, she doesn't need to anymore. She's a "big girl, Mama".

My friend and I fondly remember a time without kids as we look at the high school and college girls laying out in the zero-entry area, secretly hoping our 3 year olds will run past and splash the crap out of them. Their hair needs to get wet. They're so cute, they're making the rest of us feel bad! Oh, and that mom over there... What, the one with 10% body fat and can't hold up a size 00 pant? The one that just walked off the Miss Fitness American stage? Those aren't her kids. They CAN'T be. Obviously she's babysitting for her neighbor!

In the meantime, that cute little bikini Emmy loves so much slides up into her armpits. While reminding her to "cover your boo-boos", she starts doing the potty-dance. Uh-oh, better make a break for it. We take off for the restrooms! Brin is deeply upset that I've snatched her out of the water and put her on my hip. We take off running through the zero-entry to get there, accidentally splashing those poor girls laying out. We make it just in time but it smells like the group before us didn't. We head back out to meet our friends. 

The kids play, and we talk just long enough for the chlorine to kill whatever bacteria we picked up on our feet while in the bathroom. Then we attempt to leave with very cranky and tired girls. Of course, we decide we're the best mommies here. We've won every competition mentioned earlier. Oh, those dents on the back of my thighs? That's not cellulite, those are marks from the patio chair I sat on a week ago... I sure wish they'd go away!

A Trip to the Pool: Part 1: preparations

The ladies and I decide a trip to the pool was in order. By "ladies", I mean that Emmy TELLS me we are going to the pool. The usual excuses slip my mind! It's closed. Boys only today. It's broken! Not one of them pops in my head. As I stand there with my mouth open, she runs off to get her suit. I sigh... Since I didn't have an argument why we shouldn't fast enough, I guess we're going. I roll my eyes as I search for the beach bag. Any mom of toddlers knows that preparing for a trip to the pool takes a heck of a lot longer than the actual trip itself.

First, once they realize we're headed to the pool, the screaming and running excited laps around the house must happen. They almost forget why they're so excited. Then, the dancing in place while I try to put their swimsuits and sunscreen on them. (Oh my, the dancing!) Emmy always busts out quit a little jig. It's amazing I can get the suit on her at all. Brin very carefully tries to put the suit on herself and usually ends up with her bikini bottoms on her head, and a very proud smile on her face.

Sunscreen application is a whole different process all together. After the wiggling, the yelling, the scolding, I manage to slather them up. They look like I've partially covered them with vanilla frosting. I finally decide as long as they don't end up looking like a lobster at the end of the day, I'm still in the running for Mother-Of-The-Year.

Wait, I just realized I have to get myself ready. Oy! Gotta dig out a swimsuit that appropriately covers the right amount of skin, but still wanting to be the "cool" mommy. I make sure all the ties are securely fastened. I can see it now. My mind drifts off... I'm imagining that I'm holding Brinley and she pulls the halter tie at the exact same time I bend over to grab Emmy. Thus leaving, as Emmy would say, my "boo-boos" on full display. Suddenly, back to reality. No, no, no, that double knot won't be enough, better triple knot it.

Then packing the bag-o-gear. Oh my. With all sippy cups, snacks, clothes, hats, diapers, toys, extra sunscreen, I barely have room for the towels. It takes 10 minutes just to load all the crap and kids in the car. Of course, Emmy is telling me all about the pool, asking if we're going to the pool, and pondering out loud which toys she will play with at the pool. The. Entire. Way. She says the words "pool" and "mommy" at least 1000 times. I pray that Taylor Swift will come on the radio and she'll sing instead of talk for 3 minutes.

We're here. Finally. Forty-five minutes after we decided to come. We walk onto the pool deck and it begins. Check back later for "The Competition...."