Kebob Is A Fun Word To Say

Boy, there's nothing quite so demoralizing for a parent than failing at potty training.

Okay, so I'm not really failing.  It took an hour-long combined effort between Lance and I to get that dang kid to pee in the toilet, but he finally did it.

And then he peed on the kitchen chair 2 minutes later.

*sigh*

Don't tell me he's not ready.  Oh boy, is that boy ready.  He just doesn't want to pee on the toilet. He'll hold it in for hours, and then the minute my back is turned (like while changing Tess's diaper) he'll hide somewhere and do his business.  He knows perfectly well what he's doing.

I'm not gonna lie.  I kinda just want to strangle the boy.

Not really.  But it sure is frustrating.

And Tess?  Yeah, she's not throwing up on me anymore.  But now she's developed this really funky rash on the backs of her thighs and elbows. Enough that I'm getting concerned about it. I foresee a trip to the doctor tomorrow, although I have no idea how I'm going to do that with Cole.  (And still be allowed back at the pediatrician's, that is.)

So I'm a terrible potty trainer, but I am a decent cook.  Does cooking well make up for my lack in other aspects of mothering?

Tonight's dinner was especially yummy.  We had Indian-Spiced Pork Skewers, Pasta with Cilantro Pesto, grilled pineapple, and other assorted fruits.  It was dang good.  (How good?  Dang.)

I had made a whole batch of the skewers before and only used about a quarter because my kids are dinner-time vegetarians by their own choice.  So all I had to do was pull those out of the freezer, thaw, and grill.  I think they were even better the second time around.  And the cilantro pesto was super easy.  The hardest part was keeping Cole within my line of sight.

Can you tell I really love ourbestbites.com?  It was a happy, happy day when I discovered it.  (And I believe my friend Heidi Fry sent me there.  Bless you, Heidi, bless you.)

So.  What have we learned from today?  Basically, that I'm terrible at potty training but I can make a  mean kebob. 

Good heavens.  That's a haiku.

I'm terrible at

potty training but I can

make a mean kebob

I should have that printed on an apron and make it my new philosophy for mothering.  (Old philosophy: "Fake it 'til you make it.")

Or perhaps I should just go to bed early, as I am now finding inadvertent haikus in my blog posts.