Childish Wonder

Mission Aborted

2012-01-16T23:00:00.000-08:00

After three days of unsuccessful attempts at getting Quinn to enjoy wearing big girl underwear, we've aborted our mission – again.

The main thing to remember is that, despite unsuccessful potty training, we still love our daughter very much. Wet pants or no, we love her just the same.

Sure, she's not interested in Yo Gabba Gabba! panties, and yes, we are still worried she may be at her junior prom with a diaper bag in tow, but in the end, we're confident she'll know she's loved.

Don't get us wrong... We intend to try again after a short while. We're just not interested in screaming at our daughter and dragging her angry little form into the bathroom.

As her daddy said, "The bathroom should be a nice place. I don't want to make her hate it."

And he'd know – he loves it enough to spend at least half an Entertainment Weekly there.

Day 2: Soggy Sunday

2012-01-15T17:55:00.000-08:00

What do you get when you add potty training to NFL divisional playoffs?

If you guessed, "wet pants," you're right on! And unlike the New York Giants and the Baltimore Ravens, who may have peed their pants in excitement to know they made it to next week, our little Quinn is peeing her pants for a variety of reasons, none of which included winning an important game.

Unless you think of "I'm still not potty trained, Mom and Dad!" as a game.

We think it could be our non-adherence to the every-half-hour rule. When the timer goes off, we never fail to ask Quinn, "Do you want to go to the potty?" And, of course, that answer is always a resounding, "NO!"

It probably doesn't help that one of us is completely distracted by football on TV while the other is becoming addicted to Words with Friends while having to stay home all weekend.

Ahem.

Still, it's probably best to celebrate our successes. Quinn has caught herself a couple of times, walking carefully to us and telling us she needs to go the potty. Each time we've considered it a win.

And as the Ravens and Giants can probably tell you, a win is a win is a win is a win.

Day 1: Wet in the Trenches

2012-01-14T17:55:00.000-08:00

We thought we were doing so well. After a good morning of three bathroom visits and a nap in which she woke up dry, Quinn foiled our neat little plan when – after we put her awesome Yo Gabba Gabba! panties on her – she quietly smiled, peed her pants, and tracked pee all over the floor.

We quickly took off the pants again and went back to the no-pants-on-for-the-first-day method. But then we saw this article that said you could "naked potty train" your kid, which means the kid won't understand pants aren't supposed to be a convenient way to capture pee. (This was a frightening concept that had us imagining a wild adult Quinn running through the woods without pants. She'd eventually be cornered and it would come out that she was naked potty trained... Even the wolves would shake their heads.)

And so back on went the training pants. No panties yet, but the training pants are cotton so she'll know when she's had an accident.

Potty Training for the Weekend

2012-01-13T18:32:00.000-08:00

Will the Gabba friends be enough to convince Quinn to pee in the potty?

We have a weekend in which we don't have any plans. Aside from a couple of work commitments, we're at home all weekend.

It's the perfect chance to potty train Quinn. (Read as: It's the perfect chance to ruin our two days off by tricking an angry almost-3-year-old into peeing in the pot.)

The thing is, Quinn has been pooping in the potty for several months. She hasn't pooped her pants since September.
Peeing is another story. For some reason, she sees no reason to rush to the bathroom for No. 1.

Alas, Yo Gabba Gabba! panties and her impatient parents are ganging up against her pee party for one.
Quinn's daycare teacher suggested we take her every half hour, whether she wants to or not. This is quite the feat. Quinn has the kind of lung power that would've made Pavarotti turn green.

But if Quinn really wants to take ballet – she's been asking every day to go to class – she's gotta learn to use the potty.

After all, we don't think any ballet company would want its prima ballerina to be peeing her pants in the middle of a pirouette, and we're pretty sure a diaper would stick out beneath a tutu.

Punishment for Quinn is twice as bad for us

2012-01-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

Country Waffles and YouTube don't mix. Literally. Not even an option.

Maybe it's because the whole family is almost completely healed or maybe it's because we were feeling dangerous this Saturday morning, but we decided to take a chance on breakfast out at Country Waffles.

I packed our iPad, just in case we needed to distract Quinn long enough to finish our own meals. It worked in the past, with our daughter's attention drawn to the kid's games and videos while we wolfed down our sandwich/pasta/whatever meal we could probably have made at home.

Unfortunately, since the last time we ventured out to eat, Quinn has developed quite the addiction to the Internet – YouTube, to be exact.

Thankfully, she doesn't watch age inappropriate material, but her addiction to all things Just Dance 3 (see previous posts), Pocoyo and Peppa Pig knows no bounds.

Great, except Country Waffles isn't exactly known for its free (or even paid) WiFi service.

And so there sat our little daughter, madly trying to get YouTube to start and growing more frustrated by the minute.

We couldn't appease her. We offered her raisins, puffs, crayons, videos and games, but nothing worked.

She threw a mini-tantrum, right there in Country Waffles.

As we packed her into the car, she called out, "We're going to the park now! Quinn's playing on the playground!"

"No, Quinn, we're not," Derek said. "You acted poorly at the restaurant so no playground."

"But...but...we're going to the playground?"

"No, Quinn," Derek reiterated. "We're going home."

This exchange occurred over and over until she realized she really wasn't going to the playground, which kind of bummed us out as well. We like taking her to the playground and seeing her enjoy herself outdoors. But the playground is a reward for good behavior so we couldn't go today.

And so, not only did we miss out on the playground but we got a sullen kid to boot.

Quinn eventually quieted down, every now and then mumbling, "But...but..." We don't know where she got that – probably YouTube, which is now augmenting our daughter's vocabulary and ruining breakfast.

Boogie Wipes and Other Legends of the Disco

2012-01-05T17:50:00.000-08:00

OK, actually there's nothing about the disco here. But the terrifically named "Boogie Wipes" have me constantly singing, "Boogie Wipes! Ain't no doubt – we are here to party! Boogie Wipes!" to the tune of the Heatwaves' "Boogie Nights."
For anyone who's ever wondered if there's something better out there than the latest lotion-laden tissue for a little kid's chapped nose, Boogie Wipes is your answer. (And if you join the company's Boogie Bunch, you can score a 50-cent-off coupon! This is a good thing, considering the rather hefty price for the saline wipes.)
There are several available scents, including Fresh and Menthol, but why buy those when you can get the most awesome scent since the strawberry scratch-and-sniff sticker – Great Grape!
Let's face it – wiping a kid's nose every two minutes before the inevitable snot-all-over-the-face occurs isn't the most fun activity. But these amazingly scented wipes actually make it quite fun.
In fact, hold on, Quinn needs a wipe. SNNNNIIIIIIIFFFFFF. Sigh...
Lest you think we're snorting these grape-scented wonders, let me assure you we haven't quite flipped out that far – even though a sick Quinn, who wakes up intermittently in the night crying, does make us feel like we're losing our minds.
The good news is if we do ever go crazy, it'll be a fragrant fall into insanity.

Super Sizing Her Happy

2012-01-03T13:15:00.000-08:00

The Happy Meal's healthier with less guilt on the side.

Before we had Quinn, we used to think we were going to be the kind of parents who only fed our children healthy food. And now that we've had Quinn, we try to be the dream. We really do.
But the kid likes fries.
And so since she's under the weather and has a terrible appetite – seriously, it's like she's fasting – we've allowed her to have one Happy Meal.
While we don't recommend McDonald's on a regular basis, we do have to give props to the fast food spot for trying to better themselves when it comes to kids' nutrition. Quinn got her fries, but she also got apple wedges and Minute Maid apple juice.
Oh, and she got a funny little toy Chipmunk as well. It's Alvin in a tux, and he cries, "Awesome!" or "OK!"
So while we may not be introducing McDonald's into our regular rotation, it's sure nice that they're helping us feel a little less guilty when we do wander through the Drive-Thru.

Nesting Monkeys to the Rescue!

2012-01-01T19:04:00.000-08:00

Christmas was pretty great – our New Year’s was pretty rough.

It was Gen’s fault. She takes most of the blame.

See, rather than give nice gifts like most humans, she gave us the gift of pestilence.

And so the entire family was sick on the first day of 2012. (Perhaps foreshadowing the Mayan prophecy? Yeah, right – more like foreshadowing the need for more Kleenex and Vitamin C.)

Quinn has taken her illness harder than the rest of us. Her nose is constantly producing streams of snot – Derek actually wondered whether one could market snot for a profit – and her cough rumbles like Kilauea.

Worst hit was her appetite. New Year’s Eve was anything but an eating holiday for our 2-year-old.

Thankfully, today she woke feeling much better. And thanks to six Schylling Nesting Monkeys, given to Quinn by her grandma, she ate like a normal toddler – that’s not saying much, but it’s much better than the previous day’s three noodles and a couple of bites of applesauce.

The Nesting Monkeys are made like traditional Russian dolls – one fits into the other and the other fits into a bigger one – but look like Sock Monkeys.

The industrious monkeys entertained Quinn through her dinner, hiding grapes for her to find and consequently consume.

Tomorrow will surely bring better days for our family, with Quinn at least having eaten enough to nourish her tiny body and the Nesting Monkeys standing by in case we need to again play hide-and-seek with fruit.

Throwing Up Karma

2011-12-28T09:35:00.000-08:00

"I'm OK!"

I suppose you could call it karma.

When I was a kid, I was a pretty sickly kid. Every year around Christmas, I would have an asthma attack.

Me being a kid meant I didn't drink the water and warm 7-Up I was supposed to nor did I take medicine well. Oh, and I didn't know what it really meant when my mom told me to "cough it up."

And so, being as congested as I was, there was always the inevitable public puke experience.

I threw up in our local drugstore, in our 1976 Cadillac and on the floor of my kindergarten classroom. Anywhere was fair game until I was old enough to either run to the bathroom or do what I needed to do to alleviate my congested condition.

No matter what, though, my mom was always there, rubbing my back reassuringly and cleaning up after my mess. I always wondered how she could do it – I never thought I'd be capable of that compassion and empathy, particularly because I have a very sensitive olfactory sense.

Well, last night karma paid me a visit at Jasmine Seafood, our favorite Chinese restaurant in San Diego.

We were with our best friends, Bex and Ty, and Ty's parents, enjoying a great meal of shrimp chow mein, choy sum, orange peel beef, and Cantonese style roast duck. Our little daughter, Quinn, had a steamed pork bun, a few pieces of the duck and grapes.

She seemed fine, playing with her newly acquired Handy Manny tools – she brought Rusty the wrench and Pat the hammer – and chattering away, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Then she climbed into my lap, smiled, leaned forward and threw up directly on me – all over my black sweater, gray shirt and jean-clan lap. She actually got a good portion beneath my shirt as well.

I'll let you... uh... digest that.

The good news is: (1) She didn't make that heaving sound, which would have alerted other diners; (2) my nose was terribly stuffed so odor wasn't an issue; and (3) I apparently had little-to-no reaction, other than to lean her forward so Round 2 could be delivered on me as well. Other than a few soiled napkins, most of the damage was on me – there was no "Stand by Me" moment.

I carried her quickly to the bathroom, cleaned up as best we could, made sure she was OK and took her to the car.

The ride home was quick and dirty. Derek drove home while I sat in the backseat, holding Quinn's hand – don't worry about her, she was singing – and shirtless, save for a blanket wrapped around my midsection.

I guess you could call it payback. Heck, it's very likely only the beginning of payback.

The whole experience, however, has heartened me in realizing I'm more like my mom than I thought, and that is a very good thing.

The Christmas Aftermath

2011-12-26T10:03:00.000-08:00

We discovered this Christmas that our daughter isn't a hoarder.

She's a blessed child, with grandparents and aunties and uncles (adopted or real) who adore her and send her generous gifts.

Despite a plethora of awesome gifts, Quinn's attention has been focused on the three things she asked for: The Handy Manny Toolbox, Dora's Fiesta Favorites Kitchen and Just Dance 3. (Save for some Nesting Monkeys and a Disney Princess digital camera that captures double chins, bellies and chair legs.)

And while she really digs the latter two, she is hopelessly devoted to Handy Manny's tools.

"Hey, let's show my tools this," she says, trying out a new dance for Just Dance 3. "I want the tools to eat breakfast with me." "Where are my tools?!"

Yes, she's like an OCD carpenter on speed. Well, except she doesn't fix anything. Instead she mocks us repeatedly with the toolbox and its abbreviated Handy Manny theme song. (By the way, the first row of tools actually move around when the song is played and the tools are in the toolbox. It's actually quite frightening if you're unprepared for the action. I was, at around 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve, when I decided it was a good idea to press the button on the box saying, "Try me!")

It was a successful Christmas, nonetheless, with Quinn loving her presents and expressing a true belief that Santa visited her the night before. ("Santa brought me these tools!") That's worth all the Handy Manny Toolboxes in the world.

Beware the Hexen Haus

2011-12-24T20:13:00.000-08:00

Nothing says Christmas like a decorated gingerbread house. We bought Trader Joe's version: The Hexen Haus.

Naively, we believed "hexen" may mean "gingerbread."

Alas, we realized it really meant "witch" when we saw an old creepy lady with a cane and two children.

So yes, we made the Hansel & Gretel house.

Because nothing says Christmas like attempted murder, mayhem and alleged cannibalism.

Evidence of Just Dance 3 Addiction

2011-12-22T18:16:00.000-08:00

'Cause It Goes On and On and On...and It Goes On and On and On

2011-12-22T15:07:00.000-08:00

Just Dance 3 – parental torture disguised as a Wii game

Just Dance 3 is going to be the end of my family. My daughter is addicted to it and won't give it up - she insists on playing Taio Cruz's "Dynamite" so much I'm sure it will be the soundtrack to all of my dreams and nightmares - my husband is being pushed to the physical limits with some Japanese song I've never heard, and I'm rocking in the corner with the Black-Eyed Peas' "Pump It" running roughshod over my sanity.

We were supposed to get the Wii game for Quinn's Christmas present. Derek decided instead to give it to her a few days early.

(By the way, the game's a gift from her Uncle Darren, a guy who would never be caught playing Just Dance 1, 2, 3 or Just Dance for Kids. Well, Darren, just you wait. When we see you next, I promise you we will be bringing Just Dance 3 with us.)

The good news is the songs are pretty infectious, energetic and peppy. The bad news is the songs are pretty infectious, energetic and peppy.

The other thing you'll notice is, if you have crappy exercise routine as we do, your arms are going to be shaking the next day.

And if you're even a little competitive, you will definitely be obsessed with the latest version of Just Dance. This one gives you stars, which will earn you presents. At first we thought the "presents" were pretty neat...until we realized they were just the same songs featuring a myriad of different dancers from the other games. They call this the "mash-up," not to be confused with the Glee version in which several songs are mashed together. No, this mash-up features several different styles mashed together to the same irritating songs from the main screen.

OK, look, there are a few songs we really like on the game. There's Katy Perry's "California Gurls" - a song that really needed to be spelled correctly to avoid any implication we Californians can't spell - Gwen Stefani's "What You Waiting For," and a few other fun tunes.

Unfortunately, we're being held hostage by a toddler's taste so Taio Cruz and the BEP are on a continuous loop.

So while we may be dreaming of a White Christmas, our daughter is lightin' it up like it's dynamite.

The First Kid (We Mean "Blog")

2011-12-20T10:08:00.000-08:00

Derek and I have been married for more than a decade. It only took us eight years to have our daughter, Quinn, now 2 years and 10 months.

We are clueless as they come when it comes to being parents. Neither of us had any baby experience, and toddlers are an even bigger mystery. As such, we've relied on grandparent advice (semi-trustworthy, if you ask us, considering grandparents are mere shells of the strict parents they once were - seriously... "Why can't she eat M&Ms for lunch?"), familial tips (also semi-trustworthy, thanks to the growing susceptibility around our family to Quinn's cuteness), and random reference books (Dr. Sears, we have a bone to pick with you about co-sleeping).

We've finally decided to start a blog on our experiences and the many ways we've ~~messed up~~ succeeded.

Fittingly, we're starting with Christmas, the holiday of all holidays. The big one. The one day that can make or break you with kids.

And Quinn, being just a breath away from 3, has become all about getting stuff for Christmas. She's even decided to use Santa Claus, the jolly fat man in a red outfit, to help her get that stuff. Last year she screamed her head off when she was just inches from him. This year she jumped on his lap and told him exactly what she wanted.

Hey, Quinn's pretty smart when it comes to getting what she wants, and, unfortunately, dear Kris Kringle is an effective means to her ends.

Thankfully, Quinn has asked for just three things: Dora the Explorer's Fiesta Favorites Kitchen, Handy Manny's Talkin' Toolbox and Just Dance 3, an addiction she's acquired watching us play Just Dance 2.

It's been an interesting time, explaining to most of our family and friends why we're buying tools. It has nothing to do with a toddler addiction to HGTV. Rather, it involves a cartoon Latino handyman named Manny, as voiced by every mother's dream future son-in-law, Wilmer Valderrama.

This year we're hoping the gifts get a lot of play from our kid. Last year's gifts are buried beneath a mound of stuff or were tortured mercilessly throughout the year.

Also up this Christmas are her stocking stuffers, including Play-Doh (this, we worry, will be the end of us - we can barely keep up with cookie cleanup), a couple of new Berenstain Bears books and some other little odds and ends.

We'll let you know if we're successful with this year's offerings. If we're not, well... Failure is not an option, if Quinn knows what's good for her. After all, we're always just a little bit away from doing the Grinch thing and teaching our little Quinny-Who about the true meaning of Christmas, which has absolutely nothing to do with acquisition.