Monday, November 7, 2011

Tomorrow Is Another Day

Today has been long and stressful. Christian's preschool teacher called to discuss his "potty training". We have started maybe possibly getting Christian mildly and somewhat interested in potty training. He is marginally interested. Which translates into him him peeing occasionally on the potty at home to amuse and appease us. When we started this fool's errand, I sent a note to his school letting them know that if he expresses any interest whatsoever in using the bathroom that they should jump on it and race him to the bathroom, knocking over anyone who gets in the way. I guess I cried wolf. When they took the potty trained kids to the bathroom, they had him tag along. He thought they were either crazy or trying to trick him into doing something illegal. So, his teacher asked what are goal is for potty training. Ummm.... Is that a trick question? We want the kid to start peeing and pooping in the bathroom by himself before his medical board exams. So, I have a rather bizarre conversation about potty training a stubborn 3 year old boy and then my day goes down hill from there. I get to wake him up early from his nap to get his flu shot. He took that with all the expected stoicism of my child. A dinosaur bandage, lollipop, sticker and chocolate chip cookie later and peace is restored. But not before giving the nurse the stink eye and maybe putting a curse on her. We zoom through the grocery store for dinner fixings then head home. Paul calls me to inform me that the cold-hearted monsters on the architecture committee for our neighborhood have rejected our playhouse proposal. Yes, apparently, the old people kn the committee really, really do not like the idea of my kids having a play house in the back yard to play in. I took that news as well as my kids handle getting flu shots.

Sara completes her homework but not until I'm made aware of how tragic and difficult her life is. Dinner is fed, kids are stuffed into the car to get to Sara's art class. While driving, I realize that my wipers are not working. Get kids home, clean up dinner mess, put one child to bed. Send Paul to store for new wipers. While whining on the phone to my dad about the evil cretins on the architecture committee, the doorbell rings. Hmmm..... Maybe it's Ed McMahon telling me that I've won the Publisher's Clearing House lottery. Nope, it's my friend returning the chairs she borrowed. Glad to see her but kinda bummed I didn't hit the jack pot. I've decided to adopt Scarlett O'Hara's attitude. I'll think about that tomorrow. But, I'm going to throw in a little Rhett Butler and not give a damn, either.

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