I've got schedules and charts and calenders, OH MY, and still, still I manage to screw up 2 monumental landmarks in my child's lives.
First, Jax has begun going poo on the potty. As happy as I am about this milestone, it's one I've been not-so-secretly dreading for a while now. I've mentioned the carpet, yes?
So there we were, straining and squeezing in order to get some little toothpaste squirt out of his butt (that just got way nastier than I'd intended. Sorry.), and then "Woohoo", applause, applause, applause, he crawls down to look into the potty and finishes his crap on my bathroom floor.
Why was I not prepared for this? IT WASN'T ON THE SCHEDULE. Sheesh.
I have it clearly marked that he starts potty training once Ryan starts Kindergarten. Not 6 days sooner.
Do you remember that weird sister that Shelly Long had in "Hello Again", that kind of lady like the record store owner Annie Potts played in Pretty in Pink? Weren't they great and weird and funky and endearing? Yeah, to the moms at Ry's new gymnastics, I'm that lady. But not nearly as endearing and nowhere in the vacinity of great..
We started at a new, slightly more prestigious gymnastics academy than the YMCA today (Can you hear me gagging? Can ya?), and Ryan totally rocked the crowd. Not that I'm proud or anything, but she totally charmed those teachers into thinking it was cute that she hadn't listened and needed them to repeat themselves over and over. (We'll have to work on that.) Still, she did great, especially on the bars. I don't know what it is about her -- some physical anomaly from Shawn's side of the family I'm sure that gives her crazy strength in her upper body, but the kid has it. Seriously, it's sick.
I'd been anxious about making a good impression at this place, knowing that Ry may want to continue there for a while and all. Naturally, I failed miserably.
Great! Just point us where you want us. We herd ourselves into the tiny watching/waiting area, hearing teachers calling names while we try to figure out where sit. When I finally manage to get her shoes off, a line of little girls starts walking onto the mats. "I think that's your class," I say to her. "Go on out and ask the teacher if she called your name."
"Okay." She timidly goes off to talk to the teacher while I try to wrangle Jax when another gym lady stops her and asks her who she is and where's she supposed to be. Ryan turns and looks at me with such fear and utter shyness that I quickly jump to her aid, calling out to the instructor that she was supposed to go with Coach A, and that she was thinking maybe that was her on the floor. She was going to ask her if she'd called her name, I informed her.
"We haven't called names, yet," she said flatly, bending down to Ry and asking her name. She checks her list and - lo and behold - she is supposed to be out there on that mat with those kids, Smirking, I turn around to grab Jaxson, when I suddenly hear, "Whose little boy is that?" I look onto the gym floor and there's Jax up on the low beam, shit-grinnin' and jumping away.
I, naturally, start to laugh, but when I notice the looks on the other mom's faces, I decide that may not be the wisest option, and I run out to retrieve him. Not such a big deal. Until he starts fighting me, screaming, kicking and throwing a Classic Jax Attack. In the middle of the gym floor. With everyone watching.
(Later, Ryan told Shawn she was embarrassed about it. I rest my case.)
I breathe, put him in a choke-hold and carry him off the floor, to the sanctity of ...THE WAITING ROOM.
God, that place is a nightmare.
You know the "Perfect Moms" right away -- theye were there 10 minutes early, their kid has been here 2 years already (her radar clued into the place much sooner than mine, YMCA-loving freak that I am), she looks awesome in short brown hair, a REAL tan, no makeup, polo tee, j crew shorts and is happily bouncing her new baby on her knee. Did I mention she's already lost any baby weight she may (doubtful) have put on?
Then there are the "Ex-Cheerleader From A Small Town Moms", who I relate to only because they remind me of friends of mine who actually were small town High School cheerleaders, so I know they're not all that bad. But still...they sure have a lot of "pep". And they love to say things like "No WAY!" and "Good Deal!" and "SO AWESOME" a lot. It's just funny is all.
And then there are all the "Older Moms", who look like you imagine your mom might look now if she was your age: a little frumpy, but still attractive, just in kinda bad clothes. (No offense, mom.)
And then there was me. The mom who is always late, usually frantic, kid's hair is rarely brushed, with the funny-little-screaming-toddler-who's- really- not- that- funny- at- all- but- you- people- keep- laughing- at- him- so- he- thinks- he- is kid and the inability to control him whatsoever. Plus, I looked really weird yesterday, what with my "Green is Good" Tee, my silver ballet flats, and the turquoise necklace Ry put around my neck as we were getting out of the car. For good luck.
So we opt (are forced, whatever) to sit in the back corner away from everyone else, but that doesn't help, because right next to us is the other entrance onto the gym floor, which does nothing but tempt the devil a little bit further out of Jaxson.
This is new for me, kids. Normally, if this were church or something, we would all just suffer a little longer than necessary (as penance for what were were about to do) and then leave, but seeing as how Ry was in the middle of class, and I still wasn't clear on what the rules were in regards to leaving the premises, I was stuck. At her other gym class he was always in the nursery, and I could go work out if I wanted. I never HAD to sit through the whole thing and I never HAD to do it with Jax in tow. My days of running were over. I had to think quick.
I dug in my purse for change and was able to extract fifty cents, buying Jax a bag of cookies, and me some quiet time. Sure enough, 5 minutes later he finished the bag of cookies and had started banging on the plaxiglass-window, so I suggested we go look for toys in the car. We did. But all found was Ryan's stuffed pink poodle, FiFi, who had a metal-studded black leather belt tied around her neck like a leash. (I'll explain another time.)
Hey, if it makes the kid happy, I'm not about to argue.
(But boy, did he get a lot of compliments on that pretty pink dog of his.)
So anyway, we made it through the class, with a couple more escape attempts thrown in for fun, Ry did her thing and all ended well.
By Amy terms, anyway. I still managed to make an ass of myself on her first day at a new place, which may or may not hinder her ability to make friends with any of her class mates, but there's still kindergarten, which reminds me...Orientation is tonight, maybe I should just send Shawn solo??