The Long Farewell

Hello? Are you still there?

(Crickets chipping)

No, I didn't DIE from our Thanksgiving turkey, although there ought to be a similar punishment doled out to bloggers who abandon their blogs (and their loyal readers) for two very long and cold months...

Here's the story...

I've decided to close down both "So, What Do You Do All Day?" and "American Mom in London" and make the leap to my own URL (and a whole new blog), Formerly Gracie.

Closing down "American Mom in London" was an easy decision. First of all, I don't live in London any more...

(As much as I enjoyed writing from my zany expat point of view, I really can't claim to be the "American Mom in London" when I'm no longer in London, now can I?)

Closing down this blog was a more complicated one...

When I started blogging, it was purely self indulgent. I never fancied myself to be much of a writer and my blog was merely way to vent... privately, but yet to the whole entire world.

I wrote "anonymously", which is to say only a few of my "real life" friends knew about it and even fewer actually read it. This suited me just fine as it gave me the freedom to write whatever I wanted (and about whomever I wanted)...

Over time, blogging has become a bigger part of my life than I ever could have imagined.

Not only was it better than therapy, it eased the transition from working girl to motherhood through wonderful friendships (online and in real life) and a supportive community that has made me laugh, cry, and nod in agreement/empathy/recognition every single day.

I also learned that I actually enjoy writing... A LOT. So much so that I'm willing to self-censor and clean up my act in order to be able to share it with the people in my life.

Between motherhood, tying up loose ends in London, and moving overseas (again), I've been developing the content and design of this new site. There's still plenty to tweak. I’m still working on the “Blogroll”, and the “About Me” page needs CPR. However, there are a few posts up and more to come.

In a few weeks, there will be a re-direct on this site and you won’t be able to read this at all.

To all of my readers, the tens of you, thank you so much for your love and support. I truly appreciate your loyalty and I hope to see you at Formerly Gracie.

Thanksgiving Countdown: 1 More Days to Go

My turkey is defrosted (on the counter thankyouverymuch). It's below freezing in London and radiator "heating" is a joke, so my kitchen is as good as the fridge, right?

I'll let you know if the three of us end up in the A&E (ER) over the weekend...

Last night, I made a honey-citrus cranberry sauce from a recipe I made up. (i.e. I had a bunch of oranges that were a day away from going bad)

I have the makings for an awesome sweet potato casserole and made-from-scratch mac n' cheese, which is the best when it's THIS cold.

I ordered "Spanish Fried Onions" for the green bean casserole. I have no idea if they're anything like the (good) "French's Fried Onions" we love from home or if I've made a terrible mistake. I decided to just take my chances.

I also ordered some pies. Good moms bake. Smart moms outsource! It's my personal motto, but feel free to use it for yourself. No really. Consider it my gift to you.

I hope all of your holiday prep is going swimmingly as well.

Happy Thanksgiving from the land of the pilgrim oppressors!

Thanksgiving Countdown: 5 More Days to Go

I have a confession to make. I have never cooked Thanksgiving dinner... ever. I've never had to, especially with two families clamoring for our time.

How funny is it that I had to move the England (which is hello, the country the pilgrims were escaping from in first place) in order to prepare my very first Thanksgiving?

As with most ridiculously complicated endeavors, I've been looking forward to the challenge, but putting off the planning.

Honestly, I have an excuse. It's not like I don't have things like deportation and unemployment on the brain. With less than a week to go to "T Day", I finally had to say, "Uncertainty be damned, I'm going to learn how to cook a turkey".

Step one: Find one.

I went to my local grocery store and was told they were out of fresh turkeys. In fact, all delivery of fresh turkeys has been SUSPENDED at our local grocery store until after December 1.

I have a feeling I know who's hoarding the world's turkey supply... UH-MER-ICA.

Undaunted I eventually tracked down a frozen turkey and had the store hold it for me, as I have no where to store it in the meantime.

My British fridge fits about four apples and a quart of milk (skimmed), and my freezer is the size of a crisper... drawer. Just one.

I thought I'd just come by for the turkey sometime next week and defrost it on the counter, except... wait! today I learned that that's WRONG!

Seriously?

Where am I supposed to thaw this thing? (See above reference to British fridge... not hyperbole)

What do you think? If if were to...say defrost my bird on the counter top anyway for lack of options, am I going to kill my family like the Internet says I will?

The Toddler Years Are Rough

According to our son, Daddy may not have a nose, but is very patriotic. Mommy, on the other hand, is looking a bit like a stoner transvestite these days...

Otherwise, parenthood hasn't changed us one bit.

What If and Other Late Night Terrors

I guess the stink of Hubby's job(less) situation finally reached my bitchy SIL, the one with all of the money and none of the class, because she just emailed me... completely out of the blue...

It had the same tenor as most of our past dealings... "Hi-Hi. We're doing FABULOUS. Our life. PERFECT! So what's up with YOU?"

They seem to have escaped the economic crapfest. Prosperity certainly agrees with them and I can't blame her for rubbing it in being so happy.

Insert some passive-aggressive BS about "not spending the holidays together" (as if we ever did), and you can see why we don't talk much...

She isn't the only one asking us, "Do you know... Do'ya? Do'ya? Huh? Huh?".

Everyone wants to know what's going to happen, but no more so than ME. It's quickly become the "...but, how are you feeee-ling?" of my pregnancy days and it's twice as annoying since I have no news to share.

Nothing.

While my dear, sweet husband is still hoping for a new contract and refusing to put our house back on the lettings market, I've simply resigned myself to the fact that I have a ton of (re)packing to do...

I've been a jumble of emotions that I can't even begin to sort right now. There's a lot of disappointment and anxiety, but GUILT tops the list.

Months ago, when the stress of moving to London finally got to me, I made the calamitous error of letting my guard down while talking to my mother-in-law.

Her response?

In a nutshell, a long lecture on how I should get over myself and be a stronger person, because what choice do I have... and I quote, "It's not like YOU would get a job and support your family".

Yeeeeah. Ouch!

At the time, I just filed that comment away in"crazy, hypocritical things my mother-in-law has no right to say to me" and moved on with my life. (It's a really big file.)

Although lately, her words have come back to haunt me.

I'm smart. I'm marketable. I love, love, LOVE being home with our son, but hate that the responsibility and pressure of keeping us solvent is all on my husband.

This will be the third time he's lost his job in two and a half years and each "transition" has nipped away at our savings more and more. Savings in which I have not contributed in a long time...

I stay up every night and I wonder how we're going to afford to send our son to college.

I wonder, if we do move back, how we're going replace the things we sold for this "grand adventure"- the second car, the washer/dryer, our mattress.

I wonder if I should be supporting my family.

My husband insists that I AM making a contribution. Of course, this was upon coming home to a happy boy and night two of my "holiday trial runs".

(If you care to know, tonight it was roasted lamb with ciabatta stuffing, delicious Jerusalem artichokes, and cranberry jelly. A bit posh for po' folk, but I'll give up Christmas before I'll give up cooking.)

I know we're not the only ones faced with financial woes. Nearly everyday, I hear or read about someone else in more dire situations than us.

When I do, I feel selfish for complaining about my life losing a bit of its glamour and complacency, but I can't help wondering where we would be if I had made different choices.

Just What You Needed. Career Advice From a SAHM Complete With Off-Season Baseball References

Last week, when I (heavy sigh, dramatic pause) told my expat friends that I may be leaving London sooner than we had hoped, all of them marveled at how I could just stand there and calmly explain everything to them.

To tell you the truth, I marveled too.

It's one thing to live in uncertainty. It's quite another to tell people about it-- hearing my voice form each word and having the same questions that keep me up at night echoed back...

It simply makes it all too real.

I even hesitated to post about it, but your hugs and well wishes, much like theirs, have been a tremendous source of support the last few days. Thank you! Thank you!

My husband, just as resourceful as ever, has been tapping into his contacts, which isn't that hard since he just did it... oh, six...seven months ago, so we ARE hoping for the best... even if it means moving... UH-gain. Bah!

There's one "big name" studio that's been very interested, or so we thought until he interviewed...

Without giving anything too much away, it turned out to be a total joke. While I didn't get that far in my career, there's a certain point when your resume speaks for itself and BS questions like...

"If you lived on an island inhabited by dinosaurs that ate sheep, what's your favorite color and why?"

...are a total waste of your time and theirs.

(Okay, so that wasn't the exact question, but it's very similar and just as pertinent to his field, which is computer graphics, not zoo keeper at Jurassic Park.)

STRIKE ONE.

To prove my point, a few nights later, a follow-up call came from them APOLOGIZING for the last interview being so insipid.

Whichever color my husband chose, it was the right one, because they were also calling to ask if he would consider talking to them again--a "real" interview this time...with knowledgeable members of the team offering serious questions and meaningful dialogue.

Imagine that?!

They went on to implore that Hubby really, really consider them because...

"It's a really great company to work for..."

(Yeah, they really seem to have their act together...)

"We offer breakfast and lunch to our employees..."

(I may not have worked for very long, but I did work long enough to know that this is code for "you will live at the office")

"We really promote work-life balance, very family-friendly. We offer "movie nights" once a week and lots of family events throughout the year..."

(Great, but will that be the ONLY time he will see his family?)

(Furthermore, if you have to use mythical words like "work-life balance", you probably aren't...)

The hilarity is there hasn't been any talk of salary or benefits at this point...

No discussion of the team he'll be working with, or the projects...

Definitely no relocation package to consider...

As far as everyone's concerned, there hasn't even been an interview yet and they are already peeing all over themselves trying to convince my husband (and me) that it's even worth talking to them...

Yeah. Steeee- rike TWO!

Plus the studio is located in our least favorite place to live, but it's not entirely out of the question. Nothing is, at the moment.

Eagerly waiting for the next pitch...

Good Night, Sweet Boy. Now, PUH-lease go to bed....

After eight-hundred ninety-seven nights of listening to the exact same Baby Einstein Lullaby CD on eternal repeat, it finally occurred to me to get some new tunes...

A few minutes on iTunes and presto-chang-o...

Bedtime STILL hasn't gotten any easier around here, but at least, now it's more pleasant...

Like You Need Another Blogger Reminding You...

Okay, I get the feeling that my personal crisis isn't the biggest story of the day. So, for the hundredth plea on a personal blog today...

Let's make history, people.

Swipped from Resist Comfort, created by Grey New York

Forget our possible jobless future, I'm most anxious about THIS ELECTION. I can wait until tomorrow when we (fingers crossed, barring any hanging chads, hoping, hoping, hoping) find out the results!

Certainity. A Luxury We Can No Longer Afford.

This has been reposted from my American Mom in London blog, because yes, it's just that important to me.

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Shortly following the start of the worldwide economic meltdown, Mike turned to me one morning and asked, "But how does all this affect us?"

("Us" being folks with no immediate ties to the banking industry going about their daily lives.)

At the time, life around us hadn't changed much...

The London's streets were littered with just as many tourists as the day before. The shop lines on Kensington and Oxford Street were just as atrocious as ever, and the previous day our grocery store had run out of fresh bread before I could get there. It was business as usual.

Furthermore, we're decades away from retirement, well-educated, and completely debt-free. I assured Mike that we really don't need to worry, but his question still struck me as the "Gee, what else can go wrong?" of sitcom folly...

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What I'm about to tell you has been wallowing in the pit of my stomach and consuming my every thought.

I've avoiding talking about it until now, even with my family, because it's too difficult. Too complicated. Too personal.

When I started sobbing at Mass last weekend... while on the bus... and standing in line at the post office... and basically, any moment when I get five seconds to myself, I figured it was time to let it out.

So here, goes...

Our visas expire in 27 days and Mike's contract still hasn't been renewed.

Note, this is not to say that it wasn't renewed. Only that it hasn't, and his company seems to be in no rush. (Such the British way...)

On the other hand, the company has voiced on several occasions that it would LOVE to keep him on staff. His co-workers love him and are shocked that he hasn't been scooped up yet. However, the funding for the next project hasn't been secured and unless it happens within in the next four weeks, they can't...

Thank you, worldwide economic meltdown.

Everything could still change on a dime... er, ten pence, but for now, Mike has started job hunting again and when our visas expire, we'll have no choice but to move back-- uninsured, jobless, and homeless. (i.e. hobos)

This may come as a shock to most of our friends and family.

Why the hell would we turn our lives upside down, drain our bank accounts, sell our stuff, our home, and our car, and start all over for essentially six months of employment?

The answer is simple. I love my husband and it's great job. Not to mention, it's was an opportunity that we just couldn't pass up.

When he accepted the position, it was with the tacit understanding that it would be his for as long as he wanted it. We'd have a chance to see Europe, live abroad for a while, and build back our savings.

Of course, at the time, who could have foreseen the collapse of every single financial market in the world. (Certainly not the people "in charge"...)

We were just getting settled-- creating routines, desensitizing ourselves to the banking system, making wonderful new friends...

We very much want to stay, especially after everything we went through to get here. (Those of you closest to us, you know the stories. No need to rehash them here...)

As difficult as it has been to "adjust", the thought of moving overseas again, so soon and so suddenly, is exactly why I haven't slept in over three weeks.

Please don't tell me "It's going to be okay" or "We'll be fine". I won't be able to stand it. Not yet.

A Halloween Post-Mortem

Well, Halloween has come and gone and I hope you all had a nice one!

Since the UK doesn't really do Halloween, we attended a "Saints and Angels" party dressed as ourselves.

Only the girls came in "fancy dress" (I love British English) as angels and/or angel fairies (of course). They all sat very prettily and played very daintily while the boys (my son included) charged upstairs to play pirates and cranes. Or was it dinosaurs and swords?

Well, whatever it was, it was LOUD and involved throwing their socks from the top of the beautiful, sweeping staircase in the foyer.

Meanwhile, I found myself in an elegant living room sipping tea with the other mums and trying not to slouch too much. I asked once again if they planned to go trick-or-treating with the kids and they all looked at me as if I had just suggested that we sacrifice a goat and eat the children.

"Halloween is absolutely horrid," one mum informed me. "You go to the store for a costume and it's all blood and guts and gore. For my young children? No, thank you!"

(As a aside, the tiny selection of children's costumes here ARE awful gross...)

Then, she continued on some diatribe about Halloween being in league with Valentine's and Mother's Day as a lucrative conspiracy dreamed up by greedy card makers.

While I don't personally recall ever having sent a single Halloween card in my life, I guess some do...

As the token American and unbidden international emissary of Halloween, I explained that Halloween in my colony country isn't all headless horsemen and slutty nurses... at least, not the kids' version.

In fact, it has the potential to be really, really cute. They dress up as monkeys or lions and we take lots of pictures!

"It really does have to potential to be very nice and quite sweet", I assured them.

"Well, I guess that part of it just hasn't caught on yet in England," she conceded, "but, I still don't want any part of it" and all of the other mums murmur in agreement.

As we're leaving the party, everyone mentioned needing to stop by the store to get candy for later that night...

You know, just in case.

(I, on the other hand, bought my candy days ago. Ha! Ha!)

By 5:30 (because it gets dark here at 4 in the afternoon), we already had four groups of kids and one meter reader come by. Only a few more came around while we were having dinner and the meter reader made fun of me for answering the door with a huge bowl of candy, but otherwise it was a slow night.

Oh well. More candy for me! Me! ME!

South Beach Not Working For You? Try London

In cleaning out my "Drafts" folder this week, I found a TON of gems-- quippy one-liners, topic ideas, posts that I started... even ones that I completed, but then completely forgot to post.

Maybe I'm not such lousy blogger after all? Hmm...

Here's one that I wrote (and forgot about) over a month ago. Enjoy!

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For two years, I've struggled with losing the baby weight.

(Can you still call it that when my "baby" sasses like a pouty teenage girl?)

I've made resolutions to workout and eat right. I reacquainted myself with the gym and joined fitness boot camp, and still nothing really changed...

I was miserable and it showed in my half-ass wardrobe. Nothing ever fit right since I was convinced that this was all "only temporary".

Finally, I decided to love my big happy self and just BUY the larger size already-- shirts that buttoned, underpants that covered the expanse of my rear, and jeans that fit... comfortably... zipped and on my waist.

I even did one better. In our mad purging and packing to move to London, I donated seventeen huge lawn bags filled to capacity with old clothes.

The rest... because yes, there WAS more... was given away to a family friend who is about to graduate college and in need of "appropriate work attire". I felt good about myself!

Well, you know that saying about how giving away your baby stuff is a surefire way to get pregnant again?

No, I'm not pregnant again.

What I'm trying to say is that the same goes for your "skinny clothes"...

Who knew that the stress of moving overseas, followed by walking everywhere and carrying a toddler... and his stroller... and all of his stuff... up and down the steps to the Tube is THE BEST WORKOUT ever...

In spite of my addiction to buttery scones and access to delicious fresh baked breads, the inches have melted away effortlessly. Seriously. I have done nothing... Well, except give up my car.

Hmmm, maybe I should have done that years ago?

This is all great except that I'm back to my original predicament...

NOTHING IN MY CLOSET FITS ANYMORE!

I probably should be thrilled about the prospect of going shopping again. However, I should remind you that I live in the second most expensive city in the world. Upping my daily pastry intake would be less of a financial hit.

Oh, and I hate shopping. Wah!

From Two to Thirteen... Overnight

As I was getting ready a few weeks ago, I heard some early morning rustling coming from my son's room.

Hurray! He's awake!

(Yes, I actually do miss my son when he sleeps... sometimes.)

I called out "Good Morning, Son!", and ran over to his door only to find that he was barricading it shut.

"Won't you let me in, Honey?"

"No, Mommy. My room. Go away," was all the "Good Morning, too" that I got that day and it BROKE. MY. HEART.

The kid's TWO!!!

I thought he'd love me forever and ever for at least another... I don't know, ten years or so.

I guess they do grow up too fast. Way too fast.

North, South, East, West. Mother's Milk Is Still The Best.

I would like to preface this post with saying that I am an ardent supporter of breastfeeding... and come to think of it, formula feeding too!

I'm also generally NOT a prude, nor do I think that there should be any shame or indecency associated with feeding one's child, but something happened the other day that struck me as funny and I just had to share.

I've been trying to get involved with this great parents' group in our area. As you can imagine it's mostly British mums and dads. They have been welcoming, but in a less whole-hearted and gregarious way than I'm used to in Texas.

It's not their fault. The Brits just tend to be more reserved and aren't so keen on inviting strangers "to drop by anytime" for play dates and mutual bitching, so I'm fine that things are still rather formal.

However there's one mom that I've gotten to know really well, but in a most unconventional manner...

The first time I met her, it was at another mom's house. She walked in with her kids and before introductions could be made, she pulled up her shirt to nurse her baby. No cover up or even a pretense of one.

The conversation merely pressed forward and she had to go before I could catch her name.

This happened again on the two or three other occasions I've run into her. Last time, we were in a public place and she got so caught up in the conversation that she (absent-mindedly) left her breast exposed well after her son had unlatched and nodded off.

This is all very funny to me, but only because I still don't even know her name.

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In any case, if you were wondering about the rest of the world's attitude towards nursing mothers. The answer is... there isn't one.

(Well, at least not in my London circles.)

It makes me cringe to even think about all those times I had to squeeze into an ill-fitting fitting room to feed my son...

Or the time, I had to apologize for having to pump at work...

Or my friend that was asked to leave the dinner table because what she and her baby were doing was "gross"...

Blue Screen of Doom

Oh.

My.

GAWD!

I did NOT mean to take another blogging hiatus, but this time it had nothing to do with the writer's block, exhaustion, or utter lack of inspiration of which I also have been suffering lately...

This time it was a bad (evil, nasty, hiss, baa) "mandatory" Windows Vista Update that killed my blogging mojo... and my computer.

Yup, it zapped my brand new laptop and rendered it totally useless for over a WEEK ago... and, of course, where were the restore disks?

Ummm, tucked neatly in a box at my parents house on the other side of the world...

Stupid of me! I know, but trust me, it would be the last thing you'd be thinking about too if you were A) moving OVERSEAS and B) with a toddler who has never flown before...

... and so what if I opted to pack those five extra diapers instead?

In spite of all this, I still do NOT regret it... and neither do my fellow passengers on American Airlines Flight #384.

Besides, my parents managed to find the disk and mailed them to me molto pronto. They were particularly motivated after I told them there won't be anymore web cam calls with their beloved one and only grandchild until they do...

In the meantime, my hubby, sexy, open-source lovin', techy programmer geek that he is, loaded a version of Linux on my computer, so that I could at least get online.

FAIL!

Everything took so excruciatingly long to load that I couldn't stand to do anything more than check a few e-mails each day before I was over it. I won't even go into the "mystery key strokes" and random prompts that would pop up as I typed...

(To all of you who received a typo-ridden emailed from me last week, now you know why...)

I'm not pro-Microsoft or anti-Linux or even think I'm cool enough for a Mac...

(What? Do you not have those debates with your husband, too?)

I just want my COMPUTER TO WORK, damnit!

My Week In Review

I just spent the past hour and half combing the Internet in search of a new shelf for our fridge door.

(I know. How thrilling, huh?!)

It's cracked and will probably fall apart at a completely inopportune moment. So, even though we're only renting this house and therefore this technically isn't my problem, I've taken it upon myself to fix it anyway...

There's no make or model anywhere to be found on the fridge, and as for the manual left behind by our landlords...

It's written in GERMAN!!!

I used what little info it provided to search for part and service suppliers in the UK and surprise, surprise NONE of them carries the one thing that I need...

...or are even willing to answer their phone on a Friday, for that matter.

I was getting all snippy and snarly when it occurred to me... WOW! This REALLY isn't my problem.

In the end, I just patched it up with duct tape and fastened it back on the door. Job done!

You know what they say. You can take a girl out of the country...

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The other highlights of my week:

• I have been on pins and needles waiting for my friend on the other side of the world to have her first baby and this past Wednesday, she did! Now, I'm on pins and needles waiting for them to send MORE pictures.

• I decided that I hated living in London where I am way too far, far away from everything I know and love.

• At the exact moment that my friend was having her baby, I was coming home from Moms' Night Out with my ex-pat pals. I was having such fun with them that I sort of suggested demanded that we extend our good times with a "girls only"weekend jaunt to Paris...
  

• I decided that I like living in London again and new friends are fun too... especially when they can be convinced to join me for an uninterrupted cup of coffee... in Paris!
  

Sorry babe. He's just not into you...

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

A classic tale.

Girl meets boy.

Boy could care less.

The End.

Putting the Kibosh on Christmas

I am the Grinch-in-law that decided no gifts this year... in September.

Okay, not entirely... I suggested that we just do gifts for the kids this year.

JUST the kids, as in the 6 and under crowd, and only because I think it's fun to get them stuff (I'm not a completely heartless and uncaring killer of Christmas.)

In my e-mail to my sisters-in-law, I cited the outrageous cost of shipping internationally... blah, blah, blah... possible custom charges... blah, blah, blah... ridiculous, ridiculous... So let's just NOT this year (ever again), mmm-kay?

A completely reasonable offer considering we're the ones that moved out of the country and stopped spending Christmas with them since... oh, about 2005.

However, the truth is I REALLY don't want to shop for them anymore. I'm not very good at it and at the risk of sounding totally callous and ungrateful, neither are they.

I don't need another Banana Republic sweater/snowflake dessert platter/seasonal bath salts., and my husband never wants anything that costs less than a mortgage payment.

Instead, he usually get a sweater too, which he will never wear and keep IN the box until the following Christmas when I'm looking to reuse the cardboard...

Likewise, I doubt my brother in-law wants another shirt and tie or his wife, another random silver bracelet and matching earrings, but we're just not close enough to know that about one another.

In fact, we're not close at all, which makes gift buying that much more of a chore and an obligation, instead of finding something that you know they will just cherish and enjoy.

I love Christmas, but giving my in-laws lame gifts just to "check them off my list" totally sucks the joy out of it.

The Secrets Held by Little Boys' Pockets

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Little boys' pockets hold magical things

Earthworms, apple cores, a mess of strings,
but this treasure is nothing to the wealth one find's
in little boys' hearts and little boys' minds.

Author Unknown

The American Beef Industry: Garbage In, Garbage Out.

Times are definitely gloomy. We all need to cut back, tighten our belts, stop eating all that fancy, expensive food... like grass.

Ready to PO-TTY... or maybe not

My son is barely two and half and we've already regressed with the potty training...

Earlier in the year, I bought him a picture book about going potty and he loved it.

Then, I took him to pick out a potty chair, and he loved that too. We even got to the point where he was using it on a regualr basis, which was just AWESOME.

My son may not have been the first kid in playgroup to walk. He certainly wasn't the first to talk, but by golly, he was going to be the first to PO-TTY!

(read: I am the smartest, BEST mom ever!)

Then, we had to mess everything all up by MOVING to England...

Potty training just went to the wayside as we coped with jet lag and the "big boy bed". He's been though so much these past few months and for that reason, I haven't pushed it. I figured, he was ready once and he'll be ready again, right?

Well, lately he's gotten really adept at telling me when he's gone in his diaper and as far as I can tell, he seems rather disgusted by it. He yells out in complete distress, "Mommy! Daddy! Poopy! Poopy!"

So the other day, I casually asked him, "Why don't you just go in your special potty?"

He looked at me and with all seriousness replied, "Mommy. TOO FAR!"

Really. How could I argue with that?