I’m just writing to write. Really. Really really. I would not be doing it except I really have committed to doing it every day. Maybe I need a funny story. What happened to all my funny stories? What happened to all the coffee? I’m a full-fledged addict now, I’ll have you know. I neeeeed it. Every morning and sometimes again later. Now, it’s all about the dance between Ry and me to see which one of us can convince the other one to make it. I’ve used my womanly ways. I admit it. I’m not above it. And he’ll generally bribe me with childcare. Like potty duty.
Speaking of potty duty . . . (not to be confused with potty dooty, though, you know, sometimes there’s not much difference.) Ruthie is driving me batty with the whole potty thing. I mean, sure, yeah yeah, I’ve earned it. Because my first two were relatively easy. The second one was super easy, taking it upon herself to master the skill when she was precisely 2.5. Isaac took a bizarre and, at times, disgusting week to accomplish that milestone at 3.5. And, true to her split-the-difference form, Ruthie’s coming into her potty mastery at the age of 3. I hope she’ll be all done in the next two months, anyway.
Meanwhile . . . good grief! Varying levels of commitment to say the least. Really, yesterday it was more like she was just wearing cloth diapers instead of the super thick gotchies she had on. She doesn’t pee all the way through them, but she pees in every one of them. By the end of the day, she was just squealing, “Oo! I peed in my diapah!” as she kicked her undies off her foot, watching it flip through the air. Lovely, really.
But, all in all, as long as I take her to the bathroom like every 45 minutes, she’s OK. Yes, I know that makes me the one who is “trained,” but it also makes me the one who, after nearly 8 years, is completely diaper free during the day. Yes, it is every bit my milestone as Ruthie’s so I’m fine that I’m the one who’s trained.
So, there ya have it. My funny story. Except tonight it wasn’t funny. Tonight we went to a community Lenten service, all five of us. Ry was preaching and I was hanging out with the kids. I took Ruthie to the restroom before the service began. You know, to empty out and minimize the risk of wet drawers. And then the child declared she had to use the bathroom at least 4 more times during the 40 minute service. I kid you not. But, you know, she’s at that stage . . . where sometimes she doesn’t truly take the time to empty her bladder, so she’s doing it in installments, or, possibly she’s got some other issues going on. So, really, you feel like you must take her. Even though most of you knows that she’s just discovered an ingenious way to get up and walk around for a while and use the really cool soap dispenser with a blinky light (who knew?!). But still. You go. Because a big gross mess is at stake.
So, sadly I missed my husband’s second sermon for the day and I really think it was a good one. Maybe he’ll read it to me later. Or maybe we’ll collapse on the couch in a heap and split the rest of the bottle of Riesling. Tough choice.
