Best sailing sisters ever?

Posted on July 23, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

What a week! We sailed, we ate, we swam and when the kids weren’t fighting they had an amazing time too.

Areas of disagreement for BB and RB include but are not limited to:

She looked at me.
She touched me.
I want quiet.
That’s mine.
How come she gets…?
She had two lollipops today and I only had one.
She’s taking my fries.
She’s taking my drink.
She’s following me.
She won’t play with me.
Why won’t she play with me?
She won’t leave me alone.
I love my sister so much I’m going to smother her in hugs and kisses until I really piss her off.
I want to grab the rope!
I WANT TO GO FIRST.
IT’S MY TURN TO GO FIRST.
We both despise sunscreen application, but I might die if I DON’T GO FIRST.

Nothing beats waking up and going to sleep on the water. There were many moments of the trip when I could envision living on a boat again. Maybe when our children don’t rely on us for housing.

Expectations are slippery things. Before the trip, the general consensus was that if we all managed to sail for a week last year and now everyone is a year older, then we’re all set for this year.

I agree that at 42, still clinging to my early forties, I’m in a very similar sailing condition to last year. I’ve stopped saying Captain is 49 and started saying he is almost 50. Aside from his vague expressions of alarm about that, his sailing condition is also the same as last year.

BB, now eight, is ever more independent and capable. Four-year-old RB is convinced she is just as capable as BB and in many ways she is.

The main difference I see from last year to this year is that last year RB took a reliable two to three hour afternoon nap and this year she didn’t. That’s two to three MORE hours that BB and RB got to spend with each other in an enclosed space. I should consider myself lucky that no one started throwing poop at each other like monkeys in captivity.

And there was poop to be thrown. RB was very willing to pee in the boat toilet, but by day three it was apparent she was refusing to poop.

In my best poop voice, I warned her that I wanted to come out and would come out no matter what at some point. I’ll make anything talk if it means furthering the cause.

RB wasn’t hearing it. On day four it came out in her bathing suit and I dumped it overboard. If you saw a large floater on your way to Martha’s Vineyard last week, you’re welcome.

RB then decided it was okay to put the rest of her poop in the toilet and was rewarded with a lollipop. Don’t worry, BB got one too.

RB does not allow anyone to help her with anything, like climbing in and out of the dinghy, If you do, she yells,

“I GOT IT I GOT IT I GOT IT!”

She is also convinced she can paddle board. BB actually can. She did really well this year. RB struggled but persisted despite the paddle being twice as big as her.

One night, at a large restaurant on the harbor, BB was complaining,

“I really want a lemon.”

“You can go up to the bar and ask for one.”

BB shook her head. RB perked up and said,

“You can ask the bar for a lemon?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have cherries?”

“Yes.”

Without further ado, RB was out of her seat and marched herself toward the bar which was way over her head. She walked right past it.

I stayed at our table and kept an eye on her. She headed for the front of the restaurant. She was somehow directed to the general manager. I saw their heads bend together. He disappeared. He returned with a brand-new jar of cherries and scooped a bunch into a cup for her. She returned triumphant.

BB, not to be outdone, headed to the bar. She no longer had any interest in a lemon and asked for a cup of cherries.

This was in addition to the cherries on our nightly ice cream sundaes. I am never so well fed as the week we spend sailing.

Sibling rivalry aside, it was an incredible trip and I’m the first one to blog about it, so there.

Who doesn’t take their pet ox to the beach?

Poop, poop and more poop. Don’t say I didn’t warn you

Posted on February 9, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

My baby is rounding the corner on three-and-a-half. RB identifies as a big kid who sleeps in a crib and poops in a diaper.

She’s quick to tell you diapers and cribs are for babies. But like everyone, she is very willing to make an exception for herself.

She’s holding onto the diapers and I’m holding onto the crib.

Once, a couple months ago, she half-heartedly asked for a bed. She demands a bowl of cereal with more attitude than the bed ask.

I told her,

“When you poop in the potty, you’ll be a big kid ready for a big bed.”

“And I still get the bag of gummy bears?”

Many months ago I promised her a giant bag of gummy bears if she pooped in the potty. I thought for sure that would do it. Nope.

But she didn’t forget about them either.

Sure. A big kid bed and a lifetime of gummies. Whatever it takes kid.

As I wipe up a giant 3-year-old poop butt, I question all my parenting choices. How did I end up with both my kids at 3, wearing underwear all day, and then putting on their own diaper when they need to poop?

I blame Captain.

He asks me,

“What do you remember about pooping in a diaper?”

“I DON’T!”

I remember the week I potty trained. I was two-and-a-half and in Disney World. I never looked back. I have no memory of pooping in a diaper.

With a smile, Captain reminisced about his days in diapers.

He described the leather easy chair in the living room, the coffee table and lamp straight off a pirate ship. He remembered his favorite snack, cheerios and raisins, eaten from a little pumpkin cup. Best of all, he can picture the space between the chair and the pirate table where he liked to stand, eat his snack and poop.

The details folks! The details! I can’t say for sure that my in-laws had pirate furniture, but I can say for sure that if Captain can remember all that, then he was at least 3-years-old, pooping in a diaper.

I blame genetics. My kiddos didn’t stand a chance. Nor did I.

As our romantic, dinnertime poop discussion continued, new details emerged. At some point Captain started pooping in the potty. Praise be. But instead of an adult checking his wiping job, he had a magnifying makeup mirror on the floor and he bent over in front of it.

I assumed he bent over in front of it to check himself, but no, he bent over in front of it to wipe. He now regrets the bits of wet toilet paper he remembers leaving on the floor after that.

Proof that there are many strategies to clean our kids and no one seems to be winning.

So I buy another box of diapers. Bigger and bigger diapers.

Every morning I pick RB up out of her crib, snuggle her close and every part of me wants to say,

‘How’s my baby?’

Instead, after months of being screamed at, I cuddle her up and say,

“How’s my big kid?!”

“I’ve got a wiggly diaper.”

Yes. Yes you do.

At least I’ll never have to clean poop out of one of these!

Flying in a diaper, 1983, before safety was a thing.

Brought to you by the letter ‘P’

Posted on January 28, 2020 by Good Times with Jess

Too soon to declare overall success, but I will declare victory. BB pooped in the potty.

We’re approaching a year of peeing in the potty, but pooping in a pull-up. Two weeks ago I put away the portable potty.

I had left it out thinking that the small one would be the easiest transition for pooping. Now she is 3.5 years old, taller than average and very happy to pee in the regular toilet. I thought,

‘When will she poop in the potty? Who knows, but whenever it may be, I will flush it.’

I was chatting with a friend who was having a similar issue. She and her kid had picked out a specific toy for pooping in the potty.

For a year now I’ve been telling BB that if she poops in the potty we’ll go to Target and she can pick out whatever toy she wants. Obviously that hasn’t worked. Maybe we should narrow it down.

BB comes to me with a pull-up in hand. I convince her to sit on the toilet and I grab my computer. We browse the toys at Target. She zeros in on a Frozen castle.

“That’s what I want!”

“Ok! All yours if you poop in the potty.”

I leave the computer open in front of her. Eye on the prize.

No luck that day. The next morning she wakes up and without thinking about it, poops in her overnight diaper.

She comes downstairs and spends 15 minutes on the toilet trying to poop again.

“I want to poop in the potty! I want the castle!”

She’s a once-a-day pooper. I tell her,

“It’s probably too late for today, but you can try again tomorrow.”

And she did! She earned herself a castle. We now have 3 castles. I tell Captain,

“I can’t believe we just spent $40 on another castle.”

“We’ll save $40 in pull-ups.”

Then BB says,

“No more pull-ups or diapers. Big-girl panties for bed!”

Woohoo! Good luck to Captain who’s sleeping there too.

PU52525-WHITE-POST

Reading on the toilet, must be genetic

Posted on August 18, 2017 by Good Times with Jess

My feelings of shame and sadness for our country are overwhelming. It’s horrifying that the president is giving racism and white supremacy even more power. I used to have no negative feelings about tiki torches. Can’t say that anymore.

So that’s poopy.

The other thing that’s poopy are Baby Bop’s diapers. Gross. I know this is the foreseeable future, but still, gross. And it would be one thing if Baby Bop were cooperative. She’s not.

I understand. If someone were poking and prodding around my privates, I’d be like “what the heck?” And of course I’d try to get my hand down there too. But once there is poop on Baby Bop’s hand, there will be poop on the wall, all over her body and in her mouth. GROSS.

When I don’t let her do that, she screams, kicks and makes me wish I’d just let her have a mouthful of poop.

At our most recent pediatrician visit the doctor reminds me,

“You still need to be doing the q-tip with vaseline between her labia.”

Ok. I hear you, but at what point in the screaming, leg kicking, poop grabbing diapering event is that supposed to happen?

So far I’m sticking to my plan of old diaper off, new diaper on. Fastest to the finish wins. We’ll worry about the labia later.

During diaper changes I hand her any variety of items with the hope it’ll keep her hands occupied long enough for me to remove all the poop. Every item goes flying.

The other day I get a big whiff of poopies. I tell Baby Bop,

“Diappie time.”

I pick her up and she holds on tight to the board book she’s enjoying. I plunk her down on the changing table. As anyone who has ever read a hardcover book knows, it’s challenging to do it lying down. Baby Bop manages fine. She opens it to the page of a dog.

“Whoooaaaa.”

She turns to a different page. It’s a bear.

“Whooooaaa.”

She turns to another page. A penguin.

“Oooohhh.”

I’m finishing up and she’s still occupied with the book. I have no idea why I didn’t think to offer a book on the changing table sooner. Especially considering I’m the queen of reading in the bathroom.

I’m open to challengers, but I have always enjoyed spending an hour or more reading on the toilet. When I was a kid and supposed to be asleep, I thought I was fooling my parents. Now that I’m a parent, it’s easy to see that it takes more than that to fool them.

I still hole up in the bathroom for an exorbitant amount of time. I can’t really explain it. It’s not super comfortable. One or both legs often fall asleep. I just shake them out and keep reading.

After many more successful diaper changes while Baby Bop reads her books, I recount my discovery to Captain. He declares,

“Must be a case of nature over nurture.”

Even Baby Bop’s poop is in the holiday spirit

Posted on December 28, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Baby Bop is enjoying Hanukkah and enjoyed Christmas more than I realized until this morning’s diaper change.

Everyone recommends getting babies on a schedule. Sounds wonderful to me, but someone needs to convince Baby Bop. Morning wake-up time tends to be 5am. If I’m unlucky it’s 4:30am. If I’m really lucky it’s 6am.

This morning Baby Bop slept until 6:30am. A Hanukkah miracle. I put her on the changing table and open her diaper. My heart stops.

There’s a large red blob in the middle of her poop. She’s dying. She’s hemorrhaging out of her butt. What do I do? I glance at her face. She’s smiling, babbling and chewing on a stuffed bunny. Maybe she’ll live.

I examine the red blob. I’m going to have to pick it out of the diaper. I go for it. This is love. Now I understand how not so long ago, when I was already an adult, my mom helped me get a stool sample that I was too squeamish to myself.

I hold the red poopy blob between my fingers. Wrapping paper! Merry Christmas to me.

Captain also wants to hold it. He agrees with me. Wrapping paper. He asks,

“When did she swallow that?”

Good question. Baby Bop?

She’s not owning up to anything. Maybe there will be blue blobs in her poop tomorrow.

Cause Captain wanted to take a photo and I know you were curious.

Now I understand why moms think it’s okay to lick their finger and wipe something off of their kid’s face

Posted on September 23, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Bodily fluids. There are a lot and Baby Bop and I are sharing them all.

She gives me saliva. I give her milk. She gives me spit up and dirty diapers. I give her a bath. Sometimes I take a shower.

When I was pregnant, I figured I’d be so grossed out by spit up that I’d be changing my shirt on the reg. Not only do I not change it on the reg, I probably wear it longer than I would a clean shirt. Why put on a clean shirt when it’s going to get more spit up on it in 5 minutes?

The other day the pediatrician looks at Baby Bop’s bottom and declares,

“Her diaper rash is a yeast infection.”

She prescribes butt cream and sends us on our way. I tell Captain. He jokes,

“Baby Bop has jock itch.”

Yup. And it turns out that Mommy has jock itch on her nipples. Which means Baby Bop may have jock itch in her mouth. Yes I’m referring to myself as mommy. I talk to Baby Bop about myself in the third person all the time,

“Who loves the baby? Mommy loves the baby.”

I have no idea why. It just happens. Maybe this is how she learns my name.

The nurse offers advice for saving my nipples,

“If you can, get some sun on them.”

I would love to relax at a topless beach right now. How do I make that happen?

As I continue to care for Baby Bop’s bottom better than I’ve ever cared for mine, I bend close to examine the rash. This is a terrible idea. Captain tells me,

“I never get that close.”

Yes. That’s sensible. So I’m down there, with my nose inches away from the cutest little butt I’ve ever seen, and SPURT. Projectile poop shoots straight up my nose. Not on my cheek. Up my nose.

What surprised me the most was that I wasn’t grossed out. I was just annoyed that I had another mess to clean up.

And some messes do require a clean shirt: