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It’s the first day of Christmas vacation, and I’m already beginning to worry…  It’s 7:50am, and Mikey is already asking for video games.  Of course Daddy and I both said not till this evening, so in the meantime he’s bouncing like a paranoid schizophrenic hopped up on meth between my nook, my phone, and a tablet Greg made a trade for.  We can’t really avoid the technological influence on our child since that is how Dad pays for our lifestyle—it’s hardwired into who we are!  (Like that?  Hardwired?  Pretty clever, huh?)  I have to say, Mikey’s love of that stuff gives me a break, too—it’s like the Simpsons episode where the kids realize that the TV has been a better parent to them than Marge or Homer—the next scene is Bart and Lisa snuggling up to it.  It’s nice to have a babysitter when I need to get some cleaning done!

So back to the question of video games—Dad tells Michael that Mommy can turn one on for him in the bedroom.  Naturally, this isn’t enough.  “Mommy, can I play in the living room?” “No, Mikey.  I don’t know everything involved in playing out here.”   (I’m sure I could totally figure it out.  I figured out how to configure my laptop wirelessly to our printer yesterday on my own.  But how much of a slave do I really want to be?)  Before my excuses have tumbled out of my mouth, Mikey is putting his hand up, cocking his head and trying to get me to hush so he can explain to me how to do it.  “Mommy?  It’s sort of like the bedroom,” (as he sits down in front of the entertainment center and opens the door to the Xbox and games,) “you just take the disc out and put it in the XBox just like in the other room.”  Gee, I wonder if he can turn the receiver to all the right settings, too?  I think this 30-year-old stuck in a 5 year old’s body needs to get a job start paying rent.  Hmmmm…wait… on second thought…maybe not…as I look over to see him sitting in his dad’s chair playing with Talking Tom on my phone, kicking his legs like Edith Ann and making a whole host of nerve-racking noises like siren sounds, and gibberish, only to have them repeated in a higher pitch from this “copy cat.”  Wait!—now it’s the guitar and its one discordant, non-chord, frantic strumming, that I get to hear performed in a round between Mikey and Thomas the cat.

Before all of this tutoring and torturing inflicted on me by Michael, we actually got Pierce to piddle on the potty chair this morning.  He woke up dry, so when the three of us got up to have breakfast, we made a b-line for the bathroom, much to Pierce’s chagrin.  He did not want to sit on the potty or stand and piddle in it, but after much psychologically damaging cajoling followed by force, we had him sitting.  He responded by crying and whining “no”.  In fact, he got so pissed that he actually started to…you know…  I had to push his “hoo-hoo” down to keep from hosing down the whole bathroom, but we did it!  Mikey and I praised and clapped and Whoooo hooooo’d, and then showed Pierce how to pour it into the toilet and flush it away.  It was a great moment, but I’m not sure if we ruined him by making him use the potty while crying and resisting.  We’ll see…