My baby is covered in urine, but I'm not a Freaker-Outer

It's 8:37 a.m. I am two hours into the first day of potty training. Potty training sucks. I am not sure that many people have to potty train their two two-year-olds (almost three, I know) with a ten-month-old crawling around. I mean, I'm not all woe is me or my life is the hardest hardy harderson life of them all or anything. I know where babies come from. I have no one to blame but myself. But really, it's hardy harderson.

Gee has been sobbing for 90 minutes now that he doesn't want to wear his la-la panties. (AKA Elmo, as in la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la, ELMO'S WORLD). He peed on the floor first thing this morning. I didn't count on the tracking. I had to add a new symbol to the Messter Map for tracking of pee-pee. I also didn't really think about the baby problem. If I can't stay on top of him, I will also need a need a symbol for baby snail trail of pee-pee when he slithers through the mess and then slimes his urine trailings across my floor. Oh, because he doesn't crawl, he does a modified foot-propelled slither.

LALALALA, LALALALA STACEY'S WORLD.

On the brighter side, a huge picture of Cue graces the cover of the Today section of our local paper this morning. I was interviewed about my switch to BPA free bottles. HSSH brought the picture up to show me at 6:00 a.m. this morning and I straggled downstairs to grab some coffee while he read the article.

"Do I sound dumb?" I ask, peering over his shoulder. "Do I? Sound dumb?"

HSSH peruses the article and cracks up. "No, not really. But, did you say this?" he asks me, pointing. The article quotes me: "I'm not a freaker-outer," she says. "I also don't often make a change. But once Canada (announced its pending ban), I noticed."

"Um, I don't know. Yeah, I mean, probably, that sounds like me."
"I'm not a freaker-outer?"
"Well, I'm not. I think it makes me sound cute and human. Not stuck up and obnoxious like I do everything perfectly for my kids."
"I think she's making fun of you."
"No, she's not! Megan wouldn't do that. She's lovely. She's just portraying me as real. I like it. What should I have said, Mr. correct grammar at all times?"
"I don't freak out easily? I'm not easily freaked out?"
"Same meaning," I sneer. "Less pizzazz. That's why I get interviewed for the paper and you push pills for a living."
"Low. At least I make a living."
"Really low."
"The kids are about to fall through the ceiling, maybe you should get them up."
"I'm dreading the first day of potty training. I'm procrastinating. Plus, maybe if I leave them up there long enough, they'll pee their morning pee in their diapers. It's going to be a long day."
"Good thing you're not a freaker-outer."
"Good thing."

As I type this, Ess and Cue are fighting over the Elmo potty. Ess would like to sit on it constantly. She is supremely motivated by the M&Ms. My girl. Cue would like to play with it. There is nothing in the entire house, no toy, no sharp object, not even the TV remote, that he would rather play with than the #(%&$ Elmo potty. Garrett has resigned himself to the la-la panties, but he insists on sitting on my leather couch. Poo poo imminent, I'm sure.

I just had to take a break from my up-to-the-minute crack reporting. Gee peed on the baby's head. I kid you not. I could not make this shit up. I have created the baby slime trail symbol. It appears I shall need it. But, when I carried Gee to the Elmo potty, a single drop of urine landed inside of it and I was able to give him an M&M. Progress, no?

It's now 9:35 a.m. Is it too early for a rum and coke? What about a glass of wine?

I am not a freaker-outer, I am not a freaker-outer, I am not a freaker-outer.

LALALALA, LALALALA, THAT'S STACEY'S WORLD!