Wasted Talent

It seems like every time I come back here I talk about why I haven't been here. This can't possibly be interesting to anybody, so I won't go into it now. But it does relate a little to what I'm thinking about today.

Last night my family and I watched A Bronx Tale, a fantastic story of a kid growing up in a 1960's Bronx neighborhood, caught in the middle of the classic good vs. evil struggle: His father is a decent, hardworking man who refuses to be corrupted. His mentor is the local mobster (I'm way too suburban white-bread boring to know the proper terminology for his position despite having watched all six seasons of The Sopranos.) The story is mostly true, based on the childhood of actor/author Chazz Palminteri.

The movie is certainly a classic, and I highly recommend it, but this is not a movie review. It's about hearing something in the movie that hit me, all epiphany-like.

A few different times the father tells the main character, "The saddest thing in life is wasted talent." This morning I printed those words and taped them to the wall over my desk. I put my writing under the category of a talent. I mean, I'm not a fantastic writer who will write the greatest novel ever to be seen, I will probably never see anything of mine featured anywhere that actually pays for that type of thing. Just because mine is not the best talent of all those who have it still makes it a talent, doesn't it? Or maybe if I'm not going to be the next Hemingway I should just not bother. From what I understand, there have been writers who are considered untalented who have made millions. If I enjoy writing things that are virtually unreadable I should still write them, I suppose. Besides, how will I get any better when all I do is think about how this, that or the other thing would make a good blog entry.

Look at me talking myself into writing. From what I understand the great writers can't not write. I can't not not write. But, continuing on the theme from the "wasted talent" line, I am sad a lot of the time. Maybe the sad thing in my life is the talent I'm letting go to waste. Perhaps I haven't realized that the sad will go away when I write. Maybe that's the connection I always thought was lacking.

Despite my realization that living a life philosophy based on a line from a movie is inherently sad in and of itself, I'm gonna give it a whack. Couldn't be any worse than Scientology.

A New Era Dawns...

A lot has happened for me over the last few months. A lot will hopefully be happening over the next few. And if you're reading this, I'll be sharing it with you from wherever I go! That's all I can say for now... Meanwhile, please enjoy this picture of my cat playing in our hamster aquarium. Yeah, I know...

What the...?

I love going through the "recommended for you" items on Amazon.com. I shop a lot with them for pretty much everybody I buy gifts for, and it makes for some interesting recommendations. If you haven't used it yourself, it makes a suggestion and then says at the bottom what you have purchased or wish-listed that makes them think you will be interested in the item.

Today I got this recommendation:








If you notice, it says it has recommended this CD of Celtic New Age Christmas music because I bought an instant hot water heater for my kitchen sink.

Um, ok.

Is there a connection of which I am not aware? Do all the hip new-agers like hot water, but are impatient? Is this based on the stereotype that the Irish like to boil their food a lot? Perhaps it assumes I drink a lot of tea and would therefore be requiring a fun and quirky coaster made from a Celtic Christmas CD?

Looking at the play list, I see a song by the name "Un Flambeau". Did the "Recommendation Bot" think, "If you like scalding water you'll love a song about something that sounds kinda flame-related. 'Cause, you know, flames are hot too. And it's french. Pretty similar, am I right?" There is also a song called "Gloucestershire Wassail". Wassail is served hot, maybe they think I will filter cider, ale or mead right through the pipes and make a festive holiday beverage in an instant! Perhaps it's as simple as seeing the song "Snow" and thinking one would want a nice cup of cocoa after it's finished playing.

Well, whatever the reasons, Amazon, I will be taking a pass on this recommendation. Thanks, but no thanks.

NaNo Update

Well, I'm not going to win, that much is obvious. And at the moment my goal of, "If I just make it to halfway I'll be happy" is also about 5k words and 12 hours away from being a reality. I would love to say I am proud to just have written more words then ever before and gotten as far as I have in the story, but I am not. I wasted many, many days that could have been productive. Like today, for instance. I spent the morning playing Heroes trivia on Facebook. I could have written a grand or so in that time. Then there was that weekend early in the month where, instead of writing, I read Harry Potter books one, three and most of four. (who the heck did I lend book two to???) I may have written 4,000 words in one day last Monday but I haven't even tried to be productive since then.

On the up-side, I will say I really believe in my story. Every once in a while I write a passage that I think is pretty awesome. And a lot of my hesitation at the beginning was, as a good friend pointed out to me, because deep, deep down, I didn't think I could really do it. Now I know I can write 20,000 words, and even do one or more chapters in one day, and actually like what I wrote. That is a huge hurdle to get over, confidence-wise. Now I just have to tackle the Wall of Discipline. In an earlier post I mentioned the challenge I helped develop called R1. We have decided to do something different this upcoming January. We will have an "Add 25k Words to Your Novel Month". It can be something you've been working on for a while, or something you have just begun to think about. No rules, no restrictions, no cool web badges or counter widgets; just a bunch of people writing at the same time, checking in with each other and giving encouragement. Then comes NaNoEdMo.... but I'll worry about that another day.

Maybe, just for shits and giggles, I will try to make it to 25k by midnight tonight. If I make it, I buy myself the shirt. Because then, to me, I'll have earned it. Um... gotta go!

Hallo-won'ts

I just got back from a trip to the party store. My search was pretty much unsuccessful. After searching through the women's costume section, I feel like I just left this place (Not exactly safe for work because of language):

Cayley Practices Her Photoshop/Photo Uploading Abilities

I think I must have scurvy.

First, I was on a quest for lemon juice.

Then, I started adding this to my water.

Then I had an overwhelming craving for Limeade and sent my husband to store for a couple cans of it.

And now this is my favorite beer. It is apparently "inspired by a Mexican recipe with lime and salt." All I know is that it's limey, and not in the derogatory name for an Englishman way. Me likey limey lately.

As a postscript, if you think lime flavored beer is gross, then I can't imaging what you will think of me when I tell you I have found something else I want to try while I was searching for the Miller Chill photo:

I believe I have mentioned before that I like, nay, love Clamato so you know I just have to try this. Mostly just to tell the story of the historic day I was brave enough to conquer the odd concoction that struck fear into the hearts of all around me. And, of course, to see what it tastes like.

Update Update

I have been so bad about posting that I have actually not even looked at this site due to the shame I feel in neglecting it. The past two weeks have been a blur of school preparedness. Add to that back pain that has made anything other than breathing and eating completely unappealing and you have, well, this: The lonely un-updated blog of yours truly.

I have been writing today, and you will shortly see a blog posting I wrote for a new website about the Fox show Fringe. The site looks great and I encourage all you fans of the show to stop in and check it out. If you are a fan of Sci-Fi in general, why not visit their sister site, Quantym?

Then, I will be updating The Daily Crutch, news on my boy's first week of school and other things that I am watching and hearing about.

A few more quick updates: I found lemon juice at Walmart the other day, and I saw it again at my supermarket today. Unfortunately I hear from Wisconsin that a friend of mine can't find any at her markets, so maybe we're just stealing it from the midwest. And going back to one of my earliests posts, I finally got around to listening to the Dork Forest podcast (I know, I'm slow. Did you not know I'm a dork myself? It explains a lot.) Anyway, I found it hard to listen to at first because the podcasters produce it by calling into a service and that "over-the-phone" sounding voice is a little distracting at first, but the show was funny enough that I really enjoyed the program and can't wait to download another one.

Why Am I Always The Last To Know?

Since I harbor the pipe dream of becoming a writer, I subscribe to a number of advice-giving emails from The Writer's Digest. I don't actually write anything, you know, like a novel or whatever, I just get emails that make me feel writer-esque. It's a lot like taking your laptop to Starbucks and surfing the web. Hopefully once I look like a writer and get emails like a writer, I will suddenly transmorgrify into a writer. It's all part of my master plan. But I digress.

One of the emails I get is called the "Guide to Literary Agents" and it gives advice and examples of query letters, as well as names of agents that are actively looking for authors. Doesn't it make you think of me as more authory knowing that I know these things? No? Oh. Anyway, in the email I got today there was a mention of a contest they were having. It's called the "Worst Storyline Ever" Contest. It's pretty self explanatory, but the contest is that you gve them a one-sentence synopsis of the worst storyline you can imagine. The prizes are pretty sweet, too. If you win you get to talk to the editor of the Guide to Literary Agents, Chuck Sambuchino, and get a personal lesson in making queries, including a critique of one of your own. Plus a copy of the 2009 Writer's Market and the 2009 Guide to Literary Agents.

The problem is the contest started 10 days ago, on the 18th, it ends in three days, and the email about it only came today. I know, I know; I should probably check the website everyday. Except I didn't know it was it's own website. Um, I thought it was just a more specific email sent out by Writer's Digest. I should probably learn up on some of this technical stuff before I actually start writing that Great American Novel. Anything to delay any serious, actual work! Well, I'm off to wrack my brains for some of my worst dreck. Shut up! I do not have an abundance of that!

Much.

Sourpuss

I have been looking for concentrated lemon juice for weeks now. I always like to have some on hand not only for cooking but for one of my favorite beverage concoctions, a Clam Digger (I prefer lemon juice instead of lime, and lots of it.)

After finding yet another empty shelf at the supermarket I came home and googled "lemon shortage." And, well, yep. We have one. Apparently it isn't just here, it is an international shortage. In 2007, there was a horrible growing season in the European crops, and freezing weather in California and Argentina destroyed what should have been the backup supply. Add in drought conditions in Spain and Australia and lemon lovers are really screwed. Once the lemons become a rare commodity, more of them go to the markets as fresh because they can sell them for more. Concentrating them for bottled juice isn't as lucrative, hence the empty shelves every time I go to get a bottle.

From what I've read, the juice will start to get back on the shelves mid-September, but the shortage problem won't be totally alleviated until mid-2009, when this years crop is harvested, juiced, and bottled.

Since the bottles are gone and the fresh lemons are kind of expensive to buy and juice enough for some of my recipes, I thought my lemon consumption would now be limited to the lemonade mix in my cabinet. However, a few months ago I came across a box of something called True Lime next to the Splenda in the sugar aisle. I like to put it in my water because after years of guzzling soda and ice tea (the diet kinds) I cannot handle flavorless beverages. I have not tried the lemon version, but I did add some of the lime to my Clam Digger this morning and it was okay. Not great, not revolutionary, but it will do in a pinch. So there's that at least.

The Daily Crutch

I have gone many more days without posting than I would have liked. For that, I apologize for any faithful readers I may have. It has been a weird past few days.

I had thought I was feeling sick, or maybe even depressed. I had no energy to do anything or even care about anything. Then yesterday I was taking my son to the office supply mega-store to buy school supplies for the very first time (cue pride swelling music). About five minutes into the trip I felt pain in my sternum, and I didn't feel like I could catch my breath. I felt like I had to burp but when I did it made me nauseated. Honestly, I was worried I was having a heart attack, but I didn't want to panic too quickly. This had happened to me once before and it had turned out to be severe heartburn. I bailed out of shopping after only finding about four things, and went straight home. I took a Zantac with a massive glass of milk and I laid down on my bed with some coloring books and crayons so my kid could hang out with me until my husband came home. I did feel better after a while, although I do still have the remnants of the pain in my sternum. I thought about it and I figure it all comes down to soda. I love me some Diet Mountain Dew as my morning caffeinated beverage, but on occasion it can be hard to find. This summer especially so, although I tend to think my husband just doesn't look around enough. So I have been drinking a lot of iced coffee. Last week I was able to grab about three 12-packs and had been guzzling it like crazy since about Friday. I'm sure it was all that soda ripping my stomach lining apart that caused the pain, and I suspect it was the drop in amount of caffeine between coffee and DMD that cause my listlessness. So it was scary for me for a while, but at least that ended well.

Also in the "ending well" department, it's official: My doc has cleared me for Physical Therapy. I had no idea that I actually needed a prescription for that. He wrote out what he wanted them to do for me on a prescription pad. I thought that was kind of cool. I will be calling around tomorrow and will hopefully start next week. This will not mean the end of The Daily Crutch, though. I plan to have this be for all my general updates, because I have plenty of big changes I am planning.

The biggest change: I need to lose weight. Once I can walk again I don't intend to stop, and with my boy in school five days a week I am hoping to get a lot more of that in every day. In addition to the walking, I plan to go back to swimming laps three times a week and of course, that Wii Fit game won't be able to get rid of me. Last year I found a website called SparkPeople that is all about weight loss, and it helps a lot with accountability and goal-reaching. It has groups you can join for specific interests (I belong to groups for swimmers and Wii Fitters, of course) that give you a way to not feel alone in your goals, and can set group challenges that push you farther than you may have done on your own. I even made a walking buddy last summer. She lives nearby and we met up about two or three times a week before the pain in my foot became too much to take. Between this blog and SparkPeople I hope to see some success for a change. This is my page if anyone would like to join me.

I also need to organize myself if I am going to pull off getting the boy to school at the evil hour of 8 am, then go workout for hours and still have the house not be a total disaster and my family doomed to pizza nine meals a week. Any ideas?

The Daily Crutch

Wow. I am really, truly dumb. I have been in this ridiculous Aircast now for about seven weeks and I finally just now realized how it works.

There are four little hoses that you can fill with air to support the leg, one for each side. Or so I thought. The front of the cast comes off so the hose on that goes obviously enough to the front inflatable tube. When you inflate the remaining three and look inside you see 3 gray tubes that line the back and sides. I thought each of these inflated separately. Here is my first major error: I kept thinking the back inflates under my foot, so when I felt pain in my heel I would pump it up. Nope. Why did I think that? I have no idea. I guess the padding the doc put in there has now compressed and it no longer feels cushy, whereas before it felt so soft I assumed it was air? Maybe. Anyway, sometimes after pumping up the back I would find that my leg was being pushed forward, and my toes were dragging on the ground. So I would take my little deflater pump and try to suck the air out of the side tubes, but no air would come out. The pump would even stay collapsed after I squeezed it, like it was attached to a vacuum, and yet I could see the air pockets were still inflated. I couldn't even fit my hand and arm in there, and yet it wouldn't deflate. Well, it turns out the gray inflatable area was one big U-shaped piece and was filled and unfilled with the back hose. Then, there were 2 little green air bags under the gray that I couldn't see. Those were the ones that went to the side tubes. They were already empty, so the deflater couldn't suck anything out of them no matter how much I tried. I needed to deflate through the back tube to deflate all the gray area.

I'm such a dope, and I'm sure none of that made sense. When Blogger lets me upload a photo again I will post pictures of the inside of my cast.

In the meantime I am still on hold. Ten weeks after my surgery I still have an incision that isn't quite healed. It does look much better, however, and everything inside feels fantastic. It can get tight and sometimes does something my doc told me was "wound contraction" which is disquieting. Up until last week I was ok with everything but now I am getting impatient. Sigh.

So That's What The Name Means

Saturday we went to our friend's annual block party. I am pleased to announce that there were NO Kia's parked this year. We are so proud. This year my son discovered a tree across the street from where we were sitting had edible sour cherries. He decided he wanted to make a cherry pie.

The hunt for ingredients:

The bounty gathered:


He actually tastes the cherries:

I apologize for the awkward watermarks. I'm sure there is a more professional and/or subtle looking way to do it but I am still new to all of this.

The Daily Crutch

On Wednesday I had my second plaster cast removed. The infection from the last time is gone but the incision is still not quite healed. So, yet again, we wait to start physical therapy. The doc says not to worry because the important thing is that I keep the tendon flexible, or else the lengthening will have been for naught, and I can do those exercises on my own. The PT is for getting strength back, and we can catch up in that way at any time. So for now my orders are more elevating, less walking and more Aircast. But the good news is that he cleared me for driving. Hooray, I thought! Yeah, as it turns out, not so much.

Bright and early on Thursday morning I said to Cameron, "Where do you want to go today? We are footloose and fancy free and mobile again." We decided we would start off heading to the vet because my cat had run out of her pills and had gone quite a few days without them. Then, since we were out in that area we would stop by a favorite farm-stand type store, and then finish the day off by stopping at our neighborhood spray park. Driving was going to require that I take off the Aircast. I brought along a clog to slip on because it wouldn't rub against my incision and that worked out well. The problem, it turns out, was that aforementioned "strength." Pulling out of the driveway wasn't too bad, it certainly felt different, and I admit to being a tad nervous. But I made my way down the street and up the ramp and onto the highway. This is when I discovered that pressing down on the accelerator with an atrophied leg can be a bit problematic. I couldn't get the car up over 45 mph. Other cars are whizzing by me, blowing horns, giving me That Look as they passed. That was scary, but I shifted my position on my seat and skooched a little closer and was able to get up to about 55 so I wasn't a total danger to myself and others. I merged onto the Mass Pike, which is a toll road, but I have the Fast Lane pass so I get over all the way to the right, not only to let faster cars get by but to get into the dedicated lane for the pass.

Now, to back up a little you should know that I was driving my '97 Ford Escort. This was the car that we unregistered and put in our garage when my son was born to save a little money. A few months ago we re-registered it and have been driving it instead of our other car because the Escort is only 4 cylinders and thus uses a little less gas. Plus, to my son it is "new" and he thinks it's a real treat to take the "green car." For some reason the Escort has lost it's little velcro tabs that hold the Fast Lane transponder on the windshield, so when we drive through a toll we need to dig out the transponder and hold it up behind the rear-view mirror in order for the whole transaction to go through. Oh, and driving through the Fast Lane without having a transponder results in a pretty hefty fine.

Can you guess what happened next? I'll bet you can! First I forgot I was supposed to hold the transponder up until I was just about under the point where it gets read, then I almost got rear-ended when I slammed on the brakes and started fumbling for it. Somehow I realized I was already past the point of no return and had to keep moving before I caused an accident, but the thoughts started flying through my head about how I had just ran the toll, and that our account doesn't even have the new license plate number listed. I was already pretty stressed out about the odd feelings in my right foot and after this happened I pretty much lost it. I started crying. Meanwhile my son, the chatterbox, is in the back.
"Mommy, when are we gonna get there where is the vet why does 'Pencer need pills does Jake need pills too when are we gonna get there." Then he noticed I was crying. "Mommy why are you crying why are we gonna get a ticket is the p'liceman gonna pull us over where is the p'lice car why will it come in the mail where is the p'liceman how does he know where we live." I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't focus on the road between my overwrought thoughts of breaking this news to my husband and Cam's voice.
"Cameron, PLEASE stop it, I need to CONCENTRATE. You need to be QUIET!"
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Then, from the back I hear the tiniest voice say, "Maybe we should just turn around."

That was so perfect that I actually laughed out loud. He sounded like he had grown 30 years in those moments. He also sounded concerned for his crazy old mother. I felt terrible and apologized to my boy, and we continued on to the vet because we really did need those pills, but we scratched the other plans, and went straight home, turned on the a/c and treated ourselves to massive amounts of ice cream and Tom and Jerry cartoons. And when I told my husband he actually laughed at me. Any other time I'd be mad at being the butt of the joke but this time it was completely welcome.

All in all, the driving was not a good idea. I won't be doing that again for a while. I am going to keep up my home exercises for another week and then try again in on the 21st, when I need to take the cat back to the vet. I believe I will take the back roads this time. You know, just in case.

Wii Will, Wii Will Hurt You!!

I am now a proud and pleased owner of a Wii!

I had been hinting to my husband for quite some time that I really wanted one, but I knew they could be expensive and we already had a PlayStation 2, so I never thought for a moment about outright asking for one. And it is possible that had one not practically fallen into his lap, he never would have considered getting me one either. But by some crazy stroke of luck, a friend of my husband's was looking to sell his barely-used Wii console with three games and three controllers. When he first heard about this he came home that evening with a sneaky smile on his face, teasing me that he had the best birthday gift for me. I didn't believe him.

My husband has a long tradition of bait-and-switch subterfuge. He will often make me think my birthday or Christmas gift is being held up in some kind of customs dispute and/or will require a home loan to afford. And of course, it is always perfectly nice but never have I needed a crane to get one of them into the house no matter how much he swore it would be necessary. My standard response is to just roll my eyes and act like whatever it is I'm sure it will be all wrong. A few days after he started bragging about this awesome gift I was getting, he mentioned it was going to be more expensive than he would have liked. Now, for the record, just this past Mother's Day he claimed the beautiful digital frame he got for me cost $280. I was stunned! I couldn't believe he so stupidly paid that much since I had seen the same frame for under $100. My gullibility struck again, and he let me believe that story for weeks before he admitted he got it for about 90 bucks, but this is what I mean about him trying to trick me. I figured this new claim that my birthday gift was too pricey was more of his typical BS and figured I would call his bluff. I told him his love was enough of a gift (cue sappy music) and he didn't have to go through oh so much trouble to get it for me. And if it was really something he thought I would want he could give it to me at a later date. So he canceled it and then told me all about his friend's situation and what a great deal it would have been, and that as soon as I said I didn't want it the man's sister-in-law was told she could have it to donate it to a nursing home. This time I believed him, and it turned out he was, in fact, telling the truth.

I spent about 2 days moping about what a big mistake I made turning down his gift. On the 4th of July, no doubt to get away from all of my whining, he went around to the neighborhood pub and ran into his friend. Turns out the sister-in-law had gotten a system of her own, thinking I had taken the original one, and it was still up for grabs. My husband wisely snatched it up and they brought it home for me for an early birthday gift, set it up on Saturday morning, and I played for most of that afternoon. Today I have very sore arms. Even two days later. I tried to play a little yesterday but literally could not lift my arms. I feel it in my biceps, my forearms and my shoulders. I can barely use my crutches. The forearm pain is still the worst today. I feel broken. And I love it!! I really feel this will be a good addition to my up and coming plans to lose weight, which will commence after I am done with my physical therapy. Hopefully if I save my pennies I can get the Wii Fit attachment before the weather turns cold.

Now all I need is an attachment to teach me how to tell when my husband is bullshitting me. I wonder how much that will cost?

The Daily Crutch

Yesterday was my 5 week visit with my doctor. It was supposed to be the day I got out of the air cast and began physical therapy. Well, unfortunately that's not what happened. Last Thursday was the last day for the wonderful woman who was taking care of me. Friday was the day my husband brought my 4 year old son to the New Hampshire Motor Speedway to see the NASCAR practice. Saturday my husband ran around doing errands and Sunday he spent all day at the track. Also on Sunday two friends were coming over to hang out and watch the race with me, and on Monday my father was coming up to see me for a few days.

What does this have to do with anything? Well, because of my visitors, and because I was on my own for so many days I started cleaning and cooking as if there was nothing wrong with me. And of course, the crutches just got in the way so I didn't use them. Because of all that activity, I opened up the incision. It is also infected. Even though this is five weeks post surgery I really am not surprised. When I went in after 10 days to get the stitches out they weren't ready to be removed and we had to wait an additional week. The problem is that I had the exact same surgery when I was 2 years old, and the doctor cut right alongside the old scar. So I have healthy tissue attempting to heal together with old scar tissue. So I think these kinds of complications should be expected. Obviously I exacerbated the problem, because I didn't have to make lunch on Sunday, or clean the living room; my friends would have understood. And if I had been more patient I'm sure my son could have done the majority of cleaning in his room.

The doctor decided I needed antibiotics, of course, and we both decided I needed a new plaster cast. If I had stayed in the aircast I'm sure I would have made it worse. I'm a fiddler. I can't leave things alone. If I am to heal, apparently, I need to keep myself away from myself. Now I have the equivalent to one of those cones they put on a dogs head to keep them from chewing their stitches. So now I promise I will be a good girl. Yes I will!

On a semi-related note, while looking for images for this post, I put the word "crutches" into the Photobucket search window. I learned that there really is a spelling gap in the nation's education system because what I got in the results were a lot of "crotches."

The Daily Crutch

I thought I'd throw out a quick explanation and then give the occasional update. I started this blog because not only have I wanted to for some time, but because at the moment I am laid up post-surgery. My achille's tendon was repaired and it takes a long time to get back on one's feet, or in this case foot, after such an operation.

This week I am walking around more but probably shouldn't since I think I might be stretching the incision. I have been getting a world of help from a great lady named Bridie. She has been a God send, especially for my four year old, Cameron. I can live with sitting back and watching daily courtroom reality shows while surfing the net and healing, but my son has been bored to tears. To counteract that, Bridie gets him outside as often as the weather allows. Today they went on an adventure. My son loves motor vehicles of all kinds, and trains in particular. So Bridie took him on the bus to the subway station, then transferred to a trolley. ("That was my first street bus I ever been on!" -Cameron) They got off somewhere (you'd think I would have paid better attention to their schedule) and had ice cream, chased pigeons, got back on board the trolley and made their way home. Doesn't sound like much to us, but he came home full of that enviable 4-year old exuberance and told the story of their day in breathless spurts of sentences that ended up having to be translated by Bridie. I am so glad they had fun.

Beware the Naked Man-child

Some of you have read this many times before, but it just needs to be included here. The whole ordeal occurred in the summer of '07.

So I kind of accidentally started potty training my son when he got yet another horrible diaper rash because he was withholding poops. I told him "Thats it, no diapers tomorrow (Friday) they are giving you these rashes" (They weren't, it was his own fault, but it was another desperate attempt on my part, and I was surprised when it worked) and after one early accident he did great all day Friday peeing, but never pooped. There was an ill timed block party we were invited to on Saturday, and we went, armed with his only 3 pairs of underwear and about 5 pairs of shorts. So, he of course peed on the sidewalk at one point because he never has these kinds of distractions anyway, much less when he's supposed to be remembering to use the potty. So that took out one pair of underwear. He then soiled the last two pairs trying to hold in a poop, which had been occurring a lot because of the aforementioned diaper rash. So, I was left with no choice but to send him out to the party in shorts "commando style" while we tried to get his underwear washed and dried. About a half an hour later we are sitting there and I see him go across the street and start his "holding-it-in" dance. I figure he's yet again sure to win this battle so I don't think much of it at first, but all of a sudden, he uncrosses his legs, does a little shimmy move and out of the leg of his shorts drops the biggest freakin' turd right out into the street. I don't know whether to laugh or scream, so i try to do both (doesn't work) and I tell(screech at) my husband to get a bag or something. There was no hope of keeping it a secret, either. If he had been the slightest bit freaked out by this I wouldn't be sharing it, but I guess he was just happy to be rid of it (remember, it had been since, I think Tuesday or Wednesday since he had gone!) and wasn't phased at all. Which is weird seeing as how 45 minutes earlier the idea of pooping at all, anywhere, was freaking him out.

Anyway, I expect a day to come, perhaps his college graduation party or his wedding, where at least one guest will turn to me and say, "Hey, remember the time he crapped in the street?"

In the weeks since The Incident... [side note: I have come to find out that the hosts of the party now use the phrase "parked the Kia" to describe Cameron's unfortunate on-street deposit. I find this a little offensive. This thing was at least a Camry!] Cameron has had his fair share of forgetfulness, some wet beds and a slew of almost-made-its, but I am happy to report that he is completely potty trained and has not had a single diaper rash since he decorated Ardale St.

Personally, I'm pretty happy we let him take his time. We had considered quite a few methods when he was younger. There was one that was pretty much like housebreaking a puppy: confine him to the bathroom, pump him full of water and keep up a routine of taking him for a walk, er, um, putting him on the toilet at regular intervals, complete with praises and treats and belly rubs when he had success. I decided against that method because what the hell do you do between pee breaks? Scrabble? The redecoration that would have been necessary from him bouncing off the walls was a little out of our price range. The method of putting a sticker on a reward chart was an appealing one... for about a week. Complete a row and get a new toy! Who knew the bladder had magical powers? All the logic, threats and pleading to get a kid to give up a toy at the store, but face a kid with the question "don't you want to pee on the potty so you can get a new train?" and he suddenly becomes completely uninterested in the acquisition of material things. Like he turned into a monk overnight.

We went with the "wait until he's ready" method. That way they practically train themselves. See, the amazing thing about a 3.75 year old boy is that he has finally discovered his peeper. The appeal of the potty comes best when they realize how much more handy it is to have that thing, well, at hand. No diapers covering it up, just letting it all hang out, balls in the wind freedom for the little buddy. That's when you can say "No more diapers" to them, and they will say "Thanks, Mom! Oh, and by the way, have you seen what I can do with it?"