major breakthroughs happening here, and more about incontinence

Damn you, Facebook. Damn you for mocking me with the "Like" button, and for being Lucy to my Charlie Brown.

Damn you.

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This weekend was a Big Freaking Deal in our household. First, Mr. Phe actually participated in soccer instead of laying on the ground crying into his hands. And afterward, as we were loading into the car, he told me, "When I was payin' socka, I feelt yike my hawt wuh my-uh-win." Which, translated, means:

When I was playing soccer, I felt like my heart was smiling.

AAAAACK! So cute!

Then on Saturday evening, we went to my nephew's birthday party. At some point in the evening a strapping young relative hoisted Phe up onto his shoulders and carried him around the house. This would not have happened months ago. In fact, at a birthday party in November? my brother-in-law lifted Phe to do the same thing, and Phe freaked out, with the newborn startle reflex. He is uncomfortable with the sensation of being lifted, and reacts by flinging his limbs out away from his body. This time, I could see that he was nervous and his face was splotchy, but he was smiling. And on his next lap through the kitchen, he looked relaxed. This is huge.

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Also, I want to address Michelle's comment about how nice I am to my kids. Actually, I want to call attention to that comment, mostly by cross-stitching it and framing it and hanging it on the dining room wall. But I should be honest here and say that I have tried shaming my children out of their incontinence, and it didn't work.

Oh my God, how I have tried.

If you'll notice (which I'm sure you will because you have doubtless committed my archives to memory), I have no qualms about naming children having potty accidents, to a certain age. But my incontinent duo are old enough that it's no longer normal. Especially my daytime incontinent child, whose bowels are the problem. Oh yes! I don't care how long people pee their pants overnight, as long as they will agree to wear a freaking pull-up.

However! I finally had to speak with the daytime incontinent child's teacher about the situation, and I feel much better now knowing that my incontinent child is not the only one in the class. The teacher seemed to think this was not surprising or outside the realm of normal, although perhaps you learn to behave that way in teacher school. (Please, no need to weigh in on this point, teachers.)

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I throw away pooped-in undies because I feel that stained undies are an unsightly blemish on my already tarnished star of Motherhood. And I'm not a good enough mother to know how to get out poop stains.

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I don't make my children assist in the cleaning of their pooped-in undies, because I don't think they can help it. I know they don't want to poop in their pants. Plus their fine motor skills make their help more of a disaster of epic proportions, in this sort of a situation.

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I do make them scrub with Clorox wipes any part of the bathroom where they have left visible evidence of what they were doing in there.

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Talking with my children about anything involving body parts normally covered by a bathing suit (hint: I'm in the U.S.) causes me great consternation.