Potty talk

Oh, my...I'm supposed to be going to pick Luke up, and, instead, I have to fix my eye makeup -- I laughed myself into tears. I had mentioned to Anthony that maybe he could help teach Ava to use the potty. This is the conversation I just overheard:

Anthony: "Ava! When you have to go potty, you just hurry to the potty and sit down, hold your peepee down, and go. It's easy!"
Ava: "My not have a peepee."
Anthony: "Oh. (momentary pause while he contemplates life without a peepee) Well, then, you just sit there and hold your nothing down."

Goofy kids.

The littlest Obama fan

My daughter is obsessed with Barack Obama. Not the man himself, as I don't think she'd recognize him if he presented her with a dozen Dora balloons. Skittles, maybe (much coveted, because they're only for using the potty), but that's about it. No, no -- she's fascinated with the words themselves. We were watching the DNC convention last night while trying to get her to sleep, and she kept popping up every time someone mentioned his name: "Mommy! He say Barack Obama!" I thought she might forget about it overnight, but not so. Talk radio is on a lot in our house, so that name is said a lot, and never without much commentary and rejoicing on Ava's part. I'll just add this to the litany of things that make Ava so happy she has to tell the world:

"Mommy, my saw a birdy!"
"Mommy, my saw Holly cat!"
"Mommy, my hear a fire truck!"
"Mommy, my see a garby!"
"Mommy, Anthony say poop!"

And now...
"Mommy, he say Barack Obama!"

Guess I should have thought of that one...

We're working hard on proper church behavior. I know it's tough for little kids to sit still, but come on -- we go to 7:30 Mass, and it only lasts about 45 minutes. Being relatively still and quiet isn't too much to ask for that short a time, is it? Epecially when they're barely awake.

Apparently so. The kids were already fighting on the way to church this morning -- and it's a really short drive, so they had to get at it as soon as we pulled out of the driveway. You know those big LCD signs they have on some interstates to warn you of bad road conditions ahead? Well, this was one of those, and it was flashing, "Danger, Danger! Humiliation and embarrassment ahead!". It was bad enough when we had anonymity. Or at least I thought we did, but then people at school started mentioning how they recognized us from church. Gulp.

So...I did it. I threw down a major gauntlet. I told them that I would not allow them to embarrass us in church and that, if they acted up, we'd leave -- and they would lose all privileges for the rest of the day.

It seemed to work. That took care of squirming, whining, begging to go home, wrestling on the pews, etc. The one thing I forgot to say? "Don't lick your brother's tongue in church!" And that about says it all.

I feel for the families of superheroes...

...because it sure can be confusing never knowing who's going to be living in your house from day to day.

All children love to pretend. But when you put three so close in age in the same house, it's hard to keep up with. Especially when their alter egos change in midstream. And especially when they expect you to keep up with each alter ego's likes, dislikes, fears and abilities.

Dora and Diego are the most frequent guests. Ava is Diego, and Anthony is Dora (hey, at least they're consistent). But then Brand New Baby becomes Baby Jaguar, and Puppy becomes Boots. Yesterday they sent me on a quest for milk, and I had to ask for clarification. I didn't know if Anthony/Dora and Ava/Diego wanted real milk or the animals wanted the bottles with the fake milk and juice in them. Both, as it turns out.

When Ava is Diego, she speaks of herself in the third person. But she can apparently change identities (and pronouns) mid-sentence. "Mommy, watch Diego! See, my learned this in school." And there are times when I'm quite certain I've been speaking to Diego all morning only to have her look at me like I've lost my mind and say, "My not Diego. My Ava!"

And then there are the times I come running at shrieks of "Mommy!" only to be looked at like an intruder and told, "You're not the mommy. Luke's the mommy." Great. Luke -- you take over changing diapers, wiping bottoms, and washing milk cups (give me a dirty diaper over a dirty milk cup any day). I'm going to Starbucks.

It's the little things...

Who knew I'd be so excited about Anthony making it through his first diaper-free day of school without an accident? I didn't realize how much I had worried about this all summer until I saw him there in the carpool line wearing the same clothes he had on this morning. The poor kid has had a tough time with the potty. He's terrified of that flushing sound. I have a few choice words for the person who invented those darn automatic things that have traumatized my child and eroded his trust in me ("I promise I won't flush it until you walk away..."). He was so proud of himself: "I went two times! And one time I got it all in there and not on the flo'!". Like I said, it's the little things.

Ava had a great first day, too, but she's pooped and not as talkative as Anthony...but then, few people are.

I knew it was a small school, but...

This cracks me up! It started at registration, when people I'm quite certain I've never met not only knew my name but the street we live on. Today, the very nice gentleman (whose name I know only because I read his ID tag) who held up the carpool line for me yesterday greeted me by name and said, "Luke's teacher told me that he told the class it's going to rain all day today." My poor kids....they're not going to be able to get away with anything!

Ah...routine

While Luke takes after his daddy in his mechanical ability, he takes after me in one respect -- we're both far more comfortable with the routine of the school year than with summertime loosey goosey-ness. For me, getting back in the school routine is like .... you know, I don't have a good analogy to use anymore. Once upon a time I would have said kicking off my high heels and putting on my favorite slippers, but I can't even remember the last time I've worn heels. Or I could compare it to putting on a pair of jeans that's so old and worn they've long since conformed to your shape -- but shape is no longer a constant in my life; it's a variable. So let's just say I love routine. My days have a shape and a purpose again, and that's a good thing.

Of course, it changes tomorrow. That'll be the little kids' first day of school, and it will be my first free day since Anthony was born (since by the time he was old enough for MDO, Ava was here). I wonder how long it will take me to stop running to the living room every couple of minutes to see why they're being so dangerously quiet?