My Minivan Meltdown

Posted by on October 2, 2010 24 Comments

My husband was out of town for business this last week, as is the case sort of frequently. I usually hold my own alright. I used to actually enjoy that time because of all the “me” time I got after Kendall went to bed. I would take advantage of those weeks, plug myself in front of my computer or sewing machine and get writing or crafts done before going to bed around midnight. Not these days. As this pregnancy has progressed (and Kendall ventures further into the Terrorist Twos) the weeks of single-momming-it have become more and more of a challenge.

I’ll admit, this last week I was irrationally annoyed with my husband for even having to leave. Sure, it’s his job. Sure, we need his job to pay bills. Sure, there’s no way around it. Didn’t matter. I still wanted to kick him in the teeth when he called to complain to me that he had to “go to another social” that night, and he was “probably going to *have* to drink some beer,” which meant he’d be “really tired the next day.” This came after I finally wrestled Kendall into his pajamas and got him to go to sleep. It came after a day of non-stop tantrums, turning to jelly in parking lots, whining, dishes and more dirty dishes, too many episodes of The Fresh Beat Band, two epic diaper change battles, sciatic pain, exhaustion, a botched nap. It came at the end of a day when I would have LOVED to be forced to go somewhere and drink beer and make small talk with other adults. He got no sympathy from me.

It was a very trying week.

My mood wasn’t that fantastic when we picked him up at that airport, and I’ll give him some credit for trying. He knew I was at the end of my rope, he knew I was exhausted. He promised to take over, to let me sleep in this weekend, to work on all the projects that are stacking up. He meant well. Things were starting to look up… until he casually mentioned how “nice” his rental car, a Chrysler Town & Country Minivan, was.

“I know you’re anti-minvan, but you should really test drive one, Jill. They are really roomy. We could fit so much in there! There would be a lot of room for the kids. I mean, I know it’s not “cool,” I did kind of feel weird driving it, it’s not sexy, but it’s convenient.”

I laughed him off.

“No, I’m serious. I really think you should give it some thought. Don’t diss it before you drive it.”

Was he seriously serious???

1. We don’t need a new car right now. My Jeep Grand Cherokee holds 2 carseats just fine, and we just paid that thing off. I am NOT replacing it. Plus, I love it.

2. So *he* felt weird driving it, but it won’t matter because it will be MY car, right? Because nothing in this scenario requires him to give up his flashy car and drive a minivan on a daily basis.

Bull. Shit.

“No. Absolutely not. We don’t need one, I don’t need to test drive one. I don’t even know why you are bringing this up. It’s crap. I love my car, why should I have to give it up? You get no say in this. It’s not like you would actually drive it anyway.”

“I would too drive it.”

“To work? No, because that would defeat the purpose. I would be stuck driving it 99.9% of the time because I am the one with the kids 99.9% of the time, therefore making it MY car, and MY choice. No.”

I’m going to stop here and make something clear. I am NOT trying to take a jab at or make fun of those of you who drive minivans. I get that a lot of people LOVE them. I get that they have a lot of perks. I will concede that MAYBE at some point in the future I just MIGHT have to consider one, which I type with a heavy sigh. I get that.

This argument began to be about so much more than a minivan.

Then he said, “I don’t get why you are so opposed to the idea. It’s so practical.”

He had no idea the beast in me he just unleashed, the beast I’d been trying to tame all week long, the beast who wanted to go all Praying Mantis on his ass and rip his head off.

“PRACTICAL??? Practical?! Can NOTHING about my life NOT be practical? I don’t get haircuts more than a few times a year in an effort to be practical. I color my grey hairs at home with a $7 box of dye to be practical. I don’t wear cute clothes from Ann Taylor Loft anymore because they aren’t practical. I cut coupons, look for great sales on kid’s clothes, stalk consignment sales for the baby’s stuff, wash cloth diapers and cloth washcloths and make our own kitchen cleaner because I am practical like that. I make sacrifices in favor of the practical every day for this family. You will NOT make me give up my car because it is not PRACTICAL!”

Then I started rambling on about “the nerve” and “must be NICE to go on business trips and drink and have dinner with adults and sleep without dogs in your bed and not have to DO DISHES FOR A WEEK.” And then I cried… because I’m pregnant and hormonal.

Poor guy. He was so confused.

With just the simple, and seemingly innocent mention of test driving a minivan, he sparked a firestorm in me that was smoldering all week, one that called into question my identity and autonomy, one that really didn’t have much to do with him at all. He just stared straight ahead, baffled, and drove us home, clearly taken aback by my acute reaction.

I got over it. I apologized for my hormonal outburst, for taking out my frustrations on him for something he has no control over (being gone for work), but I stood my ground on the minivan. No way, no how…. at least for now.

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Filed Under: Round 2, Terrific Terrorist Twos |Tagged With: , |24 Comments

So Maybe I’m the One Who Needs To Be Trained?

Posted by on June 28, 2010 20 Comments

The last couple weeks have gone pretty well around here on the potty training front. The kid hasn’t had an accident in well over a week, if not 2. He’s in his big boy undies when he’s not napping or sleeping as long as we’re around the house. Out in public? Different story. We diaper that shiz up when we leave the house.

But yesterday I started thinking that if we really, truly want to get him trained, we just need to bite the bullet and go diaper free all day (except naps and nighttime). I spoke to a friend on Facebook who’s my potty training inspiration and already has her 2 year old boy fully potty trained and decided to go for it. Today was THE DAY! We’re going to leave the house in big boy underpants, complete with a bag stocked full of antibacterial wipes (for public restroom stops), extra undies and shorts, and many lollipops to bribe and reward.

Our tasks today were simple. It’s Scott’s birthday and every year I buy him a Dairy Queen ice cream cake. We were simply going to swing by Target to get a couple birthday cards for him and a new package of underwear for Kendall (if we’re going to really do this, we’re going to need a lot more than 6 pairs of underwear, I’m thinking). Then we’d stop by DQ and pick up the cake. I knew Target had a decent bathroom and, well, I packed lots of antibacterial wipes to help deal with the DQ one if need be.

I got him all fired up, talking in my best cheerleader voice about “BIG BOYS!” and “NO DIAPERS!” and “Please, please tell mommy if you need to use the potty.” Then I had to take a minute to locate the DQ and make sure they would have a cake when we got there. Kendall does this thing anytime I’m trying to accomplish something on the computer or the phone. It’s called whining. You may be familiar. It’s so grating. He pulls on my knees and pushes me around. He begs for snacks and toys and Diego and ANYTHING to get my attention. Kendall also does this thing where he shouts that he has to go “poopy potty!” anytime I’m not paying sufficient attention to him, not necessarily when he actually has to use the potty.

So I’m on the phone with the DQ employee who clearly despises her job and is terribly put off by my request to please check the cooler for an ice cream cake before I risk a treacherous drive with an undiapered toddler in my newly clean car to get one. Kendall’s pulling on my legs, WHINING, spouting off things like “snack bar, mommy!” and “Go go, momma!” and “Pee pee potty, mommy!” I’m at my wits end with the DQ lady, losing my mind from the whining and I snap. I hang up, turn around and shout, “STOP whining at me!”

“AHHHHHHHHHH!” he screams, then the sound of water dripping on to the floor follows. I look down to see the front of his shorts soaked. He’s standing in a puddle of pee, and I dissolve into a puddle of guilty tears.

Here I was begging him to please tell me when he has to go potty one minute and then 5 minutes later, when he actually does, I lose my cool and yell at him. Yeah, not one of my finer parenting moments, for sure.

We both cried for a minute, him out of confusion, me because I felt like the world’s worst mother. I cleaned him up, we got in the car, ran our errands (where I disappointed Kendall by refusing to buy the “gabba gabba” underpants because the only thing more creepy than Yo Gabba Gabba is Yo Gabba Gabba on your toddler’s butt), made a potty stop at DQ for good measure, and made it back home in one dry piece.

On my way home I got a call from my cousin who had a baby 3 weeks ago. I haven’t been able to catch up with her at all and was so thrilled to hear from her. I chatted on the phone the whole time we walked into the house and while I prepared Kendall’s lunch. When he was done eating we were still talking, but I made a mental note to get off soon and take him to the potty. Well, then we started talking about something else and I totally forgot. Minutes later Kendall’s standing in front of me in the play room pulling on my hand and then starts to pee and cry.

Seriously? Really? Did I really just let that happen again? I am single handedly f-ing up any chance we have of getting this kid potty trained because I’M the one who’s incapable of dealing with it right now. He’s down for a nap, and I’m hoping the second half of this day proves to be more successful on the parenting front. I’m not worried about the potty training thing, he’s obviously got that down. It’s his parent who’s causing all the “accidents.”

Kendall is 2 years old, and we got Mickey Mouse underpants over the “gabba gabba” ones.

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Filed Under: Terrific Terrorist Twos |Tagged With: , , |20 Comments

I’m melting in pee

Posted by on March 10, 2010 56 Comments

Let me paint you a picture of my life right now. I’ll hit you up with all five senses.

You can’t see the bottom of our closet through the massive mound of dirty clothes (and honestly, some of them aren’t dirty, but they’ve gone so long without getting put away that we just tossed them back in the pile), Kendall’s laundry is piled in the hall next to the laundry room, waiting for it’s turn after the pee-soaked towels are done in the wash. There are dishes stacked in the sink, my kitchen floor has visible foot prints. I am suddenly disgusted by the amount of dog drool stuck to the walls and the baseboards should be burned.

It sounds like screaming, and whining, and Diego, and a washing machine running, and a white noise machine on the in the background that I always forget to turn off after I get my terrorist toddler out of bed in the morning. It sounds like “Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, UH OH!” and like “It’s NOT an uh oh if you do it on PURPOSE”. It sounds like a giant dog pissing on my carpet AGAIN.

It feels like a grimy table that’s next to impossible to get all the stuck on granola cereal cleaned off of.  It feels like sticky tile floors. It feels like stepping in a wet puddle of pee and wondering if it’s from the boy or the dog.

It tastes like coffee, a lot of it… and then later it tastes like wine. It tastes like omelets for lunch AGAIN because I know he’ll eat eggs. It tastes like chips, secretly consumed when the kid’s not looking.

It smells like pee. It’s inescapable. It also smells like I need to vacuum AGAIN. It smells like vinegar and water cleaning solution. It smells like baking soda where I’ve tried to soak up the pee. It still smells mostly like pee.

Today I’m not holding it all together very well. Today I’m frustrated and annoyed and overcome with guilt. Today I want nothing more than a break from my son. I want the whining and the screaming and the tantrums and the turning to jelly so that I can’t possibly gracefully pick him up from the floor of the bounce house and take him home to stop. I want it to be someone else’s problem for just a little bit. I want to come home to a house that is clean and will FUCKING STAY THAT WAY. Counter to what you may think of my housekeeping skills based on the description above, I do actually clean. A. LOT.  I want my dog, my nearly 7 year old dog who has had diabetes since he was 5 months old, requiring 2 shots of insulin a day, to get his damn blood sugar under control and to stop PEEING IN MY HOUSE. I want to leave this place and go on a vacation.

Today I’m guilty. I’m drowning in guilt. It’s washing over me and beating me against a rock wall. I don’t know what’s wrong with my nearly 2 year old kid. It could be that he’s nearly 2, or it could be that he’s not feeling well. I thought about making an appointment at the pediatrician, but I really have nothing to base it off of (no fever, no runny nose, no cough, no rash) other than him seeming completely and utterly bipolar for the last week. I want to have more patience with him. I envision myself being more loving, more kind, less frustrated. I hate that I get frustrated. I HATE THAT I WANT A BREAK.

I feel guilty for not caring more about my sweet, loving English Mastiff Bruno. I mean, I do care, but it’s hard to remind myself that he can’t help peeing all over the place when his blood sugar is at 400 for the 3rd day in a row. We left the dogs over the weekend with a dog sitter checking in on them twice a day. With his blood sugar being so high, he couldn’t make it the 12 hours between visits to potty outside. We came home to a house that smells like a kennel. The dog sitter did a great job cleaning it up, but this place isn’t going to be the same until we clean the carpets.  I hate that I’m so irritated by this.

It took nearly an hour and a half to finally get out of the house this morning and head to the gym. You know, the gym that watches my kid for 2 hours? Yeah, Kendall doesn’t like the child care center. He’s been three times now and each time he sits by the door cries or whimpers the entire time we’re working out. (It doesn’t help that the last time I came to pick him up I found him playing with a file drawer and grabbing a stapler. The staff, at least the times we’ve been so far, seem apathetic and it’s starting to piss me off.) He started screaming the minute we pulled into the packed parking lot, just moments after I realized I forgot my headphones. Enough. It was enough to just say eff it. I got a coffee at a nearby drive through and headed to the bounce house. It was, of course, storming and pouring the whole time. Once there, 5 minutes of happy followed by incessant request for “nacks”, followed by inevitable meltdown.

Finally home, I fed the kid, what else, some form of eggs with cheese and veggies. While getting him ready for his nap, I made the strangest, most mind boggling discovery. I took his shoe off and noticed his sock was wet. The other one was, too, but just a tiny bit. Hmm… I thought it was probably the rain, although I figured it was weird that he didn’t seem to get wet anywhere else while we were out. I smelled the sock (like a reflex, I now smell all fluids since becoming a parent). It was soaked in PISS. The diaper? Dry. The shorts? Dry. The right shoe? Most definitely smelled like piss, too.

My dog peed on my kid.

::hands thrown in the air::

I’m done. I need a vacation. I need to go somewhere far, far away from diapers and dog piss. I want to go somewhere where the only fluid I’m smelling is wine.

Yesterday I planned to blog all about my many ideas for a vacation and ask for your opinions. Unfortunately, I just spent all my blogging time breaking down over pee.

I’ll try to get it together for the vacation post tomorrow.

Kendall is 22 months old, and I love him, I really, really, really do. More than anything. And I’m so grateful that he’s healthy and that he’s so amazing.  And I hate that I want I break, that I even think about wanting a break. I hate it.

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Filed Under: Headed to Toddlerhood |Tagged With: , , , , |56 Comments