I don't lead a very glamorous or exciting life, but this week I've been noticing a few little things that are pretty great. First, on Saturday night, Mr. Carlee and I spent our evening watching Annie (the original from 1982). And it was his choice. And he knows all the words for every song. He has 6 sisters, so what can I say. In case you don't think this is very manly, he also knew how many times the dancers flash their underpants in each number. Does that help?
Next up on my list of awesome stuff, I can still paint my own toenails. I'm five weeks away from my due date and it's good that I can still bend. Now, can I actually see my toes? Not most of the time, but at least I know that they look respectable even if I can't verify it. I'm one of those lucky ladies that feels pretty great being pregnant, and I can never compete in the pregnancy complaint competitions. This baby girl is a squirmy, wiggly thing, and I'm enjoy this time quite a bit actually.
And just in case you think I lead a charmed life, because I'm not sure it gets much better than watching Annie and painting my own toe nails, I tried to potty train my 2 year old, and it was an epic fail. I have these dreams of only having one kid in diapers, and I decided that my window for making it happen was quickly closing. We started yesterday (using a modified version of "Toilet Training in Less Than a Day"), and he only had accidents and no successes. Kid 1's comment, "I never saw pee in his potty even once". Me neither. By the end of the day he was refusing to sit on the potty and practice going.
I thought it might be better this morning, but I think it got worse. There is a good chance it had something to do with his 5am wake up time, which is 1.5 hours earlier than his usual early start to the day. He was still refusing to try to sit on the potty, and was having tantrums about everything else as well. During one melt down, Kid 1 declared, "this is the worst day". And it was only 8am. I'm not sure it had quite qualified as the 'worst day' quite yet, but on the current trajectory, it was going to be. So I decided there was no shame in quitting. After all, he just turned two and I can always try again when baby girl is a few months old.
So what did I do? I put his diaper back on, threw him in his crib, and hoped he would nap. He didn't, but I didn't care. Then I did what I think my mother would have done, and spent an hour wiping down the baseboards and walls around my table, which were shamefully filthy, while he hung out, and cried, and talked to himself in the boy's room. It still wasn't a good day, but at least it wasn't the worst ever.