Dear Adult Ambrose

PART I

I hope you’re reading this blog one day as an adult, 1) because the issues involved will be more appreciated once you’re older and 2) because I’m going to be swearing. A lot. This shouldn’t surprise you. I reckon that particular trait won’t be changing too much — especially if you’re on the road with me.

Moving on. As you can see from the posting date, you are three-years-old at the moment. You’re tucked safely in your little bed, asleep and angelic.

Thank. The. Stars.

I’m treating this blog as a catch-all for the things I can’t say or wish I could say to you. Some will undoubtedly be negative. Most, hopefully, will be positive. Thus, you’ve been forewarned; the musings will be honest (and rambling, probably).

Ambrose, my AJ, my little toddler, I ask you this: WHY WON’T YOU PEE IN THE GODDAMNED TOILET??!?!?!

I get that “The Incident” may have traumatized you in regards to Number Two, but c’mon! Peeing in the toilet is just like Daddy and SOOOO easy. And hey, you wanna sit down? FINE! Sit! It’s how we tried the last three periods of potty-training this past year. But NOOOO. Today, every time you sat down, you whined, “Ooooww!” except, of course, when you were distracted by a train video on my phone. You do this every time I buckle your car seat as well, whether or not there was an injury (or, hell, physical contact at all).

I’ve tried bribing, modeling, timing, potty training videos, naked time, undies time, potty-chair-in-front-of-the-TV time. Sigh. Congrats, kid, you definitely know how to frustrate the fucking shit outta me.

And yet, then you turn and grin ear-to-ear, your eyes lit up in that pure excitement only a child can conjure. My stern exasperation holds up for two seconds before I break, cracking a small smile of my own. “Hi, AJ. I love you, too,” for that is what I see: love.

And then, “Yea! Train!” you chirp, all your little teeth visible, “Steam train!!!”

Facepalm. The love was just for trains.

Typical.

And that’s how your father found me this evening. I’m afraid I yelled at him a bit. I had cleaned up two messes already and tried to make dinner three times to no avail. And TBH, your dad just doesn’t like helping me potty-train you. Not that I can really blame him. This endeavor is right up there with hand-washing bottles at 0400 because my screaming infant found that time perfect for feeding.

I apologized to him, then sought some caffeine. Worked out pretty well, but while I was gone, I think you gave your dad an enormous headache…’cause he’s asleep now, when usually he’s up gaming until just after midnight.

I’m digressing. (See? Rambling issues.)

Back to discussing YOU, my dear child.

Some days I’m not too worried about potty-training. It’ll happen one day, really. You won’t be going to Hogwarts/starting your Pokemon journey/training to save the world at eleven years old and still be wearing diapers.

(Riiiiight? Oh god, right????!)

In other news, today you also, of your OWN accord, put on your costume fireman’s hat. Five days late, mind you, but at least you wore it without freaking out. Seriously, kid, next year, be more excited for Halloween, OK? Free candy is awesome and so is cosplay. Do it. Hell, your father got me to make him a Gandalf outfit. Just tell me what you want! I will try my utmost to make it happen! (And take a plethora of pictures if it turns out to be something embarrassing.)

All right, I should stop typing now. One of the next posts should be concerning a recurring theory of mine: how having a kid turns you into a stalker.

And, as always, I love you, Ambrose! Thank you for all the hugs and kisses today! Work on your “please” and “thank you.” It never hurts to be polite. (No, really, it doesn’t hurt. Physically anyway.)

~Mom

The Incident

On AlwaysSometimesVillains, my brother wrote about our Villains Vacation in San Diego (aka how we cried about ComicCon) in July. This post is the official for-the-record accounting of…The Incident. 

It was Day Five of the trip. We had woken up at a leisurely hour that morning and ventured to Lestat’s Coffee House, partaking in caffeine, Victorian chairs, and cheesecake. Great start! Afterwards, we had ramen and our filling of Japanese manga. Great lunch! We then drove our energized selves to the San Diego Safari Zoo and worked very hard to exhaust the devilish little imp sweet toddler of mine. Great zoo!

It worked quite well and the kid zonked out in the car almost immediately. Problem was, he somehow made it a 20-minute power nap (I loathe this superpower of his). The moment we arrived at my aunt’s home in Sabre Springs, he was up and rarin’ to go. 

Out he dashed into the backyard, his heaven of gardening tools, buckets, plants, dirt, and yes, the hose. Well, he preceded to get his bottom half soaked. His diaper was hanging like a pendulum from his butt. So naturally, I took it off. 

Yea, I let him run around with just a shirt, but why not? He was done peeing and I was only gonna give him like 15 more minutes outside. 

FIVE MINUTES LATER, my nose detected that dreaded smell and I jerked my head up, hoping against hope that it was just a fart. No dice. Horrified, I watched just long enough to see a single drop of brown bowel movement plop onto the terracotta ground. 

And then my son turned, confused, his hand coming around to the back of his bum —

“NO!!! AMBROSE!!” I yelled as sternly as I could. 

I grabbed his hands and held them aloft while he squirmed. Why is this happening to me?! my brain screamed. I hollered toward the sliding doors for back-up. Where were those brothers of mine??

Now, our uncle is a very dedicated Buddhist, which is cool, but he also enjoys his soapbox regarding life’s zen and good decisions and being happy with your lot, etc., etc. The problem is, once you start listening, you can’t escape. 

So my brothers were trapped, and no help came. 

Finally, I just chanced it, dashed inside and grabbed the wipes and a whole roll of paper towels. I ran back outside…and he’s gone. 

What?!

Well, he had scampered around to the far side of the house — god only knows why — and it was there I found him. Squatting on the ground. Letting it all out. Poop chunks. Oh GOD. 

And to make it all worse, his curiosity got the better of him and he reached back to feel his butthole and gets stool all over his right hand. It apparently smelled really bad — whoda thought, ya know? — so he freaked out, cried, and went to clean his hands like he always does: by wiping them on his shirt. 

He was a mess to all the senses except taste at this point, and as I watched, my eyes like silver dollars, I knew I was just about to make it worse. 

Abandoning the wipes and towels, I lunged for the hose and twisted it on, snagging my toddler before he got too far away. The spray splashed us both liberally, and I had to hold him between my shins to get the water to the right areas. He was hysterical, snot sliding down his nostrils, wailing ’cause the water was cold. There was still a poopy shirt on him and Mommy was not letting him go. 

“EEEWWWWW!” he sobbed, “POOOP!” he lamented. 

I valiantly managed not to laugh but, damn, it was a near thing. 

By that time, one of my brothers, Brian, had come to our aid WITH SOAP. Thank you!! With his help, every inch of poop was rinsed from our skin, the shirt removed and drowned thoroughly, and suddenly my naked almost-three-year-old was happy as a clam. 

Well, until I made him go back inside while I cleaned up the present he left on the ground. Ah, the joys of motherhood and failed potty-training. (Do I have a dog or a son? Some days, it’s really difficult to tell.) 

So, yes, that was The Incident. It was embarrassing, disgusting, and quite literally, shitty. 

The picture you see above is the outfit I fashioned for him after all was said and done (because I forgot an extra outfit…sigh). 

Place Setting

Let’s be honest. I set up this profile and blog in order to write for another, i.e. AlwaysSometimesVillains. Recruited by my brother for the film section. It’s a pretty informal site, but I highly enjoy it. So far, anyway, considering I just submitted my first post. So if you’re reading this, mosey on over there if you like all things nerdy in a book/film/videogames/music sort of way. Ta!

AlwaysSometimesVillains

Firsties

First day on this blog. First shot into the unknown and treacherous waters of the Great Internet Sea. Shall I tremble at what might befall me?

Nah. 

Hello, all/anyone/someone. Welcome.

Not much to see here yet. Hopefully that will change. I don’t really know what I’m going to put here. Maybe I’ll treat it like Pinterest. For all my errant literary musings. For instance, the title of my blog is drawn from the famous poem by Robert E. Frost, “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” Some days I find it sad; other days, peaceful–hopeful, even. 

Here it is (per Wiki): 

Nature’s first green is gold, 
Her hardest hue to hold. 
Her early leafs a flower; 
But only so an hour. 
Then leaf subsides to leaf. 
So Eden sank to grief, 
So dawn goes down to day. 
Nothing gold can stay.