Picture of the Day: Birthdays!

We celebrated two birthdays last night. It was great fun. Turner's punchline of the night was "Tuna fish. Get it? Tuna fish! Ha ha hahahha!"

There was no joke, just a punch line. But it got funnier every time he told it.

We're heading off on vacation this morning, and I don't expect to be able to update this for about two weeks. See many of you soon!

O' Glorious Faucet!

There's a commercial I've seen on HGTV, where a woman asks a snooty and supposedly world-reknowned architect to design a house around a faucet. I now understand her motivation: she installed the faucet herself!

That's right, folks. I, Momma, installed that there faucet myself. The snail-like pace of the kitchen designer and the insistence of money on flowing out faster than it comes in both suggested that the upstairs bathrooms weren't going to be redone anywhere near as soon as we had initially--naively--hoped.

So, annoyed with the tiny faucets that stood about 1 inch above the top of the sink and barely dribbled onto the edge of the pan, I, Momma, had the idea that I should just go ahead and replace the incompetent faucet.

I, Momma, went down to the big box store, where I bought myself a box o' faucet.

And I, Momma, read the directions, and replaced the faucet, even though they said to use the plumber's putty according to manufacturer's directions, but my plumber's putty had no such directions.

That is one gorgeous faucet. I'm not sure where I got the idea that replacing a faucet required so much training that it was beyond all hope of ever accomplishing in my lifetime. It wasn't--but you wouldn't know that from how proud I am of my faucet.

Now I'm thinking about heading down to the big box store and buying myself a sledgehammer, some 2x4s and a bit o' drywall.

Economist-In-Training

When I picked Jesse up from his friend's house yesterday, I found he had traded away all his Pokemon cards (clearly worthless) and all his Yu-Gi-Oh cards (a sizeable stack) for 8 Yu-Gi-Oh Elemental Heroes cards. I hemmed and hawed...we had encountered this situation before, with another friend, only that time we felt Jesse had taken advantage of his friend and made him undo the trade. After that incident, Randy and I had a long discussion about the value of letting the kids learn their lessons from trading, about whether a bad trade would ruin a friendship, etc., but I couldn't remember our conclusion. I didn't know the relative value of the cards, but I was pretty sure Jesse didn't either.

However the aunt of Jesse's friend was visiting, and she wasn't as conflicted as me. "All of his cards, for those few cards? That's not right. Give him back his cards." But they're all mixed up, the boys complained. So let's sort them out, I chimed in.

It ended badly, with Jesse crying behind the couch and threatening not to leave. But I waved my magic wand (loss of electronic privileges) and he followed me out to the car, where he promptly castigated me with language most effective for punishing an economist:

"Why did you make us undo the trade? That was a fair trade. We were both happy. It had nothing to do with you, but you made us undo it, and now we're both unhappy."

It wasn't quite true that it had nothing to do with me--I buy the cards--but still, I was incredibly proud of my budding economist.

Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum

Turner: Fee!...fum!
Momma: Fe, fi, fo, fum!
Turner: Fee, four, five, fum!

Picture of the Day: Monday Raccoon Blogging

Note the trash we cleverly set out to lure the creature. Chablis (reflected in the glass) is staring it down.

I have a habit of setting the trash out on the deck, above the garage, and when Randy arrives home I call for him to pull the bin out from under the deck and open it, so I can drop the bag in it. Unfortunately, I all too frequently forget, and we get visitors helping themselves. Once we had a momma with a string of babies in tow. We usually only realize they are there because Chablis and Sapphire are watching.

Picture of the Day: Red Towel Day at the Nats

Waiting in line to run the bases.


Unfortunately, they ran so fast I didn't have time to get into position for pictures.


Garrett helped Turner around the bases. It was his last opportunity for this 12-and-under event, because he turns 13 this week.

Picture of the Day: At the Coloseum

The crowd celebrates the victory of our champion, Chablis, over the menacing black wasp. Chablis rests on her laurels over the body of the challenger, while her attendant, Sapphire, checks to make certain it is really most sincerely dead.

Picture of the Day: Potty Party Grand Finale

At the infamous Chuck E. Cheese's. When the other little boy climbed up the side of the truck, I thought for a moment Turner was going to pitch him overboard. But Turner just looked at him, then patted the seat to invite him in. I am so grateful for moments like this.

The Boys are Back in Town

Everybody's here, and they have been since Sunday. For reasons having mainly to do with my own anxiety and procrastination, this has been an incredibly stressful week, but I do so like having the boys here.

I would rejoice more and share more stories, but I'm exhausted and worn out, and sorely in need of a vacation.

Just a little postscript on the potty-training: I didn't mean to say the book was bad, just that the title was rather overstated to sell books. It really is about using every psychological trick available to move your child from "perfectly content to pee in a diaper" to "really wanting to pee in the potty." That can happen in one day, if your child is physically ready, but as a parent you have usually spent months introducing the kid to the concept. ["Kid, I'd like you to meet potty. Potty, kid."] And it still takes at least a few days of follow up to really get the concept down.

Results? One accident Sunday, and one accident today. Many many reminders to use the potty. I'd definitely call it a success, but I wouldn't say he is completely, independently toilet-trained.

The French call it propre, meaning "clean." Which is what he will be, once he figures out how to wipe his own butt.

"How to Potty Train Your Child in Just One Day"

is a bunch of BS.

I knew that before today. I'm no fool. I've read up on the subject. I took 'Human Development Age 0-5' in college -- I believe it was a required course for an MRS degree at my perpetually unspecified alma mater. And the coup de grâce: I have two older children. Yes, I've been around the block enough times for it to show.

But I tried it anyway. Because potty training has to be done, and sometimes you have to throw every psychological trick in the book at the child in order to move him from "perfectly content to pee in his pull-up" to "really wanting to pee in the potty every time."

Today was one big marathon party. Yes, we held a potty party. It started with the presentation of the doll, an anatomically correct baby boy dubbed "Pookie" that we jointly taught to use the potty. It ended with the dreaded trip to Chuck E. Cheese's. In between was a blur of balloons, stickers, treats, prizes, videos, games, puzzles, and books, lubricated with enough sodas, juices, sunny D, and chocolate milk to float away in. All of it glued together with non-stop positive parental attention. Not to forget the symbolic tossing of the diapers in the trash. Nor the presentation of the official big-boy Thomas the Train backpack, intended for use on the impending vacation and at the subsequent preschool, both of which require a potty-trained 3-year-old.

The move from "perfectly content to pee in the diaper" to "wanting to pee in the potty" is a critical transition, and in my experience, it takes no more than three days to reach complete daytime dryness once you have crossed over. I would be happier if I were more than 60% sure that we had made it. And I wish I had followed the book's advice to buy and wrap a present for myself, one that I particularly, utterly, palpably desired. Exhausted and accomplished would be exhilarating. Exhausted and pampered would be comforting. Simply exhausted is just abysmal.

[I was so tired I not only posted this on the wrong blog, I wrote it for the wrong blog. ]

Picture of the Day: Cream

A: What are you doing down there, Turner?
T: Sssshhhh! I don't want Daddy to see me.
[Daddy is on the other side of the sliding glass door behind him.]
. . .
T: Momma, can you help me with this cream?

Daddy's the go-to guy when you want to avoid going to bed as long as possible, but when you want a treat, Momma's the one to ask. Even when she's just heard daddy tell the child that whipped cream is not to be eaten by itself. What can I say? The need to feed your children runs deep.

Picture of the Day: Pizza Man

Hooray for Saturday! when Daddy gets to stay home and play with play-doh.

Picture of the Day: Plenty of Cake

From our trip to the reservation this past weekend, where I had some trouble with my camera card and didn't take nearly enough pictures.

L-R: Nephew Stephen, cousin Molly, cousin Noel's daughter Kaia, and nephew Brian.

Picture of the Day: Happy Fourth of July!