Tag Archives: potty training

P*ss-In-Boots – Like Puss-In-Boots but smellier

P*ss-In-Boots – Like Puss-In-Boots but smellier

This is a bit of an old chestnut of a blog, and I’m afraid I’m on a very familiar theme. Toilet training hell.

Before I begin, I’d just like you to know I have a new computer chair.  It is an ancient, hard, wooden chair with a straight back.  I have a cushion on it, but it is still pretty darn uncomfortable.  Do you know why I have abandoned my lovely squishy, with arms, adjustable, spinny, comfortable ‘puter chair? (pls add a rising tone here)

………….because my son p*ssed on it.  Twice.

The first time I soaked it, cleaned it, sprayed it with smelly stuff and put a cushion on it and hoped for the best.  There was a very slightly acrid smell if I put my nose very near the seat, but it was ok.  As I don’t ever sit for much time with my nose actually on the seat of my chair, it didn’t matter so much.  It’s difficult to type like that you see, I can’t reach my keyboard.

That’s not to say I wasn’t annoyed.  I sat in it initially and had to go change my jeans due to the swampy nature of the seat.  Yesterday the exact same scenario was repeated, except the wee had been there for longer and had well and truly soaked in.  I tried to sort it, I really did, but in a fit of rage I wheeled the soaking, stinky thing out to the front of the house and left it in the rain.  Where, if I was less of a parent I swear I’d have left my son too. I was not a happy bunny, oh no!

Maybe you think this is an over-reaction.  You may be right, but earlier on this week Sausage also p*ssed in his dad’s shoe.  Horace was not amused, I was quite amused, but I didn’t dare let either of them know I was.  Horace was furious, Sausage was crying and Horace’s shoe was one shoe sized, stinky puddle.  To sit there stifling giggles would have been suicide.

Later in the week, Sausage weed in his own trainer.  He said he ‘couldn’t find the potty and that there was something on the TV’.  If we go by that precedence, I suppose we  should all simply wee in buckets in the front room when we’re watching something we don’t want to miss.  I explained to him, that grown ups and big boys don’t behave like that and that his behaviour was unacceptable, he lost a bedtime story, and the riot act was well and truly read.

As an aside, I just want to point out I have found damp patches in his room that smell suspicious and I found him weeing up the stairs the other day too.  Once I admit I was having a lazy day and wasn’t paying him enough attention – he retaliated by taking his icky pants off and wiping them on the furniture for me to clean off. The other times, he’s just been plain bl**dy minded as far as I can see.

But yes, his grand finale was p*ssing on my chair.  I am going to re-instate a massive big sticker chart, I might start feeding him chocolate every time he uses the loo, and he is NOT EVER sitting on my chair ever again. Not ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER! *takes deep breath and climbs back down from the ceiling*

So, rant over.  I shan’t write for much longer as this wooden chair hurts my bum. *swears*

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Hanging on in there!

Hanging on in there!

Just a really quick blog to say I’m still here, still hanging on by my fingertips. Apologies for the lack of blogs, I’ve just had a funny old couple of weeks and it’s affected my writing ‘mojo’ or whatever the word is.

But, I’m not beaten yet, and feel better by the day.

There are a couple of instances I’ve felt I must record before they slip from my memory.  So I’ll chuck them on here for prosperity.  Firstly my youngest has been practising bending the truth, he’s not very good at it if I’m being honest.   I found him in the bathroom staring intently at the mirror the other day, with one of his eyes highlighted in a very vivid bright purple colour – imagine a purple panda and you’ve got the image right there.

I looked at him quizzically and said ‘What have you got on your eye?’ and he replied with a completely straight face – ‘Not your make-up!’  My lilac eye shadow is knackered beyond belief……

He also weed on my computer chair, on purpose which was the annoying thing.  I’d been asking him to go and get his pyjamas on and he refused and tantrummed.  A while later he ambled into my computer room and then ambled back with a strange look in his eye.  Curious, I went in to check what he’d been up to, and sat on my chair only to stand up very suddenly and yell ‘Ew!’  You’ve heard of water beds?  Well, I had a water chair.  In exactly the same manner as before I asked him ‘What’s on my chair?’ and he replied in exactly the same manner, ‘Not wee!’  I am in potty training hell.

My daughter is in the throes of getting to grips with social groups which has confused me greatly these last few weeks too.  Here is a typical example of a conversation I’ve had with Darlek recently:

Darlek: ‘Rachel’s not being nice to me, because she’s friends with Sarah, and Sarah likes me and wants to play with me, but Rachel doesn’t want her to play with me.  And…(pause for breath) Poppy says I should play with Rachel too, so that she won’t get upset when I play with Sarah, and then Poppy could join in.  But Poppy doesn’t like playing barbies and neither do I, but Sarah does so I try and play that game, but Rachel thinks that it’s babyish and ……..’    

….and so it goes!  I’ve spent many a school run completely baffled and bewildered by the complexity of it all.  It’s rather like an episode of Coronation Street except with little squeaky people in school uniforms.  Obviously there’s no Rovers Return bar brawls, but there’s a fair amount of bickering over who has the most Squinkies to make up for that.  It’s all a huge drama for Darlek, and from what I remember of primary school, it does all feel very important at the time so I smile and nod and try my level best to look like I understand what on earth is going on in that playground.  As long as she’s not getting bullied, or bullying anyone else I’m ok with it.

So there it is, a little bit about how the kids are faring.  As for me, I’m fighting tooth and nail to get back on form.   Today that awful feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach wasn’t as bad as it has been, and I noticed how beautiful the clouds were as they drifted over the rooftops – so I must be looking up I reckon.

The Trolls Only Drink Lambrini

The Trolls Only Drink Lambrini

I thought it was about time I updated a little. This last week has passed whirlwind stylee, and I find myself dizzy at the prospect of another 5 weeks of summer holidays.

Having said that, I’ve got no room to complain. I’ve got D in at a holiday club on Mondays and Tuesdays and S goes to nursery on the same days, so I have some respite. I am using those days to do my proof reading working from home thing, so this is a bit of peace and quiet, but it’s not helping me to catch up with the housework, although I’m actually earning for the first time in five years.

So, the summer hol ‘filling time constructively’ bit started last Wednesday. I took both kids swimming with a friend and her two kids, and we had fun splashing about at the local baths. I forgot S’s arm bands so S clung to me like a toddler necklace for the first ten minutes until I thought to ask the attendant if I could borrow a pair, and then he relaxed his choking grip a little. D thought it was great fun, and jumped in off the side and tried to climb on my back and ride me like some kind of lumbering waterhorse which was a challenge and a half as I was trying to look after S at the same time. The person most at risk of drowning was me I think.

Thursday, I felt full of cold and was quite pathetic really, so we had a TV day. I did try not to, honest I did! I just couldn’t find the energy to leave the house, so was stuck indoors with two very active children who seemed to be occupying themselves by arguing with each other. S had a productive day though, he perfected his new ear-splitting scream, which is now very proud of, and happily weed with gay abandon, everywhere…and when I say everywhere I mean everywhere. The sofa, the floor, on his sister, next to his potty (which was the most infuriating thing ever) and I just couldn’t cope with a combination of all the above activities and just switched Cbeebies on and hoped it would rescue me – which it did. I suppose a bit of tv brainwashing won’t do too much harm. D did announce several times that she wanted some ‘Moon dough’ or some such product after having watched the advert four times, so I suspect there maybe a little mental scarring, but there ya go!

Friday was another swimming day. I’ve enrolled S in lessons, so took him along in the morning. I thought it was hilarious to see the swimming teacher issuing orders to us, while the kids took not a blind bit of notice. ‘And now we’re going to swim on our backs!’ she announced – cue a bit of splashing and babies flatly refusing to do anything other than flail around and grab at their mum’s hair, or hold onto the side, or cling koala fashion to spare arms. Next order – ‘OK, now we’re going to practise holding onto the side and then pushing off!’ This time the kids were gently placed on the side where they were encouraged to hold on and then were encouraged to let go. Understandably confused many of them, just babbled gibberish and refused to let go, having been given something solid to hold on to. ‘Now a star float!,’ A couple of mums half heartedly spread eagled themselves in the water while the kids watched in amusement, and that was that. The funniest, and most embarrassing bit was when the teacher brought out a load of long, sausage shaped floats which we were told to ‘play horses’ with. We all climbed on these floats, with our little ‘uns in front of us, and sort of rode / bounced / staggered across the swimming pool. I sang ‘Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop, just let your heels go clippety clop’ all the way, and felt a proper fool. It just wasn’t dignified! Mind you, I’ve never really worried about being dignified before, so I suppose there’s no reason to start now. The kids loved it, my knees didn’t.

Saturday we went over to a friend’s birthday do. I’d not seen my friend for years, and was looking forward to catching up a bit. We snatched bits of conversation every now and then, which wasn’t easy! A whole bunch of us had gone over to her open house, including my OH and our kids, and my sister and her two kids. Basically this equalled a rampaging horde of children in a small house with lots of party food in it. D nicked strawberries from the fruit salad at every opportunity, S tried to eat the blackberries in the back yard where someone had brought and left their dog to try and keep it out of the way of everyone. I wasn’t sure if the aforementioned dog had wee’d on the blackberries so spent quite a while trying to persuade S that they were ‘bird blackberries,’ (in reference to the ‘bird cherries’ I’ve persuaded him not to eat on the way to D’s school). This backfired somewhat and he became similarly obsessed with ‘bird blackberries.’

In all truth they actually behaved very well, even if they did act like we’d not fed them for weeks. We eventually left mid afternoon and, as planned, the kids were shipped over the their grandparents for the night, whilst Tom and I had a night off and stayed at another relatives house. I’m always relieved when D and S go to their grandparents without a fuss now, but always feel slightly put out that they don’t appear to need me as much as they used to. – which is rubbish really, they’re just getting to be independent souls, and I shouldn’t mourn for the days of the screaming ab-dabs that we used to get every time we left them.

T and I decided to go for a civilised walk that evening, we trekked through a wood and the rain pattered on the leaves, effectively sheltering us which was great as I’d forgotten my umbrella. It was lovely to come across a bright orange stream, dyed with the iron that washed through it. T said that he used to play there as a child and spent ages trying to dye random sticks and debris orange. Strange to think of my huge, 6ft 3 husband as a little kid playing in a stream.

Further down the route we came across another stream with a bridge over it, two empty bottles of lambrini lay discarded underneath it. T commented that trolls must only drink lambrini which cracked me no end, just the mental image of two gnarled old trolls sat hassling billy goats whilst necking pastel coloured bottles of lambrini. Maybe you had to be there! I suspect I’ve spent too long reading fairy tales, speaking of mental scarring!

It was just so peaceful. I love my kids very, very much, but I so love calm and sensible conversation sometimes (she says after mentioning a highly ridiculous bit of troll banter….).

We went out for an indian meal in Shipley. At first we weren’t sure where to go, and stood in front of two Indian restaurants trying to make our minds up. A friendly, helpful, but obviously slightly narked, passerby told us that ‘we’ve just been to the one on the right, and it was crap if that helps’ so we made our choice easily enough after that. Our food wasn’t crap, so that was a relief.

We picked the kids up on the Sunday. They were happily spoilt rotten and the grandparents were completely shattered by the looks of it. After a huge Sunday roast, which I ate with embarrassing gusto, like I always do – we ventured home.

The end of another busy weekend! The weeks and months are flying by. I found myself discussing plans for Christmas earlier – scary stuff! They say time flies when you’re having fun, I say time flies when you’re running around like a blue arsed fly!

Finally, I feel the need to mention an unfortunate incident involving my best black suade boots. S wee’d on them just before we set off to my friend’s birthday do. His timing was perfect, and I was very annoyed. I hereby state my intention to seek revenge. When he’s 17 and just about to go on an important date with a new girlfriend I intend to wee in his shoes, let’s see how he likes it!