Dear Char-Gri-Ha-YOU!: An apology letter to my 4th kid

Dear Char-Gri-Ha-DANGIT!

I guess I should start with saying that I'm sorry that I never call you by your actual name.  I usually just shout out random syllables until I give up and yell at you to stop whatever it is that you're doing. To be fair, I call your siblings a bunch of random stuff, too, so maybe that one doesn't have anything to do with being the youngest. But there are some things that are totally different for you than for your brothers and sister. And I know they're there and I'm sorry. So, here goes. I am sorry for the following things...

Your Medical Care
I'm sorry that we are iffy on your medical care.  On the plus side, we have never driven you 45 minutes to the world class children's hospital emergency room in the middle of the night because you were vomiting. Just throwing up. No other symptoms. That was your sister.  After the hypochondriac phase of our first child, we swung way back the other direction and assumed we could handle anything. One of your older brothers has a permanent scar from that 2nd degree burn for which we did not seek medical attention, but should have. Oops. No, we're probably about the right level of emergency response with you, but I have no idea what any of your stats are. I don't know how much you weigh or how tall you are. Or what shoe size you wear. I don't remember which illnesses you've had or in what order. Sorry. I can probably look it up, but I don't know. Periodically I quiz myself about what you're wearing while I'm in the carpool line to pick you up and I'm never right. Which brings up my next topic.

Your First Day of...
I am not all that excited about preschool. I realize that this is your first time in Pre-K, but I've been here 4 times. Well, 5 if you count the time I, personally, was in preschool. Whereas I was totally excited to be the Mystery Reader for your sister (Oh, I'll get to see what her class is like!), I signed up for yours thinking, "I'll sign up early so I can get it over with." Oh, I'll actually love being in there and seeing you, but I'm also thinking, "You go to school for 12 hours a week. I need this one back." In fact, I posted a really cute first day of school picture of you, but it wasn't your first day. It was the second. Or third. I'm not sure, Daddy took that picture. I'm sorry. I love you and I'm proud of you, but I do not think everything with your fingerprint on it is adorable and I don't need ornaments with your picture on them. Speaking of pictures...

Not the First Day of School

Evidence of Your Existence
Daddy takes lots of pictures of you because you are adorable and hilarious. They are very rarely, however, the kind of thing a middle schooler would like to see of themselves in 7-9 years. They are frequently with your lovey, or under a blanket fort, or running away from us. I have almost no pictures of you because I am constantly catching you right before you careen off a cliff or into traffic and thus the pictures I could take fall by the wayside. I also don't even bother to get pictures where you are smiling or looking at the camera. We have thousands of pictures of 3 kids smiling and you off to the side somewhere doing whatever you felt like at the time. We just don't care anymore. We got a picture, all of you were in it, we move on. But your wedding rehearsal dinner video is going to be embarrassing because that's all we have.

The Only Kind of Pictures We Have of Your Face

Your Emotional Pain
While we're talking about embarrassing things...I'm sorry we laugh at you every time you cry. Its just that you're the only one that's still a little bit of a baby and your crocodile tears are incredibly cute. Also, you cry for hilarious reasons. You wanted to drink your milk on the floor. You wanted your monkey to pick you up from school. You wanted anyone but your brother to hand you a plate. But you also cry because no one is listening to you and that's probably true and I'm sorry that we still think it's funny. I'm sorry.

You fell on the Appalachian Trail and got a bloody nose. You are crying, however, because I picked you up to comfort you. and you were offended. Hilarious. So I took a picture. Sorry. 

TV and Movies You Watch
I'm sorry that your little voice gets drowned out by bigger ones, especially when you pick TV shows. You have never seen Sesame Street or Caillou. When you discovered Word World existed you lit up in a way that made me really guilty that you've never actually watched an age-appropriate cartoon. You do have a pretty good vocabulary from Martha Speaks and you know a lot about animals from Wild Kratts, but you don't have any idea who Dora is. Sorry.

Your Toys
You don't have any age appropriate toys. I'm sorry. You have a bunch of brothers that you wrestle like a maniac, but I'm pretty sure you never had stacking rings or that popper thing you pull or blocks. You do know how to read and can name all the months of the year, but that seems to be primarily through osmosis while I gave you random "school work" to do while I taught your brother those things. If you one day really need that phone you can pull on a string, I'll get you one. I'm sorry.

Your Tiny Legs
We forget you are little. We went to Washington, D.C. during the Cherry Blossom Festival and we decided we didn't need a stroller. You were 2. We made you walk the whole Mall and when you finally fell asleep in the Museum of American History, I just carried you. We have never given you scheduled naps or let you ride when you could walk. I like to believe it will make you tough. It might, however, just make you have ridiculous expectations for your own kids one day. Sorry, future grandchildren.

The First Ladies' Dresses were Exhausting

Your Middle-Aged Parents
I'm sorry that you get tired parents. We are a lot older than we were when we started this parenting thing...both in years and in miles. Oh, but we love you. My hardest thing with you is not spoiling you absolutely rotten due to your charm and laugh and smile and general adorable adorableness. Seriously, you're cute. So I'm sorry that I over-correct and yell at you and give you the mean Mommy voice because I'm raising you to be a responsible man and not a man-child who thinks that charm is a character trait. I'm sorry if that is not always clear.


I hope when you're a grown man you will be able to see past the forgetful Mommy and distracted Daddy to the parents who deeply love and cherish you. You asked me why God made you this week...and without hesitation I told you it was because God wanted another little boy with big brown eyes who loved life and made everyone around him smile. So you gave me one of your smiles...the one that lights up the world around you...and snuggled into my lap.

You are my treasure and joy and I'm sorry when we forget to tell you. And I'm sorry that the only way I'll ever remember this is to write it down and put it on the internet. Feel free to ask my estate for therapy money. We probably left your oldest brother in charge of it. Sorry.  

Best Mom Tip #189: Phantom jobs

My little kids always want to help me when I'm cooking or cleaning. Although I appreciate their enthusiasm, they have very chubby little fingers and their motor skills suck.  Thus, they are not very effective workers.

Every mom I know has this same dilemma. You need to sweep, mop, dust, sort laundry, make dinner, clean the toilet, but your toddler or young preschooler is standing directly in your path and possibly undoing your work in an effort to help. My friend Rachel told me recently that every time she tries to sweep, her not-quite 2-year-old manages to walk through the pile of dirt and then plops down on top of it to pick the crumbs off the bottom of his feet. Cute, but not helpful. Also a little gross.

My solutions for stealing a few uninterrupted minutes of housework is to give my kids phantom jobs.  For instance, if people will be at our house in 20 minutes and I need to get the kitchen swept, I give my toddler the kid-sized broom and tell him to sweep the living room. He gets bored after about 5 minutes and I have to find the tiny broom to put it away (could be in the toilet by now), but at least the kitchen floor is clean-ish.

If we are making a meal I give them a plastic knife and a bowl of fruit and tell them to cut it up for the table. I'm talking already cut chunks of watermelon or blueberries or strawberries-soft fruits that don't actually need to be cut and will not harm your kid if she eats it while "cutting." And I don't give them the whole bowl that they rest of us will be eating from because it is going to have kid goo in it by the time she's finished.

I give them Clorox wipes (or a wet paper towel depending on the kid's age and likelihood that the he might try to eat it) and tell them to wipe down all of the window sills. And if they finish that, I send them back in for the baseboards. Wipe down the kitchen chairs, clean all the light switches, wipe off all of the drawer pulls in the kitchen.  Really, you can have them wipe down any surface that you can think of and they feel really helpful. And, hey, I was never going to wipe down the baseboards anyway so that's something that is actually cleaner than before.

The key is to send the adorably eager and totally unhelpful little one into an area that you are not trying to clean right that minute.  Need to vacuum in the living room? Their job is in the den. Need to clean the bathroom? Have them make the beds. Doing the laundry and your little one keeps mixing up the sorted piles? Put him in charge of a pile of his own laundry to distract him from the rest of it. Of course, if your helper is too little to be unsupervised their job will just have to be in a slightly different corner of your own work space.  Not ideal, but really, how long do you think your kid will want nothing more than to be right next to you while you do housework? I mean, I'm bored just typing about it. Take what you can get.

My grand plan doesn't always work. Recently I sent my oldest son to go clean the stairs with some wipes. He is 5 and did a very thorough job. However, I did not check the status of his feet before he set off on his task. He very carefully cleaned each stair--and then stood on that damp,clean step to very carefully clean the one above it. When he was done, the stairs had dozens of big-boy sized muddy footprints all over them. They were actually far dirtier than they were before all of his hard work. Fortunately, the guests for that evening were coming for dinnertime so we just turned off the overhead light and the shadows covered the footprints until I could deal with it the next day.

Which, by the way, is another good way to prep your house for company. Just turn off the lights.

Anyway, you don't want to crush their little spirits and their desire to help. It's endearing, it reflects their willingness to be a part of the family team, and there are real household tasks that they need to learn as they get older. My oldest two kids (the muddy stair incident notwithstanding) are actually very helpful and can accomplish several jobs without my help or even supervision. They may not do it exactly like I would, but they get it done well enough. The little ones get their phantom jobs done feeling useful and if they did manage to clean something I am grateful that there are fewer tiny fingerprints on the windows or kitchen cabinets.

So, give it a whirl.  What could your kid help with that is safe and distracting?

Best Mom Tip #186: Beeeeeee......Patient

Be patient. NOW! NOW! DO IT NOW!

Hee hee. Just kidding.

Patience may be a virtue, but it is not one that comes easily to most of us. Anyone who has ever watched a preschooler insist upon putting on their own shoes while the minutes ticked by and you crept ever closer to that point where you would be so late people would comment on how they "didn't know if you were still coming" knows the pain of patience. 

Or if you've ever changed a diaper and dressed a bunch of kids only to go to load them all in the car and discover that, somehow, the baby needs changing AGAIN. Or if you've sat in a doctor's office waiting room trying to keep the baby from licking the floor while you waited for the strep test you already KNOW is positive. 

Or, sometimes, when you're asked yet another question about the color of the sky, or how power lines work, or about the criminal justice system. OK, that one may just be me since my son is very interested in police work and what happens to bad guys. Today he asked if there were beds in jail and when I said yes he wanted to know why the bad guys didn't just sleep on the floor as punishment. Trying to explain to a Kindergartner that people go to jail as punishment and not for punishment is more challenging than I would have thought.

Most of us don't want to squish our kids' inquisitive minds or stomp on their independence when they learn new tasks. And the doctor's office isn't trying to make my life difficult by actually determining what diseases my kids have. I know all this in my mind, but what about in the actual life moments? The moments when we HAVE to leave the house RIGHT NOW or we have to wait because your brother needs antibiotics or I cannot hold you because everyone else has to eat and CAN'T YOU SEE I HAVE SOMETHING HOT IN MY HANDS?

How can we be patient in those times when it is the last thing in the world we want to be? 

I volunteer with the high school ministry at our church and I joke that working with teenagers is a long game. You never know what moments may matter to them or what words might seep into their hearts and resonate later on in their lives. That was true when I taught high school as well. You hope that they feel loved and valued and that maybe they learn something that will make them better adults and better citizens and better human beings in general. Sometimes they look you up to tell you thanks or that you made a difference, but mostly you just scatter your seeds and hope something grows at some point. 

Parenting is an even longer game. A lifetime, at least, but perhaps even longer. What I teach my children about love, respect, discipline, encouragement, commitment, and faith will echo through the generations that come after me. My daughter will emulate me in ways that neither she nor I can foresee. My sons will respect in their wives some of the same qualities they respect in me. I have no other tasks in this life that compare to the joyful burden of raising my children.

So why in the world am I so annoyed at them for being slow or grumpy or intentionally deaf to my instructions?

In church this morning our preacher talked about how, nearly 2000 years before Jesus was born, God promised Abraham that "all peoples on earth" would be blessed through him (Genesis 12:3). Today, Jews, Christians, and Muslims all trace their heritage back to Abraham. People groups that don't follow those faiths come into contact with those who do. God still moves through wheels he set turning millennia ago. God's plan, His master plan to bring joy, hope, and light to the weary world, has been thousands of years in the making. Even when mankind does his very utmost to screw up the whole thing and blame it on God in the process, God's purpose and plan moves forward.

THAT is patience.

It occurred to me that if I could gain even a tiny fraction of God's perspective on others, my patience might expand exponentially. In that light, I have noticed a few things about my interactions with my children.

1. My children are NOT trying to push my buttons. Usually. Sometimes they are, but mostly they are just learning to navigate this world.

2. My ability to be on time, have everyone dressed well, or make dinner will not be the most important thing(s) they remember about me. My attitudes toward them will always have more value and more impact.

3. My children have very little control over their own lives and sometimes they are trying to claim independence in some small, seemingly insignificant way that matters deeply to them in that moment. 

Practically, this attempt at patience manifests itself in a few ways. I try to create "work-arounds" for their known triggers. The kid who MUST put on his own shoes or he will melt down is told to do so 15 minutes early, for instance. When I have no control over how long something is going to take (prescriptions, traffic, etc.) I take a deep breath and let it go. My poor attitude will not make us move faster. Children who refuse to listen are occasionally picked up and moved against their will, but without the arguing or threats or stress build-up beforehand. 

I try to focus on the long game, not just this task or this day. Sometimes I fail. 

Alright, relatively often I fail. And that's when I pray. For patience, for perspective, and most of all, for the long game. 

Best Mom Tip #150: Resist the urge to put your kid on a leash

I will admit that I have recently been fantasizing about putting my son on a leash.

That boy runs off every chance he gets. He always comes back, but it's like watching a cartoon--he runs as fast as he can, then creates a giant arc to run back toward me. He also laughs the entire time.

He hides in clothes racks at stores. He giggles as he runs headlong in a direction opposite that which he is facing. He runs into things a lot. He refuses to look at me when I call his name--my eyes are somehow his disobedience kryptonite. "I could run forever without guilt if only I could avoid Mommy's look."

I thought about just attaching one of those extendable dog leashes to the belt loops on his pants. I would probably be investigated by protective services, but at least I could focus on choosing produce at the grocery store without having to constantly look up to see if he has climbed the meat counter yet.

It turns out, however, that there is actually a rather large market for this kind of product. Based on my non-scientific study (which consists mostly of looking at people at Target), the most popular kid leashes look like a monkey.  You can see one on Target's website here: Monkey Backpack Harness

Technically, this is called a backpack harness, but the monkey's tail is attached to a long handle that the parent holds. Looks a lot like a leash. The particular one I have seen is made by Eddie Bauer and comes with pockets for toys or snacks. Not that your kid could reach them because they are on his back.

The thing that gets me the most about this item is that it is a monkey. How does no one see the irony of putting a literal monkey on your child's back? Every time I see it I hear George Michael singing, "why don't you do it, why don't you set your monkey free."

I have this image of my kid in therapy one day saying, "well, I knew I wanted to become the next Unabomber the day my mom saddled me with a monkey leash filled with goldfish crackers and apple juice. I. Just. Hated. That. Monkey."

If I could get past my aversion to harnessing children I think that I could make some money here. When my oldest was about 2 we used to joke that we needed to "run" her so that she would sleep at night. Probably other parents feel this way. I could get 6 or 7 monkey leashes, hook up the neighborhood kids, and walk them to the park. Sure, they might run around each other's legs and get the lines tangled up, but they would get fresh air and I could make a living as a kid walker.

I am resisting the urge. I'm going to continue to try to get my errant kid to actually listen to me and stay somewhere in my general vicinity without physical restraint. I think.

I mean, the monkey is cute, right?

Best Mom Tip #146: Don't take your kids to the doctor

O.k, I guess that you have to take your kids to the doctor. It's probably illegal or something to deny them medical care. I did read an article recently about a woman who remembers being told by her Christian Scientist parents that her chicken pox were only in her mind and that she should pray them away, so I guess that's an option.

Until I convert, however, I have to keep taking them (oftentimes en masse) to see various medical professionals. Today it was Baby Harry and the dermatologist. I don't know what it is about dermatological diseases, but they all sound awful.

I have a friend whose kid had a rash called giovanni crosti (or something that sounds like that-I never actually saw it written down). However you spell it, it sounds like something crusty you picked up on the subway while headed to Little Italy.

We took Harry to see if he had a thing called molluscum contagiosum. Which, because I am a nerd, made me think he had been cursed by a 3rd year from Hogwarts and that clams would soon be spreading across his body.

That's not what he has, actually, so if you were planning on coming to my house for dinner anytime soon there's no reason to throw up.

What I really don't like about taking kids to the doctor is that it involves a lot of intense sitting still. I say intense because I expend a lot of energy trying to keep everyone else still. I bribe them with snacks, electronic games, special toys-all in the hopes that no one will melt down until I understand what's wrong with the sick kid.

Today, as we were leaving, a mom told her very nice teenage boy to get the door for me. The problem was that I needed to unfold the double stroller and in those moments Griffin ran out the open door and down the hall of the office building. I had to put Harry down on the floor, put down my bag, the diaper bag, and the notes from the doctor, and chase him down.

I got back to the office door just as Harry was making his way out. That teenage kid politely held the door open the entire time. I'm sure our exit made all the other patients happy not to be me today.

There is nothing fun about taking kids to the doctor. Except maybe the princess stickers.

Best Mom Tip #145: Spend a day with my son

I'm talking about my oldest son and you can't really spend a day with him unless I already know you and you are offering free baby sitting. But, trust me, he is hilarious.

Griffin is not quite three and I'll be amazed if he makes it to elementary school without breaking a bone. I've mentioned several times that he runs around a lot. My brother says that he just runs until he hits something and that seems to be a pretty good assessment.

I have entered rooms to find him on top of our pool table, hiding in the back of my closet, under the dining room table, under a pile of bedding creating a small giggling lump, and standing in his window sill hiding behind the blinds.

This week he used an entire roll of scotch tape to create "reins" for a pair of horses (2 bar stools) that he was using to pull his carriage (kitchen chair). He uses a set of plastic keys to "start" his rocking moose (exactly like a rocking horse, but 50 bucks cheaper). He pretends to put on his fire hat, goggles, jacket, and helmet every time we get into our mini-van/fire engine.

This is Griffin attempting to squeeze through the bars onto the White House lawn while encouraging his sister to do the same thing. He has very little respect for rules he does not understand. Which is most of them.

This is Griffin attempting to push over the command module from Apollo 11 at the National Air and Space Museum. He seems to think that he can do things like this.

Here's the funniest thing that he has said lately:

Griffin loudly passes gas.

Jay: Do you need to go potty, buddy?

Griffin: Nah, dat's just magic.

I've heard it called a lot of things, but a magical wind that comes from your behind is a first.

I love this kid. He yelled yee-haw when he saw videos of paratroopers invading on D-Day. He offers to fight bad guys he hears about from books/tv/adult conversations. He would love to be an astronaut/cowboy/fireman/football player. He also really loves to dance. I cannot wait to see what he becomes....unless he's in jail. That's always a possibility.

Best Mom Tip #143: Relive the moment

I have been out of town for a while and I was in a horrible vortex where the wi-fi was reeeaaallly slow and my phone's apps wouldn't work. At least there was a Starbucks outpost in the resort. I was surrounded by teenagers because I was chaperoning a trip for our church and they couldn't fix it, either, so I know it wasn't my fault.

Anyway, so instead of focusing on one moment, I thought I'd share a few of the single points in time of the last week that made me smile, laugh, and feel very grateful.

Talking Stuffed Animals:
When I was on my way home from the trip and I texted Jay that he needed to come pick me up, this was his reply:

"I know. Griffin said it was time to pick you up. His moose told him so." I don't know if I should be freaked out that the boy takes information from his rocking moose seriously, but at least it was accurate.

Wildlife Sightings:
Charlotte and I had this conversation:
Me: Look, a bunny is right over there!
Charlotte: It's just like my purple bunny! Except that it's not purple and it's real. And it's a different size. Oh, a BUNNY!

I love that the word bunny is all her stuffed animal and the real rabbit had in common, but for Charlotte it was a love connection.

A Grateful Nation:
At Harry's 1-year-old birthday party, my dad asked my brother-in-law what he was actually doing all day. Since he's in training to be a Green Beret, this is not as rude of a question as it might seem. He (my brother-in-law) said that he was mostly in classes all day at this point, but that it "would be nice to finally get back out to working." You know, where people shoot at him. And other mean stuff. That's what he'd like to get back to doing. I am so grateful that good men stand in the gap for the rest of us in horrible situations here and abroad. And that they are really great uncles when they're in my home.

Misinterpretations:
Charlotte: I know how to get to Aunt Hellen's house, Daddy.
Jay: Good, you can be my navigator.
Griffin: She is NOT an alligator! YOU'RE an alligator!

Way to defend your sister, Bud. Much as it frightens me, I have a feeling you might be one of those men in the gap when you get older.

One Small Step for a Man:
Harry took his first steps this afternoon. There were just a few of them, but they counted. What encouraged him to make that giant leap? Homemade ice cream on the 4th of July. How great is that?

I am lucky and so grateful. The rewind of this busy week has been fun to watch over and over again.

And how was my trip to the beach with no internet access? Pretty good. According to the Panama City Beach ABC affiliate, I participated in the world's largest single-site flash mob. Although, I highly doubt we set any kind of a record, it was great fun. Take a look at it below.

Best Mom Tip #140: Cover everything in Lysol

You know what's disgusting? Children.

You know what's disgusting by association? My entire life.

I just scrubbed pee off of the bathroom wall. How my 2-year-old managed to get it higher than the height of his head is quite impressive and I'm sure that gift will win him bets in his teen years. But I don't ever want to know about that.

I don't want to know when other people are constipated.

I don't want to have bloody slobber wiped all over my shoulder because my baby son busted his lip while crawling too fast on the linoleum.

On some days, I manage to forget how gross my life is--I clean things up quickly and work the nasty (and I don't mean the funny/slutty kind) into the sweet and cuddly and it all seems worth it.

On other days, like today, I am so grossed out by my offspring that I am seriously considering going back to work (as a public high school teacher, mind you) just so I will be around cleaner people. That is sad.

I will never be able to touch that bathroom again until after I've coated the entire thing in Lysol. Thus far, I have scrubbed the toilet, the floor, and the bathtub. I've cleaned the sink and the walls. The walls, for pete's sake. I'm glad I had the foresight to use washable paint in there.

I find it disheartening to realize that the only time I will not have to deal with others' disgusting messes are the few years between when they all move out and before they start having their own children. That is at least 17 years from now, so I won't be holding my breath.

Speaking of holding my breath, what is that smell? Ohhhh, it's one of my children. How surprising. Gotta go change a diaper.

Best Mom Tip #137: Run the numbers before you quit

So I mentioned that we're potty training our almost-three-year-old son. There are several reasons why I picked last weekend to start--he needs to be potty trained for school in August, I have spent 11 months with two kids in diapers, I am tired of him telling me I need to change his diaper...--you get the idea.

My husband was supportive, if not actually happy to be spending his Memorial Day weekend in the bathroom. I'm not gonna lie--it was a pretty terrible weekend. He peed everywhere. He refused to poop for three days and finally chose his pants instead of the potty. Jay and I were snipping at each other and questioning whether or not he (our son) was really ready.

At one point Jay said that at least he had finally found a way to make a three day weekend feel longer.

We googled just about everything we could about potty training 3-year-old boys and, basically, the internet is very noncommittal about the best way to do anything. Stupid internet.

I was feeling really discouraged and unsure of what to do. So, dork that I am, I ran the numbers. I took the total number of times he used the potty and divided it by the total number of pee/poop incidents in the day. I even used half increments for the times that he wet himself, but then stopped and finished in the toilet.

On Saturday, he was about 7% potty trained. That was not a great day.

By Sunday he was up to 33%. On Monday, about 55%. By Tuesday he was a solid 80% trained. Unfortunately, the one accident that day involved poop. Wednesday and Thursday continued in the same vein--one accident a day. Friday we had a bit of a setback, but it was mostly because I didn't make him go at regular intervals.

But yesterday...no accidents. Not even one. He pooped in the potty. He told me when he had to go. We went to church and out to lunch today and everything went fine.

I am cautiously optimistic--maybe, one day soon, I will be done thinking about this every day. I'm sure that my friends and family really need me to talk about something else. I know I'm bored with this topic and I'm the one who has to clean it up.

Best Mom Tip #135: Do the Potty Dance

I know nothing about potty training. I mean, I've read a lot about it and I've talked to everyone I know with kids, but I still feel like I know nothing. My daughter didn't like being wet and dirty and potty trained quickly. This week my son continued to play outside with both pee and poop in and on his underwear for God knows how long until I finally held him down to check his pants. That is a kind of gross that I do not understand.

So we have, for better or worse, been sitting at home for the last two days taking our almost-three-year-old boy to the potty every 15-30 minutes in an attempt to get down to just one kid in diapers. I'm hoping that with the baby graduating from formula to whole milk soon and only one box of diapers to buy we may be able to afford to buy meat again in time for the July 4th weekend. Unfortunately, this dream depends upon a toddler's cooperation and potty training is not exactly what you would call successful at this point.

Although we have had some correct placement of waste, we also have a kid who refuses to poop if he can't use his diaper. For days. He is displaying a level of determination that I think we could use to teach special forces operatives how to hold up under torture.

While I admire his strength of will, I find the entire thing messy, tedious, and a depressing waste of my master's degree.

Finally, after 15 times of peeing on himself in two days, something seems to have clicked. He has been right on target four times in a row now and I have done the Potty Dance for each success.

The Potty Dance is sung to the tune of "Shake Your Booty" and goes like this: "Dance, dance, dance! Dance dance dance! Potty Daa-aaance, whoo! Potty Daa-aaance!"

My cute boy, flush with success, spinning in his Mickey Mouse underwear, looked up at me and said, "Dat make me happy."

Me, too, buddy. Me, too.

Best Mom Tip #132: Be a superhero

Griffin has begun yelling "To da wescue! Me, Giffin!" and running off to save damsels in distress. His little face lights up with the absolute confidence that he is, in fact, capable of rescuing someone even though he cannot currently dress himself without help.

He pauses for effect, screws up his arms for maximum speed, and launches himself toward hero status.

I wanna be that cool. I don't know who or what I want to rescue. I don't know who or what I want to fight. I just know that I want that kind of purpose, that kind of righteous goal. I would LOVE to be a superhero.

I would wear a really bad-ass outfit that involves thigh-high boots and some kind of bustier. I am not well endowed so the bustier would need to be stuffed. Maybe with mini bags of M&Ms so it could double as a snack holder.

I would have rocker-chic cuffs and possibly a thigh holster or two. Think Lara Croft meets Wonder Woman with a touch of the comic Cathy (because of the M&Ms and my neuroses).

I'm not sure how I can translate this desire into stay-at-home momhood. I don't know that the other moms volunteering at the elementary school would appreciate a bustier. Maybe if I wore a tennis dress that could pass as a superhero costume they would just think I was really into tennis.

Maybe I could take kickboxing classes and pretend I'm training for villain killing. Maybe I can carry around extra bottles of milk and goldfish crackers in my thigh holsters. Is there any way to add an element of necessary danger and still be a responsible parent? I'm looking for ideas.

Best Mom Tip #120: Play fetch

You know, play fetch with your kids. I don't actually own a dog. My son has decided that he is a puppy and he keeps bringing me things for him to fetch. I throw a ball, he pants and crawls off to go retrieve it in his mouth. He insists that I pet him and tell him he's a good dog.

I have mixed emotions about this game. One the one hand, it is somewhat dehumanizing, it makes me feel oddly lazy, and I would be embarrassed for other people to see me treating my kid like a dog.

On the other hand, he really likes it, it gives him something to do that uses up his energy, and I can play the game with one hand while still sitting down. These are all very important in my book.

Also, it usually prevents me from having to say things like "the baby is NOT part of your obstacle course!" That comment came after Griffin decided to jump over his 7-month-old brother Evil Knievel-style. He cleared the baby, but still.

This is not a game I have found in "Games for Increasing Your Child's IQ" or even "Games that Won't Get You Investigated by DFCS," but I think we'll stick with it. At least I can be sure he's not hot wiring the car if he's busy playing fetch.