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Poopmageden, the carpet chronicles.

 I would be lying if I said I was overjoyed to start potty training. The idea of not buying diapers is like a dream come true, but actually...

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

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 I would be lying if I said I was overjoyed to start potty training. The idea of not buying diapers is like a dream come true, but actually potty training sounds like everything I don't want to do. For some reason I got a wild hair up my ass and wanted to take care of it. I kept telling myself "Oh! it won't be that bad."
Well folks, I'm here to tell you it's THAT FUCKING BAD. Picture this: It's a hot day, and we are playing inside because lord knows I'm not about to stand on my unshaded patio while the sun blisters my delicate Scandinavian skin. At this point in this adventure we've introduced Tater to the potty and he says "Poop!!!"when he has to go. From across the room I hear this silly little "Poop!"
  I rush to get the little kid potty out of the bathroom (like some sort of unpaid bar bathroom attendant- except I don't have mints and dollar store perfumes). I move like a leopard to try and get the Tater to poop on the potty.
 I make it out of the bathroom with the potty to find a small two year old shitting under my kitchen table on my carpeted floor. We both just kind of stared at each other, I had a look of disgust, while his was a grin of ragging satisfaction. I don't think he could have grinned any bigger, honestly. Shit eating grin no pun intended.  For a second I just stood there, really unsure how I needed to handle this. I wanted to scream my head off, yet I didn't want to scare him from using the potty. All I could say was "We poop in the potty." Nothing more, nothing less. I cleaned him up, diapered him, and cleaned the floor. Of course it had to be the smelliest toddler poop in the history of the universe (fucking blueberries.) It was like the episode of 'The Office' where Packer takes a dump on Michael's carpet. Oddly I thought I would always be Packer in that situation. (If you don't know what I'm talking about stop reading my blog, go to Netflix and watch the US version of The Office. DO IT.)
   My house smelled like a rotting Chuck E Cheese.  The carpet cleaner and it's magical liquid lavender kind of broke through the smell but I still feel like we had to evacuate the building for safety/sanity reasons.
  Me being the well put together, structured parent that I am, I put my shoeless child in the car. With no idea where we were going but it just wasn't here. Target would cause a melt down, the park was too hot (seriously it was like Satan's dirt star hot.) I didn't want to dare to take him into a restaurant or movie theater because, no. (No explanation needed there.) It was almost 5 o'clock... almost dinner time. Micky D's wasn't an option, so I decided on the next best thing...
  We pulled into the ice cream parlor parking lot. All of Tater's dreams came true in that moment. I know what you're thinking.. "You shouldn't reward him for shitting on your carpet!" Yet, here I was "rewarding" him. Really what happened was my ability to give a single care failed me. I was done with the day. Emotionally, physically, mentally DONE. Bedtime was still hours away so I had to figure something out.
 We walked in to what was total chaos. Moms and kids everywhere, we fit right in. Every kid was a sticky, dirty, happy mess, all while the mom's looked at ease. My choice was valid. Tater picked the cotton candy ice cream which was blue, purple, and green. He had a white shirt on, and I didn't care. We sat in the grass under the mist machine and he became a happy, sticky, dirty mess. We sat while he ate, and talked about the trees and the sky. We laughed, and the frustrating day started to melt away. The smell of 'poopmageden' slowly disappeared from my nose.
 We walked around in the heat of 10,000 suns for a few minutes before heading to the car. We buckled up, and I put on the Moana soundtrack for the one millionth time this week. We sang along until part way through song 3 (the one they sing in the village, it's like the island is all you need, I'm too lazy to google it.) I heard soft little snores coming from the seat behind me. I turned off the music and for a moment our whole world was calm. I took a deep breath before the internal struggle of waking him up hit me. It was only 6:15 which meant if he slept through the night he'd be up at 4:30 a.m.
 I carried his sleepy, heavy ass body into the house. Why did I choose a house with stairs? Seriously carrying a 42 pound toddler up the stairs is the worst. I tucked his sleepy little face in, and closed the door. I'll take the 4 am wake up.



He woke up at 8:30 because he peed through his diaper. THERE IS NO WINNING.

-s


You can follow my fitness/mom/poop journey on Instagram! @raisingtaters
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Friday, July 14, 2017


Oh the Mom shaming. I've talked about that a lot. So many other "Mommy bloggers" have too, because we are all sick of the same shit. Today's post is coming from a real moment that happens everyday in my life.
   My two year old is fucking wild, and I'm sick of apologizing for it. I'm done. I have a two year old little boy who could literally run circles around me 24 hours a day, if I'd let him.(Let's be honest, there are some days that he does.)  He tests every fiber of my being both mentally and physically. Sometimes he even makes me question every choice I've ever made. He is rowdy, loud, and full of life. He loves to play, hear him self make noise (that's a nice way of saying he likes to scream like a monkey,) and he truly is a little boy full of love. He's curious about everything. There is not a single thing in this world that he doesn't want to touch, lick or hug. Sometimes in that order. He is that kid in the grocery store making noise, saying hi to people, and sometimes screaming because I won't let him lick the grocery cart. He has meltdowns in public, and it's not because I don't parent him, or that he's spoiled... IT'S BECAUSE HE IS FUCKING TWO.
  I've spent a lot of my life around little people, and two year olds are the most irrational little monsters out there. I know they say 3 is worse, but it's a different kind of "worse." Two is a whole different ballpark of tears, and melted fruit snacks. Image result for toddler comic
  The more I write this post the more the fire in me is fueled. I spend so much of my time with him in public apologizing to strangers who are judging me. I was at the park when a little girl punched Tater in the face because he hugged her. I apologized to the mom because my 2 year old isn't quite getting the personal space issue yet, again because he is 2. She was mad at me, even though her kid clocked mine in the face. THERE IS NO WINNING.
                                      Image result for toddler comic
  In the grocery store, I spend my trip apologizing to others for him being loud. At the gym I apologize because sometimes in the kids center he's an asshole, or wears shoes in the maze. No matter where we are, I apologize to humans that don't even matter, all because I have a wild, free spirited, slightly nuts but still sweet two year old.
                               Image result for toddler comic
  No there is nothing wrong with him, yes I've spent more time on Google seeing if he was a sociopath, more time than I'd like to admit. I've talked to his doctor, I've read every freaking "positive parenting" bullshit magic guide there is out there. There is only one solution to this problem, and that is to let my kid be a little wild. I'm not saying I'm going to let him be an unruly little turd, but if he wants to hear his voice echo in Costco, cool.
  I'm so tired of everything being a battle, yes there are rules he has to learn. I try and teach him those rules, but I'm not going to try and force him to be this quiet, little angel that he just isn't right now. Even on the days that he makes me cry or when he makes me want to leave him at the fire station- I still love the wonder in his eyes.
  So to all of those who judge the Mom with the wild child, bite me. I'm done apologizing to you all. I'm done caring about your useless opinion, and I could care less about the fact that you think I'm a bad Mom.
  To all the parents out there with wild two year olds... I feel you. I feel your struggle, your hurt, and your embarrassment. It's freaking hard! Raising a 2 year old is emotionally taxing enough, so don't let worry of others crowd your mind. You are a great parent, with a good kid who's an asshole sometimes. Guess what, you aren't alone.
-s
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S is a snarky Mom, with a lot to say. This blog covers every thing from an abundant amount of vomit, to things that are just too sticky. You'll find recipes, laughs, and honesty. With a toddler, a dog, and a really patient husband this Mama can accomplish things.