Lesson Learned.

Every weekend my family and I take a trip to Target or Evil-mart and buy the necessary items to get us through the week. Things like toilet paper, dish soap, cereal and twelve boxes of Dora fruity snacks. Yes, twelve. This one time we bought 11 and jeezum crow if it didn't ruin an entire Thursday.

I use to think shopping with one child was a challenge. So much so that it took me 6 years to willingly get pregnant with Emily. I remember admiring the abilities of the wife of my husband's boss one day. She had three girls and I was in awe of the way she handled each one so masterfully. I commented on how tough it must be and she modestly said "Oh honey, one baby, three babies, it's all the same." And I just want to go on record and say right here and now that IT IS NOT THE SAME.

I feel like every where we go it's always a major production. This one is running that way and the other this way. One needs to go to the bathroom and we can't find this one. Oh look! There she is, naked by the gumball machines again. We juggle kids like one of those entertainers people hire for their kid's birthday party. You know, the guy who juggles fiery rings and bowling pins like it's no big deal? Only we drop ours.

We weren't prepared for this either. Sydney was a shining example of a toddler and easy to take anywhere. Mother Nature likes to play cruel jokes on people and give them a false sense of good parenting skills, only to nail you in the ass the second go round. And sometimes the third. Which isn't really fair to Abby because she's generally well behaved. That is until you get to the Little Debbie Snacks. She was wrestling with a box of those for 10 minutes one afternoon and every time we tried to go in the opposite direction she began screeching like her name was Emily.

Just imagine my elation today when we get Abby loaded into the cart at Target and Emily decides she wants Daddy to take her inside the mall and Sydney wanted to join her. Luckily, Target is connected to the mall, otherwise we would have had a slight problem. Anywho, I was two children down and in Target with a wallet full of babysitting money. I could hardly contain the excitement, except I did because well, I didn't want to have to repay any favors later if you know what I mean.

My repressed happiness quickly turned into queasiness as I turned the corner and remembered that we were shopping in a college town and last week was orientation. By now all the parents were gone and the college freshmen had their brand new credit cards and allowances burning holes in their pockets. They can't buy beer yet and they don't have any friends that can buy beer yet, so guess where they all were? Yeah. Gold fish and granola bar shopping. The must haves for every diet of a fresh out of the nest almost grown up.

I'm inching through crowded snack aisles trying to stock up for the last week of summer vacation (Yes!) and I come to a dead stop because there are two young ladies with their cart parked at the exit of the aisle and while standing in the middle of the intersection with their butts sticking out to see if someone will go buy them some beer. At this point I'm just standing there kind of, but not really looking at them in hopes that they will move but they don't. So I inch a little closer and throw some Fruit Nuggets into my cart and try to initiate some sort of courtesy act where they get to be like most people and make room for the rest of the world. They clearly can not be bothered.

I do realize that these girls are over privileged, Ivy League princesses and haven't yet learned the rules of living in a world where not everyone kisses their tiny candy asses clad in Seven jeans so I show a little restraint, and it paid off because before you know it one of them rolls her eyes and moves the cart back 4 inches so I could squeeze through. IF I WERE A CONTORTIONIST. The other just stood there in the way with her ass sticking out just in case I had a valid ID. I gave them a slightly sarcastic thank you and went on my way. The kind where you pretend to smile but roll your eyes a little to get your point across.

I know, I'm subtle like that. Just ask Jamie.

I am half way up the next aisle when one declares "That PISSES me OFF!" just loud enough for me to hear. I reply in the same manner "Isn't that too bad" and go about my shopping adventure. Part of me (the 18 year old in me) wanted them to get even more obnoxious and come and chew me out so I could give them a piece of my mind and the grown up part of me knew it wasn't worth my time fishing out any sort of verbal justice. This is who they are right now but one day, one fine, glorious day they will be me and they are going to realize how self absorbed they once were. Or at least we all hope they will.

I have to side with the "they will" because I've thought about the two girls, and all the other newbies I encountered on my Target excursion today and my mind drifted back to my first years outside of my mother's reach. And man, was I ever slapped in the face with a big old fat dose of Karma. I was such an obnoxious little twit who would do anything to get a rise out of someone so I could look big. Except I never really was. Oh, sure, maybe to my friends or the geeks that hung on my every obnoxious word thought that I was hilarious, but I wasn't.

Today I laughed at my ability to see both sides and took comfort in knowing that they will all mature, and some other snotty size 2 will give it back to them one day. What goes around, comes around they say. And I might have made a mental note in hopes that next year I remember to stay away from Target juuuust long enough for the freshman to score some beer.

The final frontier!

Emily is finally taking up potty training. Actually it was sort of forced (I know! Bad Mommy) on her. She wasn't pleased about it, in fact, she threw a few tantrums where she insisted I put a diapee on her NOW.

I didn't.

I am so sick of wiping smeared shit off her ass that I just couldn't bring myself to surrender the Huggie any longer.

As of late, oh who am I kidding. Since birth, I have not felt like I had a lot of control over Emily's milestones. And I realize that life is just that way. Each child is different and takes alternative coaxing strategies to get them to reach these milestones.

With Emily there has been no coaxing. You couldn't give her a bottle; she wouldn't accept care from anyone but me for the longest time. She wouldn't sleep no matter how many different techniques we used to get her to sleep through. When she turned 9 months old I became pregnant and any energy I might have had to tackle the difficult aspects was tapped. She wouldn't even try to develop her language skills. She didn't respond to any real type of discipline and I have been pulling my hair out since day one, and I expect that ritual will continue until forever.

But I had to try.

More than a week has passed since our initial induction into Pantyhood and things are really going well. She doesn't protest anymore in the mornings when it's time to take her night diaper off. She hasn't had a ton of accidents, though there are some. But I expect some. I'm surprised she's not pissing herself accidentally on purpose to be honest with you. She has surprised us all and really flourished and grown throughout this process so far.

Which, I'll admit, didn't come without a few tears and doubts on my end. They don't recommend forcing potty training. All the books and online advice tell you to wait it out and let them decide when they're ready. I figured that I was doomed to change her diaper until Abby was ready to train and then it was a toss up if she would initiate it then or not. I'm glad that I took matters in my own hands now but last week I was really unsure if I was doing the right thing or not.

The one hint that finally convinced me that it was working is that I found her "I've gotta have this thing and I'll do anything to get it" item. Emily likes her some gum. And now I have little chewed up pieces of Trident all over my house and
pee stains on a few of my carpets but I'm going to rent a rug doctor soon anyway. It's worth the headache to be half way out of diapers.

So congratulate me ya'll. I've graduated to only one in diapers. I am so freaking happy to reach this milestone and I will gladly cart her butt to the facilities every 10 minutes if it is a means to an end.

Next thing to go? Binky.

Hopefully sometime before she gets her period.

I got what I wished for.

We're officially staying put for a few more years. Which, as you know, is exactly what I wanted, in that if I can't have what I really want then I don't want anything kind of way. I would rather stay here than move some place I don't want to live, even if that means being incredibly lonely at times.

The funny thing is, I'm kind of bi-polar when it comes to choosing where, because one moment I'm perfectly content in moving to the city near J's family. The next moment, not so much. I have never felt at home there and the only pull I feel is the benefit of babysitters and to instill the importance of extended family in my children. Plus the cheese steaks don't suck. Then the manic part of me suddenly wants to become a vegetarian and move closer to my family for the same, obvious reasons. Only I prefer lobster rolls up there - wait, can vegetarians even eat lobster?

The good part about staying put other than the whole not having to pack up a young, pants shitting (well two of us - I'm not telling which two) family of five, is not having choose where to be. I don't want to pick. I don't want one family to feel like we chose the other instead, even though it has little to do with what we truly want and more to do with where the job offer comes from. Even then it still won't matter to some people (read husband's people). They are relentless and really just want us all to live in one giant Kennedy-ish compound (seriously, this was mentioned). One where I get to mind all the kids and most likely change the Depends of the elderly along with the Huggies of the young.

They've promised there will be wine but I don't trust 'em. Not a single one. Hell, the husband introduced himself as Jamie - so I married him because I loved the way Jamie and Europa looked inside a heart with glitter. TRUE LOVE FOREVER. Five years later his name was Jim. I wouldn't have married a Jim. Jim looks like shit when written with my gold gel pen.

Deception runs in the family, I think.

Even if there is wine they'll probably make sure I wait until 5 pm and limit my consumption to a respectable two glasses because grown ups don't get drunk. And that's when I will frantically grip the bottle of wine and begin running around the compound in my thong yelling "YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME, YOU FUCKERS!"

And that, my friends, is probably when I'll be moving back to Maine.