October 21, 2011

Charlotte's got a new favorite game.  I'll be sitting, working, goofing off, whatever, and up she toddles.

"Ah peeeeeeeee!"

"Chaaaaaarlotte..."  This comes out as a groan, as this is only the five bajillionth time she's said this in the past hour.

"Ah pee! Ah pee!"

"You want to pee?"

"Yahp.  Ah pee. Ehl-ya."

"You want to pee like Elliot?"

"Yahp.  Ehl-ya!  Ehl-ya! Ah pee!"

Groan.  Off to the bathroom we go.  Charlotte opens the potty, puts Elliot's potty seat on, pushes the stool into place, and turns to me.

"Ah peeeeeeee!"

"Okay, baby girl."

Now, at this point I have one of two options.  I can go easy route, which involves just lifting her, with her clothes ON, onto the potty seat for a minute.  Or I can go with the more roundabout route, which means I take her pants and diaper off and let her sit for a moment.  Easy is faster, roundabout more educational.  I tend to fluctuate.  But it is important to note, it makes no difference to Charlotte WHICH I pick, because under no circumstances is she actually going to pee in the potty.  Nor will it alter her next several steps in the slightest.

I pick.  I put her on the potty.

"Ah peeeeeee!"

"You peed?"

"Yahp."

"Ready to get down?"

"Ah pee, Ah pee."

"Do you need to wipe first?"

"Yahp."

Into her tiny hand goes enough toilet paper to wipe an entire battalion of toddlers.  I carefully extract some so that it merely enough for a small scouting squad.  She cheerfully pushes it through her legs and into the toilet, never once making contact with any part of her body, even if I have removed her diaper.

"Ah duhn."

"You're done?"

"Yahp."

"Ready to get down?"

"Yahp."

Off she goes, to announce to Daddy and Elliot "Ah pee!" and the adventure is over, at least for the next 15 minutes.

 ***

You know a lesson that I have to learn over and over?  No matter how much your kids like prunes, don't let them eat more than two.

***

Becca sent me an article about a woman who's son has Tay-Sachs.  It was heartbreaking and thought provoking.  Highlights are as follows:  Her son will not live to be three years old.  She sees that most parents "parent for the future."  Parenting a child with a terminal illness means you don't parent for the future, you just parent for *right*now*.  At one point she says "We have a very permissive household."

I've been thinking about it a lot.  Most parents DO parent for the future.  We have to, right?  You can't let your children have cheesecake at every meal because it could do hideous things to their health, not to mention their food choices the rest of their lives.  You can't let your kids stay up all night long because, in addition to needing at least a few hours to yourself, it would be horrible for them.  Right?  Right.

So I've been finding myself, oddly enough, slightly envious of this poor woman.  Not actually envious, of course, because I would never in any reality trade places with her.  No, the fact that my children are healthy and whole is, quite possibly, the greatest gift I have ever been given.

But I wish I could parent more for right now.  I wish I could let my children do what they wanted, without the worry of what it might mean in the future. I think maybe that's the biggest thing that you never learn until you become a parent.  Your parents never WANTED to tell you no.  They wanted to say "yes" and make you happy.  But they had to worry about how the choices of today would affect tomorrow, so they sucked it up and said no.

Today I was trying to put Charlotte down for a nap.  She's been fighting me on that, recently, and I had been upstairs with her for an hour, trying to get her to sleep.  I was lying there with her and she reached up and patted my face so sweetly, and said "Ah.  Mama." and then gave me a hug.  And I thought "to hell with it.  Every so often, let's just live for the now."

"You want to get up, baby girl?"

"Ahyah!  Elh-ya!  Upah!"

"Alright.  Let's go."

Now I'm gonna go get Elliot some nut crackers and cream cheese.  AFTER I give him a great big hug.  Cause that's what he just asked for. :)

***

Yesterday I sat down and sent Zanne and Rob the following letter.  As I was most pleased with the result I have decided to quote it you, verbatim.

"From the Desk of Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte, first of that name, Royal Sovereign of all that exists between Bathroom and Crib, in the Kingdom of Woodwaxia; as penned by her most beloved mother, the Dame Jessica, Dowager Empress of this realm, and keeper of the Royal Kitchens; to her sister Monarch and Playmate, Queen Jocelyn of Spaihtsmohndium, to be imparted faithfully by her loving parental scribes; Greetings.

We are writing to express our continual and unremitting debt to you for your most gracious and generous gesture in introducing us to the wonders inherent in the joyous and most magnificent ice cube.  Heretofore our efforts at exerting never-ending demands upon our Royal Mother were limited in scope, being bounded by necessity by the physical limitations of the hot dog.  Namely, that hot dogs do not disappear of their own volition, mere moments after presentation.  Having been given this new horizon for demands I cannot begin to express my satisfaction.  During the course of dictating this letter alone I have asked for an ice cube no less than three time.

Bless you, bless you, bless you, my most loyal and courteous friend.  We will declare a holiday in your honor, here in the Kingdom of Woodwaxia.  From this day forward, October nineteenth shall be known as the day of Queen Jocelyn, the day of melting cubes.

Rejoice!

Until we meet again, your Majesty, I shall hold you dear in my heart.

Queen Charlotte Cha-cha Chiztastic"

***

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