Goodbye Pink Potty

Ava Belle is officially potty trained. Hallelujah. It really wasn't so bad, actually, we just waited until she turned three and then told her that the diapers were for Emmett. She did 'mark her territory' across the better part of Saint Louis but, hey, urine is sterile, right? Well, that brings me to the real reason for this post. Urine, apparently, can be many things. Mainly, it's waste. But, it can also double as plant killer. Let me explain. We have a two story house with a finished basement, bathroom upstairs, bathroom downstairs, niente on the main floor. So, I purchased a very small, very discreet pink potty to pull out in those emergent moments when we couldn't make it to one of the other bathrooms. Quickly, it became routine to just carry the pink potty around with us from room to room on the main floor. For some reason, I found it a little tiring to run up/downstairs to have AB empty her bladder or for me to empty the potty each time she went (very frequently in the beginning) so, I began to open the front door and toss the tee-tee outside, just to the right of the door behind a large bush.  Please take note: I adhered to a very different regimen for discarding poop. This went on for......awhile. So, the other day as I was locking up I noticed the bush had all these dead leaves in one isolated area. It looked as if someone had sprayed it with acid. Hmmmm. I thought for just a moment. Then, I decided that we needed to say goodbye to the pink potty. For the most part, AB has had no problem making it to the up or downstairs potty in time. However, sometimes she's a little too busy playing and I'm just hoping that the finish on our floor is slightly more sturdy than the bush by the door. 

Where the Wild Things Are....

Little BraveHeart. AB painted his face for him. He didn't mind.

Well, they are here. In my house. In my bed. They are with me when I take a shower, actually, they are with me every time I go into the bathroom. You get the point. They are wild things. And, I am their Mommy which means that I have the potential to be the wildest of them all. This afternoon, following a rare fit of cleaning, Ava Belle walks downstairs and says, "Mommy, why does it smell like wild things in this house?" Hmmm. I wonder. This coming from a three year old who is wearing nothing but a pair of Elmo panties, backwards, and has a bright red tummy. Apparently, the baby in her belly told her to color it with a red marker.  I think it's time for good ole Daddy to come home and bring a little equilibrium back to the 'lair.'

We went to church on Mother's Day morning and, as has become ritual, we entered and had our quick family conference. 

Emily: I'll take Emmett, diaper bag, sling and find seats.

Paul: I'll take Ava Belle to the nursery.

Ava Belle: I want Mommy to take me, no, Daddy to take me. No, Emmett to take me. (We settle on Daddy.)

Then, we all split up. I find seats and sit with Emmett through a few songs, maybe one reading, and then he's had about enough. Or, should I say, I'm assuming the people sitting just by us have had enough. So, I do the 'excuse me please,' 'oops, pardon us,' and try and keep Emmett's sweet sticky hands from grabbing anyone's hair as we make our way out of the aisle and head to the "Room with a View," a special little room where mothers with babies who need a break from the service (for a variety of reasons) can come and sit and still enjoy through a large window and a speaker. By this time, Paul is just coming back down from dropping AB off at the nursery and that is pretty much how each Sunday goes. So, this week was Mother's Day and as I sat in the little room with all these other mothers I decided there wasn't a better place to spend Mother's Day morning at church. I must admit, most of the time in there is like a little party and, on occasion, we have even turned down the speaker because it was interrupting our conversations. We just chat and catch up, talk about potty training, talk about the latest and greatest teething toys, the marvelous advances made in cloth diapers and over these conversations we eventually open to eachother and share. We share lots of things. We laugh, get teary-eyed, offer wipes to one another. It's very special and I look forward to it every week. Then, when we see everyone circling around for communion we tuck our shirts and 'selves' back into place, see that our babies are stuffed snug in their slings, and partake in communion. I love Sunday mornings at church, and it was a great way to spend Mother's Day morning. So, to you ladies out there who I get to hang out with on Sundays, thank you for the extra hands when changing an unbelievably poopie diaper, thank you for encouraging me with your birth stories and listening to mine, thank you for not minding too much when my big boy pulls your little girls hair, thank you for the diaper tips and for the commiseration over lack of sleep. I am truly moved by your openness and delighted by your company. I thank you and Happy Mother's Day.