The Birthday Shopping Adventure

Sometimes it's wisest to see if you can foresee what retrospect will look like. Say, in this instance... Heather (Mommy in this story) waits until the last minute (even though I had an opportunity the day before) to complete shopping for Daddy's birthday. I decide to take the children - nice outing with the two of them - to the bookstore to pick up a few (oh, close to 50) books from a set that Brian's been reading - it's a series.

I prep the children while driving that this is for Daddy's birthday and that we want it to be a surprise. So far so good.

We arrive at the bookstore, and I give each child a shopping basket (child labor) so they can be a part of the process and carry the books and feel important. We visit the section where I believe the books to be, and they have moved. So we go, baskets and all, around the store looking for the books.

By now you're asking, and what books are these? Well, Brian likes these little short pulp type books from the Executioner series (think gun porn). He has several - proudly stated that he owns about 15 last week. Little lightbulb goes off, and I knew that this store we had just entered had a bunch of them. So when we find them, I take out my list I had dutifully made of what he already has, and proceed to just start loading the two baskets as quickly as I can. Then the boys and I go to get a book for each of them before checking out. Sounds fine, right?

I am a Bad Mommy because...

1) I didn't really LOOK at these books, but, of course, I should have expected them to be what they were - books with lots of things being blown up, guns, beautiful - though scantily clad - women in dire need of rescue simply because they don't like to wear clothing on book covers, you get the picture.
2) I thought we could carry the books up to the register, pay for them, and be on our way (even if #1 proved to be an issue - had I thought that it might).
3) I believed this would be an uneventful trip because it had been to that point, so I wasn't prepared for...

1) A woman at the cash register who was chatting with the proprietor and did not really seem to be in any hurry to leave or let us purchase our books. Incidentally, she asked me if the boys were twins (um, no, 2 years apart almost) and if they were mine (nevermind the older one looks JUST LIKE ME).
2) The stairs that the boys ran up and down and up and down and jumped up and down while waiting for our transaction to be completed.
3) Boredom of the stairs when the boys started grabbing the books from the basket and looking over the covers of the books. And then I heard...

"Mom, is that a dead body on the front of this book?"

And

"Mom, there are lots of guns on these books. DO WE HAVE GUNS?"

Oh, my. About 10 minutes after I started line waiting, we had finally purchased everything, amused anyone in sight, and were on our way. Phew. And oops. We drive home - rush hour on a Saturday - and pull into the garage. I ask Brian, who's just started the grill, to avert his eyes from our purchases when Jimmy nearly shouts, "Dad, we got you books about guns."

Yeah.

hln

Battle of Wills: The Redhead

The family redhead is now about 2 3/4, and it is time to force the toilet training issue. He knows what a diaper is and for what it is used, which to me means he is ready to be diaper bereft. Mommy has spoken, and thus it is so. And it's becoming an epic battle of will.

The smallest child in our family is very cute in his antics and presense. Those are his weapons. Mine? Age, guile, and the ability to hang the child from a clothesline by his big toe. (Not that I would). The battle thus far this week...

Mom tricks child by any means necessary into toilet sitting. We'll teach the standing part later, but at least by seating him on the toilet, I can force him to stay there. So that's where we start. The discussion is usually as follows:

Child: I don't want to go potty on the toilet.
Mom: Why?
Child: Because I don't want to. (isn't child logic amazing).
Mom: But you have to.
Child: But I don't want to. Never ever. Never ever. Neverever. (Accompanied by a great big smile)

So this is a twice-a-day tempest on a toilet. One time over the weekend I left him seated on there for 15 minutes, and nature did its thing. He looked disheartened and surprised, and even my 4 year-old was heaping praise on him. Next round? Neverever.

Sometimes it's this incoherent screaming that persists the entire time on the toilet. Since I know that may happen, I put on emotional armor before we begin our battle, and I can sit there, bounce other giggling child on my lap, and sing amazingly syncopated versions of great children's songs like The Erie Canal. Some of my best work is covered by Jack screaming.

Parents, I know each kid is different, and probably he'll be somewhat compliant out of sheer weariness within two weeks, but, wow, this one's a tough nut to crack in this regard.

A note from feral cat training. If they hiss, pick them up and kiss them.

hln