This is long past rediculous, and honestly, it pisses me off. Something needs to be done before normal people like us can no longer afford our drives to work or anywhere else… oh wait, we already can’t. Point is, they whine and cry and say that taxes are so high, but look at all the profit! It’s highway robbery, that’s what it is.
We were doing good with the potty training until recent events kept us away from home quite a bit, then things started to fall apart. Now he is back to flat out refusing to go, holding it at all costs as I have him sit on the potty. He would rather hold it all day than listen to me and take five seconds to go on the potty. Of course, this wasn’t the case three days ago when he went on the potty four times, but three of those times, he was trying to be fancy or something and got it all over the floor. And when I try to just make him stay on the potty in the hopes that eventually he won’t be able to hold it much longer, he tries to get what he wants by scooting around the floor. Now that really pisses me off for some reason.
I am at my wit’s end.
I read this book recently, it only took me a day and a half, I couldn’t put it down. If you’re a regular reader here, you know I’ve read lots of first-hand Holocaust accounts and like many others, this book sucked me in, made the experiences very real to me and even had me reading a great number of it aloud to a certain husband who was equally intriqued.
In My Hands: Memories of a Holocaust Rescuer – Irene Gut Opdyke with Jennifer Armstrong
Irene Gut was a good Catholic girl from Western Poland. She didn’t start out with a goal to save people’s lives and end up as a resistance fighter, it just happened that way. Doing one right thing led to another and before you knew it, she was hiding 10 Jewish people in the basement of the Nazi officer’s home… right under his nose.
She was only sixteen when she left home to go to nursing school in 1938 Radom, Poland. The first year went pretty much without incident as she threw herself into her work but not long into her second, the war in Poland errupted and her life was suddenly in shambles. She traveled with a group of nurses and Polish soldiers, caught between Germany in the West and the Russians in the East. A group of Russian soldiers captured her, beat her, raped her, and left her for dead in the cold snow.
It has been a long, fun-filled weekend. We’ve had so much fun with Christine and Rich, doing all things touristy around here. As I posted last time, on Thursday we went to the Bonne Terre Mines, Friday we went to Tower Rock, all-things Cape Girardeau, and Saturday we went to St. Louis and toured the Anheuser-Busch brewery and The St. Louis Arch.
Tower Rock is south of me, north of Cape Girardeau, MO, closest to Altenburg, MO, in the middle of the Mississippi River. It is just simply a huge rock, about 90 feet above the surface of the water, a natural wonder, documented and discussed by Lewis and Clark, etc. We first went up to the overlook and while we were up there, my poor little boy was stung by a wasp. I saw it coming but wasn’t quick enough – it landed on his arm and he immediately put his hand over it. If it hadn’t been for that, I would have wanted to get right down to the water later. I really want to approach the rock, but I don’t know how deep the water was there. It was all for the best though, because as we were leaving then, a storm blew in. Pretty good storm, too, there were reports of tornadoes and hail, etc.
Today was Christine and Rich‘s first day up here. I picked them up at their hotel this morning and attempted to show them around town without being too boring, then we headed out for our first attraction of the week: The Bonne Terre Mines. (This was, of course, after a short stop at Walmart to get E a new shirt thanks to his puking on the one he was wearing… I still don’t get what that was about.)
The mines hold a special place for me. When they opened, my great-great-great-grandfather moved to the area and worked in them. His son worked in them. And his son worked in them, as a machinist, not a miner. Then his son, my grandfather, got the heck out of there. Well, either way, we had three generations working in the mines.