#they’ve all got their jammies on ready for bedtime!!!

[monkee-mobile]

adventures of young mikey in his lil night shirt

[momtemplative]

Saturday Afternoon, MACRO and MICRO

Definition of Macro: large-scale; overall. ie., THE FOREST.

Definition of Micro:  extremely small. ie., THE TREES. Definition of Macro, here: The wild world at large.

Definition of Micro, here:  The tiny home we inhabit, where we “shelter in place.”

MICRO—I sit here in our tiny RV that is parked in the driveway. It’s where I “go to write”, a creative parlor with wheels and a view of our magnificent choke cherry out the window that is just starting to think about blooming. (I don’t blame it for being hesitant.) 

Months back, Opal and her friend pretended this RV was a rescue vehicle for dogs—all dogs but mostly pit bulls, a breed Opal feels is highly misrepresented. From where I sit, in the passenger seat swiveled to face the rear, there are four black-and-white photocopies of gorgeous dog portraits staring at me. One pit bull in particular looks straight through me.

I’ve purposefully resisted straight-up news, aside from my nightly installment of “Good News Network” and NPR’s weekly “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” radio quiz show. But living without allowing for the outside to seep in feels unhealthy in its own right. Selectively permeable would be the proper thing to practice now. 

So I crack open my computer and dip my toes in the NY Times live coverage of the Coronavirus.

I can hear Jesse’s future voice in my head: How was writing?

Me: Good, but I’m feeling a tad suicidal now.

Him: Why?

Me: I read the news.

Him: Now why would you go and do that??

MACRO—“With President Trump having undercut the new guidance of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention by immediately declaring that he would not wear a mask himself, it was far from clear how many Americans would ultimately embrace the recommendation.”

MICRO— I return from the RV to find a house party of three people in my living room. Thankfully, my family did not get the memo that in this moment, life on the outside is complex and backwards. Ruth is on Jesse’s shoulders, no pants, shit-eating grin and fresh-cut bangs in her eyes. She shakes like a puppy with over-large ears and Opal twirls in her No ProbLLama nightgown to the Imagine Dragons song, Zero. Inside our little bubble, things are bumping! The sun floods the living room and even the anti-social cat seems obliged to hang out—from an appropriate distance.

MACRO—Governor Andrew Cuomo warns that, as infections passed 113,700 and deaths 3,500, New York State would reach the worst point of the coronavirus crisis within a week or so. He also said the state was using the machines for coronavirus patients at a rate that would exhaust its stockpile in just six days.

MICRO—Three boxes are stacked one atop the other in front of our door like a cairn. One box is for Jesse’s birthday next weekend, the others are for Ruth. 

It’s looking like COVID-19 will spit us out the other end proficient in at least one new talent—Opal’s is roller skating. She insisted on using my skates, which she found while foraging for activities in the garage like a squirrel for food. After a few days of wearing those up and down the down-stairs hallway, and back and forth on the sidewalk out front, I was certain the future for her ankles was bleak and we ordered her a pair on Amazon that were her size.

Ruth observed all this unfolding and with no intention of leaving empty-handed. Unfortunately, toddler-sized skates are much harder to come by. So, many weeks into the future, Ruthy finally got her own skates that go over her shoes and are, frankly, awesome. She also picked out the tackiest Olaf helmet—with a carrot-nose that actually protrudes—after instructing me to “search on Amazon for Olaf now please.” 

Each of those treasured items are contained in the boxes on our porch. I jump into our current porch-sanitizing routine (bleach wipes and spray lined up on the porch without apology)—wipe box, open, wipe down package inside, wash hands thoroughly. 

You can practically hear Ruth buzzing as suits up for a jolly, though quick to be exhausting, skate around the block. Her uniform killed, and would have worked as well for Halloween, Burning Man, a rave and a roller derby—mixed patterns for shirt and pants, knee pads and skates from Trolls, Olaf helmet. When she velcroes her final skate, I hear a faint, prayer-like utterance from Jesse: dear god. She is an eye-full that could save a life.

MACRO—Trump is getting help with the November election. His campaign just rolled out a new ad, titled “Hope,” featuring appreciative quotes from Gov. Cuomo and Gov. Newsom of California. With the lives of their constituents at stake, they’ve given him the made-for-TV sound bites he was never able to extract from Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky.

MICRO— Thank god for these kids. If I were being force-fed the news then led to an empty house with, maybe, a roommate-peer who is also stressed and bloated with sad information, or if perhaps I were old and alone, I’d be struggling in an entirely different way. Sure, I have my moments of fantasizing about what it would have been like if COVID and shelter-in-place came at a time before or children, during a time when I could have relished cleaning and reading and making a weeks-long retreat out of an unsavory situation. But the fact is, these kids keep the scales level.

Not to mention the fact that affection is built-in. Even though Ruth is less interested in snuggling than she is in building block-towers or submerging every toy she owns in water, we seem to be touching constantly, in this or that way. Hugs from Opal and Jesse, snuggling on the couch for a show, holding hands on our walks around the block—it’s all-inclusive. The fact that this is not the case for everyone is something I am well aware of.

MACRO—Jared Kushner has embedded his own people in the Federal Emergency Management Agency; a senior official described them to The Times as “a ‘frat party’ that descended from a U.F.O. and invaded the federal government.” As The Washington Post reported, Kushner’s team added “another layer of confusion and conflicting signals within the White House’s disjointed response to the crisis.”

Kushner, you can’t shatter us.  Young girls in roller skates win every goddam time.

MICRO— Our block continues to be paradise. Any interest we had six months ago in selling this house has been waylaid and, thus, we are appreciating our home base in a truly different way. 

As we make our way down the block with two girls on their respective wheels, we holler at our beloved across-the-street neighbors, friends of 14 years. They sit, mysteriously, at a card table in their front yard, as if they are having an invisible garage sale. We exchange a boisterous, level-12-volume conversation from across the street, talking over each other and at the same time, expressing everything we possibly can in the tiny window we have while the girls scoot away on their skates. 

The corner that turns on to the bike path and is covered with ancient ponderosa pines smells musty and earthy and perfect. Like every camping trip ever taken. Every hike through the woods. A momentary dose of equilibrium.

When we circle back, our neighbors are still outside.  

One of them asks, “Hey, have you guys been wearing masks outside?”

“No, Governor Polis just suggests it for any public place—grocery, whatever.”

“We saw a few people driving by with them on.”

“Yea, so did we, we saw a few people out walking with them on, just outside.”

I guess the point is, if it’s not gonna hurt, you might as well do it. Hell, if we are in this far—as is shelter-in-place—then we might as well take it all the way. To pick up the slack for people who aren’t doing what they should be doing. (We are actually yelling all this in conversation across the street.) The idea that some people would still not be doing what they are supposed to be doing is ludicrous.  I’ve vented my rage at the college students of America over St. Patty’s Day, but they are all home by now, are they not? So who are we talking about here?

Fact is, as I just learned today, there are still five states that are not mandatory shelter-in-place. (I’m sorry, what??)

MACRO—“I can’t lock the state down,” said Gov. Kim Reynolds of Iowa, which has recorded more than 600 confirmed cases and at least 11 deaths. “People also have to be responsible for themselves.”

MICRO— Opal has been loving her evening ritual of putting Ruth to bed. She says it’s one of her most ‘special times of the day,’ though it happens only a few times a week. She takes her little sister down by the hand, gets her jammies on and teeth brushed, reads to her, the whole precious nine yards. She does that tonight, leaving Jesse and I to the quiet of ourselves and our space-sans-kids in the family room. 

Jesse promptly dozes off in the rocking chair. I lie on the floor with eyes closed in star-pose, taking up some glorious space. These days are taking a toll. But it’s also true that I laughed so hard on four different occasions this afternoon that I buckled over twice, slapped a knee and wet myself. 

So much is going well in our tiny Microcosm that sometimes it’s easy to forget the Big Picture Macro. Ignorance is indeed not far from a certain cheap kind of bliss. It makes sense why people do it, why people feel the need to avoid discomfort. But, ultimately, the mind knows when it is missing something. The soul knows when it is being cut-off. Our beings can feel when humanity is suffering, whether or not we choose to admit it to ourselves in so many words.

“Mom!” Opal whisper-yells from down the hall. “Ready!” Meaning, she’s ready for me to come and finish Ruth’s bedtime with a song. But by the time I get to Ruth’s snug and utterly safe kid-room, she is fast asleep.

4/4/20

(all quotes in italics come from the NY Times live coverage of the coronavirus from the previous week.) 

[notsuspishyatall]

LITTLE PRINCE ROMAN AND HIS BROTHER VIRGIL VS STINKY BOI:

Just.... don’t ask questions and expect art based on this soon. @smuttysanderssidestwopointoh @enbypisstress also if anyone else wants me to tag them in stuff just drop me an ask or a message I suppose...

V is new to their dynamic but Roman is all too eager to have a little brother

But Ro is the only one of the two of them brave enough to wear protection. And he’s the older one

This leads to a lot of accidents and Patton-sanctioned potty-breaks (it makes Roman feel like a big boy! He’s brave!)

And Virgil is trying. But sometimes it’s all really big and scary. Especially at night

But Patton doesn’t get him into a dip until one fateful night....

He’s getting his boys ready for bed. They’ve had a bath and Virgil is dressed in his kitty footies and has a paci and is playing with his cars quietly while Ro gets dressed

Daddy gets his diaper on and then Ro is getting his shirt on when Daddy hears Logan calling for him

“Look after your brother I’ll be right back!” Patton calls over his shoulder. Roman shrugs and digs out his coloring stuffs, setting about drawing a dragon witch battling him!

Meanwhile Virgil feels really squirmy, like maybe he should go potty but he shrugs it off, crawling along with his car right out the door, and right into... well... Remus

“Well what have we got here?” He prods.

Virgil scoots back, fear taking over as he wiggles more, suddenly aware of how much he has to go but too scared to move or speak

And then he is wetting himself and Remus is cackling and he can’t do this alone

“RO RO!” He sobs loudly, which brings his big brother barreling down the hall, foam sword in hand and still pantsless

“What did you do to him stinky?!” Roman shouts, his little voice poking out

“Me? Why do you assume I did anything to pottypants?”

“Shu’ up stinky! Virgil is da best boy and your just a meanie!”

Virgil cringes at how wet his jammies are and how they squish when he walks but Roman drags him back to their room

And Virgil is sobbing and making Ro Ro all icky but his brother won’t stop hugging him and telling him how brave he is

And he can hear Daddy yelling at Remus for being a meanie poopy head

And then he comes in and gives Virgil a super big hug and then he hugs Ro for standing up for his little brother and for NOT hitting or being mean with his body

And so he gives Virgil a second quick bath

And then V asks “may I pwease try one of Ro Ro’s diapa’s pease?”

And Patton beams and says of course

And then once both boys are diapered and dressed they snuggle up and Patton reads them a bedtime story

And tucks them in with a kiss

Before cleaning up the puddle in the hallway

And going downstairs to find Remus sniffling in the corner and Logan reading to Dee on the sofa, the time-out timer going

“So we’re not the only ones huh?” Patton says with a smile

[homosociallyyours]

The Witch of the East Wind

Dark Eurus Potterlock? 

un-beta’d, so if you catch anything please let me know. will be posting on ao3 later tonight. 

cw: dark witch eurus, disordered eating, binge eating, psychological abuse (implied, mild), physical abuse (implied, mild) 

not fluffy, i’m sorry. basically where my mind went for explaining how eurus could get victor in a well to kill him? i was reminded of young tom riddle telling dumbledore he could make people do things and psychologically torturing the other kids at the shore. anyway. 

ps i think eurus is right around harry potter’s age? younger? not older. 

When Eurus’ letter arrived, Mycroft thought it was for him. He was 11, after all, and Mummy Holmes was a well respected witch, often consulted by the Ministry of Magic for their more complicated arithmancy problems. Of course, Mr. Holmes was a muggle through and through, moneyed and well-bred, yes, but without even a touch of magic in his family line, so it did stand to reason that some of their children could be magical and some not.

“Tell me again, Mummy,” Mycroft would ask as his mother used magic to prepare dinner so she could focus on a tome she was reading.

“The owl brings a letter when a young witch or wizard is around 11 years old, maybe younger in very special circumstances. And then the child accepts and attends school, learning all they need to know to be a bright and successful member of the magical community.”

“But tell me about Hogwarts,” Mycroft whined, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth.

“I’ll tell you later, dear. At bedtime. Go outside and play, now,” Mummy would say, barely looking up from her reading.

She’d ply him with stories at bedtime, though. She’d talk about the riddles she solved to get into her common room, and the exploits of famous wizards. Mycroft dreamed of them. And so, on his eleventh birthday, he started waiting in earnest. Every day he’d scour the sky for owls while Sherlock played in the fields and Eurus trailed after him.

“I won’t be here much longer,” he’d say archly over breakfast. Sherlock would protest and Eurus would smile, darkly pleased with that possibility.

Finally, an owl came. It was snowy white, and flew three rings around the house before flying toward the mail slot and sending a letter in at top speed. Mycroft had never run so fast in his life. He was three months past his birthday and summer was fast approaching. He’d need to start at Hogwarts soon or he’d be too old for his year.

When he entered the house, out of breath and legs aching from running, he saw Eurus holding the envelope in her small hands. She was only three and half, but she could already read, and she was looking at the front of the envelope with wonder. Mycroft went to snatch it out of her hands.

“That’s mine,” he said, plucking it from her fingers and holding it above her head. He turned it over in his hands, ready to see his name in classical script. “See, Eurus Jane--” he stopped short, shaking his head. Below him, Eurus smiled. “Mummy!” He yelled frantically, stuck to the spot where he was standing, incapable of understanding how something like this could happen.

“Mycroft, what is it? I was in the middle of writing a very important response to someone and you’ve made me lose track of what I was saying with your shouting,” Mummy said, emerging from her study in her dressing gown. She stopped when she saw the letter in his hands. “Oh Myc, you finally got your letter! We’ll have a cake tonight, won’t we my darling boy?”

“It’s mine, Mummy,” Eurus said proudly as Mycroft shook his head.

“That--no, that can’t be, little one, you’re barely three now,” Mummy said, taking the letter from Mycroft’s hands and examining it. She gasped at the name, then broke the wax seal and removed the letter inside, reading it to herself in a whisper. “Ms. Eurus Holmes---Hogwarts--await owl by 31 July.”

Tears were pricking Mycroft’s eyes and he balled his fists, willing them away. “They’ve made a mistake, Mummy. Haven’t they made a mistake?” he asked.

“Yes, they must’ve done, I’ll get it all sorted today,” Mummy said absently, turning to go back into her study.

“But I want to go to Hogwarts, Mummy,” Eurus said, stomping her foot. The house shook violently in response. “They asked me, not Mycroft.” She twitched her hand and Mycroft felt his stomach clench, and he watched his mother gasp uncomfortably as though she were feeling a similar pain.

“We’ll see, my little one,” Mummy said soothingly. “Let Mummy take care of it now.” And she disappeared into her study, shutting the door behind her.

When she emerged hours later, Eurus was upstairs playing violin and Mycroft was waiting for her, sitting on the couch with several empty boxes of Jammy Dodgers at his feet that he didn’t remember consuming and tears in his eyes. Though he hadn’t heard any of what had gone on behind the closed doors of her study, he knew that it wasn’t anything good for him. Mummy sat down next to him on the couch.

“They told me this hasn’t happened in 400 years,” she said, putting her hand over Mycroft’s. “But that Eurus’ talent is beyond anything they could expect. Without early training, she could inflict horrendous damage without meaning to. They want her right away. She’ll have a special room with a guardian, since she’ll be so much younger than the other children.”

“And what about me?” Mycroft asked coldly. He knew Mummy’s answer, but he wanted her to say it.

“I’m afraid that you’re not a wizard, my darling,” Mummy said, sniffing away tears. “But you know your father has had you tested, of course, and you’ll be positively brilliant in the muggle world. You’ll outshine all the children your age, you already do.”

“But I’ll never see Hogwarts,” he said. “Or work with the ministry. Or have a wand.”

Mummy shook her head. “We’ll still have cake tonight, though. Any kind you’d like. The chocolate bundt, perhaps?”

“Yes, please. Thank you,” Mycroft said. “Make an extra, please Mummy?”

“Anything, darling,” she said, rubbing his hand before she stood up to go into the kitchen. “I’ll have a talk with Daddy as well tonight. And Eurus tomorrow. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Late that night when he should’ve been sleeping, Mycroft snuck into the kitchen to eat as much cake as he could stuff into himself. It was his usual ritual for dealing with emotion that welled up inside of him--tamp it down with food until everything felt heavy and numb. He didn’t expect his parents to be awake, having a row inside his mother’s study. Normally her protective spells would keep the noise in, but they’d forgotten to shut the door completely, and he heard everything they said.

“I won’t allow it, Violet! I will not. She’s far too young for that school of yours. The stories you’ve told, I won’t allow my 3 year old daughter to go there alone. If her brother were there, he could take care of her, but this--”

“He’s a muggle, my dear, he can’t go with her. Hogwarts wouldn’t even exist for him. I know you don’t understand, but there’s really nothing for it. We’ll send Eurus on her own or she won’t go at all,” Mummy countered. She sounded as though she’d been crying.

“Then she won’t go,” Mr. Holmes said with finality. “Not until she’s a bit older, at least.”

“You don’t understand it, but they’re right about her. She needs to be taught how to use the magic she has. The things she’s capable of--they’re beyond what’s normal for a witch of her age.”

Mr. Holmes sighed. “You’d know more about it than I would, I suppose. But she’s far too young. She can go when she’s 5. A year and a half more with us, what’s the harm in that?”

“I’ll contact the headmaster and see if they’re amenable to that. They’ll have to be, I suppose. I can send an owl tonight,” Mummy said.

-----

Eurus railed against the plan to keep her from Hogwarts, and with her screams came a howling wind that rattled the doors and made the windows look as if they were going to pop.

“Please calm down, my little one. We just aren’t ready to be without you for so long,” Mummy said gently, petting Eurus’ hair. “You’ll still get to go when you’re five.”

“But I’m not five for ages! A whole year and a half!” Eurus slammed her fist on the table and Mycroft felt as though he was being punched in the gut. “It’s not fair!”

Sherlock spoke up then. “But Eurus who’ll be the pirate maid for me and Victor if you’re gone? Nobody else can do it like you can!”

“I hate your stupid pirate games,” Eurus spat back. Sherlock looked like he’d been hit.

“At least you get to go to Hogwarts,” Mycroft muttered.

“I get to go and you don’t,” Eurus sang at him, sticking her tongue out. “I’m smarter than you are.”

“Shut up!” Mycroft yelled.

“Go away!” Eurus shouted back, pointing out the door and into the storm.

Inside his head, Mycroft heard a voice urging him to get up and walk out. “Leave, go, get out of here, listen to her” the voice urged him. He stood up and threw his chair back with a clatter, then turned and woodenly began walking toward the front door. His mother stopped him, her arms wrapping around him as she whispered in his ear that he didn’t have to go.

“Children, go to your rooms, now. Conversation over,” Mr. Holmes said.

“Me too, Dad?” Mycroft asked. He was trembling though he didn’t mean to be.

“Come here, son,” his father said, pulling him into an embrace. “You may not be going to Hogwarts, but we’re sending you to the best schools we can, do you understand? You’ll be a Holmes man, through and through.”

“Yes, sir,” Mycroft said, holding back tears.

“And we’re going to enjoy the time we have with your sister while she’s here, won’t we?” Mr. Holmes said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Off you go, then. I’ll come up to say goodnight later,” Mummy said.

Mycroft pretended to go all the way to his room, but stopped at the top of the stairs, listening to his parents.

“That was what I meant, Sigur. No child should be able to compel someone to do something. She needs to be taught how to use her mind and her magic by witches and wizards who understand what a gifted child needs.”

“I saw it, Violet,” Mr. Holmes said, voice shaking. “We’ll send her when she’s 5, and until then we’ll keep her close. Make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“It won’t be easy. Children don’t know what they’re doing, magical children least of all,” Mummy said. “And I’m no good at teaching magic--I tried it in my youth and failed miserably.”

“We’ll do what we can, then. The Holmes family will survive,” Mr. Holmes said.

From his place on the stairs, Mycroft turned to go to his room and saw Eurus above him, watching and listening. She cocked her head to the side and turned around, walking quietly to her room before Mycroft could think of what to say or do.

That night the wind blew so hard that it shattered the windows of Mummy’s study, and Mycroft wondered if it was more than just a coincidence.

[thomasalwyndavis]

The Bedtime Potty Excuse

The following blog article The Bedtime Potty Excuse is republished from Thomas Alwyn Davis

Potty training is an exciting time for parents and their toddlers. Your youngster takes one of their first exciting steps towards their “big kid” status, and parents get to say goodbye to all of the diaper related unpleasantness they’ve dealt with since baby first arrived.

But right around the time your child learns to use the potty, chances are they’ll also learn a very effective method of leaving their bedroom when they’re supposed to be sleeping. “I have to go potty” is the go-to excuse for toddlers looking for something to do when they wake up, whether it’s genuine or not.

Today, I’ll give you some tips to help you deal with this scenario in a way that is respectful of your child’s needs and will keep frivolous bathroom requests from popping up multiple times a night.

Rather read than watch? Click here.

– Hi I’m Dana, welcome to this week’s video.

You know potty training is a very exciting time in a parents life. Especially if it’s your last child and you know that you’re gonna be diaper free any day.

But one of the problems that often arises when you start to potty train your toddler, is that he understands that this is very important to you. Right, and it’s a great way to get mommy to keep coming back into my room when I go to bed at night.

So it’s a bedtime game play right? I have to go potty and they realize when they say those words you drop everything. You throw the remote and you rush them to the bathroom. And they sit there and they try really hard to get something to happen. And then they go back to bed, and five minutes later here they are I have to go potty. And again you jump out and you run and you go. And they realize hey this is pretty powerful. She jumps when I say those words.

So it can happen two, five, ten times a night. And then it’s getting pretty frustrating for everybody.

So how do you nip this one in the bud. Well this is going to be a little tough at first. I get it because you’re so sensitive to this, right. You want him to have victory with the potty training. You don’t want him to have an accident. So you give in to this and you’re gonna have to be a little tougher.

So my suggestion is you make a potty pass. So something, I don’t know cut a piece of cardboard out, draw a picture of a toilet on it. Write the words potty on top and put it on the bedside table and say you may use this one time to go potty. So they come out of their bedroom and tell you they have to go potty. Okay make sure we’ve got the pass. So go back in have them give it to you. Give the potty pass to you. And then escort them to the bathroom, let them do their business and take them back to bed.

If they come out again however, they’ve already used their pass and you’re gonna have to be very clear about that. There is no more trips to the bathroom now because you’ve used your pass. Be ready right. They might’ve just been bluffing the first time and the second time they actually do have to go to the bathroom.

Now most children I would say, 99 percent of them are wearing some sort of pull-up. So it’s not the end of the world if they use their pull-up. But a rule is a rule right? And have some, you know you might want to put a plastic sheet over the mattress. You want to have clean jammies on standby, just in case their is an accident.

And you’re not gonna be mad about it right. You’re just gonna go in, you’re gonna clean them up, you’re going to put them back in bed. And the learning will occur. The child will begin to understand that I better mean what I say when I use this potty pass. I better be sure that I actually have to go. And really do they have to go? I mean I would assume that most of you are giving them lots of opportunity in the bed time routine to use that potty right. That’s probably the last stop on your checklist before you put them to bed. So chances are low that they’re urgently in need to go.

And you’re gonna have to just stick with your rules around this. And it really does, it works great they learn very quickly. And don’t underestimate your child’s ability to learn. They absolutely will get the hang of this within a few nights. Problem solved.

Thanks for watching, sleep well.

Why wait? Try out my No-Sweat Potty Training Program and get started today! The sooner you get the process started, the sooner you can bid farewell to diapers and baby wipes, and you and your child can both celebrate your new-found independence.

The post The Bedtime Potty Excuse appeared first on The Sleep Sense Program by Dana Obleman.

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