When's the last time you gave an enema?

. . .for me it was last week. 

My first enema.  This is what it's come to.  This is what my failure of an attempt at potty training has led us to. 

I'm so bad at teaching Cole to use the potty, that I had to give him an enema.  And you'd better believe I'm going to tell you about it.

These are pickled beets.  Don't worry...it'll make sense later.

Cole came down with his usual right-before-Thanksgiving-super-sickness, complete with a high fever and call to pick him up from school.  He was complaining of having to strain to go to the potty. . .and that freaked me out.  A fever? A potty problem? A visit with the doctor ASAP.

And our doctor is the worst, remember? So I wasn't that excited to bring this to her attention.  Thankfully, we ended up seeing an amazing new resident who actually listened to me, didn't push me a prescription, and let me finish an entire sentence before interruping with, "yes, I'm quite familiar with what you're going to say."  Although he did say that. . .but he let me finish, first.  Huge difference.

And he prescribed an enema.  That was Cole's problem.  Not the fever.  Not the potty strain.  The lack of pooping.  I finally fessed up that yes, he refuses to poop.  He just won't do it.  The potty is no problem if it's number one.  Throw in the prospect of number two and its game over.  He won't even poop in his diaper. 

Have you ever seen a grown woman beg for a poop?  It's humbling.  I do it daily.  (and if you answered yes and don't have a potty problem at home...then shame on you.)

So he won't poop.  And because he won't poop it gets tougher to poop when he finally gives up and has to poop.  C'est la vie.  Such is the way of the world. 

But this is a problem.  Like a real, medical problem that could require surgery if we don't get it under control.  And so an enema?  Yeah, we can do this. 

These are pickles.  Seriously, it'll all make sense.

I figure the maximum amount of information is what's best.  I need to be completely transparent with this one.  Tell the kid exactly what we're going to do.  And have an awesome prize waiting when we're done.  That always helps.  I made sure work knew I'd be out for the day, Bill and I went to the store to get Cole a Christmas-worthy toy, and waited for the dawn.

The enema was a kid's sized enema, thank goodness and it had a bunch of cartoon charcters on it.  It caught his attention right away.  I gave him the box.  Wanted him to get up and personal with it.  Know his enemy. 

"Oh mom, what's this fun box?"

"Yes, Cole.  This box is fun." 

The back of the box had a diagram of the different positions your child should be in when receiving this fun.  He noticed right away. 

"Mom...do I need to sit like this to use this fun box?"

This was going so much better than I had expected.  I said, "Well Cole, Dr. Bill (that was our nice young resident's name...so fitting, don't you think?) wants you to take this medicine."

"Oh, okay mom.  Dr. Bill is nice.  Does it taste like grapes?"

"Not so much, Cole.  This medicine is like water that goes in your bum bum....."

[I'm freaking out here.  Does he know what I'm saying?  Does he understand? I mean....really understand?  Keep your cool, Erika.  Say it's no big deal.  Do NOT show him how freaked out you are about this....]

"Really, it's no big deal, Cole.  Water in your bum bum is no big deal."

[You know what?  It's a really big deal.  You're such a liar.  Lying to your child, that's a good look on you, Erika.  Especially since this is your fault to begin with.  You could have taken potty training a little more seriously.  Fed him more bran.  You never really do take anything seriously and that's why your mother still won't let you borrow her car....]

"Yeah, you're right mom.  Water in my bum bum is no big deal."

Do you KNOW how funny it is when your 3 year old says that something isn't a big deal? Nevermind that he's talking about water in his bum bum.  But I go with it.  I fight the urge to laugh and take him upstairs to do the deed. 




This is a cornstarch finger paint mixture.

Look, I'll spare you the gory details but let's just say that Cole figured out somewhere between ounces 1 and 2 that yeah, water in your bum bum is kind of a big deal.  Even if Dr. Bill says you should do it.  Even if you're holding one of the best toys on Earth.  Even if your mother has lied to you and gotten you in this position.  Even if you were promised ice cream for life.

He was eventually fine and I had the pleasure of changing close to 43 diapers that day.  I'd so much had rather been at work.  But, just in case you ever need to give an enema to a loved one of your own, I feel it's my duty to share with you the tips I've unearthed through my experience.  I owe you that, my friends.

1.  It's always a big deal.  Don't try to play it off like it's not.
2.  You really do have to sit still for 10 minutes after.  This is not a suggestion.  This is totally necessary.
3.  Vaseline is a good idea.  Don't make me explain.
4.  Wait some time after lunch.  Full bellies and sensitive gag relflexes are not helpful combinations.
5.  Commit.  There's absolutely no room for the start-stop-start approach.  Commit and go full steam.
6.  Don't look them in the eyes.  Actually, just try really hard not to look at anything.

He laid on the couch, hugging his new enema-toy for much of the afternoon.  I think he was exhausted from all that pooping, and still had a bit of his unrelated flu.  But he made sure to tell every person that came into my house that day, that "Mom put some water in my bum bum. . .and it was no big deal."

I'm so thankful he just said that at home and not to the person standing in line behind us at the grocery store.

Unfortunately, we're still in the same prediciment we were pre-enema, but I'm trying a natural solution of mineral oils, fiber, and other remedies to try and "get things moving."  I couldn't resist.




These are cornstarch finger paints with food coloring.

 I'll keep you posted on our poop progress.  Apparently, and this according to Dr. Bill, many kids have this issue when potty training.  It really is no big deal.

Unless you're the one holding the enema...

Oh, oh....and the pictures were some fun things I've done with the kids over the past couple of weeks.  It's getting colder around here making us spend more time indoors...and we can't be having enema-fun all day, you know.























Halloween. Or more appropriately titled, "How Buzz Lightyear fit over a winter coat and snowboots."

I'm happy to report that Halloween has come and gone and I behaved. 

It's true.

It's due in part, to the fact that two days ago we received twenty-something inches of snow.  That'll take the mood out of anything.  Especially Halloween. 

Especially when you're now faced with fitting the costume your husband spent nights and nights squirreled away in the basement with nothing to sustain him but a Budweiser (or seven) to make the neighborhood's most amazing costume out of a bucket and a roll of duct tape. . .over a winter coat and snow boots!  Do you even realize the monkey wrench that can throw into your costume plans?!? 

Especially that.

But somehow, we foraged through.  Till's got the short end of the stick, per usual.  [side note: This 2nd kid syndrome is real, people.  The poor thing wears hand-me-downs with Bob the Builder on them, has no baby book, and was forced to choose between her cousin's old panda costume (which was just a tad too small so you couldn't pull the panda hood over her head) or Cole's old piece of pizza jobby from last year.]  She chose the panda.  I suppose she just went for the Milky Ways, anyway. 

She's always giving me that "you're going to pay for this, mom," kind of look.  Either that, or she's trying to tell me to cut her bangs straight next time. 

Cole was the fanciest Buzz Lightyear this side of crazy-newish-dad-holes-himself-in-basement-to-make-toddler-costume-of-the-year. 

He even had matching boot covers.  Matching boot covers.  For real. . .

Cole was totally proud, got a ton of compliments, and had a blast. Oh, and he really does have the best dad on the planet.  If it were up to me, I would have dressed him as Tills. . .in his own, old hand me down clothes. 

The wagon was essential. . .as was a husband willing to pull it up snowy hills.  Next year, I'm afraid we'll have outgrown it.  Maybe the three of them could pull mom. . . (please notice the panda head is barely hanging on. . .poor Tills.)

And, we were even able to make our first snowman of the season on Halloween.  How insane is that?  Because it was Halloween, we had some spooky plastic eyeballs lying around that came in handy. . .

This is our zombie snow person wearing pink scarf and spooky eyeballs.  Makes perfect sense to me. 

We had a nice Halloween.  As nice as you can with two feet of snow on the ground, half a town without electricity, and a baby trying to gnaw through a Milky Way wrapper in 30 degree weather.  A total blast. 

In other news, this month is national blog like crazy month.  Okay, that might not be the official name, but you understand.  And I'm going to try really really hard to blog daily.

And by daily, I mean more than once every six weeks.

On corn mazes, 5 o'clock shadows, and spooky buddies.

Ohhh man.  I know.  Long time.  Seems I say that at the top of most posts lately.  Unfortunately, it's true.

Fact is, it's so tough to just get home from work, and dig up the energy to a play for a couple of hours with the kids before bedtime.  Weekends are for cleaning, shopping, potty training (please remind me to tell you about that one!), and for possibly having an adult conversation with my husband if we manage to be in the same room for 30 minutes together.

Many times I've thought of you.  But an episode of Hoarders and a glass of wine just seemed like the right thing to do. 

So let's start with some updates and hopefully we can get back where we left off. 

The kids are big.  And when I say big, what I really mean, is that they both say words I understand, and that I'm not always proud they are saying in public.  Cole has asked me why "that lady is so much bigger than you" in the grocery checkout line, and Till has yelled "poop" in church.  I'm way more worried about Till stringing words together.  I can already tell that little apple is not so far from her tree.

I'm home with the kids alone most weekends because Bill works, so we've needed to be creative with our activities. 

Even Buzz is up for a good tea party every now and then.  And he's lovely company.

The kids and I met up with our old neighbors at the local pumpkin festival a few weeks back.  To think that I used to be terrified to take these children out to events by myself is hysterical now.  I strapped the Tills to my back, pushed Cole in the stroller, and we had a grand time.  Cole rode a pony, Till had her face painted and we all slept well that night.

Cutest pumpkin. . .ever?  It's okay, you don't have to state the obvious.

We did get lost in the corn maze, though, and ended up walking out the entrance.  Which, for those of you wondering, was indeed right next to the exit.  Who knew?

Miss Matilda had a blast running away from me.  And seeing as the corn rows were planted about a Till's width from each other, I'm shocked she didn't just run straight through the corn to the other side!

It was about 85 degrees that day and the maze smelled like a wet dog.  The heat was so bad that I barely minded when Till ate watermelon on my neck.

It kind of felt nice.  At first.  Before it was sticky and attracted bees.

Bill's imagination is always better than my own and he made cardboard cut-outs of the kids one day while I was at work.  When I got home, the kids were lying on their selves, watching a movie.

Creepy, right?

They call them their "spooky buddies" and I agree.  Funny how they need to be lying right on them to play with them.  And why are their legs so wavy?!?

What's creepier to me is Till's 5 o'clock chocolate shadow:

The number of pictures I have of this kid apparently filthy, is ridiculous. 

But what's the neatest, besides their blossoming vocabularies ("Mommy, is that a moustache?"  Thanks Cole, thanks.) Is that they are really starting to be each other's friends.  They play together at school, and at home.  They play with the same toys, say the same things, eat the same food.  They hide on me in the same places.  They giggle together at nap time even though I tell them to ignore each other 100 times.  They're friends.  That's so neat.

The other night, they were watching a movie together and made a fort.  A fort in our house is when you drape a throw blanket over a little folding table.  Our definition of fort is going to stay the same for as long as I can possibly make it.  If I make forts anything like I build Legos, it won't be pretty.

They were sharing a bowl of popcorn, a blanket, a fort, and a movie.  It. was. precious.

Almost worth having another. 

No it isn't.  That was a test. I'm not sure you passed.

Anyway, I'll post more often.  I've got pictures of my recent canning efforts, and some fantastic homemade finger paints we made the other day.  Oh, and tomorrow is Halloween.  I can't possibly leave you hanging on that.  I will, however, try to behave a little better than I did last year.  No promises.

Speech Therapists and Cracked Tomatoes



We started speech therapy a few weeks ago.  I finally couldn't put it off any longer.  And it was terrifying.

It was terrifying because no matter how common it is, or how quickly it's overcome, or how much everyone (and I do mean everyone) reassures you. . .the point is, there's a problem. . .

. . .with your child.

Or maybe with you.  Because if you had just made sure to work on those "f's" or "l's" or "t's" a little more seriously. . .maybe we wouldn't be here.  Maybe if I'd really pressed him to eat his vegetables, went to bed earlier, brushed three times a day, read more books. . .

. . .maybe?

It was one of the most emotional things I've done yet as a parent.  Watching him work with a therapist because he needs a little help doing what most kids do effortlessly.  It was humbling. The therapist is great and Cole calls his time with her his "word game time." He likes going.  He likes the therapist.  He likes his "f's", but only at the beginning of a word.

And I know he's a smart kid and this is no big deal.  He'll catch on and that we're lucky.  But it still bothered me.

When we met with our new pediatrician, the first thing she asked me was if I understood what Cole said.  And no, for the record, not all the time. . .but do I want to?  It was enough for me to ask for a new doctor.  That one clearly has no clue.  That was a year ago.

His language never really got better.  I think we understood more, because we'd been hearing it longer and had longer to piece it together.  He doesn't need to say much to get me running.  He knows that.

See what I'm saying about this being my problem?

Anyway, we've been going awhile and he's just about mastered his "f's".  Next week we tackle the "l's".  And it's one more person in this giant support system we've cultivated that helps us raise Cole.  It's truly amazing when you think about it.  All the people that teach our kids, whether we realize it or not.  Whether we realize we need their help, or not. 

And week after week, I sit in the corner of the room and watch their session intently. . . I'm practicing so I'll know what to say or do with Tills. . .so we won't end up back here.  I keep my hands on my lap and pump a little fist when Cole says the word right.  I pretend I'm not paying attention when he gets it wrong. 

I struggle over what the therapist calls "modeling instead of correcting."  I don't think I have that down, yet.  How often should I be going through his flash cards?  Where's that fine line between supporting and insane?  Prepared and pressured?

We'll figure it out. I'm pretty sure Cole already has! We'll probably be done with this in no time and I'll look back and think this was pretty silly.  But if I didn't share it with you. . .I'd  forget it.  And then how would we make fun of me years from now?

What I could use is a vegetable therapist!  I've been meaning to show you the fruits of my gardening labors this summer.  It's not pretty.

Here's what I got from the tomato plants. . .

Guess I'll stick to speech pathologists and farmers markets.  Oy!