Progress progresses, progressively

So there is good and there is bad. The good: Kiddo has gotten much more proactive about the whole potty thing. He even, occasionally, voluntarily uses it. For some reason public restrooms have a special allure that our boring old bathrooms at home do not (could it be the paper towel dispensers? the separate stalls?), so he's much more enthusiastic about the whole business when we're out and about. We've basically ditched the pull-ups.

The bad: We're not using them at night, either -- per the recommendation of his teacher -- and that's meant a whole lot more sheet-washing. I'd hate to go back to the pull-ups now, since it would feel like backsliding. But he just does not wake up to pee. I've started waking him up to go potty right before I go to bed, but I haven't quite found the magic pee time yet. 11:30? Already peed. 11? Already peed. 10:30? Can't pee yet. And yet, after falling asleep on the couch last night, then waking up in a panic at 12:30, I rushed upstairs and he was miraculously dry. This kid's bladder is playing a mean, mean game with me.

The worse: His #2 issue is so problematic it's requiring medical intervention. As in, suppositories. Every night. I don't know if it's officially considered encopresis -- I wasn't in the pediatrician's office for this latest visit -- but that does sound like what's going on. So at least we know he's not deliberately soiling himself, and at least the "medicine" (as we're having him call it) seems to be doing something or other. I will of course spare you the incredibly gross details, except to say that he's been putting up with all this remarkably well, considering, and he seems positively gleeful when he actually produces something in the proper place, and then makes me come look at it. I thought it was bad enough when my cat would kill things and then casually leave the little corpses around so I could praise her magnificent hunting skills. (Except for bugs, which she ate on the spot.)

What's really kind of aggravating is that I hear and see what other kids eat and I know my kids have better diets, in that fruits and vegetables are involved, dessert is not every night, bread products are whole wheat and high-fructose corn syrup is not allowed near our front door. But clearly this isn't just a diet issue.

I cannot believe how much of my brain is occupied with my child's other end. I mean, I just had to show the cat where the litter box was, once, and she was set for life. Obviously cat ownership did not fully prepare me for this little problem. I feel like the world's worst conversationalist -- like you could drop me in a room full of fascinating people holding forth on art, politics, modern philosophy, the slow food movement, and all I would have to say is "My kid peed in the potty five times today and his bed was still dry after his nap, isn't that just fabulous?"

But, we had the smarts to bring him to the doctor when we did, and he is getting better. So there is hope on the horizon, and eventually, if I actually want to occupy my brain with poop-type matters, I'll have to resort to watching "Dumb and Dumber" again. (I won't.)

On my way, to where the air is sweet ...

It's a milestone of sorts, your first family amusement-park trip. Your first chance to pay way too much for parking. Your first time thinking maybe you should've packed lunch instead of eating at the park. Your first hour-long line for a two-minute ride. Your first sunburn. You know. Fun!

I kid. Because I love amusement parks. I love roller coasters and totally rigged games of chance and water rides and occasionally even souvenir shops. And we'd been planning on bringing the kids to Sesame Place at some point, so when friends of ours said they were heading down for a weekend trip, we decided to meet them there.

I was at Sesame Place myself maybe once when I was a kid, since by the time it had opened, I had more or less aged out of it. I remember the ball pit and that's about it. So the park was basically a new experience for me. Which would explain my many, many rookie mistakes.

1. No pocketbooks. Really. You're going on water rides. Unless your purse is waterproof, stow it in the locker. We hit the lazy river first, and I was leaning on kiddette's tube, holding her around the waist (they do supply little life jackets, which is nice, but still), secretly praying that my leather backpack/weekend purse was not going to get doused to the point that my cell drowned. Shortly afterward, I bought a couple of those little clear waterproof containers for the money and such, and stowed the purse in the locker.

Most embarrassing: I worked at Six Flags in high school. I know all too well what happens to unprotected valuables on water rides, because when I was a cashier, people would hand me sweaty, wet dollar bills and I would have to take them without looking too nauseous. Customer service and all.

2. Wear shoes you can walk around in wet. DH and kiddo had their sneakers on. DH, realizing his error in time, bought those water shoes for the two of them. Kiddette and I had sandals on, and neither of us cared so much.

And no, barefoot is not an acceptable option. The ground is hot. Your toes will melt off.

3. Sunscreen ... and then more sunscreen. The kids and I ended up OK, because I kept reapplying. DH, I would swear, had gotten enough on, but apparently he is the fairest of them all, because his shoulders are still red days later. And I thought I was the master of sunburn.

4. Timing is everything. By the time we'd gotten our plastic purses and water shoes and gotten our gear settled, we'd about run out of valuable ride time. The crowds only get bigger as the day goes on, and then the lines get longer.

Fortunately our friend is a world class ninja master in amusement parking. She got us there before the park even opened, she arranged the character lunch, she steered us to the good rides, she knew where to park the strollers so the younger ones could attempt to nap. She'd given us the heads-up to reserve a locker in advance, online. Truly, she knows all.

And did the kids like it? Is Big Bird yellow? They dug the lazy river. Kiddo and I went on a two-person inner-tube slide together, and he bawled when he realized we couldn't go right back on the ride after it was over. He was remarkably patient about the line even, though he did kind of creep his way ahead of the people in front a couple of times. Everyone smiled indulgently, which I'm chalking up to his giant Elijah Wood-size eyes because they seem to have an effect on people.

The character lunch was the first one I'd ever been to, so I don't know how it measures up. It was a decent enough spread (buffet, of course), in that veggies were involved and not all of the chicken was breaded. Cookie, Ernie, Bert, the Count and Abby wandered around for hugs and photos. Elmo, proving he is in fact the A-lister of the bunch, sat in the corner for posed shots, Santa-like, and you could take those shots home for just a little extra cash. (Or you could run over to Elmo when he got up and get some shots that way, like we did.) Big Bird sat in one corner of the room, very still, to the point that DH and I were debating whether there was a guy in there or it was an animatronic thingy. But then Big Bird got up to dance, a little jerkily, and we realized the guy had to move veeeerry carefully in order to hold up that giant head. Which struck me as odd, since out of all of them, Big Bird was the only one who was the exact same size he'd be on the show. How does Caroll Spinney do it then? 

You know I'm only obsessing on this because Big Bird was my favorite character.

I wasn't especially worried about the kids being afraid of the giant walking Muppets, and they weren't. Kiddette hugged Cookie Monster a lot. And Elmo. Because she loves Elmo. Sadly.

All the characters have their own shows, apparently, and lucky us saw two Elmo shows. In one, all the characters decided to form a rock band and sing rock versions of their signature ditties, except Cookie, who rapped instead. I died laughing. Elmo wore a black leather jacket, which bothered kiddo, because the sign outside the theater showed them all wearing different rock-star outfits from what they had onstage and he couldn't get past that. Spent the entire show pointing that out, in fact. He'll make a great theater critic.

The second show was a live-action version of "Elmo's World." If you've ever seen the "Elmo's World" segment on "Sesame Street," this is it. Weird crayon drawings on the walls. Mr. Noodle in the window. Dorothy the goldfish. Yep, all there. If you are cringing, you must be a grownup.

Kiddette, however, had her tiny mind blown. She stood clutching the plastic barrier, mesmerized, occasionally yelling "Eelllmooooo!"

Mr. Noodle, incidentally, taught the audience how to Hokey Pokey.

The part of the park I liked, actually, was the part that looked like the show set. I pushed kiddette down Sesame Street while kiddo climbed up on the fire truck (again). There was a hopscotch grid set up in the "alley" next to 123, so I did a little jump to see if I could still do it. Kiddette was quite impressed. "Gainagain," she said, which is kiddette-ese for "I would like you to repeat that." So I did. "Gainagain," she said, but this time I politely declined.

We did manage to get the kids into the car and away without entering a single souvenir shop, but since we'd already bought lunch, dinner, two plastic purse things and two pairs of water shoes, it was kind of a hollow victory.

The next morning, I came in to get kiddette from her crib and, much distressed, she demanded we get her stuffed Elmo from the floor. I leaned down. She hugged it to her cheek. "Elmo," she crooned.

Later, I heard her trying to sing the Hokey Pokey song.

Chitchat in girl world

Been meaning to note this post, via the Huffington Post, about how to talk to little girls. I find it pretty interesting, and precisely dead on in that it's all about how cute/precious/adorably pretty a girl is and not much else. Because it's still largely that way for grown-up girls too. How an actress/singer/politician-who-probably-ought-to-be-treated-with-more-respect-than-this performs in public, what she says, how she says it, is nowhere near as important as how she looks and what designer she is/isn't wearing. And then DH wonders why I obsess about my hair.

Hey, I know I'm judged on my looks more often than I'm even aware of. I'm not especially cool with that, even though I'm more or less happy with my looks. (Except in a bathing suit. Curse bathing suits.) But I am absolutely sure there have been times I've been dismissed as a lightweight because I'm under 50, and moderately attractive.

There's this one earlyish episode of "Scrubs" that I love. Elliot shows up for her hospital shifts in full hair and makeup, looking fabulous, and a bunch of her colleagues rip her for it, suggesting she's vain, saying no one takes her seriously, etc. So she shows up for work one day, hair a mess, no makeup, and those same people make fun of her for looking bad. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Very rarely have I seen that point made so succinctly. 

So occasionally I worry about how to raise kiddette in this sort of screwed-up "Girls Gone Wild"/kiddie beauty pageants/high heels for babies world. And one starting point, per top link, is to say something to her besides "you're so cute!" Even though she is of course the cutest kiddette who ever was. But she's also smart and tough and crazily enthusiastic about, you know, everything.

She had her first bounce house experience today. I was holding off on that since I wasn't sure she was old enough, and also because I've heard about freak accidents involving these things when older kids crash-land onto younger ones, and when the house isn't properly secured to the ground and it gets windy (don't believe me? Here). Hey, even when kiddo is in one I'm right outside, watching, just in case. But this was a rare occasion, in that I knew personally nearly every kid inside, and was reasonably sure they could be trusted. (And no wind.) So I let her in.

Other small ones were terrified to even get inside this thing. Kiddette crawled right in. She had some difficulty standing, and she did get knocked into once or twice. And then she got right back up again and imitated the older kids, going "Yaaaaahhh!" and waving her arms as she ran across the floor. She had a blast.

I love this fearlessness about her. I love that she loves books so much that she will walk up to you, crawl into your lap and give you a book, curling each of your hands around it, and say "Read book." I love that she thinks it's the height of hilarity to run screeching around the house after her equally screeching brother, even though my eardrums do not so much love it.

So occasionally I'll tell her something besides "you're my cutie girl." Occasionally I'll tell her how smart she is and how brave and how wonderfully crazy. I hope I always remember to do that.

Why yes, sure I'd like a biopsy

Spoiler alert: I do not have cancer. Just saying that going in. In fact I waited until this whole aggravating procedure was over before writing about it because I didn't want to spend whole posts whining about maybe having cancer, if in fact I did not. Because who wants to listen to that crap? Cue the violin.

Anyway what I do have is a nodule in my thyroid. And apparently said thyroid is enlarged on one side, according to the doctor who spotted it during my checkup, but for the life of me I can't see it and I've been looking at my neck for years. But the doctor sent me for an ultrasound, and then when they got the results back they sent me to an ENT, and then when the ENT saw me she sent me to the hospital for another ultrasound and a biopsy. Frankly I think ultrasounds are more fun when there's a baby involved. Way less strain on the neck.


From my minimal research I found that thyroid nodules are usually spotted in exactly this manner, they're way more common in women than men and there are frequently no symptoms of thyroid cancer. Which didn't help matters, since I felt fine. You know, upset and stressed out, but fine.

The above description might sound like this whole thing took a matter of days. Um, no. The physical was at the end of March. The first ultrasound was a few weeks later. The ENT visit was at the end of May, and the biopsy was the first week of June. And then another agonizing week for the results. Good thing I don't have cancer or I'd be dead by now.


One (small) benefit was that I got to check out another of the hospitals in the area, since we've been going to a different, larger one for all our emergency-fever/you-should-get-your-kid-behaviorally-tested-because-he's-been-acting-up-in-school needs. This other one is a little closer, and the parking setup is better, which is a good thing to keep in mind for emergency fevers. I'm not especially a fan of driving aimlessly all around the hospital, going right past the emergency room, trying to figure out where I'm allowed to park. That's annoying enough in a non-emergency, mall situation.

It's a St. hospital, which I didn't think about much till I got there and saw the whole building is designed around a chapel in the middle -- pretty interesting architecturally -- and I happened to be walking down a hallway and in an alcove was Jesus. Fairly big statue, too. I guess he kind of blended in. Waiting area, restroom, radiology department, Jesus.

The doctor who did the biopsy was nice enough but he needs new material. I told him and his assistant as they were getting me ready that I'm pretty sensitive about things touching my neck (ironically, since I'm a scarf fiend), and he cracked a line about my husband choking me. Generally when someone lobs a joke at me I'll whack it right back, so I said, "How did you know?" but I was thinking, Get smacked down by HR much, doc? And he riposted that he does the same thing to his wife at home. Dude. If DH ever made a joke like that about me he'd be sleeping in the yard.

Doc was perfectly careful and professional during the actual test, so I guess he's just a lousy comedian. But many people are.

Not a test I would recommend for funsies, incidentally, unless you like having your neck hyperextended, Also if you like looking like someone punched you in the neck for the next week. Fortunately I have a closet full of scarves. So I either looked weird for wearing them to work six straight days, or I looked hypertrendy. I prefer to think it's the latter.

The ENT said they'd get the results in 8-10 days. The hospital said 4-5 days. In search of a straight answer from somewhere, I started calling the ENT's office on day 4. They said "we're not supposed to give results over the phone" and call back tomorrow. Two days in a row. But then they said the nurse practitioner would call me Friday. The one who I'd originally made the follow-up appointment with for that Friday. Who suddenly had to cancel all her appointments that week, forcing me to push off my follow-up to Monday. Right. That nurse practitioner? Was suddenly going to be in the office on Friday?

And then my head exploded a little bit.

Fortunately she actually did call on Friday to say it was benign. Un-exploding my head somewhat.

So at least I got to spend Father's Day not going cancer cancer cancer. The ENT himself, at the long-awaited but anticlimactic follow-up, told me he never gives results over the phone because of the one time he did and they were fairly dire, and the freaked-out patient got into a car accident on the way to the hospital. Well, OK. Good reason. He also said the 8- to 10-day window is in case the test is screwed up or doesn't provide all the info he needs and he makes them redo part of it. I got the impression this guy is a bit of a hardass. My kind of doctor.

In six months I'm supposed to get another ultrasound, for monitoring purposes. But not a biopsy. Fine by me.

Deputy Underpants

I'm not quite ready to promote him to captain yet, but he has been wearing them all week. To school. In bed. And my Lord the laundry. Oh it piles up. But I figure getting this done is worth the sky-high water bill we are inevitably going to have. (Man reading the water meter: "What are they doing over there, showering a yak?")

At first he had a few accidents a day, and then by the end of the week it was one. And it was one yesterday (I think). He has gotten his shoes a few times -- thankfully they appear to be machine washable -- so I just got him an auxiliary pair to keep at school (their suggestion), just so he can still go out on the playground even if his shoes are wet. Hey, I'm shopping at Payless. It's not like he's drenching hundred-dollar Nikes.

A couple days ago, to help him remember which end of the underwear goes in back, I showed him the little emergency opening in the front and explained what it was for. Side note: Really, guys, how lazy are you that you need an emergency hatch in your underwear? Because pulling the whole thing down is somehow too much work? I didn't even realize the emergency hatch is in every single pair, until I started helping kiddo get the underwear on. Anyway kiddo was especially intrigued by the hatch, and when he hit up the potty after breakfast, he was in a hurry and used it. Highly impressed with himself, he explained to us, "When my penis gets in trouble, I can use this!" And we promptly had a giggle fit over that behind the bathroom door. Oh no! The penis is in trouble! To the emergency hatch!

A more mature person would not be so quick to embrace the toilet humor. I am not that person.

There's still the inevitable "but I don't WANNA use the potty" whine after meals and after "Phineas and Ferb" is over but it seems at least a little halfhearted. And he is genuinely using the potty, nearly every time.

I even daringly brought him to a birthday party yesterday, in underwear. At one of those kiddie play places that had a bounce house and video games, either one of which could keep him occupied (and not remotely focused on his bladder) for hours. I brought extra shorts and underwear, just in case, and did not need them. Granted I had to time him more or less precisely, then corral him and drag him to the bathroom, but it worked. Huzzah.

So we'll see how this week goes. I am, finally, optimistic.

Every single parent I talk to, no matter the generation, says potty training is the worst part and they were so happy when it was over with. So ... it gets better from here?

Potty war: A new hope?

Yesterday morning, I prodded him over to the potty for his usual post-breakfast constitutional, and he looked distinctly like something big was coming. He asked me to leave. More precisely, to "go somewhere." Which was a strange bit of delicacy, but I complied. After several long minutes, he triumphantly announced, "I pooped!" And oh boy he certainly had. There was enough left over for an auxiliary potty.

He was highly pleased with himself and the world, until we'd gotten the whole production into the toilet and flushed it. Seems the whole production was too much for the toilet, and it promptly stopped right up. Then made some ominous gurgling noises. Kiddo backed off, a little spooked. And then a stray bit of leftover production fell out of wherever it had been hiding, and kiddo stepped on it. With his new sneakers on. That I had just bought him 24 hours ago.

Fortunately everything cleaned up nicely and neither kiddo nor the toilet seem to have developed post-traumatic stress disorder.

Honestly. I'm reasonably lucky in that my work hours are a little flexible. What do parents do when they're on a stricter time clock, and this sort of thing happens? What do they say? "Well, my kid and the potty and the poop was everywhere and cleanup and, you know, sorry I'm late."

Kiddo also announced at school/day care yesterday that he needed to pee, then ran into the bathroom to do so. And then used the potty three times after getting home last night. Then while climbing into bed, announced that he needed to use it again, and climbed back down and did so. All promising signs. His teachers think give it a few more days, then send him to school in underwear and see what happens.

In the meantime, kiddette is now capable of informing us that she needs a diaper change by pointing at her butt and saying "poop." Which her brother never, ever did. So I'm thinking once kiddo is finally off the pull-ups, we start right in on kiddette. I'm envisioning a world of no more diapers, of retiring the Diaper Genie permanently, and it's a beautiful world. Also a cheaper one.

Pretty fairy wings and pee talk

So there was, I am not fibbing, a fairy festival in town last week. Co-sponsored by a local dentist - tooth fairy, get it? -- and our school/day care, so I thought we'd check it out.

Oh, who am I kidding? They had me at "fairy festival." Because I am a geek girl from way back and to me, fairies are cool. What's the difference between a girl and a geek girl? Girls go through a horse phase. Geek girls go through a unicorn phase, with a side of Pegasus.

Anyhow, we get to the park and it is a small ocean of girls in fairy wings. Sparkly dresses. Tinker Bell outfits. Blue and green wings. Purple wings. Red and yellow wings. Just wings and curly ponytails and glitter as far as the eye can see. It was the cutest thing ever. If you were somehow allergic to cute, you would have died on the spot.

What amazes me is, this was the first-ever fairy festival and all these families just showed up with their girls already bewinged, meaning 1. they bought the wings specially or 2. they already owned the wings. I'm guessing 2. because 1. seems like way too much effort. Who knew you were supposed to make sure your little girl was equipped with wings, just in case a fairy festival should break out? Shouldn't someone have mentioned this at one of those hospital classes? Shouldn't there be a space on the baby registry for Wings, Glitter or Non-Glitter?

Fortunately they were also selling wings at the festival, so I got kiddette a pink pair, and properly equipped, she proceeded to run around the field with a lacrosse stick in one hand and a hockey stick in the other, being most un-fairylike.

Yes, there was lacrosse and hockey, preschool version, obviously so the wingless boys had something to do. (Apparently human children are like Gelflings, in that only girls get wings.) There were also arts and crafts, pony rides (we at first thought the ponies were wearing fake unicorn horns, and were slightly relieved to realize it was just ribbons in their mane), "fairy dancing," jewelry for sale, grownup fairies in princess outfits posing for pictures, a hot dog stand and "fairy treats," aka the ice cream truck.

Kiddo had a fine time taking shots at the net. DH pointed out how natural his stance was, even comparing him to a slightly older boy next to him who didn't quite have the movement down. Which means, of course, we need to sign this kid up for sports. Preferably not hockey, since I like him with all his teeth. Maybe he'll like baseball.

Eventually he realized he wasn't the target market for this event and he and Daddy wandered off to the playground. Fairy kiddette made a fairy flower -- alas, they were out of wand materials -- danced a little to what I'm pretty sure was the soundtrack to that Tinker Bell movie, and then told me she was thirsty. She did so by trying to grab random other kids' sippy cups. She also explained that she wanted to sit by wandering over behind the school's display table and climbing into the nice school person's chair. (Fortunately the nice school person was amused.) So kiddette and I plopped down on the grass and split a lemon ice. And then kiddo and DH discovered us, and split their own lemon ice, by which I mean DH got about a spoonful.

It was a pretty nice event, actually. I'm betting they do it again, considering the turnout.

On the way back to the car, kiddo, clearly annoyed that kiddette got wings and he didn't, whined, "But I want to be a fairy!" DH assured me that's just what every dad wants to hear from their son.

The next day kiddo and I went to a classic car show, which was basically cool old cars lining the streets of the town, so you could look at cars and window-shop. Or someone not accompanying a kiddo could window-shop, because he was in full-on drag-you-behind-him St. Bernard mode. "Look at this car! Look at that car! Wow! What kind of car is that, Mommy?" And if I didn't see the make listed on the rear, I had to deflect the question, because I know precisely nothing about cars. But they did look cool. I love those fins.

We had lunch at the "lunch store" and were on our way back when kiddo announced he had to pee. Which is information he has never, ever volunteered for any reason. And of course, the first time he chooses to volunteer such information, we're in the car.

"OK, kiddo, we'll be home soon. Can you hold it until then? Say 'Pee stay in.'"

"Pee stay in." Pause. "The pee wants to come out."

"But tell the pee it can't come out yet and it has to wait till you sit on the potty. Say 'Pee stay in.'"

"Pee stay in." Pause. "The pee is crying because I'm talking to it."


"Um, OK."

We got home and rushed him onto the potty, and as far as I could tell, he made it. Then he told me the pee was happy that it was in the potty. So really, everyone was happy.

There are no conversations quite like the ones you have with 4-year-olds.