potty training conrad was like a high five you already had your hand raised for. one friday morning i woke up and decided it was time. i told him it was time. i took off his diaper, pointed to the potty, and then to the glass jar of rainbow colored chocolate incentives. that was it. he was potty trained.

truman, on the other hand, is proving to actually needing to be trained....on the potty and not in his pants. prior to truman, and after conrads lessons in bladder mastery, there were all these other kids we knew, kids who were conrads age and constantly crapping themselves, or their mothers would have to ask them if they had to go, if they were going to go in a sanitary means. it was foreign and frightening to me- i didn't understand why the kids didn't just excuse themselves and go to the restroom when they needed like my all-amazing conrad.

on a typical day truman poops himself at least once. at first i threw away his training underwear not sure what to do with a cloth bowl of crap. or, more honestly, knowing what to do but beyond disgust to actually bring myself to deal with said crap bowl. after a few times i realized that wasn't very earth friendly of me nor was it financially beneficial. so i began running the stinky, messy 2Ts to the wash, or if we were out, to a plastic bag i had brought ahead and had tucked in one of the front zip-up pockets of my purse. that was a few weeks ago, and we are, slowly but surely, getting better. some days, he's perfect: accident, poop-pants, free. and then some days, i gain empathy.

(i'm going to go ahead and move past my reality this morning of truman having thrown up since 6am and that i'm pretty sure i reek of stomach acid and digested food, which is because after one of the many up chucks of what looked like the reminisce of pumpkin seeds and mac and cheese, truman attempted to wipe his nose when he began to throw up once more and then so proceeded to go ahead and rub the vomit all in his hands all over his face and then of course turn into me for comfort and place those hands full of bits and pieces of his dinner onto my sweater. in case you were wondering, life with little kids is fun. oh yes.)

i grew up with two sisters, me in the middle. we weren't necessarily girly-girls, though sure as a small child i lived for dresses that "danced" when i spun around and my most valuable belonging was a Hello Kitty picnic set, or that i spent many an afternoons under the slide at the park with my best friend Kristy Nugen talking about my deep love for Joey McIntyre, and/or playing MASH. otherwise, i was, as were my sisters, as tom boy as a tom boy can be with the previously stated clause taken into consideration. mud pies were a daily occurrence and so was arranging the backyard into an obstacle course for us to run our bikes into various obstacles. my favorite past time was hiking along the creek at Cedar Hill State Park looking as we went for critters of any kind, and evidence remains in a family picture album of my sweet little girl self poised with a dead fish, my hands in the guts.

none the less, none of my tom boy adventures and tendencies could have EVER prepared me for life with three boys. i often inquire from my husband if 'this' or if 'that' is normal- completely expecting him to inform me that our two boys are indeed crazier and wilder than other little boys. however, not once have i received a single confirmation to any idiosyncrasy, on the contrary. supposedly it's normal to, instead of making sand castles in a sand pit, make sand balls for a sand ball fight. and use tinker toys as make shift guns. and turn snuggle time into wrestling time.

i know i'm not ready. i don't know when i will be, but i can't help but think a baby sister is what is needed in order to bring a little civilization, and sand castles and pretty pictures of flowers, to this equation.

if ten years ago someone would have told me that ten years later i would be a housewife raising two little boys in a small town in oregon existing on one meager income, i would have laughed, then punched them in the guts for predicting, as i wold have seen it ten years ago: a boring and mundane life. i had dreams. head in the clouds, stars exploding in my eyes, fantasies on a simply fantastic and glittered life. however, by my mid twenties i began to realize the world was much bigger than i could have ever imagined, and i, compared to the greats i wanted to duplicate greatness and goodness from, were indeed leaps and bounds greater and better than i. so while reality gave me a heaping dose of itself, i began the pursuit of contentment and happiness.

in southern oregon there are mountains with foothills piled in front of them; there are rivers, wild and scenic and every other synonym that goes with the first two descriptive adjectives; there are vineyards that glow like a day dream at sunset and sunrise; there are sky blue lakes with fathers around the edges fishing with their sons; there are small towns that evoke norman rockwall scenes of good ol' america where kids in overalls (or appaman) ride their bikes to the icecream (or gelato) parlour and give reports to all the older folks passing by who know them and want to know how their doing in school. it's a far cry from where i came from, and yet somehow there are days i get sicker than the inside of a dead bloated pig on just how much i miss texas. sometimes it sneaks up on me in a wilco song, or after a bad experience at a mexican restaurant, or because i've stopped long enough to realize how greatly i miss connections with some of the best people, friends and family, in the world. other times it's because it's the month of may and i'm still cold and it's still raining. still.

not know however. right now it's the beginning of autumn, the air is cool and warm all in the same sensation, the bounty of trees here and there and there and here are all turning to electric reds and yellows and oranges; carved pumpkins litter front porches, and the promise of a great saturday or sunday at one of a dozen pumpkin patches sits in the back of the throat, like a tickle. kinda.

i'm 31 now. i started blogging when i was 23. this blogspot doesn't have the genesis of me as a blogger, that one i tossed after it had been used as a wet-one/and, or mop for a heart break i was at the time experiencing and just didn't want any memory of. of course i regret that decision tremendously now that their is no sting or gush of blood pouring from my heart. and here at 31 i now see, i don't have the best or the greatest nor do i need to be utterly content in the simple, and the simple doesn't have to equate mundane and boring just as glitter and exploding stars don't necessarily elude to fantasy. i suppose, without much further elaboration, if someone came up to me and repeated to me the facts about my life, i'd smile, then i'd keep on aspiring (and from time to time, missing my homestate).