My Bad

Have you ever had a problem that you TOTALLY know is your fault?  

For example, not teaching your "infant" to sleep through the night?  And now she's 10 months old and you're exhausted.  

Oh boy...

But at the time it seemed like the right thing to do.  Don't let her cry b/c then Maizie will wake up, and a cranky toddler is so much worse than a tired momma.  Right? 

BUT WE WOULD BE DONE BY NOW!!!

Now, I have a little girl who is too big to sleep in our tiny room, who can't share a room with her sister, and who is sleeping in a pack-and-play in the basement.  And who is a REALLY loud and persistent crier. 

Ugh.

I must say, however, that she only wakes up once.  It's still annoying, though.

But she sure is cute.  

One small step for mankind, but one giant step for Maizie

FINALLY!  

After 9 months of being "potty" (pee only) trained-she can even get through the entire night, my big girl has pooped in a toilet.  Bittersweetly, I realize that it's because dad got involved.  All my cajoling, bribing, disciplining, whatever accomplished nothing.  But the day that daddy stepped in and told her that if she pooped in her diaper (at nap time) or in her undies, she would not be allowed to wear a pretty dress and would have to wear pants, she obliges.  These threatened pants are not just any pants, mind you.  A pair of red shorts and a black t-shirt.  You may be thinking, what's the big deal, but this is the girl who wakes up in the morning and says within the first few minutes "I love pink and purple."  "I just have to dance." "I need ballet slippers."  And who now introduces herself as "Pink Maizie Brown."  So, for the time being, pooping in the pot became more important than teaching Maizie that she can't have whatever she wants (currently in the form of clothing). So she held it, held it, held it as long as she could, and FINALLY, on the way home from Sam's Club we hear her crying b/c she couldn't hold it any longer.  So we stop at Wendy's and her and I dash in, sit her down, and out it comes.  And for all the times I thought she was just being a brat about not going, I realized how wrong I was, because she was SO excited.  And with her arms pumping up and down in cheerleader fashion she's exclaiming between giggles....

"It just slide right out!!!   I'm so big-cited!!!  

I'm SOOOO proud!!  

Let's tell Baby Iris!  I want my cash register!!  

I did it!!!  

I'm so big-cited!!!  Baby Iris is so big-cited!!  

Let's call [Blue's Clues'] Steve!" 

(aka Jason)

Now I know it's not over, but at least it's coming along.  

I'm just praying that we don't have to drive to Wendy's every time she has to go.

Just another week.

Oh, the things that I never dreamed of...Last night, Maiz was in the bathtub grunting and, um, farting (I'm sorry if you say "fluff" in your house, but it's my blog, so please deal).  We were like, "Do you need to poop?  Why don't you sit on the potty?"  

NOTE:  Maizie is entirely "potty" trained.  Yes, potty only.  She has yet to go numero dos in the potty.  No matter what type of bribing, cajoling, lawyering, or bargaining I do, she refuses.  She'll be ten before she does it, I think.

Anyway, she decided to "try," which was more than she's done before.  We, of course, didn't think she'd do it until she calls "I did it!!!"

Um, hmmm...

"I pooped and it's in the potty!" "I get my cash register!"  (The stakes for pooping are high).  

I will say is that it was very large AND in her potty.

Picked up and placed there by her.

Gotta love it.  

IN other news, here's what happened at McDonald's today.  We (me, my baby bag-it's like another toddler, Iris, and Maizie) are going in the door, and while I'm trying to "herd cats" inside, I open the door right into Maizie's forehead.  She is knocked on the floor and is "silent screaming," so I figure I have 10-12 seconds before I'm noticed (when she finally takes a breath and REALLY screams).  Of course, people are waiting to get out, and those McDonald's foyers are so huge, not to mention that they could cook their fries in there it's so hot, and we're all on the floor.  I somehow manage to get everyone (baby bag 

included) inside and to the counter. 

"Hi, she just hit her head and I need some ice."

They hand me a cup.

"Um, more like an ice pack."

But, the minute she hears ice pack (by this time my 12 seconds have passed and she's screaming like a banshee), she squirms off the counter and onto the floor and starts running around the McDonald's, flinging herself into retirees booths.  It was like a strange game show. 

"Owie....OWWWWW...I don't wanna ice pack!  AHHHHH!!!  OWWW!!!"

And EVERYONE is staring at us.  And NO ONE is helping.  And if I were to blink I would cry.

Finally, a frail old lady offers to hold fat, grumpy Iris 

while I calm Crazy down.  And I think, this can't possibly end well.  And over the hunched shoulder of the lady (VERY sweet, though), I see a ma

n bring a high chair.  

And then a McDonald's employee (female, and I am assuming mother), brings out an ice cream cone.  And the nice old lady stayed with them while I ordered. 

So it ended okay.

Here's the damages.  Check out her forehead.  

Maizie...Brown?

I was explaining to Maizie that she has a long name...that she has a first name, a middle name, and a last name, too.  

"Well...whaaat is it?"  With those big blue-gray eyes.

"It's Maizie Daniele Brown.  Maizie Brown." 

Pause

Staring at me.

Brow furrowing.

"No...mom...it isn't.  I'm not Maizie Brown." 

(I could have predicted what was coming next.)

"I'm just Maizie PINK."

Core Foods

So I've succumbed to peer pressure and have changed my eating habits. It's funny that peer pressure would cause me to eat vegetables, but people, it's intense. 

Anyway, I'm following the Weight Watchers Core program, and if you know what that is, you can gasp in disbelief.  If you don't know what it is, I'll sum it up for you. Spinach, oatmeal, hard-boiled eggs, and popcorn.  Of course, there's more to it than that.  But you get the picture.  All "whole" foods, no breads, processed foods or, um, chocolate.  I can have whole wheat noodles and as much aspartame as I want.  And I'm struggling terribly with envy.

See, my husband is the person that the artist who first drew stick figures was thinking about.  The man can eat whatever, and I mean, whatever he wants.  He is so supportive, though, and follows the plan with me, mostly.  When it gets inconvenient, he gives in to things like Butter Burgers and gummy bears.  Not what I would be eating if eating caused no consequences, but whatever.  

But I finally think he gets it.  He said to me, "I have never had to think about anything that I put into my mouth before, and it totally sucks."   I have never thought about not thinking about it. Everything I eat is thought about.  Whether it's good thoughts or guilt thoughts.  Everything. It's been that way as long as I can remember.  And I am so sick of it.  I'm so tired of food being a big deal.  I would love to just be done with it.  I can't help but wonder why I struggle so bad with this!  

To paraphrase Dr. Phil (yes, I really like him, so bear with me for a moment), "there has got to be some payoff for the behavior to continue."  As destructive as my fat behavior is, I am getting some payoff to continuing to do it after all these years. I could get deeply into this, but know that the bottom line is simple.  It feels good.  

And isn't that always a payoff? It feels good to do whatever I want, whenever I want, with no regard to how it's hurting others or how it is self-destructive.  And especially no regard to God's parameters and HIS view on the issues, I mean, he is invisible and he will forgive me...right?  

So, this is why I am eating so much oatmeal and popcorn.  Because it matters so much less than me obeying God.  How in the world can I expect my daughters to exhibit self control when their mom totally does whatever she wants?  It is probably as hard for Maizie to sit on her blanket for thirty minutes as it is for me to say "no thanks" to food that isn't really fueling me.  She's two!  She has a physical need to be running around like crazy, and yet I'm teaching her that she must be still once in a while. And while I'm manning the timer, I'm chomping on cookies and guzzling Diet Coke like a Pharisee.  But please note, the Diet Coke will be the last thing to go, okay?

Much Better

Last night, after feeling so terrible, I decided to make a change.  This is really all it takes most of the time, is for me to do something about my situation and chose to be better.  So I got Maizie all dressed in her pink butterfly galoshes, green jammie pants, & purple raincoat, and gave her my purple Disney World parasol.  Then I got Iris all bundled up and put her in the carrier, and outside in the rain we went.  I took them to the back of the parking lot for the shops (which were mostly closed) next door and she went crazy puddle hopping.  It was cold and wet, but finally, we were having fun and not battling about everything.  I wish I'd have had my camera, because she was so cute out there soaking wet with my "brella," which was way too big for her.  I'll just have to remember it like they did in the old days, I guess.  Write it down.

I didn't think I was going to get her inside, but she finally fell down and got soaked, and I said "Maizers, we better go in and get all dried off."  And she was like "Yeah, it's okay, we better get all dried off and have a snack."  So in we went, to eat popcorn and drink hot, well, warm chocolate.  And I finally got my heart aligned in the truth.  

Just draggin

You know that you're having a bad night when you binge on green sprinkles and baby food pears, b/c they are the only thing sweet in your house and you're too tired to load up the kids and trek out in the rain to get some real binge food, like hostess cupcakes or .   And even if you were energized enough to do that, you can't imagine spending three dollars b/c frankly, you just can't be throwing that kind of money around.  So, there's plenty to be thankful in that. 

I'm trying to reflect on the joys of motherhood, but today is one of those days that I can't seem to get my heart caught up into the truth of what God really has blessed me with.  I keep looking at the to-dos, and the what-ifs, and the spit-ups.  (I've been walking around a pile of baby spit-up that is on the floor for a couple of hours now b/c I just don't want to bend down to pick it up).  And the fact that I finally got around to spending ten dollars on a shirt for myself that actually fits my post baby body and day two it has a hole in it that I have to stitch b/c I lost the receipt and can't return it and pretend like I had nothing to do with it when me and the clerk would both know that I did.  I know that was a run on sentence, I'm too tired to push shift and try to find the proper punctuation under my grabby baby who is sitting on my lap grabbing everything on the desk.  

But she sure is cute, though.

And really, what am I complaining about?  I live in the United States and I have so much food that I have cupcake sprinkles in my pantry.  And my baby girls are allowed to live and grow up. And I have a computer, of all things, that cost as much as it costs to feed 20 kids for a whole year in Haiti.  And my husband is nice to me.  And he's addicted to nothing (except Dr. Pepper).