Archive for September, 2010

For The Record, I Don’t. Just So You Know.

posted by on 09/28/2010

Over Labor Day weekend, we took our annual trip to Lake Dillon. I have mad love for this part of Colorado, so much so that I want to pack up and move to this tiny town and become mayor. Well, maybe not mayor, but I bet I could get elected at least to the city council.

Truth? The only thing that holds me back from renting a u-haul and packing that bad boy up are my squirrels.  I’m being serious.  They need me.

That and Lake Dillon doesn’t have a Target. And it averages like 416 feet of snow in the winter.

kicking it

So we go and we play on the lake and we eat. All weekend long.  We stayed in a condo that overlooked the marina and I don’t think we will do that again because the condo had a kitchen, which means I was granted the privilege of cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner. Just like at home! The only thing that was missing was a washer and dryer, toss in a few loads, it’s like we never left the house.

Lake Dillon, CO

I decided to take the night off from my cooking duties and we went out to dinner at a brewery. We eat there every summer and it was within walking distance from the place we were staying. Please note that we have been slowly potty training Troy all summer, making teeny tiny amounts of progress and him showing very little interest in it at all. I mean, why go to all that trouble of using the toilet when you can piss your diaper and not even get up off the couch! And people rush around to get you a new diaper. It’s a genius set-up and it makes me wish I wasn’t potty trained either.

Dinner goes off without a hitch meaning nobody stood up in their high chair and knocked over a bowl of noodles and nobody cried over the blue crayon not being “sharp enough” and everyone ate their meal seated in a chair without screaming/crying/fighting. I chalk it up to running their guts out at the lake, they were pretty much too tired to make a scene.

Almost.

The check comes and I hand over my debit card. J is boxing up the leftovers and the waiter comes back with the check and my card. He tries to hand it to J and says, “Here’s your card, sir…”

I tell him it’s my card and that I will take it and the waiter glances at the card and says, “Oh, I’m sorry, I just saw Zakary and assumed it was a man”.

At this point, Troy chimes in and with his very loud outside voice says, “MOMMA HAZ WEE-NER?!”

On one hand, good for Troy, he’s been listening during the potty training instructions. You know, boys make pee pee come out their wee-ners on the toilet, not in their diapers.

taken by zoe

And on the other hand, every table around us and our waiter heard Troy announce his mother has a weiner.

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Untitled Because I’m So Very Tired.

posted by on 09/21/2010

I’m teetering on the edge, dangerously close to slipping and falling into a deep, dark space of scary. I want to run out the front door, out into the night and breathe the cool air in and exhale the dread and the terror. I picture myself running down the driveway and through the trees, barefoot and in my yoga pants that I wear for everything but yoga, with my ponytail stretching behind me as I pick up speed along the asphalt, the pine trees lining the road point me in the right direction.

Any direction is the right direction as long as it isn’t my effing house at bedtime.

Because god forbid we try to put people that are not adults to bed at a “decent” hour.

A “decent” hour at this house is eleven p.m. if you are Zoe. And one a.m. if you are Troy.

Zoe is pretty chill about the whole situation, she’s had nine years to come up with a fail proof plan on how to manipulate her way into staying up at least an hour past the original mention of “Get in bed“.

1. Accomplish all steps you were instructed to do, i.e. brush teeth, jammies, etc.
2. Go to room and read.
3. Read is code for “wait for your mother to activate DVR+laptop+wine because she thinks she’s victorious in executing a successful parenting mission”.
4. Turn off light, sneak into hallway and watch tv along with your mother until she catches you.

Troy has flat out decided that bedtime is for suckas. He is having none of it, unless we all go to bed at the same time in the big bed. Most of the time, I do not feel like going to bed at eight o’clock in the evening, so we have tried to convince Troy that his bedroom is the where it’s at, it being get-the-hell-out-of-our-room. We have tried to establish a soothing routine, you know, a relaxing bath, warm jammies, bedtime stories. OH GOD WITH THE BEDTIME STORIES. I’m talking board books out the face, we cover everything. From shapes and numbers, to goodnight moon, to that eff-hole Biscuit puppy ruining perfectly good birthday parties and hippos and their bee-bos, Troy is well read. Like probably the most well read toddler I know, I’m not kidding. Meanwhile, if I have to spend on more evening on a toddler mattress reading about the lady with the alligator purse I am going to need sedation. And a straight jacket. At least that way I won’t have to turn the pages of the same eighteen board books.

Dont’ get me wrong, it’s not all the reading that’s getting me down. It’s what comes after I try to stop reading, when I put the brakes on Midnight Story Time starring Mom and Troy.

HE FREAKS.

He needs to brush his teeth, which we did two hours ago when I originally decided he should go to bed. He requests to “look at Zoe”, who I am sure at this point is probably just sitting on the couch with the remote watching SATC reruns because she went to “bed” three hours ago and since I’m in Troy’s room having Bed Wars Showdown Part 65049, she doesn’t have to sit in the hallway. He absolutely cannot rest until he has *insert name of some random hot wheel car*. I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I have to go search through the car bin. At this point, he’s peed in his diaper (stall tactic, Zoe probably coached him) and I have to change him. He insists on a red diaper, only red, and then you must put his regular underwear on over it.

After this debacle that happens nightly, he falls asleep while I sit on the floor beside his bed and stare at him like Clarice from Silence of The Lambs.

When it’s over, I feel defeated. And tired because by the time Troy and I finish up the going to bed standoff, it’s one a.m. After this last go around, I might have gone in the kitchen and eaten an entire row of seasonal oreos to ease my pain.

Clearly there are no winners.

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