Sleep Wars

Bedtime is a battle with our son--every night.  If we're not arguing with him over the time at which he needs to sleep, we're fighting about the place.  You'd think the location would be an easy choice.

Son, you have a bedroom.  It's a room with a bed (for sleeping) in it, hence the name--bedroom.  Call me crazy, but I feel that having spent a good chunk of money on a brand-new, pillow-top twin mattress, he should sleep on it.  He sees it differently.

For some reason, the couch in our living room appeals to him more.  I understand it.  There have been many nights when I've been kicked out of the bedroom--thanks to my love of Taco Bell and Fire Sauce--and had to sleep on the couch.  We've had it almost five-years and like a good baseball glove, it gets better with age.

Having said that, it still doesn't compare to any bed I've ever slept on--and I've spent 3 nights at a Days Inn.  Nevertheless, he refuses (it's cute, he thinks he has a say) to sleep in his bed.  Looks comfy right?

Why I Can't Have A Drink.

It would be nice to enjoy an ice-cold glass (or in this case, a BPA-free cup) of tap water.  However, we keep the pepper grinder on the table where Libby can reach it.  At least the peppercorn masks the flouride flavor.

Here are some more reasons we can't have nice things.

Idisockracy

More Parenting Terms Defined in Dad's Dictionary.

Summer Vacation - Unplugged

Our recent summer vacation was a huge success.  It's nice to get unplugged from all the technology that surrounds us.  Our kids have spent most of their summer days at home fighting over the tiny 13-inch computer monitor where they stream Netflix all day long.

It was really nice to get away from it all and let them fight over the much larger, 42-inch screen in the hotel room.

Sad, Butt True

It doesn't take much to get me excited anymore. Sad, but true.  While I occasionally like to live life on the wild side, the bar for things that excite me is set pretty low.  Like, six feet deep.  But today, I felt my heart pounding and a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.  It was like Christmas in July and I owe it all to poop.  Thanks Mr. Hankey.

We've been potty training Libby for the past two weeks.  (I say "we", but I mean "I".)  Anyway, "we" have not been having a ton of success.   She has been just as happy to go in her underwear as she has been to sit on the pot.  We didn't expect much in such a short time of such a half-assed job as we've been doing.  Libby has been using her whole ass which sort of makes up for our lack of commitment.

Today,  we had a breakthrough that had me excited enough to use the potty myself.   SPOILER ALERT:  I used it.

She's been wearing underwear all morning and has not had any accidents.  But here's the cherry on top:  She was downstairs, engrossed in SpongeBob Squarepants, while I was upstairs hard at work on the computer (trolling my friends on facebook).

She left SpongeBob of her own volition (a feat in itself), came upstairs, pulled down her pants, and went right in the pot.  My mouth dropped.  It was amazing.  Yes, it was the highlight of my day and possibly my week.  I don't care how exciting fireworks are on the 4th, this trumps everything.

We had such a hard time training the boy.  As young, inexperienced parents, we did everything by the book.  All the experts said to train your child at two years of age.  The hardcore ones said to start at 18 months.  I wish we'd never read any of those articles.

Kids don't care what the experts say. 

Caleb wasn't prepared when we started toilet training him and we had nothing but problems.  We were totally relaxed with Leah--to the point where she basically trained herself.

We've taken the same laissez-faire attitude with Libby and today was a major victory.  Now, if I could just teach her how to sit on the pot instead of in the pot.