Apple Farm

Went to Chudleigh's Farm in Milton today to pick apples. For more details, check out William's video blog entry.

Who has a penis?

Conversation with my son as he peed in the toilet:

"That's my penis."
"It sure is."
"Daddy have a penis?"
"That's right, Daddy has a penis."
"Mommy have a penis?"
"No, I don't have a penis. I'm a girl. Girl's don't have penises."
"Zia not have a penis."
"That's right. Jadzia doesn't have a penis."
"Frogs have a penis?"
"If it's a boy frog, I guess so."
"Spiders have a penis?"
"That I'm not so sure about. Bugs are very different than us. I'll have to look it up for you."
"I will have a candy?"
"Wash your hands first."

In case anyone's interested, the answer is no, spiders do not have penises. When they urinate, it's a solid (because their bodies can't afford to lose too much water) and it comes out the same hole as their poop. When they mate, their man juice comes out of a modified mouthpart (so I guess they only have oral). Male frogs do have a penis-like organ, but it's inside the body. I'm not sure if they pee out of it though.

Underwear: Day 2

This morning William woke up and wanted to wear his underwear immediately. I opted to skip our usual trip to the Early Years Centre in favour of pee patrol. I asked him often whether he needed to go pee, and about every forty minutes to an hour I staged a mandatory bathroom trip. Each time he would stand in front of the toilet and let loose a satifying stream of urine and he didn't have one pee-accident all morning.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same about number two. The good news is that his Transformers underwear contained the toddler excrement quite nicely. A relief, since he was sitting on our beige sofa at the time. The bad news is that I was stuck cleaning partially digested grapes out of my child's tightie whities.

I put William in a clean pair of underwear, rinsed out the stinky ones, threw them in the wash, declogged my sink, and washed my hands three times. William stayed dry for the rest of the morning.

Just after lunch, I took him to the washroom and put him in a pull-up in anticipation of nap time. Then I fed Jadzia and put her in a crib. In all, William was in his pull-up for about ten minutes. So of course he pooed in it.

I had just taken him to the potty but, being a boy, he's all gung ho about standing to pee and not so thrilled about sitting on the toilet to do his business. Whatever, I'm just glad the second one was in a pull-up. I'm told that children are toilet trained for pee long before the get poo, but I'm highly motivated to minimize future underwear messes.

I haven't decided yet what my plan is for the afternoon. Should we try undies at my parents' house this evening?

In any case, I'm calling this morning's toilet training another great success.

Underwear: Day 1

Yesterday I asked William if he wanted to wear big boy underwear like Daddy, he excitedly answered "Um, Okay!" So this morning, before my husband went to work, we took a family trip to "the Underwear Store" (aka Zellers). We made a big deal out of letting him pick out his new undies and he studied each package, exclaiming "Look at this underwear!" and "What's this one Mommy?" Finally he settled on a pack of Transformers undies (odd since he doesn't watch the show), with my husband quickly tossing some Cars and Thomas the Tank Engine packs in the cart aswell.

On the way home William told me "I like the underwear store Mommy."

When we got home, I was all gung ho and asked if he wanted to put his new underwear on right away. "No, I will not wear underwear," he replied. "I will have watermelon."

So we had a snack, then we read some books, then I fed Jadzia. While I was occupied with his sister, William pooed in his pull-up.
"Let's change your diaper," said I.
"Noooooo! I will not change diaper." Meltdown.
I counted to five, ready to pick him up and carry him to the washroom, when he suddenly calmed himself and marched toward the bathroom, chanting "I will wear underwear. Underwear in the washroom."

After I'd cleaned his bum, he peed in the potty man-style. I offered him his Transformer underwear first, since that was the one he picked. Once he had them on he said "No, I will not wear Transformers underwear. I will wear racecar underwear."
So I helped him take the Transformers briefs off and slip on a pair of Cars undies.
"No, I will not wear racecar underwear. I will wear Thomas underwear."
Fine, whatever. I helped him put the Thomas the Tank Engine ones on. I expected him to change his mind again, but this time William seemed satisfied with his choice.


He ran around the coffee table excitedly for about twenty seconds, then exclaimed "I'm hungry." It was almost lunch time, so I fixed some zoodles while William munched on a yogurt appetizer. When the food was ready, I noticed that William was not sitting at the table wear I'd left him. He was in his room. So was about a gallon of pee.

"Did you pee on the floor?" I asked him and he responded by slipping and falling on the wet mess. I told him it was okay and accidents happen sometimes and next time he felt like he needed to pee to please tell me (a repeat of the same speech I'd given him about a hundred times before the underwear excursion began). Then I rescued his books from the edge of the puddle (he'd managed not to pee directly on any of them) and wiped the floor with a towel.

I helped William change his underwear, though the ones he was wearing were only barely wet. Then we had lunch and I let William play on my computer for a bit. He had about an hour of dry underwear time before it was time for nap.

"Your underwear is dry, good for you!" I exclaimed. I asked him if he would like to sit on the potty. "No." Then I asked him if he would like to pee in the potty. "No." I asked him eight more different ways if he was sure. "No." I suggested we put a diaper on him so he doesn't pee on the bed. "No, no, no, no," he said and ran out of the washroom and went straight to the bedroom and sat on his bed.

I told him he could wear his underwear to bed, as long as he came and got me if he needed to pee, and he didn't pee on his sheets. At that moment he got a faraway look in his eyes and wet splotch formed under him. Gah! I carried him to the toilet, pulled off his underwear and put a pull-up on him. Then I changed his bedding. Okay, maybe I said the word "pee" too many times, but it all seemed rather premeditated to me.

I told him I understand that he is just learning and apologized for getting frustrated. Then we read stories and he went to sleep, in a pull-up. This afternoon we're going out, so I'll forego the big-boy undies until tomorrow. I'm calling this morning a success.

Cuteness and Momhandling

Above is a picture of my children climbing on me. Note, I am not holding William up, but rather guiding his body so he doesn't break his neck (or hit his sister) as he leaps over my shoulder. Below is a video of Jadzia eating a peach (co-starring William also eating a peach). It's cute. This is my life, a mixture of cuteness and manhandling. Children love with all their strength. They love by crashing into you running full speed, by leaping on and over you, climbing on you, offering tight strangle hugs, pulling hair, pinching faces. (Those last two refer to Jadzia). At the end of the day, I'm exhausted from all the love.

Real Life Timmies Drama

Tonight Adam and I went and saw the 7:30 showing of District 9, an action-packed documentary-style sci fi, that left me thinking I should learn more about world politics to appreciate all the metaphors (and left my husband wanting his own robot suit). Good movie.

Of course the real world is far more exciting because, when we stopped at Tim Horton's afterwards, we saw a drunk guy passed out at a table! Drama at its finest, and unlike District 9, this was happening right in front of our eyes.

We sipped hot chocolate and munched on blueberry and boston cream donuts, keeping one ear open to staff's discussions. First, about who was going to clean up the man's vomit, and later, whether they should call the cops.

Finally the cops did arrive. Two guys, looking burly in their bullet proof vests, and wearing gloves (I assume because vomit was involved).
"What's your name?" asked the cops, over and over, "How old are you?"
I couldn't hear the man's response, or even whether he responded, but eventually they figured out that his name was Adam (about which my husband Adam was just tickled pink).

When they couldn't get anything useful out of Drunk Adam, an ambulance droved up outside and in came two female paramedics, with walkie talkies and green scissors in their utility belts. They tried basically the same thing as the cops did, which was to say "Hey Adam, how old are you?" in various different ways. Drunk Adam looked to be in his mid twenties, old enough to drink but young enough to get carded at the liquor store. The paramedics also asked Drunk Adam where he lived, but that wasn't nearly as interesting to them as his age.

I guess they suddenly realized that this guy wasn't going to stand up and walk out, because right then one of the paramedics said "we'll be right back" and they both went outside and got the stretcher out of the ambulance.

The cops and the paramedics then worked together to lift Drunk Adam onto the stretcher. Drunk Adam didn't seem to notice or care that he was being wheeled away, but perhaps he was just happy to have somewhere more comfy to sleep than the chairs at Tim Hortons.

Then Drunk Adam got into a giant robot suit and started blowing people up with his ray gun. No, actually nothing else happened, we went home.

If we had a million dollars...we'd be rich

Every time money gets a little tight it inevitably leads to a budget discussion. As in, what would we do if we had millions of dollars in our budget. Adam and I were having such a conversation last night. I'd decided that I wanted live a modest suburban life, while using most of my money to travel. But where to go first?

To engage him in our conversation, I asked William: "Where would you go?"

He replied, "Zoe's house."

I thought he'd misunderstood my question. We'd just gone to his friend Zoe's house that day and sometimes I ask him to recap recent events. So I clarified. "No, I mean if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

"Um, I know, the park!"

So this morning we went to the park. This is where you'd expect something shmultzy about the best things in life being free, except we had to cut William's dream gettaway short because he refused to stop throwing rocks at me. Turns out he did this because he was thirsty (a logical response for a two and a half year old). So we went home and had some water. And he threw his cup across the room. Now I'm not sure what the moral of this story is.

The Adventures of a Napping Toddler

William normally naps at 1 pm. Today:

Went to a playdate/baby shower. Stayed until 2:30 pm.

William fell asleep in the car.

Got home. Saw a note on the door from my Mom and remembered that I was supposed to pick up Morty the Jackapoo to look after while my parents are at the cottage.

Drove to my parents'. William stayed asleep.

Put Morty in the car. Jadzia shrieked happily. Morty whimpered. William stayed asleep.

Drove home again. Tried to convince Morty to go outside so I could put William to bed. He refused.

Carried William to his room while Morty was leaping on me. William stayed asleep.

Noticed that William's bed had no sheets or pillow. Remembered he had wet the bed the night before.

Lay him down anyway. He woke up briefly, stared at me, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Got Jadzia from the car. (I know, I know, but she was only alone in the car for a minute). Put her in the exersaucer.

Morty licked her face immediately. She cried. William still did not wake up.

In other news: Today Jadzia got her first taste of chocolate cake, which she stole from one of William's girlfriends.

Also: On the way to the playdate, I saw a woman walking her cat on a leash.

Play dates rule

After yesterday's incident with the outlet it was nice to have a bunch of women around who can relate to having a two and a half year old. Today's festivities included: eating timbits, eating cookies, eating animal crackers, playing with toys, playing with balls, fighting over balls, holding Jadzia, baking a pretend cake, throwing magnets, shrieking, practicing indoor screaming, jumping on William's car bed, reading a book, eating noodles, throwing noodles on the carpet, watching Cars.

I can see why children nap, they make four hours seem like ten. Still, it was oddly relaxing having three extra toddlers running around my house, while we Moms sat on the couch in the eye of the hurricane. My friend Columbia calls me "Zen Mommy" because I'm always so calm and don't let things phase me. In reality I'm only calm with my Mommy friends around. They remind me that I'm not alone in the universe.

Electrified toddler

This afternoon I was on my computer, as I often am, while my children played in the dining room. Only Jadzia was within sight, but I could tell that William was only a few feet away from her, chatting merrily in his sing-song voice. Since she started crawling, Jadzia tends to follow her brother around like a loyal henchman. I was feeling quite proud of myself for remembering to close the basement door, when suddenly a bunch of things happened at once:

My computer abruptly shut down.
I heard a loud pop, accompanied by a spark, from underneath the dining room table.
My son began wailing.

I rushed to the dining room and grabbed an histerical William into my arms. The room smelled like burnt plastic.

When William was first born, we went around our condo putting safety outlet covers on all the outlets, anticipating a time when he would be crawling and getting into everything. Our efforts were in vain. He got into everything, except outlets. Apparently they aren't that exciting to an infant. When we moved into our house a year ago we didn't bother. For one thing that's a lot of outlets to replace, way more than we had in our condo. And for another, with all the dangerous appliances, sharp corners, and stairs, we thought the outlet covers were the least of our worries.

Now that William is two-and-a-half, he understands a lot more. And he's observant. Like he's seen me lock and unlock the front door enough times to know that a key is meant to be shoved into a hole.

So now the outlet in the dining room has a tiny explosion of black soot coming out of it, the same soot covers my son's arm, my keys are sticking out of the outlet, and the power is out in the dining room and family room.

My first thought is if my son is okay. As I'm comforting him I check his arm for burns, I wave my hand in front of his eyes to be sure he can still see, and I ask him questions to be sure he can hear me. I think about taking him to a doctor, but he seems completely fine once he calms down.

Next, I yank my keys out of the outlet and hang them up high, then I run downstairs and flick the breaker. Then I grab my son, tell him I love him, and burst into tears. I'd always assumed that sticking something metal into an outlet would cause you to die a horrible death by electrocution. I'm not sure how likely that is, but in my mind my son almost died, and it would've been my fault.

Jadzia Stands

She's been taunting me with this one for a while now, grabbing onto furniture, almost pulling herself up only to be distracted at the last minute by an interesting bit of carpet fluff. Today, she finally did it, Jadzia stood up in her crib.

My husband immediately announced that it was time to lower her crib mattress and went and got his tools. Now the walls are about eight feet high (baby feet). I'd like to see her try to stand now!