Overheard

Dare I even breathe a word about it? Should I know better the second time around? I suspect the universe turns little parenting victories celebrated too soon into major setbacks.

My daughter potty trained herself the month before she turned 2, but then got a stomach virus and lost her confidence. For like four and a half months. I just quietly put her back in diapers and asked from time to time: Underwear or diapers?

And she's said underwear three days in a row now. She wants to go potty "like Danny doos." Well, all right then. I've been getting up to six consecutive hours of sleep a night lately. I think I can handle this now. I won't lose my mind this time. I won't lose my cool. I'll keep a poker face. It won't turn into a battle of wills. There will be no bribes. I won't cry, puke or bang my head against a wall. I promise. 

Ahem.

I've been monitoring her in the bathroom and trying to keep Owen from eating toilet paper and putting toys in the potty all the while thinking, didn't I just do this a year or so ago and wasn't it Fiona who was then hell bent on sticking her hands in the toilet? (I've had my hands in the toilet more times this week than I care to think about. Shudder.) She's doing very well, though. And she wants her privacy in the bathroom.


Go away, mommy. I hear this a half dozen times a day. It's like a preview of her teen years.
 
Meanwhile ...

Danny, did you forget why you went up there? Jim asks when Danny appeared wearing the same shorts he'd just peed in. (Seriously. Four and a half years old and he peed his pants.)
That's pretty likely, Jim, since he just forgot to use the toilet.

My penis is jumping with me, Danny says as he jumps naked on our little trampoline in the TV room. 

I want my door open. Get out of my room, Fiona says. Okay, this is just getting obnoxious.


What are we doing, mommy? Fiona asks.

What do you have, mommy? Her verbal and observation skills scare the crap out of me.

I want what you have, she tells Jim, who was trying to sneak some candy.
It's a fig newton.
It's not a fig newton. She's way too smart.


Who is this? Fiona asks. I'm talking on the phone, she tell us. Turns out, she had redialed Jim's boss and was actually talking to her.


What happened, mommy? Fiona asks as I'm laughing at something on the radio in the van. She monitors my every move, this one. I feel like I'm being stalked.


Am I five yet? Danny popped his head into the kitchen and asked after breakfast one morning.
Nope, not until December. Sadly, this answer won't stop him from asking every single day until then.

One more outburst and I'm sending you two outside. 
Not a minute later ... 
MOM, Fiona just had a burst out. It's interesting what he hears versus what I say. This explains a lot, actually. 


You guys need baths tonight. 
No, no, I can lick myself. See? Gross. Apparently, Danny thinks he's a cat.

You can't come with us, Danny tells me. We were about to go out in search of a basketball hoop.
Oh, I can't?
No, you girls stay here and clean the house. (Jerk.)

Play with me, Danny demands at 8:00 at night while we're outside catching fireflies. I had the nerve to sit down and talk to my husband.
I played with you all day. 
Play with me some more, he said in his best robot voice.

I've got go let [the fireflies] go, Danny told me. They need to be with their family.  (He's so sweet.)


Sit down. It's not that kind of place, honey, Jim tells Fiona who was standing on her chair in the restaurant.


Have a great weekend.