B.M.

I'd like to pretend that "B.M." stands for "book of mormon" or some other lofty and important item. But not today.

Today is stands for Bowel Movement.

BOWEL MOVEMENT.

That's what my mom called it growing up. She's way to classy to call it something crass like POO. She wouldn't use the full correct term, just the initials. You, know, "do you need to go B.M. in the potty, Tyler?" or, "Good job going B.M. in the big girl potty Missy!".

Sorry Ty and Miss. I don't have any vivid memories of my own potty training days. I can only assume I was awesome at it.

I digress.

We are on day NINE of potty-training Libby. Nine. I employed the same method that I used on both of my other kids. The same method my saintly mother successfully used on all SEVEN of her children. It's basically potty-training in a day, and it works. By nap-time the first day they're basically good to go. We haven't used diapers since the first night, and Libbs hasn't had an accident since day ONE. (she unfortunately copped a squat on her dance teacher's floor that day...sorry Heid and Mekall! May santa bring you a Swiffer for Christmas!)

She's awesome. She's a pro. She can hold it. She can go by herself. She adores flushing.

UNLESS...and that is a HUGE UNLEEEEEEES...

...we are talking about poo.

She hasn't peed herself for 8 days. EIGHT NIGHTS AND NINE NAPS...true enough...


but she's pooped herself everyday for nine days. Most days multiple times. MULTIPLE TIMES. What can I say. She's her father's child. She's pooped in the potty twice. TWICE. And I do believe those were OOPSIE POOPSIES.

I'm done. No amount of YOU HURT SNOW WHITE'S FEELINGS WHEN YOU POOP ON HER FACE, or, TINKERBELL FEELS SAD THAT YOU GOT POO AAAALLL OVER HER PRETTY DRESS, or DORA IS CRYING BECAUSE YOU POOPED ON HER AND WE HAD TO THROW HER IN THE GARBAGE seems to matter to my head strong 3 yr. old. I've threatened that Santa will be a no show and she feigns understanding and cooperation...up until she lays her next load.

HELP ME.

Training underwear (we do NOT use the *P* word here...the result is sudden, intense pain and instant humiliation if anyone slips...for the LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY I HATE THAT WORD!)
Anyway....training underwear is disposable. I will NOT scrub, dig, spoon my 3 yr. old's feces out of underwear. I refuse. They are thrown away immediately. No questions asked. No guilt. (sorry all my frugal, poo loving friends, it AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN). But my baby-poops-a-lot daughter is starting to deplete our resources. I may have to go donate plasma to keep up with her bowels, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Please. PLEASE. Please.

If you have any advice, I'd be a grateful recipient.

Me Thinks...

...that the only people who bowl at noon on a Tuesday are the AARP crowd and those of us with off-track kids. I took a picture of all of the old beavers (it's league day, apparently) but it was blurry. Better luck next time!

...that I love days that I don't see anyone I know...because it allows me to re-wear outfits that work. Putting together outfits that work (ie...that I can move in/shop in/EAT IN/not show butt-crack and/or cleavage in) takes some effort. And we all know how I feel about things that take effort...and cleavage run-a-muck.

...that I love having friends that are nicer mom's than I am. It means that my kids get to do fun things whist off track. Things that I am way to lazy/mean to do without some outside pressure. Bowling, Classic skating, late-nights, whatever. I personally think that having the privilege of enjoying the gift that is their mother for EVERYDAY ALL DAY FOR THREE STRAIGHT WEEKS is gift enough, but whatevs.

...that falling down the stairs in 3 inch boots, and a skirt, and chanelling my inner wookie yell while doing so does NOT make you cool with your kid's friends. It makes them scared.

...that you should never, NEVER let your kids beat you on purpose. I don't care if it's mini-golf, hand and foot, bowling, burping, WHATEVER. I think beating them and beating them HARD teaches them valuable lessons early in life. Lessons like IT SUCKS TO LOSE, and MY MOM IS AWESOME.

...that if it's this cold, mother-freaking-nature should just do me a solid and LET IT SNOW.

...that we need to beef up the outside this year for Christmas. Half of our outside decor blew away last year and by the time we found it (in FEBRUARY...IN AN EMPTY LOT around the corner) we were way to embarrassed to reclaim all the shiz.

...that if anyone can give me ONE GOOD REASON to NOT get a Endometrial Ablation speak now or forever hold your peace. I'm SOOOOO over being in that delicate lady state every 26 days. I'm done. CAUTION: for you faint of heart readers (MEN), if you click on that link you'll see horrifying lady words like PERIOD, and HEAVY, and BLEEDING...in every sentence. Don't say I didn't warn you.

...that something is UP with my man Tiger. (Woods, obviously). Please let him not be part of the scum of the earth that are professional athletes. He's my guy. My DUDE. But only with his hat on. He just looks weird and bald without it.

Have a splendid Tuesday people. I'm off to trim the bangs.