Conversations

So, my head feels like it is about to implode at any minute. Or maybe explode. I am not clear on which. But it hurts whichever 'ploding it is about to do.

It's one of those days. The kids don't stop fighting. Or whining, screaming, hitting, trying in vain to unlock the closet they've been shoved into...all the fun stuff. Throw my pretty much futile attempts at potty-training Nora in there too and it's just a banner day.

You can lead my child to the toilet, but you can NOT make her pee. Any attempts to do so are immediately thwarted with a violent head shake and a "No WAY, MAMA". She then will trot upstairs to get one of her 6 million pairs of Dora underwear and say she wants to wear undies just like Tate. I then tell her she needs to go on the potty if she wears undies and this is what happens:

Nora: "NO WAY! I only will go on the potty TOMORROW! NOT TODAY!!!"

Me: "Nora, it's been tomorrow for the last like 34 days. Time to step up to the plate, sister."

Nora: "ONLY TOMORROW! NEVER TODAY! I WOULD RATHER BURN IN HELL THAN GO ON THE POTTY TODAY!!!"

Me: "Hell ain't soundin' half bad to me right about now."

So then I put her diaper on her and come to realize a few hours later that the diaper was subsequently violently ripped off at some point and thrown to it's death over the deck railing. This child will never, ever be trained.

And Tate and I had this touching exchange the other day:

Tate: "Why did God make me and you?"

Me: "Well, he made you to be my little boy and me to be your mommy. And I sure am lucky because I wouldn't want any other little boy in the whole world to be my little boy."

Tate: "Oh....but can I get another Mommy?"

I'm on a roll with these kids.