Friday, April 25, 2008


Potty-training a 3 year-old is, after the last few months I feel like I would rather put hot sauce in my eyes.

Noggin has been stubbornly resistant to using the potty. He likes the warm sensation of a load in his pull-up. He doesn't notice the plants wilting and other children fleeing from him in record numbers.

The last couple of days he finally seems to be clueing in. He sits on the potty and pees...don't ask about the other business...I don't wish to discuss that.

I have been using bribery on him, of course. "Noggin, if you do a poop on the potty, Mama will give CHOCOLATES!!". He gets 1 Chocolate for a I figured I'd better up the ante to see if it brough about some results for the messy stuff.

So far, nada.

This morning he sat on the potty for 20 minutes, got up, put on some undies and announced "Mom, I have PEE on my foot!".

Any parent who has potty-trained a child dreads these kinds of statements. We know what they mean - Pee on foot=Pee on floor. Pee on floor=Pee down hallway.

Basically there is just pee everywhere.

Noggin opens his bottom drawer and selects a pair of waffle pants because they have dogs on them. He slides them on. 5 minutes later he announces "MAMA...I'M LEAKING!"

I mistakenly answer; "NOGGIN...go leak in the POTTY!!".

I hear him pad down the hallway and realise too late that he is leaving wet footprints on the tile.

Thursday, April 24, 2008


I have been avoiding this issue.

Smooch is 5.5 in September and I've delayed sending him to school as long as I can.

I've been avoiding making the decision because I KNOW what he needs. I KNOW what is best for him. I KNOW the best-case scenario.

Preschool was easy. He went and liked it, for the most part. When he became ill with Kawasaki Disease last fall, it was no biggie for me to pull him out to recuperate. No, the problem came later, when I realised how much I enjoy having him at home.

You may well ask why this came as a surprise to me.

At age three he was a complete monster. There was not a child-lock that could contain him. He routinely locked me in his room or out of the house. I could not have a shower in the morning, or while alone at home, for fear that he would 1.) Make scrambled eggs on the kitchen tile, 2.) pump half a bottle of alcohol-based hand-sanitizer down his gullet or 3.) find a razor-sharp kitchen knife with which to slice a tomato.

Oh, and he didn't sleep...ever.

Having him in preschool 4 full days a week was like a new lease on life for me. I spent time with Noggin, uninturrupted. I peed, or even showered without fearing a scene from CSI awaited me outside the bathroom door. I napped. I cooked. I had a hair cut.

Keeping Smooch home to get well came out of neccesity. He had two confirmed cases of Kawasaki Disease. Now, one case is rare. Two cases in a child older than 3 is nearly unheard of.

Now he is well. His coronary arteries are back within normal. The fliud in his pericardium is gone. He is no longer on blood thinners. No peeling fingers. He is well.

Over the past 6 months, he has transformed before my eyes. Before he was impossibly impulsive, now he is spontanious and thoughtful. Where before he was stubborn and resistant to changes, now he is eager and flexible. Every day he says something new that astounds and humbles me. I look at him and realise how amazing and engaged and happy he is with life and learning.

There is absolutely no reason for me to not send him to school in September...except I know conventional education is all wrong for him. I need the perfect school...I just have no idea what that is.

Update to follow...I hope.

Sunday, April 20, 2008


There is nothing like starting the day wedged between a 3 year old, who insists on sharing your pillow, and a 5 year old with sleep apnea who snores like a bandsaw. You should try it!

It was in such a position I found myself this morning.

Deciding that I, too, wanted to sleep comfortably, and realising there were several perfectly unoccupied beds down the hall, I decided to take action.

Carefully and gracefully I extricated myself from the jumble of limbs, blankets and stuffed animals and wiggled down to the foot of the bed.

Looking back I realised why I'd been so crowded. My dear, kind and very deaf husband was sprawled across more than his half of our ample-sized bed. Leaving the remaining space for me and two preschoolers.

The boys room is a quiet, cool place. Soft music plays all night. An ever-changing glow-lamp casts a myriad of colours on the wall and ceiling. The best thing about it is that...yes, it is empty.

Snuggled into bed, it didn't take long for me to drift off...and it took even less time to feel the inevitable poke on the cheek.

Noggin wants a cuddle and I am, technically, sleeping in his bed.

I move over and make space while he gets comfortable. He has his own pillow, but prefers to share mine. I open my eyes to see him staring at me, inches away.

He giggles and closes his eyes.

In moments, we are both fast asleep, again.