Derailed at the Station

Sasha is out of his mind.

We tried to introduce the potty last night. It didn't work so well.

You see, I forgot that toddlers are severely bipolar. And for our child, the evenings are periods of mania.

Not to say that, with appropriate timing, it isn't still very doable. Just not during the Hours of Insanity (roughly 7-10pm).

Right after he's done eating, he races around the house in circles, flailing his arms over his head. Occasionally he'll stop to do the Charleston or perhaps show us his rendition of "Here's the Church" .

But always, always, always....he's shouting. Sometimes in a high-pitched shreik. Sometimes in a low, gravely monster voice. Either way, it never stops. Just incessant, high-decible babble interspersed with real words.

And moving. My child who can sit still on my lap for a book or to play quietly on a puzzle or blocks...at these hours becomes a whirlwind of activity. Like someone put speed in his sippy.

Not good for trying to use an object that involves sitting. Or pants around your ankles.

So it looks like the potty training will need to wait for a weekend to start.

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Christmas is very over, as we've decided--at least for now--to forgo the 3 Kings holiday (which would have been today). So no boxes of lawn clippings under beds or more presents to give.

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The complaining is also dying down. I love Hubby, but he enjoys complaining. Even when there's no real call for it. And any time where he's receiving gifts is another potential cause for complaining because it may not quite be...whatever. I now realize that the ability to complain is part of the joy for him. It still is not so much fun for me.

This Christmas? The big complaint-bringer was not technically a gift...his new car. He pretty much picked whatever he wanted that was within the budget I set (I handle our finances so naturally I set all budgets for large purchases). My stipulations were on practical matters: safety, total cost of ownership, space...mostly that it still fit in with our life 10 years from now. When he made up his mind and we had a deal, the checks were made out, the loan was signed and he could pretty much go over and pick it up whenever he wanted.

I got a call at work one morning, asking how much money we had in our savings account. Here I am thinking that the check for some reason didn't clear.

No, he just decided he wanted to get the ultra-mega upgrade with all the most luxurious bells and whistles.

Um, no.

So sulking ensued.

I'm glad that it's ebbed noticably. I can't take it for very long.