Anyone with a toddler knows – some days, it’s all about who holds the power. I am just now sitting down for a break after a forty-five minute struggle with a certain almost 3 year old – and I’m pretty certain she thinks she’s the one in charge. Newsflash, baby girl.

We laugh all the time about Charlie’s quirkiness – she and Vann are so much alike – they are both precise people with a little side of anal-retention, and sometimes this can be really amusing and funny, except for when you are trying to get her down for a nap and every five minutes she’s calling you back in her room for some reason or another. The problem is that she literally lets out a blood-curdling scream if her blanket goes askew or I forget to turn the fan on. We didn’t bring her special CD to my parent’s house last weekend and I thought both Charlie and Vann were going to have a hissy fit.

I probably would just let her have it out with herself except that I don’t want her waking up Baby Ella and so I’m running in there pointing my finger in her face and screaming (in a whisper), “IF YOU WAKE UP YOUR SISTER, KENGA IS GOING ON A VERY LONG VACATION!” to which she clings to Kenga for dear life and says, “No, MY Kenga!”

At that point, she is crying and desperately trying to wipe the snot and tears off her face, screaming (literally, I’m not making this up), “MY FACE! MY FACE! OH, MY FACE!” as if the snot is acid and the tears are a burning fire. And so I wipe her face and threaten her with a closed door if she can’t calm down (to which she dramatically yells back, “No, OPEN!”) and head back to the playroom for the peace and quiet I so desperately need.

And so the “Tortuous Three’s” have begun, eh? Check this article out.

I love when life surprises you. I love when those ah-ha moments happen — when you expect something and you get something entirely different.

I should say first of all that I am immensely proud of my sweet Charlie. 4 days into potty training, or PT, the girl is rocking it out. We don’t want to get our hopes up, but I think the “light” might have clicked on…and not that there won’t be accidents, but to see her try so hard at something and then succeed at it…well there’s just nothing like it.

And tonight, yours truly succeeded at facing a fear that’s been eating at her for weeks…being the “new girl in school” and walking away from an evening with new friends feeling excited and well…not so lonely.

Now, I should say, God has blessed me with an immense, lovely and precious group of friends…here in Texas and in Chicago, and you know who you are. But being able to walk into a situation and being unsure that you’ll fit in and then finding out that you do and you actually have fun and feel like yourself and taste that sweetness of new memories and new conversation…well…it’s just totally worth all the waiting, isn’t it?

To make a long story short, a couple weeks ago Vann and I logged onto our home owners’ association’s website and began to poke around to see what was going on in the hood. I contacted a girl named Allison about a Friday morning playgroup, only to find out that the playgroup has long been disbanded (due to said playgroup’s kiddos venturing off to school) – BUT would I be interested in going to the monthly “Mom’s Night Out”? With trepidation (and only because I’m a total wimp) I began emailing with Allison about the MNO. She insisted on taking me and came to pick me up last night promptly at 7.

First of all, the girl is beautiful, funny, sweet as pie and has three children — ages 2, 5, and 9 (I think) — and couldn’t be more delightful. I was sick about it for days, seriously, and when we showed up at the restaurant I was immediately brought into the fold and embraced — and let me just say, it felt really good. All that anxiety about being liked and being accepted, melted away as we laughed, and drank, and talked about kindergarten and c-sections and post-partum and makeup and everything under the sun.

And so, after some more post-dinner drinks, Allison took me around the back way of our subdivision and showed me where the best place for carpool drop-off was, and gave me the name of her colorist, and also the name of some reputable OB’s in the area, and so on and so on. It felt fantastic to be loved on and we made plans to play and have lunch and get to know each other.

So life is funny that way. Just when you aren’t sure you’ll be found, you are. And God knew, all along, that it would happen. And aren’t surprises just the best??

Ok, so I’m not gonna lie. After a full day of potty training, I am weary. Should have probably taken that nap with Vann when Charlie was “napping” – I’d be feeling a lot better right now. The baseline: went through 8 pairs of panties, tee-tee’d in the potty twice, tee-tee’d on the tile floor twice, tee-tee’d on the leather couch once…you get the idea.

She’s passed out cold now, weary herself from a full day of living and breathing potties, whereas before today, she existed in the blissful world of absorbency.

I think that Vann is handling all of this better than me – and I’m sitting here thinking, “What the heck is wrong with me?” I think it’s probably a mixture of things:

–Having to be “on” her all day. I’m used to Charlie being pretty independent. Now I feel like a tee-tee superspy – the kid looks at me funny and I’m racing across the room to pull her panties down and check for dryness.

–Pressure. I admit it. Charlie is one of the last of her friends to be potty trained, and I feel it. I’m REALLY trying to reconcile this, honestly, I am. After reading “Toilet Training in Less Than A Day” (yes, this book does exist), I’m left feeling defeated and wondering if she’ll EVER get it – forgetting the fact that this is the very first day the kid has ever gone without a diaper.

–And finally…selfishness. Oh yeah. Keep in mind that we sent Ella to Mimi’s house for a reason: potty training. All I can think about is what I can get done around here with just one child, and guess what? Not so much. Gotta tough it out and be at home and let Charlie learn how to do this. Gotta give the girl grace. Gotta give myself grace.

But isn’t this really a lesson in control, for all involved? Charlie, Me…letting go of it and letting it just be? Knowing that she won’t be in diapers in middle school and she will eventually know when she needs to tee-tee and poo-poo and I won’t even have to ask her.

Vann just went to pick up sushi for us, as a reward for our valiant effort today. I don’t know how much closer to a diaper-free world we are…better get some good sleep tonight and start fresh in the morning…This is Tee-Tee Superspy, signing off.

So this week in Texas the temps are in the triple digits – that’s right, people, TRIPLE DIGITS. Ask me why we chose to move here during the hottest part of the year (the equivalent to the dead of winter in Chitown, miserable and enough to break the spirit of any man, woman or child) and I can only say, “Hey, at least our electric bills will be the highest they’ll be ALL YEAR.”

Here’s what I have to say about this diabolical heat: BLEH.

I haven’t walked outside in weeks, ’cause it’s 90 degrees by 9 am.

It’s too hot to play in the backyard, so I’m forced to listen to my almost 3 year old whine like there’s no tomorrow.

I’m sweaty. All the time. And not by choice.

I wear the same thing. EVERY DAY. Here’s my uniform: Baseball cap, freshly scrubbed face (because WHY put makeup on when it’s just going to run down your neck later?), earrings (just to spice things up), some type of summery dress, and flip-flops. Yep. Pretty hot. If you see me on the street, don’t worry – it is me, not LeAnn Rimes, not Melissa Joan Hart (yes, I know, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, she’s haunted me all my life), and it’s definitely not Ellen Pompeo (although I do like hearing that one every 10 years or so). I am amazed my hubby still thinks I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread – he is sweet – but he’s probably the only one. And that’s ok. I’m alllll about comfort and keeping the sweat at bay.

So I figure…mmm…maybe another month or so of this and it breaks, right?? Here’s hoping.

On another note, eBay is keeping me busy this week. I should give the men that helped us move a medal – I know, there were a lot of bins of clothes and I’m sorry. I’m trying to unload some of it and I’m having such a hard time. Whether or not we decide to AT SOME POINT start talking about a third child is not the issue – whether or not one person needs that many clothes is. That and I’m trying to keep my fall purchases self-contained. I’m pretty much forcing myself to purge, and I HATE IT! I realize that I am way attached and need help.

So here’s hoping the sweet things I’m selling will be profitable and I can pay off what’s coming to me in about a month or so.

Off to break open that bottle of white and indulge in a little trash tv and other such fineries.