Saturday, October 31, 2009

The Butterfly Effect

Since my life currently revolves around the whims of someone whose idea of a good time is running around a foot stool for five minutes just to run head first into a recliner it is easy for me to understand why some of my posts have to do with Jack, the easily amused 22-month old.

This one is no exception, but there is a little bit more to it than waxing fondly about Jack. So here it goes:

I won't lie and tell you that the notion of potty-training has just come into my world. It was one of the first things I thought of when I found out I was pregnant. That is one of the reasons why I decided to have a boy - because I thought I could pawn the training onto my husband.

Well, unfortunately I am the one who is home with the itty-bitty and any attempts at training fall to me.

Jack shows interest in the idea of the potty, but for me it is a terrifying aspect. Now, I haven't immersed myself in baby-raising books, and I haven't sought outside help on the subject because my go-to source who is my mom, who had five children, has proven downright useless when it comes to remembering anything she did when raising any of her kids.

Basically what I have is snippets of things I've heard or imagined about how potty training has to be executed just right, at the right time, in the right altitude, and not on a full moon or the consequences are dire.

Plus, past job experiences have taught me that I am a horrible trainer. My training sessions have gone: instruct the trainee on how task should be done; stand back and watch; wait a minute or until the thought crosses my mind that I can do this faster on my own and they are getting in my way; and gently push them out of the way and do it myself.

I am not too sure how well that will work for the whole potty training thing.

Add the fact that I am pretty much convinced that everything I do while potty training will result in some type of butterfly effect and the amount of terror weighing down on me becomes more evident. If I do 'this' there will be an earthquake in Antarctica and all the penguins will capsize. If I do 'that' he will grow up to be a six-legged bunny monster who feeds on the souls of lost children.

Crappy Artist's Rendering of future improperly potty trained Jack. And he was such a cute kid. Harumph.

I can't handle the pressure. I'm considering putting it off until he's, I don't know, 14. I mean I don't really want to be responsible for turning their child into a monster and all indications point to them turning into one on their own accord around that age... right?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

This Post May Contain Strong Language

My little almost 2-year old boy has become quite the little chatterbox. We go on walks around the block and he identifies as much as he possibly can. He recognizes houses, trash cans, pumpkins, cats, dogs, planes, trees, people, cars and on and on.

I have taken it upon myself to teach him the difference between cars and trucks - mostly because I think there are some people around this town that will get offended when anyone, even a 2-year old, calls their truck a car.

So, every time we go past a truck and Jack says car I correct him. And then I cringe.

I've heard the stories of countless families whose toddlers voice unfortunate mispronunciations of words like truck and fork. While there are those who would take advantage of the situation I am pretty against children cussing... even if it is unintentional.

Don't get me wrong. I cuss. A lot. And I don't mind if other people cuss around me. Perhaps I am of the opinion that there is a proper way of cussing.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about this subject lately. I didn't start cussing until I was in 7th or 8th grade. No reason really but I do recall feeling icky when my friends or older brothers did.

When I was in Sunday school my teacher had a wonderful discussion about swearing and cussing. She was of the opinion that the words that many find offensive aren't really that bad if they're used in the right context. What I took from the discussion was that it was OK to use them in general because they were just words, but when you used them in anger then they became bad.

So does Shit by any other name sound more sweet? I am fairly good at turning it on or off, so when I knocked some clothes off the table the other day at a garage sale I was hosting I exclaimed, "Oh goodness," rather than "Shit" like I normally would have.

So technically goodness was shit, but a socially acceptable shit - but why? Fiddlesticks, shoot, frig, arse, dang, etc. are all ways to cuss without cussing. Why are the words offensive when they can easily be replaced with something else? For me it goes back to the feeling that is being conveyed.

Perhaps because of that one Sunday school class I remember, I rarely cuss to express anger. For me swear words are nothing more than my regular vocabulary only sassy! Or something. I know when I take a cue from Ghost Hunters and say 'What the frig?' my brain is saying something else.

Still, I am not encouraging little Jack to cuss and I control my sassy vocabulary around him. However, I dread the day he decides to point out a dump truck to someone or asks for a fork at a restaurant.