Scents of Smell

One of the greatest compliments a child could give to their mother is taking a big whiff of you and then saying "Mommy, you always smell so good." I know this might sound weird but, it's true. If you think about it, you can almost smell all of your memories. Fond or not. I know exactly what my mom smells like. I remember exactly how my grandmother's crawfish etoufee smelled (that I have tried without success to duplicate more than once). I can recall the smell of the homes of each one of my family members and friends.

Who doesn't love the smell of a brand new baby? The emotions associated with that 'new baby' smell is happiness and excitement. (Ty, your comments are not welcome here.) I believe that scents can be associated with almost every emotion. When you're feeling happy, chances are you'll remember what scents you smelled when you were happiest. Such as Thanksgiving dinner and being surrounded by family and friends. The onions and garlic, the turkey...you get the idea.

Such a simple phrase may seem so meaningless. But it's not. To me, it means that she feels safe. That my scent is comfort and warmth. Happiness and contentment. That she loves me so much that she wants to take in every last drop of me right down to the smell. I must say that it makes me feel like I'm doing something right.

I am...I love...I have...

I am beautiful. I love my family. I have everything. I am thin. I love life. I have gratitude. I am wise. I love sleeping. I have happiness. I am helpful. I love my job. I have power. I am honest. I love people. I have a home. I am intelligent. I love peace. I have wealth. I am at ease. I love my body. I have a wonderful heart. I am sucessful. I love laughter. I am thoughtful. I love myself. I have ability.

Exterminating Rats

Now that the warmer weather has shown it's face, the rodents and other critters have come out of hiding. And they're hungry. Ty and I found these really cool rat traps at Lowe's that you can set with one hand. I am not brave enough to set the other kind. It might have something to do with the fact that they can break your fingers. Anyway, since last weekend, we've caught 8 rats. The kids like to 'help' my coming with me to check them in the morning. One of the traps can be seen from the window in our kitchen. This is the one that we usually check first because we don't have to go outside. This morning, Tommy got up and I asked him if he wanted to check the rat trap with me. He agreed and so I opened the blinds in the kitchen. He climbed up on a chair and looked out the window. Sure enough, we caught number 9! While I was silently 'WOO HOO-ing" in my mind, Tommy says "Mommy! The rat is stuck! He's crying...He want's his mommy!" I didn't know how to respond, quite frankly. But, it was so cute that he felt bad about the rat being 'stuck'. Gosh I love my kids...

Obsessed Much?

As most of you already know, Tommy is potty trained. Except at night we put him in pullups. More often than not when he wakes up it's wet. You might also remember that Tommy is a growly gus when he wakes up. So he woke up this morning yelling from his room, as usual. Ty told Emma to go and get him. She said "He's gonna yell at me." but being the good girl that she is she did as she was told. The moment she stepped into his room he started yelling "No, Emma, go away!". With a defeated sigh, she walked away and said "See...he always yells at me.". I thanked her for trying and got him out of bed myself. We walked back into the kitchen where the smell of breakfast cooking was rapidly filling the air. That seemed to lighten his mood so I put him sitting in the chair to wait for breakfast. Being a little boy, he is obsessed with his ummm, member. I think for boys it's like a built in toy. He still had his pullup on and it was wet but not wanting to bombard him with bathroom talk I waited until he was ready. I've gotten pretty confident that he'll tell me when he needs to go rather than having an accident. He was sitting in the chair slapping the pullup and he blurts out "Look mommy! I have a big penis!" Wow... All I can say it that I'm glad that this was said in the privacy of our own home rather than in line at the store.

Playing with Scissors

So, when most kids get their hands on a pair of scissors they cut paper or, worst case scenario, hair. Well, not my kid. Tommy was sitting at the kitchen table cutting paper scraps into tiny little pieces. It looked like he was using the scissors properly so, I let him (also avoiding a potential meltdown). Jose walks in while Tiffany and I are in the kitchen making dinner. He carefully asks "Do you know Tommy has scissors?" In unison, Tiffany and I flippantly answer "Yes". Jose shrugs his shoulders and returns to the beer making activities in the garage. Not a minute later Tommy starts whining "Oh No! I beeding. Owie Mommy!" Earlier in the day he had a terrible nosebleed so I initially thought that his nose had started bleeding again. I look over and sure enough Tommy was bleeding. But not the same way he had been earlier. He had taken the scissors to his nose and sliced a perfect "U" shape into the tip of his nose. See exhibit A below. Oh the adventures we have in our home. (Please Note that this was and extremely minor incident with the potential for serious injury. We have since taken the proper precautions to prevent such things from happening again.)

In the middle of the night he starts crying and yelling. I go into his room to see what the matter is and when I ask, he just lays there and yells and cries. I plead with him to stop yelling and crying and to just tell me what's wrong. Why can't he just tell me what he needs?!? He just lays there looking at me and crying. Finally he says 'Ice water!'. I get his ice water, and he settles down. I kiss him goodnight and close the door. The moment I get back under the warm covers he starts at it again. I lay there for a minute silently hoping that he'll stop; trying desperately to telepathically communicate with him: "Tommy, shhhh, it's ok. Just settle down. Drink some water. Shhhh. You'll wake everyone up." I come to the realization that I have no telepathic abilities whatsoever because it is clearly not working. So, I get up and burst into his room and say "Tommy! Stop Yelling!" and when I reach his bed I notice that his nose has started bleeding again and it's all over his face and his pillow. I felt terrible. I cleaned him up, made him drink some ice water and turned his pillow over to the clean side (Yes, I should have changed the pillowcase but it was the middle of the night and I don't know if I have any extras anyway). So I asked him if he wanted me to hold him in my desperate attempt to clear my conscience of feeling like a bad mommy for yelling at him. He said "woking chair". So I took him into the living room and rocked him until he went to sleep. It was just what I needed. Looking down at his sweet face while he slept I thought about how these moments become less and less frequent as they grow older. I was astonished at how all of a sudden he was so big. The last time I rocked him like that he was half the size he is now. And, it wasn't very long ago that his head, that is now the size of a large melon, was once the size of a softball. I sat there rocking him for as long as I could keep my eyes open and told him that I was going to bring him back to his bed. He whispered "OK" and went right back to sleep. We both slept soundlessly for the rest of the night. I learned that what he needs is sometimes what I need too.

EXHIBIT A:

Speaking of Christmas...

Tommy always runs down the hallway...always, no matter how many times we yell at him for it. I was sitting at the computer tonight and he runs down the hallway hollering "Mommy!". Did I mention that he only has two volume levels? Hollering and sleeping. I swear that child cannot speak without yelling. Remind you of someone? Anyway. "Tommy, you don't need to yell, what is it?" I respond. "I sit wit you?" I say "Sure!". So I pick him up and sit him on my lap. He looks over at the Christmas tree and says, "Look, a noman tree." I say "That's not a Snowman tree, that's a Christmas tree. Do you know who's coming for Christmas?" While he glares at me with his big brown eyes and his sly grin he says "Noooooo..." So I tell him that Abby and Paw Paw Woody and Grammy are coming for Christmas.
Pause for back story...
Me and my brother always referred to his godfather, the late Howard Bernard, as Nonc (Pronounced NONK). It's a derivative of the french word for uncle (Oncle). He couldn't pronounce Oncle, so he called him Nonc and it stuck.
Continue...
With hope in his eyes, he looks up at me and puts his hands together as if her were praying and says "And Honk too?!?"
I couldn't help it. I almost fell out of my chair laughing. These are the moments that I will cherish forever.

Love you little brother...and so does Tommy.

Tales from the Porcelain Bowl

Potty training is not for the faint of heart or anyone with a sensitive gag reflex. Both of my children were fairly easy to potty train. Remarkably, Tommy seems to have had an easier time of it despite the old wives tale that boys are harder to train than girls. During the first week of him being out of diapers, we started with just going pee pee in the potty. On day 2, while I was dozing on the couch, Tommy runs into the living room without pants on and his hands covered in poop. With tears in his eyes he says "Mommy, I go poo poo.". I follow him back to the bathroom and find poop and toilet paper covering his step stool. My heart swelled with joy at the sight. Only a mother would understand being overjoyed at the sight of a poop covered step stool. Let me remind you that we hadn't really talked about pooping on the potty and it was only day 2. He attempted to poop on the potty all by himself, missed, AND tried to clean up the mess by himself. Poor thing; he was crying with poop all over his hands and confused cause mommy was telling him what a good boy he was. He must of thought I was crazy. Tommy: "Who is this woman? Mommy usually yells when I make a mess, now she's clapping and jumping up and down like a lunatic! God, when can I move out of this mad house?"

This reminds me of a similar story from Emma's potty training days. The memory is a little foggy but I'll do my best to recall it.

I'm scrambling around the house doing something. As I walk past the bathroom I find 2-1/2 year old Emma on her hands and knees on the rug in the bathroom. She was scrubbing the rug with a piece of toilet paper that was rapidly disintegrating and softly sobbing to herself. She was clearly trying not to attract attention. I asked her what was wrong and she said "I poo poo." She was trying to clean up the mess she made cause she missed the toilet. Poor baby girl. Of course I consoled her, threw the rug in the wash and her in the bath.

So, throw out that old adage of 'boys are harder to train than girls' out the window. Run out of diapers and you'll see how fast your kids get potty trained no matter their sex. It's really amazing what YOU and your kids are capable of without the security of a diaper.