The Daily Fuss

New Do

No matter how silly the wisps looked, it was painful for me to trim them. Leighton didn't have much hair to speak of until she was more than one year-old, so the thought of trimming Little Sis's locks at six months seemed absurd.

I'm glad I did it. She looks lovely - slightly more mature than I'd like - but Gerbery and downy as a baby should be.

And, Leighton feels that because Mairin is old enough for haircuts, she may also be keen on playing dress up, sporting costumes and any accessories part and parcel to a trip to fantasy land.

However, it should be noted that Mairin only gets to play with the things Leighton ignores or decidedly does not care for.

Take wigs for example. We know Lei is not a huge fan of the tickly factor inherent in wig wearing. It's a good thing Mairin doesn't mind one little bit.

 
I was laughing so hard, I could barely take this picture. She looks like one of those dolls that grown women dress and bathe and shop for and pretend to feed and take to the store in a buggy. A baby should not have this much hair.

I smiled and congratulated Mairin on her indoctrination into dress play and told her she looked just like baby Rapunzel.

The second that compliment left my lips, Leighton tugged the wig right off of her sister's head and knocked her over.

Lei didn't want to wear the wig, but she didn't want Mairin to have it anymore either. So, she stuffed it in the couch cushions while she sat through her time out.

It seems that Mairin has subconsciously spent the first six months of her life inventorying all things her sister doesn't like or won't do and pledging to like and do every last one of those things.

Brilliant. This little game will certainly become even more interesting, entertaining and heartbreaking over the years. By the time Mairin starts walking and talking Leighton will have met her match.

Drama

By the time dinner had ended, I wasn't quite sure which name to use to address my child. Dorothy? Are you there? Where are you Dorothy? Annie? Rapunzel? Let down your hair.

Kit Kittredge? Is that you? Are you going to eat your carrots, Kit? Can Toto have them? Daddy Warbucks made salmon. Yummy? Are you waiting for Flynn Rider to give you a kiss? Are you going to save him?

It may be a jumbled mashup of fairy tales to you, but in Leighton's mind, she is the star of a very complicated, detailed, two year-old fantasy built on the cornerstone of the unstoppable force of Disney.

She's incredibly dramatic. I love it.

I bought the Rapunzel wig a few months ago as a "poop-on-the-potty" present. (See? I just can't escape it - even in print.) She loved it for five seconds and then lost her shit completely because the long synthetic strands tickled her arms and then got caught on her hands, in basically the same fashion as each of the Tangled Rapunzel dolls we bought for her.

 
Crying ensued and I hung the wig up for a spell. Until she asked for it last night. Right after we finished watching the first half of Kit Kittredge: An American Girl while playing with Barbies, babies and wearing a Sleeping Beauty nightgown with her ruby slippers.

Ryan is putting Princess Annie Rapunzel Kittredge to bed right now. She was pretending to sleep for a thousand years anyway, so we convinced her that it would be much more comfortable to await her true love's first kiss in the comfort of her own cozy little bed.

Luckily, she agreed.

Polite Conversation

As a mother of a five month-old and a two year-old, I am definitely in a place in my life where many of my daily conversations revolve around boobs and poop.

I'm sure one day, Ryan and I will be sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of wine, and one of us will say, "Wow. We haven't talked about boobs and poop in such a long time. I really miss having little kids."

I'm not saying that I don't enjoy having wee ones. I absolutely do. I'm simply commenting on the frequency with which I say those words - "boobs" and "poop" on a daily basis. It's stunning really.

The whole "boobs" talk has everything to do with breastfeeding. They're either sore or exploding or Leighton just jumped on my lap and kneed me in one of them or they don't fit in my shirt or I need to pump while driving my minivan to the city for a meeting while taking a conference call and putting on my makeup. Kidding, of course.

The "boobs" talk will terminate when Mairin turns one year old. I will cry like a baby on that day and I can't really go there mentally, so right now I refuse to take the "boobs" talk for granted. Mairin eats like a champ and has since the day she was born. Many moms and babies struggle with breastfeeding and we don't. So yay for small victories and yay for boobs.

As for the "poop" talk, Leighton has been completely and totally potty trained for a while now. Still, most of the time, she tells us what she's doing on the potty when she's about to do it, is doing it or has already done it.

Lei has no idea that the running commentary on her business is not polite conversation. It's so normal for her to announce to everyone in the room, "I have to poop" - mostly because we've been making such a big deal out of it for some time now. And, because we have no less than eleven books on the subject. When she first started using the potty, we would cheer and clap and call grandmas and grandpas and tell anyone who would listen "Did you know Leighton poops on the potty?"

So yes, of course she believes that our neighbors and friends want to hear about it. They do, or they should, because the fact that my twenty-seven month-old poops on the potty every day without fail is AMAZING.

I am a proud mama. I celebrate the simplest things and tiniest victories - several of which involve poop and boobs today.

The Ride Home From School: Complimentary Education

At the end of Leighton's school day, she's just roused from her nap. She's generally seated at the snack table, enjoying fruit, crackers and precious toddler banter. Her classmates are all roughly two years-old, but Lei is the only one in the room who can carry on an actual conversation complete with humor and gusto.

By the time I arrive to pick her up, her mouth has not had the chance to release all of the new information her brain has stored up since waking that morning.

She's generally quiet for the first half of the eight minute ride home, so I use this time to gently extract information about her day. "Did you paint today? Did you read books today? Did you do puzzles? Did you sing?"

I know the answers to these questions are likely affirmative with elaborations about what she painted or read or otherwise learned. New words and perspectives take a bit more time to surface and Lei surprises me daily with the proper use of a phrase she's never before uttered - not to my knowledge anyway.

The car was quiet for a moment and Iseized the opportunity to bring up a recurring subject - NOT killing Little Sis with love, malice or anything in between. I told her that Little Sis was sleepy all morning because she's growing and she needs extra gentle handling for that very reason.

Lei told me that she would be extra sweet to Mairin today because "I'm a nice girl."

I added, "You're also intelligent and kind."

"And I'm tough," she interrupted.

I continued with "You're also thoughtful, funny, and beautiful."

She nodded while mulling over my choice of adjectives and finally said, "I appreciate it."

Latte Batte

I weaned Leighton from her bedtime baba in one protest-filled evening last August,  in much the same way I recently helped her break  her pacifier habit. 

She's been able to drink from a straw since eight months. This little trick came in handy when I forgot to pack an extra bottle or was out and about for a longer stretch than anticipated. And so, we replaced the bedtime baba with warm milk in a straw cup to be consumed prior to brushing teeth and heading up to bed.

This beverage started as straight whole milk, but somewhere along the line, we began adding a splash of Very Vanilla Silk to add some interest. On the rare occasion we were out of Silk, I substituted with hazelnut coffee creamer. It's nuts, I know. This sophisticated version of the nighttime baba was Leighton's evening latte - or batte (bah-tay) as it came to be called.

To add to the ceremoniousness of the whole thing, I would make a cup of hazelnut decaf for myself half hazelnut creamerand Lei and I would sit on two bottom stairs and drink our latte/batte while recounting the events of the day. Both Lei and I looked forward to our latte/batte ritual.

Notice I said "looked" as in past tense. There's a reason. Let me explain.

Leading up to the potty training fiasco, Leighton and I discussed the difference between "Big Girls" and babies and listed many of the activities in which a big girl may or may not engage.

A big girl articulates her needs using her words. Babies cry and babble.

A big girl dresses and feeds herself. Babies need lots of help doing both.

A big girl drinks from a cup. Babas are for babies.

A big girl sleeps in a bed. Preferably her own. Babies sleep in cribs.

A big girl doesn't need a nukka. Pacifiers are strictly for babies with no teeth.

Most obviously to suit the purpose at hand, a big girl wears underpants. Babies wear diapers.

Come on Leighton, you're a big sister now. It's time to start acting like one.

Leighton communicates better than some adults. She dresses herself and buckles her shoes. She feeds herself and drinks from a cup. She moved from a crib to a toddler bed without flinching and although it was painful at first, and she's likely holding a bit of a grudge, she lets her sister sleep in her old crib without a fuss. 

Lei reluctantly ditched her baba but made the best of the batte substitution. By the time she was forced to forfeit her nukka, the big girl sacrifices and big-sister talk began to seriously piss her off. Once we added the underpants pressure, Lei reached her breaking point.

All of this "big girl" talk intesified the difference between baby Lei and big girl Lei and the way she sees herself. The flat out refusal to potty train is my toddler taking a temporary stand on that issue and putting the breaks on growing up. However, she added a few big girl objectives of her own and met them at once with nothing more than self-imposed restriction.

Leighton stopped asking to be carried up and down stairs. She quit asking for her silky ribbon blankets (we have at least fifteen that my mom made) in bed, in the car and even at nap time. And, perhaps to punish me by depriving me of one of my favorite Leighton/mom rituals, she just gave up the batte. Bummer for mama.

I'm still hoping she changes her mind.

Turning Two Part II: Baby Pants

This is the face of a child who just decided that she is NOT going to use the potty and is telling me all about it. I took a series of these shots - some of her stomping, some with her lying on the floor like a noodle and some of her spitting in her tent to get her point across.

I'm sure she'll find it as amusing as I do ... someday.

Leighton has used the potty periodically since the age of one - mostly upon waking and before going to bed. She would lean toward obstinate when we would discuss wearing big girl pants full-time, so we backed off when it seemed we pushed too much.

In the days leading up to her second birthday, we talked about how we'd wake up on that birthday, say goodbye to diapers and wear fabulous underpants forever more.

"Deal," she said.

Lei's actual birthday was the tuesday after her big party. I was exhausted and it was the second day of the week-long spring break that nearly killed me. I had two kids by myself, all day, every day, for the first time.

Sidebar: Some people are cut out for this job and are just fine, all by themselves, with multiple kids. However, I have a two year-old that has had constant stimulation, nannies, school, grandmas, grandpas, cousins, aunties and the like, so that Ryan and I would have a fresh bundle of attention to bestow upon her when we finished our work days. Leighton is super fun, but she's also the proverbial handful.

Sidebar 2: Leighton is obsessed with babies and likewise, her sister. She wants to hold her, carry her, rock her, squeeze her cheeks, cover her face with blankets and pull her upright by her limbs. You can't leave the two alone for a minute or two - even to pee.

Sidebar 3: If I have yet to earn your sympathy, please let me remind you of my exhausting party prep for sunday and the acute sinus infection I was suffering from.

Despite the foregoing, I learned never to change things up on my child at the last second. I was determined to proceed with potty training. Fresh from the dryer, we pulled out twelve pairs of training pants (the cute Hannahs with patterns on them), several pair of Babylegs and a waterproof FuzziBunz cloth for nap time.

We talked about who wears diapers and who doesn't and how equally empowering and comfy it is to be diaper-free. The first potty of the day was a success, as usual. It happened on the big potty upstairs on the little seat that nests inside of the bigger seat. Easy peasy.

For the rest of the day, we set up camp (literally - there was a tent involved) in the family room with our Fisher Price singing potty and Baby Bjorn Little Potty for backup. I mentally noted that I would ask Lei to try the potty after 25 minutes or so and go from there. The very first time I asked if she had to go, she told me she neither wanted to use the potty nor would she use it today. Then she shot me a look as if to say, please don't make me try this or I will punish you.

When I reminded her of the deal we'd made and the birthday and underpants and babylegs and empowerment of the whole situation, she looked me dead in the face and said, "Tomorrow. I'll go on the potty tomorrow."

I stood firm. And, she sat firm. She sat on the potty on and off for three and a half hours without peeing. She can hold it like no one I've ever met. When she did get up, she walked around with her legs half-crossed, in obvious discomfort.

I didn't know how else to get the ball rolling, so I did what I always do with her when locked in a desperate parent-child power struggle. I cry.

I told her, "Mama really wants you to be a comfortable, happy and independent little girl. And, it makes me sad that you won't do it because you're mad at me."

She cupped my right cheek with her little hand, cocked her head to the side, furrowed her brown and said "Don't cry, Mama. It's going to be okay." And then her potty sang and sang and sang.

Unfortunately, that's the last time I heard that tune. She intentionally peed her pants for the rest of the day. The day before, my mom put her in the corner for ten seconds until she apologized for being too rough with Little Sis. She very quickly claimed the power of that corner because every time she peed, she'd watch it run down her leg to the carpet, say "Sorry Mama" and go stand in the corner, as if to say, I don't much care for your rules or requests. Rather than honor them, I prefer to stand in the corner or throw a tantrum.

At one point, I was so frustrated, I told her, "I don't care if you wear baby pants for the rest of your life. You can go to college in them and get married in them for all I care."  The ridiculum I can spew forth when frustrated by a toddler is amazing.

I taped a giant size 5 on her little butt and threw in the towel. I put the potties on the other side of the baby gate so she could see them, but made it clear that they were off limits. At that moment, I decided that I would make her beg to use the potty before school let out for the summer.

She wondered a few times that day "Where is the potty? Can I use the big potty." Even for the few days after, I turned her down. I reminded her that it's an all-or-nothing decision at this point. I told her, "I'm sure you'll let me know when you're ready. Deal?"

We shook on it. "Deal," she agreed.

Nukka Detox

I believe we're good parents. We try to follow the rules. We make sacrifices to ensure that our kids eat well, sleep properly and are stimulated to the level required by their individual dispositions.

They appear to be intelligent, well-adjusted, happy and doing the things they should be doing at their respective ages.

Except that we let our almost two year-old suck on a pacifier when she's sleepy. Shame on us. 

We introduced it to her way back when to get her to sleep, since she was never much of a self-soother. By six weeks, she was hooked.

At our year dental and doctor appointments, we were told to wean her from it, but we were weak. She gave up her baba and eventually her crib and almost her diapers. But the nukka ... come on!

The recent faceplant incident brought about the change we needed. Because she caused trauma to her front gums and teeth, she couldn't have the nukka anymore. Holy hell.

I knew that first nukka-free night wasn't going to be a walk in the park. We got ready for bed, brushed our teeth, gathered up our best books, took some Advil and climbed into the big bed. The big bed is our bed - the bed she's been falling asleep in and sleeping all night in since Mairin came home.

Once the books were read and we'd called for a cup of warm milk and we went potty three times and inquired as to Mairin's whereabouts, Lei began begging for her nukka like a crackhead for her pipe. "PUH-UH-UH-LEASE can I have a nukka mama?"

It was so sad. She sobbed and wailed for 97 minutes before finally accepting my explanation that the booboo to her mouth would get much worse if I let her have her nukka. I explained that babies can have them because they have no teeth - they need them. Big girls don't.

"I'm not a big girl MAMA. Sniff. Sniff. I'm a toddler."

A solid point, but not one that would sway me, unfortunately.

She wore herself out at minute 96, wiped her tears, rolled over dramatically on her tummy and said, "Tickle my back." So I did.

And she fell asleep.

And that was the end of that.

The next day, Dr. Yum explained to her, as I had, that a nukka simply wasn't appropriate for a toothy toddler - especially one with an injury like hers. This appeared to help her make sense of her loss and she didn't mention the nukka all day.

Later that evening, as we prepared for bed I (and what I was sure would be another bedtime catasrophe) Leighton handed me one of Mairin's nukkas (that she stole right from her little mouth) and said "Here mama. It hurts."

Brilliant. I thought of trying that, but what if it didn't hurt that bad and the whole thing backfired? Then I'd really be screwed. Still, I'm glad she gave it a shot and nutching that damn thing was too painful to continue, because Leighton went to bed that night without asking once for the addictively soothing little device.

And so did Mairin. I prefer NOT to go through that 97 minutes of nukka detox hell ever again, if possible. I'm proud to say that Little Sis is already learning to self-soothe.

Smelly English Majors, Tilapia and Rihanna

When I picked Lei up from school today, her teacher remarked that "Leighton is unusually verbal". Of course she is. She's my kid and I was born a smelly English major.

LONG SIDEBAR: My friend Natalie and I majored in English literature as undergrads. During one raucous Thursday evening of Must See TV at our sorority house, (whatever - you are not surprised), we were enjoying (or not enjoying) the Friends episode where Phoebe sings of a particular "smelly cat".

Natalie, who was madly pecking away at some assignment on her word processor (yes kids ... such a semi-useless, 5 megabyte waste of money did exist, much like the 89 bit graphing calculator I also had) looked up thoughtfully and launched a diatribe about "Who was the smelly cat, really?" and "Who's to blame for its plight?" In the midst of the journey to uncover some tragic hero situation in this particular episode of a sitcom that revolved largely around Jennifer Anniston's hairdo, someone piped in with a "Shut up, smelly english major."

To this day, whenever anyone is overly analytical and inclined to discuss something of a literary nature to death, they are being "smelly" or engaging in "smelly" behavior. Incidentally, Natalie and I consider this a compliment.

So back to my unusually verbal offspring - I know that she delivers more oral content that her peers and has done so for some time. That's her thing. And, it was mine too.

However, her level of comprehension is better than mine was as a wee pup. It's like she's already got a perspective of the world that I didn't have until much later. It's eerie. She knows things and really understands what she's saying when she talks.

I buckled her in the car and squared Mairin away. After the requisite amount of silence (Lei is quiet for a bit once I pick her up like she needs to decompress after a long half-day at the office) I ask her what she wants for dinner. She respectfully requests a Shamrock shake because that's what we gave her after the recent tooth incident.

I denied her and offered alternatives: Annie's shells and cheese? Chicken? Pork tenderloin? Risotto? She didn't repond to any of these, but finally said, "Tilapia and pineapple. And milk."

I can only assume that this is totally normal for a precocious girl on the verge of two.

I gave the thumbs up on her menu selection and she was pleased ... for a moment. Then, "The music. I don't like this." Awesome. I figured we were taking the Annie route home AGAIN.

SIDEBAR: We've been listening to the Annie soundtrack in the car for months now. It's a hard knock life for Ryan and me. Our ears bleed when anyone even utters the word "tomorrow". It's dire. 

But today, I was wrong. "No. No Annie. I don't want it. I don't want to hear it. No Annie, please."

What the hell? I thought. "What music do you want?" I asked. Then silence - much like the dinner discussion. I offered Music Together CDs, Disney radio on XM, whatever pop foolishness was on the mix. Nothing was pleasing this kid.

Finally, she told me that she preferred to listen to Rihanna at this very moment. It took me a second to figure out what she was saying because it sounded a bit like "REE-NAH-NAH" coming from her tiny mouth, but that was definitely it.

REE-NAH-NAH that's her name. REE-NAH-NAH that's her name.

And, despite the fact that she's a poppy R&B chick with four chart-toppers in the play list rotation on any given station at any given time, NOBODY played any Rihanna on our way home. I had to explain to my super verbal peanut that I don't control the radio station and that I had neither a Rihanna CD nor tune on the iPod for her enjoyment on the world's longest ride home ... EVER.

Cha-Grin

It's been another interesting week here in family-of-four-and-a-little-dog land. My To Do list doesn't seem to be shrinking and checking items off of it was put on hold last week with a call from Leighton's school.

It starts thankfully with "Leighton is fine." but then finishes with "Her arms got stuck taking off her coat and she fell and bumped her tooth. It was bleeding, but she's fine now."

I get weekly calls about this or that fall or a small bump on the head and I always ask if I should pick her up. The answer is always "No". This time, teacher said "I'll call you after lunch to make sure the tooth isn't bothering her." I agreed. After lunch, teacher told me, "You may want to take her to a doctor."

I got in the car and called Yummy Dental to make an appointment.

During pickup, I knelt down to help Leighton with her coat and said, "Let Mama see your teeth." I said this with a smile that I'd rehearsed in the car because I didn't want to appear thrown by any injury to her teeny pearls - no matter how gruesome. 

SIDEBAR: My mom ALWAYS wore this look of equal parts concern and fear mixed with a dash of horror when inspecting any damage I may have done to myself . It was squinty, as though she had trouble looking at me and not feeling my pain while clairvoyantly picturing any procedure involved in fixing the situation.

Dental work was no exception. When I lost half of a brand new, adult, front tooth playing catcher without a mask in fourth grade, she had to go to bed at three PM. The "baseball bat incident" was traumatic for everyone. I still need three Valium to get through a cleaning.

Incidentally, she was also an agressive throat-gland checker (I was a strep carrier until my tonsillectomy) and frequently made sure I could touch my chin to my chest, thus clearing me of meningitis every time I caught a cold. I'm alive, so I'm not complaining. I just don't want to worry my kids unnecessarily if I can avoid making that face.

I'm not sure if I was successful. It felt like I was smiling calmly, but I really can't be certain.

Lei's upper lip was obviously swollen and I couldn't tell if it was her lip, gums or both causing the full protrusion. When she flashed me her usual Cheshire Cat grin, I was instantly drawn to her super swollen gums and the big purple dots all along the gumline of her top TWO teeth. Apparently, with her arms trapped in her coat, she face planted on the hard tile floor. My whole face is throbbing just thinking about it. Had this been explained to me with the proper degree of alarm, I would have picked her up immediately.

Whenever she's careless and slips or bumps her knee or her head I tell her, "Be careful. I made that head. I made that knee. It was a lot of work and I don't care to watch you hurt it." I didn't feel any differently about the teeth. I was nauseous as we buckled into the car and made our way home.

Luckily, Dr. Yum assured us (after several xrays) that the roots are fine and the front-most tooth, which took the brunt of the impact, may turn gray ... or may not ... or may turn back if it does turn gray. Whatever. The adult tooth will be fine, as long as my toddler stops using her fronts to break her fall.

If you have any gnarly tooth stories, this would be the place to share them. Please leave a comment and share your fuss with us!

Mish Mash Stash

Last February, I enthusiastically acknowledged the squeezable, organic fruit revolution.  A year later, we keep a stash of  squeezables on hand next to the Luna bars and fruit on our counter top. Leighton happily eats one or two a day for her snack or to tide her over between meals.

Plum Organics is responsible for the original Plum Tots Mish Mash. However, Lei refers to all squeezable fruit or fruit and veggie combos as "Mish Mash" and we don't correct her. It's the best name anyone has invented to describe the dilectible, organic, pureed contents of an ingeniously designed pouch.

I choose to single out Plum Organics products because they have rapidly expanded their baby and toddler food and snack offerings beyond any other company.

For babies, Plum Organics has first and second fruits and blends, training meals, cereals and puffs. And, for Tots, they offer Mish Mash, Fruity Fingerfuls and Fiddlesticks.

Leighton likes everything on the menu, but most importantly, doesn't split hairs on baby versus toddler squeezable snacks - we keep the big wooden salad bowl filled with all the flavors - up to thirty pouches, ready for picking, at any given time.

 
Unadulterated fruits and veggies that keep fresh, can travel anywhere and are packed with mighty vitamins - our kids can snack on them until they're in high-school for all we care.

JUST fruits are a perfect first food introduction for your budding eater. Simple fruit purees with smooth textures offer your baby the very best flavors and nutrition. Using only organic fruit and nothing else, the gently cooked fruits are naturally preserved in a convenient, resealable pouch that's perfect for flexible portions.

Apple, Mango, Banana, Pear, Peach and Prune.

 

Plum Baby second blends come in seven varieties: Blueberry, Pear & Purple Carrot; Sweet Potato, Corn & Apple; Spinach, Peas & Pear; Pumpkin & Banana; Pear & Mango; Peach, Apricot & Banana; Apple & Carrot.

I feel great about mixing these in with the fruit-only varieties. Sometimes it's tough to make sure a toddler gets her veggies.

 

Plum Tots Mish Mash fruit blends are pefect for toddler hands and make great on-the-go snacks. Throw a few in your bag and you are never caught without a healthy snack.

These blends come in Strawberry, Peach and Banana.

 Whole Foods carries the Plum Organics brand and so does Babies R Us and select Toys R  Us stores.

The Highland Park Toys R Us doesn't carry anything other than Gerber products, so I order Mish Mash by the six pack (or palate) from Diapers.com. They come out to about $1.50 each for a considerable amount of organic goodness. It's a good value in my book. Plus, the fact that my kids eat what we eat (just without hot spices and blended in the Beaba Babycook to suit their specific age) means that we aren't overspending on prepackaged baby food in general.

This product review conforms to the Fuss Formula.

Have you tried squeezable smashed fruits and such? Let us know what you think. Please leave a comment and share your fuss with us.

Unlikely Tourist

I saw this on Dooce today and simply could not resist. Right down to the fanny pack, it's too much.

  

Self Evaluation

At three this afternoon, the overall score for the day was nothing short of promising. Most importantly, Leighton's little barely-slept-a-wink self was at school and would most certainly be too pooped to wreak any real toddler havoc when she got home.

I caught up with the laundry, made progress on a legal publication I'm spearheading, finished a post, showered AND dried my hair, made hair and massage appointments, pumped an extra feeding, snapped a few pictures of Mairin, cleaned any messy aspects of the house and remembered to feed Lue and let her out the requisite number of times throughout the day. A few gifts were delivered for Miss Mairin, as well - driving the score even higher.

Ryan returned with Lei shortly thereafter and the circus promptly began. Here are a few things that fall under the auspice of what I like to call "toddler mayhem":

Squeezing little sis around the middle and/or hugging her by the head whilst I'm feeding her - out of love, of course.

Spontaneously bursting into song in an attempt to avoid answering a direct question.

Finishing my sentences incorrectly to suit her needs.

Bedtime battles and temper tantrums - most of which include "the noodle" where she raises her arms above her head and her shoulder blades turn to cartilage and it's impossible to find any place on her to grab hold and successfully pick her up. (How do all kids know how to noodle instincitvely? The phenomenon needs to be studied).

Getting naked for no real reason other than to mess with me.

Putting anything other than potty, in the potty.

Doing artwork anywhere other than on paper while nodding and telling me "paper only" and "keep it on the paper, mama".

AND MY FAVORITE ...

Slapping me (more like controlled flailing as if to say "I'm going to swing my arm around fiercely and you best not get in its way") followed by profuse apologies, patting me on the shoulder or back, caressing my face and telling me that "everything will be okay mommy" in a slightly Munchausen by proxy sort of way.

The list goes grows daily with some new goofiness, but these incidents don't last long and they aren't as frequent as I'm making it seem. Leighton is really a very sweet little girl, it's just that she sprung the mayhem on us suddenly a few weeks ago and it's still throwing a monkey wrench into what was a very happy and well-managed daily routine. She's a toddler and this is totally normal. We get it. I promise. Still, it doesn't make it any less exhausting or hilarious to us.

Tonight, Leighton can add pooping in the bathtub (I think it was more of a gambled-and-lost, toot-confusion situation rather than an act of defiance, but it counts) and needing to wear a tiara to bed to read The Princess and the Pea with babies, silks and blankies strewn about her special sleeping spot to take the daily score down just a smidge.

The real point deduction for the day was all on me. I spilled several ounces of freshly pumped sweet juice all over the dining room table and on to the floor. What a MAJOR EFFING DISAPPOINTMENT. If this were my first baby, I would have been inconsolable for at least an hour. But, I'm over it.

The daily tally buoyied again late in the day. By 7:39pm, everyone was fed, and everyone under the age of two was asleep. At this point, the television remains off and Ryan just opened a bottle of red. There will most definitely be few spitups, wakeups, feedings and trips to the potty over the next several hours. But overall, I'm pleased with our team's performance.

I give us a solid 10.

What the Fuss? Wonder Unders

Since we're tackling potty training, I figure it's an appropriate time to share our favorite training pants for wee ones. We've been using Hanna Andersson Training Unders in Organic Cotton for the past few months and they are the absolute best.

Hanna trainers look great and the patterns and colors are appealing to parents and kids. They come in white too, but Lei picks the gender-obvious patterned ones first, every time.

I found these great little pants online after receiving a Hanna gift certificate. I stocked up on training pants because Hanna was the only company I could find that made trainers small enough for a 12 month-old. They come in packs of three. $26 for solids and $28 for patterns.

The weave is denser than the other trainers we've tried They're more absorbent, a little sturdier and easier for little hands to pull up. Plus, they're organic cotton and incredibly soft. These adorable underpants are worth every penny.

This product review conforms to the Fuss Formula.

Training Day

The thought of having newborn and toddler girls in diapers simultaneously freaks me out. With Leighton, we used Fuzzibunz until we were done nursing and then decided that Huggies Little Movers were the best-fitting disposables. This has worked just fine.

At our 18-month visit, Dr. Li said that it's time to ditch the diapers and potty train for real. It stands to reason - we've been flirting with potty training for months now.

We know all about the potty. Read books about the potty. Are very interested in the potty. We even call potty. Well, we effectively did this for a while and then decided that we will call potty so that we can take off our diaper and pee on the floor, then put a clean diaper on so we can poop. Lovely.

Be "we" I am certainly referring to Leighton, although I feel responsible for the latest goat-like behavior. I am the mommy, after all. And, if my precocious tot is aware enough to accomplish the aforementioned potty-related tricks, then she surely possesses the ability to become fully potty-trained soon. The "goat" routine appeals to me about as much as disposable diapers do.

How and at what age parents decide to potty train involves a number of factors including: 1) How well the child can communicate bodily sensations and functions; 2) The child's command of said sensations and functions; and 3) How committed the parents are to the training.

The third factor I enumerated above creates some controversey so let me clarify by saying that I am not judging anyone for not potty training an eighteen month-old. I merely think Leighton is fully capable of being trained.

However, I can't overlook the fact that the average age for potty training kids in the US has risen from 18 months to three years since the dawn of disposables. They're certainly more convenient than cloth and hunting around for a lavatory every forty minutes at the mall can be a chore. Let's face it, parent-convenience has always been at the core of potty training. Cloth diapers were a pain and parents trained toddlers so they wouldn't be forced to deal with the insideous task of washing them. Now, the opposite is true. Why wory about accidents and searching for a potty when dispoosables do the work? It's jus easier.

Still, the mere act of soiling oneself runs afoul of optimal behavior required to remain an elevated member of the animal kingdom, and we humans are supposedly the smartest of the lot. A toddler can consume (and eliminate) quite a bit of product in a relatively short period of time, making diapering at this age less attractive than running around the mall looking for a restroom.

Maybe it's us and maybe Freud was on to something. I was wearing underpants by 16 months and so was my husband. In fact, both grandmas say that one day, we were just "done". Hence, the thought of having Lei poop her pants for another eighteen months ... it simply cannot happen.

Lei is ready and so are we. We're doing this!

Wish us luck and stay tuned ...

Have any thoughts or tips on potty training? Good stories? Please post a comment and share your fuss with us.

No Lulu. You go!

While we waited the four, long days Leighton was overdue for her arrival, I joked several times, "Why would she be late? Doesn't she know she has a cute little dog waiting for her?"

I'm guessing, she did know. And didn't care.

It has become painfully obvious over the last eighteen months that Lei is not an animal lover. She loves babies. "Baby! Baby! Baby!"  The furry counterparts ... eh, not so much.

Out and about in a world full of strangers, Leighton and Lulu can be chummy. The mutual excitement caused by a sighting of Chip the chipmunk or congregation of squirrels in the yard can even bring them together. But the celebration quickly subsides and the two go right back to ignoring each other.

When Lei is feeling particularly naughty, she will take a swipe at Lue to clear her out of the room. "You go Lulu!" It generally works, since the poor pooch isn't much interested in being bothered anyway.

When food hits the floor, it only stands to reason that Luella should have it. Unless Leighton is there to see it. Having to share ANYTHING with that little dog bugs her. "No no Lulu. NO!"

My mom brought some books over last week, as she usually does because Leighton loves to play with them. She reads and stacks them - sorts and hoards them. It's a game. One book was about puppies and Lei completely passed on it as we were cleaning up. I said "Hey. Let's put this away. Isn't this your book?" She looked at me, furrowed her brow, shook her head and vehemently denied ownership with a gesture that said, Are you nuts? That could never be my book. Duh, mom.

The high hopes I harbored for this star-crossed sisterhood are all but dashed. We try every now and again to bring her around or trick her into professing what must be a deeply private affection for Luella. "Do you love mama?" Leighton says, "Yes." "Do you love dada?" Leighton says, "Yes".  You can run a string of family members, friends and even throw in a teacher and Lei will let you know just how much she loves each one.

"Do you love Lulu?" Without missing a beat, she'll look up at you and answer with a deadpan "No." She just doesn't want to share her world with our sweet little Yorkie.

Just WAIT until she meets her little sister. I can't even imagine how that's going to go down. The fact that little sis is a Baby! instead of a puppy may be our only chance at family harmony.