Bricks and Bums

I HAD to record this experience. My extra stubborn 3.5 year old male offspring, fondly called Big Gunns, is still not fully potty trained. In fact, if life were left up to him in all of his toddler mental capacities, everyone would run around naked, pee outside in the yard, and wear occasional light-up snow boots as an accessory.

Over this Christmas break we have been setting the kitchen timer to go off every 45 minutes and allowing him to go with no skivvies...just a pair of shorts. We figure hey, maybe he just needs a little more freedom of movement in order to recognize his body's signals, right? So he's been doing stellar! Except today...two small accidents, and then...

"Mommy! I. went. poopoo." Picture a toddler in swishy warm up pants (underpants-less!) lifting his leg as he comes around the corner of the arm of the sofa just in time to drop a literal, perfect rectangle of a brick from his pant leg onto the floor.

Oh heck...seriously?! I switched on my go-go gadget arms, somehow reached lengthwise across the coffee table and grabbed a few kleenexes, while simultaneously holding him rock solid. Then in one swift movement swooped him and the brick up (luckily I didn't get confused and switch hands) and ran to the bathroom.

A quick hose-down in the shower, clothes into the washer, and we're good to go. He apologized profusely. I melted.

I type this through fogged over eyes and muddy thoughts (thanks to a little jewel called NyQuil). In fact, my daughter just rambled off a 62 second list of instructions for me...something about train stations and projects being finished, to which I numbly agreed.

I'm avoiding a "2012 in review" post because I would become annoyed at my lack of consistency in blogging over the year, and the last thing I need is to become annoyed on top of muddy and foggy; too big of a mess to clean up.

Can I just mention for a moment though, what an amazing husband I have?

I am lying here for the second day in a row in our comfortable and warm bed, recovering from the snots and aches, and he is manning the entire house, children, dog, laundry, dishes, bodily excretions from both children and dogs, dinner, and grocery shopping tasks. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is blessed like me. The man is a genius in a sense that he can handle one hundred and fifty seven things going on around him like a champ. Work at odd hours, master's program at ALL hours, taking care of sick wifey, kids, dog...wait, I already did this list....anyway, he still has time to make my life what I want it to be and the most humbling bit of it all, is that he puts himself last. The last to get sleep, to eat, to play. I'm certain there isn't anyone out there like him. He deserves everything cool and sporty and yummy and manly under the sun.

Sorry, he's all sold out. I got the one and only model ever made and he's priceless.