Dangit, man, pull it together.

So I placed an order for a pizza and while it is being haphazardly constructed and driven to my door, I thought I would update you on my wigging out last night.

After working myself further into a discomfited lather, I put myself to bed watched Keeping Up with the Kardashians and went to sleep. I couldn't focus on anything else as I kept thinking there had to be a solution.

Turns out there isn't a solution (a lesson I was just trying to teach Ezra the other day--solutions v. choices--so how fitting...) but I do feel more at ease about things. Liz's words that her daughter does better with a later drop-off and fewer crowds and focus helped me see that that could work for Iris, too. I emailed the teacher and "cc"ed the principal. Breaking down for them what our family needs for the first week of school and then for the following few months and why this is and asking them to please tell me if it started no longer working for the teacher, for Iris, etc. The principal emailed me back and all is well. I then signed Ezra up for before school care starting the second week of school and while it will mean that Iris is late for the first week (four days...) I can rest easy and get him settled as needed. Or not at all as he freaking loves school and very well may kick me to the curb after the first day.

Voila!

And then I took the kids to the fair as it was "Preschool Day" so admission gave us free reign of the smaller rides. Turns out a Young Fives classroom is hell on earth, but a crocodile shaped rollercoaster was right up Iris' alley. 

Oh, and I kind of wanted to adopt a baby donkey named Casey. No big. Also, the prize winning stock in the barns received blue ribbons FOR THEIR WEIGHT GAIN and, hello, I would like to institute this for my daily living. Seems healthy.

They put Ezra on the biggest "pony."
At 68 pounds, he might be out
pacing his pony riding days.

Blue. Ribbon.

I crap you not that Ezra walked into the first
barn and asked, "Where are the rutabagas?"
I mean. 

CASEY.

Ham steak snuggles.

Rock and hard place

This afternoon Iris' new school for her Young Fives program had a playground meet-and-greet. The Young Fives and Kindergarten classrooms then had room tours and story times. Perfect!

Iris before:

Iris after:

Not pictured in between: refusal to join her new classmates in line to walk into the classroom. Refusal to sit on the rug for storytime. Tears. Refusal to say "hello" to the teacher.

Siiiiigh.

I'm already stressed out about how in the hell I'm going to get Ezra and Iris to school and picked-up given their schools start and let out at the same time but are across town from one another. And I'm kind of stressed out about her new bathroom skills and her eating and how that will translate to a new setting.

I honestly don't know what to do.

So I decided to just sign Ezra up for before school care starting the second week so that the first week I could walk everyone in. This would mean Iris would get to school 20 minutes late and be picked-up 20 minutes early (thinking that this would be feasible in her room because it's kind of on the low end of the learning totem pole). But seeing how she kind freaked about the new routine, I don't think it's going to be a great thing to have her walking in later than her classmates. Doing the same thing as everyone else (even if I have to walk in with her and linger--which the teacher is okay with) I think will be important.

So I go to register Ezra for before school care for the first week instead--thinking that way he can be in his room when school starts and Iris can start a new routine on time--and sonofbiscuit I missed the deadline for September 2. 

I think what's getting me most wound up is that I just want smooth transitions for them. I like them feeling secure. And for pete's sake, I don't even really know who Ezra's teacher is. Nothing has been communicated to us and not because, by default, there is only one first grade teacher at his school. There are two. So the thought of sending him to before school care on his first day but him (or me) knowing what room he's going to doesn't sit well with me. 

Balls.

Apartment living is the life for me

So I'm not exactly hating living in this apartment. I may have already mentioned this.

The carpet: dammit, I love this carpet.
The laundry room is close. Mainly because everything is close. The living room is close to the kitchen which is close to our bedroom which is close to the bathroom.
We have two full bathrooms which is .5 bathrooms more than our old house had.
The closets are ginormous.

All of this feels like an upgrade over our old house. We're also paying more in rent than our previous mortgage, but whatever.

Our days are pretty loose but have taken on some structure. The kids are good about running errands with me. I then take one for the team and take them to zoos and farms and other outside-y activities.

I have not remotely missed working full-time. Like not at all. As I was processing this out loud with my mom earlier this week, I told her that I feared being unfulfilled at home. But, of course, this presupposes that I was fulfilled at work. Since I wasn't, well, being home is rather an upgrade. At least here people aren't in a position to argue with me in a snotty fashion about what is being asked of them and avoid a time-out or very Stern Look.

Mmmhmm. You heard me.

I feel a bit in a kerfuffle about figuring out a new routine when school starts next week. But that really only applies for a few hours in the morning. Which will then all be tossed up in air come December when we move. I'm rather tired of things being tossed in the air so a solid routine will be nice come January when we're in the house and school starts up again after the holiday.




I have no bloody idea what I'll be doing with my time during the day once the kids are in school. Maybe working a few part-time hours. Hopefully working out. Definitely reading. It'll be new and strange, but good. 

New and strange like
the dentist.

Victory!

So I'm sitting here eating Bugles at my desk relishing the fact that my daughter is potty trained. 

I know Ice-T also loves Bugles. For he is a man of
good taste.

To say that I've been sweating working on this with Iris is an understatement. I mean, I didn't know what the hell I was doing and T knows even less. Ezra's teacher, Mr. B., took the reigns with Ezra, and T and I just did as we were told. This time there was no Mr. B. 

The teachers at daycare gave it the college try but Iris was not interested. So be it. I told them not to sweat it; that I'd be home with her all summer and we'd work on it then. This was really a ploy for me to put it off.

Well, then we got back from North Carolina and I felt like time was ticking towards the start of school. I crap you not when I tell you that this was my biggest stress of the summer. 

We eased into it. Given that homegirl was indifferent towards being wet, I thought it might possibly not stick. I mean, that's like Numero Uno on the list of Is Your Child Ready? Erm, no. She gives none craps about being wet. Grrrreeeaaaat.

So yeah. I considered going the nakey snakey route as it seemed to work for Sarah's LG and, hell, I needed a success story. I also thought that feeling wet might cut through the nonsense and help it all click for Iris. But yeah. The logistics of us renting and in a place with supa plush carpet made me nervous at the thought of piss being everywhere. Plus that tactic generally recommends staying inside for a week to really help it all come together and, yeah, that's a negatory. Ezra and I just can't stay inside and not leave. Nope. It would turn very Thunderdome (two men enter; one man leave) and that would be bad.

But I employed some of the other tactics--keeping the timing regular; keeping it matter of fact; not staring at her with expectation while in the bathroom; not saying it was okay when an accident occurred--and they helped. I also kept my tone matter of fact when she expressed displeasure at going to the bathroom at the regular intervals. "This is what big girls do and you are a big girl." "You are in control of body, so please go to the restroom." 

But we also used a sticker chart and ecstatic cheering as encouragement. Ezra also got a sticker chart labeled "Cheerleader" and my heart bursts every time he cheers Iris on and gives her high fives. Never once has he whined about being dragged into bathrooms or pausing a movie so that she could walk herself into the bathroom. Ezra has been amazing.

I also bought an arsenal of stuff on Amazon because they are enablers and, again, I didn't know what I was doing.

I bought potty training unders so that we weren't leaving puddles everydamnwhere. I bought a waterproof car seat protector because son of a biscuit what if we left the house and she peed in her carseat?! I bought some propaganda board books. I bought a potty watch which was totally worth it because it didn't make me the bad guy for reminding her and it got us both in the groove of her doing what needed to be done.

So we started a week with her wearing the watch and her going every 60 minutes. 

After a week of that so that at least the expectation wasn't a shocker, we went for the big guns and I put her in the training unders. I put big ass beach towels on the couch. On an area on the floor where she likes to play. On her booster seat at the table. And on the overstuffed chair where she sits and watches television. My hope being to mitigate any soaking of the furniture. To my surprise, she only had one accident on a beach towel (and that was on the first day) so I put them away after a week.

It's been two weeks and she has only had one accident while we are out (and that also was on the first day of training undies), but I still carry a pair of shorts and a extra pair of skivs with me. I'm not out to tempt Fate, you know.

Her nighttime diaper has been consistently dry in the morning.

We have visited every bathroom in every store, restaurant, library and park in this town. 

Iris just gets it now, and I frankly can't believe it. But I guess the joke is on me for underestimating her.

Flow it, show it

When first pregnant with small brown people, I did wonder what in the fresh hell would be waiting for me in the hair department. I mean, what would my learning curve be? I was 33 at the time and had barely figured out fine, straight hair (now just in time for it to turn gray and coarse which is just freaking fabulous...), so what do I know about anything different from that?

I think I've just now figured out a proper styling regimen for Iris' hair. The routine for Ezra's is similar--same styling products + co-washing at night + shampoo only two or three times a week--but since his hair is so much shorter, my learning curve has been less obvious with his curly headed melon as my guinea pig.

For background's sake: Iris' hair is curly. Its texture is fine; not coarse. Her hair is curlier near her temples. I'm trying to let it grow as long as I possibly can before she and/or I lose our tempers.

In the morning, Iris' hair generally looks like this--sometimes bigger:

The curls are super loose and it's got a bit of...height. The back is usually a hot, hot mess since it's been snaggled on her pillow for about 11.5 hours between two stuffed kittens (not a euphemism).

This is what I use on her hair:

Please to be excusing the
sideways photograph.

• A wide tooth comb.
• Spritz bottle of water.
• A spray oil from OGX. I usually buy the OGX Anti-Frizz Hydrating Oil (Target, Walgreens, CVS, etc.) but couldn't find it so this last time so I bought its neighbor instead and this argan oil version seems to work just as well. I am a spray oil only type of gal. The pump versions are way to greasy for me. 
• Garnier Fructis Sleek & Shine Intensely Smooth Leave-In Conditioning Creme

After she's dressed (at least from the waist-up because I am not trying to undue my hardwork by pulling a dress over her head, no) and stationed in front of the television, I spray her head all over with the water and then once all over with the oil. I just have to get it somewhat wet before working through the snags.

I start at her forehead and work backwards to her nape with the comb. 

Halfway combed out.

All the way combed out.

Once all of the snags are out, I work through about a quarter size amount of the creme, really focusing on the temples where her curls are the tightest. The creme seems to weigh down the frizzies and keep the curls loose, but not crunchy. I then mist it all over again with oil on any areas that look too combed out or extra roughed up.

Voila!

Now by the end of the day it does not look like this. It's bigger and frizzier because she plays hard. And fleece winter hats? Not our hair friend in the least. Rubbing it back and forth on a car seat? Bad news bears.

But it's healthy and is growing and so far, so good.

Gone in 60 minutes

At around 4:45pm, I asked the kids, "Hey! How about we go get a fish?!"

Having never owned a pet they were a bit ecstatic.

So we drove the to megaboxcarrieseverything grocery store. 

Oh! But first we talked about names. Ezra's suggestion: Goldie (to the point, easy to remember, color based). Iris' suggestion: Meatloaf (unique, food-related, meaty). 

In the interest of faireness we came up with a combination of the two: Goldieloaf. 

So we drove to go buy Goldieloaf at the store. 

Aquarium. Rocks. Food. Net. Pineapple to live in under the sea. Goldieloaf.

And then we got home and stared at him.

I started cooking dinner and kept kind of peeking at Goldieloaf. He seemed spazzy, but--hello!--he was no longer living with 53 of his brothers and sisters and being sold next to dog Kongs and wet cat food. New scenery is new.

But then, well, Goldieloaf died.

I think my exact whispered-words-in-the-kitchen were, a mere hour later were, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

I haaaaad mentioned to the kids that sometimes fish get sick and...die. Ezra asked, "Then what? We just get a new one?" Alrighty then. I see the seasons of life will be just fine.

To recap thus far:

4:45pm: pitch was made to procure a fish

5:15pm: fish procured

5:30pm: fish home

5:45pm: fish dead

Ezra had a few tears--but he mainly was super excited to surprise T with Goldieloaf. I told him we would get a new one tomorrow and, again, sometimes fish come to their new homes sick and we should be happy we loved him and gave him a great pineapple to live in.

(Parenthood.)

I called Iris into the kitchen and told her what happened. She made a little frown and then asked, "We flush him now? I'll get the net." It was always about the net with Iris.

Anyway, I feel kind of bad because HELLUVA A WAY TO LEAVE US, GOLDIELOAF. But tomorrow we'll hit up another store for Goldieloaf 2.0.

Hopeful shout-outs?

We are trying to grow Iris' fondness of using the bathroom. And by "grow" I mean: initiate, commence, start, encourage, freaking nail it, please.

She's kind of ready in some ways; not ready in others. The intensive feeding clinic thought perhaps it's been delayed due to so many (if not all) of her energies being directed to figuring out chewing and eating and the like. But public school starts in September and we're unsure of their policy regarding children who are not keen on the bathroom, so we're giving it the college try.

Be hopeful with us? 

Just rolllll with it

All day yesterday I was feeling a little wound up and anxious and just not in the good space that I've gotten used to being in since we settled here. 

After talking about it a little with T he was able to rather quickly pinpoint that it was because we have a "busy" week this week. By "busy" I mean really only evening commitments--certainly not the shitstorm that used to happen on the regular. So T very astutely said that I perhaps was Getting Wound because it smelled like the old days and he was exactly right. 

For the last month or so I have gotten rather used to a somewhat quiet life. Building the house hasn't been stressful. Vacation was fun (if not really relaxing) as I kind of liked the hub-bub of packing and traveling. And so our mornings, afternoons and evenings have been really quiet. I don't rush anywhere. I used to always be rushing. Rushing Ezra to kindergarten, Iris to preschool, myself to work, errands on work, pick-up both, through dinner, through bathtime, through bedtime. I don't do any of that anymore. I really like not doing that. I don't miss feeling frenzied. I imagine the school year will certainly change our summer pace, but nothing can compare to what it was.

But this week brings T out of town on a mini-trip, me working two evenings and then a hair appointment one other evening. WOE. Not really. But just enough faux PTSD to have me chewing on my shoulder a little bit. Turns out hauling ass through the pace I had in Old Town maybe was doing more harm than good even though I was maintaining.

I don't exactly see us hitting a new norm in the next year or so. Moving again in December. Unpacking and settling. Iris going to new school for kindergarten next fall (our home school doesn't offer a Young 5s program). So yeah--it'll be a year until I can anticipate some sort of flow. Or something. 

Trying anticipate what "norm" means for us is kind of ridiculous. Or so it feels. Four years ago I was driving down a strange road to visit my supa hot mess daughter in a new town in a university hospital after her heart surgery. Today I am driving down those same roads because we now live in that town. Time is strange. Where will I be in four years? The last five years of my life has taught me that it's prudent to plan, but ridiculous to stress or try and control it.

Anyway, I like not being in a froth. I'm trying not to be in a froth. It's win-win in the froth-free zone.

Trip not a vacation

Shortly after we moved in July, we took a family vacation to North Carolina. We've done this every five years with my dad's side of the family as a way to celebrate my grandparents, their anniversaries, and/or my grandpa's birthday. There were 32 of us in a house. 

He turned 90 this year and while he can (and will) bust out a deep knee bend like it's his job (thanks to two new knees a few years ago), we--and mostly my very willing aunt who coordinated it--thought it might be good to go on vacation again.

It wasn't a restorative trip in the least, but seeing Ezra and Iris' faces on an airplane for the first time and in the ocean or playing with their second cousins from sun up to sun down did my heart good.

We were blessed with amazing weather and only one rainy day. I sprayed SPF 100 on the small fries and still they have tan lines. I ate all the foods I never eat at home. Iris came home with a "tiger tube" and Ezra a shark tooth necklace. 

4:45am...

...and pretty damn jazzed.

Balcony view from our room. 

T and Iris took naps every afternoon.

On the first day of vacation I left
Iris' hair down and wild. That was
a poor decision. Every day after
that I got pulled up and into a bun.
Snaggles minimized.

Tiger tube.

So my cousin bought a shark pinata
and a blindfold for my grandpa's
birthday celebration night.
We found a stick.
It got ridiculous.

Tiger tubing with Papa.

Very keen on first class. Ezra
was working on a story about
a tornado that involved army men.
I was taking dictation while he
illustrated.