Behold -- the first scion, birthed from my dirty, earthen loins:
Miss O wanted to name it "Emily," while Mr. Z wanted it to be known as "Spike." But, as the pater to this 'mater, I have decided to call it... "Dennis." For three long months I have tended to young Dennis -- what with the watering and the weeding and the flicking of the bugs off the NOYVIN! And now that he is fully grown, all plump and glowing with that ruddy hue of his, I shall eat him, digest him and then shit him out to sea. (It's what any nurturing parent would do.)
So, Mr. Z is much better today. His lid has been returned from "flipped" to its normal "semi-flipped" positioning. I was right -- a good sleep did wonders. I should try that sometime. Speaking of which, Miss O has this heinous new habit of waking us up in the middle of the night to "help her go pee." It just came out of nowhere -- years of going pee all by herself and then, WHAM!, every fucking night, she stands in our doorway and whines until one of us gets up and walks her into the bathroom. I'm telling ya, it has put the old lady and myself on EDGE. (And while I'm no treat 'on edge,' the old lady... shee-doggies!!!)
I know it has to do with becoming more independent and the impending start of Kindergarten and all, but that doesn't make it any fucking easier. We've tried everything we can think of -- nightlights in the hallway and the bathroom, offering stickers for nights that she doesn't wake us up, threatening her with no desserts if she wakes us up -- it ain't doin' shit. Tonight the old lady told her that even if she comes into our room, we're not going to get up to help her. That should be fun -- instead of standing in our doorway and whining, she'll stand there and start bawling. Good plan, woman.
What's my plan, you ask? Hmm... I haven't really thought about that. The reward thing isn't really working. Neither is the consequences thing. That really only leaves one more path -- the path of fear. All I really have to do is tell her that there's a vicious bear that prowls the hallways at night, waiting for wayward children to cross its path. And with a CHOMP-SLURP-GULP, the bear swallows the children whole, and then slinks off into the forest before sunrise. Yeah, if I told her that story, I could pretty much guarantee she wouldn't slip so much as her pinkie toe out of her bed until morning. Of course, she'd piss the bed, but hey, baby steps.
Hey Miss O, come here! I've got a great bedtime story for you...