I’ll Make This Quick

Here’s a quick summary of what’s been happening lately.

• On Sunday, we bought Layla an Elmo potty from K-Mart. As soon as we got home she started asking for her potty. I thought it was just because it was Elmo, but after setting it up, she took off her diaper and pee’d in the potty for the first time. Rachelle and I erupted with excitement, and gave her a sticker. She hasn’t pee’d in the potty since.
• Next week my brother Jason is getting married. I’m putting the finishing touches on the best man speech. And by “finishing touches” I mean “need to begin writing it.”
• Family and friends are coming from out of town on Thursday. I took off of work on Friday, so we’re all going to Atlantic City. It just so happens that Thursday is also Rachelle’s birthday. Rachelle hates Atlantic City. I think she’ll buck up and go to AC with us but I’m sure she’ll throw subtle punches at my kidneys during the course of the evening.
• Layla sucks energy out of me like a terminal illness. When I get home from work, I’m happy and recharged. By the time Layla goes to sleep my nerves are shot and my hands are shaking. She is in a stage (Please, God, let it be a stage) where she has to DO everything: open doors, flush the toilet, pour the ketchup, wipe the table, feed the baby, get dressed, take off her diaper, turn on the water, turn off the water, pour juice, walk down stairs… it’s all “Layla do it.”
  The predicament I’m in is this: If I let ‘Layla do it’ all the time when she whines about it then I’m setting her up to feel like she’s entitled to always do it. Sometimes we’re running late and we don’t have time for Layla to ‘do it’. Sometimes the things she insists on doing is dangerous, like spraying Lysol spray to wipe the table. Sometimes it’s messy, like pouring syrup and getting most of it on the table. In those circumstances, I take a deep breath and prepare….because I know it’s going to be a battle.

  “No, not this time. Daddy do it this time.” I’ve realized that those words are the secret voice code to open the gates of hell.

• Cecelia has been sleeping great. She has been a pleasure in general. This is fortunate because otherwise  this blog post may have been my suicide note.
• I’m tired of snow…sort of. Either bury us with 3 feet so that I don’t have to go anywhere, or don’t snow at all. Don’t give us this 4-5 inches, which is just enough to slide and skid into work so my co-workers, who drive 4-wheel drive SUVs, tell me how the roads aren’t bad.