I am Prepared.

In my head, I am nesting.  It's true.  In reality?  Nope.  Unless you count my husband bringing down the one box of newborn boys clothes we have currently.  And those are still in the garage.  Unwashed from when they were packed away two years ago and G$ wore them.  And these are only the clothes my sister deemed possibly unisex.

Newborn diapers?  Nope.
Coming home outfit?  Nada.
Pre-registered for the hospital?  NO. (this is one of my more brilliant choices)
Crib bedding?  Huh-unh.

I am prepared.  Poor third baby.

Name Re-do. (Or a Turn at Crafting Genius)

This go-round with nesting tendencies, I'm a crafty beeyotch.  Or at least I aspire to be.  That's probably more like it.  So a year after upgrading Elliott to the BBB (Big Boy Bed), I decided to finally update his names above the bed to match.  I wasn't sure I could pull it off, but I'm pleasantly surprised with the outcome. 

I tried to locate a 'before' picture of the letters on the wall in Ell's room, but they are hiding right now.  So instead, here is a few pictures of the BBB, with the Big Boy himself.  

My boy and his treasures.  Notice Minnie snuggled up next to him.  

Up close of the duvet--purchased at Ikea.  

And the results:

I used the letters we already had from Hobby Lobby that had been spray painted the green color.  Then I took a pencil and sketched different designs that would match and/or compliment Ell's "Cars Blankey."  I used acrylic paints, then sealed with a polycrylic gloss sealant.  If you attempt this, be aware that to get good coverage, it took at least 3 coats of paint to achieve the desired outcome.  At the last moment, I decided that  the designs would stand out better if I outlined it all with an extra-fine Sharpie.  Ta-da!

Sh*tty Saturdays

I mean this literally--not in an "oh-we-had-a-bad-weekend" kind of way.  I mean it in a way that suggests my 3-year old has shat in his pants the past two Saturdays and I've been awoken by a startled and panicked husband asking for help and a bedraggled, wet, stinky child in the shower.

Last week he chose to poo in his pants on the back patio.
This week?  He chose to crap his pants during a diligent nap protest.

Both times this led to legs smeared with poo, a bleached tub and child slightly proud to tell of his shit-ventures.

We had to nip this in the bud.  Last week, we talked.  This week?  We had to take action. All day, Ell had looked forward to seeing Glam and Pop, especially since this meant going to a restaurant.  Unfortunately, as we explained, we could not trust Ell to actually use the facilities and not sh*t his pants in public.  This meant Mommy & Brook-Brook got to visit OTB with Glammy & Poppy while Ell and Daddy stayed behind.  With the first explanation, the consequence was accepted.  The truth set in as we walked out the door and the composure melted.  I'm hoping this consequence sticks in his head, that missing out on Tickle Poppy (what Ell has taken to calling my dad) & Glammy AND eating at a restaurant is enough to remind him that pooping in his pants is not a good way to spend the weekend.  Time will tell.  Until then,  I'll do my best not to mention it. . .and let the consequence speak for itself.

What would you do to remedy the Sh*tty Saturday trend?