A Mom Smell

If there's one thing I pride myself on as a mother...
Hold up yo.

There's a list 10 miles long of things I pride myself on as a mother.  Let's put a few in the display case 'ere:

1. Killer dance parties.  I teach them all the right moves. (They're as excited for a little Blurred Lines or Daft Punk as they are for Bob the Builder.)
2. I do Mommy Snuggle Time RIGHT!  Blankets.  Cookies.  Dim Lighting.  Stack of books.  BOOM.
3.  They know who Frank Sinatra is.
4.  I know how to naturally drug them to sleep: Play outside (when it's chilly), Big Hot Lunch, Bubble Bath
5.  I do voices for everyone in their books.
6.  We talk about Christmas everyday.
7.  We've had Family Home Evening every Monday the last 5 weeks.  Holla! And they've improved from our first shot at it.
8.  Kole is officially potty trained.  Even at night.  Take THAT last 6 months of cleaning poop!
9.  I know the characters from Thomas the Tank Engine.  Like know know them.
10.  I taught Joey how to growl like a bear.
11. I taught Joey how to say "Beep!  Beep!"  (He can't say Mom or Dad but he can say 'Beep! Beep!' when we are in his way.)
12.  I've rigged a contraption so Kole can ride his tractor and pull Joey along on his own tractor.
13.  I can build train tracks like you've never seen.  (I want to start photographing them and make a coffee table book.  Yeah.  That good.)
14.  I get in the pool with them.
15.  I know what all of Joey's cries mean and I know that making a sound like that of passing gas will make him stop crying.
16.  I'm a Love and Logic Master.  (and so is Koley.)


But if I had to choose one above allllll the others it would be my ability to not yell when I am mad.

Having a 3 year old and a 1 year old is frustrating.  And to all you mudders who are past this phase- who will tell me that they're precious and lovely and they'll grow up too fast and savor every second and they're God's children... let me say...

Yeah.
Thanks.
I got that.

But they also scream a lot.  And cry when there's too much sauce on their noodles. Or because the book ended.  Or because it stopped snowing.  And they hit each other.  And throw things (<-- socks, food, toys, drinks, trains, clothes, books, rocks, dirt, stuffed animals).  And they cry like 8 or 9 times an hour. Each.  So it's pretty constant since they switch off. And everything in life takes 40 times longer.  And they're sticky and hate getting cleaned up.  And...deep short sigh... enough.  It's a lot.

So- things are Ker-AAAA-zee with little guys this age and I do get frustrated des temps en temps.

Things That Frustrate Me The Most:
 1.  Being bad and laughing about it.
2.  Not understanding the give-take of Mom played outside all morning and came up with all these fun ideas and gave 100% of her attention to you, little cubbies, and now its nap time. And they don't take a stinking nap.
3.  When I get head bonked or bit.
4.  Fighting a diaper change.
5.  Crying because they're so hungry and then crying because they don't like what I cooked and then crying because someone got more and then not eating anything and having a messy kitchen.
6.  "No, You're not listening to ME! You're a dumb Mom!"
7.  When Kole asks a question (Why is it snowing?) and I give a truthful informative answer (Insert Full Water Cycle here.) and he says, "Actually, you're wrong.  It's snowing because Christmas is here."  Sure it's cute.  But I'm wrong. All. Thetime.  Even when I'm right.
8.  Getting punched and kicked and getting my hair pulled when I'm hauling Kole to his room for time-out.

But during these times of trouble I hone in on Cora from Downton and breathe deeply and nod slowly.  I call them "Darling" and "My Dear" and stroke their little hands and calm them down.  We quietly and peacefully work through the day.

Inside, or course, I'm Carmela from The Sopranos.  I'm swearing.  I'm throwing things through the window.  My forehead and neck are all vein-y.  My chest is tight.  I'm my head I'm making fists.  I'm throwing back a scotch. I'm filled with rage.

But I keep it in.  I grit my teeth and grind them until my jaw hurts.  I purse my lips white tight. My eyebrows are up and my neck is long.  And I am fuming mad.  But I take that angry ball of Carmela Anger and push it inside of me.  As far down as I need to so it doesn't come out.

 +

 =

 Now.  My psychology courses (and Life) have taught me that this isn't healthy.  One day, inevitably, it will all come out- on the wrong person.  Or the little people.  Supposedly.

But I have a different theory.

You see, at the end of the day, especially those "trying" days- I have a weird smell about me. It's way worse than B.O.  It smells funky and wild.  Kinda animal-ly  And I'm a clean person! I wear deodorant.  I brush my teeth. But nothing masks this wretched smell at the end of my day.
I've taken notice of this smell for the past month.  And I've noticed that sometimes its just a normal, bad, stink smell.  When the day was just a normal, problem-here-and-there day.  But when the day was monstrous... the stink on me is also monstrous.  My hair is extra greasy.  And I have those radiation stink waves coming off of me.  I can't breathe it's that strong and horrendous.  I reek. And the angrier I was during the day- the stinkier I am.

I think The Stink is how The Anger gets out. 

It's unbearable right after the kids fall asleep.  It's just..blech.  Icky.  And gross.  But, I shower, go to bed, and wake up fresh and new in the morning.  No anger is left.  It's not pent up.  It's gone.

I believe my anger is coming out through the pores in my skin in the form of The Stink.

I really put some time and thought into this and when I shared it with Ken he said:
You smell worse because you sweat more wrestling the kids.

*blushing*

I mean... logically... that makes sense.
But...

This stinks.

I don't think what I am doing with Kole should be called Potty Training.  It should be called Poop-Whereever-The-Hell-You-Want-And-Mom-Will-Clean-It-Up.  Or use can use the acronym: PWTHYWAMWCIU.
I'm on Day 3.  So for three full days I've been scraping poop out of underwear and scrubbing pee out of clothes and telling myself, "He's not ready."  And then giving myself a little boost and saying, "Ohhh.  Hang in there, babe.  He'll get it.  You're a good Mom.  And you're smart.  You got this."   And then the stench of a low funded nursing home takes over my house.

Kole's loving it.  I think he loves the prospect of receiving an M&M.  I filled a jar with them and set it where he can see it and I've told him over and over, "If you go in the toilet you get an M&M!"  Oh the sparkles in his eyes.  The jar should still be full (instead of mostly empty) because Kole has yet to earn an M&M....but...I've been helping myself.  What?  Quit judging.  After the 30th time walking to the bathroom at 15 minute intervals I think I deserve one peanut M&M when Kole's not looking. Wert.

I thought we were so set up.  Fancy underwear.  (Lightning McQueen)  Special cushy toilet seat. Sturdy step stool.  I was told to have them drink lots of liquid so they remember what to do and get the hang of it.  We're an anti-juice anti-pop family.  (Well... for the tots.) So I put food coloring in Kole's water and told him it was juice.  The gullible chap believed me and wanted me to taste how good it was.

He's drinking a ton of "juice," sitting there every 15 minutes, we're singing songs about pee and poop and all kinds of words that make me uncomfortable, I have been bribing him with the promise of treats, we put fizzy pellets in the toilet water, when those ran out, I put food coloring in the toilet water.  You know- Wow!  Fun!  The water's blue!  Not buying it.  It kinda upset him.  (Mom Bomb #7584)
He seemed a little tense... so we did some breathing exercises.
I let him watch a video on my phone.
And we sit there and sit there and sit there.

 Joey remains helpful, toodling around doing his thing.  Which is climbing in the tub, opening cabinets, getting into my makeup, spreading vaseline on things, trying to put his hand in the toilet water behind Kole's bum, eating all the toilet paper he's spun off the roll.  You'd think that in a bathroom that's like 10 square feet... there wouldn't be that much to get into.  Wrong, Patty-Mom, wrong.

What's killing me is, Kole knows how to do use the bathroom.  He's so proud that he can pull his own pants down and then pull his underwear down and sit on the toilet and be "big." He seems to be stubborn about it.  Because, he'd not go on the toilet and instead wait until he was in the warmth and protection of his new undies and then release. It's been an emotional roller-coaster for the Koley.  Long days of interrupted play-time and sitting on the toilet with no success...

After 15 or so loads of itty bitty McQueen underpants being washed I told Kole he just has to be naked from the belly button down.  The child was humiliated.  "But my pants," he cried to me, "I have to wear them.  They cover me where it's private."
A proud Mom moment there.
I assured him his argument was sound and meaningful and we wouldn't go anywhere.  We would just stay home while his pants were off.  No one was going to see him naked. To this, he agreed.

(Aaaaaand... as a P.S. .... he's totally comfortable in our yard sans pants so- yeah that was Koley pushing his lawnmower this morning wearing just a shirt and sandals.)

This is where I had success.  Normally when the urge hits him he runs and hides and does his thing and then tells me he peed his pants.  Without pants he was at a loss.  He ran up to me and said, "I have to pee but where will it go?"
"In the toilet, m' good boy!," I announced as I grabbed his shoulder!
And so we ran in the house, got all situated on the toilet, and sat there while nothing happened.  I knew it was in there.  So we waited.... over 5 minutes...close to 10 minutes.  And then a little drop hit the water.  And then another.  And then, finally.... a steady stream. 

"I'm doing it, Mom!"