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I seriously need to hire an assistant. It’s not that I have so much work that I can’t handle it. No, it’s simply that I am lazy and unmotivated and this is the second day in a row that we come to the end of the day only to find that I have accomplished nothing.

I have a fairly hefty list of stuff I need to do. Here is a brief excerpt:

• Call psychologists, choose one, and make appointment for D’s eval
  
• Figure out if S. has encopresis
  
• Call the bank and ask them to reverse the overdraft fees seeing as it was the first time in my life that I totally screwed up the banking and managed to overdraw the account
  
• Re-order the magazine subscription that Amazon screwed up that was supposed to be my sister’s second Hannukah present
  
• FILE THE DAMN PAPERWORK THAT IS STILL SITTING ON MY DESK FOR GOD’S SAKE
  
• Buy Baby J. some sleepers that fit him and that have feet
  
• Find some paying work to do
  

You’ll note that NOTHING on this list, NOT ONE THING should really take more than, oh, say, an hour. This is representative of the entire list. It’s just that each item actually involves some sort of effort on my part, and… I am lazy.

Someone, please, kick me in the seat of the pants or something.

All Roads Lead To This

I love the theatre.

I was a theatre major in college. (Of course, after two years in college, I moved to Israel and then after the army when I enrolled at an Israeli university, I majored in English lit because the stupid school didn’t have a theatre program, and I was three credits shy of my combined BA/MA program when I got irritated and bailed, so I have NO DEGREE IN ANYTHING and I feel the need to share that bit of information with just about EVERY PERSON I MEET which usually leaves them smiling blandly and nodding and surreptitiously stepping away from me.)

Anyway. I was a theatre major in college, and I took a lot of years of voice lessons. My love for the theatre is kind of given, considering how much I love to be the center of attention. I am fairly constantly looking for excuses to sing in front of people, or to run lines from my old stand-up routine.

When I go to see plays, I am generally entranced. When I go to see musicals, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of… jealousy. Every time I see a musical, I spend days afterwards imagining what my life would be like today if I hadn’t gone to Israel.

If I had stayed in school and graduated with a BA in theatre arts. If I had applied to Tisch and been accepted. If I had moved to New York. If I had spent my days auditioning on and off Broadway.

Last night, while the rain poured down outside, I watched Rent on DVD. It was mostly fabulous. Mostly, because of two things. One: I think they should have gotten Jon Bon Jovi to play Roger, although he might have looked a little too old. But probably not. And he would have KICKED ASS. Two: The one line in "La Vie Boheme" about “living with, living with, living with, not dying of” AIDS – a little too much, if you ask me. But the rest was wonderful.

I sat on the couch and cried when Roger left and when he came back, and I got lost in the music for a while and thought about how much fun it would be to act and sing and star, and then the movie ended and I cleaned up the kitchen and checked on the kids and went to bed.

And in the middle of the night, D. came downstairs and climbed into bed with us and put his arm around Mr. WG and told him, “Goodnight, Daddy,” and I thought, That sound is just as sweet as the sound of applause at the end of a show.

Life Lessons You'd Be Better Off Without

I make a habit of tackling paperwork fairly regularly. I pay all the bills in our house, which means that I have to sit down with Quicken and wrestle the numbers into place. Mr. WG files all the bills after I pay them, in three-ring binders that for some reason are then stored in my office.

When I go through paperwork, I generally start by sorting it into two piles: file and pay/do. Then, after I file away what I can, I spend several days avoiding the pay/do stack. Eventually, I dig it out and make a stack of bills, which I then pay. That leaves me with the “do” pile.

Typically, the “do” pile moves around a lot. I stick it on a shelf or divvy it up into my little desktop organizer for the days that I want to tackle certain tasks. And I ignore it. Until I can’t stand it anymore, and then I try to do some of it really quickly to get it out of my head, and then I’m still left with a lot of it, which I continue to ignore, and this carries on for a while.

Recently, I had some forms for D. in the do pile. Forms that I need to fill out and submit to the developmental clinic so that we can get on the one-year waiting list. You would think that I would make an effort to get this done so that we could get on with the waiting.

You would be wrong.

It got to the point where, today, Mr. WG barged into my office and demanded that I hand over the papers. Which I did. And now he is filling them out.

The moral, of course, is if you ignore your work for long enough, someone else will eventually do it for you.

Oh, Holy CRAP.

Literally. Well, not HOLY. But CRAP.

S. is almost 6 years old. She is in first grade where she is the youngest by over a year. She is a Smart Cookie, and academically, she belongs in first grade. Socially, she does just fine. She is good friends with the other kids in her class, and she plays well with older kids in general. She is used to hanging out with Z., who is 7 and a half, and Z’s friends who are mostly 8.

When I toilet trained Z., it was really easy, for the most part. Z. is the kind of person who can wake up, eat breakfast, get dressed, play on the computer, watch a show, and then MAYBE she needs to use the bathroom. She never had a nighttime accident. When she was first trained, she would not under any circumstances poop in the toilet; she always requested a pull-up. And then one day, she got it, and that was that. Easy, peasy.

Along came S.

S. is the kind of person who needs to pee CON.STANT.LY. All. The. Frickin. Time. And ever since we moved here, she has picked up the speech habits of someone she hangs around with, and she constantly shouts, “I have to make!” as she dashes off, and for some reason, I HATE THAT PHRASE SO MUCH.

But anyway.

S. has a LOT of nighttime accidents, but that doesn’t really bother me. I understand why it happens, I get it, and I know that it will end one day. And we do the wake her and take her to the toilet thing a lot, and that helps somewhat but not totally, but whatever. That’s not really an issue.

But OH HOLY CRAP.

In recent weeks, she has, to put it delicately, crapped in her pants about six times. (OK, I guess that wasn’t really putting it delicately. Sue me.)

Every time it happens, she is in tears, screaming that she “couldn’t hold it anymore.”

We have discussed the situation calmly at a later time, we have tried sending her at various times throughout the day to try to go, we have lost our temper and shouted, we have tried rewards and punishments, and we have tried ignoring the problem on the off chance that it would go away. (It didn’t.) The other issue is that when S. does go in the toilet, her wiping skills are… look, I get that she’s a kid, but I have another kid who NEVER handed in underwear like this. It is truly horrendous. And I have no idea what to do.

This is the same kid who, one day as we all sat in the family room, quietly passed gas. When the smell nearly choked us all to death, she said, “What? I like farting.”

At this rate, I am thinking that the next person in our house to be fully and completely toilet trained will be Baby J., who just turned one, and who deserves his own post because he is SO CUTE.

So, my lovlies, any advice? S’s suggestion, by the way, was that I buy her more underwear and “go back to potty training.”

The point of a blog is dialogue, right?

So, please don’t think I’m picking on anyone here, but I wanted to address this comment.

um... isn't that how a three-year-old SHOULD behave? I have a three-and-a-half-year-old and a 15 month old and I would never allow my kids to wander around the restaurant during the meal. Even my 15 month old knows that he's expected to stay at the table for a reasonable amount of time, no matter how much entertaining it takes.

OK, yes, in theory, this probably is how a three-year-old should behave. But the reality is that most of them don’t, at least in my experience. My parents are always quick to tell me that my brother, my sister, and I never behaved the way my children do. I, however, don’t really recall a childhood where I was constantly praised for my stellar behavior, so I take it all with a grain of salt.

I know that there are plenty of times when I have been dealing fairly effectively with my kids all day, and by dinnertime, I am just plain tired. I never take my kids to a restaurant without Mr. WG, because I need to tag team with him. (My version of tag team is usually to say, “Dude, your kid is over there,” while continuing to sit an eat.) I don’t take my kids to nice restaurants, and I usually take the food to go. It’s simply much easier to control my kids at home. If we are eating just with our own family, I call in an order ahead of time so that it’s ready when we walk in and sit down. I have simply accepted reality and am working within those parameters.

Does D. sit with the family during meals at home?

We have a sit-down dinner every night chez WG. D. generally eats and leaves. We are now encouraging him to stay at the table rather than to race off, but honestly, if he’s playing quietly and not bothering anyone, we are OK with him leaving. When we have large meals on Friday nights and Shabbat lunch, the kids sit while they eat (about 5-6 minutes) and then take off to go play. Generally, we prefer it that way. Maybe we’re doing the wrong thing, but a lot of our friends are doing it, too, and we are pretty much OK with it.

I understand that he is not the average three-year-old and he may warrant a little leeway on the normal expectations of a child his age. I also understand he may be bigger and hard to control when he has his mind set on something, and that you don't want to cause a scene... but doesn't he need to learn what is expected of him sometime? He's only going to get bigger (and smarter) and know that he CAN get away with running the show.

I have actually recently reached the same conclusion. This is why behavior that we once tolerated is no longer acceptable, and Mr. WG and I are working on strategies. The trick is, here, you can really only focus on one thing at a time. You have to pick one behavior that you want to change and work on that until you’ve changed it. With D. right now, that behavior is hitting/tantrums. When D. gets angry, he smacks (me, his siblings, himself, the door, whatever) and launches into a tantrum. We started by not allowing him to hit anyone else, which is when he reacted by hitting (or biting) himself or the doors in our house. Now as soon as the tantrum starts, we drop everything and put D. in our room for a time out. We expect and hope that some of this behavior will naturally resolve as D. gains language skills.

Your depiction of the average dining out experience in your family sounds like anything but enjoyable.

You are correct. That’s why we try to avoid it.

I know D. may be a bit of an exception in the behavior department, but I get tired of parents complaining about their kids' behavior in restaurants. Children need to be taught how to behave when out to eat and to be courteous to the other people trying to enjoy their meal. No matter their age.

I don’t know. I’m astounded that your kids behave in restaurants. I think a lot has to do with the temperament of the child. I have good friends who have two boys. The first was always content to sit quietly in his stroller and not make a peep. The second was an actual child who would get into trouble, do things, make noise, etc. And suddenly they realized that it had very little to do with their parenting. That’s not to say that you’re wrong – my mom would certainly agree with you. And some of my friends. But I tend to instead avoid the situations where I know things aren’t going to go well. My 5 and 7 year old know how to behave properly in restaurants, and that’s really what matters. So my 3-year-old is noisy and doesn’t sit, and his friends don’t, either. Oh, well.

I have a close friend with a 6-year-old with Sotos and I am very much a part of helping and supporting thier family (which is also how I found and am so intrigued by your blog), so please don't think I'm coming out of left field with this or that I'm just talking out of my ass. And I know each child with Sotos is different... as a matter of fact, your D. at three sounds pretty close to right on track language-wise with my six-year-old friend --at the age of six. So Good Job D.! I mean no disprespect- I guess I just mean to say, So glad you finally had a nice dinner out... and that D. showed you what he's capable of! Good Job!

And I hope you understand that I’m not picking on you – I just really wanted to address all of this. I hope you agree that I have done so respectfully.

I guess I could have just said that it all comes out in the wash.

I am not a math person, so it should come as no surprise that I completely do not understand the difference between average and mean. In a math sense, I mean. In a language sense, I get that they are two totally different things: regular, and not nice. But in a math sense? I know that I have heard that they are different, but I don't get how.

In a D. sense, I don't know if it's his average behavior or his mean behavior (but not his "not nice" behavior) or what, but whatever it is, it takes into account a lot of extremes.

D. loves ladders. Especially Mr. WG's ladder, which we have hidden in various closets, the garage, Mr. WG's office, and the yard. And yet, wherever we hide it, D. finds it. Then, because he is D., he drags it into the house, into the family room, sets it up, and climbs it. Stop and think about that for a moment. My 3-year-old drags a full-size adult ladder around and sets it up. The climbing is actually the least impressive part.

D. knows that Mr. WG tends to be more tolerant of such behaviors than I. This is perhaps because Mr. WG is thinking, "Cool!" whereas I am thinking, "OH MY GOD, HE'S ON A LADDER." So D. knows that when I see him, I will try to take him off the ladder and put the ladder away. This, I tell myself, is why D's new expression of affection upon seeing me is, "Go away, Mommy."

D. also likes to steal (and break) digital cameras, cell phones, Bluetooth accessories, printers, laptops, and other assorted electronics. You can't tell him, "No." That's about as effective as telling Mr. WG to turn off the TV. Instead, you have to get your lazy ass off the couch and physically go over to D. and stop him from doing what he's doing. He's a very curious kid, which is good, but it's also a little tiring.

Eating out with children is rarely enjoyable. I love my kids a lot, but I'm easily stressed, particularly when we're in public amongst people who might judge them. Or me. Or whatever. But cooking is also not so enjoyable (I love to feed people, I would just like the food to magically appear, fully cooked and served.), so last night we went out to dinner with M. and her three kids.

Normally, dinner out with D. is an exercise in, well, exercise. Mr. WG and I take turns following him around the restaurant, retrieving him from the kitchen, shooing him away from the other diners, returning stolen ketchup bottles to their tables. In between laps around the room, we occasionally remember to feed Baby J. The girls? Better fend for themselves.

Last night, we got to the restaurant and seated everyone. We ordered. We chatted. The food came. I cut D.'s hot dog. He ate it. He ate his fries. He drank his water and asked for more. He sat in his chair the ENTIRE time and was completely pleasant. He did this even when other kids were running around. He was so good it was astounding. We cheered for him on the way home.

Like I said, I don't know if it's the average or the mean, but whatever it is, it's balanced out by nights like that.

A pathetic comeback after an unexplained absence

Wow. It’s been forever since we talked, huh? Like, since LAST YEAR. I bet you’re thinking I’ve been up to all kinds of crazy goodness, like curing cancer and publishing a best seller. And you’re right! Except that instead of curing cancer, I was watching all of Season 5 of 24, and instead of publishing a best seller, I was learning how to play waste insane amounts of time with online sudoku.

Seriously, people, my sudoku obsession is a little bit frightening. Today, I played sudoku instead of going to Target.

So, what with the new year and all, I guess I should do a little bit of a wrap up. Right, ok.

Previously on You Get What You Get:

Announcer: The diagnosis…

Neurologist: I think your son has Sotos syndrome.

Announcer: The reaction…

Mr. WG: Dude, that guy is WACKED, yo.

WG: (Muffled sobbing)

Announcer: The reprieve…

Neurologist: The genetic testing we did says your son doesn’t have Sotos.

Announcer: The victory dance…

Mr. WG: Who da man? Who da man?

WG: (points and laughs)

Announcer: The mistake…

Geneticist: Yeah, um, actually, your kid FOR SURE has Sotos.

Announcer: The denial…

Mr. WG: La la la la I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

WG: (sound of typing)

Announcer: The boy. The love. The fear. The hope. This season on all-new episodes of You Get What You Get.