I must apologize for my sparse postings this summer. It isn’t that Owen is any less adorable; it is simply that I am spending most of my time (a) weeding (b) painting and (c) playing. Writing just hasn’t been happening. I start back at work next week, though, and the busier I am, the more I get done, so I expect to be a regular internet presence soon.
Speaking of weeding, and in case you care? I’ve been having a battle with goutweed. For those of you who know this tenacious plant, enough said. For those of you ignorant to the weed’s clingy rootedness and incredible tenacity, see here (for a positive spin).
I don’t mean to be a bore. Really, I don’t. But this particular weed, no matter how much you try, comes back. I spent the better part of a week digging it out of one half of a garden (after having dug a trench to keep it from spreading). I’ve now graded and covered the ground in clear plastic in an attempt to “solarize” the soil. I think I may have waited too long, since the ground isn’t really heating up, and I can see sickly goutweed growing beneath the surface. I guess it’s good that it’s sickly. In any case, I am learning. The advice on gardening forums as to how to get rid of the stuff is to move house. On the other hand, it’s edible! Maybe next year.
Another thing I have been having a difficult time weeding out is a particular behaviour in Owen. Now, it hasn’t happened in about 4 days, so we may have triumphed, but rarely in my brief stint at parenting has a behaviour made me feel so powerless.
A couple of weeks ago, we forgot to remind Owen to go potty before he climbed into the bath. One foot in the warm water seemed to act as trigger, and he peed (half on the floor, half in the bath). But it was an accident! So we cleaned it up, told him it was OK, and generally lavished him in praise. Who wants a potty training regression, right?
But then the next night, he peed (through his pants this time) on purpose, after we said it was time for bed. Another night he spat on the floor, and while I was cleaning that up, peed for good measure. A couple of days later, he got off the potty to pee on the floor. And two days after that, the mere mention of bed was enough for him to pee on the floor, while Duncan and I were yelling at him to “STOP!” And he would just laugh. At some point, we said if he did it again he would get no stories before bed. And when he did, that tear-filled evening was no fun for anyone.
I tried so hard to be matter-of fact, but I must confess that the night he spat out his milk onto my lap, I kind of lost it.
All of these events were, I am pretty sure, a byproduct of exhaustion, when we’d lost track of time and had pushed Owen past his bounds of good humour.
Like I said, the threat of no book before bed (if he spits or pees on the floor) SEEMS to have worked. The other day at daycare he had an actual accident and he asked me if he could still have stories that night. Yes! Of course, I said. We’re four days and counting with no more peebellions, but I no longer take for granted getting a clean boy into bed.
As for the goutweed, I’m still working on it. I pulled out 8 seedlings just yesterday, who were planning a secret attack of a previously uninfested garden.