No, but seriously...

I'll say it, because no one else wants to - A blog about life and kids

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A Survivors Guide to a Two Year Old – 20 Things you should know…

1.  Don’t worry, we don’t understand them either. Just nod and say “Wow!” and they’ll be happy.

2. If you leave any markers around, make sure you have the name of a good painter.

3. If you leave any pens around, you should probably program the painter’s number in your phone.

4. If you leave any paint around, what’s wrong with you? You have a two year old in the house! I should write a survivors guide about you.

5. If something is missing, it was most likely put into something else. Which was then likely put into something else.  Just forget about it and remember it fondly.

6. Don’t try to reason with them, they will cry anyway. I know, your kid is a genius, but they don’t understand reason. And even if you think they did, that will come to bite you in the ass in a few minutes.

7. Yesterday means “now.” Later means “now.” And, tomorrow means “now.” If you have something to prepare them for, tell them in the exact moment to which it is going to happen.

8. In case you forgot what you fed them for lunch, you can most likely find traces of it on their face, hair shirt and floor.

9. They never get used to disappointment, which works for me, it prepares them for the future.

10. A long car ride can either be a form of torture, or a source of a good nap. (for them)

11. No they won’t wake up happy and refreshed when you get there. It’s actually a two part process. The nap also includes torture so it’s really a lose-lose situation.

12. Yes, it’s normal that you want to eat their faces. No, don’t really do it you’ll get arrested. Don’t ask me how I know that.

13. If you leave a full cup of liquid nearby, it absolutely will be spilled. And played with. And walked through. And splashed in.

14. When they are done eating, they will either use the leftovers as a weapon or as finger paints.

15. Clothing are mere suggestions.

16. Throwing themselves on the floor seems to provide some sort of emphasis during a temper tantrum.

17. Whining accompanies everything. Being tired, not being able to climb on the couch alone. Trying to put on a shoe. Standing.

18. They seem to be born with built in radar to wake them in that single millisecond the sun starts touching the horizon. Sometimes even before that.  Don’t worry, this radar slowly goes away just in time for high school.

19. If you thought blowing your nose was just a part of life, just know it’s a virtually impossible task for a two year old. The nose works in reverse.

20. It’s only temporary. Relax, it only gets worse. Except for Timmy.

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A weekend away

My husband and I have plans to go away for the weekend. Just a quick weekend away to a hotel, one night, chick-chock is all we can really squeeze in at the moment. My requirements were small; close, on the beach, clean, food included.

For those who know me, know I started working full time a few months ago. This is my first full time job since I moved three years ago, and needless to say, it’s taken some adjustment. I’m totally wiped out. Timmy’s mom can do it all of course, balance career and family, but I can just barely balance my contact lens on my fingertip without swaying side to side from sheer-utter- exhaustion while getting it together in the morning. I started putting ear plugs in like in old grouch so I can have that extra 10 minutes without the morning noises waking me up before my alarm clock sounds. My under eye bags now have carry-ons.

You’ve read my posts. You see how not my shit is together (yes you heard that correctly). I came home one day and declared “I just need a weekend away. Plan it. I don’t care where. I just want to not have to bring food”.

And so it happened. Our weekend away was planned. Now that sounds like a dream come true doesn’t it? Well here’s when it gets complicated.

I’ve spoken to a few people on this particular subject matter, and it seems my concerns are not just mine. It seems this is a very common struggle.  What could be the struggle all the guys are asking?

This is my (a woman’s) thought process about this upcoming vacation away from the kids:

“I cannot wait to relax! I cannot wait to wake up late, eat some breakfast, then sit out by the pool with a blanket and read all weekend. Then I’m going to gorge on food I didn’t have to cook, then read some more. I’m going to take the longest afternoon nap without getting woken up by screaming kids. I don’t even want to pack anything. Just lounge pants and a t-shirt. I don’t even think I’m going to pack a bra! It’s going to be the most relaxing weekend. Watch some TV. Order some room service. Go to sleep like 8pm. Maybe do a small work out in the gym (eh) It’s going to be amazing. “

Am I right? Is that basically what we all want to do on our weekend away from the kids, and from work?

Now, this is my husbands (men’s) thought process about the upcoming vacation away from the kids:

“Sex weekend! Woohoo! We are going to have sooooooo much sex. Sex after check in. Sex before bed. Sex in the morning. Sex after lunch. Sex. Sex. Sex. No kids. So sex! At a hotel. Sex is what we do here. Ooo.. she’s not packing a  bra, what does she have in store for me?? I’m finally going to get all the sex I deserve! It’s going to be amazing. I need to groom.”

My husband puts a “Do not disturb” sign on our car for wishful thinking for the drive over there. There is a clear disconnect here wouldn’t you say? Some of you are gasping, oh get over it.  You ALL know this is how weekends away go down. And it’s not fair. We are made to feel guilty about just wanted to relax and not wanted our private parts infiltrated. Is that so wrong??

We get it. You have needs too.  Blah blah blah.  You’ll get some. You always do.

I would just like to thank my friend Bubbles, for suggesting this blog post. Next time I’m taking you and we can just cuddle xoxo

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One day. 3 coffee cups. None in the sink.

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Men are from Mars

Women are from Venus. Never read the book by John Gray. Don’t ever care to. Not even sure what this means, but if I had to guess, I would say it means we come from different planets. This is so stupid, but so true (And, yes there is overlap, much like a bisexual).

When we are dating we are so blinded by our new love that we fail to notice a lot of intricacies in the opposite sex. To quote Amy Schumer, “You’re doing this thing where you’re a fake version of yourself, because that’s what you do when you start dating right? You’re just this projection of what you think they want. I do that, I’m such a liar when I start dating someone.  And the guys want to be believe it. They’re like, “Where have you been all my life?” And you’re like, let me sweep this crazy under the rug for a couple months…you don’t need to see this yet.  Will be a big surprise month three.”

It’s so true! But the bottom line is, and relax, don’t try and deny this ladies, women-are-nuts. We are. We are nuts because we make ourselves nuts. We pick apart every – single – little - thing.

But don’t get too defensive, relax psycho women, because it’s not just in your head, men… are actually stupid. And not stupid in the business or education sense, just stupid in life I think is the best way to say it. Men have one trajectory, forward. Men can turn on their cruise control and just glide ahead. Not women, no. They are multi directional. Their minds go forward, backwards, sideways, stop, go, pause. Our brains don’t stop!! They are always working. I’m honestly shocked we don’t die first with all the stupid senseless stress we put ourselves through.

I was talking to my friend, now I’m going to come up with a better code name here because I got a lot of flak for poor Linda, so let’s call her Shaquanda. Shaquanda calls me up one day fuming. She stood and washed all her dishes, cleaned out the sink, and her husband, let’s call him Jimmy James comes moseying down the stairs in the morning and puts his dirty coffee mug in the glistening clean sink.  How dare he? Can he not see that I washed all the dishes?

My answer? No he cannot, and no he didn’t do it on purpose. He did not roll out of bed in the morning, make himself a cup of coffee, drink it, then think, “Mwahahahaha, a glistening clean sink. You know how I’m gonna stick it to the man? I’m gonna put my dirty ass cup in that sink and show her who’s boss.” Sorry, that definitely didn’t happen. He’s probably proud of himself that he didn’t leave that coffee mug on the bedside table, or on the kitchen counter and that it actually made its way INTO the sink. He’s probably giving all his buddies high fives at work for this great accomplishment.

They don’t do it on purpose. They don’t see what we see. They just see what’s in front of them. You want something? Just ask them to do it. They’ll probably tell you stop acting like their mother, but really, what choice do we have? And we, well we are crazy because we rationalize the whole thing. How can he not see a clean sink?? How can he not think of me??? Why does he not care how clean this house is or how hard I work to get it this way?? What’s he trying to really say to me by not washing his dish?? I bet at this point the men didn’t even know what they did wrong in this scenario until I just said it.

They don’t know, girls. They don’t slam their underwear down on the floor yelling “Take that bitch” while they walk away.  Taking a line out of The Break Up, “I want you to want to do the dishes”. Of course we do. We would love it if a guy saw we had an exhausting day with the kids or at work, and they wanted to do the dishes for us because they knew we needed it, but they don’t. They won’t. And unless you spell it out for most of them, they never will. They will eat their meal, then go to the bathroom for 30 minutes to play Words with Friends and leave you to clean up.

And guys, just listen up. We are bat shit crazy. Most of us know it. We’ll die before we’ll admit it. We are always annoyed about something we conjured up in our overfull heads that we read into, picked apart, and recycled to make someone else seem crazy. And you will most likely be the source of it. We probably have a whole argument, in which we have the best one liners all played out in our head beforehand. Then you come to bed and fall asleep without even asking what’s bothering us, which we’ll most likely reply “nothing” to.Then we get even MORE annoyed that you didn’t bother to pry more before you drifted off and we didn’t get to say the speech we  rehearsed in our heads all day. Then we lay awake and re-do the speech to include that nights complete disregard for our feelings and eventually fall asleep after taking an Ambien or Tylenol PM at midnight. And, It’s irrational. We know. But it’s all we got.

Somehow, through all this craziness, it works though. Two completely different species happen to live side by side, and love each other. Just let it go people. You’re both wrong. There is no clear winner. But I’ll just leave you with this. “Happy wife happy life”.

Word.

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Twins - you knew this was coming..

Twins – Oh shit

I would apologize to those this post doesn’t apply to, but I’m not sorry. You are all lucky sons of bitches.

There’s plenty of jokes and pictures out there depicting the dumb and repetitive comments mothers with twins receive, so I won’t be covering those. But I have a few of my favorites.

Now I have twin boys for those who either don’t know me, or are blind and deaf that do know me. Maybe this only applies to twin boys, maybe twin girls are a blessing from G-d, and twin boy/girl scenario seems to be the best, but again, I can only go by experience and the amount of early onset grey hairs I have and wrinkles that don’t appear anywhere in the “happy line” location.

Once upon a time….

That glorious day you find out you are pregnant with twins. I don’t remember what I ate for lunch yesterday, or most of my wedding, but lord above, I remember this day as clear as amniotic fluid. There are three scenarios that can go down here to line up your reaction to finding out you will soon be carrying two Thanksgiving meals plus sides, in your once size 4 body. (Ok, size 6, shut up.)

Scenario 1:

Some people get IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) and know its twins right off the bat. You know how to weed those people out? Don’t. Mind your f***ing business. Twins nowadays are mostly a byproduct of IVF, and you know what? For whatever reason most people don’t want to talk about it. They will take selfies of their bloodied innards or thighs post birth, but how they got there? Off limits.

So that question, “Do twins run in your family?” is just a mean way of making people answer with a lie. Especially when the twins are fraternal and the wife says, “It’s from the father’s side.” I don’t want to spell this out for you, but unless your husband is a Hogwarts graduate and can put a spell on your uterus to drop 2 eggs during ovulation, there is no way your husband’s side is going to affect your ability to make twins. Please come up something better. Even, “I had a bad cold and sneezed hard that day and shot out two eggs instead of one” works because no one is going to try and prove that. You may sound stupid, but not any more stupid than your third cousin’s sisters adopted child’s niece is a twin. So stop saying it runs in the family, and people stop asking. Who cares how they came to be? Just hand that mother a valium and a coffee and leave her alone.

Scenario 2:

Some people like me find out this information about their very first pregnancy. People like me, only have television shows and movies to go on (unless of course you are a twin yourself). People like me are tricked into thinking this is super cool. People like me started playing scenarios in my head in which my twins will be the very best friends in the whole wide world and will be forever and ever and ever. People like me should be committed and receive electric shock therapy to knock such idiotic thoughts out of people like me’s heads.

Now I am the queen of multi tasking. I am also the queen of organizing, cleanliness, and efficiency. I am also told by many that I am humble, but those people all had fraternal twins that ran on the father’s side, so the trust level there is slim. All these things make me a control freak.

You know what you can’t control no matter how much you try? Your child.

You know what’s even harder? Two children. At the same time. Running in two different directions. Crying at the same time. Sleeping at different times. Then fighting all day every day until they leave your house and you change the locks.

Do you remember that woman at the park who was dragging her kid by his arm out of the park? Do you remember how horrible we thought she was? Then you become that woman. With a kid on both arms. At this point when new mothers with one giggling little baby in the swing give me that look I use to give women like me, I just spit on them. They deserve it just like someone should have spit on me when I was that hopeful new mother, judging.

My twins, and they shouldn’t even be allowed to be called twins, something more fitting like archenemies, are two of the most opposite human beings on the planet. And what’s funny is I specifically didn’t dress them alike as babies because I wanted them to be individuals. That sure came to bite me in the ass.

There are the basics like one’s a righty one’s a leftie; one likes peanut butter, one likes jelly; one likes milk in his cereal, one doesn’t; one likes to read, one doesn’t know what a book is. The one thing they do have in common is they both hate us and are trying to slowly kill us.

Maybe when they are older they’ll be amazing, but right now, twins are a punishment from G-d. Whenever people say they wish they had twins, I call them idiots. You’re welcome.  I wish someone took my by the throat and warned me what it would be like. That person would be receiving monthly payments from me as compensation.

My best friend, let’s call her Linda, also has twins. Whenever we see future parent of twins, those sad stupid hopefuls announcing their twin pregnancy on Facebook in their witty little ways, we send these to each other and just laugh and laugh and laugh. Oh what total morons!!

Scenario 3:

Linda received her news of having twins in the last case scenario. After she had her 3 previous children. Her response? Words with A LOT of ****.

See? Now that’s a normal reaction.

But it’s not all bad. Stay tuned. I’ll think of something. Just kidding :)

[nobutseriouslynow-blog]

So Your Kid is Potty Trained…

Sucks doesn’t it?

All the lies the lies the lies and cover ups and now this. Your covert operation was an unsuccessful success, but now it’s time to go into witness protection for the next 8 months until the skies have cleared.   What did you do to yourself? You may have gained street cred, but you’re losing your sanity, your standards, and your money.

Your Sanity

Well first of all there’s all the anxiety. You are now on tranquilizers twice a day because:

#1 - At any given moment, someone will be onto you and your little ongoing fib that will explode up in flames.  Excuses is your middle name. He was tired. Her pants were too tight. He just made on the potty a second ago! Refer to previous post for other various for why there was an accident. I love that word.  This was no accident. I like to call it, “Nah”, because that’s probably what your child is thinking when it’s time to go to the bathroom. “Should I sit here and continue playing with my trains? Or should I walk to the potty? Nah.”

#2 - The burning question of if your little guy has to pee hovers over you like a drone. Before you leave the house you ask if he has to make.  Before you start the car you ask. Before you pull out of the driveway you ask. While you are in the car you ask. While you are stopped in traffic you ask. While you are stopped at a light you ask. Basically any time you remember you ask, or any time you are in the same place for too long you ask. But keep telling yourself he’s potty trained.

#3 - The park, supermarket, airport and mall are like a whole new level of bloodcurdling you have only newly discovered. The thought of going to any of these places requires a shot of vodka and all those changes of clothes you carry double wrapped in supermarket bags. Just in case *wink*. There’s that moment. That horrible terrifying moment when your kid finally answers you back in agreement when you ask them if they have to make.  OMG now what?

If you are with your spouse or friend, you literally throw whatever you are holding at them, this does not eliminate any other children you may be with. At this moment they are dead to you, not even excluding a newborn infant you may have to rip off your boob to grab your boy and do a mad sprint to try and find a bathroom. OMG OMG OMG you repeat over in your head. “Hold the peepee in. Hold the peepee in. Don’t let the peepee come out,” you say over and over again. You spot the bathroom from across the store, do a mad dash while starting to unbutton his pants as you run past Timmy and his mother as you wave, then secretly give her the middle finger. If you are LUCKY, you make it in time. If not, well, you get mad at the child.  This is all his fault.  What the hell is his problem?

Your Standards

Remember the park? So the park may not be as stressful because, hey, the world is your child’s potty. Everyone has their respective methods for helping their kid make in public. It usually begins with finding a really private place. Behind a tree or a bush. At the beginning you may even take them to a port-o-potty if there is one or a friends house.  Then that bush becomes the side of the bush. Then the side of the bush becomes next to a tree. Then next to a tree becomes just over there, I don’t care. Boys are of course much easier than girls. Boys just aim, set, fire. Girls have like 4 of 5 different methods of how to do it, most usually ending up on their clothes somehow. Everyone has their method. I personally like the human stirrups position.

First time it happens, you make sure you quickly grab your bag with wipes and napkins and run it all to the bush with you. Then you sanitize her. You sanitize yourself. Then after while things start to get a little slacking. You forget the tissues so you give ‘em a little shake-a-roo before you pull their underwear up. You ran out of sanitizer so you just rinse your hands in the water fountain. Then things go downhill, until the point you basically tell them to go do it themselves and whatever, don’t bother me. Things at home are also a slippery slope. At the beginning you teach them the basics. Pee in the potty, wipe, flush, wash your hands. At a certain point, if one of those things is covered you’re happy.

 Your Money

Unless you are truly hardcore, unhealthily attached to your kids underwear, or cheap as shit, those accidents that involve a number 2 usually lands that pair of underwear in the garbage. The clothes we save. And wash. And wash. And wash. So we’re buying new underwear every week and washing clothes every day to get that smell out. You know that smell. That smell never comes out. That overnight peepee or poopoo smell. It’s like a homeless man’s clothes, and you promised yourself when you were 20 and stupid that your child would never be that dirty child. Now, if your kid plays by himself for 20 minutes without bothering you, he can smell and look however he wants. Those boxes of diapers are looking cheaper and cheaper.

Anyway. Suck it up. It will be over soon. 8 months is just right around tpo

[nobutseriouslynow-blog]

50 First Dates

I know what some of you are thinking.  What does this title have to do with kids?

The smarter percentage of you recognizes this is the title of a movie starring Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore.

For those of you that aren’t familiar with the movie, below is a link to the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErjP5xMTc8I

For those of you who are too lazy or A.D.D. to sit through that long 2:28 minute trailer, you can start at second 43 to see what it’s about.

For those giant pain in the asses that I have to handhold, let me sum up the premise of the movie, or at least the point I’m touching on in this posting.

Drew Barrymore was in a car accident that left her with no short term memory. She wakes up every morning with no recollection of the previous days leading up to the day of the accident. She’s dating Adam Sandler and every morning she wakes up, she freaks out because she doesn’t know who he is, or what she’s supposed to do and he has to keep constantly reminding her about everything every single day until the end time.  I have no idea what this condition is medically called, but whatever it is, I am convinced my kids have it.

Let me explain.

Every morning, 3 of my 4 children ages 10, 10 (yeah…. that’s a whole other blog post…) and 5, stroll out of their bedrooms at the butt crack of dawn, sit on the couch and turn on the television without a single care in the world.

At 7am, when my husband and I wake up for the 4th time, and come out of our room, we yell, of course, “Why aren’t you dressed for school yet?”

All of the sudden my children are up in arms. Clearly this is news to them.

“Why should we be getting dressed?”

“We didn’t know!!!”

“Why are you yelling at us?”

“Don’t yell at us!”

What do you mean you didn’t know?????? Today is just like yesterday. Yesterday was just like the day before. What do you mean you didn’t know???? I didn’t change anything up on you! I’m not psyching you out! This is what we do every single day!

And then they go…. And come back. With just a shirt on.  Pajama bottoms. A toy. And a piece of trash.

Why aren’t you wearing pants??  Go get your pants on!

“We didn’t know!!”

“Why are you yelling at us?”

“Don’t yell at us!”

What on G-d’s green earth?? I feel like my head is going to explode. Why is this happening? What is going through their tiny little minds when they get out of bed in the morning? Are they trying to piss us off? Do they hate us? So many question. SO MANY QUESTIONS!

Two minutes later, they come back. The girl is dressed. Finally. The boys have a shirt and bottoms. No socks.

Go get socks on! Why aren’t you wearing socks?

“Why are you yelling at us?”

“We didn’t know!!”

“Don’t yell at us!”

But seriously, what the ****?

Back out of the room. Back in the room. Still no socks.

What were you just doing? Did you brush your teeth?

I don’t even need to tell you what happens next because at this point I think you understand that their unique medical condition clearly does not allow these children the correct tools to pull from the special memory part of their brain. Maybe this is something that needs to be developed, although I do not remember reading about this development in the Dr. Sears Baby Book. Maybe it’s because I didn’t wear them in slings as babies and breast feed them. Well I did the 5 year old. Hmmm…

Several things happen later. They remember they are hungry 5 seconds after we shut the front door to leave to the car. They forgot their hats. Still no socks. They forgot their pencil cases. They forgot their homework. They remembered the toy.

I obviously thought deeply into this and decided that the last memory they must have is from the first day of summer vacation.  That must be where they are pulling all their information from.

When I really think it through, we as parents must have this condition as well. We wake up every single morning thinking, hoping, today is going to be different.  They are going to get themselves dressed, wearing all the necessary items to leave the house. They are going to be fully prepared for school. They are going to eat a full balanced breakfast. It never happens, and for some reason we are always shocked and disappointed about it.

So they have the condition. We have the condition.

S-C-R-E-W-E-D. All of us.

Not the two year old though. She’s always got her shit together. I guess that will work in her favor during her presidency.

[nobutseriouslynow-blog]

Potty Training - but really..

Everyone hates it. Why do we hate it? Because it’s that one thing in parenting that is a guaranteed failure right off the bat. Except for that one parent who insists, “At two, Timmy just got it! He trained himself.” We hate you. We hate Timmy, and Timmy will probably be divorced by 19 because he rushes into things too quickly.

We have to ask ourselves why we rush it. We should also delve into what we actually gain out of our child being “potty trained”, and I use quotes there because there is a 6-8 month grace period to when your child is actually potty trained, and when you say your child is potty trained.

Well, we know why we rush it; bragging rights on the playground. We can’t wait for that moment when we can casually squeeze in that our 2 year old prodigy who eats sand and calls toothpaste “pafetoose” is potty trained.  So when we are at the Meet and Greet at our kids pre-school and the teacher announces to bring in diapers and wipes, you can turn to the person next to you and be all, “Thank g-d my kid doesn’t need that, he’s potty trained.” We are such liars! All of us! You and you and you and you.  And even you.

And what are we gaining from this? Ok, diaper bill goes down, a bit, but carpet cleaning bill goes WAY up. Electricity bill goes up from all those extra loads we do of soiled under pants because “there was no toilet around”, or “there was a toy in the way and he couldn’t make it on time”, or “there was no stool in the bathroom”, or any other excuse you want to use to convince yourself there was a justifiable legitimate reason why your 2 year old booger eating Savant couldn’t strategically plan out his bathroom break. Like his time management was off that day. Usually it’s right on point.

We also need to ask, what motivation does this child actually have to go on the potty? What a giant pain in the ass if you think about it.  He has the freedom to walk around, pee, play, pee, eat paste, poop, do whatever he pleases wherever he pleases. He can casually meander by you just so a hint of his wafting smell passes your nose, and he gets instantly changed, no work involved.  Come on! What a life! At 2 you have no shame, so why not? Why would he give that all up to have to worry about finding a toilet at any given location? These children are not fools. They are geniuses.

Let’s start from the beginning, and get down to the reality of the real chain of events leading up to this momentous milestone in your child’s life.

Sunday

8am: You place the potty in the middle of the room/bathroom/bedroom/kitchen. With a candy trail leading up to it. And sprinkled around it. And in it. It works for dogs, why not?

“When they are ready”, you tell yourself, lying.

8:05am: As children can sense new things like a dog can sense fear, they run over to the potty and sit down on their brand new chair.

Eureka!

8:10am: You hand them a book so they look like they thought of this themselves then proceed to take multiple pictures from different angles.

Snapchat – Done! #Pottytraining!

Instagram – Done! #Pottytraining!

Facebook – Done! #Pottytraining!

 Whatsapp your various family groups the pictures.  When people respond “Wow!” or “Amazing”, your reply, “He totally just sat down on the potty himself! He’s ready!”

Totallly. No coaxing involved whatsoever.

Meanwhile while you’re catching up on your various correspondence, your child has already gotten off the potty, taken it apart, and is walking around the house wearing the bottom of it on his head like a hat. At this point taking off their underwear seems like a good idea. He already sat on the potty. He knows what to do. Obvs.

8:30am: “Do you have to make? Do you have to make? Do you have to make? Do you have to make?”

9:30am: “Do you have to make? Do you have to make? Do you have to make? Do you have to make?”

10:30am: Cleaning pee off the floor, nowhere near the potty. Most likely off your rug or couch, or other expensive form of fabric, because children just know…

10:40am: While you are cleaning, proceed to lecture child on where the peepee goes.  In the potty. “Where does the peepee go?” “In the potty” (repeat this about 10 times because this usually apparently sinks into his bladder and teaches it how to work)

11:30am: Since it’s almost nap time, and that diaper will need to go back on and you are determined to have this child pee on the potty before he regresses back to diapers **sigh** At this point you believe it’s a good idea to just place him on the potty and distract him for as long as humanly possible.

11:45am: 2 videos, three books, two songs, two child attempts at escape, one tantrum, 1 bottle of bubbles later… nothing.

12:00pm: Nap time. There goes all your hard work.

3:30pm: So my kid sleeps for a long time, so what? Back off.

It’s now time to have that internal debate whether you should keep the diaper on for the rest of the day, or forgo all that “hard work” you put in. It may just make sense to try it again tomorrow, but crap, Timmy is coming over later for a playdate and I want to show that little shit and his bragging hag mother that my kid is diaper free.

4:40pm: You’ve spent the last hour plus lecturing your child reminding him that “Big boys make on the potty” and “Timmy make on the potty” and “Don’t you want to be a big boy like Timmy?”

5:20pm: You’ve cancelled your playdate with Timmy. You’re just not ready to face him yet.

5:30pm: You’ve LITERALLY placed him on the potty in front of the TV, and out of default he peed on it.

YAY! He’s potty trained!

Facebook – Done!

Twitter – Done!

Signed up for “My kid is potty trained” Facebook groups – Done!

Texted his teacher to let her know – Done!

At the end of the day, you’re just a moron. Your kid is not potty trained, and he won’t be for a while. But until he pees on your friends couch/floor/antique rug,  no one has to know the secret you carry around, along with 3 back up diapers, 3 changes of clothes and 5 changes of underwear at all times.