I'm no Popeye

I used to think I hated spinach. And greenbeans, peas, and asparagus. Anything green, really. I have vaguely terrifying memories of being made to "just try it" from preschool. Trust me parents, the wrongs that you inflict on your two- and three-year olds will be remembered forever.

I eventually came to terms with veggies, thanks in large part to broccoli with cheese sauce and the discovery that iceberg is not the only lettuce worthy of a salad. These days, I'm loath to think of iceberg lettuce in a salad. That stuff tastes about as good as an actual iceberg, minus the excitement of sinking a luxury cruise liner. Thanks to FoodTV, I even re-discovered spinach.

And then a couple of years ago I was served canned asparagus. Silly me, I'd come to enjoy the fresh stuff, grilled, drizzled with olive oil and roasted, wrapped in prosciutto...yum. But out of a can? Shudder. I had an instant flashback to that nameless preschool.

And then there was today. Charlotte's off school so I took her to the mall to get a long overdue haircut, and we hit the food court for lunch. There aren't a lot of meat-free options at the food court. She wanted pizza, and the Sbarros had some spinach and mozzarella strombolis that looked pretty good. And they were, for one bread-and-mozzarella filled bite.

And then I got a mouth full of the spinach.

It must have been scooped straight from an industrial-sized can and tasted like a big mossy hairball. I nearly gagged on the stuff. And then had to explain to my picky 5-year old why I was scooping half of my lunch out of my bread and onto the plate (right next to the "greek-style salad" whose vinegar-and-oil dressing tasted more like canola). There must have been a full cup of the green gunk in there, innocently wrapped in bread and cheese. No way was this fresh, or even frozen. And beyond whatever salt and chemicals they used to preserve it, it wasn't seasoned in the least (really, a little black pepper goes a long way folks). Or chopped--some of those stringy stems were like four inches long with all the tenderness of nylon rope.

Eew. No wonder I was terrified as a kid. And no way will I trust a food court pizza joint again.

Big Boy

My not-quite-3-year-old has been out of diapers for a little over a week. It's a small miracle. Honestly. For once, there's no sarcasm here. (who, me?) BTW, this is a poop post. If you don't care to read about potty training, well, see you next post (or the next, possibly...).

When he was taken across town to St. Louis Childrens at less than 24 hours old for an emergency colostomy, the first of 4 surgeries to repair an imperforate anus, we were told that there was a range of possible outcomes. A range that included losing him, permanent incontinence, all the way to having a mostly normal life. I was either told or read that 15% of kids with his specific bowel issue eventually gained continence. Still talking the poop kind here, as there was a separate statistic for the bladder control, which was also in jeopardy.

Luckily, the doctors forgot to explain that to Trystan.

I'm not bragging that my 35 month old boy is a perfect potty-er yet. But by golly, he's wearing underwear and staying dry as well as the average kid his age. And those italics are because boys are stereotypically harder to potty train than girls. He's had an assortment of accidents all week, and we're sending changes of clothes to daycare every day. One day he used them all up and came home in a pull-up. Friday he came home in his original, unsoiled clothes.

I don't think Charlotte did that well in her first week in underwear (or her first month, actually...she was a royal pain about pottying).

He's still getting used to pooping on the potty. He takes a long time and complains, loudly, about it (I may need to stash earplugs in the bathroom or will be getting hearing aids by the time we're through). But if you make sure he sits there and actually goes, then he gets the job done. Yes, potty training someone with bowel issues is serious training. And he's a 2-year old, with all of the tantrums and stubbornness that come with the age.

But still, I'm thrilled. He's so proud of his "big-boys". Wearing them was actually his idea (though he's tried to ask for his diapers back once or twice since then). I'm sure there will be setbacks. And we have to continually monitor his diet (and medicines) to make sure that he goes. But it's a big, big step.

Ash Wednesday

Remember, O man, that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.
—Genesis 3:19

To My Sweetheart

Happy Valentines Day and Happy Birthday to my husband.

Together for fifteen years, married for eight and a half, parents together for five and a half.

I love you.