The Difference of Five Minutes

It’s a roller coaster. A light switch. Night and day.


Yesterday, I missed my kids because I had to focus on household stuff.

Today I requested Computer Guru leave work promptly as The Tackler didn’t nap and Lil Diva had only slept at the gym and a quick power nap in the car. The Tackler refused to stay in his room for more than 10 minutes. Lil Diva was happy and smiling as long as I remained sitting on the floor in the same room she was in. Heaven forbid I needed a drink, or to use the bathroom. Forget blogging or even checking my email….

Instant meltdown. As though Mommy was moving to another planet. This occurred if I even dared sit on something other than the floor in the same room she was in.

You see, she’s a lap sitter. She wants to have the option at any given moment to plop into your lap, carrying whatever the current treasure is. And this is not possible if you’re sitting in a chair.

Although she will occasionally plop on my feet. 🙂 Which is also darn cute.

The thing is, late afternoon is what I look forward to as my down time. The time when I can get (hopefully) 30 minutes to myself to do whatever I want to do. I need that time to recharge, start to miss my kids again, and I’m ready to go.

Today I didn’t even get 30 seconds.

If I dared leave the room while The Tackler was upstairs, she whined/cried for me.

If I dared leave the room while she was laughing and playing with him, she ended up crying. It’s not that The Tackler was doing his worst. It’s that in her current mood, simply plopping onto her butt could make her cry.

Yeah, lots of fun.

I fed her in hopes that she would take another nap because she hadn’t had enough sleep to last until bedtime. CG had left work five minutes ago (take note of this). I took her upstairs to my bedroom (where we could tune out Tackler’s noise with her music) and waltzed her to sleep.

In one and half songs, she was out. Five minutes, tops.

I exited my bedroom and noticed a stench in the air.

Disclaimer: For those of you who feel anything to do with potty training falls into the TMI category, just skip the next 10 paragratphs.

I imagined the worst.

“Sweetie? Where are you?”

“I went poo-poo in the potty, Mommy! I can get Brewster (a Chuggington train) now!”

I bolted downstairs to the bathroom, where The Tackler patiently waited for me. True to his word, he had executed delivery of his excrement into the proper receptacle, the volume of it making me VERY glad it had not been in his pull-up.

“You went poop in the potty ALL BY YOURSELF! You did a really good job!”

“I did, Mommy! Now I can have Brewster!”

“I think you’ve earned it.”

Five minutes. I was gone five minutes. It never ceases to amaze me how in this long potty training battle, he always waited for those tiny five minute windows to do his business.

But this time, he did it right. By himself. He waited for the help for the wiping (when do they learn that part, I’d like to know?), but did everything else on his own.

I have no doubt, that had he napped, it would have been in his diaper. In hindsight, I was rather glad he chose to skip the nap for that very reason.

Times like this give me hope. Then Poopapalooza occurs and I wonder if he’ll ever be out of diapers.

At least progress is occurring.

And my brain has so many worst case scenarios of how those five minutes could have played out.

But this time, they didn’t.

No, it picked a different scenario.

“Mommy, will you play with me?” The Tackler asks as I finally sit down to start typing this blog.

“Sure sweetie.” With a resigned sigh, because I really really needed my 30 minutes, I left my laptop and plopped onto the playroom floor once again.

Ten minutes into our play time (with Brewster and the other trains) a wail pierced the air.

Kyra was awake. Again.

Five minutes later, CG got home. From his Twenty Minute commute.

Can you even call a nap that short a power nap?

It’s early to bed tonight. For them.

And me.

Night all.

*Why, the second I typed this, does it put forth a sound undetectable to me that resonates like a sonic boom and wakes up a child from a deep sleep. Got to take care of The Tackler.

About Kelly K @ Dances with Chaos

Kelly K has learned the five steps to surviving of motherhood: 1) Don't get mad. Grab your camera. 2) Take a photograph. 3) Blog about it. 4) Laugh. 5) Repeat. She shares these tales at Dances with Chaos in order to preserve what tiny amount of sanity remains. You can also find her on her sister blog, Writing with Chaos ( sharing memoir and engaging in her true love: fiction writing. It's cheaper than therapy.
This entry was posted in Lil Diva, no nap, Potty Training Tales, The Tackler and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Difference of Five Minutes

  1. Pingback: Blogging with Children | Dances with Chaos

  2. Pingback: To Potty Train, or Not to Potty Train. That is the Question. | Dances with Chaos

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