Will there be a fairy tail ending?

Alexander is potty training.

Alexander has been potty training for approximately a year and a half now. That's how long ago the first time was that he sat on the potty ring in our old house, did his business, and we all jumped around like idiots in celebration and called people on the phone.

We were so naive then.

Things are different now. He knows what he's supposed to do, he's just not doing it. We have tried it all: stickers, food rewards (cookies, m&ms), letting him choose his own potty to use, read books and watched DVDs about the potty, putting him in underwear in an ill-fated "potty training boot camp" attempt, etc. If there is a method out there that we haven't tried, I haven't found it.

I always laugh when I'm at the store, searching for the elusive size 7 diapers and looking at the pictures on the front of the diaper packages. Size 2 - baby lying down, size 3 - sitting up, size 4 - crawling, size 5 - walking, and so on. The numbers are getting higher as the diapers grow larger. I imagine the diapers growing ever bigger and the corresponding pictures that might be featured on the front. Size 13 - the happy parent snapping a photo of two kids dressed up for the prom. Size 14 - the parent looking lovingly from the passenger's seat as their child drives the family car for the first time. Size 15 - parents applauding proudly as they watch their child receive his diploma. You get the picture. It could go on and on.

One night, I was thinking about what had happened that evening. Alexander had gone on the potty and of course we were very pleased. But how to encourage him and continue the trend? Then suddenly, I had a revelation. The tooth fairy rewards us with a little gift during the night to celebrate a lost tooth. I'd heard tales of other parents, in a desperate attempt to rid their household of pacifiers that hung around too long, telling their child that the "pacifier fairy" was coming to take away all of the pacifiers and take them to other babies who needed them. What did they leave behind? A gift, of course.

Hmmm.

There seemed to be a fairy for every occasion. So why not, then, a Potty Fairy? Did someone already have this idea and not told me about it? This could be it. Go on the potty and a mystical fairy comes overnight and leaves a gift. It had to work!!

Inspired, I ran out to CVS just before they closed the doors and searched for a small prize that would reward Alexander for his, er, efforts that day. I snatched up a pinwheel with an American flag pattern on it along with a couple of other little trinkets for future occasions. Upon returning home, I laid the pinwheel on his play table and sprinkled glitter around for, you know, a fairy-like touch.

After he and I came downstairs the next morning, he started playing with some toys and I very casually said, "Hey, what's that?" His eyes widened as he spotted the pinwheel and the glitter sprinkled all around. "Look! Sparkles!" he said in amazement.

"Oh... you know what that must be?" I said in excitement. "The potty fairy! She comes at night and brings special things for boys and girls who go on the potty! You did such a great job on the potty last night and she was watching." He listened to this story, transfixed, as he happily spun his new pinwheel.

The next day, I stocked up on more Potty Fairy toys. I wanted to be prepared! The dollar store and Target's dollar spot became my friends. (Ok, so they already were.) In fact, one day Alexander and I were browsing around the dollar spot and he spotted some beads that were mysteriously like the ones left for him by the Potty Fairy, only in a different color. He pointed this out to me right away. "Hmm, I guess the Potty Fairy shops at Target," I mused. He agreed.

We talked up the Potty Fairy. Sometimes she left white glitter, sometimes blue. She is always watching, we cautioned Alexander. Soon the concept just became a part of everyday life for him. One day, at a nearby playground, I was getting some things out of the car, holding Colette, while Alexander took off running toward a little boy and his mom at the swings. As I approached, I saw the woman looking at him with a perplexed look on her face. "What's the Potty Fairy?" she asked him. "Do you mean the Tooth Fairy?"

Obviously the Potty Fairy has a long way to go when it comes to being a household name. Almost as long as it will take Alexander to become potty trained, apparently. I continue buying little musical instruments, nightlights and assorted other trinkets as I wonder to myself, will THIS be the toy that causes him to make the leap into underwear? I'm at the dollar store now, but I'm sure the toy selection will run thin. What then? Soon we move up to Wal-Mart and Shop-Rite until eventually I'm buying him Ipods and Wii systems. At least with the Tooth Fairy you have a finite amount of baby teeth.

By then I'll be broke and unable to afford diapers anymore (or anything else for that matter). Maybe that's what'll finally do it. Because something has to... right?

Maybe if I go to bed now, a magical fairy will come during the night and bring me the answer.

Snips & snails and puppy dog tails... and just about anything gross, really.

It has been 3 years and 9 months since I gave birth to my son, and I think I'm just now realizing that I'm not quite ready to be the mother to a boy.

Boys are weird. They're gross. They start out cute, all swaddled up in fluffy light blue blankets with puppies on them. They wear adorable onesies that say "Daddy's Little Helper" on them and have little pants that feature embroidered snails and bugs with smiley faces.

You know what? In real life, bugs don't have smiley faces. They're just disgusting.

Now that he has passed 3 and a half years old and is rapidly approaching 4, Alexander has apparently decided that it's time for him to embrace the bug world in all of its glory. Worms are cute, crickets are his pets and spiders are friendly. He has actually said all of these things. He does like butterflies, too, and tries catching them in his hand. That's nice, because butterflies are often pretty, but let's face it, they're still bugs and I don't want one landing on me. I'm just fine admiring them from afar. Same thing with lightning bugs. They light up, that's cool, but when it comes right down to it, they're beetles. Yuck.

Today we were out in the front yard and Alexander spotted an earthworm in the grass. He wanted to pick it up and "take it for a walk" in his wagon. I told him that, nah, the worm was really much happier in the grass. They burrow into the dirt, that's where they like to be, so probably should just leave him alone. I continued my weeding and figured that was it.

Obviously not.

So he comes walking past me dragging the wagon behind him, and I let out a very startled "AAA!" as I notice this GIANT earthworm squirming around in the wagon. It had to be about a foot long. So Alexander looked back and said, "What?" As if to say, "Is there something wrong with my worm?!" I said "Oh nothing, just... there he is! Wow!" I had to cover my disgust.

So after that, the poor worm was subjected from one activity to another. Different toys, locations, back into the wagon again. I was just inside the front door when I glanced out and saw Alexander standing behind the car in the driveway. Then I heard the back door slam.

"Alexander, what are you doing?"
"I'm doing nothing."
"Where is the worm?"
"He's sleeping."
"WHERE is he sleeping? Is he in the car?"
"Um... I'm not sure."

So at this point I come outside, and Alexander comes running over to me, all upset, "No! Don't go look! Noooo!"

So I tell him, "Alexander, the worm can't stay in the car. He won't like it in there. He likes being in the grass."
"But he's sleeping. His eyes are closed."

I bet they are, I think to myself. So we go over to the car and open the door, and sure enough, the worm appears to have entered the Big Sleep. He never stood a chance.

I finally convince him to take it out of the car and put it... elsewhere. Anywhere else but in the back of my SUV.

I know that this bug obsession isn't going to get any better over the next several years, so I'm going to have to resign myself to the fact that bugs and other assorted small creatures will be around, and often IN, my home thanks to my little boy. Maybe there's a bug support group I can join. Or better yet, a moms of boys support group. I think I'm going to need it.

Time In a Bottle... Anyone Got Any?

I remember the weekend.

The weekend is that 2-day span at the end of the work week that you have off, right? Yeah, I remember those. You’d slavishly chug away at your job all week long, ever looking toward the weekend, which shone like a beacon in the distance. Like the bright sun after a long, hard night. It’s ok, the weekend will be here soon. Time for happy hour, to go shopping, get together with friends, to sleep late.

Then I had kids.

Don’t get me wrong. I still look forward to the weekends… because then I get HELP. Help with the kids. A warm body to stay at home, doing work around the house, while I get to slip out for an hour or two to shop in peace without someone crying, pulling on me or asking for another toy.

But… they’re just not the same. The sun of the weekend doesn’t shine nearly as brightly as it used to. I used to think that I worked hard at my job and deserved the weekend off. What I didn’t know was that my hardest job still was yet to come… the day-to-day up to my elbows in diapers from two children, dirty dishes, toys, and laundry. Where the days run into one another… and the weekends are only mildly different from the week DAYS. No days off anymore! Blah, blah, blah… you’ve heard it all before.

I think about that commercial for… moisturizer, I think? Where the woman says, “I’ve found time in a bottle.” Time in a bottle. She’s only talking about her skin, of course. But what would I do with time in a bottle? I wouldn’t worry about my skin, that’s for sure. One of my fantasies is being able to freeze time. How AMAZING would that be! Exhausted at 4 am when the baby wakes up and she doesn’t want to go back to sleep? Freeze time! Take a nice long refreshing nap and then get back to the task at hand. The things I could do while time froze around me… go to the movies, play around on the computer, maybe even do some crafts that have long been abandoned by the wayside for “someday, when I have time.” Hell, I’d even CLEAN. Oh yeah, and maybe exercise too. Maybe. I guess then I couldn’t use “I don’t have the time” as an excuse.

But time in a bottle continues to elude me, unfortunately. Maybe I could take a look on eBay and see if someone out there is pawning it. And while I could sit here and continue to lament the premature passing of The Weekend… I suppose that would just be a waste of time. And God knows I can’t afford that.

Waste? I want not.

Our current bathroom renovation project of our downstairs powder room has prompted us to look for a new toilet. So Zach and I, being the thorough people that we are, decided to look at Consumer Reports to aid us in choosing a new toilet. More than just white or almond, there are so many potty-bilities nowadays when it comes to choosing a new toilet. Loud flush, medium, or quiet? How many gallons of water? Elongated bowl or round? It almost boggles the mind.

Add in to this already difficult decision the toilet’s overall appearance. You’ve got your basic white porcelain bowl if you’re more of the conservative or classic personality. Well, they also have these fancy toilets - like the tank has detailing and stuff, kind of like crown molding. For those who hold their bodily secretions to a higher standard. Well, they have these silly names for the aforementioned fancy toilets. One was "Portrait." For a TOILET. Because this toilet is pretty as a picture. Or, perhaps because the toilet is just a beautiful frame, showcasing what is inside. But my personal favorite was "Memoirs." Seriously - who thinks up these names? I imagine they just sit there around a conference table at the ad agency giggling, wondering if anyone is going to make the connection between a toilet and MEMOIRS. I don't know about you, but when I flush the toilet, I don't want any "memoirs" of my experience left behind. I consider myself to be a sentimental person, but even I think you have to draw the line somewhere – a line that is comprised, apparently, of toilet paper.

The Weary Weekend Warrior

My husband used to play sports.

He used to love an intense game of racquetball. He was outdoorsy, too. He loved to go hiking, rock-climbing and camping. We have an impressive collection of hiking and rock-climbing gear in our basement, in fact. He was the adventurous type.

Today, he’s just as adventurous. His weekend activities are just as intense as they ever were. Of course, his backdrop is decidedly different and his destination has done a 180: now, his weekend travels take him no farther than our own backyard. Forget rock-climbing in the Appalachians and hiking in the Catskills: today Zach’s wild, uncharted territory lies within the crumbling, crooked walls of our new (old) house. He has become The Weekend Warrior.

I can’t tell you how many people have said to me over the past year, with a knowing smirk and friendly chuckle to accompany it, “Welcome to home ownership. There are ALWAYS projects to do around the house.” If I had a dollar for every time I heard that we might actually have enough money to renovate our kitchen. (Ok, maybe not. Maybe a thousand dollars every time I heard it. Kitchens are expensive!!)

And, of course, I understand that’s true. However, I must make one addendum to that statement: never is this more true than in the first year of owning a home. And not just THAT, but in a home that is 50 years old, hasn’t been updated in 30, and that sat vacant for 6 months prior to our move-in date.

And without much family in the area, and those who are being annoyingly busy with jobs and lives of their own, Zach has quietly assumed the role of Tim the Tool Man around the house. Armed with more tools than I’m convinced anyone ever really needs, several home how-to books and endless trips to Home Depot, he has become our resident expert and workhorse in all matters of home improvement. Although where you might hear Tim’s happy grunts as he embarks on a new project, you can probably substitute some not-so-happy “(*@##%#@” on Zach’s part.

When Zach goes to Home Depot, I know to keep the phone close by as I can typically expect no less than two calls per trip. “They don’t have this. Do you want me to just pick something else out instead?” To which my reply is typically “Yes,” because any parent knows that trying to go to a home improvement store with two kids in tow to choose… well, anything, is virtually impossible. Easier to just buy it now and return it later.

So now, where weekends used to be playing with the kids, doing an occasional fix-it around the house or perhaps making a shopping trip together, they are different now. It is just assumed that Zach’s weekend will be spent tackling a laundry list of projects… some new, some ongoing. He has learned a lot in this process. He’s learned a lot about woodworking, installing light fixtures and ceiling fans, putting in new closet and interior doors, installing door knobs, even putting up new walls and chopping down trees. He has learned, unfortunately a little too late after pulling out the old toilet, where the main water shutoff is. At the end of each weekend day he is usually covered in some kind of dust, plaster, wood chips, or an assortment of other substances. He eats on the go, showers at night, and tries to keep his patience as an over-eager 3-year old is constantly trying to “help.” He is a self-taught perfectionist.

One of these days, I hope, the projects will slow down enough so that maybe, just maybe, he can spend one afternoon relaxing on the front porch watching Alexander play outside, sipping a glass of iced tea and admiring his handiwork.

But then he’ll probably spot those weeds that need to be pulled up.