Mommy, Daddy, cocaine

The good news is that Quin goes to the bathroom all by himself. The bad news is that he's going to the bathroom by himself. He'll come running at us yelling, "I peed, I peed!" But we have no idea where.

This morning he really nailed it, toilet and all. I got back from the park with Paco and everybody was all smiles and high fives. I thought we’d finally successfully refinanced the house, but it was even bigger. Quin had told mom he needed to go, and all the proper protocol was followed to the last drop.

To Q’s credit, he’s been interested in the toilet for a long time, it’s just his mom and dad are too weary and too strapped for time to always follow through. His daycare provider said she was ready to go with a program that involves dropping his shorts and taking him to the toilet every fifteen minutes. And then presumably you stand there until he goes, or the fifteen minutes is up. And then I guess the plus side is you’re all set to do it again.

Our issue is that with the new baby and Sarah back at work we’re always in a hurry and only frightening the little guy during a very important developmental phase. (If humans ever get too high on our place in the food chain just recall that learning how to poop can mess us up for life.)

But Q is close. And it won’t be long before he’s all set with the toilet thing. And yes I just knocked on wood.

Today Sarah and I discussed doing cocaine. It makes sense why people do it. I want to stay up late and write. Sarah is getting up once or twice a night to feed Otto. We figured we could do it at night to get more done. But then we realized we’d need it in the morning to wake up. There goes the whole addiction thing.

So I think illicit drugs are off the table (barring my mad pining for diet soda and coffee). Sadly, however, Sarah and I ended this evening's conversation with the conclusion that sleep is just a waste of time. We’d like to be up to finish our house and clean whatever in the hell is so sticky on the kitchen floor. There’s just not enough time to get things done.

I’m struck by how strange it is that our brains, part of the very vehicle that needs sleep, has decided that sleep is only a detriment to our day. What in the hell is wrong with us? Did our potty training go terribly wrong?

It’s just a thought.  I know I’ll be out cold in about twenty minutes.  Although with Q getting up before six and Otto ready to eat at all hours, our children do their best to make it a reality.