Who Passed the Gas?

Zane and I are alone, sitting on the couch watching Monsters, Inc. Zane passes gas. We taught him to say "gas" instead of anything else--we thought it was the most socially appropriate. So when my son passed gas, I expected him to announce that he "had gas". Zane did not do this.

So I said, "Did you pass gas?" Zane, my lovely two year old son, looks me in the eye and says "No."

"You didn't pass gas?" I ask again.

"No," comes the reply.

"Then who passed gas?"

"Daddy."

Poor Daddy--not even in the room!

The Toilet and the Trainees

We THOUGHT that my son Zane was ready for potty training. He is asking about the potty a lot, he is telling us that he needs a "dy-der" change. More importantly, he was stripping off his shorts and ripping off his diaper faster than a Chippendale dancer presented a 100$ bill. So we got the pullups and some Spiderman underpants.

The boy is gaga over the Marvel Superheroes. He can tell you, and show you, Spiderman, Wolverine, Captain America, Cyclops, and Thor, among others. Yet we have yet to hear him call any of his classmates by any name other than 'Baby'. I suppose we should be thankful that he's not calling them all Debbie.

Anyway, we got all of the 'stuff' that you are supposed to have for potty training. We got him a little potty that will play a song if you go. We thought maybe that wouldn't work so we also got those littl potty seats that fit into a regular toilet seat. We got stickers. We got charts. We explained the whole routine--sit on the potty, get a sticker. Get so many stickers, get a treat. And...

Nothing. Zane will sit on the potty for the length of time it takes to say the Alphabet Song twice, IF he wants to. Otherwise, not happening. I can close the bathroom door, but if he doesn't want to sit, I can't make him. Oh yeah--I know what you're saying right now, smug parents with potty trained children: "Make him sit. Hold him down if you have to. You're the parent!"

One thing that you need to know about Zane is that he is THE most stubborn child on the planet, the product of two of the most hardheaded people on the planet. If he doesn't want to do something, he will not. He will bend his body in the most fearsome contortions ever seen outside of a carnival sideshow in order not to sit on that seat. You could offer him candy, stickers, and Chuck E. Cheese on a platter, and he would not want any of it if it meant that he had to sit on that seat.

I don't want to force him. That is not a battle I think that anyone would win, and one that might result in an appearance on a future version of the Jerry Springer Show in 20 years. I do not want my child claiming that he is unemployed/alcoholic/in a bad relationship because I traumatized him with the potty. If my family is going to be on television, it better be for something other than a perp walk!

Instead, I think we will keep offering Zane the goodies. Keep things positive. Maybe up the ante with the kinds of prizes we give. It is possible that we will find Zane's tipping point, where he will finally decide that it is worth his while to sit on the potty, before we start offering televisions and DVD players.

Pray for us.

Book Review: The Heart Mender

I was actually a little excited when I chose this book because it offered something that I love, which is any form of history. I had never heard of Andy Andrews before, but reading the back of the book jacket informed me that he had written several other books which were well-received.

The main theme of The Heart Mender is about forgiveness. The main character, Helen, is pathologically angry at the world after losing her husband to the Germans in WWII. She has isolated herself in a small beach town following the death of an aunt. One night while Helen is walking on the beach because she is too angry to sleep, she finds a guy washed up on the shore. The man is a German, and he has been shot. The remainder of the book is about what happens after she decides to help him.

The book is based on a sort of true story. The author was digging out a dead tree stump around his house and he found a bunch of buttons, a ring, and some pictures in a can. Once he figures out that the paraphenilia belong to a German submariner, he starts researching and finds that, yes, during WWII there were a number of German U-boat attacks on commercial vessels in the Gulf of Mexico. Most people don't know about this, but according to the almighty Wikipedia, there were at least 20 U-boats operating in the Gulf of Mexico at that time. The one German sub that was sunk is still on the bottom of the Gulf. Kind of scary to consider that an enemy like Germany or Japan was able to get that close to North America without our knowledge, but there it was.

The story is fascinating and adds a depth to the history that brings it to life. I found myself wanting to go to that part of the coast and look for silver buttons, and I'm not a fan of sand. I did have some issues with some of the other characters, such as the Gilberts. Andrews' use of conversations between these people, who are supposed to be a loving family, was extremely stilted and formal and came across sounding more preachy than he probably intended. I don't know anyone who talks formally among family, least of all anyone from Alabama or Florida. That definitely detracted from the book, as far as I was concerned.

The Heart Mender, however, is a beautiful story with a relatively happy ending which doesn't often happen in real life, and I recommend reading this book just for that. You will finish the book with a smile on your face, even if you are a cynic like myself.

Win a Book!

I like to review books, and I was sent an extra copy of this new book by Andy Andrews. I am in the middle of reading my copy, and so far it's been a great story, but I'll review it when I have finished.

I am very excited to be able to give away an actual prize! Just post a comment here and I'll draw the winner from those comments. If nobody actually reads this, then I guess I'll get my feelings hurt and be sad. But someone will still get a free book, I just may have to find some random stranger to share my bounty.

THE BIG RED BUTTON

THE BIG RED BUTTON is the thing, whatever it might be, that takes you from placid to scary,psychotic anger in less than a second. THE BIG RED BUTTON is the one thing in your world that pushes you right over the edge and into the path of the crazy train. THE BIG RED BUTTON goes straight to your last nerve and you lose your temper. Everyone on the planet has one of these. Some of us have more than one. Most of us have found ways to hide our BIG RED BUTTON from the world, while others have not.

It's impossible not to want to push a BIG RED BUTTON when you see one. Some of us can resist for a time, but some of us just give into temptation and push all the BIG RED BUTTONS we see, with often disastrous consequences. I fall somewhere in the middle, because I happen to be human, and I just like to see fireworks.

One of my BIG RED BUTTONS is when people ask the same question over and over and over. If they don't understand the answer that is one thing, but there are people who keep asking the same question because they don't like the answer and are hoping for a different one. Sometimes people keep asking the same question over and over and over and over because they want me to do the task for them and they mistakenly think that I'm that easy to manipulate.

I try very hard to keep my temper when one of my BIG RED BUTTONS is pushed, because there is no better entertainment for the world at large than to watch someone completely lose their minds with anger. But it is one of my personality flaws that I have little tolerance for stupidity that is deliberate. So, every now and then I will end up just losing my mind and letting loose on someone who wasn't smart enough to stop pushing a BIG RED BUTTON.

Cat Tales

We have a feral cat who lives in our backyard. He is a yellow tabby cat, a fat roly-poly thing. He spends most of his days and nights between our patio, where we put food out for him, and the purple sage in the corner of the yard. We named him(and we don't really know if it's a 'him') Lalo, because at the time my niece had difficulty with pronouncing the /y/ sound and that's how she said 'yellow'.
As we were eating our supper tonight, I happened to look out the window and I saw a gray cat by our fence. No one had ever seen this cat before, so we watched him. Lalo was on the patio, stretched out on his back so his belly could some sun. I looked again, and the gray cat was turning away. I grabbed a cup of cat food and walked outside and filled Lalo's bowl, and he immediately began chowing down while keeping an eye on me. I went back inside to watch the gray cat. It sat there for a long time, just watching.
The next thing I know it was creeping and slinking through the grass/weeds toward the patio. It was obviously hungry to be so bold! The gray cat, which was smaller and thinner than I originally thought, moved up to the patio near the food and then just hunkered down and waited. Lalo finished his meal and then took a couple of steps toward the interloper with his back arched. The gray cat remained hunkered down.

There is an entire ritual of nonverbal cat behaviors laid out to replace actual fighting. Cats are the ultimate conservationists; fighting takes energy better left for hunting and other activities. The festivities opened with Lalo’s back arching; he was trying to make himself look bigger. I expected the gray cat to up the ante and arch his back as well, but it didn't. It just sat there and stared, but remained in a submissive pose. The little cat didn’t want to challenge Lalo. He just wanted to eat. Lalo got the message. He moved a couple of steps away and parked himself for a bath. The gray cat got up and moved to the food bowl and began eating. When it was finished, it loped off and found a place under our peach tree for a nap. And all was right with the world. At least in my backyard.

Summer Radio Lovin'

I get the fun of having an extended contract, which means that I work many days during the summer, including this week.  My husband does not have to work, so he stays home and mocks me.  The best part about working during the summer is that I can listen to whatever I want on the radio and I don't have to get grief about it. 

My husband is one of those people who only listens to certain kinds of music, and that music is, in general, what I call angry music.  Most of it is some form of metal, and if you ask him, and even if you don't, my husband will tell you what part of the metal family tree a particular song is from and give you the history of that particular branch.  He will do this while the song is playing, so you don't actually ever get to hear the song, and in some cases that is for the best.  He is obsessive about his music, and will learn all the names of the band members as well as their bios.  He loves Iron Maiden(and oddly, you don't see a lot of women at Iron Maiden concerts), Judas Priest, Motorhead, Megadeth, and Rush, among others.  He has acquired a liking for the Rolling Stones and The Who, mainly due to my influence, but he's always like Led Zeppelin. 

I, on the other hand, am more of an eclectic.  I will listen to any song at least once, no matter the genre.  I am not ashamed to admit that I like some country music, or some pop music, or a few jazz tunes.  Music is beautiful in all sorts of ways.  I even like some of the heavy metal music.  But I am not obsessive about my music.  I never spent hours poring over album covers, unless you count Duran Duran's Rio when I was in high school.  But that was because I had a mad crush on the entire band and was at a loss as to which one was the dreamiest. (It was John. No, it was...)   My point in all this is that I usually am pretty flexible about music during car rides. 

My husband and I carpool to work, and every morning we listen to whatever my husband chooses.  We do this for the sake of matrimonial bliss, because he feels that I hog the radio.  I don't hog the radio.  I put it on one radio station and leave it there unless they play more than two commercials in a row or a song that I can't stand anymore, like Sweet Child of Mine.  Then I switch it to the next station.  There may be a song or two in the mix that I don't care for, but I don't change the station, I just tough it out.  My husband has to push buttons if there's any song that he's even briefly ambivalent about, which means that he presses the button at least six times in a row without actually listening to the song that is playing before he is onto the next.  This drives me bonkers and leads to screaming matches, which is not a pleasant way to start your day.  So the mornings are my husband's turn to play whatever music he wants.  If I don't like it, well, it's over in about three minutes.  I'll live.  The only time I've complained is when my husband wants to listen to the same album, like Motorhead, every single morning for two whole weeks.  I don't think that even Lemmy listens to himself that much.

When it is my turn, on the drive home, I usually park it on a radio station and that is what we listen to on the way home.  As long as the station is playing tunes that he likes, my husband doesn't say a word.  But let Christina Aguilera start singing about her genie in a bottle, and he will find any excuse to turn the volume down so he can't hear it, be it a phone call or something else. Sometimes he will ask to change the station, which is preferable.  If I snipe at him about this, then I'm being "boo", and why am I in such a bad mood?  Which is like pressing THE BIG RED BUTTON for me.  (You have one of those too, don't you?  Don't lie.)

During the summer, I can listen to whatever I want in the car.  If I want to mix Alice in Chains with the Glee soundtrack and throw in a couple of Def Leppard tunes, I can.  Ozzy can hang out with Elton John and they can jam with George Strait.  It's all good.  And above it all, I can sing at the top of my lungs, in tune and out.