May 23, 2007

Mumma is Icky, Apparently

Mr. Sassypants has been cracking me up these days.  I haven’t laughed this much since Seinfeld went off the air. 

Not only did he tell me he had snakes in his diaper, but now Dawson finds it hilarious to tell me I’m icky.

It started Sunday morning.  With Doug out of town, Dawson and I had all morning to cuddle in the big bed and talk about what we were going to do that day.  Dawson wanted to have waffles waffos and juice deuce and then play in the sandbox. 

The weather was colder with a temperature of 52 degrees, cloudy and windy.  I didn’t think it wise, or all that fun, to play outside especially without the sunshine to warm us up.

Dawson and I played with his matchbox cars.  He got to be Lightning McQueen and I had to be Mater.  Cuz y’all is jist not understandin’ how good I ken impersonate a southern tow truck, ya hear?

Halfway through our smash-the-cars-into-each-other game, I turned into the Tickle Monster and attacked my kissable toddler.  I kissed his cheek and tickled his tummy. The sound of his giggling always makes me laugh hysterically. 

Suddenly Dawson said, “Mumma, stop da kissin’!  Dats EEWWWW, Mumma!”

I was still laughing when I said, “What?  Mumma’s not ewww!  Dawson’s ewwww!”

“No, Mumma is icky.  Ewww, Mumma.”

The rest of the day he’d tell me, “Mumma is ewwww” and then run away.

If he thinks my kissing him is gross now, I’m doomed!  He’s my little baby.  I can’t help but kiss his chubby cheekers.  It’s days like these I want to hold onto forever.

May 22, 2007

Potty Training Begins

Over the past two weeks I’ve eliminated Dawson’s consumption of beverages after eight o’clock. Because of this new no-water rule, Dawson has managed to keep his diaper dry overnight.

I am beginning to think that perhaps Dawson is ready for potty training, for real this time.  We’ve attempted the process before and had some pure luck days.  Dawson understands what his potty chair is for, and he’s used it two or three times in the last six months. 

When it comes to consistency, however, we have failed.  As fulltime workers out of the home, Doug and I have only evenings and weekends to work on potty training.  I have yet to ask our daycare provider for help until I’ve got this thing down at home.

This last weekend Doug was gone on a fishing trip so I took it upon myself to attempt the potty training with Dawson. 

I switched his diapers to pull-ups and he loves his new Buzz Lightyear training pants, and I asked him several times each day if he needed to go to the potty chair.  Of course he says no, so I made it my business to watch for clues of him doing his “business”.

Saturday, Dawson was playing in his bedroom when I heard the strangest noise.  It sounded like a very loud fart.

“Dawson, do you have to go to the potty?”

“No Mumma.  Dawson has no poops.”

This is my clue that he did indeed do a number two in his pull-up.

“Dawson, what was that noise I heard in your pants?”

“Snakes, Mumma.  Snakes in Dawson’s diaper.”

I don’t know what’s worse; stinky poop or scary serpents.

Looks like I have to watch him like a hawk from now on.  There has to be an easier way to go about this!

May 21, 2007

Review of The Last Blue Mile

Cross posted from BlogHer, visit me there today!

Recently, I found some highly coveted child-free time to read The Last Blue Mile by Kim Ponders, a novel detailing life at the Air Force Academy as a young female cadet.

Ponders’ novel is based on her own experiences in the military and her in-depth research of the Air Force Academy. She flew in Desert Storm as one of the first American women in combat, and her book is stirring and captivating. Once I began reading I found it impossible to stop.

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May 18, 2007

Daddies Don’t Feel Guilty

My husband left this morning for a 3-day weekend fishing trip.  I’m officially a “fisherman’s widow”. 

While I don’t mind that Doug is going on this mini-vacation (after all he needs time away, too), I’m a little disturbed that he didn’t even bat an eyelash about leaving his wife alone to care for their son who is in the height of his terrible two’s.

I’ve never seen him wake up in such a good mood.  He was even happy to help me get Dawson dressed this morning.  Normally he pretends to be sleeping while I wrestle the kid’s shoes on.

Why is there no “Daddy Guilt”? 

I mean really, I feel guilty just going to the store without Dawson along.  But my rooster couldn’t wait to fly the hen house.

It isn’t fair.

He’ll be fishing and drinking and telling dirty jokes with the boys for three days, while I make sure the laundry is washed, the floors are mopped and the beds are made; in addition to making sure Dawson is fed and watered and suitably occupied while I catch up on my writing deadlines.

This isn’t the first time Doug has gone fishing for a weekend.  Last year he and his buddy took a weekend carp-shooting holiday.  Dawson was only 20 months old and a lot easier to manage.

Now that the Doodlebug is in his sassy phase, I find it harder to manage him all alone.  And I kind of resent my hubby for being able to get away with ease. 

I can only hope when I leave for the BlogHer conference in July that I will be as lucky.  I plan on partying like a rockstar, guilt-free.