Awaiting that PLOP of fabulosity.

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.

One step closer to being free of Doodie Duty.

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.”

Singin’ the loose stool blues… oohhhhh, yeahhhh….

Thanks to everyone for not virtually slapping me for being such a whine-bag yesterday. And really, apologies if I offended anyone.

In other news, there is no post of any relevance today, as I’ve been crapping my guts out for the past 24 hours with some kind of Super Evil Intestinal Bug.

Maybe I should try to be all happy and positive and call it An All Natural, Surprise Body Cleanse!

Yeah, after this much explosive diarrhea, I’m having a hard time being happy & positive, so I’ll leave the positivity to you lovely and enlightened readers for today.

Because, really? It would not be too far from real to imagine brown waterfalls coming out of my ass.

My friends as of late:

Here’s hoping your week is going far more fabulously.

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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Don’t forget to leave your daily comment on the giveaway post for $50 at GFTK!

Just for the record…

…going into my child’s room at night in response to Mega-Screaming, to change a diaper full of diarrhea and clean the shit off of his face and hands is NOT the definition of My Ultimate Fantasy. (I swear, he got some in his mouth. *gag*)

I mean, there was no Kiefer Sutherland, anti-gravity underwear, perfect boobs for life, endless supply of calorie-free chocolate, or no-cost, worry-free daily babysitting offer in there ANYWHERE.

And wait… wait… let me check… no. I did not have the world’s largest, multiple orgasm at any time before, during, or after the event. (by the way, if I had? I’d be seeking therapy RIGHT NOW.)

And nobody has come to my door to offer doing my dishes, laundry, and to vacuum my carpets for the rest of my natural life.

Additionally, in case you were wondering, I have not found the deed to my private island lying around anywhere.

Also, there is still cellulite on my ass cheeks.

So, confirmation: it had NOTHING to do with any ultimate fantasy of mine.

It was just runny excrement. YAY!

(Why, oh why, do they have to get curious and stick their hands in there?)

PS: Don’t worry, I’m no Poop Newbie. This is the home of Scatastrophe.

I really want to do this a second time? Pfffft.

“Yes, I can potty
all by myself, Momma, see?”
*So, excited, proud.*

“Psych, fooled you, haha!
I can do it, but now I
just don’t feel like it!”

“Instead, I’m gonna
crap every night and pee on
the floor every day!”

“Yet another piece
of The Plan in action! Soon
you’ll crack completely!”

Potty Training Bull
is enough to make me sure
that one kid’s enough.

 

 

 

All the fun of postpartum without the hassle of a cute newborn.

Like seeing crap like this in the drain after a shower.

Yup.  The whole postpartum hair falling out thing.  Either that, or the Hashimoto’s is acting up again.  (Or it could be the fact that I only shower about once a month.  Naaaah.)



And ohhhhh, the mood swings!

And no, I’m not even getting a decent amount of sleep, because, apparently, I’m a moron.

(Also, Conan is funny. I <3 Conan.)

And I recently realized something: DAMN, my website has been depressing lately!

Have you noticed? I have.

So I wasn’t really all that surprised to see my feed reader subscription count massively dropping here and there last week.  I mean, who wants to keep being brought down?  Depressed?  Reminded of their own mortality? *click*

Certainly not people who enjoy looking at pictures of poop.  “We need sarcastic rants and disgusting potty humor, Lotus, come ON!”

And I know I haven’t been showering much lately, either, but that should really only be affecting John and Braden.  You, my lovely readers, should have no reason to claim I brought on any sudden wretching impulses. Until I show you pictures of my unshaven legs. Or maybe even my armpits. Anyone want to see my unshaven armpits? No? Fine, suit yourselves.

Hahaha.

But, honestly…

Sixty of you jumping ship in one day alone?  Really?  Was there a “Dude, Lotus Sucks” Convention somewhere that day?  There was punch and pie, wasn’t there?  You bastards.*

A few nights ago, I was lying in bed with John, lamenting to him about the loss of feed readers shortly before sleep mercifully overcame our toddler-beaten bodies.

The next morning, I woke up to find The Number of The Beast on my feed reader count.

And I just thought, “Really?  Great.  Awesome.”



At least Satan’s still reading.






*Because calling my audience bastards will REALLY help improve the chances of my being able to maintain a following. I’m SMART like that.

Don’t act like it’s never happened to you.

Well, my friends, it looks
like Gastroenteritis
Fest ‘Oh-Eight is done.

I never knew that
my butthole could imitate
a waterfall. Wow.

And did you know that
after forty-eight hours of
nothing but fluids…

Dry toast tastes kind of
like the best gourmet meal that’s
ever been prepared?

And I wanted to
mention to all of you guys
that you should never

post about something
that you “hope doesn’t happen.”
TEMPT YE NOT THE FATES!

Read the last line of
my last post to discover
my last misfortune.

That’s right. You saw it.
I hit “publish,” and then I…
I… sharted. Again.

Yeah. Go Ahead. Laugh.
Really. Laugh. Poop is funny!
Especially sharts.

Seriously though.
Non-stop pooping and farting?
Not my bag, baby.