Happy Tuesday! We are breaking records! Yesterday was the second straight day of record breaking attendance here on My Own Space, so let's have a round of applause for all of you. Thank you. Oh! News break! I am now on Twitter. Follow me @sswheatley. So far I have 10 followers. Be jealous, Oprah. Let's see if we can boost that to 11. Expect tweets ranging from potty training Beatrix to Broadway auditions. Probably more about potty training. (A deafening roar as people stampede to follow me on twitter.) Look. I'll try to be funny and I love to tweet a picture. Okay?
Since we're talking about potty training, can we please just talk about Beatrix? In fact, this blogisode is brought to you by Beatrix Jane, the three-year-old who is going on...uh....three. Unlike Charlotte who was three going on 90 (picture a Mother Theresa saintly and wise 90). Beatrix is perfectly three. Allow me to explain.
Let's talk about last Friday, which was DAY TWO of the FOUR DAY weekend that almost killed me as a mother (anyone else? The break for the Jewish holidays felt like it lasted a year for this (kinda) Catholic family. Bored kids....father working all four days....mother trying to do be entertaining for the two children without breaking the bank...rain....bored....rain...bored....).
The morning got off to a whopping start. First we did our usual "Go to the potty, Beatrix." "NO!" routine, then...picture Beatrix sitting on her bed saying, "I make Mommy mad now" while peeing. On her bed. Cut to me in the doorway--just out of bed--no coffee in my system yet--as I watch the pee hit the bed...the sheets...the floor...and it just keeps coming....Speechless. Horrified.
Here's the good news. I did not scream or yell or throw her (or anything) across the room. Not because I am Gandhi, but (Aha!) because I had outpranked the prankster. Days before I had purchased and put on a fully waterproof mattress pad, so she didn't ruin the $800 mattress just for THIS VERY REASON. HA! Take THAT, you three-year-old. Score one for Gandhi Mommy.
But eventually, she got me back.
We decided it had stopped raining long enough to go to the Bronx Zoo, where we have a membership (something to do for free!!). By the way, I'll give you a weather update (I am also the meteorologist here on My Own Space) New York is basically Seattle now, we get so much rain. Outdoor events are canceled for the next year as we become the tropical rain forest that is our destiny. Anyhow, dodging rain drops, I piled everyone in the car, and off we went to see monkeys (Charlotte's request), a Snow Leopard (my request) and giraffes (Beatrix's request).
While in line for the monorail which would provide sightings of all three animals, (it was a giant line, remember it was a holiday), Beatrix, who was dressed as Cinderella (don't ask) looked up at me and said, "I going pee-pee now" as a stream of urine rolled out from under her dirty floor-length gown and towards some guy's Jesus sandal.
I left Charlotte in charge of the wet Cinderella (no way we were getting out of that line) and ran for the stroller which we'd left in the annoying annex stroller parking lot 722 miles away. In the stroller I found a pair of pants and a shirt. No underwear. No wipes. I ran back to the line (excuse me, excuse me, just have to reach my kids, excuse me) and got the leggings on her sticky legs after removing her glass slippers crocs which were full of pee and covered with mystery zoo goo (ew...wet and muddy and don't think about what she's been walking on at the zoo....don't think about it....). I had no way to clean my hands, but I shoved everything in a plastic bag and we went on the monorail anyway (monkeys and elephants, a tiger, no giraffes).
This, if nothing else, proves that I do not have OCD-germaphobia (but I may have malaria).
Here's what's funny. The kid can hold her pee like a camel (does that analogy make sense? I really should say cactus. She can hold her pee like a cactus. No, that doesn't work either. What has a huge bladder?) and she doesn't even wear a diaper to sleep anymore. She's totally potty trained. Until she isn't and just wants to make me mad--which makes me want to curl up in a corner with a scotch (I don't drink scotch, but it sounds better than a "diet coke" which is what I'd really have).
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Let's get back to "I Wish I Could Go Back To College". We left off with me accepting a plexiglass award, leaving Cincinnati with my tail between my legs, and Rob and I deciding if one of us should get a "real" job for things like...health insurance (Eh, over rated. Who needs it? P.S. I was pregnant).
Let there be no more suspense. Of course it was Rob who got the real job. Who are kidding?
Rob (aka: smart) has a double major in Music and Pre-Med from Notre Dame, and a Master's Degree in Choral Music from the Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music (he also got into medical school, but went to music school instead). For those of you keeping score at home, mark it: Rob=3 degrees. Sharon=0 degrees (but a very nice alum plaque). Fortunately (and harder than I am making it sound) Rob found a great job at Pace University as an assistant professor of Music in the Musical Theater program. Full time job, full benefits. We learned exotic words like "pay flex account" and "tuition deferment" which when translated to my purposes (by my Mother), meant that I could go to school for free.
A person (like my mother) might think that I would jump at the chance to enroll and finish my degree, but there were a couple of hitches. One was that at the time that he was hired, I was a cast member of the Broadway show, Avenue Q and 6 months pregnant. The other was that there is a waiting period before you can take advantage of the tuition deferment--I forget how long--but a couple of years. Long enough that they know you mean business, which was fine with me because I had a job and an almost teen and new baby and no need for anything else on my schedule, thank you very much.
But then my show closed and Rob's schedule got more and more crowded. After years of working together, I found myself home all the time without him, watching the kids, watching the clock and feeling lonely. He had a whole crowd of people and a life at work that I wasn't involved in. (I know, boo-hoo me, but you Moms out there no how isolating this can feel, right?)
We had a long talk about what to do and then it came to me! Eureka! Let's work together again! I will become a college professor and Rob and I will teach together! I will toss Broadway aside (who needs it!) and we will run off into the sunset, hand in hand like Professor Ward and Professor June Cleaver with our 2 kids and tenure. NO PROBLEM!
BIG PROBLEM! That pesky degree situation, which seemed to be all these hiring committees wanted to talk about. It was time to drop a line CCM to see just how much I was going to have to do to get that honorary degree. Ooof. And maybe they weren't so pleased to hear from me.
Extra Credit reading: A great column written by Seth, which talks about this blog! Click here.