Lost The Boot, Gained Some Laundry

Hubby emerged from his office long enough to watch over the Beans while I scooted to the podiatrist's office for the third post-op follow up appointment. She gave the thumbs-up to lose the Frankenboot (YAY!!!) but wasn't all smiles, prescribing a topical anti-inflammatory and a six-week course of physical therapy (boo!) because my big toe isn't listening to my nerves very well. It might have something to do with all the activity so closely following the surgery. I think she might be right.

Anyway, I returned home to hear the Beans awake but in their room and I assumed Hubby had put them down for Happy Nappy and retreated to his office. This was indeed the case. And it isn't usually a problem because Hubby has the monitor on and can be at the Beans' side in about twenty seconds but today was, of course, something different from the norm and the Beans like to keep things interesting.

I snuck up on the Beans' bedroom door expecting to find Parki (who had been acting grumpy and sleepy since about ten o'clock) asleep and Pipsi lying down talking to Soft Blanket. That was not the case. The first thing I noticed was a little pile of something on the floor beneath Parki's crib. "Hmm," I thought, "That doesn't look like a blanket." My gaze traveled up into Parki's crib where she sat upright, binking away and looking over at Pipsi, who was standing up in her own crib trying to see what Parki was doing. Next to Parki, in her crib, was what looked like a bunch of wadded-up paper towels and I wondered what the heck Hubby had let her bring to bed with her because obviously, it was preventing her from falling asleep. Then I got a closer look.

Oh, darn it.

Now, you all know that Pipsi's fond of that four-letter expletive that rhymes with something one does in a chair ("chair" being one of Pipsi's first and favorite signs). Parki has recently begun employing this same little declaration ever since last week when I accidentally used it after opening the refrigerator ("refrigerator"-- another favorite sign of Pipsi's) and a whole box of blueberries jumped out at me like a mad puppet out of a jack-in-the-box, popping open and allowing a billion blueberries to roll all over the kitchen floor, an event that in and of itself was nothing more than mildly annoying but became hilarious when, while I was crawling / squirming around the kitchen floor with Frankenboot sticking out awkwardly, the Beans kept yelling "Shit!" in ever-louder voices, echoing my earlier sentiment with the kind of glee one usually reserves for receiving flowers for no reason (although face it, you know there's always a reason) or winning the lottery or even just a cool raffle prize.

Anyway, since the Beans now practically parrot every little thing we say, I've been hyper-vigilant about everything I say and the way I say it. This afternoon, Parki beat me to the punch. As I stepped into the room, she looked up and saw me coming in and immediately started patting her legs and the mattress. I came toward her and realized that the something on the floor was the pair of pants we'd put on her this morning and the paper-towel-looking mass was actually her diaper and little Parki was sitting in a puddle of weewee. She looked up at me, pulled her Binkie out of her mouth and said, "Oh dowit, oh dowit, oh dowit," sounding very dismayed.

"That's right, Parki, oh darn it! Weewee goes in the potty!"

We weetreated to the living room, where we cleaned her up and weediapered her, then weeturned to the bedroom. Hubby stepped in just after we weeplaced her pants on her cute little legs.

In short, the mess was cleaned up and the Beans back down for Happy Nappy in just a couple of minutes. Hubby helpfully pointed out, "At least she didn't want to go in her diaper," but I couldn't help but shudder at the realization that now, since Parki can get her pants and diaper off, potty training is upon us.

Hubby returned again to his office and within a couple of minutes Parki's screeching beckoned me back to the Beans' room where I found Parki laughing zanily at Pipsi, who now had her pants off too. Pipsi smiled gigantically at me and gave up a couple of good giggles before we started diaper wrestling and I thought that maybe, just maybe, this whole stage won't end quite as badly for us as I fear.

It's either that or one of these days Hubby will venture into the too-quiet house to find me nothing more that an unidentifiable heap on the floor saying "oh dowit, oh dowit, oh dowit!"

Hairless Helps

That's Hubby out in front. This was his first road race and he was the first to cross the finish line. On the first lap, that is. He finished somewhere in the middle, which isn't bad for the first time out.

The hairless legs must have helped. That and all the time he's spent riding on the weekends-- all time spent strengthening those muscles with the additional wind resistance from all that leg hair that is no more. All that time over all those weekends when I stayed home with the Beans or visited the Farmer's Market all by myself.

You're welcome, Hubby.

Cleft In Twain

Yesterday was the Ides of March and six years to the day from Hubby's and my first date. Yes, we remember those silly little things but don't really celebrate them with anything more than an "Oh, by the way, Happy Anvil Nursery," pause, smooch, move along to fry our bigger fish. It shouldn't have been an auspicious beginning since it occurred on such an historically unlucky day but hey, whatever. It's only bad for the king who dies. It's great for the next guy in line, right?

The Beans had a perfectly happy playdate yesterday with another set of twins-- super-cute little boys born just three days after the Beans. These twins are also consonantly-named, and, like the Beans, one's just a little lighter-toned than the other. Hubby and I really enjoyed the parents, too. Very cool people, just like us ;)

For some reason, though, I was under the impression that Hubby knew these guys, but he met them at the same time I did which was yesterday as we approached the park. I've made a mental note (which I'm certain to forget) to double-check next time we're heading out the door whether or not we're going on another blind playdate. Alas, I don't think this will be the final surprise Hubby springs on me, but at least it's better than the last one and not as bad as the one he gave me this afternoon, either, when he broke a glass bowl cleanly in half.

When Hubby and I got married I kind of expected, albeit stupidly, to eventually feel like I knew my husband. After six years, I can say that I know to expect the unexpected. How to describe Hubby in general? Enigmatic is too strong a word and not even close to the mark. He's very easy to understand, though certainly not simple. He's easy-going yet still frequently high-maintenance. He's mostly happy-go-lucky yet occasionally petulant when he doesn't get his way. He has stratospherically high standards to which he holds himself and is ridiculously obstinate so in short, I guess we're made for each other since only we can annoy, amuse, abuse and adore each other all at the same time in so many different ways.

Confused yet? Don't worry, I'm right there with you.

Last July-- not even a year ago-- I encouraged my suddenly non-schlubby Hubby to join a cycling group. That's BIcycling, not MOTORcycling. When he and I met in college, his bike had just been stolen from his doorstep and he was bummed about it. Last May, one of the members of my mother's club offered up an old one and I responded with interest, promising that if Hubby didn't use it, that I'd donate the bike to Uncle Mac's school for adults with disabilities. After a couple of months in the carport, Hubby surprised me and took the gray-and-pink bike on the road and he hasn't looked back. He's now got killer legs, a decent tan in the summer months, a ton more energy, and his team is racing throughout the Spring. He's gotten really involved in the cycling club and is making a lot of friends in the cycling community and that's how he learned about our new friends with twins. He likes to go on the weekends, both Saturday and Sunday mornings which I don't totally love AT ALL, but hey, he needs a break sometime, right? Don't get me wrong, I've really been trying to support im through it but seriously, I feel sometimes like strangling him when he's all gung-ho to hop on the bike and pedal away with nary a backward wave on the weekends when I could so very much use ONE morning off, so the issue has been a bit of an obstacle. But, I guess I didn't know just how truly invested he was in the whole cycling thing until last week when he sprung the surprise.

Remember, I had my foot fixed two weeks ago last Thursday. Everything's still held together with stitches and therefore I have to bathe sitting in the shower stall of our bathroom with my foot sticking out the sliding door, leaving it ajar to suck in all the frigid air in the bedroom down low, where I sit, and let all the happy, cozy, steamy warmth escape up top. It totally sucks. And you know what happens when a woman tries to shave her legs in the cold. So, imagine my surprise/ shock/ horror/ resentment when Hubby announced his intention to go leg-hairless. My Hubby? Sans leg shag? I couldn't even imagine!!!

If you've never met Hubby, I have to tell you he's an Uber-Guy. He's never even looked at a Zima without laughing. Chardonnay will NEVER cross his lips and while he can quote Shakespeare with more ease and accuracy than I, he's also the guy who picked up another full-grown man off of me and set him bodily on the bench above us after the drunken idiot fell on me at the 2003 Big Game at Stanford, scaring the poor schmuck so badly that he behaved himself quietly for the rest of the game. Hubby is way more Hemingway than Hugh Jackman and he's always, always, ALWAYS been the guy in the relationship. You know what I mean. And I love that about him! And now, when I find myself so disgustingly unappealing in my Frankenboot and furry legs, he's going to go get in the shower, stand there in the nice warm stall with that delicious wam water cascading all over himself and out-sexy me!

I'm mostly over it now, on Monday. I still can't really think too much about it, nor can I look at those glistening gams in full light because it just gets too real. A couple of my girlfriends were appropriately sympathetic, goading me on with the man-hate and I really appreciate it. Guys don't get the mom thing and what the hell is he doing, leaving you like that AND going and shaving his legs, yadda yadda yadda. But I've decided to make the most of it. In spite of the fact that all of our kids are doing excceptionally well, I have to say that the past 2.5 years have been something of a personal low for yours truly. I've battled post-partum depression, a formerly-rocking-now-wrecked-body, the professional and financial stresses associated with my career going crash-and-burn and the subsequent home foreclosure along with the shift from busy full-time real-estate agent to the mind-numbing isolation of a full-time stay-at-home mom who finds herself on the consuming end of a few boxes of Girl Scout cookies too many.

Fortunately, as soon as the foot's healed-- probably next month-- the weather should be better. I'll get myself a bike, get the Beans a trailer and get myself back into the shape in which I can better appreciate myself. I harbor no illusions that Hubby will stay home while I go out and ride, but rather than letting my resentment fester and grow and divide us, I'll get out there and not kick his ass, but at least work until I can hold my own. As for Hubby, he'll continue to surprise. One thing I know I can count on, though, is the fact that he'll always be there to offer a hand up, just like he's been there through all the crap leading up to this moment. And that'll be good because if I ever try to climb up those slippery legs I'm going to slide right back down. PLOP!!!

(Some) WeeWee In The Potty!!!

Parki did it! For about the past month, she and Pipsi have been telling us when they have to poop or weewee. When we ask them if they want to do it on the potty they shake their heads and walk away and go have a private moment-- up until today.

This morning Parki told me she had to go and I asked the question she was doubtlessly expecting.

"Do you want to take off your diaper and go on the potty?" I asked, fully expecting the disinterested head-shake. But instead she held my gaze for a second, then looked over my shoulder at the potty and then back at me and took my hand and made for the potty.

Well there we go!

It wasn't really intentional, I don't think. She had to move the potty to a few different places and finally went in the hall in front of Biscuit's room while my head was turned toward Pipsi. I heard Parki cry and whipped my head around to see her rising up from a position crouched over the potty chair, removing her hand from the weewee receptacle with a horrified expression on her face, but the weewee was there. The poor little Bean totally freaked out and started crying, so I ran over there and picked her up (as-is and yes, it was gross, but more joyful than gross because I knew I had clean clothes for both of us) and we did the Over-The-Moon Dance.

Pipsi came running over to see what the big deal was about and didn't really seem that impressed with the potty's yellow contents at first, but then she decided that she wanted to try to do it, too. But did she want to do it on her own clean potty?

Of course not.

Pipsi started yanking on her pants so I helped her get them off, all the while holding Parki and constantly repositioning myself between Pipsi and the potty full of weewee. Finally, while carrying Parki on one side and holding Pipsi's hand with my free arm, I wrangled Pipsi over to the clean potty and tried to cajole her into sitting on it.

Mimzi happened to be here for the momentous occasion and was trying really hard to be a good wingman between bouts of laughter and cries of panic ("She's going for the pee!", "Where are the towels?", "Do you want a wipe?") but Mimzi's last warning came a wee bit too late while Pipsi was still standing beside rather than sitting on the potty.

"Watch out, she's pushing!"

And suddenly Pipsi squirted weewee all over herself and the hall floor. After the wet splash there was a moment of stunned silence. Pipsi looked up at me and released the breath she'd been holding and gave a big shudder. Parki immediately told me there was weewee all over the floor, saying, "MuhMuh, Pisha wahwahwah weewee!" and pointed with sweeping gestures at the floor.

So now I had one potty full of urine at one end of the hall and a slowly-seeping puddle of it at the other, two diaperless, weewee-covered 18-month-olds in my arms, and I was feeling all the wetness from their bodies seeping through to my skin while my mother was AWOL on the hunt for some towels.

And I had to look closely to make sure none of the weewee had made its way onto my left foot, which is still obnoxiously bandaged from the bunion correction I underwent twelve days ago. Didn't I mention that? Yeah, I've only been walking since Friday evening, so all of this happened while I was lurching about on Frankenfoot, attractively shod in one of those beautiful blue post-op Velcro boots.

The fun just never stops. And apparently, neither does Pipsi's bladder regardless of whether or not she's on the potty.