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We interrupt this blissful walk down memory lane to whine and complain about how I am stretched totally beyond capacity and ready to run away to Tahiti. That's right, we're potty training. And Bryn started kindergarten this week. And I'm still nursing. And the bus stop, which I visit three times a day with littles in tow seems like 45 miles from my front door when it's really only a block. And my house looks like an explosion went off in it.

Yesterday afternoon I was, you guessed it, in the bathroom. We'd been there on and off for two hours straight. Yep, two. Leah was poised for success on her frog potty and I was sitting across from her on the grown up potty cheering her on by reading books, reminding her that she could earn a smartie and a video, singing, coaching her on body awareness, challenging her to fill her little frog to capacity, you name it. (I myself was not going to the pot, thank you. There's just not a lot of seating options in the bathroom.) Then Asa called from the other room because he was completely famished and about to waste away. I headed across the hall and started feeding him. But Leah just could not bring herself to remain on the pot without me, and it was a crucial moment. Possible #2, in fact. So I schlepped Ace over and sat on the pot across from her and recommenced the previous activities while nursing.

To make a long story short I ran, back and forth from Asa's room to the bathroom with Bryn asking for help here and there. I was half-naked. Nursing, remember? Leah yelled so I went to her. Asa screamed bloody murder, so I went to him. In the middle of changing Asa's stinky diaper (still half-naked) someone knocked on the door. I pretended I wasn't home. Back and forth and back and forth. My phone rang and beeped at regular intervals. Finally I decided to just try to take myself out of the moment for a second. I looked down at my cute little four-month-old. He was so adorable. I went to plant a big fat kiss on his big fat cheek. My puckered lips met with a big fat waterfall made of spit-up. Leah did not end up going poo in the frog.

Then today I was poised and ready to meet Bryn's bus when it came home. I missed it yesterday and felt like the mom of the year when I opened the door to head out and found Bryn and a nice bus aide almost at the door. Really nice. So today I set my clock, I planned ahead, I was ready, and then Leah pooed in her pants. Amazing.

What to do? Leave my two-year-old with pants full of poo while I run down the block to pick up Bryn? Not really an option. So I suppressed all my rage (which I've become great at this week) and was very kind as I talked to her about where poo actually belongs and where it does not. I tenderly wiped her all over and helped her choose some new princess undies that were dry. I dragged her down the stairs at lightning speed with Asa the sack of potatoes on my hip. We threw shoes on. Would've skipped that last step if it weren't for the lack of sidewalk in front of our house coupled with a field full of pokey bushes on the way to the sidewalk next door. We jetted out the door as quickly as possible, arrived at the stop and breathed a sigh of relief to find that a) it was shady, b) no bus in sight.

Moments later it pulled up, and the driver informed me, with a smile that had "you're a dead-beat mom" written all over it, that he'd arrived and I wasn't there and this was his second trip around the block. I wanted to cry. And I did, in fact, once I reached the privacy of my own family room and the girls were in the dining room eating lunch.

At least she's cute in the undies.

This is one of a very few rooms that I've actually cleaned this week. That should tell you something about the state of the rest of the house.