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We swung by the family restroom at Woodburn Outlets shortly after we arrived because of the unspoken rule that two-year-olds only have to go potty when it's least convenient.  (Like when he's just gotten buckled in his car seat, when you're in the grocery store with a full cart, or when he was supposed to be asleep ten minutes ago). 

Turned out well for us, though, because who should we see waiting when we swung open the door?  I guess good ol' St. Nick doesn't want to stand at a urinal, 'cause he held out for the luxury suite.  He was kind enough to chat up the boys as we stood in the doorway, blocking him from his imminent relief.

"Okay, guys.  Let's let Santa pee.  We've got coats to buy."

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You can tell Cael is Very Serious because he put on his hat and packed his (brother's) backpack.  Also, it's never the right time to give a 2 year-old laxatives.  True story.

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I'm not sure if he waits until the last possible moment or if he really isn't aware of the need to urinate until things are dire, but when Finn starts yelling, "I'M PEEING!  I'M PEEING!" at the top of his lungs and running frantically in circles, that means get him to the toilet pronto. 

Once the screaming starts, there's about a sixty second window.  This is typically filled by my swooping him up and countering every cry of, "I'M PEEING!" with an equally rabid,"HOLD IT, HOLD IT!" while running to the bathroom, ripping off his pants, plopping him on the seat, and aiming the flow downward.  If we make it with only a little splashing on my shirt it is considered a success.

The best part about the whole thing is that you never know when it's coming.  I suppose this is what firemen and paramedics feel like.

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Marty will have to verify.

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Finn's face rash has been with us so long that it feels like a part of the family. His doctor is currently in the, "I don't know. Maybe if we try this?" mode of treatment, which is what I've been in since the thing first showed up. I'm entirely sure neither of us know what we're doing and poor Finn has had so much stuff shmeared on his cheeks for so long that he probably thinks that's just a part of everyone's daily routine.

Currently, in addition to New Shmear, we're trying a round of antibiotics. This involves 7 ml of bright pink liquid taken orally twice a day. The medicine comes with a big syringe thing so you can squirt it straight into his mouth.

Inexplicably, Finn does not enjoy this.

Methods Allie has tried to get the medicine down:

Coating the syringe in sugar
Promising treats
Promising trips
Reasoning
Begging
Pleading

I eventually settled on brute force, as it's the only way I can get it in his mouth, even if most of it ends up spit back out. The past five days have made both Finn and I cry several times, and have turned half a dozen shirts Pepto Pink. (That's the new black, right?)

Along comes Dad.

Methods Ryan has tried to get the medicine down:

Put it in a cup and let him drink it.

Moral of the story: When you hear hooves think, "Why the hell am I using a syringe?"

Also: Let Dad do it.

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When Cael wants to lift something and it's too heavy, he goes to his friends for help - his friends being Hop Hop, Monkiki, and Meow. They have a lot of limbs between them, but they're not incredibly bountiful in the strength department. Plus, by the time Cael's gathered them all in his arms to ready them for the assist, there's no room for anything else, regardless of how heavy it is.

(Also, I'd like to direct your attention to Blankie in panel 2. Cael saw that his friends were in a picture and insisted that Blankie also be included. He was very adamant.)

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At least he knows?

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I don't know where he got this idea, but he's convinced that changing batteries will solve any and all problems. Even when things don't have batteries. (And I might have made the mistake of telling him he could push his bellybutton and make the poop come out... oops.)

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I feel a little cruel taking advantage of his good humor, but when you find a way to get the mouth open, you roll with it.

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Drool + dog hair = disaster

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Last night we began the pooping/tuck in process at 6:55 and ended it shortly before 8:30. He's absolutely adorable when he stalls, but this is getting ridiculous.

Shit or get off the pot has never been so apropos.

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