On running. And, um, muscle strength.

At March 16, 2010
By Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom
In Being A Woman, Body/Health, Self, Weight Loss/Getting In Shape
34

Did you know that RUNNING! is awesome? It is. RUNNING! is fun and exhilarating and it tones your body and makes you feel alive. RUNNING! makes you float on a layer of endorphins called Awesomeness Coated in Hell Yes every time you do it. You do a lot of RUNNING! when you’re training for a 5K.

So, what happens when you’ve started training for a 5K and then it gets ass-shattering cold outside, so you start going to the gym with an indoor track to continue your training?

Well, apparently, if you’re using my body, you get a sweet-ass case of shin splints in your left leg, but you keep running on it because you’re a bonafide dumbass. Then, when it starts hurting like the hurtiest hurty thing in Hurtville, you do some research and find out that shin splints are not uncommon in new runners, especially when using an indoor track that has stupid, shitty, short turns (yes, like the one you started using when it got cold because you’re a whiny pansy-ass). SO, YAY – CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE SHIN SPLINTS!

You employ R.I.C.E therapy like a good, little idiot person who should have done that right away instead of running on the injury, but has now seen the light. You rest, ice, compress, elevate. In fact, to also ‘medicate’ the severe disappointment caused by having to stop RUNNING! you take it to a whole notha level, and you throw down some R.A.I.A.C.A.E.A therapy. (All together now, A is for “apple” and “airplane” and “ALCOHOL”)

After a couple of weeks, EUREKA! your leg is healed. To make sure you don’t get too damn happy for too long, you run on it for a week, but then do some stupid exercises one day at home without shoes on after you’ve already run that day, and don’t stretch/cool down when you’re done because your child wakes up from a nap and he’s screaming like a banshee with a porcupine that’s been set on fire shoved up its anus, so you just bolt up the stairs like your life depends on it mid-stupid exercises. (Let’s be totally clear here, it was obviously the kid’s fault. Jerk.)

Later, you realize that you were mistaken before. The shin splint was definitely not the hurtiest hurty thing in Hurtville. It was clearly only a slighty painy pain that lived somewhere outside of Painstoria. THIS CALF STRAIN IN YOUR RIGHT LEG IS THE REAL HURTIEST HURTY THING IN HURTVILLE.

And it’s on vacation ALL UP IN YO BIZNASS.

So you limp around like you’ve been Kerriganed for over a week. (Again employing a massive dose of R.A.I.A.C.A.E.A therapy, because this is what professionals like you do. You? Are a master at physical therapy. And stuff that requires you to drink alcohol.)

Finally, oh finally, you are healed.

And so excited to start RUNNING! again.

So then you go RUNNING! again because RUNNING! was making you feel so good and so happy and heralding all kinds of gold glitter and rainbows from your rectumular area oh so many weeks ago when you were doing it regularly.

And you know what? RUNNING! is still awesome.

But you are not. Because YOU LOST YO GROOVE while you were all up in some R.A.I.A.C.A.E.A Therapy at the Bar in Hurtville/Painstoria for weeks on end.

I’ve got some news for you. Now you have to work back up to the same level of endurance you had before, and oh hell yes, you will. Don’t you doubt that, because you’ve been there before, and you plan on kicking super ass and getting there again in short time. In fact, the bursting feeling in your chest can just GO HOME TO ITS MOMMA, because you are completing every damn interval of every damn train, pushing through the sucktastical feeling of weakness, and you will NOT give up.

You? WILL BE TRIUMPHANT ONCE MORE. Hell, you’re already well on your way as we speak!

However, during your return to triumph, while you’re doing your warmup mile one day, you do think that it would be awesome to do two sets of 50 jumping jacks at 1/4m and 3/4m, and you know what?

You could have been using all that time you spent sitting on your ass with your compressed, iced legs elevated while you sucked down booze and healed doing something you could have really benefited from.

SOME DAMN KEGELS.

Stupid jumping jacks.

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Awaiting that PLOP of fabulosity.

allies

Elmo, Big Bird, & Cookie Monster are my latest allies in The Great Potty Training Challenge.

Braden is so good at peeing on the toilet when he’s naked. I mean, seriously, I never thought I’d be writing these words about anyone, but:

I am SO proud of the way he hops on that pot and pees!

I’ve watched him progress from a potty in the living room to the toilet that’s off the kitchen near the garage. He’ll stop playing (!!!) hold it while he runs all the way there, move a stool over, put the potty ring on the toilet, climb up, hop on & slide back, and then let the stream go.

It is the best hissing sound I’ve ever heard (so far).

We’re working very carefully right now at getting him to be just as good at it when he’s wearing pants.

Some days are good. Other days? We’re swimmin’ in Peed Up Pants, Yo.

And, just in case you were wondering?

Good Things To Swim In:

Water
Beer
Wine
The Ocean
Money (A La Scrooge McDuck)

I was going to say Jello, but enough to swim in would be enough to drown in. Yeah.

Note To Self: Save the Jello for the super awesome, fun Naked Wrestling with girlfriends at our slumber parties.

Bad Things To Swim In:

Vomit
Unpaid Bills (Speaking from experience here)
Booger Pies
Warm Spit
Peed Up Pants, Yo

We are making strides, but it is bumpy and sometimes ugly. It is as if having anything on his butt is a signal to him that it’s okay to let’er rip.

We have been calmly and lovingly letting him know that we have other expectations, and encouraging small steps towards the final, desired behavior at all times.

Simultaneously, we’ve been talking to him about how FREAKING AWESOME WONDERFUL GREAT AND FABULO-TASTICAL it is to “put your Poo-Poo in the toilet!!!!!!!!1″.

And can I just say, that on the day that he pulls down those pants and drops a log into the porcelain throne, it will be the most FABULOUS PLOP I have ever heard.

I think I might cry a tear when it happens.

Or do some Naked Jello Wrestling.

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When toddlers pee in anger.

A poem for my living room carpet:

They said you were dirty
but what did they know
I’ve cared for you plenty
and boy does it show

You’re not even black yet
just a dingy grey
I swore that I’d steam you
one of these days

Then a cranky toddler
had fits he did throw
got time out, and got back
at Mom with Pee Shows.

Oh carpet, it soaked in
and I waited too long
I steamed you last night
now you smell like burnt schlong (??? sorry, it rhymed)

Another Mom Lesson
with answers you seek:
don’t let it soak in! when
you do clean, it REEKS.

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One step closer to being free of Doodie Duty.

At March 6, 2009
By Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom
In Haiku, My Son, Parenting, Poetry, Poop/Farts
20

The potty has moved
slowly across the first floor
towards the bathroom

for a short time now,
and yesterday something cool
happened in that room.

A certain little
boy ran in, looked around and
chose the higher stool.

He WANTS to pee on
the toilet now and can do
it all by himself!

Now if we can just
address this annoying thing
called “shitting in pants.”

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Welcome back, Pee-Dog!

If you’ve been reading here for awhile, you know that we have a small rat fur-pest dog – a lil’ Chihuahua whose name is Zack, but who we lovingly refer to as “The Mexican.”

Like Braden, he survives in our household because he is very, very cute.

But his cuteness could not surpass the high level of vomiticousness that was his constant need to piss on everything we own. Over and over again we tried to be patient and train him, to no avail. When we moved again, we decided to try living Pee Free.

And the dog went outside.

Collective “Awwwww, poor little thing!”

Yeah, your life wasn’t Urine-Rageous.

And yet, as the cold weather came upon us recently, my cold, black coal of a heart softened and grew, much like The Grinch’s.

And The Mexican didn’t even have to sing an obnoxious song.

Oh wait! YES HE DID. He started howling and yipping outside constantly.

Another collective, “Awwwww!”

So the Furniture Pissing…

Poop Eating…

Paci-Chewing…

Jerk-Faced Dog has somehow made it back into our home full time.

So far, he’s doing well. We’ll see how it goes.

Of course, Braden LOVES him and is delighted to have him inside.

And that’s what REALLY keeps him alive.

Otherwise, I’d have nuked him long ago.

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Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies…

Right now, it’s Sunday afternoon, I’m working on The Internets and John is watching football. It’s relatively quiet, because Braden is taking a nap. I actually just made John turn down the TV so that B wouldn’t wake up early.

That’s right. I do not want to see my kid sooner rather than later right this minute.

I miss my cute kid when he’s sleeping, but I DO NOT miss the screaming and tantrums. Helllloooo, he has been into the terrible 2′s since he was about 17 months old.
Now that his actual 2 Year Birthday is about 2 weeks away, he’s ramping it up, BIG time. He has taken to being really angry at the drop of a hat lately. Like how, without notice, he will scream in my face.

He is lucky he is so damn cute. I swear, if he had, like, a second, troll-like head growing out of his neck… or maybe a talking wart in between his eyes? I would definitely keep him locked up under the stairs and feed him bread crumbs.

Okay, okay, that’s not entirely true. I love him too much, and besides, there’s no ‘under the stairs’ place here, so he’d have to just go in the closet. And he’s become far too wise for that – every time I pick him up and head towards the closet now, he screams and kicks and bites me until I drop him. Damn quick learning. I mean, I swear I’m only taking him over there to get his jacket so we can go outside. (shut up, it’s not hot here, shhh.)

The thing is – Braden has just entered a phase where he is REALLY FUN to be around! He says so much now (and, HAI! we can understand him!) and he’s funny. He dances around, makes cute jokes, and does amazing things. Did you see my video brag on him? Oh, you missed it? Well here’s a new one!

(By the way, feel free to tell me I’m a show-offing bitch, because I absolutely know I am. I never meant for that to happen, really, but F It. I’m proud of him! Neener.)

He knows all his letters, though “J” confuses him, and he knows 1-9, but “7″ catches him off base. Clearly “J7″ is his nemesis. And colors! Green, red, blue, yellow, orange, purple, pink, white, and black. Is he a genius? I hope so. I want him to get a job soon and start contributing to the family income.

Anyway, the point is that he is highly entertaining and much easier to get along with WHEN HE’S NOT BEING AN ASSFACE.

That’s the other thing – he is spending significant amounts of time being AN ASSFACE. And he has really, really elevated his level of Assfacieness. It’s the kind of stuff that makes you want to rake your fingernails down your face. Know how some things make you want to do that?

Never? Hm. Really? Ok, let’s just move on and pretend I didn’t say that.

What I want to know is, how long does this “I’m A Super Effing Brat” stage last? (And God Help You if you tell me, “Oh, Lotus, mine is 16 and he never stopped being AN ASSFACE!” because I just might hunt you down and cut you.)

In other words? LIE TO ME.

TELL ME LIES. SWEET.LITTLE.LIES.

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Fecal Matter Frustration and Hereditary Narcissism

We’ve been on the potty-training roller coaster with Braden for some time now, and seriously, this experience has been enough to really not want any more kids. I’ve joked around about that before, but there are times when the whole thing really is just that frustrating. Fecal and Urinary Trickery and Frustration really can make you want to rip your own uterus out of its warm, abdominal resting place and shove it down into the sink garbage disposal.

“Poop!” he yells.

We go to the bathroom, he sits on the potty.

For a long time. And reads a book.

Then he’s “ah-dun!” and gets down.

No poop is in the potty.

But he delights greatly in telling me “Eh-Poop!” later, when it’s in his pants. Then he runs like mad to the bathroom so we can put it in the toilet and flush it, while he says, “Buh-byyyyeee, Puh-POOOOO!!!”

If he weren’t so cute, I’d shove him in with it.

I’ve even tried this great tip (is that not hilarious?) but I don’t think he really cares what the poop wants to do. It’s all about him, don’t you know!? (I have NO idea where he gets that from. *cough*)

He pees on the toilet more reliably, but by NO means all the time. And he has “accidents” on the carpet/floor/step stool in the bathroom which are not really accidents at all, if you ask me. I mean, when someone is just doing his thing, then he stops, take a stance that thrusts his crotch out, and smiles devilishly at you while he starts an incredibly healthy and strong stream of urine all over something you don’t particularly want urine on? IT’S NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT’S AN EVIL DEED.

He has also become incredibly obsessed with running to the bathroom and climbing up on the step-stool I placed in front of the sink to make it possible for him to learn how to wash his hands. Does he want wash his hands very badly? No, he wants to flip the lights on and off (remember how he became obsessed with that a long time ago?) and “perform” in front of the mirror, with much silliness.

I’ve stopped him now by buying a cheapo wall mirror (about $4.75 for those of you taking detailed notice of what I spend around here) and hanging it at his level in the living room.

Now he dances and performs in front of it, or just stands there laughing and talking to himself.

So yes, it is official. Narcissism is quite hereditary.

*turns head, looks upwards, and starts whistling*

*walks away nonchalantly*

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