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Up until last week, I had a son who was creeping up on being 3 and 1/2 who continuously told me:

“Mama, I will have a paci and wear diapers FOREVER!”

I giggled. But deep down, I really thought he might.

And since he’s the baby, I kind of (KIND OF) thought it was okay.

But then I started thinking about the fact that he would HAVE to be potty trained to go to any kind of school next fall.

And really, he needs to go to some kind of school.

We both need him to.

Of course, he thinks that he is going to go to his big brother’s school. Which he cannot do until he is 4 (and he misses that dreaded school-cut-off by over a month). So, he’ll be super sad when he has to go somewhere else. But, thank goodness, that’s another story for more than 6 months from now.

Anyway.

Last Friday Finn woke up with a dry diaper. Now, it took my first-born about another whole year AFTER he was potty trained to go all night with a dry diaper (which we slept in until we had that down, because who has the energy to change sheets daily?!!?? anyone??!!). So, I took it as a sign.

And we took off the diaper and went to the bathroom.

There was crying. Yelling. Screaming. Shaking. Fear. Terror. Anger. And a lot of it.

Then he tinkled in the potty.

Then he smiled and said

Mama, this is the best day EVER. Don’t I get M and M’s?”

And that was about it. No accidents. No more drama. Diaper at night, underwear during the day.

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Toy Story undies helped us along.

And we put stickers on a paper every time we went potty until it was full.

The full sticker page resulted in a “big prize”.

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A new game for his DS.

Now, this is slightly shocking to me on many levels.

1. My 3 year old son has a DS.

Rationale: if he doesn’t have what his brother has he will either steal or break his brothers “thing”.

2. He knew EXACTLY which DS game he wanted. Mario and Luigi: Bowser’s Inside Story. Apparently this game was advertised on the instruction page of his Toy Story game. Obviously.

3. Hobbes, my first born, got a Thomas Train when he got his first sticker page filled for potty training. That was what he played with. He was so sweet and YOUNG.

4. Second children (and probably all after that) are just something else.

 

Now, in full disclosure I feel like I should tell you that Finn probably WILL have his paci forever. At least in his bed. I’ll take off diapers, but I won’t mess around with kiddos who sleep all night with a paci!

last week…

I realized that my youngest needed a haircut.

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Sometimes it takes a 3 year-old with a pebbles-pony-tail for me to see what’s right in front of me.

He acts like he has nerve endings in his hair, so I wait too long every time.

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My oldest lost his first tooth.

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He actually swallowed it. At snack time at school.

I thought about looking for it, if you know what I mean.

You’ll be glad to know that I didn’t. I didn’t actually search.

I may have glanced in the toilet, though.

I mean, if it had been RIGHT THERE maybe I would have…

But it wasn’t.

So I didn’t.

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I saved time! And water! Conservation abounds!

Oh, I forced them to take a bath together again.

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I don’t know if we’ll do it again anytime soon.

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dear bacon

I’ve been writing this “love letter” in my mind for over a week now.

It started in my head on the day that I heard the news that shook my world.

Not that it is really going to change my behavior or anything. But it still makes me a little sad.

This weekend we went on our annual “ski” trip (I don’t usually/actually ski on many of these trips, just mostly drink adult beverages and watch t.v. and look out the window at the pretty mountains while sitting by the fire) and there is approximately 200 loads of laundry to be done and piles of mail to go through and grocery shopping/meal planning to do.

So, of course, I thought that now would be as good of a time as any to get pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboard. Or whatever.

Please note that in my mind, these words are softly spoken over a montage of pictures of the lovely delights mentioned below.

But I am not able to take time to do that- and it’s one of those things that would never come out exactly right anyway, and I would obsess and be sad with the results.

I know that I have problems. I admit it freely.

Anyway.

Here you go.

Dear Bacon,

I have loved you for so long. You make almost everything better.

The very first time we met, I am sure that I knew my life was changed forever.

I love you cooked in the oven, slightly tender.

I love you fried in a pan, crispy and crunchy.

I love you on white bread. With Duke’s Mayonnaise.

I swoon.

I love you with tomatoes. I love you with avacado. I love you with eggs.

I love when you are accidentally dipped in maple syrup.

I love you in small, crunchy pieces mixed into cheese grits.

I love you crumbled on top of a wedge of iceberg lettuce with blue cheese dressing.

I love you wrapped around scallops. Or asparagus. Or chicken stuffed with something cheesy.

I love you on top of a slice of cheese toast. Beside a bowl of tomato soup.

I love you so much that both of my children were in love with you before they could even say your name.

Please don’t ever leave me.

Even if I am one day forced to only have you in moderation, I will never give you up.

You have been the reason that I have never truly been able to become a vegetarian.

And for this reason, my husband loves you, too.

I will crave you forever,

Katie

Ridiculous? Yes.

And you’re welcome :)

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